13. An Arrest To Be Made
D'Artagnan looked up wearily from his place chained on the wall as a hidden door opened to reveal a new visitor. He perked up slightly when he recognized the man. "You?"
The masked man looked quite surprised, but recovered his suave exterior quickly. "What a pleasure to see you again, d'Artagnan. I have to thank you for the easy entry I made." He bowed with a flourish and headed towards the circular staircase that would take him up into Mazarin's chambers once again.
"Wait!" d'Artagnan called, "I can help you."
The Spanish assassin turned back with a hidden smile. "I couldn't ask you to kill in cold blood…" he taunted him, recalling their last conversation.
"It wouldn't be murder. I have a duty to prevent him from hurting anyone else. Help me down and I'll help you." D'Artagnan's eyes pleaded; this could be the only way to save Jacqueline.
The assassin considered—an extra man would be useful if Mazarin had company when he made his move. D'Artagnan seemed a willing killer at this moment, as well. Without a word, the assassin pulled the levers to slacken the chains.
D'Artagnan's legs gave out under the strain of holding his body up for two days. The Spaniard calmly went about picking the locks on the shackles. "Take a moment to stretch your muscles," he drawled. "We'll take him out when he comes down to visit."
D'Artagnan nodded his understanding and tentatively began to test his body's limits.
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Jacqueline ran down the halls of the garrison, her trailing dress and the rapier at her side giving her more difficulty than usual. René was alongside her. She first led him to Siroc's laboratory, opening the door quickly.
Siroc looked up immediately from the notebook in his hand. "Jacqueline?" he called, stunned at her appearance. "You're crazy running around dressed like—" René had poked his head in the door.
"Siroc, listen to me," Jacqueline said half out of breath, "you have nothing to fear from him. I own you now, and I free you. There is no time to explain anymore, just come with us. We are taking Mazarin tonight."
Siroc wasted only an instant before pulling on his jacket and grabbing his baldric. The three ran back out into the hall.
Here they broke off, René to collect the elder Musketeers and Jacqueline and Siroc to free Ramon. As soon as she reached the door, Jacqueline slid open the access panel covering the barred window in the door. Ramon's eyes looked out from the darkness.
"Is that you, Jacqueline?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes, Ramon. I don't have time to explain; I will let you out if you promise not to hurt René, the abbé. Do you trust me?"
"With all my heart," he answered truthfully. "I swear not to harm a hair on the abbé's head without your permission."
"Good enough," Jacqueline told herself. "Ramon, get away from the door." She spun and pulled Siroc's pistol from his belt in one motion. She aimed and fired, blowing the lock out of the door easily. She handed the weapon back to Siroc without a word and swung the door open. "Come on, Ramon." Siroc tossed the bewildered Spaniard his rapier, and they headed out.
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The masked man stood to one side of the end of the staircase, and d'Artagnan waited on the other. Mazarin came walking down, absorbed in some document he held in his hand. D'Artagnan beat the assassin in grabbing the Cardinal from behind, struggling to keep a hold as the man forced him backwards.
The assassin drew his rapier, reacting quickly when he saw Mazarin pull a dagger from his sleeve; he dove in and deftly sliced into the tender anatomy of his arm. The red-robed man dropped the dagger in pain and shock. "Move out of the way, so I can finish him!" the Spanish man cried to d'Artagnan.
"I can't let you do that," d'Artagnan replied. The Musketeer backed up slowly, keeping Mazarin in a firm grip.
"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you!" the masked man called. "Move, or I'll be forced to send you to hell with the unholy swine!"
"You will do no such thing!" a feminine voice called from the stairs. Jacqueline ran down, followed by René, Ramon, Siroc, and Olivier. Mazarin's eyes opened wide as he realized who the woman was. His sudden slump caused d'Artagnan to stumble backwards, hitting the wall hard.
All of the sudden, a large grinding and groaning sound filled the room as a secret niche was revealed by the rock wall sliding out of place. A stone shelf was exposed, containing numerous volumes and stacked loose manuscripts.
Siroc and Olivier hurried over, the younger lifting a piece of parchment gingerly off of a stack, and the latter taking down a large leather bound book. While everyone was distracted by this new development, the masked man sought René's eye. With a slight nod, the older man dismissed the assassin who left silently through the curtain he had entered from.
Olivier looked up from his reading. "These are ancient texts of sorcery and devil worship," his tone reflected the incredulous expression on his face.
"And this is a copy of a letter to an Italian assassin, requesting his services to be used against the King," Siroc chimed in. He scanned the bindings of the other books. "This must be Mazarin's collection for the Order of the Black Tabernacle and the safe for his most incriminating documents."
Mazarin shook off his shock and twisted away from a distracted d'Artagnan. Immediately he was surrounded by a circle of rapiers. The faces of Jacqueline, Ramon, and René stole his last traces of hope for escape. Mazarin scowled as he focused his glare on the third face, "I should have figured the Bishop de Vannes, Aramis of France would still be plotting aginst me. You tried to block my advancement in the Church, and you gave me my hatred for the Musketeers."
René replied harshly, "I came to fix my mistakes, Guilio, and you were at the top of my to do list."
"You've come a long way to do so. I see the Spanish still love you," Mazarin spat, taking in the rapier René held. It was an honorary one given only to nobility by the Spanish monarchs themselves.
"You would have done well to gain some Spanish affection. It is they who wish you dead even more than I," René shot back.
Mazarin had no retort; he simply glared back at the man he loathed. "Let's take him to the King," Olivier broke in. He led the way back up the stairs followed by Mazarin, Ramon, René, and Siroc who carried an armload of paper evidence.
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D'Artagnan and Jacqueline lingered behind. She looked down awkwardly, extremely conscious that she was standing before d'Artagnan in a dress.
His eyes drank in her appearance thirstily. "Jacqueline, you look beautiful," he finally said. It was true—she was radiant in her delicate white gown with loose, flowing dark hair and flushed cheeks. The rapier in her hand only added to the image in d'Artagnan's eyes.
"If I had known Mazarin held you here, I would have come sooner, but we all thought—oouff," she broke off as d'Artagnan wrapped her up in his arms.
"It doesn't matter. You came for me anyway." D'Artagnan released her to allow enough space between them so he could see her face. He leaned in slowly for a kiss, and Jacqueline turned her head away.
"D'Artagnan, there is something that I need to tell you," she said, face still turned aside.
D'Artagnan fumbled to recover after his blunder. "What is it?"
"It's a long story, but basically, we were promised to marry each other," she bit her lip, expecting a usual d'Artagnan-like comment.
Instead, he surprised her with, "I know." Then, he gave a very un-d'Artagnan-like sigh. "Mazarin let it slip. We can easily call it off." He completely let go of her as though her skin burned him to the touch.
"No, d'Artagnan, I don't want to!" burst out of Jacqueline's mouth before she could think about it. D'Artagnan's eyes brightened as he raised his eyebrows, and Jacqueline continued softly, "You may have been my promised husband, but you will always be my chosen lover."
With that she stood on her tiptoes to give him their first real kiss.
