Chapter Sixteen: Pris.
'Did you want to tell me about last night?'
The question was far from unexpected. In fact, the only unexpected thing about it was that it hadn't been asked sooner.
Porthos averted his gaze deliberately, taking a moment to survey the offerings of a small stall selling a slim selection of root vegetables. Athos folded his arms, leant against one of the stall's wooden props that supported a thin and moth-eaten canopy over the head of the vendor. He waited patiently, knowing that pressing the matter with Porthos was going to get him nowhere and something in him worried for the larger musketeer.
Eventually, Porthos offered a forced laugh, 'There's nothing to tell.'
Athos raised an eyebrow, fixed his friend and comrade with searching eyes.
The response was a sudden darkening of Porthos' features and a few steps taken away from the stall. The former Comte De La Ferre pushed away from the stall, unfolded his arms and followed after Porthos. He was forced to halt suddenly when the musketeer pivoted.
'What do you want me to say?' Porthos asked, his tone guarded. The question might have appeared confrontational were it not for the note of guilt and self-efficacy, 'Do you want me to say that you were right? That you shouldn't have trusted me?'
There was a beat of silence. Athos seized it, 'Now…I never said you couldn't be trust-'
Porthos scoffed, gave a shake of his head, attempted a more jovial tone, failed.
'You didn't have to. No drinking and no gambling. Remember?'
Athos felt his eyes narrow subconsciously for a moment and he was about to respond when the larger musketeer gave a shake of his head and started off to the left where from D'artagnan and Aramis had just rounded a wall and were closing the distance between them with purpose.
'Look,' Porthos offered, fixing the senior musketeer with a resolute brow, 'I allowed myself to get distracted and I understand that this could have jeopardised the entire assignment. Not to mention place Paris and France in danger. I get it. But, from now on…I'm entirely focused.'
Athos gave a nod, offered Porthos a smile and was about to speak when Aramis and the young Gascon came beside them.
'Did you find anything?' Porthos pried.
'As a matter of fact…' Began Aramis, triumphantly.
He did not have the chance to continue, however, since D'artagnan decided to elaborate instead.
'Turns out that the woman Levesque saw is named Elle and has known Gaspard for years. He even took her and her mother in when she was a child.'
Aramis gave a corroborating nod, 'She apparently stayed last night at the house, but arrived in Paris five days ago and has been staying elsewhere.'
'We don't know where.'
Porthos cracked a suspicious smile, 'How did you find all that out?'
D'artagnan turned an inquisitive gaze side wards and Aramis faltered somewhat under the collective focus of his three comrades. He finally gave a shrug, affected nonchalance, 'We asked.'
Athos was about to asked him to explain further, when his focus was all of a sudden distracted by a flash of movement.
A woman had just darted from a small side street and had her sights set on the house Aramis and D'artagnan had just come from. Athos felt his brow furrow, the woman looked familiar to him, but for moments he couldn't place her. After a second or two of scrutiny, he half recognised the muddied mantle and the blue dress beneath, imagined her sprawled out on the cobblestones before him. He had offered a hand, she accepted, risen to her feet, stooped for the ledger in the space between them.
Realisation dawned and he instinctively spoke her name, calling out to her absent-mindedly.
As it happened, his comrades all had similar notions, directing their attention to the running woman and naming her in an effort to halt her.
Three distinct names leapt towards her in four distinct voices.
In all honesty, she hadn't intended to stop. She heard 'Licia' first and this summoned memories of the alleyway and the man with the ledger. She had no idea why the man from the passage was calling out to her and she really had no desire to find out. Her curiousity was piqued by the avowal of the name 'Elle' and she slowed her pace, confused at how the only man who should have known her by that name was not present. And finally, she noted the name she had given in L'auberge De Renard and this, it seemed, was enough to halt her completely.
She turned to study the men, affected innocence, pretended not to notice anything amiss about the names.
'Bonjour!' she offered spritely, watching the faces of the men before her. Athos regarded her with curiousity and suspicion, but she supposed this was fairly standard, given the circumstances.
The two men who were unnamed to her stood between Athos and Porthos. The taller of the two was handsome, his soft features and dark eyes were easily charming, the appeal effortlessly enhanced by his kindly, yet inquisitive smile. The boy to the handsome man's left was just that, a boy. Easily, the youngest of the four, he set his brow dutifully. She felt him look her up and down and with this, she got the measure of him. He did not have the pauldron nor the cloak that the others wore and his expression told her that he was eager to prove himself to his friends. There was also a sun-kissed hue to his skin, denoting the fact that he hadn't been in Paris long, possibly having spent his life up until now toiling in fields or on farms.
Lastly, she turned a hesitant gaze to the man who had called her 'Richelle'. Guilt threatened as she took in the glimmer of hostility in his burnt amber orbs and the affirmation of mistrust in his lowered brow. She offered him a genuine smile, but this did not soften his demeanour.
She turned suddenly at the scuffling sounds of boots on cobbles a little way behind her. Incomprehensible shouting rang out around the street and her heart sank. She turned back, made a conscious effort to calm herself and offered the assembled musketeers a parting nod.
'Excuse me, gentlemen, but I really can't stay. Au revoir!'
She darted for her left, but a gloved hand closed itself around her upper arm at exactly the moment that the tirade behind her became understandable with the closing of distance.
'Stop her!'
'Murderer!'
She traced the origin of the hand and found Athos to be its owner. She tried to struggle free, but found his grip unwielding.
'Let go of me!' She tried, imploring eyes finding each man in turn, but lingering longer on Porthos, 'Please! I didn't kill anybody!'
The youngest man raised an eyebrow, rested a nonchalant hand on the hilt of his sword, 'Really? And I suppose you just happened to step in blood on the street.' He nodded to the bottom of her skirts where something had borne a reddish purple stain on the sky blue cotton.
She could not help but to grimace as the musketeers collectively scrutinised the blemish in question. No sooner had they lifted their eyes, did the two men who called her murderer finally reach them. One took her other arm, but his grip was weaker than Athos' and she was able to shrug it off with little difficulty. This earned the Red Guard a silent reprimanding scowl from his intended captive.
'What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?' Athos queried genuinely, calming the situation with his well-spoken, halcyon tone of voice.
'This woman is a murderer!' exclaimed one, jabbing a finger in her general direction.
'We're arresting her for the murder of Monsieur Davin Purcell.' Explained the other.
'Release her so we can take her to the Chatelet!'
She felt a gentle pressure on her arm then and realised that the musketeer was directing her backwards. Reluctantly, she obeyed this silent instruction and soon found herself in the firm yet painless grip of the unnamed musketeer and the equally anonymous boy. She stole a moment to look on Porthos, but he seemed to be actively avoiding her gaze. She wondered if he was still bitter about the night before, or if he were merely wary of impending combat.
Athos side-stepped, coming between her and her Red Guard pursuers.
'I'm afraid that won't be possible, gentlemen. You see, she is currently in our custody. We have questions of our own to ask her.'
She was pleased to see the Red Guards half turn at Athos' well-mannered deterrence and, even though she dreaded the musketeer's imminent interrogation, she had no desire to endure the Red Guards' questions either.
'We'll see what the Cardinal says about this.' One of them seethed as they both pivoted and made their way back in the direction they had come.
She exaggerated a sigh of relief and affected a grateful smile, 'Thank you. I thought they'd never leave. Now, if you'll excuse me…'
She attempted a step away from the grip of the musketeers, but they had no desire to loose her, it seemed. She searched their faces, those of Porthos and Athos as well. There were hints of disbelief, amusement, contempt and duty among them.
She felt defeat and discomfort seize her heart as her new captors led her in the opposite direction of her desired destination.
