Chapter Five
Aramis self-consciously pulled at his breeches. He wondered who the unlucky previous owner had been. They were clearly of a bigger build than him, and yet, had fallen on hard times at the end of their life. The too-big breeches were ripped in a few places but otherwise in better condition than the doublet he wore. He suspected the clothes might have come from two bodies. Perhaps the breeches belonged to someone who had been attacked and killed. The doublet could have belonged to a hard-working miser who refused to replace the old garment when it became tatty.
The thoughts of other people helped to distract Aramis as he and d'Artagnan made their way across the city in the early morning light. Their progress was slow. Despite being tall well-fed men, their clothing gave them the appearance of destitution. Porthos had insisted they muddy their skin in places before they left the garrison to round out their disguise. The bruises Aramis bore from the attack the previous day only added to the illusion. They looked the part and people were treating them the way they would expect - with derision. The tradesmen watched them carefully, fearful they might try to steal from them. The well-off looked down on them; some hid their faces behind frilly handkerchiefs. The Red Guard sneered at them. With every step, Aramis' respect for the down-trodden and destitute only went up.
Being treated as the lowest of the low was exactly what they wanted. It meant their efforts to disguise themselves were working. Porthos was right, even if Aramis had argued at the time. They needed to be invisible. The two of them would be recognised if they merely took their uniforms off and wore simple clothes. They needed to blend in and to do that they had to disappear.
Aramis disliked the conflict he had created with Porthos. Porthos felt to blame, but Aramis felt the blame lay with him. The truth was that neither of them was to blame. Circumstances had conspired against them. Serendipity had played its part, and now they were in the horrible situation of having to rescue their friend who was innocent of any blame. Athos was being used to punish them. Whoever had taken Athos knew what they were doing. They had taken Athos so that both Porthos and Aramis would feel guilt. A clever ploy. And it was working. Despite them, each reassuring the other that there was no blame to take.
'Snap out of it and concentrate,' urged d'Artagnan.
Aramis glanced across to find his friend staring at him. He realised his wandering mind was leaving him distracted and in danger of dropping his act of poor, destitute, street dweller. He nodded and went back to staring at the ground as they made their way along the streets towards the Court of Miracles.
'Sorry,' said Aramis. 'I just can't-'
'Neither of you is to blame,' said d'Artagnan. 'If you want to get maudlin about it, do it once we've got him and we're all safe.'
'When did you become so wise?' asked Aramis with a grim chuckle.
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes, 'I learned from the best,' he replied.
'I'm not sure if that is a compliment or not,' retorted Aramis. 'We can discuss it further once we're done. You're right. The priority at the moment is to rescue Athos before Porthos puts himself in any unnecessary danger.'
D'Artagnan nodded, 'ready?'
Aramis paused staring along the road looking for the invisible boundary, between Paris and the Court. Porthos often talked fondly of his former home, but his friend had known no other life. Aramis found the place distasteful and wished the inhabitants had never found themselves in such circumstances. They had formed their community when no one else would help them. Something that should not have been allowed to happen.
The last time Aramis had been in the Court of Miracles he had been in uniform. The inhabitants were either hostile towards him and his friends or they had shrunk away, cowering in fear. Now, he and d'Artagnan were ignored. A couple of well-fed men looked them over as they moved deeper into the Court but did not push themselves off the wall they were leaning on. Aramis guessed they were members of the Court's army, watching for anyone who did not belong. The fact that they were ignored meant their disguises were working. Both he and d'Artagnan were affecting a hunched walk, their arms wrapped around them in an attempt to keep warm. The act and the tatty clothes were what would help them through the streets of the Court.
They walked on, making sure to watch their surroundings, something the street dwellers would be doing anyway. But street dwellers would have been looking for food, shelter, and safety. Aramis and d'Artagnan were looking for the landmarks that would help guide them to the places Porthos had suggested Athos might be being held.
D'Artagnan nudged him in the ribs and steered him into a space behind a set of stone steps. They were tucked away from the main street next to the entrance to an alleyway. D'Artagnan used a nod to indicate what had drawn his attention. Aramis peered around the stone steps and watched as two emaciated street dwellers whispered urgently to each other. One of them, a wizened old man was shaking his head whilst the younger man, who had several nasty deep scars across his shoulder, looked agitated.
'The younger one was watching us carefully,' said d'Artagnan. 'I think he spotted something about us that didn't fit in.'
Aramis nodded with a frown, 'I guess if anyone is going to see as for what we really are, it's the people we're pretending to be. It looks as though the old man is putting him off saying anything. Probably dangerous for them to approach the better off here in the same way it would be in the rest of the city.'
He glanced around for a few seconds, searching the faces of the other people around the road. There were a couple of people selling clothes that had probably been stolen. A man with a chicken clutched under his arm who looked worried the future meal would be grabbed off him and a couple of thin girls, who were probably not even twenty, trying to entice the grubby looking men into their dirty home. None of them had noticed the two strangers trying to pass themselves off as locals. If the street dweller that had spotted them was the only one that worked out, they did not belong, Aramis considered their disguise to still be working.
'That building there,' said d'Artagnan, who was looking along the alleyway they were standing in. 'I think that's the patterned roofed building Porthos talked about. We should start our search there. It was the one he could describe the best.'
Aramis followed d'Artagnan's gaze and spotted the tall building with the patterned gable end under a steeply sloping roof. Different coloured stones had been used to create a triangular pattern following the roofline. Porthos had told them the building had an extensive cellar that was used to lock up people considered to be criminals in the Court. It was a good place to start their search.
They approached the building, which would have once been a place of commerce. But buying and selling within the walls of the grand building had probably not been done in decades. It was still a sturdy-looking building, but the lack of upkeep could be seen as several of the windows were boarded up, and one of the two large doors at the front was warped leaving gaps in the wood.
'I don't think we can just walk in through the front door,' mused d'Artagnan.
'Porthos said there was a door to the side, down some steps that led to what would have been a staff corridor.'
They changed their direction and made for the side door. The plain door was down three steps meaning the two Musketeers could crouch out of the way if necessary. But no one was paying them any attention. If they kept to the edges and shadows, they barely warranted a second look from anyone. Aramis watched a couple of women walk past laden down with piles of blankets, some of which looked expensive. The women were talking to each other about the same man and what he was like to sleep with. Their conversation would have turned heads in any other part of the city.
D'Artagnan tugged at his sleeve, 'come on, while no one's looking this way.'
They slipped into the building and closed the door behind them.
They found themselves in a bare stone corridor with doors leading off it. A few yards along the corridor, steps led down.
D'Artagnan moved to stand by the first door; he pressed his ear to the wood and listened. Aramis remained still and quiet as his friend assessed the room beyond the door. He glanced back and shook his head with a shrug.
'I can't hear anything.'
Aramis returned the shrug and indicated for d'Artagnan to try the door. The young Musketeer pushed the handle down for a second and shook his head. Aramis repeated the actions at the next door. There was no indication that any of the rooms were occupied, and all the doors were locked. They paused at the top of the steps for a few seconds before descending.
A dank cellar greeted them at the bottom of the steps. More rooms with closed doors lined the small hallway at the bottom of the stairs. They took it in turns to try each door. Only one opened to reveal an empty room that did not look as though it had been occupied for many years.
'I think we should move on,' said Aramis. 'Porthos said there was a building with arches across the front that had a couple of rooms tacked onto the end of it that might be worth checking.'
D'Artagnan nodded, 'that was the one he said was a couple of streets over from this one.'
They retraced their steps in silence. Aramis was disappointed to have failed to find Athos straight away, but there were several buildings still to try. Aramis only hoped they would find their friend in one of the buildings Porthos had suggested, otherwise they would be searching blind. At least with the limited guidance, Porthos had been able to give them they had a vague idea what to expect in the buildings they were going to search.
A light rain was falling when they returned to the street. They saw a few people walking quickly to find shelter, probably fearing the rain would become heavier. If people were sheltering inside, their searches might prove harder to conduct without being seen. But they had no choice but to persevere.
The shadows continued to offer them a different kind of shelter. Aramis could feel the rain soaking into his tatty clothes, but he could also feel the safety the dim edges created. D'Artagnan was a few yards ahead of him, picking his way around any obstacle. They were pausing whenever they saw someone and pretending to look for things in the corners or to pick at any dirty rags they found. The people they passed carried on with their own lives. A couple of street dwellers watched them warily, but Aramis was sure they were more interested in protecting their spot in a recessed doorway or under a set of steps. No one else paid them special attention.
D'Artagnan stopped suddenly, causing Aramis to walk into the back of him. He found himself being pushed back against a rough wall. They were within sight of the building with arches and had been about to cross an open square towards it. D'Artagnan kept Aramis pinned to the wall for a few seconds as he looked around a corner. Aramis remained where he was. D'Artagnan's actions probably meant someone more threatening than a lowly street dweller was ahead of them. After a few seconds, d'Artagnan released him and indicated for him to look around the corner.
Aramis leaned around the corner a little and watched a man wearing a cloak. The cloak had been thrown over the man's shoulder out of the way of his right arm. The man's skin was darker than most of the others they had seen. Aramis wondered if they were looking at the foreign man that Porthos had spoken about. Aramis' memory of the man was not clear.
D'Artagnan leaned into him a little and whispered, 'Athos' scarf. On his wrist.'
'Asim,' said Aramis, remembering the description of the foreign man from Porthos.
Asim was the leader of the Court's army. Porthos had warned them to be wary of the man.
'We need to follow him,' said Aramis.
D'Artagnan nodded. They waited a few seconds for Asim to walk away before stepping out and following him. The man turned at the end of the arch-fronted building and walked around to the side of the building. Aramis and d'Artagnan stopped at the corner and looked around. They watched Asim having a conversation with a man leaning against the corner of a dim alleyway and the road. They glanced towards the building several times. The other man nodded and laughed along with something Asim said to him. Then Asim turned and walked hastily away.
'Do we follow him or search this building?' said d'Artagnan before answering the question himself. 'I think he's here. I think that man is a guard watching for any escape attempt.'
Aramis nodded, 'that room there,' he said, pointing at the wood-built room that stuck out from the main building. 'That looks added on, doesn't it? We must find the door on the inside of the building. That's where they're keeping him. It has to be.'
He turned back towards the front of the building, looking along the corridor created by the many arches that opened onto the square. D'Artagnan grabbed his shoulder and stopped him from walking forward quickly.
'Remember we have to go carefully. We're going to be trespassing in there.'
Aramis nodded reluctantly. As much as he wanted to rush into the building, he knew he could not. They had to keep to their act, and now they would be entering somewhere even the street dwellers should not be.
'You're right. We're no good to him captured or killed. We owe Athos, and Porthos, to do this right.'
With a more restrained step, Aramis led d'Artagnan towards the wide-open double doors that led into the building.
Usually, when they stepped into a large building they would be greeted by a grand hallway. It would be wide and high, probably with paintings stretching up the walls. The floor would be polished, and the sound of their footsteps would reverberate around the open space.
But in the Court of Miracle's things worked differently. The building they entered was one of the inhabited ones. It had been adapted for many people. Over the years what once might have been a polished stone floor had been covered in rugs and strips of wood. The rugs were threadbare in places, the now rough scratched floor showing through. Their footsteps did not echo around the room. They were able to walk silently with little effort. And they did not have to worry about looking for places to hide. Makeshift walls had been created from broken furniture and sheets hanging up on ropes attached to the hooks on the walls where the large paintings would have been.
The two Musketeers were confronted with a maze of rooms created by the bits of damaged furniture and the sheets and blankets. They began to make their way through the maze, peeping between splintered old tables standing on their ends and frayed holes in the blankets. They spotted a few people sleeping and a couple engaged in an intimate private moment that caused them both to look away quickly. The society worked differently in the Court, and they were being reminded of that frequently as they conducted their search.
The vast hall gave way to a large ballroom which was no different. The room was partitioned off in much the same way, with a twisting path laid out through the middle of it. Potential hiding places could be seen at every turn.
'It was probably just someone new,' came a voice near the door. 'He was probably hoping for a reward for reporting them.'
'Yeah, but we have to search. Asim wants to be sure. What if they've come to find their mate?'
Aramis stared at d'Artagnan for a second. The two men that had spoken did not sound scared or fearful of their surroundings. Aramis knew they were members of the Court's army. The young man that had spotted them must have plucked up the courage to tell someone he suspected there were strangers in the Court. Asim would have been expecting something. Porthos' return would have left Asim wary. Aramis doubted the leader would have accepted the previous residents' wish to return as genuine. And now the army knew there were other strangers in their midst.
'Go,' said d'Artagnan, pushing him further into the building. 'I'll lead them away. We knew this would happen.'
Aramis nodded, 'be careful,' he said.
Aramis hated the idea of d'Artagnan deliberately making himself a target, but the young man was good at evading capture. He was swift and would be able to keep the men hunting them distracted whilst Aramis continued to search.
D'Artagnan darted off in the opposite direction as Aramis crouched behind a smashed ornate desk. He watched as two armed men moved forward, drawn to the sound of d'Artagnan steps as he ran further into the building in the opposite direction than they had been heading. The plan had always been for d'Artagnan to make a nuisance of himself if they came close to getting found. Aramis had not expected them to need to put that plan into action so soon.
He hoped they were in the right building, and he could liberate Athos quickly, and all four of them could leave the Court for good.
MMMM
Athos looked at his bloody wrists. Grazes and bruises circled his arms, where he had rubbed the skin raw as he wriggled free of the rough ropes that had been binding him. A convenient sharp jutting piece of flint in the stone wall helped Athos to cut through the ropes. It had taken longer than he would have liked, but he was free.
His shoulders ached and his jaw hurt where the gag had been tied around his head. After tentatively trying the handle on the only door in the room Athos knew he would have to wait until he had a visitor to make an escape attempt. He used the time wisely, conserving his strength. Sitting by the wooden wall feeling the slight breeze on his face was helping to keep him alert and chase away the remains of his headache.
Athos was ready for action, although he knew he was not in peak condition. But he would do what he had to do. The men that had taken him would not act with any chivalry; he knew that. And Athos was prepared to act in kind; he had picked up plenty of dirty tricks from Porthos over the years.
The moment he had waited for arrived as footsteps approached the door. Athos got to his feet; he took a moment to peer through the gap in the wood. The guard outside was talking to a young woman. He was distracted as the woman rubbed her hand over his thigh. Athos did not think he would have to worry about the man raising the alarm if there was not too much noise. And Athos knew how to neutralise a threat silently.
A bolt was drawn back on the heavy door. Athos moved his hands behind his back after hastily putting the gag back on. He needed to appear helpless. The door was pushed open. A man was standing to one side; his arm stretched out as he pulled the door open. A second man filled the door frame. He was holding a tray with a cup and a bowl. The bowl was steaming, and Athos detected the smell of stew. A hunk of bread was next to the bowl.
'On your knees,' said the man that was holding the door open. 'You're lucky to be getting anything. This is how it's going to work-'
Athos never got to find out how it was going to work. He surged forward, taking both men by surprise. He pushed the tray upwards towards the man that was carrying it. The steaming contents of the bowl splashed onto the man's face and chest. He gasped as the hot liquid hit his bare skin. Athos grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him out of the way.
But he was not quick enough to get the better of the other man. The second punched out, catching Athos across his jaw, knocking the gag off in the process. The move caused him to take half a step to the right, which the man took advantage of with a swift kick to the knee. Athos tried to orientate himself, but it was too late. The first man had got his senses back and joined in the affray. It was only a matter of moments before Athos was on the ground being kicked by the pair. He fought back as well as he could, managing to block a few of the strikes with his arm and pushing the men. He knew he would not be able to overpower them.
The second man pushed Athos onto his back and rested his foot on his chest. Athos looked up at the man who sneered at him. The other man, his face streaked with the remains of the hot stew, readied himself to stamp down on Athos.
'I'm no good to you dead,' Athos said. 'I'm being used as bait. You need me alive.'
'Alive yes,' said the man as he raised his foot. 'You don't have to be uninjured.'
Athos made a concerted effort to turn away from the man's descending boot. He pushed onto his side and scrabbled at the ground. He could hear the men laughing above him. Another kick to his back left him reeling as the pain flooded through his body. It took him too long to recover. Another kick followed.
He managed to glance upwards and knew he had not hidden the shock at the sight of a dagger being wielded by the man that had been covered in the stew. Athos knew then he had made a mistake fighting the men. They did not care if Flea and Asim's plan to get revenge on Porthos and Aramis involved Athos' or not. The plan was probably far enough into its execution that Athos was no longer a vital part. His death would not change much.
Athos tried to move away from the man with the knife, but there was nowhere to go.
MMMM
