Aramis pulled the cloak tighter about his shoulders as they reached the area the supposed Hell Beast prowled. D'Artagnan had buttoned his plain cloak up, covering his pauldron and weapons from sight. They could see Athos and Porthos ahead of them. The pair were walking confidently, not paying particular attention to their surroundings. They did not have to. Aramis and d'Artagnan were doing that for them.

'Do you think this will work?' asked d'Artagnan without taking his eyes off their brothers.

Aramis shrugged, 'I hope it does. But we must be prepared for it not to. The Beast might be working in a different area tonight. He might move around so that he can't get caught like this.'

They continued to follow their friends who turned into a quieter side street. They quickened their pace but found their route blocked by a number of men exiting a building in front of them. Aramis realised they had been visiting a brothel. They had done something to earn the disapproval of the madame in charge of the establishment. She was yelling at them. Two brutish scarred men were bundling the clients onto the street.

The two Musketeers forced their way through the annoyed men to reach the side street Porthos and Athos had walked down. Aramis prayed the delay would not be costly.

His prayer was not answered.

As they turned into the street they took in the scene.

A black-clad figure bent over the prone form of Athos. The figure had hold of Athos by the shoulder keeping him still. A flash of steel glinted. Aramis spotted blood on the weapon. A quick move by the attacker saw him remove the weapon leaving it hidden within his sparkling cloak. A more usual method of attack followed. The man punched the weakly struggling Athos.

D'Artagnan yelled, announcing their presence. Much as they wanted to catch the attacker, they wanted to keep Athos alive more. The figure had been reaching into his cloak when he looked up. Aramis could not make out his features. What he was sure about was that the man had intended to kill Athos, only prevented by their timely arrival.

The man gathered the fabric of his cloak and scrambled up. He charged off in the opposite direction as the Musketeers rushed forward.

Aramis skidded to his knees by his injured friend. He was aware of d'Artagnan talking to Porthos who was standing a couple of feet away staring along the street in the direction the figure had gone. Aramis had to concentrate on Athos who had injuries to his forearm and hand.

'Porthos?' d'Artagnan said.

Aramis glanced up at d'Artagnan as he spoke. He was standing to the side of Porthos who had not moved. D'Artagnan reached up and shook his friend's shoulder in an attempt to get the silent man to respond. Porthos remained still.

Aramis returned his attention to Athos. He checked the unconscious man for any other, less obvious, injuries. Aramis was pleased not to find anything. He straightened Athos' legs and moved his injured arm to lay across his chest. After pulling his medics bag off his shoulder he found a couple of cloths and bandages. The cuts to Athos' arm and hand were bleeding and would need attention. Aramis wanted to deal with them back at the garrison infirmary in better light and cleaner conditions.

'D'Artagnan, help me with Athos,' said Aramis without looking up.

He was aware of his friend stepping closer and crouching down. Aramis directed d'Artagnan to apply pressure to each wound in turn as he wrapped bandages around them.

'Porthos is just staring into the distance,' said d'Artagnan quietly.

Aramis glanced up again, he shook his head.

'I know,' he said. 'Watch Athos for a moment.'

D'Artagnan nodded and moved closer to Athos, resting his hand on the injured man feeling for the steady rise and fall of his chest as he took each breath.

Aramis got to his feet and reached out to Porthos, shaking his arm firmly.

'Porthos!' he said. 'Snap out of it.'

He moved to stand directly in front of Porthos so that he was in his friend's line of sight. Porthos did not look at him, he seemed to be looking through him. Aramis sighed; he had seen the reaction in soldiers on battlefields occasionally. Much as he wanted to be gentle with his traumatised friend, his need to care for Athos was greater at that moment. They were exposed on the street. If the mystery assailant did not return, others might attack them. He and d'Artagnan could easily be overwhelmed.

Porthos' expression was one of fear. He was scared. An emotion Aramis rarely saw in his friend. Apprehension or worry for someone else, perhaps, but never fear for himself.

'We need to go, Porthos,' he said firmly, shaking his friend again.

When there was still no reaction Aramis did the only other thing he could think of. He slapped Porthos across the face.

Porthos blinked and stumbled back a couple of paces. He looked about for a few seconds before his eyes settled on Aramis.

'What…'

D'Artagnan shifted causing Porthos to look down. His eyes widened with shock.

'Athos!'

He took a step forward before stopping again. He looked at Aramis. Aramis could see realisation dawning on his troubled friend.

'I… I…'

Aramis closed the gap between them and put his hand on Porthos' shoulder.

'Don't worry about it now,' he said. 'We need to get Athos to safety. We need to get away from here in case he… or someone else, wants to have a go.'

Porthos stared at him for a few seconds before nodding. He did not move until Aramis gave him a gentle shove in the direction of a handcart a few feet away. They would see the liberated cart returned before morning. With luck, the owner would never know they had borrowed it to transport an injured Musketeer to the garrison.

MMMM

emLater…em/

D'Artagnan was forced to push an apologetic Porthos to sit on one of the beds in the infirmary. The confused Musketeer had been in danger of getting in Aramis' way as he worked to deal with Athos' wounds. Once he was sure Porthos would remain where he had been put, d'Artagnan returned to the table where Aramis and Barbotin were busy manipulating the still unconscious man so that they could take off his doublet. Barbotin, another of the garrison's field medics, did not need to be told what to do, he worked quickly and calmly.

'Those cuts must be bad,' Barbotin said as he ripped Athos' shirt at the sleeves.

The temporary bandages were stained red where the bleeding had not stopped. Aramis nodded grimly.

'How did he cut his hand? Did he grab for a weapon and grasp the blade instead?'

Aramis shrugged, 'no idea.'

'I should have stopped him,' said Porthos quietly. 'I should have done something. Why didn't I do something?'

D'Artagnan looked back at his friend who was watching them, his expression still one of confusion. The question was answered by the Captain who had stepped into the room unnoticed by the rest of them.

'You were caught up with your memories, Porthos,' said the Captain. 'We, perhaps, should have envisioned this.'

The Captain's words were not unkind, but he meant what he said. He turned his attention to Athos.

'How is he?'

D'Artagnan stepped back from the table as the two medics continued to work.

'He's been knocked unconscious,' said d'Artagnan. 'We saw the attacker punch him a couple of times. And he has an injury to his arm which was done by the claw weapon-'

'And the cut to his hand,' finished Aramis. 'We don't know how that happened.'

Treville stepped closer, watching Barbotin unwrap the temporary bandage from Athos' right hand. A long deep gash was revealed across the palm of his hand, over the underside of his thumb with a few further cuts to his fingers.

'It looks as though he grabbed something sharp,' said d'Artagnan as he tried to see the injury in the best light.

Barbotin reached for a couple of cloths, he lay one under Athos' hand and soaked the other in clean water. He squeezed out the water over the injury, flushing out any debris that had become embedded.

'What's that?' asked Treville as he reached for something that had fallen from the wound.

He held the object up using his thumb and forefinger. It was translucent with a green tinge of colour.

'It's glass,' said Barbotin after a few seconds.

'Stained glass,' added Aramis who had looked up from his work on Athos' other injury. 'From a church perhaps?'

The Captain twisted the glass in his fingers. D'Artagnan watched as the flames from the hearth caught the reflective sides, causing it to glint.

'The eyes.'

They all looked across to Porthos who was watching the movement of the glass.

'That's how he made his cloak shine and sparkle…'

D'Artagnan reached out and took the piece of glass from the Captain, he moved closer to the fire to get a better look at it.

'There are grooves in the edges,' he said. 'I think it was sewn onto his cloak. If he had enough bits of glass he only had to be near a light source and he would appear alight, but in an-'

'Ethereal or otherworldly way,' concluded Porthos with a shake of his head. 'How was I taken in by that?'

Treville turned to face Porthos, 'because you were five, Porthos. You were a child. You can look at this now and scoff at how ludicrous it is. You've said it yourself that you see it differently now.'

D'Artagnan could tell Porthos did not feel any better. He kept glancing at Athos, the guilt was still easily visible on his face. Treville regarded Porthos for a few moments before looking back at Athos. Aramis and Barbotin were each wielding a needle. D'Artagnan hated to imagine how painful the cut to Athos' palm would be. He watched Barbotin put two neat stitches in to close the wound. Aramis was forced to use more stitches on the wound to Athos' arm.

'What was the claw weapon?' asked Treville.

'It was metallic,' said d'Artagnan.

'And sharp,' said Aramis. 'The cuts are clean.'

'Could it have been something they wore on their hand, like one of those steel-plated gloves soldiers wore with their armour - like the ones on display at the Palace?' asked Porthos.

D'Artagnan knew what Porthos meant. He had often looked at the armour and tried to imagine how heavy and unwieldy it would be to fight in. The armour the Musketeers wore was not nearly as restrictive.

'The blades could have been added to the knuckles,' mused Treville.

D'Artagnan helped Barbotin to clear away the bloodied cloths and water before returning to Athos' side. His friend had shown no sign of coming around, which he thought was a good thing whilst he was being tended to by the medics but now it was unnerving. Aramis was preparing one of the infirmary beds for their friend. He was glancing at Porthos who had wandered towards the window, staring vacantly out across the garrison yard.

'Help me move him to the bed,' said Aramis.

Between them, Aramis, d'Artagnan, and Barbotin carried Athos to the bed and covered him with a couple of blankets.

'I'll sit with him for a while,' said Aramis, 'he shouldn't be alone when he wakes up.'

Treville nodded his agreement before looking at Porthos who was still staring out of the window.

'I think,' said the Captain, 'that you shouldn't play any further active part in this investigation, Porthos.'

D'Artagnan looked between the two men. Treville's expression was one of concern, not anger. Porthos took a few seconds to turn around and acknowledge the order. He nodded.

'I'm a liability,' he said, his voice unusually quiet.

Aramis tried to placate his friend, 'it could have been any of us... being affected by something.'

'I shouldn't have been the one to act as bait,' countered Porthos. 'I should have foreseen this-'

'No, Porthos,' said Treville, injecting authority in his voice for the first time, 'I should have thought it through. I knew you had been affected by this and were not thinking straight. You are not to blame yourself. And you know Athos will not blame you.'

Porthos did not respond. D'Artagnan could tell he was not ready to accept that he was not to blame for the injuries Athos had received.

'I want you to take a little time away from duty,' continued Treville. 'Just until you've worked it through in your mind. Accept that you are not at fault. I'll expect you at muster in two days.'

Porthos did not look happy at the apparent dismissal by his Captain. D'Artagnan wanted to say something but had no idea how to put his friend at ease. He looked at Aramis who appeared to be having the same thoughts.

'Let me know when he wakes up,' said the Captain with a gesture toward Athos.

He left the room, indicating for Barbotin to join him. Once they were alone Porthos went back to looking out of the window for a few seconds before he turned back to them.

'I'll relieve you in a few hours,' he said to Aramis. 'If I'm not fit for active duty I can probably manage to sit in a chair and watch over Athos.'

'Where are you going?' asked Aramis, as Porthos walked to the door.

'For a walk… the Captain said I needed time to accept I'm not at fault. That's difficult when I'm in the same room as the man my inactivity caused harm to.'

All they could do was watch their troubled friend walk from the room.

MMMM