The steps to Le Chien Bleu, or the Blue Dog Inn, were lined with those seeking escape as the waters continued to rise. Aramis and Porthos carefully stepped around mothers feeding their children, beggars and the homeless as they crowded around the doors, railings, and elevated walking paths. They had covered themselves with oiled canvas to prevent the rain from soaking them. The hems of the women's dresses were torn and covered in mud. The children's faces were tear stained and dirty. And the men, those no longer able to function in society, had been reduced to crouching on the steps, their hats hung low on their heads as the rain ran like waterfalls from the brims.

Aramis clenched his jaw. As the rains continued, the situation for those less fortunate would worsen. He opened the doors and was immediately accosted by the proprietor, Monsieur Arcand. A short man, whose bald head caught the glimmers of lantern flames. He barely reached Aramis' right shoulder, had dark brown, nearly black eyebrows, and blue eyes that resembled crystals. He was thin with long bony fingers covered in gold rings with a variety of gems, was well dressed, and held himself in high esteem.

"Unless you can pay, Monsieur," Arcand said, with his hands raised, "you must leave — this is a business, not a barn."

"Are you the owner?" Aramis asked, and looked at the guests who stood casually around the room, many drinking wine, others preparing for the evening. All were content to be inside rather than out.

"Yes, and again, Monsieur, I must insist that you either pay or you must leave — I will not have vagrants taking away beds from paying guests."

Porthos exhaled through his nose. He looked at those around him, those who looked at him with complacency as they sat comfortably in their chairs, eating warmed food, and drinking fine wines. The air smelled of herbs and spices and freshly baked bread. A bar wench dressed in a fine gown maneuvered through the crowd refilling wines and ales. Her long blonde hair draped past her exposed shoulders, and bosoms held high above her cinched waist.

"And the people on your steps outside in the rain?"

"Unless you are here to remove them," Arcand said, "my guests will use the back door." He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. "Those people are not my responsibility, and should they need a room — of which I am currently short with only one left — they will need to find other accommodations. Perhaps the stables down the road." He swallowed, looked over his shoulder as his guests returned to their meals. "There is always the Court of Miracles."

"There are women and children outside, Monsieur. Surely you can find room for them at least?" Aramis shifted uncomfortably and placed his hand on the hilt of his weapon as he spread his feet. "The rains should lessen in the days to come and they will soon be back to their own homes —"

"Like I said, Monsieur, I only have one room left, and that room is reserved for paying customers only."

Porthos cleared his throat. "And how much for a room?"

Arcand raised his eyebrows and said, "Seven livres."

Porthos choked and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He pointed to the sign behind the front counter. "Your sign reads two?"

"Supply and demand, Monsieur," Arcand said with a shrug. "The nature of business, you understand?"

Porthos exhaled through puffed cheeks and then smiled. "Tell you what," he leaned forward with his hands on his hips. "I'm goin' to rent that room for two lives, just like the sign reads, an' you're goin' to honor that price. If you don't, the king," he shifted to expose the pauldron on his shoulder more clearly, "will hear of your business practices… an' need I remind you… he dislikes liars."

Arcand took a step back and looked at both men. "Since when do the Musketeers take on the practices of the Red Guards?"

Aramis chuckled and then said, "If we were the Red Guards… we'd be extorting money from you, not demanding you honor the prices you have posted on your business." He clinched his jaw and raised his eyebrows. "We have little patience for short men, Monsieur, and even less patience for those who do not understand the need for duty and honor during a time of need — the people of Paris are the king's subjects, and all of them will be of service in the coming months — even you, Monsieur."

Arcand looked to his left and then his right and reluctantly nodded. "I will honor the price of two livres."

Porthos reached into his coin purse and removed the coins. Aramis turned and opened the door. He motioned toward the two mothers who protected their children. Both stood and escorted their children inside. They whispered words of thanks as they wiped their faces free from the rain and looked wide-eyed across the foyer and the common room.

"See them to their room," Aramis said, and stepped back for the women and children to pass, "and the king thanks you for your service."

"If we find out you didn't honor this…" Porthos raised a fisted hand with his index finger pointed toward the man's chest, "arrangement… the only guests you're goin' to be dealing' with for the next ten years will be prisoners from the Bastille. I'll personally make sure of it." His jaw muscles flexed and the seriousness this eyes left no room for doubt. Porthos turned, forcefully pushed open the door and listened to it slam against the outside of the building. He adjusted his cloak over his pauldron as the rains continued and walked in step with Aramis toward the next inn. "I don't think this is what Athos 'ad planned."

Aramis shrugged as they continued along the pathway. Water ran in streams along the side of the road and took with it leaves, dirt, and manure. Rain poured from the peaks of roofs, hit the ground with a splash, and swept with a vengeance along the walking path that continued to widen as the force of the water increased. Horses stood tied to posts, awnings, and pillars with their heads bowed and tails tucked, as rain soaked their coats and ran in streams from their manes, tails, and flanks.

Though the weather was warm, it was still miserable, and as the winds and rains continued.

"We need to find a different way to help these people," Aramis said, and watched more children huddle beneath the awnings of buildings, while mothers and fathers continued to push water from their homes. "These people are going to get sick if we don't do something." He ran a hand through his wet hair and scratched the back of his head as he thought about options. He slapped his rain laden hat against his thigh, adjusted it, and then put it back atop his head.

Porthos pulled the collar of his cloak up and around his neck. Rain poured from the brim of his hat. "What about the churches — perhaps the clergies might be willin' to allow a few inside until the weather clears?"

Aramis paused in his walk, looked at the surrounding conditions, and nodded. As the hours continued and the rains persisted the conditions would grow worse. While the immediate threat was flooding… sickness would soon follow if they did not do something to help those who struggled against the threat. He exhaled slowly and continued his pace. "This is why Athos puts you in charge when he's away."

Porthos grinned, clapped Aramis on the shoulder, and nodded. "I know."