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Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

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Thank you Nerissa for being my Beta.

Chapter 6: Action

It was May, and Paris was resplendent with flowers. The people strolled leisurely down the tree-lined streets or lounged in the salons. Outside the capital, there was the business of preparing the rich dark earth for planting…Some nobles chose to take the ride just to enjoy the scenery as if admiring real life what the popular paintings of the Le Nain brothers depicted in tableau. Cardinal Mazarin commissioned the renowned brothers to make their latest work portraits of himself and his nieces Marie and Olympia. While thus engaged the brothers requested Captain Duval the honored of being billeted among his musketeers. Before returning to their studio, they presented Duval with a painting entitled "the Guard room" in repayment for his gracious hospitality.

However, all was not as it seemed. Unrest festered beneath the surface of the capital. People used a new round of taxes to justify many things. The most recent in a string of unaccountable fires ended the careers of Louis Le Nain, and several days later, his brother Antoine, who fell-prey to his injuries. Mathieu, the last surviving Le Nain, donated his recently combined collection of works for display at the Royale Académie as a memorial. Many Musketeers were among the throngs that went to pay their respects.

Duval asked for the 'Guard room' to be included in the collection, but Mathieu refused, saying that he felt that would be wrong; it was the last surviving work the three had done together, and therefore ought be displayed where could be appreciated by the "brotherhood of guards" that had inspired it.

The portrait for which they had been commissioned Mazarin judged rather unflattering. He suggested they "take it back and fix it." Coincidentally, it was among those that did not survive the fire. A replacement for the lost work was never made.

O

"We are running out of time." Ramon said sullenly gazing sadly at the collection of miniatures and portraits. Of the four of companions, he'd been the most affected by the artists' untimely deaths.

"I can't help but agree with you." Siroc whispered. The mausoleum-like quality of the gallery made him uneasy, and he longed for the sunshine. "As soon as the 'shipping concerns' are organized everything must be ready for transport."

"Understood," Jacques nodded. "D'artagnan and I are on guard again tonight. It's a pity really; what the boy needs more than anything is a friend.

D'artagnan could not tear his eyes away from the brothers' paintings of "Boys Playing Cards", and "The Peasants Meal" reminded him so of his time with his mother in Gascony; it brought tears to his eyes. But like his friends, he could not surrender himself fully to the magic of the art.

"He is board almost to tears with the endless sessions with nobles and parliament," D'artagnan frowned "This general malaise is not gaining him supporters among the bourgeoisie. I've heard Him speak wistfully about a Vacation of sorts. I suspect when the time comes he'll be eager to cooperate…" The Gascon said in a hushed tone.

O

Months passed June and July faded with all their burning glory while preparations were made but the four-musketeer conspirators' awaited the ship. Finally word came from Le Harve; Porthos and his crew would arrive at the quay of Porte St. Honore, August 20. D'artagnan, Jacques and Siroc would move on the palace at dusk. Ramón would locate the ship then await his friends at le Tuileries and swiftly guide them to it.

This was a necessary precaution, as the letter had not specified the ship's name, (Porthos's pleasure tended to change her name to suit her captain's mood. D'artagnan recalled the ship had been christened 'Queen of America' less than a year ago. Before that, it had been the 'Tsarina of Tokyo' and who could forget the ever popular 'Barmaid's kiss'? As far as Siroc was concerned, it didn't matter what they called the vessel so long as it was where they needed it when the time came.

Finally the day they waited for arrived. D'artagnan was the first to leave for the Palace Royal. Siroc never would have asked it of him, but The young Gascon insisted his place was to keep his father occupied while the others did what had to be done.

-o-o-o-o-

"So you DO know the Navière defence?" D'artagnan confirmed as he faced off against his legendary father in the marble hall the king used (like his father before him) for his own fencing instruction.

"First confuse your opponent" Charles intoned, matching word to action and a flurry of strokes rained down on his son's blade. Young D'artagnan exchanged strikes with his father to no avail till thought he thought he saw a hole in his father's defense and dove in with a low attack to his left leg.

"You took the bate," The legend smiled and turned his son's thrust with the appropriate counter move…"so I parry Septiem and Envelope in Quarte" His The elder D'artagnan masterfully entrapped the younger's blade high and to the right.

"Oui" the young musketeer nodded, "What next?"

Like lightning, the legend struck his son's wrist with the flat of his blade. The slap to was more startling than painful; It reminded Dart of a similar injury he'd received as a child to prevent him from reaching for the bed-warmer while it was still balanced on the coals. As then, His first thought was 'what did I do wrong?' but this was no rebuke it was part of the instruction "strike your opponents forearm." His father explained but before the young Gascon could recover from the shock, his sword went flying from his grasp.

"Disarm opponent," Charles intoned, "then to finish the Navière is to strike … there." He touched his son gently between the brows, just over the bridge of his nose. "–Dead--" the legend said finally.

"I would have thought you'd need a heavier blade to pierce the skull." Young D'artagnan wondered aloud.

"Exactly what makes the defense so effective my son." Charles beamed, these casual moments between them were far too rare. If only he'd been around more while the boy was growing up …If only Anne hadn't needed him so much…The older man frowned. It was pointless to dwell in the past. "We should do this more often." He suggested.

"I…I'd like that." his son said, surprised that it was true It was with genuine regret he admitted, "Unfortunately my duties are taking me far from Paris; I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"When do you leave?" Charles asked.

"Later tonight." The young man sighed.

"It's probably for the best," his father nodded "Several Swiss Guard were attacked yester-eve. Better, you and your friends are well away 'till things settle."

There was a long pause before Charles continued, "I appreciate you taking the time to come by before you left."

D'artagnan's throat constricted painfully; how could he admit he didn't know if he'd be coming back, or whether his father would even want to see him if he did? Kidnapping a king was as close to treason as one could get…And his father was not the most forgiving when it came to even perceived offenses against the royal family… after all that was what ended his relationship with Uncle Aramis. The young Musketeer bit his lip.

Charles had been a soldier far too long not to recognize that look. It was the stark realization that any assignment may be ones last. He pulled the boy against his chest with one strong arm. "You'll do fine." He said and ruffled his son's dark hair in an uncharacteristic show of affection. It had come loose from its tail during the fencing instruction and fell like lace about his shoulders. The younger man was speechless; he just relished the brief contact and struggled to master the conflicting emotions which threatened to overwhelm him.

-o-o-o-o-

Jacqueline made her way into the palace in guise of a chambermaid. When she had discussed her plans to obtain clothing and gear from the King's chambers with the others, she had been purposefully vague about the details. Only D'artagnan was aware that on several occasions over the past month she posed successfully as a palace maid to establish her authenticity. Now she moved with unhurried ease through the halls of the Royal palace.

Although Louis was never in his quarters this time of day, Several of Cardinal's guards usually strutted about, pretending they inspired the same level of competence and trust that the musketeer did.

Jacqueline thought it unlikely that she would be recognized, and even if she would, it would not be as Jacques le Ponte. When the Red Guard approached, she casually faded into the shadows.

She'd heard enough gossip from the other servants to know that those guards hardly acted like men of God when they got a serving wench alone in one of the back halls. Their reputation alone would give her cause to want to avoid them.

Today, however, there was definitely something afoot. Firstly, there were decidedly more Cardinal's guard than on her previous visits. Secondly, they were moving briskly, as if occupied by some urgent matter.

The final and most surreal bit of intelligence was that they seemed to be carrying Books, paintings, and even furniture; heavy antiques by the look of them. She could not imagine why guards were necessary for such a mundane task as removing items from the cardinal's chambers and relocating them elsewhere in the palace.

Something was clearly afoot, and Jacqueline certainly did not want to be around when it did.

She busied herself tidying the king's rooms; she made the bed, put away his clothes and clean linens, and set out the after dinner clothing his Valet de Chambre had chosen for him.

That completed, she selected several other suits from the very back of the wardrobe. What she chose were not the pastel blues and yellows favored by the queen mother and the royal attaches, but grays and greens and deep burgundies that would not seem amiss in field or forest.

Next were Hunting leathers and other personal items that would comfort a youth away from home, and all were cunningly secreted in the voluminous layers of her skirt, sometimes being a woman DID have its advantages. Although she might have enjoyed seeing D'artagnan don her clever disguise, she knew he barely made a convincing peasant…being a woman would surely tax his meager acting abilities.

As a final layer to her somewhat lumpish disguise, she donned one of Louie's wigs and made her way to the stables. Her young Gascon left Louis's 'Butterfly' saddled and waiting to take her to rendezvous with the others.

-o-o-o-o-

Siroc paced the confines of his lab for what seemed like the millionth time. Patience was one attribute he thought he had mastered during his time as a slave…but those years never prepared him to deal with the worry of sending friends alone into a potentially dangerous situation. The inventor sighed; he had his own part to play (perhaps the most dangerous and vital) still it was fear for his friends that most consumed his mind. He was the one responsible for getting the rest involved in this.

As dusk deepened and night approached, His time for action drew near. Siroc forcibly pushed emotion to the deepest corners of his mind. He needed no additional distractions when he approached the king. He would do what ever it takes to spirit Louis safely away.

Chapter 7: Close Call: things rarely work out exactly as we plan.

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