Authors note: Thanks again for the great comments. They mean a lot.

This one doesn't really have any whump. It's more angst.

Treville sighed, he watched Serge stalk towards the stables. The unsuspecting stable boy had his back to the cook. Young Pierre had straw in his hair and on the back of his jerkin. The lad was busy with a bucket and a stiff brush cleaning the tack from the horses. Pierre was a diligent worker with aspirations to be a soldier and eventually a Musketeer. What Serge was about to accuse him of would cause the lad to be upset, for the second time in a week.

'Apples,' said Serge as he threw the remains of the fruit at the feet of the boy. 'Don't we feed you well enough? You're ungrateful.'

Pierre looked up at the irate man who towered over him.

'It's not me, monsieur,' he said, his tone a respectful whine. 'I'd never steal from you. I love my job here.'

Serge grumbled for a few seconds before shuffling away. He paused and looked back.

'If I catch you. I'll see you're thrown out.'

The boy stared at Serge as he walked off.

Treville reached the bottom of the steps by the time Serge was back in the refectory. Pierre went back to his work. Treville could see the lad's shoulders heaving as he tried to suppress the sobs. The Musketeer Captain knew the stable boy had come from an abusive family. He had been orphaned in horrific circumstances when his father was hanged for the murder of his mother. It was Porthos who had asked if they could take the youngster on. Pierre worked as hard as the other stable boys and never shied away from extra jobs.

The cook first accused Pierre of theft two days before, when three pears were found half-eaten on the ground under a shelf. Pierre was the suspect because the brush he used on the horses was next to the remains of the sweet fruit.

'Pierre,' said Treville as he reached the crying boy.

'I've nearly finished, monsieur. I only have one more to do-'

'It's alright, Pierre. I heard what Serge said to you.'

The boy looked around; his tear-streaked face contorted in fear.

'Please, Monsieur Treville. It wasn't me...'

Treville held up his hand.

'I know, son,' he said. 'But it does look like you did it. Serge has seen something, the horse brush, that you were using and made the connection.'

Pierre sniffed a couple of times and wiped his face with the back of his hands.

The sound of a horse entering the garrison yard caused them both to look up. Porthos, who was leading his mount and stroking its nose, smiled at them. His smile faltered when he saw how upset Pierre was.

'Serge has accused Pierre of stealing fruit from the store,' said Treville. 'I don't believe Pierre would do anything like that.'

Porthos scowled and glanced at the refectory.

'Unless the real culprit is found, however, I think it will be difficult to dissuade Serge.'

Porthos was obviously upset, feeling responsible for the young stable boy. Treville wondered if he could solve the mystery and allay Pierre's fear that he would lose his job.

'Porthos,' said Treville. 'You're due a night off, would you be prepared to sacrifice it to help Pierre clear his name?'

Pierre looked at Treville with confusion.

'I want to know who the thief is as well. If one of my Musketeers or cadets is responsible, I'm not sure they should remain in my garrison. I don't care how petty the theft is, it is still theft, and,' continued Treville, 'I know that Porthos is not responsible as he was on guard duty last night and with me when the first theft occurred.'

Pierre was still sniffing. Porthos crouched beside him.

'Are you ready to turn detective?' he asked. 'We can clear your name and find the real culprit.'

'Will they get in trouble?'

Treville nodded, 'I will want to know why they are doing it.'

Pierre looked at Porthos and nodded.

'Good,' said the Musketeer. 'Now, as all the thefts happened overnight, that is when we will have to work. I think we should observe from under the stairs there.'

He pointed at the stairs that led to the Captain's rooms and office. Pierre was looking at the spot.

'Now?'

Porthos chuckled. Treville gave his Musketeer a look. He did not want Pierre to think he was being teased.

'No,' Porthos said, 'we'll wait until the evening activity has died down. So, for now, we should carry on as usual. We don't want to alert the culprit to our intentions.'

Pierre nodded his understanding and turned back to his work.

'Although,' said Treville, 'as you will likely be up late, you might want to get a few hours rest first.'

Treville had no intention of making the young stable boy ill. Pierre looked a little worried.

'But I haven't finished cleaning the tack yet.'

Treville glanced a Porthos who spotted his expression and nodded with a sigh.

'Porthos will finish it before he gets a few hours rest as well.'

Pierre thought for a few seconds before scrambling to his feet. He handed the stiff brush he had been using to Porthos and walked towards the room where the stable boys and younger cadets slept. The Captain watched him go.

'Any idea who is responsible?' asked Porthos.

Treville shrugged, 'no, but I would like them caught. Not least for Pierre's benefit.'

MMMM

Finishing off Pierre's chores did not take Porthos long. The diligent lad had been close to completing his tasks when he had been sent off for a few hours rest. After the tack was put away and Porthos had eaten and taken his own few hours of rest he met with Pierre in the yard. The stable boy was talking quietly to a couple of the horses that were ready to go out when their masters finished a briefing with Treville.

Pierre had a determined look on his face. As Porthos drew nearer, he could hear what Pierre was saying to the two horses.

'...and then I'll not be accused of things I haven't done again. I love Serge, but he can be scary when he's angry. I don't like angry people...'

He trailed off, a sad look in his eyes, threatening to overwhelm him for a few seconds. Porthos knew Pierre sometimes struggled with memories of his parents. The lad had witnessed violence when he was very young and never understood the reason for it.

'Are you ready for our mission?' asked Porthos.

Pierre gave the two horses a final stroke and nodded. Porthos glanced around the yard; there was no one else about at that time. The dusk had chased away the cadets that liked to practice their sparring. The range was quiet, and there was no one due to start or finish their daily duty for several more hours.

'Let's get ourselves hidden then.'

Pierre nodded. They slipped under the stairs. The area had become a storage spot for odds and ends that were used frequently. A few target boards for the occasions when the men practised their shooting in the yard were pushed up against the wall. Several of the straw-filled sacks that were used to cushion the fall when the men were learning how to fistfight. The sacks proved useful to Porthos and Pierre. They arranged them so that they could settle comfortably for what Porthos suspected might be a few hours of waiting. He had collected a couple of blankets as he knew it would get colder as the evening wore on. He knew he would be alright but Pierre, who had the typical skinny frame of a boy his age, would feel the cold.

'Have you done this before,' asked Pierre, sensibly keeping his voice quiet.

Porthos nodded, 'many times. It can be quite boring. But also, it can be rewarding.'

Pierre managed a smile, 'I'd like to prove Serge wrong. I don't like that he thinks I'm a thief.'

They settled to their task. A few whispered conversations helped the pair to pass the time. They remained silent and observant whilst the Musketeers were dispatched on their mission. Porthos suggested that Pierre pay close attention and he would quiz the boy after the men were gone. The few minutes of questions and answers proved to Porthos that the young boy was indeed observant.

As the hours passed by, Porthos was aware of Pierre's head nodding occasionally. He hoped the boy would not fall asleep and miss the thief. Although he also knew the thief might not strike again that night.

'Porthos,' said Pierre sleepily after another few minutes. 'Do you think it's a Musketeer stealing?'

Porthos shrugged, 'I hope not. We're all supposed to be honest. We protect the King after all.'

'Who else would it be then?'

'I wondered if it might be someone slipping in through the side entrance. Not many people know it's there and it's not always locked.'

Pierre looked across to the little-used door that led to the road that ran behind the garrison.

A few neighs and whinnies from the stables made both observers look back. Pierre sat forward, any chance of sleep claiming him gone. They watched as a dark shadow moved about in the stables. Porthos squinted trying to make out what it was. He rested his hand on his gun and tensed up, ready to confront whoever appeared. He tried to work out how the perpetrator of the thefts had come to be in the stables. Had they somehow found a way into the garrison through the stables? Or had they sneaked in earlier in the day and laid low until it was dark?

Pierre gasped when one of the younger Musketeer horses ambled out of the stable.

'Rose,' said Pierre quietly, his eyes wide. 'She's not got a permanent rider. Some of the cadets share her. They can't have closed her stable properly.'

Pierre was about to scramble up and tend to the wandering beast. Porthos reached out his hand and stopped him.

'Let's just see what she does,' he suggested.

Pierre sat back down; he craned his neck to follow the horse's progress across the yard. She headed straight for the refectory. She started to nose along the shelf where Serge put fruit and vegetables before moving them into the storeroom. Porthos had left a few apples on the shelf as bait before they had hidden. Rose took the bait and stood munching the apples for several minutes.

'I think we have found our thief,' said Porthos. 'I did not see that coming.'

Pierre managed a chuckle, 'I remember brushing her down the afternoon before the pears were eaten,' he said. 'She was picking up the brush every time I stopped brushing her. I had to leave it with her in the end. I asked Jean to put it back for me when Rose decided to drop it.'

'That's how it ended up by the refectory,' mused Porthos. 'Our thief carried it with her and dropped it when she saw the pears.'

They watched as the horse polished off the two apples, dropping the odd chunk as incriminating evidence of her crime. She sniffed about for a few minutes before wandering back to the stables. Porthos and Pierre emerged from their hiding place. Porthos grabbed one of the lanterns that had been left outside and led the way to the stables. Rose had reached her stable as they entered. She stepped into the stable out of sight. Porthos reached for the rope used to hold the door closed; he felt the end realising it was wet.

'She's undone the knot,' he said with a chuckle. 'I reckon whoever's been in first in the mornings didn't think anything of it. She was safely in her stable. They probably thought the knot had come loose or was not tied properly and that it was lucky Rose hadn't wandered off.'

Pierre was quiet, he sniffed.

'What's the matter?' asked Porthos.

'She won't be in trouble, will she? She didn't know she shouldn't take the fruit. I like Rose.'

Porthos smiled, 'she won't be in trouble. In fact, I think this makes her a prime candidate to be a long-standing Musketeer horse. We'll just have to make sure everyone knows that the rope needs to be tied firmly for her stable.'

Pierre was relieved. Rose wandered over to them both and nodded her head a few times before allowing Pierre to stroke her muzzle.

Porthos looked forward to telling Serge that he had not only accused the wrong person but the wrong species of theft. He knew the cook would be keen to make it up to young Pierre.

They tied the rope to ensure Rose could not enjoy any further nocturnal adventures and wearily made their way to bed.

The End.

Whumpee: more of an angstee - original character. Featuring: Porthos.