Chapter Three

The garrison was quiet, most of the men were out in the city patrolling or on guard duty. The cadets were enjoying a well-earned break. A couple of stable boys were busy with some of the horses but otherwise, the Musketeers were alone as they made their way to the mess. D'Artagnan found them wine and cups as they settled down to wait for the Captain to return from his duties at the Palace. Aramis built up the fire a little before taking a seat next to Porthos who had gone back to his quiet contemplative mood.

'Can you remember anything else about the attacker from your childhood?' asked Athos who was sitting at the table, the wine bottle a few inches from his hand.

Porthos shook his head and shrugged, 'to be honest I would be mixing up what little I do remember with the rumours we've gathered today. I know that most of what they've said matches up but that's it.'

Athos nodded, d'Artagnan could tell his friend wanted more information but it was clear Porthos had nothing else to add.

The room was quiet for a few moments. D'Artagnan watched Porthos nodding off. He was sitting by the fire gazing at the flames. The troubled Musketeer finally looked settled. Porthos was embarrassed to admit the irrational fear he had felt as a child. D'Artagnan knew that perceptions changed over time. What had terrified the young Porthos years before would not affect him now, as an adult. But the memories were still affecting their friend. Aramis had told them that Porthos had not slept well the previous night and now they knew why.

Athos turned the cup of wine around in his hands lost in thought. Aramis sighed and reached for the bottle of wine, his hand stopping when a mumble came from Porthos.

'Devil,' their friend said. 'Devil man.'

Aramis leaned closer to his friend. Porthos, despite being asleep, looked tense. He had clenched his right hand, fisting the leather of his breeches between his fingers.

'Stay hidden,' mumbled Porthos, turning his head slightly.

His breathing had sped up. Aramis lay his hand on Porthos' arm and shook him. The reaction from the dreaming man was fast and violent. He moved away from Aramis, twisting to the right enough to raise his bent arm and elbowed his friend catching him in the stomach. Aramis huffed as the breath was pushed out of him. He stumbled away ending up leaning against the wall. Porthos still had his arm up, his hand raised, fingers splayed, in a defensive position.

MMMM

Thirty years before…

Porthos knew no one would come to help him. He knew that no one would care that the thing was coming for him.

His mother was dead. There was no one to protect him.

The thing got closer. Porthos pushed himself as far into his doorway as he could. He was small but he could not disappear completely.

He tugged at his blanket, pulling it tight around him.

The shapeless, many-eyed, thing was only a few feet away. He could make out that it was roughly the shape of a man but with no arms or legs. Just a body covered with eyes.

From somewhere within the body an arm emerged. The end of the arm was shining. Porthos could see the claw.

He had heard about the claw.

Before his mother had died, she would talk to the other women. They all talked about the thing with the claw. Porthos had never understood. His mother had kept him close.

Now he knew why.

The thing got closer. The claw stretched out in front of it...

MMMM

Now...

D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, who, although trying to catch his breath, was showing more interest and worry towards his friend.

Athos grabbed Porthos' arm trying to still the confused man. Porthos pushed him away.

'No.'

D'Artagnan joined Athos and pushed Porthos' shoulders back.

'Porthos. Wake up,' said d'Artagnan.

It took Porthos several seconds to focus on d'Artagnan and stop pulling away from his friends. A tense few moments followed as Porthos settled his breathing. Athos and d'Artagnan released their hold on him. He looked at them both with confusion, followed by realisation. He looked at Aramis who was still leaning against the wall.

'That must have been a vivid dream,' remarked Aramis as he rubbed his hand across his stomach where Porthos had hit him.

Porthos leaned back in his chair, losing focus again for a few seconds.

'It was about when I saw the man. I remember it more clearly now.'

Porthos looked up at them again. Athos picked up one of the cups of wine from the table and handed it to him. Porthos took it gratefully.

'I think it was only a few weeks after my mother died…'

He paused for a few moments. D'Artagnan guessed he was pushing unpleasant thoughts away.

'I hadn't found anyone to look after me. I was living on scraps and the goodwill of the other people in the court. There was a doorway I would sleep in. A threadbare blanket was the only thing I owned… The… Devil Man was one of my first memories of being alone. My mother had told me about the scary man. Until she died, I'd not gone around on my own.'

Athos asked, 'the attacks were going on for a while. Focused on the slums and the court?'

Porthos nodded, 'I can't remember how long they went on for,' he said. 'The passage of time for me was difficult to keep track of.'

'But he preyed on the same people as is happening now?' asked Aramis as he took his seat next to Porthos.

'Yes. I was one of the unfortunate children he picked on. I remember it was a particularly cold night. I couldn't sleep. I was sitting in the doorway with the blanket over me and I was shivering. I saw a figure coming along the road. It floated. I know it was just a man, but to five-year-old me… it floated. It wasn't a man. The other street people were calling him a Devil Man. I knew what the Devil was. I knew I should be scared.'

Porthos paused. He took another drink of wine and stared into the distance for a while. They waited for him to continue.

'As he got closer, I knew he had seen me. He was floating towards me. I pushed myself back as far as I could, but he kept coming. I saw the light coming from him-'

'You saw that?' asked d'Artagnan. 'I thought people were making that up. Only saying it because that was part of the collective description. It didn't make sense to us as some were getting strangled and others threatened or hurt with the claw.'

'It was like he was on fire,' Porthos continued. 'He stopped a couple of feet away from me and reached out with his claw-'

'What did the claw look like?' asked Athos.

All the listening men were leaning forward concentrating on what their friend had to say.

'I'm not sure if I remember it correctly. It shone and flickered. I think it was metallic. But to me then it was like something from Hell.'

Porthos looked away.

D'Artagnan broke the silence, 'it's no wonder people are scared. There's going to be people who remember it from the first time around and their stories will only be embellishing what's going on now.'

'Did the man hurt you?' asked Aramis.

Porthos shook his head, 'no. He held the claw in front of my face for a few seconds before moving off along the road. I was so scared I didn't move for the rest of the night. It wasn't until the people that lived in the house opened the door and shooed me away that I moved.'

Porthos furrowed his brow and thought for a moment. He went to say something but stopped.

'Whatever it is that you've remembered, tell us,' said Aramis. 'We'll believe you.'

'I think he disappeared and reappeared.'

Aramis leaned back and raised his eyebrows.

Porthos shrugged, 'I know. It's ridiculous-'

D'Artagnan held up his hand and glanced at Aramis, 'remember two of the people we spoke to - separately - said the same thing.'

'But how can he be doing that?' asked Porthos.

'We will catch him and ask him,' said Athos. 'I believe it is only luck that no one has been killed yet.'

D'Artagnan was inclined to agree. Several of the victims had been hurt but none seriously. It was only a matter of time before the attacker picked on someone who fought back a little harder and was on the receiving end of the claw-like weapon they were using.

The door to the mess was pushed open by Treville who stepped into the room and took in the scene.

'I take it you have an update?' he asked. 'Are you alright Porthos?'

Athos indicated for the Captain to sit at the table. They spent a few minutes updating him and Porthos recounted what had happened to him as a child. D'Artagnan could see nothing but sympathy in the Captain's eyes.

'I've known soldiers forget particularly bloody battles,' said Treville. 'I think the mind does it to protect us. If something is so traumatic it would leave us vulnerable if we could remember it we push it away… I am not sure if we should be glad that you have remembered the details or not.'

Porthos still looked a little uncomfortable, 'I can't add anything to what we've already found out,' he said.

'But you understand what these people are going through,' said Aramis. 'Better than any of us can.'

'Do any of you have a suggestion of how we might proceed,' asked Treville, who wanted to move the focus from his troubled Musketeer.

They looked at each other for a few seconds. D'Artagnan could not think of any specific plan. He searched the faces of his brothers to see if they were on the verge of coming up with something. It was Porthos who leaned forward in his chair and spoke first.

'Bait,' he said.

Treville sighed, he leaned back a little, 'I suppose it is the most obvious way to draw this man out. We do not have the resources or enough clues to search for him. And we cannot lay in wait around every corner in the hope that he will strike.'

Aramis nodded, 'but who would agree to put themselves in danger?' he asked.

'We'll do it,' said Porthos.

'Are you proposing we disguise ourselves as people from the slums?' asked Athos, unable to hide the disdain at the thought.

Porthos chuckled, 'I doubt we could pass ourselves off as the poor. We're all too well fed. But we could be passing through the area. Tradesmen or businessmen of some description. We couldn't be in a higher class or it would look odd. But shop owners on their way home… something like that.'

Aramis took up the planning, 'the weather is cool, we could wear cloaks to conceal who we are. There is a likelihood we would be recognised or remembered from earlier. Hooded cloaks could hide our appearance and a weapon. I think we would have to be minimally armed.'

D'Artagnan always marvelled at how his brothers could come up with a plan, all seemingly thinking along the same lines. He had felt fully integrated into the group a few months before when he realised, he had started doing the same thing.

'If two of us act as bait, the others can follow at a distance,' d'Artagnan said, he noticed Porthos and Aramis nodding as he spoke.

'I want to be one of the people acting as bait,' said Porthos.

Treville smiled, 'I would expect nothing less,' he said.

'I will join you,' said Athos.

The four Musketeers looked at each other for a few seconds. The plan formulated, they only needed to make it happen.

MMMM

That night...

They sourced some clothes that gave them the appearance of traders or shop owners. The cool weather meant they could wear hooded cloaks. If the attacker were to recognise them as Musketeers, he probably would not attack them. Each man would only be armed with a concealed dagger.

They left the garrison as dusk fell. Athos allowed Porthos to dictate the route they took. His friend had rallied himself after the awkward revelations a few hours before. His determination to neutralise the villain that was stalking his former home and the surrounding area was written on his face.

'I'm sorry I kept it from you,' said Porthos as they walked. 'I was struggling to believe it was happening again. And with the memories so jumbled in my head, I wasn't even sure if I had seen the "Hell Beast" before.'

Athos shook his head, 'I think you can be forgiven. If your reaction to dreaming about it was anything to go by it must have been a horrific experience. We have spoken to capable men who have been rendered quivering wrecks. I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like for a child to have to experience it.'

Porthos shook his head, 'it is something I wish I could forget again,' he said. 'Even the odd fractured memories were horrible. But now I can remember it clearly.'

Athos glanced at his friend, unable to see his face now that they had pulled their hoods over their heads.

'Are you sure you want to do this? I'm sure Aramis or d'Artagnan would swap with you.'

After a few seconds, Porthos responded, 'no I want to do this. Whoever it is has hurt people. My people. I may not be as welcome there anymore, but I still feel a need to protect them.'

Athos could understand. He did not know what it felt like to be from a tight-knit community. His only exposure to something remotely like that was since he had joined the Musketeers. He would lay down his life for his comrades. Porthos was prepared to put himself in harm's way to help the people of his former home.

They continued to walk further into the city. With only a dagger each to defend themselves, Athos was glad to have Aramis and d'Artagnan following them at a discreet distance. It would be a fine balance between reacting quickly and maintaining the illusion that they were tradesmen.

Porthos turned them into a side street that they knew had seen some of the attacks. Athos knew it was time to fully get into character and entice the Hell Beast to attack.

'I made a good deal today,' he said, loudly enough for anyone hiding in a doorway to hear.

'You told me it would be tomorrow,' said Porthos.

'They came through early,' replied Athos. 'I collected the money a couple of hours ago.'

Athos tapped his doublet as he spoke to indicate he had the money on him.

'A tidy sum if I recall,' said Porthos.

'Indeed,' replied Athos, 'the wine is on me tonight.'

They both chuckled.

Porthos rubbed his left arm, Athos coughed.

They had agreed on the signal before they set out. They were being watched.

Athos found himself unconsciously reaching for the dagger tucked into his belt. He stopped himself. The feeling of being watched intensified. A shuffling step behind him indicated the robber was there. They both turned. As Athos got his first look at the attacker, he barely had time to take in the ragged cloak and a flash of steel before he was bundled to the ground.

He smacked his head hard on the cobbles. As his greyed vision cleared, he threw his right arm up to block the strike of the claw. The movements were too fast for him to fully take in what he was seeing.

A searing pain flared in his forearm. He tried to push the man off him but only succeeded in pulling a scarf off his face. The attacker, who was very much a human, stared at Athos for several seconds.

Did Athos see a spark of recognition?

The moment was short-lived. Before he could rally himself against the pain, the man punched him. Athos felt his strength leave him and the greyness threatened him. A second punch was the last thing he was aware of.

MMMM