Athos waited as the men formed up. They looked at him expectantly. Porthos emerged from the infirmary with a confused looking Barbotin who was clutching his field medics' kit.

'We will brief you on the way,' said Athos. 'The Captain and Pierre will not take long.'

'Why was Pierre spirited away by the Captain,' asked Marc with concern.

'Because he's the quickest runner,' said Porthos as he fell into step with them. 'And we need him to get to us as quickly as possible so that we can put an end to this nonsense and get Aramis and d'Artagnan back where they belong.'

'Aramis?' said Barbotin.

'D'Artagnan?' said Luc at the same time.

Athos nodded, 'the Captain is sorry to have deceived you all. He would have preferred to brief you himself. When you hear what has been happening, he hopes you will understand.'

As they hurried through the streets towards the house the gang were staying in, the Musketeers listened to all that Athos and Porthos told them. Athos could see the shock on their faces when they realised that all the disrespectful and insolent things Aramis had been doing were a deception. The men took the news well, as Athos knew they would. They were quick to conclude that it had been right not to be told about the charade.

'We needed to act naturally,' remarked Barbotin as they neared the street where the house was. 'I was horrible to Aramis.'

'We all were,' said Luc with regret.

The big Musketeer looked guilty.

'Like Clemont said,' Athos said with a nod towards Barbotin, 'we needed you all to behave naturally.'

Luc nodded his understanding. The usually quiet man thought for a moment before saying, 'do they know we're coming, Aramis and d'Artagnan?'

Porthos shook his head, 'no. We couldn't talk when I last saw Aramis. All he was able to do was give me the letter that proved the connection. They'll know that the mission is nearly done, but they'll have no way of knowing exactly when we'll strike.'

'But,' said Athos, 'I suspect we will need to be as quick as we can. Since Treville was forced to strip Aramis of his commission his worth to the gang will have diminished-'

'Leaving both of them vulnerable,' concluded Barbotin.

Athos nodded.

They stopped at the corner of the road. Porthos indicated which house they were watching and talked them through where the entrances were. They worked out who would enter by which door and a rough plan of attack. Aramis had been able to describe the interior of the house for them, so they knew where the main rooms were. They did not know where d'Artagnan would be.

As the morning sun gained height in the sky the wait started to annoy Athos. Each second, they waited was another second that could mean the deaths of two of his friends. He was starting to consider defying the Captain's order and attacking the house before they were certain Baron Cote had been arrested. He would happily deal with the consequences if it meant his two friends were still alive. He could see Porthos was getting more and more agitated as well.

The sound of someone running along the street behind them came as a relief. Pierre, his face flushed from his sprint across the city, skidded to a stop. Porthos reached out a hand to steady the panting man who took a few seconds to catch his breath.

'Cote was arrested,' he said. 'The Captain said to go ahead. He'll join us as soon as he can.'

Athos nodded before looking to the rest of the Musketeers who were all making final checks of their weapons. Once they were all looking at him, he gave the signal. As one, they advanced on the house. As one, they prepared to wage a small war to rescue two of their number.

Porthos took the lead as they reached the front door of the tatty looking building. Athos stood back as Porthos kicked the door open. They met with no resistance in the hallway. The men spread out and started to check the rooms off the hallway. Porthos tapped Athos' shoulder and pointed to a corner of the room. A wide-eyed boy was watching them. He was crouching behind a sideboard. When he realised he had been seen, he scurried away, disappearing further into the house.

'We will see that boy is cared for,' remarked Athos. 'He will not meet the same fate as the thugs that have been keeping him here.'

Porthos nodded, 'Aramis said he hated seeing the lad being abused and not being able to do anything about it.'

Pierre and Marc emerged from one of the side rooms. Marc was straightening up his doublet.

'Two in there,' he said. 'They won't be bothering us anymore.'

Athos nodded; he knew several gang members were considered lower in the pecking order. He doubted all of them were highly trained. Most were probably unfortunate men who had fallen on hard times and were desperate. But there were some that Aramis had described as capable, most likely former soldiers.

A thud and a shout from the first floor directed the Musketeers towards their next target. Athos hoped they were closing in on the location of their friends.

MMMM

D'Artagnan was experiencing a brief flood of energy. He had been unable to stop the cries of pain as Aramis had burned him. He had been unable to stop the accusation in the look he gave his friend as the poker hissed when it touched his flesh. He knew Aramis had thought about where he was putting the poker. The burns would hurt and leave him scarred but they would not impede his movement. D'Artagnan could only hope that he lived long enough to be able to move about without feeling constant pain.

Aramis had his back to the rest of the people in the room. Through teary eyes, d'Artagnan could see looks of approval from them. Madame Dupre was biting her lip as she watched Aramis at work. Carlos was scowling, no doubt hating being forced to accept that Aramis was prepared to cause unnecessary pain to their captive. D'Artagnan knew Carlos did not trust Aramis. The fresh marks on his friend's face indicated to d'Artagnan that the two might have had another fight.

'Blind him,' Carlos said with a glance at Dupre.

The woman tilted her head in a manner that indicated for the one-eyed thug to continue.

'I've seen it done. Move the hot poker back and forth in front of his face. Even if he shuts his eyes it'll still work.'

Aramis stared at d'Artagnan for a moment before turning to look at Dupre and Carlos. Dupre smiled and nodded.

'Yes,' she said. 'No one will be able to say he did not suffer from injuries like that.'

D'Artagnan could not see Aramis' face, but the tension in his body was obvious. D'Artagnan knew they had reached the end of the deception. He knew Aramis would not do what they were asking of him. He knew Aramis would not, even if it meant their lives were forfeit. Burning his arm and chest had been one thing but to permanently disable him was another. D'Artagnan did not know what Aramis would do, but he did know he wanted to help in whatever way he could. As his friend turned back, he could see an apology in Aramis' eyes.

'Get on with it,' said Carlos.

Aramis looked back at the gang. Carlos walked forward, his hand reaching for his gun.

'Why are you hesitating?' he asked. 'If you don't do it, I will... And then I'll deal with you.'

Madame Dupre was about to say something, but Aramis made his move before she could. The supposed turncoat soldier reverted to what he was under the layers of deception.

A loyal Musketeer.

D'Artagnan blinked away the tears of pain and watched as Aramis did what he had been wanting to do since the start of the mission. He struck Carlos with the poker, hitting him across the face. The thug yelled in pain as the still-hot poker seared into his already scarred face. He pushed the poker away before trying to hit Aramis, who ducked out of the way. Boivin rushed forward and bundled Aramis away from Carlos, who took a couple of steps back reaching up to his face.

As Aramis and Boivin struggled, d'Artagnan saw that the other gang members looking towards the open door. Something was distracting them. Madame Dupre took a couple of steps forward, peering around the door before running out. The other gang members followed her, leaving only Carlos who was hissing in pain, and Boivin, who was still grappling with Aramis.

Aramis managed to get the upper hand over Boivin and smacked him into the wall. The thug's head hit the corner of the hearth, a fatal blow.

D'Artagnan noticed a quick movement from Carlos. The gang member was pulling his gun from his belt, his hand shaking with pain and anger.

'Look out,' cried d'Artagnan, knowing he was already too late.

Aramis spun around, moving to the side as he did so. D'Artagnan was sure the move saved his friend's life. The ball from the gun hit Aramis on the side, causing him to stagger back. Carlos stalked towards Aramis who rallied himself ready to fight back. The two men ended up by the table where the torturous devices still lay. Carlos pushed Aramis into the table before hitting him in the side where he was already injured. Aramis cried out before managing to push Carlos off him. Carlos pulled his dagger from his belt at the same time that Aramis reached behind him and grabbed something off the table.

The two men charged towards one another. D'Artagnan could not see exactly what happened but the pair abruptly stopped. Aramis was panting as he allowed Carlos to sink to the floor. The dagger fell from the thug's hand as he reached up to his neck. The Heretics Fork was stuck in Carlos' neck, blood pumping around it. Carlos tried to pull the fork out, but his fingers did not cooperate. He looked up at Aramis, his expression one of pure hatred. Aramis did nothing but look back at the man for a few seconds before looking up at d'Artagnan.

As Carlos slumped over, Aramis crouched by him and unhooked the keys on his belt. Carlos made a last, weak, attempt to grab Aramis with bloody fingers before falling back and remaining still. The Heretics Fork moved slightly in time with the last few beats of the man's heart before it too remained motionless.

Sounds of fighting drifted in through the open door. D'Artagnan knew it would all soon be over.

'They're here,' said Aramis as he searched through the keys to find the one for the manacles. 'It's over.'

'I would have preferred it if they'd got here a bit sooner,' said d'Artagnan before looking at the blood on Aramis' shirt.

Aramis managed a grim smile, 'it's not bad,' he said. 'Probably won't even need stitches. You're the one that needs looking after.'

D'Artagnan managed to twist his hands enough to allow Aramis to get at the locks. Aramis helped him to lower his arms. He winced as pain radiated out anew from his shoulders. He knew he was going to be in pain for a long time. He lowered his head for a few seconds and tried to roll his shoulders. Aramis rubbed at the back of his neck.

'I have things we can use to try to ease the pain,' he said.

D'Artagnan looked back up with a smile, 'and you're going to let someone else look after me,' he said.

Aramis was about to respond when a sudden movement behind him took them both by surprise.

'You filthy whore!'

Madame Dupre grabbed Aramis around the neck, wrapping her slender arm around tightly. The pair stumbled back a few paces. The move had been so quick Aramis was unable to respond. She kicked him in the back of the leg causing him to fall to his knees. Dupre remained where she was, her arm squeezing the life out of Aramis who was struggling to get the crazed woman off him. The position he was in meant he could not reach her or try to shake her off him. He scrabbled at her arm and tried to grab for her face, but she twisted out of the way.

She kneed him in the back causing him to fall forward. Aramis tried to slow his fall with one hand but still landed hard with a grunt as the air was forced out of him.

'I should never have left you sleeping in my bed,' she sneered. 'You went through the papers. You found the letter. You stole it.'

Dupre kept her arm around his neck unhindered by any further attempts by Aramis to get her off him. There was nothing he could do to stop her murderous intent.

But d'Artagnan could.

He took a couple of steps forward before having to reach out for the wall to steady himself. He thought quickly, knowing he was already on borrowed time. He knew he would lack the strength to pull Dupre off his friend. Under normal circumstances, the slight woman would have been an easy target for the tall Musketeer. But the circumstances were not normal.

D'Artagnan spotted the poker. He grabbed the rag that had been used to gag him when they whipped him and wrapped it around his hand. The poker was still hot. With his last ounce of strength, he raised the poker. His muscles screamed the burns were pulled, his neck and shoulders hurt more, but he persevered.

He knew he could not simply hit Dupre. He had no choice but to kill her. If he only managed to get her off Aramis, she would renew her attack on them. He thrust down with the poker, stabbing Madame Dupre through the heart.

The sadistic woman tightened her grip on Aramis for a second before her arms dropped to the sides limply. Her head lolled, before falling forward. She slumped over Aramis, who was taking short, gasping breaths.

Madame Dupre was dead.

MMMM