Chapter 36
Aramis inhaled deeply as he stared at the horizon. The air was clear and chilly and burned his lungs, but it sharpened his nerves. It made him feel so very alive when there was little more than the constant shadow of death. The airship creaked around him and tremored slightly when the cannonballs dented the thick hull and their cannons responded with their own volley. He turned to watch the enemy ship being ripped apart by the assault, splinters flying as the wood exploded on impact and English soldiers diving away to save their own skins. Aramis muttered a prayer for forgiveness under his breath, fingering his rosary, observing the offending ship as it tried to chart a new course through the clouds and escape.
"Hard to port! Ready the cannons!" He ordered as he returned to the helm where D'Artagnan had been holding the ship steady. The Gascon stepped aside, knowing his place as a first mate, and mounted a crate to compensate for his short field of view.
"Raise the starboard wings!" D'Artagnan called, directing several men to pull up the rudder sails on the right side so the great machine would be turned by the wind and continue their pursuit of the staggering vessel. Aramis spun the wheel and felt a thrill as the massive ship turned so smoothly through the sky, the prow aligning with their prey. D'Artagnan called to lower the sails and the few front facing cannons protruding from alongside the boat's maidenhead fired at the ship's back, shattering the blocky cabin space.
"Aramis!" D'Artagnan was pointing to their right, beyond them, and Aramis turned in time to see another English ship coming in to ram them just before the impact threw everyone off their feet. The hulls crunched together with a sound like a breaking bone, some ropes holding the air sack snapped, and cries from the French soldiers crushed by the second ship extending from their own rent the air. Englishmen slid down their slanted deck and made leaps over the prow with their momentum to board the French ship. The shock of it kept the soldiers slow until their enemy punctured them with sharp steel and hot iron balls and then the fight began. Aramis dove back from the helm as a soldier in blue turned the flamethrower towards him and tried to set him alight. The wheel caught and went up quickly, the flames licking viciously down its base to the deck beneath it. The attacking ship's continued force pushed them even more to the left and tilted them dangerously. The English had over calculated their strike. Frenchmen and Englishmen were falling past him, screaming in terror as they tumbled out of sight, and Aramis grabbed at anything that might save him. His fingers caught the handle of the door leading into the hold, the metal ring slippery with mist under his grip.
"D'Artagnan!" Aramis called the first name that came to mind in this disaster. He could see nothing above him with the wooden door in his face. While not disturbed by extreme heights, he dared not look down to see what awaited him when his fingers could no longer sustain him. He spotted the young man across the deck and crouched against the side of the short stairs leading up to the fiery helm. D'Artagnan looked up from where he had been staring down into the cloud-filled abyss below them, having heard his friend's yell, and they watched each other helplessly. Then D'Artagnan somehow managed to get to his feet on the very narrow space and seemed to be bracing himself, measuring the distance between Aramis' door and his own position. Aramis' eyes widened and he started to order him to stay where he was, but D'Artagnan was already in the air with arms outstretched towards the wood and determination on his face. His fingers caught the door's edge and he swung there for a moment or two with nails digging furiously into the wood before he began to struggle to climb up.
"Hold on a little longer Aramis," he gasped, "I will pull you up." Aramis wanted to berate his foolishly stupid risk, but that would mean disillusioning him. The ships were falling from the sky like a rock, the air sacks the only thing barely slowing them, and D'Artagnan was far too light compared to Aramis to consider lifting him to safety. Aramis looked down. At least if he fell, he would pass right through the opening in the railing rather than hitting it and suffering injury on his way to his demise.
"Grab on, Aramis, quickly!" A rope dangled an arm's length away and Aramis stared it in surprise before realizing D'Artagnan had possibly solved their weight dilemma and snatched it. With the wind tugging at him and the ground now becoming visible below him through the clouds, he began to drag himself up the rope. Even with his gloves, his hands were numb with cold and if he could not see for himself that they were grasping the rope, he would swear they were no longer a part of him. He was almost to the edge of the portal's frame and he felt D'Artagnan grabbing at him, taking hold of his doublet and helping drag him over the edge into relative safety. The locked ships fell faster, the wind whistling shrilly. Aramis gripped the wall and the floor, unable to tell if it was him who shook or if it was only the ship's quaking body. He braced his feet against the opposite wall. There was a loud crunch. The ships impacted into the ground and skidded. Shouts rang out below them. D'Artagnan was yelling something, or was perhaps just yelling across from him, his eyes squeezed shut. The wreckage stopped moving, creaking and groaning like a wounded animal. Aramis sat very still for a moment or two to make sure that they had stopped moving before he leaned carefully out the door and peered down to the ground that was a relatively short distance below them.
"D'Artagnan, open your eyes boy." He reached over to shake his knee. D'Artagnan opened one eye and regarded Aramis with skepticism.
"Why is it we always destroy these things?" Aramis stared at him before he began to shake with laughter, leaning back and resting his head against the wood. D'Artagnan began to laugh along with him and the two guffawed like madmen in their imploded vessel. Whether it was to quell the fear of shortly escaped death neither knew nor cared. Aramis glanced back out through the doorway with streaming eyes and caught sight of the rallying Rochelois troops below them along with a partially demolished bastion, the only thing that had kept them from sliding further and possibly into the sea.
"If we sit here much longer, we will become war prisoners," said Aramis, his chuckles slowly dying down. D'Artagnan peered out of the opening, wiping at his eyes with the back of a hand.
"Then shall we be off?" he asked, flashing the other musketeer a mischievous smile. Aramis led the way, taking hold of the rope that had saved his life and sliding down along its length, thankful for the thick leather of his gloves. Reaching the end, he gauged the distance and aimed to land on what appeared to be a crumbled, but stable portion of the wall, releasing the rope and dropping to the ground. He moved aside as D'Artagnan quickly followed him, grabbed the boy by his back before he fell clumsily from his landing, and they carefully yet quickly starting picking their way along the remaining wall before the Protestants realized that they had King's soldiers in their midst.
"Release me, you heathen slime!" The shout came from behind them at the ship and Aramis glanced back, stopping just as he reached the battlements and the walkway around them. Below them, Roderic was held between two Rochelois who struggled to hold the taller man as well as their more antique muskets in their other arms'. They had likely led him out from the ship's bowels through one of the new holes in the deck.
"D'Artagnan, wait." Aramis stopped the Gascon as he went to move past him and pointed in the German's direction. D'Artagnan heaved a sigh.
"So what do we do? Hard to escape when you attack the enemy in their own damn fortress."
"We will not have to attack them, just loosen their grip. Follow me." Aramis calmly and swiftly descended the nearby set of tilting, wooden stairs and led them towards the two struggling would-be jailers.
"Bring that one over with the others," ordered a nearby man to the two and Aramis looked over to where several musketeers, some sporting visible injuries, were sitting on the ground in a corner, surrounded by a guard of the armed peasantry. This particular bastion appeared to have not yet had been fortified by a drop of English soldiers from one of the many airships which had been inconveniencing their efforts to swiftly end this war. While Richelieu's dyke blockaded the waterways and the Protestants were besieged, the airways were much clearer and the English could support and supply their allies easily, thus the need for the four of them up in the skies with Richelieu's small fleet of double-sized ships.
"Aramis, we cannot save only one and leave all the others," D'Artagnan hissed, gripping his sword hilt angrily. Aramis had to stop him from stepping forward to confront the guards much as he had back in Cooper's Yard that day so many months ago. However, the boy was right. Aramis could not abandon his crew to be traded like goods or beaten like rogues, even more so when Athos may not forgive him for not keeping guard over his future brother-in-law despite their current tense undercurrents.
"Then we join them and escape from within," Aramis replied, "or start a revolt." Before D'Artagnan could respond, Aramis drew his sword and lifted it high.
"Musketeers, to me!" The men behind the peasants perked up at the words and several leapt to their feet, barrelling into their captors' backs to break free. The injured remained sitting or were slowly trying to stand and little could be done for them at present. Aramis was quick to note that their hands of the hale ones had been bound, but luckily enough not their feet.
"Stop that man!" ordered the local sergeant and Aramis turned to face the oncoming attack from the ill-trained civilian soldiers. D'Artagnan sprinted for their fellows, cutting their bonds and assisting them in disarming their guards and rearming themselves. Aramis was joined by five angry men and surrounded by many more irate enemies. Cooper's Yard came back to him in a flash, but now was not the time for memories. He charged the Rochelois with naked sword and met them with steel against steel, driving the hilt into their bellies and silencing them with quick slices across their throats. One leapt on his back and his knees briefly buckled from the extra weight. He staggered, trying to fend off the attacker and keep him from reaching his neck with his dagger. Others began to press him, seeing him struggle, and Aramis backed away, swinging his sword in wide arcs before him to keep them at bay.
"Aramis!" A flash of steel from behind his attackers and several crumpled with pained yowls, reaching for the back of their legs where the rear side of the knee joints had been sliced open. D'Artagnan leapt over them and spun to face other attackers, but they seemed to be keeping their distance from all of the musketeers save the one Aramis grappled with on his back. Finally, Aramis was able to flip the man over his head and slam him back first into the ground where he continued to lay, thoroughly winded.
"Keep in a circle," Aramis ordered as the five of them crept sideways like some strange crab, backs to each other and swords out. They broke briefly to envelop Roderic, who was bracing one of the injured soldiers so he could stand, and they left as a group at the pace of their limping comrade. Upon clearing the bastion's entrance, the rapports of several muskets sounded, two men fell dead from their circle, and the others scattered in wild sprints for their camp. D'Artagnan shouldered the other side of the injured guard and he and Roderic tried to speed him along only for him to give a choking cough. Roderic immediately flinched away and dropped him, his face streaked with the spat blood from the now deceased soldier. Aramis came up behind them and pushed them both forward, almost making them fall, and the three tore off in the direction of a closer copse of trees rather than risk the travel across the battlefield. Hidden amongst the trunks, they stopped briefly enough to catch their breath, bent in double with hands on their knees or leaning against the wood. Then they continued along the roundabout route to the back of the King's camp with ears strained for any suspicious sound and no words shared. Upon arrival, Aramis and D'Artagnan parted ways with Roderic, who resisted Aramis' attempts to examine him and assured them both that he was unharmed save for a few likely cuts and bruises. Neither took note of his tightly clenched fists nor how tense his voice sounded as he bid them 'au revoir' and they walked back to D'Artagnan's tent.
"Aramis, what is it?" D'Artagnan palmed a hand through his own brown locks tiredly. "I know this was an undeniable disaster and we lost good men, but I am sure those who ran made it back." Aramis shook his head, cross his arms over his chest and walked on with a thoughtfully, furrowed brow. D'Artagnan kept pace with him, shooting him curious and concerned looks as he remained as mute as a statue. They arrived at his tent and noticed a sealed wooden box left by his bedroll and valise. There was a letter on top with his name written in pretty, flowing hand and the Gascon went pink to his ears, snatching up the letter and tucking it away.
"D'Artagnan, did you notice any of our fellows acting odd on the ship?" Aramis asked suddenly, startling the boy. D'Artagnan stared at him.
"What do you mean by odd? There were some who were uncomfortable with flying, I suppose, and a couple who took ill—"
"No, that is not it. I mean anyone who looked or acted out of place, awkward, ill-belonging." D'Artagnan thought for moment, sitting on his mystery crate and trying to remember anyone as Aramis described, then gave an apologetic shrug.
"With all that happened, I can't remember much right now, Aramis." Aramis nodded pensively, reaching up and rubbing his chin with his forefinger and thumb.
"What are you thinking, Aramis? The same person who ruined Athos' gear tried to blow up the ship? It was the English who we fought!"
"No, D'Artagnan, but the English did not turn the flamethrower on me and try to roast me while they wore a blue tabard," stated Aramis quietly, peering out suspiciously between the closed tent folds before turning back to his young friend.
"I am starting to believe we may have blatant targets on our backs."
"Well, that's no surprise!" exclaimed D'Artagnan. "The Cardinal—"
"Richelieu can be much more subtle that this and certainly more political." Aramis went to continue, but they were interrupted by the arrival of their two rather windblown friends.
"You two all right?" Porthos asked, squeezing Aramis' shoulder in a brief demonstration of concern as he was closer to their entrance. Aramis nodded and gestured over to D'Artagnan.
"You gentleman are just in time. We were discussing who may be trying to murder us in the most inconspicuous ways possible."
"What happened?" asked Athos, regarding him sternly as if daring him to evade details.
"Aramis says that one of the musketeers on the ship with us turned the flamethrower on him in the midst of the English attack," said D'Artagnan. "I did not see a thing, but I was a bit little occupied at the time." Athos looked Aramis up and down to gauge for himself that the younger man was unharmed from the attack then nodded to himself.
"So it seems we have a would-be assassin in the ranks," he said lowly, eyes darting around to check for odd shadows showing against the tent cloth. "Aramis, you are certain it was someone with a musketeer's uniform?"
"Absolutely," said Aramis coldly. "D'Artagnan, you mentioned the Cardinal before Athos and Porthos arrived—"
"Yes, and you said the attacks were too obvious to be him!" interrupted the boy.
"However, you may be partially right in thinking as you did. The Cardinal has an issue with us; he may have bought off one or more of the men." All three turned to Athos at this point as he finished his voiced thought.
"We cannot just go to Tréville and tell him that there's a traitor in the ranks," growled Porthos, "Not without any proof to give him."
"This traitor is our business, not the captain's," stated Athos. "Provided they do not kill any other men when trying to dispose of us, we should try to solve this problem ourselves and keep others' involvement to as little as possible. Agreed?" The other three Inseparables shared a brief look of consideration with each other before they nodded in acquiescence.
"For now, we keep our eyes and our ears open for anything that may lead us to this man or men," said Aramis. "We do not confront them alone." Here he looked directly at D'Artagnan, who looked away, then continued: "We will confront them together and discover what they hold against us."
"And if they're working for the Cardinal," reminded Porthos. "And if they are then we give them to Tréville, confession and all."
"And if they're not?" asked D'Artagnan quietly, looking between his three mentors. The silence they refused to break was more than enough to answer his question and he lowered his gaze to the ground.