The tavern was grubby. Years of filth building upon the tables leaving them tacky and stained. Porthos found he did not want to lean on the table. He sat back in his chair. He nursed the cup of wine, taking occasional swigs. He struggled not to pull an expression of disdain every time he swallowed. It was safe to say the tavern was not the type that any self-respecting Musketeer would frequent.
Unless they were being shunned by their friends.
Unless they were looking for cheaper places to eat.
Unless they were trying to sell their services as a gunman for hire.
Unless they were Aramis trying to be seen by a gang that wanted information about security at the Palace.
Porthos mused at the irony that he was sitting in a dark corner of the tavern, a plain cloak pulled about his shoulders, trying not to be seen. He was undercover. But he was watching his friend trying to make a spectacle of himself so that his undercover mission could move onto its second phase. Aramis and Treville had spent several days developing a hatred for each other. Treville would pick him up on any slight indiscretion. Aramis would answer the Captain back and generally behave in a surly manner. They had created the facade so well that several of the other Musketeers were shunning Aramis.
The plan included a separating of the inseparables. It was no longer the case that where one of them went the others would follow.
Porthos hated that aspect of the plan. He hated making disparaging remarks to his best friend and hearing insulting jibes coming from Aramis. They both knew the other did not mean it. But, somehow, it still hurt.
During their last meeting with Treville, when they could drop the act for a few minutes, Aramis had visibly wilted. Only for a second, then collected himself. Porthos wondered how many layers of facade Aramis was holding together.
Now, Aramis was getting agitated with the tavern landlord. He was remonstrating about the debt he had built up. Porthos looked around the tavern. Something, some sixth sense, told him that the second phase of the plan was going to start. He had heard a few unscrupulous people talking about the Musketeer that had drunkenly offered himself as a gun for hire. Word was getting around.
He spotted the man step into the light and walk towards the arguing landlord and Musketeer.
Aramis turned to the newcomer about to tell the man to go away. The man, whose hat hid his features gestured Aramis to silence with a bag of coins. He handed the coins to the landlord. The landlord indicated for Aramis to leave, he was no longer welcome. The man took Aramis by the arm and guided him from the tavern.
He whispered in Aramis ear. Aramis said something to the man.
As they reached the door Porthos saw his friend look at him. Aramis nodded.
Phase two had begun.
The man pulled the door open and ushered Aramis out. No one else paid the pair any attention. The landlord pushed the money bag into his pocket and went back to his work.
Porthos put the half-drunk cup of wine on the sticky table and eased himself out of his chair. He made his way to the other door and left the seedy establishment. He pulled his hat low over his face. He did not want to be recognised. He did not want to spoil the difficult, intensive work that Aramis had been doing. The usually popular man had become a pariah around the garrison. Porthos did not want to ruin the effort his friend had put into his act.
The street was not busy. A few people were hurrying passed. Porthos looked at them all. He doubted the man that had paid off the Musketeers debt had been alone. He worked his way to the corner and looked around. He could see the man and Aramis talking. Aramis was nodding his head. The man pulled out another money bag. Aramis started to show more of an interest.
They shook hands before turning away. Porthos followed, keeping to the shadows. He could not hear the conversation. He could work out that Aramis was being offered something and was agreeing. As they neared the end of the road the man looked around. Porthos pressed himself into a doorway. He struggled to remain where he was as he watched what happened next.
Two men appeared around the corner and grabbed Aramis. The first man helped them to bundle Aramis up against the wall of the nearest building. Aramis was about to shout out but stopped as a fourth man stepped around the corner. The fourth man was hidden from Porthos' scrutiny by a hooded cloak. The man relieved Aramis of his weapons and patted his clothes down, searching him. Aramis was speaking to the fourth man. He was released and walked with the men towards a waiting carriage.
As soon as they were in the carriage the horses were urged on. By the time Porthos reached the end of the road, there was no sign of the carriage.
Porthos sighed. All he could do was go back to the garrison and wait. And hope the plan continued in the way they wanted it to.
MMMM
The landlord of the seedy tavern was a broad, barrel-chested man. Aramis knew he could have beaten the man in a fight, but doubted he would have got away unscathed. He wondered if Porthos would remain at his grubby table in the dark corner and let the landlord fight him? Aramis knew he had to maintain his facade. If Porthos helped him the illusion that he was no longer on good terms with him would be ruined.
The landlord asked him for the money he owed again. Aramis had steadily built up a debt. He had used his position as a trusted soldier to curry favour and a few drinks. But the landlord was not willing to let him run up too much of a debt. Aramis raised his voice and drew attention to himself. He wanted to be noticed. He had spent time on several evenings pretending to be drunk and offering his services as a skilled gunman. He had boasted and shown off his keen eye. There had been a man in the shadows of the tavern the previous two nights. When he had arrived the man was already there, skulking in the dark corner. Aramis had not seen his face but knew it was the same man each night. He wore a large-brimmed hat, similar to Porthos', and a sweeping dark cape with a tatty, torn, hem.
As Aramis continued to argue with the landlord he was aware of the man approaching them.
'This don't concern you,' snarled the landlord who did not want the stranger interfering.
Aramis was sure the man from the shadows was a member of the gang. He knew he had to concentrate on everything he did for the next few minutes. His act had to be perfect. The mission depended on it.
The shadows man looked up giving Aramis his first look at his face. A scar crossed the man's face. The scar alone would have made some delicate souls recoil. The man had suffered a horrific injury. Whatever had caused the scar had struck him with enough force to destroy his eye and leave his nose crooked. The man was the same age as Aramis and, perhaps without the dark jagged scar and missing eye, he would be handsome. But with the unnatural deformities, the man could only be described as ugly. Aramis wondered if the wide-brimmed hat was so that he could hide. He was certainly not a man who would be forgotten easily.
'I will pay his debts.'
The simple statement proved to Aramis that he was on track with his mission. The first part of the plan had been difficult. The next part would be both difficult and dangerous.
The days of alienating himself from the garrison, from his friends, had already taken its toll. Now he had to gather himself and start afresh.
The landlord held out his hand to accept the money bag from the scarred man. He weighed the bag in his hand for a few seconds before looking at Aramis and shaking his head. He pointed to the door. Aramis knew he was not welcome in the tavern again. As the scarred man took him by the arm and guided him to the door he knew it did not matter.
'I have a proposition for you,' said the man as they neared the door.
Aramis looked at the man, 'I'm listening.'
The man indicated that they would talk outside. Aramis looked over his shoulder searching for Porthos. He spotted his friend and nodded. He could not chance any further communication. Porthos nodded back and turned to walk from the tavern via the other door. Aramis guessed his friend would follow him at a distance.
The scarred man ushered Aramis out onto the street. The side street was empty. Aramis was alert in case the man was not about to ask him to join the gang. He could have been mistaken, the man might not have been a gang member.
'What is this proposal you have?' asked Aramis, deciding to find out what the man's intentions were.
'I've seen you. These last few days... shouting about how good you are and how you ain't bein' appreciated by your Captain any longer.'
Aramis nodded, pleased that his efforts had caught the man's attention.
'I've watched you when you've been at work. You are loyal, or at least you were until your Captain took a disliking to you. What did you do to annoy him?'
Aramis was prepared for the questions. They were expecting the group to pick a Musketeer of long-standing and that meant the gang would have been studying their choices. All Aramis had needed to do was make sure he was the obvious choice for the gang.
'I was caught with a woman. A married woman. The husband didn't take too kindly to it.'
The scarred man laughed and slapped Aramis on the shoulder. The lie was convincing. Aramis had a reputation with the ladies and, although that reputation was somewhat exaggerated, it served a purpose for his charade.
'Pushed your luck, eh?'
Aramis nodded, 'so what is this proposition you have?' he asked again.
The scarred man glanced around. Aramis looked up and down the side street as well, searching for any sign of his friend watching them. If Porthos was there, he had hidden himself well.
'I need a man with knowledge of the Palace and it's security. I need a man who can get close to the Royal family and knows how they are guarded-'
Aramis smiled, 'you need a Musketeer,' he said. 'And you need a Musketeer that can be bought. One that isn't in favour.'
The man nodded with a smile of his own. The smile only made his scar look more menacing and the closed up mess that had been his eye twitched and creased.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second money bag. He held it out to Aramis who was about to take it when the man pulled it back a little.
'Will you be loyal to me?' he asked.
Aramis nodded, 'I will be loyal to the man that pays me.'
The money bag dropped into his palm. Aramis felt its weight, whoever was paying the gang was wealthy if they could buy people with so much coin.
'When are you next on duty?'
'I am supposed to be at muster for eight in the morning,' replied Aramis.
The man nodded, 'that gives us time to talk a bit more. And for you to meet the boss.'
'You're not the boss?'
The scarred man shook his head, 'no. The boss wanted me to make the first move on you. They thought you would react better to me. You'll understand when you meet them.'
Aramis wondered what the man meant. They walked further along the street, towards the next main road. The scarred man started to ask him questions about his day to day work and which areas of the Palace he had access to. Aramis answered truthfully. He did not want the gang to start asking him about things he could not answer by lying at the start of their relationship.
As they reached the main road, the scarred man looked around before he coughed loudly. Two men rushed around the corner and grabbed Aramis. He tried to push the men off him. The scarred man joined the attackers and pushed him against the wall with enough force to knock the air from his lungs. He was about to shout out, to complain about his treatment, when a fourth person appeared, wrapped in a long dark cloak.
The hood of the cloak covered most of the newcomers face. But Aramis could see enough. Smooth, pale skin and delicate lips were enough for him to know the newcomer was a woman. She lifted her head a little, giving him a glimpse of green eyes and fiery red hair. She smiled and stepped closer to him. The men holding him against the wall moved enough to allow her to stand in front of him.
'You will forgive the theatrics,' said the woman.
She spoke calmly, but with authority. Aramis realised she was the one in charge of the gang. He understood why the scarred man had been sent to recruit him. His reputation with women would mean he might not have listened to her. The gang believed him to be a stereotypical chauvinistic man. They would not know that Aramis had a deep respect for women and saw them as the superior sex.
The woman looked him up and down before reaching out and wrapping her hand around the grip of his sword. She pulled the sword slowly from its scabbard, her eyes on his the entire time. She passed the sword to the scarred man. She rested her hand on his waist for a second before sliding it around to the small of his back. She felt him tug out his gun, moving slowly. He glanced down, worried that she might have her finger on the trigger of the primed weapon. He heard a faint chuckle from the woman.
'I know how to handle a weapon,' she said softly, the statement dripping with innuendo.
The gun was handed to one of the other men, who thrust it into his belt. The woman reached around Aramis a second time and eased his parrying sword from his belt and handed it to the scarred man.
'Now,' she said. 'We can talk-'
'I'll be getting those back,' said Aramis.
The woman nodded, 'you will. But we need to show you that we are in charge.'
'I'm quite happy for you to be in charge... Madame...?'
The woman, who was busy patting him down as she searched for any concealed weapons looked up at him.
'Dupre,' she said. 'Josephine Dupre. But you will call me Madame... for now.'
She lowered her face a little and looked at him under her eyelashes. Aramis was aware of the scarred man shifting a little and huffing out a breath. The obvious overture from Madame Dupre was not appreciated by the man. She glanced at him and smiled.
'Hush now, Carlos,' she said. 'You've done well. I'll see you're rewarded. A little extra in your pay.'
Aramis suspected Carlos would have preferred something other than a monetary reward for his work that night. Aramis also suspected Madame Dupre might have more interest in Aramis than the information he could give her. He knew he would have to play along despite finding the woman's interest not something he reciprocated.
'We'll go somewhere that we can talk,' said Madame Dupre, as she stepped away from him.
She led them to the main road, a nondescript carriage was waiting. The woman held out her hand so that she could be helped into the carriage. Carlos was about to step forward but Aramis beat him to it, he made a point of rubbing his thumb across her fingers. She smiled at him as she stepped into the carriage, keeping hold of his hand as he joined her. Aramis noted the annoyed look on Carlos' face as he climbed in. The other two men climbed onto the front of the carriage and urged the horses on.
Aramis knew he still had work to do but the plan was working. He had been recruited. He only hoped he had not made an enemy of one of the senior members of the gang. Carlos did not look pleased that he had been pushed aside by the newcomer. Madame Dupre, may not have shown any interest in the scarred man, but now that Aramis was there, Carlos knew he stood even less chance with the woman.
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