Thank you all for your kind reviews. I do enjoy reading them. This story is a "calm before the storm."
Enjoy!
They had traveled from sunup and arrived in the town of Episy just before sundown. Athos had taken the horses, and the others entered the small tavern that bustled with activity. They paid for wine and bowls of soup, and took a seat at a corner table with a long bench and two chairs that overlooked the room.
A bar wench placed the bowls of soup before them, refilled their tumblers with wine, and turned without a smile or greeting in kind. Her red hair had frayed from a long braid, the hem of her dress was worn, and her apron was stained.
Porthos pushed the bowl across the wooden surface with the tip of his thumb. His expression grim: eyebrows furrowed, lips cast downward, and his nose curled. "I know you grow tired of my cookin', but its gotta be better 'an this." He looked around the hostelry and winced as he watched the locals slurp at their meals.
"I think I'm going to be sick," d'Artagnan said. He covered his nose and mouth with the inside of his right elbow. He hid his eyes for a moment and sighed. "Hunting convicts in the sewers doesn't sound so bad right now." Pieces of something floated to the surface of his bowl, pools of oil moved across the broth, and white cartilage from a bone frayed and resembled floating worms.
"Where's Athos?" Aramis said, "Shouldn't he be back by now?" He purposely avoided the bowl and looked around the room. He rested his elbows on the table and rubbed a piece of short leather between his thumb and finger.
Their corner booth provided them a view of the entire chamber. Lanterns hung from arched hooks embedded in all four of the support pillars. Dark, rough-cut walls surrounded the windowless space. The fireplace glowed as flames continued to flicker and dance along the wood. The wrench pulled the cauldron from the flames and another serving of soup was ladled into a bowl. Four men and two women sat at a long table in the center of the room. They laughed, talked amongst themselves in good humor, and ate without question. They occasionally spilled their soup over the edges of the bowls, fingers were licked, and their wine sloshed, as cups were grabbed and slurped at. Everyone at the table was missing at least two teeth. Their clothing was simple, but well fitted, except for the woman at the end whose hem was frayed; her stockings had fallen to her ankles and exposed sores at her shins.
The bartender, an older man with little hair and more girth, waddled about pouring wine into empty glasses and collecting coins for the refills. A rat scampered near the seam where the wall met the floor. It ran beneath a table, grabbed a forgotten portion of bread, and returned to its hiding place behind a barrel.
"I can't stay here," d'Artagnan said, "I'd rather stay in the stables with the horses." He rubbed his face, pulled his eyebrows together, and flared his nostrils.
A young man across the way shifted in his seat and farted. The sound echoed and laughter erupted.
"Hey!" the bartender, Monsieur Kaplan, yelled. He slammed his pitcher onto the counter of his bar. "You'd best check your britches boy, that fart might actually be a shit!" He laughed and his rounded cheeks turned red. He then coughed, hacked up a wad of mucus, and spit into a tin bucket he kept on the counter.
D'Artagnan cocked an eyebrow. Aramis turned his face toward his comrades and closed his eyes. He grabbed his crucifix and kissed it.
"I fear whatever they're cursed with may be catching," Aramis said and swallowed. He shifted his hands to his lap, and grimaced.
They had stayed in hostelries before, and while the food had been tolerable, the locals always provided the best entertainment and information when needed. However, the town they currently found themselves in lacked the more refined and courteous behavior they had come to appreciate. Paris had spoiled them. Though the days of dealing with such situations were not over, they found themselves in conditions to make better choices and those choices, often included clean utensils, swept floors, and identifiable foods.
"Poverty?" Porthos asked and cocked his eyebrow.
"He means gluttony," Athos said, as he stepped beside the booth. He frowned when he looked at the uneaten bowls of food and turned his eyes away. "I've secured us more accommodating lodgings for the evening."
"Athos, I could kiss you," d'Artagnan said. He quickly shifted and stood to his feet.
"I'd rather you didn't," Athos said, and cocked an eyebrow. He turned, walked toward the exit and chuckled when he heard d'Artagnan stumble after him, pushed by Aramis as they hastened their escape.
"Wait!" a woman yelled from the back of the room. Her red hair frayed around her round face. "Where're you boys goin' in such a hurry?" She grabbed her bosoms and shifted them upward. She looked down to make sure her breasts were plump and her cleavage above her corset. The woman licked her finger and then wiped something from her breast. "Us ladies need us some young men to gaze upon — it's nice seein' new blood in these parts." She pulled at the hem of her dress and exposed her leg.
"We're deeply sorry, mademoiselle,"Aramis said, as he turned toward her. He placed his hand upon his chest and looked toward d'Artagnan as he backed toward the door. "This young man maybe the only one of us able to stay and partake of your entertainment. As for the rest of us old fools, we regret we're in service to the king, and must not be detained."
D'Artagnan turned widened eyes toward Aramis and shook his head. "You wouldn't dare?"
Aramis looked side-eyed at d'Artagnan, wiggled his eyebrows, and then winked.
"Such a lovely lad too," the woman said with a chuckle. "I could teach you a few things, lad, about a woman's body."
"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle, I too must leave," d'Artagnan said, stumbled backward, and hit the edge of a table.
"Too bad, monsieur, it's been a while since I've partaken in one so…" she smiled, and licked the tip of her finger, "refined." She squeezed her breast and shifted her right hip toward him.
D'Artagnan pursed his lips, met Aramis' eyes, and shook his head. "My apologies, mademoiselle." He stumbled backward when Athos grabbed the collar of his jacket and pushed him toward the door.
Athos tipped his hat toward the woman and followed the others out of the building. They heard a round of laughter as another group of locals entered the eatery, then more laughter erupted.