Athos watched Madam Dupre walk down the four steps at the front of the house. She was unaccompanied. The area was not safe for a woman alone, at least not a woman who was unsure of herself. But Dupre walked with confidence. She was wearing a dark, hooded cloak, but she was not using the hood to hide away. She was a woman who was not to be messed with.
Athos followed her at a distance. He was impressed with the way her manner changed as she went from the poorer area to a much richer, affluent area. Her gait became more refined, more ladylike. She stepped lightly around obstacles rather than striding with purpose. Ahead of her, a man watched her approach. Athos shook his head as he recognised the squat form of one of the courtiers. One of the men who was forever fawning around the King. They had suspected it would be a senior courtier. Seeing Baron Cote slip his arm around Madame Dupre's waist and lead her to the door of an expensive hotel was not surprising. The squat man held the door for Madame Dupre before he followed her into the hotel.
They disappeared inside. Athos quickened his pace in time to see them ushered into a ground floor room. Happy to take advantage of his luck, Athos crossed the road and slipped along the narrow alley at the side of the hotel. He stopped by the small window that opened out from the room the pair were in. A curtain had been drawn across the window giving Athos the ability to ease it open. There was no breeze, and the day was not chilly enough for the pair within to notice a temperature change.
Athos listened to the conversation.
'Lost his commission?' said Baron Cote, the annoyance causing his voice to rise.
'We knew it would happen. He has not been interested in the garrison for weeks,' replied Madame Dupre. 'We've been watching for a likely candidate. It was only a matter of time-'
'But the whole point was to have him able to give you up to date changes to schedules that I am not a party to. The man's useless now. Get rid of him.'
Athos waited for a response from the woman, but none came.
Baron Cote chuckled; Athos could imagine his plump cheeks reddening with the effort.
'You've got a thing for him. A handsome chap I'm told,' the Baron paused. 'Well, I suppose you're entitled to your fun.'
'I am human after all,' remarked Dupre. 'Although I cannot see him lasting much longer. Carlos will kill him sooner or later. It seems his eternal jealousy means my lovers are all short-lived.'
Athos wondered how many men there had been before Aramis.
'The price you have to pay to keep Carlos around,' remarked Cote.
Athos had heard enough. He needed to get back to the garrison and inform Treville and Porthos that they knew who the financier was. All they lacked was some sort of proof. They were a step closer to finishing the mission. But they were still missing what they needed to end it completely.
MMMM
D'Artagnan was starting to wonder, on the few occasions his thoughts straightened out if he was ever going to be freed from his torment. His thoughts were switching from the pain he was in, to what might happen next, to the mysterious little girl, and back to the pain. He was sure he had imagined the little girl. Was she some memory he had conjured? Had he wanted someone to save him, despite his part in the mission requiring him to endure the horrors of whatever Dupre and her gang did to him. Was the little girl an angel sent to offer him some comfort?
He pulled his head back as the prongs dug into him again. He could feel trickles of blood on his neck and chest. He wondered if the only thing holding him upright were the chains and manacles that were digging into his wrists.
A creak outside the door did not cause him to move. D'Artagnan mused that in the time that he had been in the room alone, he had learned not to react to the small noises of the house. He did tense up when the door was opened. The darkened room was filled with light. He blinked as someone entered carrying a lantern.
'I'm sorry,' said Aramis, his voice filled with regret.
D'Artagnan could not see his friend. He watched the light on the ceiling, it appeared to be centred where the table in the corner of the room was. He could hear Aramis approaching him. Feel his hands on his shoulder.
'I don't care if this annoys them,' Aramis continued. 'I'm taking this off you.'
D'Artagnan did not try to complain. He did not care about the mission at that moment. The thought of being free of the horrific device that was strapped to his neck was all-consuming. He kept still as Aramis eased the buckle of the strap loose.
'Keep your head tilted, the prongs... they're in you.'
D'Artagnan could not help hissing in pain as Aramis eased the fork from his chin and chest. He heard it clatter to the floor. Aramis' hands were on him, supporting his head and neck, gently easing him back into a normal position.
A water skin was pressed to his lips.
'Just a few sips,' said Aramis.
D'Artagnan obliged his friend, finding his throat ached as he swallowed.
'What-'
'Shh,' admonished Aramis. 'Something's happened to change things again. I don't know what. But Treville stripped me of my commission when I went to muster. I don't know why. It puts you in more danger. I'm no use to them now... at least not to most of them.'
D'Artagnan could guess what Aramis was inferring and see that he despised it.
'I think, they'll push some of their plans forward... d'Artagnan, I can't find the man's name. I've tried to get Dupre to tell me, but she's won't and I know Carlos won't talk. There's nothing in the main room that seems to link to whoever it is... I've searched through... her... personal papers... but there's nothing. I'll try again, I think she may leave me alone... next time she... I think. we should abandon the plan. It's getting too dangerous.'
D'Artagnan wished Aramis was able to accept that what he was doing with Madame Dupre was nothing he needed to be ashamed of. As unpleasant as that aspect of the mission was, it was proving to be essential to Aramis' continued position within the gang.
'No,' said d'Artagnan, annoyed that his voice was not stronger.
'You can't take much more,' said Aramis.
He absentmindedly pulled out a handkerchief, dampened it and started to clean the wounds on d'Artagnan's neck.
'Stop,' d'Artagnan managed to say. 'You shouldn't... be helping... me.'
Aramis paused what he was doing. A look of confusion crossed his face before he realised what he had done without thinking. He pushed the bloodied handkerchief into his pocket.
'Keep going... for now,' d'Artagnan said, continuing quickly when Aramis went to speak, 'try to buy a bit more... time... You may still find the name.'
Aramis sighed, d'Artagnan wished there was more he could say to appease his friend.
'There was a... little girl here.'
Aramis looked at him for a moment with confusion before shaking his head.
'No. There's a young lad. Poor thing,' Aramis said. 'I don't understand why he stays here. There's no other children.'
D'Artagnan began to think she had been a figment of his pain-filled imagination.
Footfall in the corridor caused Aramis to look around. D'Artagnan watched his friend sigh before straightening up and turning back to him, a regretful look in his eyes. D'Artagnan saw the lie put back in place, the charade began afresh.
'What are you doing here?' asked Carlos as he stepped into the room.
'I know the damage that device can cause,' replied Aramis without a pause. 'I wanted to make sure he was still alive and that there was something left to be tortured.'
Carlos sneered, 'trying to make yourself useful?'
D'Artagnan's eyes drifted down to Carlos' hands. He was holding a whip. He knew his friend would have seen it and was probably trying to come up with a reason to stop them from hurting him further.
Aramis took a couple of steps towards Carlos who squared up to him. Carlos was a little shorter than Aramis, but his broad-shouldered frame meant he was heavier. D'Artagnan remembered the bruises the man had caused the first time he and Aramis had fought. Boivin and the other thug with them reached out and pulled Carlos back a couple of paces.
'Remember what Madame Dupre said,' remarked Aramis with a sneer of his own. 'I'm not to be hurt.'
Carlos shook himself free of the other men, 'only until she grows bored of you. Enjoy it while it lasts. I'll have my chance to show you that all that fancy soldiering don't mean nothing when it comes to a proper fight.'
The two men glared at each other for a few seconds before Aramis stalked off.
'Make sure to keep her bed warm...' called Carlos.
Boivin chuckled, 'he'll be gone in a day or so. She'll probably let you kill him. You could use the fork on him.'
Carlos scooped up the Heretics Fork from the floor. D'Artagnan caught a glimpse of his blood on either end, and dripped across the leather strap. Carlos looked at him for a few seconds. For a horrible moment, d'Artagnan wondered if he might strap it back on to him. Instead, he tossed it onto the table in the corner of the room where a lantern sat. The light of the lantern seemed to highlight the fresh blood.
'Get him ready,' ordered Carlos as he undid his doublet and shrugged out of it.
Boivin and the other man, the dirty one, advanced on him. He wanted to struggle but he felt too weak. They pushed a rag into his mouth and forced him to turn around. Every part of his body complained. His neck ached where he had been stuck in the same position for however long that had been, and the bruises from his first beating screamed as they manipulated him. The cold metal of a blade pressed against the back of his neck before the sound of ripping and the feeling of tugging on his filthy shirt. They tore and cut the shirt off him, leaving a few rags hanging from his shoulders and arms. His back was exposed.
'We'll each take a turn,' he heard Carlos instruct, 'that way the marks will remain consistent.'
He could hear movement behind him. He had no idea which of the men was going to wield the whip first. It did not matter; it would hurt just as much. He had never been whipped before, but he could imagine what it would feel like.
As the first lash landed, he knew what it felt like.
The men did not relent. They did not pause between each stroke of the lash. He barely had time to take a breath. The gag muffled his cries of pain and prevented him from saying anything he knew he would regret. He could not think well enough to maintain his character. Although he was sure Comte Reis would have been reacting in the same manner.
The lash struck his back and seemed to ripple across his skin before curling around his side and flicking a last pinching strike with the tip of the leather strip.
He was aware of a couple of momentary pauses. He guessed that was the men swapping places, handing the lash over to the next person. D'Artagnan wondered if they were enjoying themselves. Did they get pleasure from inflicting pain on other people?
He lost the ability to support himself, his knees buckled, and he slumped. The only thing holding him up was the manacles around his wrists. The manacles that were digging into his skin.
His shoulders hurt.
Did they hurt more than his back?
Or his neck where he had been left with his head tilted back?
He was not sure.
His whole body hurt. He did not want to be part of the mission anymore.
As his vision turned from grey to black, he wondered if he would wake up again. Perhaps this was it. This was the gang's plan. This was the painful way they were going to kill their captive.
MMMM
Porthos had wanted to give Aramis some good news. To tell him that as they knew the identity of the financier the undercover aspect of the mission could end. But they still did not have enough information. They had no proof. Baron Cote would deny the accusation and as Treville was not a particular favourite of the King at that moment it would only further dim the King's view of him. They needed something to prove the link between the gang and the Baron. And still, only Aramis was in a position to find it.
The morning air was bracing as Porthos walked towards the rendezvous. Under normal circumstances, Porthos would have welcomed it, but he was in no mood for bracing, refreshing air. All he wanted was for the danger that his two friends were in to be ended. They did not know what was happening to d'Artagnan or how shaky Aramis' place within the group was. Porthos had to push down the fear that Aramis had been killed overnight and would not make the rendezvous.
He reached the corner of the marketplace. They had picked somewhere that it would not be out of place for them to come across each other. They could not make it obvious they were meeting purposefully. The disgraced former Musketeer would be no friend of a serving soldier.
Porthos patrolled up and down the covered side of the market square. He was behind some of the stalls in a quieter area. He watched Aramis appear around the corner. They made eye contact and scowled at one another, their characters already in place. Aramis maintained the eye contact longer than Porthos was expecting before he undid the top two buttons of his doublet. Porthos nodded. The signal meant that Aramis was not alone and could not speak freely. Porthos suspected his friend was being followed. The rest of the gang were probably still suspicious of him, perhaps more so now that he had lost his commission. They were probably wondering if Aramis would try to get back into Treville's good books by admitting what he had been doing with the gang.
As Aramis got closer, he changed his direction and walked straight towards him. Porthos stood his ground and continued to glare at Aramis, resting his hand over his sword.
'You should leave Paris,' said Porthos with menace. 'You should leave this all behind, you don't deserve to even be in the city.'
Aramis stepped closer to Porthos, shaking his head, 'what's it to you? You proved you have no loyalty to your friends.'
Porthos allowed Aramis to push him against the wall. Aramis nodded his head to the right, indicating the direction he had travelled from. Porthos nodded his understanding before shoving Aramis back, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning him around to pin him to the wall. Porthos was firm enough to knock the air from Aramis, who pretended to be stunned for a few seconds. The moment of supposed weakness gave Aramis a chance to thrust a note into Porthos doublet before he pushed him away. Porthos took a step away but kept Aramis pinned to the wall. He hated what he was about to do, but their fight had to look real. He fisted his hand and punched Aramis, pretending to take advantage of his friend's momentary disorientation. The strike caused Aramis to stumble to the side. He rallied himself and stepped up to Porthos to fight back. He grabbed a fist-full of Porthos' doublet and tried to push him back, but Porthos stood his ground.
He was grabbed from behind and pushed away. Porthos managed to prevent himself from falling to the floor. As he twisted back around, he pulled his gun before he could raise it he was kicked on the arm, sending the gun skittering away. He scrambled up and was about to retaliate against the man he knew to be Carlos, but spotted Aramis shaking his head. Porthos realised what his friend meant. If he continued to fight back, Aramis would have to join in. The fight between him and Aramis had only been half the force they could have used on each other. Any fight involving Carlos would have to be forceful. As much as Porthos hated doing it, he turned and walked away, scooping his gun up as he went. He glanced back and made a dismissive gesture towards his friend and Carlos as he went. Before he turned away he was pleased to see Carlos laughing at him. Porthos was more than happy to accept a defeat if it meant Aramis remained safe amongst the thieves and cutthroats of the gang.
He walked on for a few minutes, heading back towards the garrison. Once he was sure he was not being followed by Carlos, he pulled the note from his pocket. He found two sheets of paper. One was neatly folded with a broken seal on it, the other was a torn piece of parchment. Aramis' usual careful handwriting was untidy and hurried.
Porthos read as he walked.
'D'Artagnan has been hurt. They've tortured him, as we expected. I think they're going to want to kill him later today. Whatever the reason for my losing my commission has not helped the matter. I know you must have had a reason, but it's been detrimental to d'Artagnan.
I found this in Dupre's belongings. If she realises it's gone, she'll know it was me.
Baron Cote.
Arrest him and put an end to this. Please. I'm not sure how much longer I can hold them off killing d'Artagnan.'
Porthos looked at the second piece of paper. A message from Madame Dupre to Baron Cote. A list of potential dates. There were no other details. But it was a link between the gang and the Baron. Aramis had managed to supply the proof they needed.
MMMM
Athos listened as Porthos gave his update. His friend had given both him and the Captain the nod as he walked back into the garrison yard. They had followed him up to the Captain's office. Porthos was wound up, and a little dishevelled.
'I had to hit him,' he said. 'I had to hit my best mate so that his lie would remain intact.'
Porthos shook his head.
'But we have what we need now,' said Treville, looking up from the letter and the note.
Porthos nodded but did not look placated. Athos had every sympathy for his friend. They all struck out occasionally at each other, although generally, it was in jest, not anger. But to have to strike a friend as part of a mission was not pleasant.
'Can we go and get them?' asked Porthos with a glance at the door. 'Can we finish this... this farce of a mission?'
Treville nodded but held up his hand to stop Porthos storming off.
'Yes, but not just yet. I need to make sure we have Baron Cote in custody first,' he said. 'I will take Pierre with me, he's fast. Once I am done at the Palace, I'll send him to you at the gangs base.'
Athos nodded, 'can we brief the other men now?'
Treville nodded again, 'yes, they will need to know what is happening before we take the gang. Brief them on the way and whilst you wait for Pierre. When you are given leave to attack, make it swift and decisive. I want as many of the gang captured as possible. But,' he paused to underline his point, 'Madame Dupre and Carlos, the leaders, are the most important. If they get away, they will only cause problems elsewhere.'
'Agreed,' said Porthos. 'I have a bone to pick with Carlos anyway.'
Treville smiled and nodded, 'this has been a difficult mission. But it is nearly over.'
'Be quick with your arrest, Captain,' said Athos. 'We do not know how much longer d'Artagnan has, or how strong Aramis' place is within the gang.'
With his grim words hanging in the air, the three Musketeers parted. They were ready to put the final part of the mission into action.
MMMM