A few weeks later, Constance found herself in the Garrison, delivering some clothing needed by the Garrison, courtesy of her husband, when she ran across Porthos, Athos, and Aramis sitting at the Garrison table.
"Where is our trouble magnet?" She asked.
"Running an errand, Madame," Aramis replied.
"Good thing too. He was drivin' us crazy with more questions." Porthos said.
"He does seem to be in rare form today, doesn't he?" Athos asked.
Aramis noticed Constance's puzzled look, so he volunteered: "Well, the truth of it is, we were running down a litany of annoying habits the young Gascon seems to have. The list contains, but is not limited to, his habit of slamming doors and drawers shut" (Porthos: "oh yeah- why simply shut a door quietly when you can slam it? Why walk across a floor when you can pound over it like an elephant?!"); "and the current topic of conversation, the boy has a habit of rapid-fire questions about everything from foods to Paris life to our grandfathers…really, it seems he cannot help himself."
'Don't forget his god-awful eating manners," Athos thought to add. No one noticed it, but Porthos didn't smile at that comment.
"Typically it's followed by us calling him by his new nickname 'Question', followed by an urgent plea from us to, well, keep quiet," Aramis continued.
"The plea usually comes in the form of a 'Shut the hell up' from one or the other of us," Athos added.
"Oh yes," Aramis replied, laughing. Then he caught Constance's withering gaze, and he quickly righted himself, adjusted his collar, and added, "…which was wrong to say, of course…"
Constance began to sit down at the table. Everything about her demeanor and set of her posture told the three of them that a scolding was imminent.
"So what you're saying is if that boy isn't wielding a sword, or shooting a musket, you have no use for him, is that it? Let me tell you something about that boy. Whenever I can, I cook for him, and invite him to join us for dinner. This doesn't always go over well with Jacques, so I try to do so whenever my husband is away on business and since it seems the lot of you can't be bothered to invite him out, I reckon someone has to feed him!"
That got a few guilty gazes- this was a subject they had discussed before.
"The topic of conversation is invariably the three of you- I have to endure meal after meal of 'oh! Aramis said the most clever thing today!', or 'Porthos is amazing- he showed me an incredible wrestling move today!', or 'Athos this' and 'Athos that'- so help me God, there are times that I need to excuse myself from the table, for fear of rolling my eyes in his face because of his going on and on about the three of you.
"He adores each one of you so much, and looks up to all of you. So if I hear that when he comes to you for advice, or any sort of information a young man new to Paris may need to know, well, forgive me, but I do not find berating him and telling him to 'shut up' amusing."
The three remorseful looks Constance was now staring at told her everything she needed to know.
"We'll do better, we swear, Madame," said Aramis.
"See that you do. Do you know what he asked me the other night? Another night he was left to his own devices, I assume? He asked me-"- Constance was suddenly smiling- "apologies, he just looked so cute asking it- he asked, 'Constance, may I ask- um, well, I was wandering around last night, and, er, um- what goes on on Rue de Rose?'
"I said, 'Rue de Rose? Rue de Rose? You stay off of Rue de Rose! Someone who looks like you, walking unescorted on Rue de Rose?'"
"They'll think he's a prostitute," Porthos said.
"'They'll think you're a prostitute', is exactly what I said to him! He looked at me and suddenly his face changed in recognition and he said. 'Oh, now that makes sense…' meaning that he was probably propositioned. Thank God something serious didn't occur!
"So wouldn't it be nice if he had someone- oh, say, the three of you- could help him when he has questions, instead of- telling him to shut up? Really?!- To keep him out of more trouble? But I suppose that's too much to ask- after all, he is so very annoying when he has the audacity to look to the three of you for answers!"
Aramis was shaking his head. "It's bad enough he's a trouble magnet; it would be worse if we didn't do what we could to educate him on the ways of Paris to protect him."
"What's this?" D'Artagnan, who suddenly appeared, asked.
Everyone startled, and then promptly gathered themselves.
"Nothing. I was just leaving," Constance said. "Unless these three invite you to dinner, perhaps I'll see you later?" Constance then diverted her gaze from D'Artagnan to the three men.
"But I agree about the pounding walk and slammed doors," she smiled as she threw a glance at the three of them, and then was off to go home.
A few weeks later, the Musketeers were tasked with escorting Privateer Emile Bonnaire from Le Havre to Paris. After spending some time at Athos' mansion, D'Artagnan noticed how Athos was wrestling with something- his past? He could not be sure.
Porthos ruined Aramis' fine needlework trying to rip Bonnaire's head off with the realization that his 'cargo' was people. It was Aramis' decision that they break up the arrival to Paris and the Palace, to deliver Bonnaire, so that Porthos could mend some more. Porthos insisted, "I can ride", but Aramis was more insistent.
"The Garrison Auxiliary is half way from here to Paris. We will make for the Auxiliary where you can take a rest, then we can continue to Paris."
The Auxiliary was a way station of sorts for Musketeers to train for missions of a particular covert or sensitive nature, away enough from Paris to provide the necessary privacy the mission may call for.
Once Athos announced to D'Artagnan in the field that he had some business to attend to in the village, he instructed the boy to go on with Porthos, Aramis and Bonnaire. He said that he would meet them all at the Auxiliary as soon as possible. Then they would all make it to Paris together.
After Athos' mansion lay in flames, and D'Artagnan vowing to keep the secrets that his mentor lay bare to him after saving his life, the boy made his way back to Aramis, a still wounded Porthos, and Bonnaire at the Garrison Auxiliary building. Luckily for him, Aramis had mentioned its location in passing prior to departing to search for Athos; if he had not, he would not have been able to leave Athos (which he was hesitant to do anyway) because Athos knew where it was from past missions.
For his part, before he left to do some additional recon on his still very live wife, first Athos stopped by the cottage off to the side of his now ruined home. In the cottage, spared by the flames, he found clean clothes, and even was able to indulge himself of a nice bath, thus allowing him to clean himself of not only the grime and soot, but the lingering feeling of loss and shock.
D'Artagnan reunited with Aramis late that evening. Aramis was livid.
"Where have you been?" D'Artagnan had never seen his new friend so angry.
D'Artagnan realized he never informed Aramis where he was going- at some point, he had found himself back on his horse, and something he wasn't certain he could name had him going back in the direction of Athos' home. He truly felt at the time that he would turn back and return to join Aramis and Porthos on their way to the Auxiliary building, but somehow as his concern for Athos rose, he realized he kept going. Once he saw smoke on the horizon, he realized he forgot all about Bonnaire, and he was literally in a race towards Athos' home.
It was only now, in front of Aramis, that technically, he went absent without leave, a term our fair readers may be familiar with; at the time of our story, however, it was known as one terrible thing- desertion.
"I'm waiting for an answer!" This was so unlike Aramis- he could always count on for being the compassionate, understanding one. But he was furious.
"I- I'd rather not say," was all that D'Artagnan uttered.
This only fueled Aramis' rage.
The boy was suddenly struggling to recall exactly what Athos had asked him to keep private- was it simply his past history, or all of it, including the fire?
He thought Athos may have said that he should say nothing about 'any of this', so he felt he had better keep silent about the fire as well. He thought. It was hard to keep his thoughts straight, however, as Aramis yelling at him was certainly throwing his mind off.
"I beg your pardon? D'Artagnan. You left me with no cover, a wounded Porthos, and a crafty Bonnaire. What if that slimy devil decided to take advantage of the situation, and attempted to escape? He knew that I couldn't leave Porthos alone. So I ask you again- where did you go off to? And by the way, you reek of- of smoke! Were you in a fire? Where were you? And think very hard about making sure you tell me the truth."
"I'm sorry, Aramis- but I- apologies. I can't-I mean, I'd rather not say…"
Aramis was incredulous, shocked at D'Artagnan's response; but more than anything, he was still seeing red.
"I'm not asking if you were in a fire; clearly, you were. Were you hurt? Was anyone hurt?"
D'Artagnan did not want to repeat himself, so he simply nodded no.
"Here is what you're going to do. See if you can find some new clothes somewhere in this house, go down to the lake, get yourself washed out of that soot, then keep watch over Bonnaire and DO NOT MOVE until you're told. Do you understand?"
D'Artagnan said, "Yes, Aramis- apologies for-"
"I don't want to hear another word from your mouth unless it is an explanation for your behavior last night."
D'Artagnan began to leave, not wishing to disobey Aramis again.
As he was leaving, Aramis said, "Treville will have to be told. This was desertion on your part, the most serious of offenses while on a mission."
That stopped D'Artagnan in his tracks.
"Aramis. Please!"
"Tell me what happened last night, and perhaps I won't have to. If there is some sort of explanation, perhaps we can sort it out and keep this between us."
D'Artagnan froze; then he lowered his head, said "Apologies," then walked off.
Aramis seethed. Part of it was that this was the first time that D'Artagnan had disappointed him. Perhaps he was a bit more immature than he was giving him credit for. Had he secretly made some friends around his own age since he had come to Paris that they didn't know about, that perhaps had led him down a bad path? If so, had they all gotten in some sort of trouble last night that the boy was ashamed to admit? He hated how he now had doubts about the boy he had become so fond of.