5. Traps
"Let's not be hasty now," the masked man said, words dripping like honey. His naked blade was raised as well, its delicate gold hilt glistening in the fading light from the window. He was decorated in all black, from hair and mask to booted toe.
"Who are you, and what do you want?" d'Artagnan asked levelly in just the right mood for a fight. It was like looking in the mirror; the man was the same height and size as d'Artagnan. If d'Artagnan put on full dress and a mask, he could probably even pass as the assassin. It was a little unnerving.
"Is that how you treat all your guests?" the man stepped fully out from the changing screen he had been hiding behind. "I have come here for business only."
D'Artagnan took a step forward. How could he have missed another presence in the room? "If you mean to kill me, let's just get it over with."
"Kill you?" the Spanish man laughed. "No, that is not why I'm here. I thought we could help each other. Put that steel away and take a seat." He took his own advice and sheathed his sword before arranging himself in a chair under the window. When d'Artagnan hesitated, he continued, "My style is more to sneak in the shadows, and kill you in your bed." The cold smile under his mask was obvious in his speech.
Putting his rapier away, d'Artagnan perched on the chair farthest from the assassin's. "Help each other? How?"
"You can get me to Mazarin."
"I'm not a hired blade—"
"I know where your lady friend is."
"What 'lady friend?'" d'Artagnan said quickly.
"Don't play dumb with me. The little woman that pretends to be a Musketeer, she is walking right into a trap," the Spaniard leaned back, toying with the other man. D'Artagnan sprang from his chair to the door instantly. "Don't bother; it's too late. By now she's well on her way."
D'Artagnan turned to the man with a cold stare. "How do you know all this?"
"Let us say, knowing things is a matter of life and death in my line of work."
Visibly restraining himself, d'Artagnan said, "Tell me where she is—"
"Tell me about the hidden corridors of the palace."
"I can't do that."
"Then I guess our business is at an end." The masked man rose to the window to leave.
"Wait." D'Artagnan looked sideways at him, conscience straining between duty to his King and loyalty to a woman. The masked man smiled.
"How do I know I can trust you?" d'Artagnan charged.
"I do not believe you have a choice, eh?" the Spaniard drawled.
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Jacqueline stepped elegantly out of the inn. She had a richly ornamented green dress on with her precious cross hanging down a plunging neckline. Her wig's blond hair was pulled back with a curled ringlet brushing each side of her face. She wore a diamond ring on her left hand. Her squabble with d'Artagnan had emboldened her, and she walked the evening streets with all the dignity of a lesser noble or successful merchant's wife.
She exchanged pleasantries with the innkeeper as she passed him going the other direction. "Bonsoir, Madame. I hope we are accommodating you as well as you like?" He kissed her hand.
"It is quite comfortable, I assure you, Monsieur." She gave a graceful nod, the one she had seen Queen Anne herself use. Jacqueline continued along her evening route and found herself admiring the glittering ring she wore.
Distracted, she wandered down an empty, sinister alley. By the time she noticed the shadows closing in, the men in black had overtaken her.
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When d'Artagnan left his room, his face was drawn tight, mouth set in a determined line. His stride was steady and firm as he found Siroc and Ramon eating supper in the common room. His friends looked up in alarm at their comrade's entrance.
"Where's Duval?" He asked, tearing up a sheet of parchment and tossing the pieces into the fire.
"In his office," Siroc replied quickly.
"I need your help…"
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Siroc stuck his head into Duval's office, ignoring the astonished look on the Captain's face, to say, "Sir, I have a new invention you might like to see."
Duval replied kindly, "That's all well and good, Siroc, but I'm just a little busy right now…" He shuffled some papers on his desk to stress his point.
"No problem, sir," Siroc told him. He turned sway and then wheeled a cart of sorts into the office. Duval regarded the jumbled mess on it with a look of dismay. "This will only take a minute."
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D'Artagnan and Ramon ran through the dark streets of Paris. Night had fallen quickly as he sat in his room talking with the assassin. D'Artagnan had divulged a secret entrance into the palace to the Spanish swordsman, and he hoped he would have the pleasure of erasing that memory from the man's mind himself. But that would be all in due time; right now he had to save Jacqueline.
D'Artagnan went over the note in his mind again and again, seeing it as clearly as if the words were burning in front of his eyes…
Dear Sir:
I have in my possession something that claims to belong to you. I require 1000 livres if you wish to regain this treasure. Deliver it to 19 Rue d'Or by midnight, or I cannot be responsible for what happens.
Sincerely,
The Craftsman
P.S. If you doubt my integrity, included is a small token of my affection.
The assassin had intercepted the messenger on his way to d'Artagnan. The masked man also assured d'Artagnan that the address was merely a drop point while they held Jacqueline at another location, the old tannery he now raced to. Now an empty warehouse, it was a congregating place for all of the dredges of society.
Tonight it was almost deserted.
