11. Arrival

In the early afternoon, a group of Musketeers gathered in the back courtyard of the garrison. Isaac and Olivier stood to one side talking in low voices with Charles while Captain Duval spoke to Ramon and Jacqueline. "You are to be the extra eyes and ears; we cannot allow anyone to see or hear what happens here, understand?" The young Musketeers showed their acceptance, and Duval went on. "D'Artagnan took leave for yesterday and today, so I know he will not be here, but where is Siroc?"

"Oh, sir, I am to tell you that he is in the middle of a very important experiment that requires his attention. He sends you his apologies," Jacqueline jumped in, satisfied that she could do her part to protect a friend from this Bishop de Vannes. Duval nodded and moved away to address the older soldiers.

Ramon looked down at his courageous young friend. She had taken extra care to look like a man today: her chin hair had been applied with extra adhesive, her hair was parted to the extreme side and tied with a double knot, and, Ramon could tell by the way she was breathing, Jacqueline had bound herself tighter than usual as well. "You doing all right, mi hermana?" he asked.

Jacqueline smiled up at him, "It's just the heat." She shrugged her shoulders a few times to loosen up and straightened her jacket again with a little tug. She was avoiding the wandering gaze of Charles by shrinking back behind Ramon. They both resigned themselves to waiting.

They did not have to wait long, however, because an opulently gilded carriage pulled up in front of them. The matched pair of dapple grays was pulled to a halt by a man dressed in rich green and gold livery. A footman detached himself from his post to open the coach door and let the stairs down for the man inside.

Jacqueline put on her best imperturbable soldier look, and she dutifully scanned the surrounding rooftops for hidden assassins or spies. Ramon merely watched the dark doorway of the carriage, curiously waiting for its occupant to emerge.

A gloved hand gripping a staff emerged first, booted feet following. The man who grew out of the shadow had shoulder length, loose, wavy, black hair and a goatee—both were graying. His skin was tanned, and his surprisingly light eyes looked out from under bushy brows. He had the air of a soldier, holding himself proudly erect, and of a priest, with a stern but wise look in his eye. His outfit, in fact, looked much like a Bishop's robe made in green. A Spanish decorated sword belt and sheath were hung around his waist and displayed a delicate looking gold hilt on his rapier.

Jacqueline could not help but stare at this magnificent man. He looked every inch a nobleman, warrior, and holy man mixed together in some odd way. His very presence commanded immediate respect and admiration. She was so distracted that she did not see the expressions on Ramon's face; he went from surprise to shock to confusion and finally ended on rage.

By now the Bishop had both feet on the ground and was gazing up at the garrison he had not seen in years. Charles was moving forward with a stiff stride as though he was dreading to tell him something.

"Por Arcelia!" Ramon cried, drawing his rapier and charging the Bishop. Jacqueline, stunned by her friend's behavior, was a split second late in reacting.

"No, Ramon!" she yelled, leaping forward, trying to throw herself between the Bishop and her friend. Charles and the Bishop had drawn in defense, and Olivier, Isaac, and Duval were running forward. Ramon swung once at the Bishop who blocked it easily with his staff. Jacqueline rushed between the two men and hit Ramon's rapier down hard, raising the tip of hers to his throat. Duval and Isaac rushed up to grab the Spaniard's shoulders from behind.

"Drop it," Charles growled before Duval had a chance to speak. Ramon, seeing the hopeless odds, surrendered his blade. He never tore his eyes from the Bishop. Jacqueline's arm shook from the shock of having Ramon held captive under her own rapier.

The Bishop regarded the sputtering Musketeer with cold eyes. "Have you some quarrel with me, boy?" He held his staff calmly at his side in a position where he could still easily strike.

"My sister was Arcelia Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz, abbé," Ramon said simply, daring the Bishop to deny anything.

Jacqueline dropped her blade from Ramon's throat and looked at the Bishop. The man blanched for a moment but regained his composure quickly. "Take him," he said simply, turning away from his attacker. Isaac, Olivier, and Charles stared at Ramon peculiarly.

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Duval steered Ramon into a back storeroom of the garrison, hand gripping one of his arms; Jacqueline trailed behind, sword tip pointing at her friend's back. Duval was muttering, "My own Musketeer… attacking unprovoked… distinguished guest…" Jacqueline supposed he was saving the explosion for behind closed doors.

The dark room Duval opened was full of sacks of wheat stacked from the stone floor to the wooden ceiling. Ramon walked all the way in, surveying the windowless room with no expression. He turned to face Captain Duval who was positively glowering in the doorway.

"I'll stand guard," Jacqueline announced, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her. She could hear Duval yelling on the other side of the thick barrier. Though she could not make out the words, she winced at the tone.

Duval pulled the door open behind her, and she whirled to meet him. "…You'll stay here until I decide what to do with you!" he howled over his shoulder into the room. Shutting the door tight, he locked it behind him. He then noticed Jacqueline standing there. "What are you looking at? Go take care of our guest!" Duval limped off angrily back down the hall.

Jacqueline hesitated a moment. She turned to the small grill about eye level in the door. "Ramon?" she whispered.

His face loomed up out of the darkness. "That was the abbé d'Herblay. I had to do it for my sister."

Jacqueline nodded. "I'll talk to the Captain about it." She gave him one last lingering look of sympathy before turning on her heel to follow orders. She left wondering how strange it was that Ramon's abbé and Siroc's Bishop were one and the same.

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Jacqueline carefully balanced the full tray of food on one arm as she knocked on the door with her free hand. "Come in," a voice commanded from the other side. She let herself in, mentally appreciating all the waitresses in the café who did this balancing act effortlessly every day.

"Private Jacques LePonte, sir, bringing you your supper as per request," she stood at the best attention she could manage with her burden.

The Bishop looked up from his desk; it already had books and papers strewn haphazardly across it after only a few hours of use. The man himself had changed into plain black trousers and a loose, flowing white shirt. He motioned with ink stained fingers to a table across the room in front of his fireplace. "Very good—you can set it up over there."

Jacqueline looked at the table in surprise, and she moved to it anyway. She had not expected to set out his meal for him but took it in stride. He was an important guest, one used to having servants wait upon him, no doubt.

After she finished arranging the dishware, she stood and addressed the Bishop once more. "Is there anything else I could get you, Monsieur—?" Jacqueline fumbled for the correct way to address him.

"Monsieur le Duc," he replied, "I am René Duc d'Alameda. I'm afraid that the incident earlier did not allow for proper introductions, Private LePonte." He stood and walked over to the chair Jacqueline had set up by his dining table. "Please, join me for a glass of wine. I've had no good conversation since I left from Spain. Sit."

Jacqueline obeyed, pulling a chair up towards the fireplace, but she declined to take the offered drink.

The Duc asked about the Musketeers and Captain Duval and Paris in general. He admitted that he had not been in the city for over twenty years. Jacqueline tried to answer as truthfully as she could while taking the time to observe the man who had dishonored Ramon's sister and enslaved Siroc.

A break in the exchange allowed Jacqueline to ask a question herself, "What brings you to France now, Your Excellency?"

The Duc studied her over the rim of his wineglass, taking a large swallow before answering. "I am searching for a girl. A young woman really…" He gave Jacqueline one more scrutinizing glance. "Maybe you've seen or heard of her. She would be almost twenty-one now with dark hair and light eyes, so I'm told. Her name is Jacqueline Roget."

Jacqueline's jaw dropped.