The following morning was bright, the clear, blue, sky beguiling. Porthos thought it would have been more appropriate to have storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

D'Artagnan, now dressed in an expensive frilled shirt, blue doublet and breeches, rocked on his heels as he stared into the middle distance. The change of clothes and tidied hair made the Musketeer look the part. D'Artagnan's focus changed to Aramis and Treville who were standing on the other side of the ornamental garden. Treville was gesticulating to Aramis, who was actively ignoring his Captain. The display was to reinforce, to the unknown man with the money, that Aramis was not the loyal soldier he had been.

'He's convincing,' said d'Artagnan as Aramis turned from Treville and walked towards their inconspicuous hiding spot.

'It's not the first time he's pretended to be someone else,' said Porthos. 'Although I don't think any of us have had to lie to our friends in the same way.'

'What have you told Marc and Luc? They're bound to wonder where I am,' asked d'Artagnan.

'Treville told them you'd taken a few days leave. He kept it vague.'

Aramis had reached the quiet corner of the grounds. He glanced around before stepping out of sight of any observers.

'I'm meant to be watching the side gate,' he said. 'I told Dupre and Carlos I'd meet them, with Vicomte Reis,' he indicated d'Artagnan, 'in a few minutes. Treville is going to arrange that none of the mobile patrols come passed here for a couple of hours. There are a couple of suspicious people on the other side of the gardens apparently. That will keep their attention away from here.'

D'Artagnan took a step in the direction of the gate. When Aramis did not move to follow him, he turned back with a questioning look.

'Shouldn't we be going then?' he asked. 'Or are you about to ask me - again - if I'm sure I want to do this.'

'No,' said Aramis slowly. 'It's just... you can't go looking like that.'

Aramis gestured towards d'Artagnan.

'Like what? A noble?'

Aramis smiled. Porthos hid a smirk; it was odd in the middle of the seriousness of the mission that they could find a moment of levity. Even if it was at d'Artagnan's expense.

'You don't look like someone who's been kidnapped,' Porthos said. 'You're not going to walk out there with Aramis. The Vicomte wouldn't he'd be kicking and screaming all the way.'

'Oh,' said d'Artagnan as he realised what they were getting at. 'So all the effort that Athos went to, to make me look the part, was for nothing?'

'Oh no,' said Aramis. 'You need to look the part. So that we can now make you look the part of a victim of a kidnapping.'

Porthos picked up a length of rope and started to uncoil it.

'You're gonna have to hit him as well,' he said without making eye contact with either of his friends.

'I know,' said Aramis quietly.

Porthos glanced up at Aramis who was stretching his fingers out before pulling them into a fist. D'Artagnan took a step forward having caught up with what was needed to make the plan work.

'It's an act, Aramis. I know that.'

Porthos moved to stand behind d'Artagnan, who glanced at him.

'I know you can take a punch, d'Artagnan,' said Porthos. 'But you need to let this one hurt.'

As d'Artagnan turned back to Aramis, Porthos nodded. Aramis took a swing at d'Artagnan's face before their friend was expecting it. The strike knocked d'Artagnan back a couple of paces. Porthos was ready, he grabbed the reeling Musketeer and steadied him. But Aramis did not give d'Artagnan a chance to gather his wits before punching him again, catching him on the jaw. Porthos kept d'Artagnan upright as he recovered his senses.

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan carefully.

'I'm fine,' he said after a few seconds. 'You caught me off guard, that's all...'

'That was the idea,' said Aramis as he looked at his knuckles.

'Bruised?' asked Porthos.

Aramis nodded.

'He just punched me twice, and you're more interested in his bruised knuckles.'

Porthos laughed, 'if he didn't have bruised knuckles, they'd wonder who hit you.'

'Oh,' said d'Artagnan as he understood.

Porthos hoped his naivety would not cause problems during the mission. Although he doubted d'Artagnan would have to do much more than endure a fair amount of pain and unpleasantness.

Porthos wrapped the rope around d'Artagnan's wrists and tied it firmly. He glanced at d'Artagnan, who nodded that he was not in too much discomfort. Aramis stepped forward with a gag and a blindfold. He paused.

'You remember the signal?' he said.

D'Artagnan nodded, 'do what you have to do,' he said. 'Don't worry about me.'

Aramis shook his head, 'it will be impossible not to worry about you,' he said with sincerity.

MMMM

The blindfold had been placed over his eyes in such a way that d'Artagnan could see the ground. But it did not stop the horrible disorienting feeling as he was walked away from the Palace. Aramis was holding his arm as they walked. His friend was describing where they were going with hushed tones. The plan was that Aramis would shove him to the left when they were in sight of the gang. The movement would be the cue for d'Artagnan to start struggling against his captor. It would also mark the beginning of his part of the mission. D'Artagnan could feel his pulse quicken with each step. He wondered if what he felt was similar to how soldiers felt walking into battle, or a condemned man walking towards the scaffold. The uncertainty of what was going to happen and the certainty that it was not going to be pleasant whirled around in d'Artagnan's head.

Aramis shoved him hard. D'Artagnan could not help stumbling. His friend kept him on his feet, although his movements had changed from gentle guidance to pulling him with force.

'Stop struggling. I told you to behave, or you'd get hurt,' Aramis said, his tone one of annoyance.

He was practically dragged the next few yards before he was pushed against a stone wall and held there. He felt more hands on him, searching him, sliding across his body and down his legs.

'I checked him for weapons, do you think I'm an imbecile?' asked Aramis curtly.

'Yeah, well it don't hurt to double-check, does it,' replied a gruff-voiced man with a hint of an accent.

From the descriptions, Aramis had given, and the brief exchange between the two men, d'Artagnan guessed the other man was Carlos. A woman spoke, her voice was disarmingly calm.

'Now, now, Carlos,' she said. 'My Musketeer has done what we asked of him. Were you seen, my dear?'

'No. I know what I'm doing. He won't be missed for a few hours. But it will be noticed he's gone before the end of the day. He was expected to join the King for cards this evening.'

D'Artagnan tried to pull away from his captors and shouted through his gag. He was struck on the back of the head, the blow leaving him disorientated for several seconds.

'I told you to stop struggling,' Aramis said, close to his ear, his voice dripped with venom.

D'Artagnan was aware of the woman, Madame Dupre, humming her approval.

'Get him on the cart. I look forward to playing with him and to hearing from our master how much he is missed at Court,' she said.

'I told you he will be missed,' reiterated Aramis.

'I know,' the woman practically purred. 'You've done well.'

A gruff grunt from Carlos expressed his disapproval.

They pulled d'Artagnan away from the wall and propelled him forwards. He got the impression it was not Aramis taking charge of him. He could smell foul breath and the hands on his arms were holding him with a vice-like grip.

'Keep him on the floor of the carriage, Boivin,' said Carlos, before adding quietly. 'I hate to admit the Musketeer's done well... We will have to find some fault with him. She's too interested in him and not looking out for the rest of us.'

'You're just jealous,' said a second man, the man with the foul breath. 'Maybe you could maim him at the same time as we maim this runt. She'd lose interest in him soon enough then.'

Both men chuckled. D'Artagnan knew the mission was balanced on a knife-edge. He hoped he could keep up his act as long as necessary.

The men roughly bundled him up the steps of a carriage and pushed him to the floor. He complained and tried to twist away from the men. They knew that the real Vicomte Reis was an athletic young man; it would have been odd for the noble not to try to fight back. A boot was placed on his shoulder and pressed down, forcing him to stay still. The carriage rocked a couple of times as other people stepped in. The door was closed. Someone hit the ceiling to indicate they were ready. D'Artagnan heard horses urged on and the carriage lurched into movement. He did not try to keep track of which way the carriage turned. He had no idea which way around he was. Instead, he concentrated on the conversations the people had.

He could hear Carlos and Boivin talking in hushed tones. They did not say anything out of place that d'Artagnan could make out. The disparaging remarks about Aramis were not repeated. Madame Dupre spoke a few times about previous instances where they had taken people captive. She invited Aramis to talk about interrogation methods he may have used to extract information from captive enemy soldiers. Aramis pointed out that they were not meant to be interrogating Vicomte Reis. Dupre was quick to counter with the fact that the outcome - a suffering man - was the same. D'Artagnan made a point of struggling at that point only to have the boot pressed harder on his shoulder.

The carriage turned sharply and came to a halt.

'The room is prepared?' asked Madame Dupre.

'Yes, madame,' said someone from outside the carriage.

'We'll see he's properly restrained and ready for you,' said Carlos.

The boot was removed from his shoulder and hands pulled him up. He struggled against the men holding him but was hit again. As he was forced to walk where they wanted him to go, he caught a snatch of a conversation between Madame Dupre and Aramis.

'You did well, my Musketeer,' she said. 'I want you to dine with me. Your Vicomte can wait a few hours for our full attention...'

'I'd be delighted,' replied Aramis smoothly.

D'Artagnan could not hear anything else as he was forced into a building. The dirt ground changed to stone flooring. He continued to struggle and dig his heels in but to no avail.

'Grab his legs. We'll never get him up there like this. I'll give him his due, Aramis picked a feisty one.'

D'Artagnan's legs were grabbed around the knees and he was lifted off the floor. He tried to wriggle away from the men holding him but could do nothing to prevent himself from being carried up a set of stairs. He could feel Boivin breathing harder and smell the man's horrible breath with each step on the stair. When his legs were abruptly released, he could not help panicking as the feeling of falling gripped him. His arms were still being held firmly so he did not crash to the floor. He was not given time to get to his feet, the men holding him simply dragged him along.

'Best get that off him,' said Carlos.

A disorientating couple of minutes followed where d'Artagnan found himself on the floor but held too firmly to be able to move. His body was manipulated as his doublet was pulled off and his boots were removed. Next, he was dragged a couple of feet and manacles were clicked around each of his wrists. He heard a chain being pulled and his arms were raised above his head. Whatever was pulling at his arms forced him to his knees and then his feet. The pulling did not stop until his arms were raised above him. A hand was pressed over his face, forcing his head back against the wall. The cold metal of a knife or dagger was pressed against the skin of his cheek as it slid under the gag, he felt a tug before the gag fell away. He could not help coughing a couple of times. He opened his mouth to speak, but the hand moved to smoother any noise.

'Shut up. We're not interested in what you've got to say. If you want, I'll replace the gag. Do you understand?'

D'Artagnan paused for a moment before nodding. He had decided the Vicomte would be starting to understand the seriousness of the situation and should start to show fear rather than continue to fight back. Carlos removed his hand before pulling the blindfold off. D'Artagnan blinked a couple of times. He found himself looking at a scarred one-eyed man. Carlos' face was disfigured by the scar. He was not wearing an eye patch; the empty eye socket looked sunken behind twisted closed eyelids.

Another man was standing close behind Carlos. D'Artagnan caught a whiff of Boivin's breath. Boivin was perhaps a couple of years older than Carlos; he wore a scraggly beard which did not cover a couple of scars on his jawline and chin.

'Let's soften him up a bit,' suggested Boivin.

Carlos sneered; the cruel smile seemed to twist the scar across his face. He nodded before stepping back.

D'Artagnan tensed up as the first punch from Boivin hit him in the stomach. He huffed, as the breath was pushed out of him. The men did not give him a chance to take a breath before further punches struck him. The men did not stop for several minutes, at least it felt like minutes to d'Artagnan but could have been seconds.

When they stepped back, it took d'Artagnan a while to calm his breathing enough to focus. He realised he was slumped against the wall his head bowed over. He managed to look up to find four men looking back at him. Carlos and Boivin were sweating from the effort they had put into beating him.

Carlos glanced at the other two men before looking back at d'Artagnan, 'give him some water, keep an eye on him. We'll let him dwell on that and wonder what is in store.'

Carlos gave d'Artagnan a final shove before walking from the room.

D'Artagnan let his head drop down again; he stared at the floor. He realised he did not have to put on much of an act for his part in the facade. If his first beating was anything to go by, he would not have to act at all.

He only hoped what he endured and what was to come would be worth it.

MMMM