No Mercy Chapter Fifty Two.
Tréville, d'Artagnan and Emille slowly turned to face the voice. The man standing before them was adorned in a black robe. His face hidden behind a veiled hood. He wielded a pistol in each hand, both aimed towards the three men.
"So we have another three musketeers, it would seem my day just gotten better gentlemen." said the man. "Let me introduce myself gentlemen...my name is Sir Mason Welland."
Tréville stirred slightly. "Where are my two men? I do hope you know the penalty for harming or murdering any of the kings elite guard."
Welland began to cackle aloud. "Do you really think I care? we in the chateau live by our own rules, not the idiot king." "Besides I was born in England I am not French."
"You utter words that merit treason monsieur." added Tréville raising his brows. "How dare you speak of our king in that manner. English or not...if you dare commit a criminal deed you will abide by our rules."
Welland ignored the comment as d'Artagnan stirred slightly and spoke.
"I take it you know of the masquerading marguis' arrest." asked the young man.
The man turned to the Gascon, pistols still aimed. "Indeed...but he is just one of many...there are always others we can use."
Tréville and d'Artagnan side glanced each other.
"You did not answer my question." seethed Tréville. "What have you done to my two musketeers?
Even though his face was covered both men knew he was grinning by the sound of his voice.
"Let me just say they are awaiting preparation...they will indeed suffice."
"Preparation for what you deluded bastard? roared Tréville.
That moment the doors opend, two men in beaked masks entered the chamber.
Welland turned to his comrades. "Let us show our guests just what we are working on."
The three musketeers were suddenly seized, their hands pulled roughly behind their backs and tethered with leather hide binds. The beaked faced men led them into another chamber.
Tréville scanned the room. His eyes fell on what had been making the rasping sound. A long wooden rack with spiked rollers on either end, the body of some poor sole lay dead upon it, blood had congealed around the ground. More peeled off faces hung on the walls. The smell of rotting flesh filled the putrid air.
d'Artagnan winced as Emille vomited up the entire contents of his last feed.
The lad looked petrified as he was led past the rack.
The hooded man meandered to the far side of the chamber and pulled back the draped partition. He turned to the musketeers.
"May I introduce you to our new endeavour...musketeers...this is what we have been developing down here...and you men will be part of it. I am a trained physician and have been working on this in England for several years...but as you can see it is becoming a reality."
The three men watched as two men stood from a chair, they lifted up their heads slowly and glared at the musketeer captain and his two men.
Tréville and d'Artagnan stared open mouthed before swapping perplexed glances.
There stood in front of the three men was King Louis and Hubert Lavell, one of the kings advisers.
d'Artagnan uttered an uncertain gasp. "Your majesty!
Tréville stood rigid, the man unsure at the spetical before him.
Welland chuckled aloud. "This is not your king...watch closly gentlemen...like I have said...my creations are superb...I am pleased with them."
Tréville felt his stomach churn over, he had never in all his years in the musketeer regiment seen anything so despicable and heinous, dear God this had to be some bad jest.
d'Artagnan stood rigid to the spot, he swallowed hard taking in the display before him, was he about to rouse from sleep or had this all just befallen in his presence.
The young cadet Emille glanced from Tréville to d'Artagnan not knowing where to look next, the whole scenario was too much to absorb.
Welland nodded towards his comrades prompting them to reveal their true identiities.
The musketeers watched in horror as the faces of King Louis and Hubert Lavell were peeled away revealing two strange men.
d'Artagnan watched as the men placed the masks onto muslin cloths and carefully folded them over.
Tréville suddenly found his voice. "What is the meaning of this charade...it is despicable...you will hang for this...it is barbaric." he growled.
Welland chuckled. "I do not think so...this is all well planned out...we will continue to thrive."
"What do you hope to achieve by all this? asked a disgruntled d'Artagnan.
"Oh we will achieve much gentlemen...we will take over France. You yourselves were fooled by the disguises were you not.? I have even chosen men that fit the size of the two gentlemen."
"Are you telling me that these faces have been removed from people you have had murdered asked Tréville. The look of horror was etched on the musketeer captains features as he glared in disbelief at the black robed englishman.
Welland suddenly removed his hood revealing that of a man of about forty five years of age. He had shoulder length brown hair and a beard. His skin was pale. He glanced at Treville.
"I resent the word murder Tréville, these men would be glad to aid my endeavour. "It was I who created Comte de Rochefort's masquerade. The men are astrounded by my work.
Tréville tried with all his might to losen the tethers around his wrists. It was no use they were tied fast.
"You are a mad man...you need locking away in a commune...like the lunatic you are. You will not get away with such merciless atrocities." he almost spat the words into the mans face with rage.
"No Tréville I am not a lunatic as you put it. I am a physician of the future, I have been working in England for many years before coming to France, I was educated at Oxford and have read medicine for many years."
"How are you able to create the kings features without even seeing him." asked a perplexed d'Artagnan frowning.
That momnet Welland opened up a table drawer and took out a small painting of the king, he flung it down onto the table.
"That is how...I carefully create each line and wrinkle upon his face...you would never ever know one from the other. If I am lucky I manage to come by the real person I want to create."
"The real person.? muttered Tréville.
Welland nodded. "Oh yes indeed...the real face...just like this gentleman here."
He pointed to the mask of Hubert Lavell. "This is his real face Tréville...my men took him from the kings palace a week ago...when all the executions were taking place."
Tréville and d'Artagnan glanced at one another in sheer dread. Tréville stared at the man, he felt physically sick as through ready to vomit. How could that be, the palace was secured at all times.
"WHAT!...are you telling me you have killed a man just so you can experiment with your deluded masquerades? growled Tréville. You really are a mad man Welland...what would your own king Charles make of all this carnage and vicious deeds?
Welland grinned at Tréville. "They are merely aiding with future medicine man... how you fret so. Besides king Charles is a man who will understand my endeavours."
d'Artagnan and Emille swapped glances of sheer terror as they heeded Wellands words.
"Endeavour is not the word I would use Welland! muttered Tréville.
"There is one thing you cannot change and that is their voice." gasped d'Artagnan suddenly.
Welland smiled at the Gascon. "Oh that part was easy...I have men working within these walls that have a gift...a gift to have the ability to change their voices to that of any choice...even yours."
Welland turned and looked at each man in turn. "So you see gentlemen..I really have thought of everything."
d'Artagnan suddenly felt nauseous as his thoughts went to Athos and Porthos. Dear God...please say they are still alive. Inner rage took hold of the young mans emotions as his mind flooded with barbaric and ferocious images and notions.
"WHAT! have you done to Athos and Porthos...you lunatic." he roared.
Welland smirked. "I have said...they are awaiting preperation...all will be revealed anon...you patient."
d'Artagnan kicked out at the table in frustration. "If anything happens to them...I will hunt you down like a wild bore." he roared with clenched teeth.
Welland laughed aloud. "You will not be around to do anything musketeer, by the time I have finished the king will have my own men masquerading as yourselves."
Emille began to stumble slightly as the young cadet took in the gruesome words spoken by Welland.
d'Artagnan suddenly moved closer to the young man allowing him to lean against his own body.
"What ails the young man." asked Welland with a hint of mockery in his voice.
"Maybe he has heeded enough of your blood curdling ventures." replied d'Artagnan in sardonic tones.
Tréville scanned the chamber discreetly, the beaked men still stood with pistols primed. They had to get out of this some way, surly the others knew by now that they had been gone a while. He prayed inwards that Athos and Porthos were unharmed. That instant he met d'Artagnans eyeline, both men having the silent conversation in their own emotionally exhausted minds. Yes they needed to come up with a plan at haste.
The musketeers watched as one of Wellands men unwrapped the face of Hubert Lavell. Another beaked man had appeared from the next chamber and helped the man to dress. He placed the mask over the mans face and fixed it into place.
Tréville inhaled hard with the sheer disbelief of what he was seeing. The man was the exact image of the adviser himself.
Welland smiled. "You will go to the palace...and do your task as we said...remember bring me another tonight."
The man bowed his head slightly at the order and walked away.
Tréville and d'Artagnan exchanged perturbed glances, each man heeding the order given by Welland.
The musketeer captain felt helpless, almost feeble, the king could be in mortal danger and here he was with two missing men and himself and two others feeling powerless. Where was Fabére and his men in all this charade and what about Venell and his lot. He caught d'Artagnans eyeline, he knew the Gascon was thinking along the same lines as himself. The young mans eyes said it all, they had to find a way of escape.
d'Artagnan glanced towards the beaked and armed men. They had not moved from the same position. The pistols still aimed and primed at each man.
Welland caught his glance. "I see you are plotting together gentlemen...but let me inform you...you will not escape from my clutches. You may be the kings elite guard...but I also have trained markmen."
"CHAIN THEM TO THE WALL! he suddenly yelled out to his beaked men.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Chateau Courtyard.
Fabére and his men had searched the dungeons and found three dead bodies. The men who were wearing rags tied around their noses to mask the stench of rotting flesh, were now carrying the corpses towards a cart, each body was placed side by side and covered with calico sheets.
"Who was down their captain? asked Fabére's lieutenant as he approached his superior.
Fabére glanced up. "We found Sevy the servant, and his wife was in another cell, both slaughterd in cold blood. We also found one of the cooks Maliér...he was found hanged."
The lieutenant shook his head in disbelief. "It would seem our musketeer friends were right all along captain...we have been hoodwinked."
Fabére scanned the courtyard. "Talking of the musketeers...have any of them returned from the workers quarters?
The lieutenant shook his head. "I have not seen them since they went searching."
That moment Captian Venell emerged with a group of his men. Fabére turned towards them.
"Tréville and his men have not returned Venell...we should go after them, they could be in danger."
Venell smirked. "Come now man... am certain the musketeers can take care of themselves...besides after what I have heard about that workers quarters...it is not safe for anyone. I am not going to risk my men becoming embroiled in such an unknown demain. I have already lost enough men in all this fucking fiasco.
Fabére stared at the red guard captains mocking features in disbelief. "They could be in mortal danger you fool."
Venell came face to face with Fabére as he spoke he was unaware of Marcel and Derville as they wandered through the gates. The two musketeers stood heeding his words.
"I couldn't care a rats droppings for them lot...they deserve everything coming to them...the king would be better off without their regiment...they are just a hinderence to him, we are much better equipped when it comes to his safety."
"Really captain Venell...that is the best excuse I have heard from such a coward in a long time." said Marcel walking up behind him.
Venell turned sharply and eyed the musketeer. "How dare you speak in that tone to me...you mere nothing. Show respect to your superiors lad."
Marcel glared into Venells face then turned to Fabére. "We will come with you captain...your right they could be in danger."
"Treville told you to go back for more men if they did not return in a certain time did he not? muttered Fabére.
Marcel shot a glance at Derville who raised his brows and shrugged his shoulders. Marcel knew the man was right, but at this moment his Captain and his comrades had not been seen since they went into the chateau workers quarters.
"He did monsieur...you are quite correct...but I feel my captain and comrades needs are more...something is wrong. And by the time we return from the palace it could be too late."
Fabére nodded. "Very well...we will go after them...you speak wise words Marcel."
Marcel bowed his head slightly. "I just hope they are alright captain."
Venell started to chuckle aloud, his men joining in the mirth. "How my heart bleeds for your dear comrades...they are probably dead by now anyway...your wasting your time musketeers. I for one will not miss them."
Fabére suddenly turned on the red gaurd captain. "GO TO HELL! you cowardice bastard."
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
Workers Chambers:
Porthos looked up into the beaked face. "Wha' yer looking at crow features." he growled.
The man ignored the comment as he began to place a strapping around the big mans forehead, he wound it taut impeding any movement of Porthos' head. The big musketeer began to clench his teeth and breath heavily as the distress began to take hold. All the horror that himself and Athos had enjured in the last hour came flooding into his mind, dear God was he about to lose what features he had, surly they would put him out of his misery first. Of all the battles he and his brothers had fought in, this was something else, this was sinister, evil, barbaric. He could feel his own heart beating in his chest.
"Wha' do yer think yer doin' he growled as another man began sketch an outline around his face with a graphite stick.
"Leave him be you BASTARD! roared Athos as he lay flat and tethered down on the next slab. "You will not get away with this...you will all hang."
The swordsman did his upmost best to free himself to no avail. He could feel Porthos' distress as the beaked continued with his heinous deed.
lllllllllllllllllllll
To be continued...
Hiya Guys,
Thanks again for the awesome reviews. Love them!
Well are the boys going to be rescued or is this it for our brave musketeers.
Next Chapter up ASAP!
Thanks Again
Pippa xxxx
Once again I apologise for the lack of Aramis. I promise he will be in the next one. Besides I myself am missing his charm.
XX
History: Graphite sticks were used before actual pencils. Mostly used on Papyrus paper for scripts.
Artists also used them to sketch their works before hand.
.
.
.
