Chapter 3

Late at night March 8th, 1788

The desperation and panic she felt were halted by the sound of footsteps coming her way. They hadn't given up the search, it would seem. But why such hostility? Since when did civilians attack soldiers? Remembering the hateful look in their eyes gave her a solid chill.

She could ponder that later. After more than six years of hard training to become one of the best musketeers France had ever known, Renee d'Herblay refused to die on her knees, beside a pile of trash no less. Renee was a survivor, a fighter. No matter what it took.

And so, she stealthily pressed herself against the wall, waited for the assailant to enter the alley and pounced on him like a silent deadly tiger.

"Make a sound and I'll kill you."

…

If he uttered anything, he was sure that his throat would be slit right then and there. There was no mercy in the cold voice that threatened him. He had to deal with it in another way. Thankfully, he knew just how.

Aramis' weakness resided in the legs. One kick to the knee to first destabilize her and then…

It was a lot easier than he thought it would be. A few seconds later it was him who held the knife to her throat. He immobilized her legs with his and pushed her back to the wall.

She didn't see any of it coming, having been caught by utter surprise. Who would have thought to attack her right in the shin? And right off the bat, too? Usually, a victim will struggle with their arms, attempt to hit with the back of the head even. But this was a very precise and accurately delivered blow. Almost as if this person knew her.

Her chest heaved up and down as she tried to make out the face of her assailant.

"I have to say," he finally spoke. "I'm disappointed. After six years and you still can't anticipate your enemy as well as you should. But then you were always so reactionary…"

He trailed off, carefully tucking the blade away and handing it back to her.

"Athos!" she cried. "It's you! Oh thank God, it's you!"

Her voice sounded desperate. She suppressed a strong urge to jump into his arms, to hold him tightly to her as if it her life depended on it. But doing that would be inappropriate to do with a comrade-in-arms, wouldn't it?

"How did you find me?" she decided to divert her attention elsewhere.

"I saw a group of armed men going after a blond soldier. I thought it could be you so I followed from afar. I couldn't interfere for fear of getting us both in trouble. God, I'm so relieved you're alright."

His voice almost broke with emotion. The next thing she knew, a pair of strong arms enveloped her into a warm embrace. They held her there for what seemed like an eternity. She inhaled that characteristic scent of brandy and leather as she struggled not to succumb to her knees.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered

She placed his hands on his chest as she looked up at him.

"Athos, I-" she began. They stood so close to one another their breath almost mingled. Then, like a feline on alert, Aramis' head turned abruptly towards the entrance of the alley. "Someone's coming."

But it was too late to hide, the stranger, who cast a large shadow in the faint light was already upon them.

…

"Stand back! We're armed. There's two of us and one of you," Athos warned, instinctively pushing Aramis out of the way and extending his arm out to protect her.

She pushed his arm away and stood beside him, sword drawn.

"You know I can handle myself, right? I'm a musketeer, too" she hissed at him, annoyed.

"I know, but this place is more dangerous than I thought. I don't even know where we-"

"Musketeers?" the stranger bellowed.

"This is no time for arguing, we're about to engage," with that, Athos ended the discussion.

However, the stranger surprised them by lowering his sword. He then squinted into the darkness and whispered. "Athos? Aramis? Is… is that you?"

The nominated ones exchanged looks and sheathed their weapons.

"Porthos!" Aramis cried as she jumped into the arms of the grand musketeer. He picked her up and twirled her around.

"Oh, thank goodness, it's you. I saw an angry mob not too long ago and I feared for the worst."

"Did they attack you, too?"

"No, but I did receive some hateful looks and a few verbal assaults here and there. Nothing that bothered me but I did find it unusual. I think on account of my… err… imposing size, no one bothered to harass me," he patted his belly, to Aramis' amusement.

…

The three musketeers huddled in a circle.

"What we know so far is that we are definitely still in Paris," Athos was saying. "Albeit, a different Paris."

"How did you two get here?" Aramis posed.

Athos recounted how he had followed the blond musketeer after she flew out of the tavern. He had barely caught her by the tail of her doublet when she slipped through his fingers. As soon as he stepped outside, she was gone. He searched the streets until he came across the mob and spotted her in the middle of it.

"I just followed Athos," Porthos enjoined. "You were also gone by the time I was outside so I went out in search for food. Then when I came back to the tavern, it was gone. Vanished into thin air. Replaced with a bakery, ironically," he snorted.

"You went to look for food instead of coming to look for us?" Aramis snapped.

Porthos shrugged. "What? I was starving. I didn't have a chance to eat anything thanks to you two."

"Unbelievable!" Aramis shook her head. Athos observed her. Why did she care so much what Porthos did? Was she angry he didn't come looking for her? The way she so carelessly jumped into his arms… Yet she barely seemed affected when it was him she recognized in the darkness. In fact, he was the one who ended up embracing her. An embrace she seemed eager to escape…

"Well," Athos interjected. "Now that we've ascertained where we are, we can try to figure out…"

"When we are," Aramis finished the sentence for him. "You can't tell me you don't believe in it now?"

"I don't know what to believe. We are in a place where people are hostile and aggressive. We are lost in our own city. Nay, strangers to our own city. None of this feels real."

Then it dawned on her.

"Oh my God, the pendant," the panic returned to her as she fiddled with her collar. "The pendant is gone! That man at the tavern, he stole it and ran with it before I could get to him. It must be something to do with that."

As much as Athos did not want to admit it, all the evidence pointed to it. Whatever that magic woman did at Versailles when she touched Aramis' pendant was certainly not without consequence.

"I have an idea."

…

Late at night March 8th, 1788

Rue du Vieux Colombier, Hôtel de Tréville

"There's no one here," Porthos announced as the three stared at the place they knew so well.

"Impossible!" cried Athos.

"We already checked several times. The place is completely deserted. There is covered furniture to be seen through the windows. It's clearly not musketeer's head-quarters anymore," stated Aramis.

Athos paced in circles around himself muttering curses under his breath punctuated with "not possible", "but how?", "but why?"

He stopped abruptly, drawn by a noise around him. Porthos had hailed a carriage that was making its way through the street and was now conversing with its occupants.

"Excuse us, Monsieur, but would you happen to know if Monsieur de Treville is at home?" he was asking the man in the carriage.

"Monsieur… de Treville? I can't say I know anyone of that name," the man answered with hesitation.

"Well, would you know where the new headquarters for the musketeers is? We're Captain de Treville's musketeers and we're looking for him," Porthos pursued.

"Musketeers!" the man exclaimed in astonishment. "Listen here, chap, if it's money you're after, find another victim to play your pranks on. We all know musketeers haven't been around in more than a century."

"Eh?" Porthos recoiled. "But that's impossible! We are musketeers!"

The man poked his head further out the window and scrutinized the three companions. He then turned to his companion and the two seemed to fall into a discussion.

"Ahhh!" he finally acknowledged. "Of course, you are!"

Porthos breathed a sigh of relief.

Alas, it was short-lived.

"You are actors from that traveling theatre I've heard about recently, aren't you? Well, I'll say, it's quite the delightful spectacle! Will you be performing at the Palace soon? I'm sure the Queen would love to indulge your performance. Here, for your troubles."

With that, he tossed a few coins onto the street and tipped his hat to signal his departure.

"Wait, Monsieur, if you please," Athos hurried towards him. "For the sake of the performance, if you could indulge us: what year are we presently in?"

"Well that's an odd request," the man became hooty and suspicious. "Very well, it's 1788. Adieu!"

…

"This is bad," moaned Porthos, "This is very, very bad."

He swallowed half the contents of the drink before him. After roaming through the streets of Paris aimlessly for some time, the three musketeers finally found an open tavern where the atmosphere seemed a bit more welcoming.

Athos and Aramis stared sullenly into their drinks. None of it made sense. They were in the future, there was no longer any doubt about it. But how? And why?

"We just need to focus on finding the pendant of Aramis. That seems to be the key to this… this bizarre situation."

"Bizarre? I'd say it's beyond any reasonable comprehension," Porthos piped up. "I think I should stay here and make this our base while you and Aramis go search for the locket. It is, after all, Aramis' fault."

The latter almost choked on her drink.

"How is this my fault? You were the one who started a brawl at the tavern! That man wouldn't have got to me if Athos and I had left in peace!" she cried, incredulous.

"You were the one who asked for it, didn't you?"

"What part of 'give us some cover' means 'start a fight', you oaf?"

Porthos gasped. "How dare you!"

"And if anything," Aramis continued heatedly, "This is Athos' fault."

"Well, hang on a second, now," Athos put his hands up in defense.

"I am inclined to agree with Aramis, actually," Porthos pointed his glass at Athos. "If you hadn't angered that gypsy woman, she wouldn't have felt the need to curse us. So much for your self-composure, Athos."

"Alright, enough!" Athos slammed his fist onto the table. Then, ensuring that his comrades had nothing else to add, he resumed: "Look, finding that pendant will be like searching for a needle in a haystack. We need a plan."

He fell silent, and the other two knew better than to say anything while Athos was thinking.

"The more I think about it," he finally voiced, "the more I believe that we might have been sent here for a reason. I think we were meant to do something… for France."

"Something like what?" Aramis inquired.

"I'm not sure, but that woman mentioned that something bad will happen to France and to the King. And since we're sworn to His Majesty, it's our duty to serve the Crown. First, we should position ourselves in a place that puts us at an advantage. If the musketeers are no longer, we will look for the next best thing. The King always has to have a military regiment dedicated to the security of His person and the Royal household. We just to find out more information…"

"Say no more."

With that, Porthos removed his doublet, grabbed a few drinks and invited himself at a nearby table. An hour, several drinks and a couple of new friends later, Porthos returned to report to his companions what he had learned.

…

They were in the reign of Louis XVI who ruled with his wife, Queen consort, Marie-Antoinette of Austria. The latter, it seemed, was highly unpopular amongst the people. She was the topic of several pamphlets that were demeaning in their content. She spent lavishly while the people starved. She was despised by both nobility and commoners, it seemed. And overall, France seemed restless.

That aside, the Royal household did have a dedicated regiment. It was called the Royal Guard and the captain was one Oscar Francois de Jarjayes who lived right by the Royal Palace in – to Porthos' grand surprise – none other than Versailles.

"Well, then, there we have it," Athos announced.

"So, then, let's drink to us joining this Royal Guard!" Aramis raised her glass. There was finally hope.

"Hey, you," it was the aubergiste who spoke to them. "You're joining the Royal Guard? Are you nobles?"

"Huh?" Porthos stared blankly at the aubergiste. "I'm not… They are. Is it… only for nobles? The chaps over there didn't mention-"

He was cut off when his new "friends" walked over to them and one of them said accusingly, "You didn't tell us you were friends with nobles."

"No, no," Porthos laughed nervously. "No one is noble, no need to worry! We're all… err… regular folk!"

"That don't look like regular folk to me," one of them gestured at Athos and Aramis' decorated uniforms. He then looked Athos up and down, his eyes scrutinizing his breeches and shoes. "We don't need anymore people in the Royal Guard, do you hear?" he thrust his nose into that of Athos'.

"Hey listen, now, there's no need for this," Porthos tried to intervene. But it looked like it was too late. The men were drunk and before long, the whole tavern erupted.

A hand gently pressed on Aramis' shoulder, startling her. She turned to find herself face-to-face with a handsome young man who had mesmerising eyes of an emerald green the likes of which she had never seen before. He leaned in and whispered in a kind voice, "There is an exit over there, to the side. It goes out directly to the stables."

He left before she could thank him.

…

Out in the stables, Andre found her struggling to get to her horse so he hoisted her up from the waist. A guilty pleasure he loved to indulge in every time she was drunk. Just to feel her body so close to his, even for a few seconds. These were the moments he lived for.

Unfortunately, time was of the essence tonight so he couldn't linger.

"We need to go. Now!" he alerted her, saddling his horse.

"What took you so long in there?"

He briefly recalled the angelic face of the blond individual he just tipped off. There was something mysterious and alluring about him… or her… No, it couldn't have been a "her"… could it? But those blue penetrating eyes… He shook his head violently, forcing himself to return to the present moment.

"I… was giving someone directions."

"Oh?"

"Yes, come on, put this on and let's go," he thrust a coat onto her shoulders. "We really should stop coming here, even if we're dressed down. It's getting dangerous."

"You worry too much, Andrrrrre," she slurred. "Live a little!"

"God, you're drunk," he shook his head in disapproval and picked up the reigns of her horse. "Come on."

"What's the hurrrrrry?" she slurred again. She then hiccupped and burst into laughter at her own hiccup.

Oscar's question was answered almost immediately as a group of oddly-dressed individuals stormed out of the tavern followed by several hurled bottles, flying cutlery and an angry crowd.

Thankfully, by that time, Andre had led them out of the stables but they hadn't gotten far along so they caught the fight as it broke out.

…

"Why do I get the feeling that these people take issue with anything noble or Royal?" Porthos yelled over the a couple of men as he dodged a fist.

"You THINK?" Athos and Aramis yelled back at him simultaneously.

"Horses, this way!" Aramis cried. The two followed her, giving her cover as she saddled two mares.

Porthos jumped on one and she stomped through the crowd with the other, picking up Athos and dispersing the aggressors.

Once they were all mounted, they bolted.

…

Andre and Oscar exchanged bewildered glances. The latter, who seemed to sober up, nodded to Andre that they should follow them. They were, after all, headed in the same direction.

"Wait!" Andre yelled. "They're being followed. Look!"

Sure enough, a man with a pistol jumped on his horse and set after them.

"All the more reason to go after them, then!" Oscar called out as she kicked her horse into a gallop.

…

To Oscar's surprise, the pursuit was more challenging than she had anticipated. Whoever these people were, they rode fast. Uncannily fast. Not to mention the technique with which they fought. There was no doubt that they had some military training. But who were they?

Her horse soon approached that of the assailant. She commanded him to step down in the name of the King, announcing herself as the Captain of the Royal Guard. However, given the times they were in, she was careful not to threaten him with a weapon. Thankfully, her tone was enough to discourage him once and for all from his quest such that he reigned his horse to a momentary stop, turned on his heels and fled back to Paris.

But not before he fired his pistol.

And Oscar watched the rider with the red doublet fall off his horse.