Sometimes, our boys get bored ...

91. A GAME OF NUMBERS

Athos, Porthos and Aramis:

One

"I am Athos, of the King's Musketeers."

His head snapped back as the blow connected with his cheekbone.

"Where are the letters!"

Two

"I am Athos of the King's ..."

A heavy palm slapped the other side of his face.

Three

"I am Athos of the ..."

A kick to his ankle.

oOo

Sometimes, they were captured. Sometimes it was a diversion. The latter was the case this time.

They had drawn straws, as they did when the game was on. Athos had lost. Still, they would be close by, as they always were when such a deception was underway.

Athos left them in the tavern and made his way to the docks.

Four

"I am Athos of ..."

His head was yanked back.

"Where are the letters, damn you!"

There were no letters. It was part of the subterfuge. Perhaps they should have thought this through a little more thoroughly, he thought, as he retched.

Feigning unconsciousness always bought more time.

Still, where were they?!

Ten

"I am Athos ..."

Hell's Teeth, that hurt.

Fifteen

"Go to Hell."

That seemed to annoy them.

He spat blood on the floor beside him; the ropes that tied his wrists to the arms of the wooden chair chafing.

His assailant stepped back.

The other one rolled up his sleeves.

Athos sighed inwardly and rolled his eyes, adjusting the modulation in his voice.

That seemed to annoy them too.

Twenty five

He ran his tongue over his teeth, tasting the familiar copper taste of a split lip.

No loose teeth yet, but tensing his stomach muscles against the onslaught now hurt as much as the actual blows.

Thirty three – Where The Hell Are You!

He kept counting during the decreasing intervals between their attentions until a noise outside made him straighten, the ache of their various blows thrumming through him.

"My name is Athos," he grunted. "And you are about to meet Porthos."

The door suddenly burst open.

In the ensuing flurry of noise and yells, Athos ducked his head. As silence descended, he tentatively raised it and glared at Aramis, who strode forward, knife in hand.

"How many did you get to?" Aramis asked, not meeting his eyes, as Porthos checked the dead; kicking weapons aside.

"Fifty Eight," Athos growled.

Aramis winced, as he cut through the bindings.

"Our apologies," he said. "All the buildings look alike. Let's get you back to the Infirmary."

"No harm done," Athos hissed sarcastically through his split lip as he stood up; vision dimming as he stumbled back against the wall and slid down.

Not much.

Aramis crouched in front of him, reaching out his hand to examine a cut in his hairline.

"To be fair, that's fewer than last time," he said. Their game was rather prone to unexpected circumstances.

"That is not a consolation," Athos hissed as he spat another mouthful of blood on the floor, narrowly missing Porthos's boots.

oOo

Later: The Infirmary:

One

It was a game they played when they knew Athos was running out of patience. How long would he endure Aramis's ministrations before he retreated.

Two

In the early days, Athos would shove unwanted hands aside, not wanting a protracted inspection of his hurts.

Later, he had learned that if not now, then at some point in the future Aramis would always have his way. That did not mean, however, that Athos would tarry longer than absolutely necessary.

Eight

A cloth was pressed into his hands.

"Hold that against your mouth," Aramis said, calmly.

Ten

Athos's lip protested at the sudden cold.

Twelve

Aramis threaded his needle.

Fourteen

The needle pierced his skin. "God damn it, Aramis!"

"Sorry."

Finally, Aramis stood and rolled down his sleeves.

"How many did you get to?" he asked his glowering friend.

"Twenty four," Athos replied tersely.

"You're gettin' better," Porthos said, from across the room.

"More than last time," Aramis agreed, amiably. "Seven, wasn't it?"

"About that," Porthos nodded, sagely, when Athos failed to respond.

To Aramis, twenty four was a consolation. A more tolerant Athos meant he could complete any necessary repairs and avoid the glares and shoves that often cut his ministrations short.

"Now," Aramis said, "If you could reach, say, 40, I would be very happy."

He could count on his fingers the possibility of THAT ever happening.

"Just means you might 'ave to work faster," Porthos said, reading his thoughts and obviously coming to the same conclusion.

"Perhaps," Aramis conceded. He had improved his stitching technique since knowing Athos. Perhaps he should consider sacrificing finesse for speed.

"The next time," Athos grunted, throwing his legs over the side of the cot, and moving across the room on unsteady legs, "We draw straws outside the building, not in the tavern in the next street."

"Yes," Aramis said. "Sorry about that." He had tarried with the barmaid and it had made them a little late setting off after Athos. They had skidded into the street in question, only to be confronted by a number of warehouses that all looked the same.

"Did you tell them anything?" Porthos asked. Knowing he had not, but he could not help himself winding his surly brother up further than he already was.

"I may have done," Athos replied, as he reached for the bottle of wine they had brought into the Infirmary with them.

When Porthos raised his eyebrow, Athos smiled.

"I may have told them my name," he added, raising his glass.

Porthos roared with laughter.

"However, if we are to repeat this course of action in the future," Athos added, "We should agree to bring the figure down. I would think in such circumstances, forty would be the maximum one should wait for rescue."

Aramis and Porthos both pondered the request, Aramis stroking his beard thoughtfully. He had a personal view on it.

"If we are to do so," Aramis therefore replied, "Perhaps you can bring your patience of having your hurts seen to up to, say, forty, also?"

The two eyed each other, running the figures through their minds.

"Just for the purpose of the game," Athos replied, holding his hand out.

Porthos nodded and put his hand on the top, and Aramis, who had considered his own part in this, placed his hand agreeably on the top of theirs.

"One for all," Porthos said.

"And Forty for both," Aramis smiled.

"Gentlemen," Athos said. "We have an accord."

oOo

Thanks for reading! More soon.