Well, this one grew to just over 9,500 words. So I let it.
#
138. The Cat
"Drink it slowly," Treville said, passing Athos the brandy. "And try and keep it down, it's one of my better ones."
Athos adjusted the blanket around his shoulders and took it with shaking hands.
#
It had begun as all their days began.
Captain Treville had issued orders for the day and the four comrades had been assigned a patrol in the merchant's quarter of the city, where warehouses and traders jostled for space along the banks of the Seine and where boats and cargo vessels waited to be loaded or unloaded with all manner of goods. The bustle and clamour was usually overpowering, especially for someone like Athos, who sometimes started his day with the remnants of his unwise drinking habit of the previous evening, as was the case that morning. Noise, under such circumstances, only increased his barely suppressed tolerance of the city in full flow.
They had been hunting for a wily thief for several days now and this area was their prime target, as traders had recently threatened to present a petition to the King over loss of earnings. That would reflect badly on the Musketeers and give added weight to some of Cardinal Richelieu's more acerbic complaints.
"Do we know what this person looks like?" Aramis had asked Treville that morning as they stood in front of his desk.
Their Captain was in a foul mood, and the added distraction of such a thief only added to his demeanour.
"Well," Treville sighed, barely suppressing his annoyance. "They call him "The Cat," so I imagine he is not too long in the tooth or wide in the girth. Sightings put him as young as his fifteenth year," he added, sourly.
"A little young to have racked up such a catalogue of crimes," Athos murmured, as he scanned the parchment Treville had handed them. The list was long of the establishments where his presence had been felt.
"We can only go on what we are told, Athos," Treville replied tersely, while scanning and then dropping another parchment onto one of several piles on his desk. "Just deal with it before the King hears. You know as well as I do that a minor thief today may be a mastermind tomorrow. Think of Vadim," he added, looking up. "There won't be enough hours in the day for you to perform your duties if we don't get a handle on this."
"Point taken," Athos said, though he could not suppress a sigh as they walked out of the Captain's office.
"Where was he last seen?" d'Artagnan enquired, as they filed down Treville's stairs.
"The docks," Porthos replied, reading the parchment that Athos had passed to him in the Captain's office. "There are plenty of takings around there," he added, folding their orders and handing it back to Athos, who stuffed it unceremoniously inside his jacket. "Lots of distractions goin' on that a thief can take advantage of."
"So he has moved on from the marketplace?" Aramis asked. The traders had been the first to raise the alarm a few weeks ago.
"It would seem so," Athos replied, as they crossed the yard and headed to the stables.
"There are plenty of warehouses down there to plunder and empty boats on the river waitin' to be filled," Porthos added. "Easy to keep watch and steal a little once they are loaded up. He may even pass as a cargo-hand. It would be easy to pilfer what he wanted if they thought he was one of them."
"What is he doing it for? These are not one-off incidents. He seems to be making a career of it," Aramis mused.
"The age-old question," Athos replied. "Reasons too numerous to fathom. Let us just do our jobs and get back before nightfall. He is making us look like fools."
"You're optimistic," Aramis smiled, clapping Athos on the back as they walked their horses from the stables into the yard.
"They all make mistakes in the end," Athos glowered, as he swung into the saddle.
#
Three hours later, they had their first lead. A man had seen someone on a roof in the distance.
"Could have been mendin' it?" Porthos ventured.
The man huffed. "Not the way he was shinning up those tiles and jumping across the alleys. Half expected him to disappear with a scream, but he was like …"
"A cat," Athos interrupted, flatly. He dropped a coin into the man's hand and the four of them headed in the general direction that the man pointed.
"We should split up," Aramis said, looking around at the buildings that surrounded them. "This area is a maze."
They agreed on their individual routes and to meet at the small church where they now stood, its spire with a tall golden cross clearly visible from a good distance.
"We meet back when the bells toll three," Athos had said. "Any later and we lose the light."
#
A little later, Aramis tied his horse inside a small stable in the dockland area and gave the stable boy a coin to keep an eye on her, while he set off to find and speak to anyone who had a grievance again the thief they were all now calling The Cat, or anyone who had seen any suspicious activity in the area. While he walked, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes roamed the rooftops above for any sighting of an apparent agile young man on a mission.
d'Artagnan meanwhile, walked his horse amongst the warehouse traders allowing himself to be seen, in the hope that he would be approached should someone wish to report something untoward. Beggars were always a good option, in need of every coin offered them and he took full advantage of crouching down and talking to them.
Porthos headed to the dock taverns to talk to the local landlords, in a voice loud enough to prick the ears of local patrons.
Athos, on horseback meantime, followed one of the tributaries of the Seine, which snaked into the warehouse quarter, where workers moved goods to and from the many boats tied to the iron rings set in the stone walls of the wharfs. The river that fed into the Seine widened and narrowed in places and as he rode, the area degenerated into disrepair. Any activity petered out, the main commerce taking place closer to the tidal Seine where he had started his search. Curiosity had kept him moving though, reluctant to give up. He stopped and turned in his saddle to look about him, and as his eyes swept the derelict buildings he caught movement in his peripheral vision.
Someone was watching him.
Without tilting his head, his eyes surveyed the rooftops beneath the brim of his hat, but he saw no-one.
He dismounted and tied his horse to a post away from the waters edge and continued slowly on foot, pulling his pistol from the metal hooks on his belt in the small of his back, his other hand on the hilt of his sword. He wondered where Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were, but the buildings around him limited his view as the packed earth walkway he moved along snaked around corners as the river turned, the buildings built along the tributary's length. He had not been in the area before and was on high alert as he slowly turned in a circle, taking in his horse, now placidly chewing on grass that grew in the mortar between the bricks of the building that stretched behind him.
He was aware that this was no ordinary thief they chased. He had spoken to several people that morning and The Cat had been seen on roofs, taking chances, and nimbly leaping over a wall or two, a bag strapped to his back, no doubt full of his ill-gotten gains. His vigilance however, did not betray his annoyance at the time wasted on a youth who had decided that thieving was a better option than a good day's work.
#
The thief himself continued to watch from above;
He was tired. The bag on his back was becoming heavy. The candlesticks were solid silver. Perhaps they had not been a good idea, but the silversmith should not have left his back door open and he looked as if he could afford it. They would fetch a pretty price if he could find a buyer though, and it would fill his quota this week and alleviate his need to venture out again for a while, if the Musketeer currently on his tail could be shaken off. It had been a good idea to head to the derelict area where the river narrowed and the boats stopped, turning around and heading back to the Seine. It allowed him to lay low whenever he needed to.
Today, however, this Musketeer was just too nosy for his own good he thought, as he slipped easily from the roof, the bag on one shoulder. Hiding behind a stack of crates, his hand tightened around the bags' strap and he watched the man's shadow slowly approach. Athos saw him at the last minute as the figure leapt from his hiding place, but was not ready for the bag being swung at his head. It missed, but hit him on the shoulder, causing him to drop his pistol and then the man was off along the narrow wharf side and disappearing around the corner of a warehouse, his bag still held tightly in his hand.
Grabbing his pistol, Athos was up quickly and following after him, pulling his sword as he ran. He did not bother to shout. He always felt somewhat ridiculous calling for fleeing felons to halt. In his experience they rarely did.
Rounding a corner, he skidded to a halt as two storey whitewashed building came into view. Like most of the other buildings he had passed, this one was derelict too, the windows mere gaping holes and the double doors hanging off their hinges. Pausing to take in his surroundings, a noise caught his attention and he realised that behind the shrubbery that grew out of the cracks in the side of the building, an old waterwheel was slowly turning with a clunk and a clatter as the axis creaked under the tidal flow of the river, fed from the Seine. Looking down at the water, it was obvious the tide was beginning to come in and feed the waterwheel, which at one time must have been the power that drove whatever trade was undertaken in the building.
Athos looked up, in time to see the man he was chasing emerge from the building, minus his bag. He was, indeed, a youth, with a similar build to d'Artagnan but with thick, blonde hair. Seeing the Musketeer, he had looked up in panic before seeing a way up onto the roof, via the wooden slats of the waterwheel.
"It's not safe!" Athos had yelled, laying his pistol down and holding his free hand out, the other still holding his sword which he moved away from his body, in an attempt to show he was not intending to attack.
The disturbing noise from the wheel was increasing and Athos had to raise his voice to be heard across the distance between them. The boy in front of him was young and skinny. His face was long and thin, his cheekbones sharp in his face. Whatever he made from his misdemeanours, he did not appear to spend it on food.
"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. Why are you doing this?" Athos asked, as he took a step forward.
"I only take from those who can afford it," the boy replied, his face hardening. "You wouldn't understand that. The King you serve is oblivious to his people's struggles."
"Ah, a do-gooder," Athos murmured to himself, his eyes not leaving the boy. "But you do understand, I suppose?" he called out, in order to engage with the boy. Provocation often yielded results as anger could make people careless. It didn't matter what Athos thought of the people he arrested. His duty was clear. The boy would spend the night in the Chatelet.
"People depend on me," the boy shrugged, his tone casual, considering his predicament.
"If that is true," Athos replied, calmly, "You will be no use to them at the end of a rope. End this now and there may be some leniency, whatever your cause. Otherwise, your efforts will be for naught and you will end in an unmarked grave."
The boy did not reply, though he paled. However, he did not take the bait. Instead, he suddenly ran and jumped up at the waterwheel. It was a means to reach the roof, where the boy obviously felt comfortable. The wheel shifted, a metallic noise loud and ominous.
"No!" Athos yelled. "The wheel is rotten - it's dangerous!"
He could see that the clanking noise coming from the waterwheel was made by the unstable axis. Some of the wooden slats were missing, others broken. The boy ignored him. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Musketeer's comrades found them, he was in no mood to stay and talk.
Aware he was disarming himself, Athos laid down his sword and leapt across onto the wheel, the boy above him on the top. It turned slowly and Athos pulled himself across until he was on the side of the wheel. Looking up, he could see the boy stepping back on the slats, readying himself to jump when he reached its highest point and the gap between the wheel and the roof was the narrowest. If he misjudged his jump, the wheel could shift again and take him over and he would have to leap into the water below.
The wheel shuddered, the old mechanism groaning under the weight of the wheel and the two men clambering over it.
Athos reached up to grab the rim of the wheel, swinging his weight so that he was under the boy's feet. His intention was to grab his ankle. If they both went into the water, so be it, but he was annoyed now and wanted an end to this.
He got both his feet onto a heavy crossbeam but as he did, the boy on the top stepped back onto the slat behind him. There was a loud crack, and the central structure of the wheel seamed to sag. The boy dropped to his knees, clinging on while continuing to shift back awkwardly to avoid going over the apex of the wheel, at the same time reaching out instinctively to grab Athos's flailing hand, but the Musketeer dropped away from him, and the boy was forced to jump for his life, landing awkwardly onto the wharf. Athos grunted as he swung himself inward in order to then follow the boy onto the wharf.
However, something stopped him.
He had dropped halfway down the wheel, level with the axle, and he kicked his legs but he was held fast against the supporting spokes of the wheel. He turned his head frantically, trying to find out where he was caught, but the wheel continued to slowly turn and he was powerless to release himself. He was surrounded by the heavy spokes, within the structure itself. He was going nowhere. Above him, the weakened beam that had broken had thankfully just missed his head. There was plenty to hang onto but if he dropped further he would hit the huge rotating metal axle and be flung aside to a messy end.
"Jump, Musketeer!" the boy yelled through the spokes of the wheel, safe from his landing place.
Athos released a hand and felt behind him. The metalwork hooks on his belt that usually held his pistol was caught on the protruding nails in the oak beam. His weight was dragging him down and he had no way to raise himself in order to free his belt.
"I can't!" he therefore yelled back. "I'm caught."
He was also inside the structure of the wheel, barred on both sides by the spokes. Another sound made him look down. The river was running faster now, the tide was beginning to run in from the Seine. The wheel creaked and he felt himself being raised as it began to turn.
"The tide is coming in!" the boy yelled.
"I am aware," Athos muttered to himself, as he worked to find the buckle on his belt, but it had somehow swung around and tightened and he could only use one hand, the other holding tight to brace himself from the ever changing position of the wheel. He looked down, the water was covering the lower third of the wheel and one rotation would take a little while. He may have some time, though it would begin to move faster soon enough. He turned his head to yell at the boy to find help but couldn't see him. He twisted as far as he dare to look to his right.
The boy was gone.
With a sinking heart, Athos realised he was on his own. He had seen few people as he had approached the area and doubted his voice would carry far. He was running out of options and the river was slowly rising. He yelled anyway, until his voice was hoarse. However, the noise of the wheel mechanism and the water pouring from the slats which quickly soaked him, drowned out his calls for help and so he stopped. He would need all his strength to hang on and keep moving in order to remain upright.
Alone and already drenched, despair began to niggle at him.
#
Meanwhile Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, having all drawn blanks, were each making their way back to the church to meet up to formulate a new plan. There had been plenty of stories about The Cat, each one more elaborate than the last, but no-one had given them any valuable information. Several were threatening to petition the King. This was beginning to look like a simple mission that had the likelihood of blowing up in all their faces.
Hearing some of the tales, Porthos had to admit he was developing a sneaking admiration for the thief, who could apparently, effortlessly jump over roofs, scale drainpipes, jump across alleys and outrun anyone who dared to give chase. He stopped in a small square and pulled his bandana off and dropped it into the small fountain that his horse was now drinking from, before wringing it out and wiping his forehead as he got his bearings. Looking toward the direction of the spire of the church where they had all started their search that morning and where he now needed to head back to, he stopped and narrowed his eyes.
There, on a high roof in the near distance was a figure, waving what looked like a jacket over his head.
"I'll be damned," he muttered, as he reached out to grab his horse's reins.
#
Aramis collected his horse and gave the boy another coin as he had fed the animal some oats and brushed him. Walking him out of the stable, he placed his hat thoughtfully on his head and adjusted it, lifting his face to the sun for a moment and taking in the surrounding buildings.
Shielding his eyes for a moment, his vision cleared on a figure on a roof ahead. Whoever it was, was making themselves obvious and Aramis quickly turned in response and thrust his foot into the stirrup and swung into his saddle, scattering people in his wake as he pushed and urged the animal up the cobbled lane.
#
The water was over the top of his boots now. A few more rotations and he was in real trouble. The state of the wheel had become apparent as he twisted and turned. His grip had slipped and caused his belt to tighten further, his breath forced up into his chest. He hooked his arm around the beam at his shoulder, the other arm reaching up to grasp a smaller spoke. After only a few moments his chest felt constricted from his near-crucified position, but he had committed himself and could not let go now. The damaged wheel dropped on each rotation and the whole structure shuddered. His booted feet slipped on the lichen embedded in the wood and each time, he dug his heels in further, making his calves and thighs tighten uncomfortably.
He had struggled to free himself but as the water covered his waist his leather belt contracted further and his fingers were bloody from snagging them on the broken nails and hooks that held him firmly in place. He fought to keep his feet on the spoke of the wheel, the water making the lichen that grew on it ever more slippery. The water was running a little faster now and the rotation of the wheel seemed shorter. He was at one side of the wheel though and by the time the water had risen over his head, he knew the rotation would still be sufficiently long enough to make being fully submerged extremely uncomfortable. He threw his head back and looked at the sky, breathing heavily from his efforts to free himself. The cold was steadily taking his strength.
A distant bell tolled two. It would be an hour yet before he and the others were supposed to meet back at the church.
He had not envisaged dying a slow agonising death today, his lungs filled with river water.
Despair was now threatening to overwhelm him.
#
Porthos heard the horse before he saw it.
Obviously agitated, he could hear it snorting and stamping a foot. Looking around, there was no-one present, the area was derelict and deserted, the sun high in the sky, casting shadows on the detritus in front of him. The noise got closer as he dismounted and walked his own horse, which was now also displaying signs of unease. Porthos pulled out his sword as he quietly walked the animal forward.
Turning a corner, he saw the horse in question. It was Athos's, tied to a post and looking thoroughly bad-tempered. He inched forward, his hand raised as if in surrender while he spoke quietly to the distressed horse. Looking around, there was nothing to see, although Athos could not be far away if he had tied Roger up and left him. Roger quieted when Porthos tied his own horse in place next to him. Stroking them both on their necks he whispered a few more quiet words before leaving them and continuing on alone. There was no-one around, though a noise ahead made him quicken his pace.
Soon, up ahead, he became more aware of an uneven metallic noise and he turned and made his way toward it, the packed earth walkway narrowing in places, the river below him on his right. He noticed how it was running faster.
#
The cold water hit his chest and took his breath away.
It inched up his throat as the wheel turned and he threw his head back to keep his mouth and nose out of the water. He took a deep breath and held it, in preparation for the next rotation, which would cover his chin. He felt his body shaking with the cold and despite his unfavourable relationship with The Almighty, he was almost tempted to say a prayer, but his mind was numbing and he could not bring one to mind.
Where was Aramis when you needed him, he almost laughed.
The wheel dropped and caused him to let out the practise breath he was holding, knowing that the drop would play an important part in assisting his death by drowning unless he prepared himself for it and could hold his breath.
The wheel continued its rotation and he closed his eyes, ready as it moved toward the waterline. His eyes on the beam in front of him, he now knew every knot in the wood, every splinter, every nail.
This time, the water crept up his chin, but he managed to keep his mouth tightly shut and above the water line, though it splashed his face and blurred his vision. He was beginning to think it might be easier to give up and allow it all to happen, rather than fight it and die in panic when there was a movement behind him on the wharf. He released the arm he had hooked over the left beam with some difficulty, the pain of his seized shoulder screaming at him. He twisted his head. Was someone there?
"I thought we wanted to cage the thief, not ourselves," Aramis said, with a smile as he approached the wheel, collecting discarded Athos's pistol and sword.
"I was chasing our thief. It didn't quite work out as I had planned," Athos muttered, glaring at him. "It appears I am caught up."
"So where is he?" Aramis asked conversationally as he dropped his weapons belt on the wharf, though his mind was working furiously and a dread was creeping into his stomach at the sight of his friend.
"He left," Athos said, tersely.
"He did not enjoy your company?" Aramis said, quietly as he surveyed the wheel. "Where are you caught?" he frowned.
"My belt, at the back I think. Though I can feel something sharp at my back, it may have gone through my jacket."
It was not what Aramis wanted to hear. Out of reach and effectively caged within strong oak beams, a rapier would not cut through a thick leather weapon belt, even if he could climb inside and get an angle to do it, wasting time only to discover Athos may be caught up in another way. And in the meantime, the water was rising, and time was getting short.
"The structure is not sound, it won't hold two of us," Athos said, as he watched the emotions passing over his friend's face.
With a sinking heart, Aramis could see that what Athos said was true.
"I won't leave you," Aramis said, as he reached out and stepped onto the wheel regardless.
"Don't fall," Athos said, quietly, his eyes locked on Aramis.
"I don't intend to," Aramis replied brightly.
"Aramis…"
"Don't," Aramis said firmly, cutting him off. "Remember Nantes," he added, looking down.
Athos kept his eyes on Aramis and Aramis looked up and they both said nothing.
"I remember you fell out of a window once, but yes, I remember Nantes," Athos said, eventually.
Aramis had been shot in the shoulder and they had been pursued by a very focussed gang. Athos had held Aramis up behind the curtain of a waterfall for two hours before the gang gave up searching and rode off. They were both soaked to the skin and when rescued, both had been confined to the infirmary for four days as a consequence.
"I remember," Athos said again.
"And all the other times," Aramis said. "So this conversation is closed," he added darkly.
"You don't owe me anything," Athos grunted, as the wheel moved over the top of its axis. Aramis was opposite him now, holding onto one of the spokes level with Athos's shoulder and looking down at the water.
"How many rotations before things change?" Aramis asked urgently.
"About five, a few inches each time," Athos replied, as Aramis watched in horror as the water covered Athos's chin, and he struggled to lift his head back to keep his mouth clear.
"Sorry, I am a little late," Aramis said, softly, his eyes roaming over the spokes of the wheel.
"There is nothing you can do, Aramis," Athos yelled angrily as the water dropped away. "Save yourself! There is no need for us both to die."
"Athos, please," Aramis replied, locking eyes with him. "Will you shut up and concentrate on breathing. "Or not," he added, as he watched the water line and his mind whirled with hopeless ideas that he knew would not work.
He looked back at Athos and saw resignation in his eyes. He couldn't bear it. Damn it all, if he couldn't free Athos, he would be by his side, whatever happened. He stepped forward, his foot on one of the spokes, tightening his hands around the one above him.
"Aramis, No!" Athos roared, as the wheel shuddered and dropped.
"What the hell's goin on!" Porthos yelled as he came into view, sword raised and ready to attack.
Aramis almost laughed. At the sight of Athos trapped in the waterwheel, Porthos began to tear off his jacket.
"No time!" Aramis yelled. "We don't have long! Athos is going to drown! Go inside, find the mechanism! There will be a brake of sorts in there for maintenance."
"Doesn't look like it's been maintained in years," Porthos growled, though with the merest pause, and without another word, Porthos turned and ran.
Behind him, Athos coughed.
"Hurry!" Aramis roared. They had five turns, according to Athos's calculations before the water rose in significance again.
It took several minutes to find the lever inside the building. Porthos gritted his teeth and pulled. Nothing happened. He threw his weight behind it until the veins stood out in his forehead and his knuckles turned white. Still nothing happened. The lever was completely and utterly seized. The brake was off. He roared in frustration and kicked the lever for good measure.
Outside, Aramis heard Porthos's frustration and despair through the open window above them. Athos had heard too, of course, though he said nothing.
"Then it's up to us," Aramis said quietly, as the wheel hit the waterline and continued. Aramis climbed carefully down, the structure creaking at the movement, until he was level with Athos. There was no way he could reach him. Even with his main gauche, the wheel was too wide, too damaged. It was impossible. But he would not give up.
"This is not your day," he said, as he climbed further down.
"What are you doing?" Athos grunted, watching him.
"I need to see what we are up against," Aramis called back.
"No, its too dangerous Aramis!" Athos said, shifting his weight. His foot slipped and it took all his strength to hold on, his shoulder screaming.
"Hold still," Aramis said, looking up at him. "Reserve your strength," he added, ominously. He took a breath and filled his lungs, before slipping below the surface.
Alone, for a moment, Athos closed his eyes. After what seemed like a lifetime, Aramis surged up, swiping his hair off his face.
"So, what are we up against?" Athos asked, casually, watching as Aramis caught his breath.
"Good engineering and years of decay," Aramis replied, despondently.
"Ah. Well, in a way it helps, being caught up like this," Athos said. "I have to remain upright, otherwise I will go around head first with the wheel." He huffed. "That would be very undignified."
"I've seen you look worse," Aramis said.
Athos tilted his head and they looked at each other for a long moment and then at the rising water.
"It's cold," Athos said, quietly enough that Aramis only just caught it. But Athos's meaning was clear. Cold was lethal in itself.
"At least I can give you a description of our thief," Athos was saying, bringing Aramis's attention back. "There is a story behind his thieving, Aramis," he added. "Don't dismiss him."
"You want me to thank him for your death?" Aramis replied, bluntly.
"Well," Athos grunted, as he shifting his weight carefully, the water pouring over him from the slats above. "I would not put it quite like that. And I am not dead yet."
"No, sorry," Aramis replied, running his free hand through his hair. "Is the wheel so decayed?" he asked as he ran his eyes around the structure for the tenth time. In reply, Athos shifted again and the wheel juddered in response.
"Alright!" Aramis cried out. "No more demonstrations! So, it may collapse at any time?" he added, as Athos moved his feet in order to remain upright.
"It probably will, quite soon, my friend," Athos replied, sadly.
#
In the building, a door suddenly crashed opened and Porthos spun around in a defensive crouch. Turning, he saw a skinny youth moving quickly toward him.
"I've got an idea," the boy said, grabbing his arm.
"What?" Porthos frowned, confused by the boy's appearance. "Who are you?"
"Who do you think!" the boy said, excitedly. "I'm the one who brought you here. Your friend can't reach him, you need to stop the wheel. I've got an idea."
"The mechanism's seized," Porthos said, in frustration. "No way it's goin' to work!"
"Then come with me!" The boy yelled, turning and running back to the door. "Hurry!"
Porthos hurried after the boy, who took him to an attached long, low shed, before disappearing into it.
"What's goin' on?" Porthos growled, aware that Aramis was alone with Athos and had no idea what was going on in the building.
"It was a sawmill," the boy explained quickly. "There are beams here!"
He led the way to the back of the shed, where there was a pile of timber. "I used it to climb out of the window once," he said, looking back at Porthos in triumph. "It's all solid. For shipbuilding."
Porthos looked down, not really following.
"We push one through the spokes, it'll stop the wheel."
Porthos dropped into a crouch and ran his hands quickly over the lengths of timber.
"It's oak," the boy continued. "Really strong, it won't splinter."
"Damn it," Porthos said, standing and taking the boys shoulders in his hands. "It could work!" he laughed to himself.
"It's heavy though," the boy said. "I don't know if the two of us can carry it."
"Three of us," a voice said in the doorway. "Can we hurry up? Athos doesn't have much time."
d'Artagnan grinned at them quickly and moved quickly toward them to help, and together they manhandled a length of oak and pulled it free.
"How did you..?" Porthos panted, as they dragged the beam quickly to the door.
"Saw him on a roof" d'Artagnan said. "Just had a bit of trouble locating him."
"Sorry I couldn't stay," the boy said. "One against four is a bit unfair."
"Wait," Porthos panted, as they lugged the beam around the side of building. "You knew there were four of us?"
"Saw you at the church, watched as you split up. You had to be after me," he said. "You kept looking up at the rooftops."
Porthos huffed out a laugh, despite the seriousness of the situation.
"So you lured Athos here?" d'Artagnan said, his voice low in anger.
"What? No!" the boy almost spat. "He just happened by. I thought I'd lost him but he just kept coming."
"So you lured him onto the wheel?" Porthos growled, as they turned the corner.
"No!" the boy said. "He just surprised me and I wanted to get away. The wheel reaches up to the roof so I was going to jump but he came after me."
"Oh hell," Porthos said then, as they came in view of the waterwheel. The water had risen since Porthos had gone into the building.
Neither of their friends were visible.
#
The first time the water went over Athos's mouth and nose, Aramis was helpless. He wasn't in a position to help, to reach out and grab his hand. His friend disappeared under water and Aramis held his own breath. He counted.
The wheel turned and Aramis willed it faster, but of course, it went at the river's pace.
Finally, after when felt like a life time, Athos's head broke the surface. He shook his head, and pulled in a deep breath, the water pouring off him, his hair in his eyes.
Aramis shifted.
"Stay!" Athos ordered, his voice breathless but deadly.
Aramis had no choice. There was no way through to him without disturbing the rotting timbers.
He was alone to witness his friend's struggle to remain still.
And then, Athos kicked out. His heel slammed into one of the posts that had broken when he originally fell. It was now at an upright angle.
"What are you doing!" Aramis cried.
Athos did not reply. He continued to kick as the wheel turned, his arms straining as he held onto the posts above him. He was preparing himself for submersion once more, but gave one more kick.
The post splintered, but remained in place.
Athos disappeared.
Aramis yelled in frustration.
As the water receded, and Athos gasped for breath once more, he resumed his kicking, and finally, the post cracked and fell. It dropped down in front of the axle and for a moment, the wheel shuddered, and then, seemed to slow.
Aramis dropped beneath the water level to see what had happened. And then, he could see what Athos was doing. Buying them time.
The post had jammed the wheel.
But it wouldn't last long, he realised in despair.
And then, he heard Porthos's voice.
"Aramis!" Porthos roared, as they pulled the beam into view. A few seconds lapsed and then Aramis answered, albeit amid a splutter of coughing.
"Here!"
"You drownin' with him?" Porthos panted.
"Well, since you abandoned us, I had little choice," Aramis called, as he climbed carefully into view on the side of the wheel.
"I brought friends," Porthos managed with a tight grin.
"d'Artagnan!" Aramis gave him a welcome smile, though not as bright as usual. "Thank the Lord," he added quietly, his eyes falling on the boy. "Is this …?"
"Yeah, this is him," Porthos said. "He's helped."
"How many times has he been under?" d'Artagnan said, in a stunned whisper.
"Four, soon to be five. Whatever you are planning, please hurry," Aramis replied urgently.
"And you?" d'Artagnan persisted, as they lowered the beam.
"Are you making conversation?" Aramis replied in annoyance.
"He's just wonderin' what we have in store when we get you out," Porthos said, and they lined up the beam.
The wheel was grinding around, the mechanism straining.
"We have one chance at this," Porthos said then. He watched carefully and saw there was only one space where the beam could be thrust through the wheel that would not destroy it completely, or crush their friend. There was a timber flow-away tray at the base of the wheel where excess water flowed forward into the river. If Athos were to fall into that as a result of their plan, the rim of the wheel would break him. There were mere inches between the rim and the bottom of the tray, no room for a man's body.
"Do it!" Aramis said, crouching down to seek Athos out once more. Dripping wet, he was alive, though now unfocussed and exhausted. "He can't hold on much longer!"
"There!" Porthos pointed to a gap in the beams that would support the beam being thrust completely through. That meant they would have to brace it on the ground. "We push it through there," he said, indicating the space. "Then we get down and brace our weight against the beam so the wheel doesn't take the beam around with it."
"One chance," d'Artagnan said quietly, as the tide continued to rise.
The boy remained quiet but stayed with them. He had a skinny frame but he was wiry and Porthos hoped he had some strength behind him.
"Damn," Porthos grunted suddenly.
"What?" d'Artagnan shot back.
"Wheel's going to have to go around again."
Aramis stared up at them. Athos would have to hold his breath for the longest time yet.
"He can't hold his breath again!" he managed, keeping level as best he could, climbing from spoke to spoke, just as Athos was having to do from his own enforced position.
"He's goin' to have to," Porthos growled. "I don't like it either but we have minutes to get in place."
Aramis, in desperation, swung over to warn Athos. He shouted urgently. Athos raised his head.
"One more," Aramis mouthed silently, his eyes beseeching.
Athos closed his mouth, his nostrils flaring. His chest heaved as he took a breath. He said nothing.
The two friends stared at each other.
Above and behind them, Porthos shouted his orders and the beam was lined up.
"Now, Porthos!" d'Artagnan urged in near panic, his eyes on what he could see of the wheel from their position.
"Wait for it," Porthos growled.
Moments passed.
Aramis was out of view.
Suddenly Porthos yelled, "Now!" and the three of them used every ounce of energy they had to shove the beam into the wheel.
There was a terrible screech as they bent their backs and locked their arms so that the beam did not move with the wheel. The wooden spokes strained against the beam. The three men also strained, their feet slipping on the packed earth of the wharf. Water poured off the slats. The wheel shuddered, its axle dropping further. Through it all, they could hear Aramis urgently cajoling Athos into holding his head up, into holding his breath, a final rotation, a few moments …
Spokes started to splinter, some crashing down, the wheel began to shudder and strain against the beam.
Porthos was yelling for them to stay in position.
And then, the wheel took the beam from them.
"Clear!" Porthos roared, as the heavy beam was torn from their hands and they fell back. "Aramis! Clear!"
There was nothing to hold onto and they had to let it go. It shot down at an angle, the end disappearing into the water.
Porthos pulled himself to the edge of the wharf and looked over in trepidation. As he did, there was one last terrible screech and the wheel slowed, and finally stopped, the beam embedded in the river bed, in a stronger grip than the three men above could have matched.
"Aramis!" Porthos yelled. "Athos!"
d'Artagnan threw off his jacket and jumped into the water.
The centre of the wheel was mostly gone. The beam had just missed Aramis, who was wedged half in, half out of the wheel at an angle, his arms wrapped around Athos, who was free, though limp in his arms. The wheel had stopped just above the waterline. Porthos's calculation had been right.
"Aramis!" d'Artagnan shouted as he swam to the wheel and started to climb up next to Aramis. What was left of it seemed fairly solid now and he reached Aramis's side quickly. He climbed around behind Athos and locked his arms around him.
"Let go, Aramis."
Aramis though, seemed frozen in place.
"Aramis, you can let go now. I have him. Porthos will take him."
Seeing what was happening, Porthos added his voice; "Aramis. Let's get 'im out now. He's been there too long."
Aramis seemed to come back to himself and look at d'Artagnan, as if seeing him for the first time.
"It's over, Aramis. Let go now," d'Artagnan said, gently.
Aramis looked up at Porthos and then he nodded. Porthos and the young man reached through the wreckage from their position on the wharf and with d'Artagnan's help, they pulled Athos out, d'Artagnan clamouring up after him. Aramis climbed through the remaining spokes and reached up for a helping hand, and as he did, the beam shifted and it started to turn once more. Porthos tightened his grip and pulled Aramis up and away before his legs were caught up in the moving wreckage. Whoever had built the wheel had done a good job, its skeleton would continue to rotate until the tide went out.
On dry land, they all knelt around Athos, who was now laid on his side unmoving, and seemingly not breathing.
"Is he …?" d'Artagnan ventured.
Aramis quickly rolled him onto his back and they all were shocked by how white he was.
Aramis, shivering, his hands shaking violently, was too cold to undo Athos's jacket. Porthos gently took over. As soldiers, they had both done this before and now Porthos opened his jacket and began to pump his chest.
Nothing happened for the longest time.
Athos's lips were beginning to take on a blue tinge. d'Artagnan, shivering himself, sat back on his haunches and, breathing heavily, watched Porthos's efforts and willed Athos to come back.
Porthos's shirt sleeves were wet now, Athos was soaked to the skin, as was Aramis and d'Artagnan, but he kept on. Beside him, Aramis ran a hand through his wet hair and prayed aloud.
And then, Athos's back suddenly arched and with a gush of river water, he gasped and gagged, before drawing in a long breath and coughing some more. Unfocussed eyes looked up at them.
Porthos dropped his head to his chest. "He's back," he's said.
d'Artagnan clapped him on the back in blessed relief while Aramis pushed Athos back onto his side, where he continued to bring up water, his stomach spasming between breaths.
"Damn it," Porthos grunted. "I never want to do that again."
Aramis then replaced Athos's jacket with d'Artagnan's, who had given it up willingly and had run back to his horse for his blanket. Aramis slung his own wet jacket and Athos's onto a nearby fence and they all dragged Athos back to rest against a low wall.
Athos was awake and shaking, but had not spoken.
"Is the King alright?" he suddenly murmured, looking about him with a frown.
Aramis sat back on his haunches and frowned too. "Yes, Athos, the King is alright."
"We should double the guard," Athos ground out, before suddenly turning to his side and throwing up more of the river.
Aramis rubbed his back as d'Artagnan returned, shaking out the blanket and throwing it over Athos's shoulders.
"How is he?" d'Artagnan asked, quietly.
"Confused," Aramis replied, pulling the blanket edges together to wrap over Athos's chest.
"You?" d'Artagnan asked then, reaching out to lay his hand on his Aramis's shoulder. Aramis too, had been submerged twice.
Aramis pushed his wet hair back and rested a hand on Athos's leg. "I'm fine," he replied. "He had it worse. We really do need to get him back."
"Porthos, can you go and find a horse and wagon?" Aramis asked. "Oh, and a bucket."
"A bucket?" Porthos frowned.
"Yes, if you can," Aramis replied, before turning back. "For the journey back. I doubt he's purged all the water he's swallowed."
"I know where there's a livery," the boy said suddenly. "If it's still there. The warehouse men used it. It's tucked away but not too far, we can go on foot."
"Alright," Porthos agreed. "I have to collect our horses. You come with me," he said, stabbing a finger into the lad's chest. "And no funny business."
The young man held up his hands in supplication and fell into step with the Musketeer.
"What's your name, anyway?" Porthos asked, as they moved quickly along the wharf. "I ain't goin' to keep calling you 'The Cat.'
The young man hesitated, before stopping. Porthos stopped too and turned back, his hands on his hips.
"Grub," he finally said, waiting for the Musketeer to comment. Porthos merely raised his eyebrows.
"Grub?" he growled, dubiously.
"Apparently, I was a fat baby," Grub replied. Porthos looked the skinny lad up and down and then, he laughed.
"I'll take your word for it," he said, before turning back and striding away.
#
The sight of a tall, broad Musketeer on the King's business soon persuaded the two men at the livery to allow Porthos the loan of a good strong horse and a wagon. He had promised its prompt return and as the Garrison was not a great distance away, the men agreed, helping Porthos tie the two horses that accompanied the Musketeer and the boy to the back of the wagon. The livery horse was duly strapped into its harness and Porthos jumped up onto the seat and picked up the reins. As the boy put his foot on the step to climb aboard, Porthos stopped him.
"You get out of here now," he said.
"What? You're letting me go?"
"If we catch you again, you'll be arrested. Make sure we don't," Porthos said. "Whatever reason you're doin' this, you'll find yourself at the end of a rope soon enough. Think on."
"He said that," the boy said.
"What?"
"The Musketeer. He said I can't help them if I'm danglin' at the end of a rope."
Porthos huffed.
"I reckon half the things we've heard about you are exaggerated," Porthos said, his voice low. "Athos probably thinks that too. But don't take us as fools. We will arrest you if we cross paths again. Best think about where your life is headin' lad."
The young man pressed his lips together before nodding.
"I'll try, but it's hard… other people are involved."
"I know, lad. But I reckon half of them are not your responsibility and the other half are probably takin' advantage."
Grub shrugged. "You could be right."
He stepped back and Porthos tightened his hand around the reins.
"Don't forget the bucket," the boy added, passing him a wooden bucket he had 'borrowed' from the livery.
When Porthos nodded, the boy said something that made his blood run cold;
"People who escape drowning can still drown."
"What?" Porthos said.
"I've seen it. They get up and walk away and then later, they stop breathing and die anyway."
"Is that why you helped him? Why you went onto the roof?" Porthos said, turning in the wagon seat to look at the boy properly. "You got knowledge of this?"
The boy looked down at his feet, but didn't reply. In the distance, a bell tolled and Porthos tightened his fingers around the reins once more. Athos was out of the water and Aramis was with him, but they had to get him back to the Garrison, and what the boy had just said had worried Porthos. He had always stayed away from water himself. It was only after he had joined the Musketeers that he had learned to swim. Aramis and Athos had insisted on it.
"What's your real name, lad?" Porthos said. Grub looked away and then looked back with a shrug.
"Gregory," he finally murmured.
And then he gave Porthos a strangely elaborate bow, and ran off.
"Gregory Grub," Porthos murmured, watching the boy's receding back, before shucking the reins and moving the wagon forward. He drove the horse and wagon back to the sawmill faster than he would have normally.
#
Back at the wheel, Porthos drew the horse and wagon to a halt as close as he could to his friends, before dropping down and rushing over to them.
"How is he?" he said, crouching down beside Athos.
"He's thrown up most of the water he swallowed, hopefully," d'Artagnan replied. "Keeps talking about the King, though."
"The King?"
"He's very confused," Aramis replied, as they prepared to get Athos onto the wagon.
"Grub said something…" Porthos said, stopping them.
"Grub?" d'Artagnan frowned.
"The boy. The Cat," Porthos explained. "His name's Grub."
"Really?" Aramis replied, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline.
"Well, it's not his born name, just what they called him when he was a young 'un."
"Where is he, by the way?" d'Artagnan asked, looking around.
"Gone," Porthos replied. His tone told them not to ask any more questions. He had made a decision on his journey to find a wagon.
"Are you going to enlighten us?" d'Artagnan asked, his eyebrows raised.
"Later," Porthos growled in response and d'Artagnan backed off.
"So, what did Grub say?" d'Artagnan persisted, folding his arms.
"He said a man who escapes drowning can still drown."
Porthos turned to Aramis expectantly.
Aramis scrubbed a hand over his face.
"It's true," he said. "I've seen it. During the Ille de Re campaign. Many died after being pulled out of the sea. Some walked away, only to get into difficulties later. With their breathing. We supposed at the time that they took on more water than we originally thought. Some even talked, ate. Then, later, they died."
Porthos took a deep breath and locked eyes with Aramis. "So, what do we do?"
"There is very little we can do. We just have to hope he has, and will, rid himself of all the water he has ingested," Aramis said, softly with a sad shake of his head. "What we can do, is get back to the Garrison!" he urged.
Porthos passed him the bucket and then they bent to pick Athos up. They settled him in the back of the wagon, propped up, with the bucket beside him. Aramis got in beside him and Porthos and d'Artgnan climbed up onto the driver's seat. Porthos gently shucked the reins and the horse moved forward.
They would be back at the Garrison before nightfall.
Athos would then be warmed up and watched, within an inch of his life.
#
As it turned out, Athos spent three days in the Infirmary. Dr Lemay had advocated two, but even Athos had to admit he was bone-weary and cold to the bone. He had over the course of the journey back and the first night, continued to rid himself of the water he had swallowed. The water in the river turned out to be cleaner than the main Seine that it fed into, as there were reeds and vegetation that filtered the water at the narrow end where the waterwheel was and so he did not get sick.
Breathing was painful but Aramis had finally, after much worry, determined that it was because of the strain his muscles had been under, maintaining a safe purchase within the wheel and not the deterioration of his lungs. Aramis, himself bitterly cold, had spent part of the first night in front of a roaring fire in the Infirmary, courtesy of Porthos, who kept the logs alight and well stocked up. D'Artagnan seemed none the worse for wear, but had stayed close by and had been unusually quiet.
Only Porthos had remained dry at the scene, and he had taken it upon himself to look after his friends. Serge had made a big pot of beef broth, which they ladled out at intervals throughout the first evening. Gradually, Athos's colour had improved and his hands warmed enough to hold his own bowl of broth.
During the night, Treville came quietly into the room as they were exchanging their information on The Cat. They had all met him, d'Artagnan and Aramis briefly but both Porthos and Athos felt there was more of a story to him.
"Well, the King is unaware of his activities. If he disappears, the traders are happy," Treville said. "As long as that continues, all will be well."
"Do you think he'll stay away?" d'Artagnan mused, as he poked at the fire.
"He knows he'll hang if we catch him," Porthos replied. "Both me and Athos told him so. It's up to him. He was a likeable enough lad, but what he was doin' was irresponsible. Athos was on that wheel because of him."
"I don't think we have heard the last of him. And that worries me," Athos said, softly, from his bed.
"Why do you say that?" Treville asked.
"I believe he has "responsibilities," Athos replied. "And he may be misguided."
"Let's forget this now," Aramis sighed, eager to change the subject. "We were lucky today. It could have ended very badly, and that boy played a part in it."
They all fell silent for a little while as Treville poured brandy into five glasses.
Athos, leaning back against a bank of pillows, a blanket around his shoulders, accepted the brandy with a brief, thoughtful nod of thanks.
"Try and keep that down," Treville said. "It's one of my better ones."
"Why are you broodin'?" Porthos frowned as Athos continued to stare into his liquor.
Athos sighed. "I dislike conundrums," he said, flatly.
They all stopped to look at him, waiting for an explanation.
"What's a 'conundrum?' Porthos asked, eyeing Athos intently.
"A vexation," Athos murmured. Porthos shrugged, none the wiser.
Athos shifted his weight, his hand pressed to his painful chest. Aramis moved toward him but Athos held up his hand.
"I remember... he wore a ring," Athos continued, slowly, swallowing a mouthful of brandy and looking up.
"So?" Porthos frowned. "A lot of people do."
"It was the ring of a noble," Athos replied. "Our Cat is not feral. I believe 'Grub' was not born into a common life."
"Which begs the question, why was he thievin'?" Porthos said.
"Exactly," Athos replied, draining his glass. "There is more to 'Grub' than meets the eye and I believe we may have not seen the last of him."
"Well, here's to him making the sensible decision," Treville replied, raising his glass. "Wherever he is."
They all raised their glasses, though rather half-heartedly.
"And whoever he is," Athos said, quietly, as he stared into his empty glass.
End
Curious.
Thanks for reading!
A/N: Secondary or 'delayed' drowning is a complication of drowning. It refers to the phenomenon of water inhalation, followed by presumed recovery, and respiratory problems that appear afterwards. After being underwater or inhaling water the immediate symptoms appear to go away. However, vague symptoms persist and cause breathing problems long after the event, to the surprise of the patients. It is relatively rare.