Aramis rested his forearms over the stall gate and took a deep breath. "I lost my virginity in a stable like this," he said and then chuckled. He paused a moment, quirked his eyebrow and raised his lips into a slight smile. "She was older — beautiful, with long red hair. She was practiced… but oh so gentle, and I was her willing student." He pulled at the end of his mustache and shifted his weight, which caused the stall gate to click.
Athos rubbed his eyes and shook his head. "Have you no boundaries?"
"Only with strangers, brother," Aramis chuckled and continued, "I failed to perform at my best — the horse kept watching… made me uncomfortable."
Athos looked over his shoulder. "Meaning, you…" he paused a moment, "arrived prematurely."
Aramis nodded with a tilt of his head. "A problem I have since rectified."
Athos teased a smile and rubbed his eyes again. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, winced when sore ribs protested, and then ran his fingers through his hair. "If this was orchestrated just to get us out of Paris… then the baron may be doing us a favor by not joining us," he said, and cupped his hand tight around the back of his neck.
Aramis nodded and gently stroked Roger's muzzle. "And if it was?"
"Treville will need to manage it," Athos said. He exhaled slowly, swallowed, and then rested back against the stall wall. "I feel cursed."
Aramis chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and ran his left hand over the bandages of his right. "Not cursed," he said, and turned to look at Athos who stared at the back wall of the stall, "Exploited perhaps…" he shrugged and licked his lips, "we are — after all — the king's finest soldiers."
Athos huffed and pinched his bottom lip. He turned when he heard the stall door unlatch and he looked up to see Aramis' left hand extended.
"We need rest and food, brother," Aramis said, and grasped Athos' left forearm and pulled him to his feet. He clasped Athos on the back as exited the stall, and they walked together toward the house.
The moon's light dimmed with the appearance of clouds, but the lights from the windows flickered and guided their path. The bodies were removed, blood covered with dirt and sand, and signs of the fight was now hidden with the blackness of night. The evening air was chilly, but shared hints of rose as flowers bloomed.
They walked to the back entrance to enter the kitchen and Athos paused a moment.
"I'll meet you inside," Athos said. He nodded toward Aramis, who paused for a just a moment and then entered the home.
The door hinge squeaked, then the latch clicked when the door was shut. Athos braced his hands above his knees, took several deep breaths and collected his strength. The breeze felt cool against his skin, and he watched the stems of long grasses tap alongside the path as they bowed beneath the pressure. He held his breath, closed his eyes, and set his jaw as he counted to ten. He worked to compartmentalized the cries of children, to shove the sounds into the back of his mind just as he had the scent of blood, burnt flesh, and the chimes of metal keys slipping into locks and the clicks that followed. He brushed aside the sight of d'Artagnan hanging from a rope, struggling to find ground, grasping frantically at his neck. Or Aramis' blood soaked sleeve, the hidden fear in his eyes knowing he could lose the feeling in his fingers. Or Porthos' deep, menacing voice, as he threatened the lives of the guards, Tomas, and Evan. And even the scent of Urbain or the feeling of his breath on his skin.
Images flashed like the quick flipping pages of a book.
Athos pushed himself upright, inhaled deeply, and grabbed the doorknob. When he entered, he found Aramis, d'Artagnan, and Porthos at the long kitchen island. The aroma of a home cooked meal caused Athos' stomach to growl. All three sat in mismatched chairs retrieved from different rooms. Despite the filled dishes, they had yet to touch a bite. Instead, they looked too nervous to eat as they poked their forks into their stew.
The unasked question of "What's next?" hung in the air like a foul smell: unwelcome, overwhelming, and slow to depart. Athos straightened his back, grasped d'Artagnan's shoulder, and reached for the honeyed bread that rested on his plate. He pinched the crusted edges and watched the butter fold and the honey slip over the crust before he took a healthy bite, and motioned for Porthos to hand him a plate. Athos licked his fingers, dished himself some stew, and added more bread to his plate.
D'Artagnan tried to suppress a smile as he shook his head. He grabbed his utensil, dipped it into the stew, and nodded. His stomach growled, and he chuckled when Porthos laughed.
Aramis looked upward as he dipped his bread into the gravy and nodded toward Felix. "Join us," he said, and motioned toward the spot across from him. "It'd be our pleasure to share this with you."
Felix, who had been standing beside the fireplace, curved his lips into a smile. He took a seat, nodded in thanks when Porthos handed him a bowl that was filled with stew. "I'm sorry I could not provide something more… stately for you, but…" He took a spoonful of stew and chewed. "Will you depart tomorrow?" He wiped at the corner of his mouth and looked up.
"Yes," Athos said. He rested his elbows on the hardwood surface and dipped his bread into the stew gravy. He took another bite, and looked toward the fireplace that glowed as the fire blazed, and at the pots that hung from the stone wall surrounding it.
Aramis flinched and shrugged when he caught Porthos' eyes.
"If the baron is unwilling to visit with the king, then there is no reason for us to stay," Athos said, and looked toward Felix. "We have duties in Paris."
"He means no disrespect, Monsieur Athos," Felix said and shifted his bowl. "He's a fragile man whose sensibilities have greatly changed over the course of the past few years."
"Regardless," Athos said, and pushed his plate away from the edge of the wood surface. He rubbed his forehead and tapped a fingernail on the wood.
Felix folded his hands onto his lap. "What will you tell him — the king?"
Athos again rubbed his forehead and then rested his head in his hand. "I have not decided as yet."
"Your wrists, Monsieur." Felix slipped from his chair, placed his near empty bowl on the counter's surface, and left the room.
"He saved our lives, Athos," Aramis said, and took another bite of stew. He chewed, shrugged, and said, "The least you can do is not terrify him." Aramis chuckled and looked toward Porthos, who nodded.
"I highly doubt he's easily terrified," Athos said. He crossed his arms, and leaned forward on his elbows.
Porthos wiped his bowl with the last of his bread. "He's small, but he's mighty." He chuckled and winked toward d'Artagnan who nodded.
"No matter his size," d'Artagnan said, and winced as his throat protested, "I'm grateful to him." He looked up as Felix entered the room with the empty bowl, bandages, salve, and the bottle of gorzałka. He placed the supplies on the countertop, added a ladle of simmering water from the potbellied basin near the fire, and then a small amount from the bucket of cold water near the end of the island.
"I was sickly as a boy," Felix said, "spent most of my time in bed where I read." He placed the bowl next to Athos, who quirked an eyebrow. "A learned man can make much of himself," he said, and met Athos' eyes, "despite his size…" he looked toward Porthos, "or the color of his skin."
Porthos nodded and raised his glass in salute.
Felix grabbed a chair and pulled it across the floor as though it were an everyday occurrence. "My father was an artisan… he modified the strike-plates on your pistols," he shrugged, placed his chair next to Athos, and then retrieved the bandages, salve, and poured some gorzałka into a glass. He placed it before Athos, and then took a seat. "My mother was…" he paused and chuckled as he wrung water from the cleaning cloth, "well… she inspired me to live beyond my size. Please, Monsieur." He motioned for Athos' wrist.
Athos turned in his seat, pulled up the sleeves of his doublet and blouse, and watched Felix place the warm cloth over his torn flesh.
"I do wish," Felix confessed, "that I had acted sooner." He licked his lips, flinched his cheek, and shook his head in self-disappointment.
"They would have killed you," Athos said. He grabbed the glass of gorzałka, sniffed, shrugged, and downed in one drink.
Porthos waited and watched. Aramis cocked an eyebrow. Both exhaled in disappointment at the lack of reaction.
Felix wiped away the dried blood and then turned Athos' hand so his palm faced upward. Bruising marred the tissue below his thumb and along each of his fingers. "There are bedrooms upstairs — beds are made for you, washing stations are ready — I've also laid out fresh braies and blouses." He applied the salve, and then carefully wrapped Athos' wrist. "The baron may lock himself away — If you need to see him," he sighed, and motioned for Athos' right wrist, "you may need to stay a few more days."
"He's made himself clear," Athos said. "We'll depart in the morning with or without seeing the baron." He met Felix's eyes and watched him nod.