Dinner
Lauren and Siroc discussed calculus for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the other musketeers walked into the workshop, the sky outside had already begun to darken. Lauren was explaining the Alternate Definition of Derivatives. "See, if you have an x value given, you don't have to use x plus h. You just take the limit as x approaches a of f(x) minus f(a) all over x minus a," she finished, writing the last equation in simple block letters.
"What are you two doing?" asked an overly friendly voice. Lauren came to her senses quickly. She noted that Siroc and herself were probably a little too close for this time period; they had been sitting beside each other with their heads together over his notebook. She swung one leg over the bench and then the other so she could face their visitors.
Siroc stood and turned as well, oblivious to his friend's tone of voice. "We were comparing notes on mathematics. She has a brilliant grasp of calculus," he said to d'Artagnan. The musketeer was flanked by Ramon and Jacques, the latter who looked at Lauren a little distrustfully.
Ramon got right to the important part. "We were heading to the café for an evening meal. Care to join us, amigo?"
Siroc hesitated, shooting a glance at Lauren. "I don't think we should leave—"
"Don't worry about me," Lauren told him. "Just bring me back something to eat. I'll just try and recall a few more theorems for you to look over when you get back." She flashed a smile.
When he still didn't move, Ramon broke the tension. "Just bring the senorita with us. Nothing can happen if all four of us are watching her."
"I don't think that's such a good idea," Jacques began. "She's not exactly dressed properly…"
"And when has that ever bothered you, Jacques?" d'Artagnan asked her with a smirk. Jacques' face showed a mixture of shock and hurt. She did not protest again when Siroc finally agreed.
Lauren sighed. She did not want to make an enemy of the female musketeer, but she was struggling to make a good impression. "Can I at least tie my hair back? Maybe people will pass me off as a boy if they don't look twice."
Siroc dug out a strip of leather for her, and they were off.
The Musketeers guided Lauren to a secluded corner of Café Nouveau. Lauren settled back happily with the shadows hiding her face from the red clad soldiers dining nearby. I don't fancy being dragged off again…To avoid the troubles of a questioning barmaid, Siroc and Ramon went up to get drinks themselves. Lauren looked uncomfortably across the table at d'Artagnan who would not stop staring back at her. Jacques wore a sour look and gazed off into the evening crowd. "So…" Lauren began awkwardly, "why'd you become a musketeer?"
D'Artagnan blinked a couple times before comprehending. "Well… I, uh… My father and all of his friends were musketeers. I just grew up knowing that's what I would do too."
Lauren rested her chin on a fist. "You wanted to be like your father? You didn't want to strike out on your own and do something else?"
"I don't want to be like my father, really. I just…" he stammered. Lauren noticed that Jacques seemed very interested in what he was saying although she still pretended to ignore them. "You ask hard questions," he laughed, trying to sort out his thoughts.
"That's how I get the hard truth," Lauren replied simply. Ramon and Siroc arrived with five cups of steaming liquid. Sniffing the one set in front of her, Lauren asked, "Coffee?"
Ramon smiled over his cup. "The most heavenly drink, the ambrosia of earth—into its depths I sink, its weight in gold it's worth." He took a long swallow.
"Nice rhyme," Lauren commented. She took a sip and tried not to gag at the strong, bitter taste. She set the mug down carefully before her. "It's more a morning wake-up sort of drink where I come from."
The others played with their cups, unsure of what to say in front of their unusual guest. Lauren sighed. Maybe it's time to play with them a bit, and maybe learn something for history class.
"So, you all fight for the King of France, right?"
"To the death if God wills it," said Jacques darkly, eyeing Lauren cautiously.
"You believe in divine right to rule and nobility of birth and all that, too?" Lauren pressed.
Siroc remained quiet. Ramon shook his head in wonder that Lauren would say that out loud. Jacques looked like she wanted to say something, but restrained herself. D'Artagnan answered carefully, "We believe in our King, and we will protect him at all costs." His friendly demeanor was gone.
"Surely you disagree with some things, at least. Shouldn't everyone have a say in their government, not just the rich white men with titles?" Lauren said, her mouth jumping ahead of her brain. Surveying their grim faces she thought, Maybe I've gone too far…
"Where is this coming from, senorita?" Ramon asked. "America is ruled by a king, same as France. That's how it works."
"No, it doesn't," she refuted. "A king cannot rule if the people do not support him. America has a revolution in the late eighteenth century and establishes her own democratic government."
"You're getting very close to treason," Jacques growled across the table, a murderous look in her eye.
"Back down," Siroc said, his voice barely a whisper so only Lauren would hear.
I guess they wouldn't want to know about the French Revolution… "Don't take me so serious, Jacques. I am crazy, remember." Lauren sat back and talked very little for the rest of the meal. Ramon excused himself some time later to meet a certain mademoiselle named Emmanuelle, and the rest stood to leave. Lauren found herself walking next to Siroc on the way back to the garrison. D'Artagnan and Jacques talked in low voices behind them. Lauren concentrated on her feet, trying to keep up with Siroc's longer strides; he was obviously eager to get back to his workshop.
They arrived none too soon. Lauren had not been able to start a conversation with the inventor and felt rather embarrassed. She followed him into the laboratory. "Well, good night, Siroc," she told him, retreating towards the door of her closet.
"I'd like to hear more of your theories of government tomorrow. Maybe when the others aren't around, we could…" he trailed off.
"Sure." Lauren smiled, looking back at him one last time before closing the door. "Tomorrow, then."
She shut the door, leaning back against it and staring into her dark room. I had to go and open my big mouth… She took off her Musketeer jacket and vest, untucking her shirt before crawling into bed. Pulling the scratchy blankets over her, she took a deep breath. Now maybe I can finally wake up in my own time. She shut her eyes and fell asleep immediately.
Fighting
Lauren opened her eyes, waking with a jolt. A loud crash had rung out under her window. She leapt out of bed, glancing outside to a courtyard of the garrison. Several men were sword fighting passionately. She threw open the door that led into Siroc's workshop. "What's going on? Are we under attack or something?"
Ramon looked over, and Siroc turned around. "What are you talking about?" came the latter's calming voice.
"All the fighting going on outside my window!" Lauren shouted, just waiting for armed men to burst through the door.
"That is just the cadets, senorita—practice," Ramon explained, trying to soothe her.
Lauren slumped where she stood, still in France. "Sorry, I'm just not used to clashing swords waking me up…" She finally realized that she must look like a mess. Her hair was disheveled from sleeping, her shirt and pants were wrinkled, and she probably had dried drool on her cheek.
At that moment, d'Artagnan and Jacques entered looking flushed and breathing a little harder than usual. "Good fight?" asked Ramon.
Jacques flashed a grin. "I won again," she announced triumphantly.
"Barely," muttered d'Artagnan, but the gloating musketeer didn't hear him.
"You fight for fun?" Lauren asked timidly from her corner. Everyone suddenly remembered that she was there and looked over. She smoothed down her hair self-consciously.
Jacques stepped forward, advancing on Lauren's corner. "It's not just a game—we have to duel to keep ourselves sharp." She pulled out her rapier, regarding it almost lovingly, and continued, "A musketeer's life is balanced on the edge of a blade. A slow reaction can mean death or being crippled for life." The female Musketeer made a stabbing motion, stopping just inches from Lauren's chest. "Want to try?" A mischievous gleam shone in her eye.
Be bold, Lauren told herself, shaking off the discomfort of having a blade pointed at her heart. "Of course."
Jacques backed up. "D'Artagnan, lend her your rapier," she said simply, expecting him to obey. She's got that poor man whipped, Lauren thought with an inward smile.
D'Artagnan's hesitation prompted Ramon to come forward. "I've got to see this; take mine." He handed it off to Lauren, holding the pointed tip down so she could grab the grip. Lauren lifted it, wondering at the craftsmanship. The sword was deceptive, feeling heavier than its daintiness suggested. She gave a few small practice swings and tested its motion. Her swipes were clumsy and wobbly, but it was an interesting experience.
Meanwhile, d'Artagnan had pulled Jacques aside. "What are you doing? It's one thing for you to fight, but why are you dragging this poor girl in? She could hurt herself," he said quietly, stealing a glance at the awkward cuts Lauren was making in the air.
Jacques shrugged. "Something is odd about her… The girl is insane for even accepting the challenge; any everyday mademoiselle in Paris would refuse to touch a weapon, and she's over there playing with one," she replied. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to your precious little girl."
Jacques pulled away from her confidant and met Lauren in the most open part of the room. "Cross blades first—good," she told the younger woman. The three men stood in a solemn line to watch their slender friend take on the crazy girl. "Now, attack."
Lauren swung the blade slowly in wide arcs. Jacques easily blocked each one and made a strike herself, resting the tip of her blade at Lauren's throat. "You also have to defend. Try again—cross blades."
So they began again: Lauren swinging, Jacques blocking, and Lauren getting struck. After each round, Jacques would say, 'Cross blades,' and they would play out their scene again. Lauren grew tired of their game, but she would not be the first to quit. Her arm was sore, but she fought on, getting better at blocking and looking for holes in Jacques' own defense.
Another round came. After a few moments of intense sword clanging, Lauren managed to tap Jacques' arm. The Musketeer looked surprised but lowered her blade nonetheless. "Good. That's enough for today."
Lauren dropped her arm, suddenly feeling like she had done her push-up test and then run a mile for gym class. Ramon stepped over slowly to reclaim his rapier. "Well done, senorita!" he said kindly. Lauren gave a weak smile.
She shuffled over to the worktable and dropped into a seat. "Can I get some breakfast somewhere?" she asked to no one in particular.
"Actually, it's almost lunchtime," Siroc informed her, having been silent for her ordeal. "We decided to let you sleep in. The garrison kitchens might have something for you, though." He once again became absorbed in his work like he had never stopped to watch some fighting practice in the middle of his laboratory.
"I'll take her," d'Artagnan offered. No one bothered to object. He strode over to Lauren, holding out his arm for her to take.
Lauren ignored the gesture and moved to the door, looking to him expectantly. "Lead the way."
D'Artagnan hid a bemused expression and walked down the corridors beside the crazy but bold young woman. "Do you treat all men like this, mademoiselle?"
Lauren narrowed her eyes at him. "I can walk without assistance, thank you very much. Boys at home don't do all these chivalrous things, anyway." It would be annoying if they did, too…
"It's a shame that you're not being courted by a courteous man," he told her, leading her around a corner.
"Courted? Ha! I hardly have time for my friends, let alone a boyfriend," Lauren told him absentmindedly, only slightly curious as to why he was so interested in her personal life.
D'Artagnan slowed, a frown on his face. "Siroc said you were seventeen. Surely you are about to be wed."
"Me getting married?" Lauren repeated, amazed at how backwards his thinking was. "If I were home I'd be panicking about applying to college and planning a career while still maintaining some sort of life in my senior year! If I ever got married, it wouldn't be for another five years at the very least; it'd be the furthest thing from my mind." She looked up at the dashing musketeer. He probably didn't understand anything I just said.
"Your parents don't object to you running around by yourself without any protection?" he asked, looking concerned.
"I'm hardly 'loose,' and I don't need 'protection.' Except maybe from you," Lauren muttered the last part. She brushed by d'Artagnan towards the next open doorway. "Thanks for showing me the way!" She ducked inside the kitchen, listening to his retreating footsteps.
"Thank God I'm rid of him," she said aloud, taking a deep breath and relaxing.
"Funny, d'Artagnan doesn't usually get that reaction from women."