Athos lay on the bench next to the table, his left foot on the ground, his right on the bench with his raised knee against the table's edge. He placed his hat over his face and folded his fingers across his chest. The late spring weather had failed to bring with it the normal rains. Instead, the ground had dried despite the mild chill in the air, and the scent of horse manure wafted toward him as the stable hand forked fresh mounds into the wheel cart. He could hear the rumblings of conversations beneath the banister as the men talked about their evening and their time on duty while the next shift prepared to take their place at the palace.
"Drink this, son," Gaston said, slapped Athos' knee and set the cup on the edge of the table. "You'll be upright an' ready to fight b'fore you know it." Short gray hair spiked upward and matched his full beard and mustache. He had a portly stature, and he was quickly becoming a favorite at the garrison. While he hadn't been able to fill Serge's shoes when it came to cooking, he had developed a keen sense of what was needed and when.
"What's in it?" Athos' voice muffled beneath his hat, but he didn't bother moving.
"Raw egg, my special sauce, an' juice from carrots." Gaston chuckled when Athos groaned. "Drink it — got the recipe from an Irishman, who loved 'is whiskey," he said, and turned. He nodded toward Aramis and the others as they stepped off the staircase. Gaston returned to the commissary.
D'Artagnan curled his nose and frowned when he risked a peek at the contents of the cup. He shook his head, tipped the brim of Athos' hat, and knocked it to the ground beneath the table. "What was it this time?" he said.
Aramis chuckled and took a seat across from Athos, who was slow to sit up.
Athos rubbed his face and then buried his head in his arms.
"If you were any greener, Athos, you'd be mistaken for Gaston's pea soup," Aramis said.
"Stop… talking," Athos muttered, lifted his head, and winced when the newest recruits started sparing behind them.
Porthos chuckled and stopped when the bruise to his jaw reminded him of his own stupidity. "Whatever color you've turned, brother, was the wine at least good?" He took a seat next to Aramis and nodded toward Gaston, who placed a large bowl of bread and cheese on the table. He nodded and turned back toward his kitchen.
"Not wine," Athos said, and picked up the cup. He sniffed the concoction and winced. "Madame Villeneuve's brandy." He hesitantly brought the cup to his lips and drank it without stopping.
D'Artagnan grimaced and looked away.
Aramis chuckled, grabbed a handful of bread, and tore a small portion from the center. "Was it worth it?"
Athos closed his eyes and swallowed as he contemplated whether the drink would settle. He cocked his eyebrow, rubbed his face, and finally nodded.
"How d'you escape 'er husband?" Porthos said. He reached across the table and grabbed some bread and cheese.
"I didn't," Athos said, and rested his forehead in the curve of his hand.
Aramis laughed and shook his head. "Well, that explains it."
"Explains what?" d'Artagnan said and shifted his position while he leaned against the support beam to the balcony.
"Monsieur Villeneuve's propensity for prattle," Aramis said with a chuckle, and took another bite of bread.
Athos groaned. "I learned a great deal about Charles the Simple and his love of pastries."
Porthos chuckled. "Was the brandy good?"
Athos nodded. "Very, she has greatly improved her recipe."
Porthos stood, grabbed another bite of bread, and then grabbed his hat.
"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan asked. He watched a king's messenger enter the garrison.
"To get some brandy."
"Make sure Monsieur Villeneuve is elsewhere," Athos said, and watched Porthos jog through the entrance and turn left.
The king's messenger nodded toward those at the table and then took the steps toward Treville's office two at a time.
"Hope he hurries," Aramis said, and listened to the frantic knocks.
Athos took a hunk of cheese and a portion of bread. "Any inclination of the captain's irregular mood?" He looked at the food, sniffed the cheese, and shoved it aside.
D'Artagnan slipped into the seat Porthos vacated. "The red guard has taken their orders from the cardinal very seriously." He raised his eyebrows, rolled his eyes, and grabbed some cheese. "Every misstep, indiscretion, and… shall we say… bodily discharge is reported." He shrugged when Athos met his eyes with a cocked eyebrow.
"Where's Porthos?" Treville said from above. He leaned over the balcony and met the eyes of those who looked up.
Athos licked his lips and said, "Running an errand — he won't be long." He ignored Aramis' look of skepticism.
"As soon as he returns, I want you all in my office."
Athos grabbed his hat from beneath the table as the king's messenger stepped off the staircase and nodded toward them before he exited through the archway.
"Let's hope we're not being asked to escort a noble to or from their province," Aramis said, and pushed himself to his feet. "I'd rather babysit a polecat." He slapped d'Artagnan's shoulder and grabbed another slice of cheese.