Chapter Seven

Porthos ran towards the carriage, but he was too late. He reached the end of the road and looked in the direction the carriage had gone. There was no sign of it. He had no idea which way it had turned.

He should have been quicker; he should have got past the two men that had tried to rob him faster.

He had failed his brothers. For the second time that day.

Porthos stared at the empty street for a few seconds trying to make sense of what had happened.

There were three attackers. He thought back to the descriptions they had heard from the victims. Some of them were punched or strangled whilst others were sliced with the claw-like weapon. The differing methods of the attacks made sense if more than one man was doing the attacking. It also explained the way the Devil Man could disappear and reappear. The streets of Paris had a myriad of places that a grown man could hide. Once one had slipped away the second man could appear as if from a different place.

Porthos shook his head, annoyed that they had not worked out there was more than one attacker.

He turned back towards the garrison before pausing and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the tatty scarf he had found earlier. If he could not follow the carriage, he might be able to find where the men were hiding. He changed direction and headed toward his old home. The Court of Miracles might yet yield some further help.

He contemplated pulling off his pauldron and trying to enter the court as a man and not a soldier. But he knew that he would be recognised, nonetheless. Instead, Porthos pulled himself straight. He pushed the fear of the unknown away. He knew there was no Devil Man. He now knew the attacker was only a trio of men. And he knew they were not at large at that moment.

The only people he needed to be wary of were the more militant residents of the Court. And Porthos was sure he could deal with any of them he came across.

The familiar feelings assailed him as he crossed the invisible border. He knew where he needed to go. He remembered where Flea held her court.

A few scrawny men scuttled away from him as he walked towards the kingdom within a kingdom's throne room. A couple of armed men stepped into his path. The localised militia was well armed, but they did not scare Porthos. He stopped in front of them.

'You know me,' he said. 'You know I'm not a threat here.'

The two men glanced at one another before looking back at him.

'You're not welcome,' said one of the men whose face bore the scars of years of fighting and struggling to stay alive.

'I only want to speak to Flea. You know we're trying to deal with the Devil Man that's attacking people. I can get it sorted, but I need to talk to her first.'

The two men looked at each other for a few seconds before one nodded to the other. They stepped apart and gestured for Porthos to continue. He walked past them without a second glance.

He knew word would get around that he was there. Flea would be expecting him. The few times he had met with her since he had been rescued by the people of the court were stilted affairs. At first, he had got the impression she had wanted to rekindle their relationship. But as she had settled into her role of Queen of the Court, Porthos had known there was no longer any place for him. The usual pecking order of women following the men did not always apply in the Court of Miracles. The women were often the ones that ruled. The matriarchs that were left behind when the men were killed or simply walked away were all formidable women. More than a match for any man.

Porthos stepped into one of the better buildings. A couple of older men were sitting in the hallway watching him. Guns within reach. They were the ones that led the Courts army. Porthos knew them both from his days as a member of the militia. He nodded a greeting to the pair who chose not to acknowledge him. Few people wanted him there. Porthos knew his presence was only tolerated because of his relationship with Flea, and the fact that he had been instrumental in saving the Court from destruction.

He pushed aside a dark blue sheet that acted as a doorway to the main room of the Court's own Palace.

Flea, dressed in a simple faded blue dress, was sitting at a large table. A bottle and two glasses in front of her. A second chair by her side had already been pulled out ready for her visitor.

She gestured to the chair with a wave of her small hand. Porthos smiled as he walked to the chair. He contemplated bowing before the Queen of the Court but knew the time was not right for frivolities. He was there for information. He did not have the time for anything else.

'I know why you're here,' said Flea.

Porthos took the offered seat. He did not reach for the wine. He leaned forward looking his former lover in the eyes.

'Then help me,' he said. 'Help me put a stop to these men that are terrorising your people.'

'Men?'

Porthos nodded. He explained what he had seen as his friends were taken by the attackers. He was careful to avoid admitting that he had failed his friends and was responsible for their current predicament. Porthos could tell Flea knew he was not telling her everything, but she chose not to question him further.

'I will make some inquiries. The man you described. I know who you mean. He's not been here long. I was having him watched, but he was elusive, he would disappear for a few days at a time. Then he turned up with bruises on his neck. But there was something about his description of the attack on him that seemed odd. And if what you say about him is true, I can understand why now.'

'He was made to look like he'd been attacked,' said Porthos with a sigh and a shake of his head. 'What I need to know is where the carriage came from. If I know where they are hiding, I can get this sorted out.'

Flea took a sip of the wine and looked at Porthos over the rim of the glass. Porthos felt as though she was interrogating his soul with her gaze. Searching to see if he was a threat to her crown.

'If you help and the information you get is what helps us to end this,' said Porthos, 'it will only make your status as the leader more solid.'

Flea let the corner of her mouth quirk in a half-smile, 'my status of leader is solid enough already, thank you,' she said with a hint of sarcasm. 'But I want to see that the people of the Court are safe.'

She glanced over her shoulder. Porthos could see a figure lurking in the shadows.

'Find out where that carriage is,' she said to the figure. 'You heard the description of the coat of arms on the door; three fleurs-de-lis on a blue background with a red border.'

The figure disappeared from view.

'He will not be long. Whilst we wait you will enjoy a glass of wine with me and you will tell me, honestly, why all this has bothered you so much.'

Porthos could not help scowling a little at the remark from Flea. She smiled again.

'When you and Athos left here you were followed. I heard that you did nothing to stop your friend being attacked…'

Porthos sighed, the constant reminders of his failures in the last few hours were only making him feel worse.

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Athos wanted to go to his brother who was bodily thrown back into the cellar. But Pierre had his gun trained on Aramis, his finger pressed on the trigger. The smallest movement would be enough for the man to fire the gun. The ball would hit Aramis, no doubt causing an injury from which he would not survive. Athos remained still, watching as d'Artagnan tried to get away from the toe of the older man's boot as he pushed him over.

'I'm sorry, Jacques,' said Pierre. 'They tricked me. I won't let it happen again.'

'You won't,' replied the older man. 'And besides, they won't get the chance to try it again as it's almost time.'

Jacques nodded towards the door. Pierre backed out of the room with Jacques closing the door as he stepped out after him. Athos had moved to d'Artagnan's side before the bolt was pushed across.

'Sorry,' said d'Artagnan as he pushed himself up to sit, wincing as he did so.

Athos could not see any obvious injuries to his friend, but he had heard him being thrown down the steps. D'Artagnan was likely to be covered in bruises. He was lucky not to have been knocked out or to have broken a bone.

'I got to the door, but they were too quick for me… Athos, your hand.'

Athos glanced down at his right hand. As soon as he looked at the torn stitch, he felt the pain. His brief scuffle with Pierre had left him bleeding again. D'Artagnan reached up to Athos' neck and pulled his scarf loose, before wrapping it around the wound.

'I don't think I'm going to be able to escape on my own now, even if I got another chance,' said d'Artagnan with a wry smile.

'Our situation could be better,' said Athos with a sigh.

'Who hit me?'

They both looked at Aramis who was blinking and rubbing at his eyes. Athos put himself into his friend's vision. He was aware of d'Artagnan shuffling across the floor to join them. Aramis looked at each of them, his eyes losing focus several times.

'What's the last thing you remember?' asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis let out a long slow breath, his eyes closed again for a few seconds. Athos wondered if he had passed out.

He opened his eyes again and looked at Athos, 'stitching your arm.'

Athos raised his eyebrows, 'you have a little catching up to do. Can you sit up?'

Aramis blinked a few more times, 'if I sit up will the room stop spinning?'

'Probably not,' said d'Artagnan.

'Will I need to stand up any time soon? Are we escaping?'

Athos shook his head, 'we are not escaping at the moment.'

Aramis closed his eyes again, 'in which case I'd rather stay where I am… and unless it's essential I know what's going on I'd prefer not to have to try to listen and concentrate.'

'Aramis?' said d'Artagnan when their friend went quiet again.

Athos looked at d'Artagnan, 'when I said our situation could be better,' he said, 'I should also have added that it could be worse.'

Despite being pleased Aramis had come around, however briefly, they now knew they could not rely on him in a fight. The head injury their friend had suffered was affecting him badly. What Aramis needed was rest. Athos realised all three of them needed rest. Something none of them was going to get any time soon.

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Porthos suspected Flea had kept him waiting out of some need to dominate him. To remind him that he had his chance to be the leader there but turned his back on his old home. But now he had the information. For a few seconds he had contemplated going straight to the address where the old carriage had been seen, but Porthos was determined not to let his brothers down again.

He knew that he was capable of taking on three men at once. But what if they got the better of him. They had managed to take Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan by surprise. If he got himself killed by the three men, he would have failed his brothers again.

Porthos was not going to do that.

Instead, he ran back to the garrison rushing straight up to the Captain's room. He was not surprised to see light flickering through the gap at the bottom of the door. Treville had not retired to bed, despite the lateness of the hour.

Porthos knocked at the door, pushing it open when he heard the Captain's voice from within.

'Porthos. Did you find them?'

The Captain had been sitting at his desk, as soon as he took in Porthos' harried expression he got to his feet and started to check his weapons.

'What happened?'

Porthos wasted no time, he explained, succinctly, what he had seen and what he had found out. He only gave the details that mattered. The time for a more detailed explanation would be later, once his brothers were safe. Treville did not interrupt him as he spoke. As they descended the stairs he called out to a group of men returning from their late guard duty. Porthos was pleased to see Barbotin in their number. With Aramis injured they would probably need the medics help.

'We will explain on the way,' said Treville as he gestured for them to follow him and Porthos.

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They approached the house cautiously. Porthos took the lead. Treville expected nothing less. His Musketeer had been blaming himself for every misfortune his friends had encountered that day. As though he were responsible for the vicious attacks that had been taking place. It had upset the Musketeer Captain when he had felt obliged to relieve Porthos of his duty. But Porthos was not thinking straight; he had been preoccupied with what was going on, and letting it distract him.

But not now. Now Porthos understood what was happening. Now he had an enemy he could fight. Three enemies to be precise. They had known the mystery figure, the Devil Man, was nothing of the sort, but they had not initially known who it was. Now they did, and Porthos was a man on a mission.

Porthos indicated for the group to stop. They hid in the shadows and observed the big, seemingly abandoned house. The flicker of light could be seen in a couple of the ground floor windows. From where they were watching they could see the old carriage in the inner courtyard. The doors of the carriage were shut, wooden slats had been used to secure the doors so that they could not be opened from the inside.

The horses that were waiting to pull the carriage looked in good health. Treville wondered if they had been stolen. He doubted the villainous men responsible for the robberies would spend the time required to keep such horses and care for them.

They could make out three men on the carriage. Two at the front and one at the back. The men wore dark cloaks. The driver urged the horses on. As the carriage sped past, the watching Musketeers got a glimpse of the inside. Treville was shocked when he saw his missing men. None looked in the best of health. He was not sure if they had seen him. It occurred to him that none of them would know that their capture had been seen. They would be thinking they would not be missed until well into the next day.

Porthos stepped out of their hiding place. He was about to yell but Treville stopped him.

'If we alert them to our presence they might go to ground and be harder to find.'

Porthos nodded, 'follow as best we can.'

They set off after the carriage, hoping they could work out where it was heading before they lost it.

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