D'Artagnan watched the door close. Watched as the woman who had strapped the little piece of horror to his neck walked away with one of his best friends beside her. Aramis had glanced back; they had made eye contact. D'Artagnan hoped he had managed to convey that he did not blame Aramis for his predicament, but he was not sure what his expression was. He had only been stuck with his head tilted back for a couple of minutes and already he was sure he would confess to anything. The simple torture was just that. Simply. Torture.
The prongs of the metal fork were already digging into his chest and chin. He tried to keep his head back, to lean against the wall, but somehow all he wanted to do was lower his head. To straighten his neck. And he knew he could not do that.
He looked at the ceiling. He strained his eyes trying to look to his side and in front of him, but his peripheral vision was limited by the position he was in.
D'Artagnan had expected to be hurt. He had made peace with the fact he may end up with a broken bone or something that meant he would need time to convalesce. He had expected to endure the attentions of the gang.
He did not expect the woman to use one small torture device on him and simply walk away, leading his friend behind her.
Aramis had been trying to school his expression the entire time he was in the room. Aramis had looked mortified as Madame Dupre strapped the heretic's fork around his neck. D'Artagnan was glad no one had been looking at Aramis at that moment or he would have given them away. D'Artagnan was also sure before his torture had started, that Aramis looked impressed that he managed to maintain the facade he had built up. That had pleased d'Artagnan. Any sign that he had done something good in his friend's eyes always pleased him. He wanted to emulate his friends, although he was not sure he was doing so at that moment. He tried to think what each of his friends would have done if they were the ones on the receiving end of the torture. It did not take d'Artagnan long to realise they would have been doing the same as he was.
Trying to remain still. Trying not to straighten his neck. Trying not to impale himself on the sharp prongs of the fork.
A creaking noise made him move instinctively. The move caused him to hiss in pain. He concentrated on keeping his head straight for several seconds and listened for the sound. It could have been the house creaking. All buildings creaked from time to time, inexplicable noises that could be used to scare small children. His father had made up stories. D'Artagnan remembered staring at the crackling fire in the hearth, trying to discern if the creaks were caused by a ghostly presence or something more natural.
His head dipped a fraction of an inch. The pain shot through him from each pricking point of the fork. He realised he had let his mind wander. He could not. If he allowed his mind to wander, he forgot his predicament. D'Artagnan wondered how he could forget the discomfort he was in. Or was that part of the torture?
Another creak.
He tried to turn his body a little to give him a better view of the room. But he hurt from his earlier beating. The slightest movement caused the prongs to press into him. He wondered how long they would leave him. He felt his eyes closing. He was not tired. Was he?
He jerked as the pain radiated out again. Had he heard the noise again? Someone was in the room with him. But they had all left. He would have heard the door open. Something brushed passed his legs making him jerk away in shock. He hissed in pain.
'Shh...'
D'Artagnan stilled, but his breathing was quick. Was he hearing things? More creaking. He wanted to speak, wanted to know who was there. The sound they had made gave him the impression they were young. A child? Aramis had mentioned a boy that was forced to work in the house for the gang. Had the boy sneaked into the room when the evil woman was there. Had he somehow stayed behind?
The chain that was being used to keep his arms above his head clinked and moved slightly. The boy was trying to undo the chain. He heard little determined noises from the boy. D'Artagnan knew he would not be able to move the chain. It had been tightly wound around a hook by Boivin.
The room went quiet for a time. D'Artagnan's concept of time was non-existent. He did not know if he had been stuck staring at the ceiling for minutes or hours or days. He suspected it was not days, he did not think he would last that long. He would have passed out and been impaled by the prongs in his chin. Perhaps that had already happened? Was he dying? Was he dead?
A scraping sound jerked him to his senses again. The boy was dragging a chair across the room. The chair was pulled up to him. He could hear the boy climbing onto the chair. D'Artagnan wanted to tell the child not to, that it was too dangerous for him to be there.
He felt fingers on his neck. Trying to undo the strap.
'He says you will help us,' said the boy.
D'Artagnan was confused. Aramis had said the boy was about nine or ten. He was convinced the voice belonged to a younger child. Perhaps Aramis had been mistaken.
D'Artagnan tried to shake his head, tried to say 'no', tried to stop the child.
'Will you help us?'
A sound further into the house caused the fingers on the strap to stop their fruitless work.
'Sorry.'
The boy climbed off the chair and dragged it back across the room. D'Artagnan strained to see. He could not work out if he was awake or dreaming. Was he imagining things?
Had he seen a tatty brown dress? Aramis said there was a boy, he had not said anything about a girl.
The prongs dug into his chin again. He was dreaming or hallucinating. He did not know which.
MMMM
Athos looked about him. The area outside the garrison was usually busy with the overspill of soldiers. There were too many Musketeers to be able to complete all their training in the garrison yard. They often made use of the open space in front of the garrison. At times they would draw a crowd of locals watching them spar or practice their shooting. Athos was grateful only Musketeers and cadets were around at that moment. Even so, the atmosphere was one of expectation. Porthos and he had spent a bit of time spreading the rumour that the Captain had finally given up on Aramis. The most patient of leaders had been pushed to the brink by one of the original Musketeers. The other men wanted to see if the Captain would strip Aramis of his commission. They wanted to know if he would make a scene. Would he usher Aramis away to his office, leaving the soon-to-be disgraced man to walk away without the coveted Musketeer pauldron?
Porthos was talking to a couple of the cadets who had been sparring. The younger of the cadets had lunged at the other when his back was turned. The pair were lucky that there had not been a serious injury. Both were at fault, and Porthos had soundly told the pair off. They looked contrite, going as far as to apologies to each other. Before he turned away from them, Porthos made a couple of suggestions to help improve their footwork. Athos knew the telling off was for their own good, and the encouragement would help them put it behind them so they could get on with their training.
'That could have been nasty,' remarked Athos as Porthos joined him.
'Nasty,' repeated Porthos, 'Gard could have taken Ben's head off.'
They watched the two young men as they practised the footwork Porthos had described to them. The improvement was obvious straight away.
'They'll learn,' mused Porthos, 'we all did stupid things when we're training.'
Athos sighed, 'and some of us are still doing so... even if it is all a facade,' he added.
Treville emerged from the garrison and looked along the road. He gave the impression that he was looking for someone. One or two of the younger Musketeers and cadets could not hide the fact that they were watching to see what was about to happen. They were about to witness Aramis being humiliated. But Athos was sure, the men thought the Musketeer deserved what he was about to get.
'He'll be fine,' said Porthos, as much to himself as to Athos. 'He'll adapt as we go along.'
'He does not have much choice,' said Athos. 'I would have preferred to have had an update on d'Artagnan before this happened. Will you meet him at the rendezvous in the morning?'
Porthos nodded, 'even if we only get a chance for a quick conversation it will be something. I'd like to at least explain why we had to change the plan without updating him.'
Athos nodded his agreement.
Treville took a few steps away from the gate and glared along the road. Aramis could be seen in the distance walking towards them. His expression unreadable. As he got closer and took in the scene, he made two movements with his hand that would not have looked suspicious to the other men present but made sense to Athos, Porthos, and Treville. D'Artagnan's charade was working, he had been accepted by the gang as Comte Reis. The plan, at least as far as Aramis was concerned was still on course. Athos thought he caught a hint of something else in Aramis' expression, a haunted look. As though he wanted or needed to tell them more but was resigned to the fact that he would not be able to. Aramis nodded subtly to Treville who stepped towards him, his fisted hands on his hips.
'I have had enough of you,' said Treville, loudly enough to cause the activity around them to stop.
All the men were watching the spectacle unfold.
Aramis looked at Treville and shrugged with a shake of his head.
'In what way, Captain?' he spat.
'Your insolence for one thing,' replied Treville, taking a step closer to Aramis. 'But mainly for dereliction of duty.'
A couple of low gasps could be heard from the observing men. Aramis glanced around and raised his eyebrows at the audience, inviting them to continue to watch. A couple of the commissioned men turned away and pretended they were doing something else. The cadets continued to stare.
'You were supposed to be watching the small west gate this morning. Where were you?'
Aramis scoffed, 'watching the west gate.'
Porthos moved closer, Athos was a step behind.
Treville and Aramis were nose to nose. The Captain's eyes narrowed.
'You were not, Aramis. And today was not the first time you've left your post. But it will be the last.'
The Captain stepped back, he went to say something else, but Aramis moved closer to him again, pressing a finger into his chest.
'If you think you're going to take my commission,' said Aramis as he poked the Captain and pushed him a step away. 'You're wrong.'
Aramis stepped back and reached up to his pauldron; he unbuckled it and pulled it from his shoulder. He paused and stared at the Captain for a few seconds before pushing the pauldron against Treville's chest. Treville did not move. Aramis shook his head and stepped back, letting the pauldron fall. The symbol of his loyalty to the Crown and France dropped to the ground.
Porthos took a few more steps forward, pulling himself to his full height and puffing out his chest. All the things he did before a fistfight. Aramis turned his attention to Porthos.
'What? You of all people should be fed up with the way he treats us. He knows which of us he can push about. He's happy to let the noble sons get away with being drunken louts,' Aramis gestured towards Athos. 'But we have to behave and know our place because we're low born. We're supposed to be grateful-'
'I am grateful,' Porthos growled. 'And you are. You know he doesn't discriminate.'
Athos pulled Porthos back as he took another few steps towards his friend. The performance between them both was realistic. The watching men were watching wide-eyed as the two best friends become enemies. Athos disliked that the facade was believed so easily by the other men. Did they not realise how deep the friendship between Aramis and Porthos ran?
Treville stepped forward again, and bodily pushed Aramis a few steps away.
'You are no longer welcome here. Leave now, or I will be forced to have you arrested. I'm letting you walk as a favour. You've been a loyal man up to now.'
'Loyal for nothing,' said Aramis, raising his voice to make sure the other men could hear him.
He looked around at the men and smirked. Porthos tried to pull away from Athos' grip.
Aramis looked at Porthos for a few seconds. Athos wondered if the act dropped for a couple of seconds. Had the layers fallen away? The facade was back in place before anyone could have noticed.
'If you were sensible, you'd get out now, whilst you can. Before he uses you as cannon fodder whilst he dines with the nobles.'
Aramis turned on his heels and stalked away without another look back.
An uncomfortable silence fell. Treville stooped to pick up the discarded pauldron. He stared at the fleur-de-lis for a few seconds, tracing the pattern with his finger before looking in the direction that Aramis could be seen rapidly disappearing. Athos stepped forward but was stopped by a wave of the Captain's hand and a shake of his head. Treville returned to the garrison. They could see him climb the stairs to his office, still looking at the pauldron, with occasional shakes of his head.
Athos was not sure how much was an act and how much was genuine from the Captain. What they were forced to do had put both Aramis and d'Artagnan in further danger, and they had not been able to forewarn Aramis. Undercover missions were always fraught with danger, but this one seemed to have the stakes firmly against a satisfactory outcome.
MMMM
Aramis' head was filled with questions as he walked away from the garrison. Why had the Captain taken his commission? It had always been part of the plan. But he was the one that was going to dictate when it happened. Something had happened but Aramis had no idea what it was.
He turned into the road where the house the gang were using was situated. He turned his thoughts back to poor d'Artagnan who had been the victim of the cruel torture for hours. Aramis could not worry about that had happened to alter the plan when his friend was suffering at the hands of the evil gang members. Suffering at her hand. Dupre was pure evil. And Aramis was having to pretend he enjoyed her company and wanted to be with her. He realised, that now his relationship with Dupre was about his only use to the gang.
He wondered if he could keep it from them, at least for a few more hours.
As he stepped into the hallway and found Carlos walking down the stairs, he knew he could not. The right-hand man took in his appearance for a few seconds, his eyes lingering on Aramis' shoulder. He smirked.
'Madame,' he called as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
Dupre opened one of the side doors that led to the hall and stepped out. She looked at Carlos, who nodded towards Aramis. She smiled as she looked at him. Carlos scowled, but a smirk spread across his face as he spoke.
'He's lost his commission,' said the scarred man.
The comely smile Dupre had been giving Aramis changed to a sneer. The look in her eyes hardened. Aramis took a couple of steps forward, about to speak. She stretched out her hand and motioned for him to stop.
'Clearly, your insolence with your Captain led to him giving up on you,' she said. 'You were supposed to be our spy. Our go-between. Our eyes at the Palace.'
'What use are you now?' asked Carlos, barely able to hide a grin.
He moved across the hallway, menacingly. Aramis reached for his gun. Dupre stepped between them.
'He still has some uses. Things will not change at the Palace, overnight. He can still advice us, and he can still train the younger men.'
'And warm your bed,' muttered Carlos.
Dupre turned her attention to Carlos. She stepped close to him, looking up at him. Despite the height difference between them, she was the superior at that moment.
'If I hear you speaking like that again I will deal with you in a manner you will not enjoy.'
Aramis wondered what she meant by the threat. Carlos had taken it seriously and stepped back. Dupre turned back.
'As you no longer have patrols to do,' said Dupre. 'You can update me with what has been happening at the Palace, until the point that you cannot.'
Aramis nodded, 'anything, Madame,' he said, keeping his tone as charming as he could.
All he wanted was for the dressing down from the woman to be over so that he could check on d'Artagnan's welfare. Carlos was still scowling at him. Dupre sensed the animosity from Carlos was not going to dissipate. She turned back to Carlos and spoke loud enough for Aramis to hear. Aramis knew the words were as much for his benefit as Carlos. He knew the works were meant to keep him in his place. A much-diminished place since he had lost his commission.
'I will be spending some time with my Musketeer later,' she said, her meaning clear to both men. 'I do not want him incapacitated in any way between now and then. He will not be marked.'
She turned and walked away.
Carlos looked at Aramis for several seconds before muttering one word.
'Whore.'
Aramis watched the man walk away, towards the back of the house. He contemplated his somewhat reduced position within the gang. He knew he could still help them with their plan, but his worth had diminished. He suspected if he were not entertaining Madame Dupre in other ways, he would not still have his freedom. Aramis had to be grateful for that, unwelcome, bonus.
Once he was sure Carlos was gone, he hurried up the stairs.
MMMM