CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Many of the passageways had been forgotten.

Milady had made it her business to map most of them, pacing each one out, discovering where they went, which rooms they connected and which ones would not be useful. She had marked the walls inside each secret entrance with a slick pattern of red food colouring, taken from the kitchens.

If needed quickly, she would know which ones gave her a good escape route, a habit she had had since early childhood.

At the moment, that was not useful to her as she was in pursuit of a man who had no idea of her system. However, it gave her warning as to where she may emerge, which was in itself useful.

oOo

Ahead of Porthos were two doors.

He pushed through the first one, only to end in a room full of finely dressed females; ladies in waiting, who opened their mouths to scream, aware there were intruders in the palace.

Porthos raised his hand to placate them, before tapping on his pauldron and putting his finger to his lips.

"What are you doin' here?" he asked softly.

One, an older women approached him.

"We were told to wait," she said.

He nearly made a quip about them being "ladies in waiting," but pulled himself up.

He could hardly ship them out, there were at least eight of them. The woman came to his rescue, seeing his dilemma.

"We will be safe here," she said, drawing herself up.

"You will if you bar the door," he replied. "I walked straight in 'ere."

He walked over to a heavy table next to the door and waved them over. Together, they managed to push it fairly quietly over to the door.

"When I go out, you push it in front of the door, yeah?" he said, looking from one to another.

Some blushed, some giggled, but they all nodded.

He smiled at them.

"Someone will come for you, when we've searched the palace," he said. He thought that the safest way to word it.

Giving them one last stern look, so that they complied, he nodded and went back out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. Listening, he heard the sound of the table being pushed the short distance in front of the door, effectively blocking entrance.

"Good girls," he said, softly.

Satisfied they had complied, and seemingly relieved by the Musketeer's presence, he turned and he disappeared back where he had come from in search of Milady.

She almost ran into him a second time a short while later; emerging from behind a curtain, a blade in her hand.

He barred her way, folding his arms.

"Well, well, this is gettin' to be a habit," he said, quietly.

Frustrated, she snarled at him and raised the blade, before reconsidering, and turning her back to him.

As she did, she saw Michel Dubois, at the end of the corridor.

"Dubois!" Milady shouted.

The man turned around.

He looked past her though and she turned, seeing Porthos still behind her, staring at Dubois.

"He's mine!" she hissed, as Porthos took a step forward.

Dubois took the opportunity to run and she was after him before Porthos could register her moving. Sighing, he pursued.

Dubois disappeared from view and Porthos heard Milady cursing loudly under her breath as she tore after him. She cursed again as she lost Dubois, finding herself back in the hallway that led out into the courtyard, where she had run into Porthos earlier.

The courtyard was empty. Where were those damned Musketeers when you needed them!

Then she smiled as she saw the next best thing – Treville, as he made his way back into the building.

Grabbing his arm as he came through the glazed door, he turned in anger, attempting to shake her off.

"Where is the King!" she asked, urgently.

"In his rooms, of course, safe under Palace Guard," he replied.

"That's no good," she replied, urgently. "He is in the passageways."

Supposition on her part, but how else could he have disappeared so quickly? No doubt he had been watching her again, damn him.

"Who is?" Treville demanded.

"Dubois. One of Sarazin's men."

"Where are my men?" he demanded, well aware of what Sarazin had cost them.

"Searching," she replied. "Two of the assailants are dead," she added, not confessing that it was she who had dispatched them.

"Then they will block him."

"One of the passageways leads directly to the King's bed chamber," she said then.

"What! Why don't I know this?"

"Because I only recently discovered it. Louis didn't know himself until I … surprised him one evening," she murmured, looking away.

Treville turned back toward the King's rooms.

"Wait!" she said, "As you say, the King is safe. You should know, Rochefort has returned.

Treville groaned and rubbed his forehead in frustration.

She glanced through the windows.

"Rochefort is in the stables and one of the Dubois's men just entered the east wing," she added, her eyes sliding back to him. "Where the Queen's rooms are located," she added, pointedly.

Treville was momentarily torn. He had stationed two guards outside the Queen's door earlier, but they needed to be alerted to the new threat.

"Go," she said. "See to the Queen. Your men are here and I will take care of Rochefort."

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, suspiciously.

She looked away.

"Because I can," she replied, simply, though it hardly answered his question.

He hesitated, before seeming to agree, striding away to redirect his remaining men and hoping his Inseparables would find this Dubois. Milady at least would be out of the way in the short term, though how she would deal with Rochefort he did not know. And there were more important things to consider than reminding her to stay away from Athos.

oOo

d'Artagnan blocked the first blow easily.

The man, however, was strong and driven by purpose.

The corridor was narrow, with not enough room to swing, so they were confined to lunging and trying to push each other back toward the bend in the corridor and hopefully, more room to manoeuvre.

Shoved against the wall, d'Artagnan raised his sword as the man brought his own up and pushed his body into him, pinning him in place.

With neither of them thus able to move, d'Artagnan brought his knee up and caught the man in the thigh. Grunting, the man staggered back and d'Artagnan took advantage of the man's deadened leg to pull back his sword in order to skewer him.

The man however, had turned and dropped into a crouch, spinning ungainly out of the way and staggering around the bend in the corridor.

d'Artgagnan followed, meeting the raised blade that greeted him and pushing back.

They both fell against the door behind them and crashed through into the room beyond.

oOo

Elsewhere:

"What's going on?" a familiar voice sing-songed in its annoying drawl. "Show yourself."

Rochefort.

Milady sighed. She had hoped to waylay him in the stables, but he was here, among them.

Could the day get any worse?

She stepped out to face him; her only option.

Rochefort came to a halt, one leg bent, hand on the hilt of his sword. He tilted his head to one side and narrowed his eyes.

Her stomach shifted at the sight of him.

"Oh thank goodness you have arrived!" she instantly cried, green eyes wide, her hand fluttering at her throat. "We are under attack."

"Where is the King?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"He is safe, I assure you," she said. "He is guarded in his rooms."

"And the Queen?"

"In her own rooms."

Within the walls, the Musketeers were fighting a foe, though the last thing they needed was Rochefort's interference.

And so, she held a beseeching hand out to him.

"The Musketeers need help," she said, her voice trembling.

She saw the moment his eyes went cold.

"I must go to the Queen," he said. "The Musketeers can take care of themselves."

"Are you not going to help them!" she called, a little desperately.

He remained silent, striding down the corridor away from her. If she had seen his face, she would have seen a vicious, calculating smile on his face.

Watching his retreating back, she relaxed.

She languidly raised her hand, unseen by him, fluttering her fingers in mock farewell.

"True to form," she sighed quietly to herself. "And so predictable."

Treville could take care of him now, though he would probably be angry that she had driven him his way. No matter. Rochefort would ensure no Red Guard came to their "rescue." The field was clear. She allowed herself a smile, before picking up her skirts and slipping through the secret door and back into the passageways.

oOo

Olivier, the Comte de la Fere, turned back once he heard his Musketeer companion's footsteps retreat.

It was betrayal, he knew, as Aramis had been keen that he did not continue his pursuit. When he thought about it, Porthos had been keen for him to turn around and return to the scene of the second killing. He had not understood their reasoning, but he was not in a position to argue.

However, he strongly believed that the woman in red was the key to this. Find her and he would find out who the men were, and what her involvement was.

He stepped back into the passageway and turned left, as he knew where he would go if he turned right - back to the hallway where he had crashed into Porthos in his pursuit of the mysterious female.

It was the passageway to the left that therefore held his attention.

The passageway to the left was wider. And there was a faint assault on his nostrils that he could not place. It was dusty, but this felt different. He could not trust his sense of smell for it was practically non-existent, but his mind told him it was floral. It meant nothing to him though, and he continued, reaching out with his drawn sword to remove the cobwebs that hung down in front of his face. No-one had passed here, but he had yet to investigate the way ahead. Who knew what he would find as he made his cautious way forward?

He walked the length of the dim passageway, before he came to a junction, where a further passage crossed, stretching into the dim distance, leading east and west.

There was a secret passageway at la Fere, which led out through the cellar and into the orchard, which had fascinated Thomas and himself as boys. His father had said it was a escape route of old, which had made sense. This maze within the Louvre though, was entirely different. He thought these had been constructed for more Machiavellian reasons. Or perhaps, as a means of spying, as he could see two dim shafts of light up ahead to the left that indicated spy-holes. There may be a door up there too, he thought. Certainly, a room beyond the spy-holes.

The passage to the right appeared to be as heavily cobwebbed as the one he had just traversed, but, on looking to the left, it was clearer. That could only mean if someone was in this warren, they had to have entered somewhere along the passageway to the left. Furthermore, if that had been the woman, the lower walls of the passageway would have been swept clear by her skirts – certainly the ones he had seen disappear through the wall earlier, but it appeared to be those cobwebs above head level that had been pulled down.

He inched forward, walking as softly as he could, hand tight on his sword. The sling afforded him a modicum of comfort, but the jarring his shoulder had taken had caused a steady ache to settle.

He edged toward the spy-holes and came to a halt before them.

The room he now looked into was below his eye level. The painting that served them obviously had given whoever was in this passage a clear view. it was a large, square room, served by a long window. Sitting beneath it were several young women, all quietly giving each other comfort. They were ladies in waiting, and had been forgotten in the melee. Hopefully, the room was sufficiently away from the King's Receiving Room where the two bodies had been found nearby.

As he watched, a woman passed closely by beneath him, and he pulled back.

There was nothing he could do. They seemed to be safe in the room and would no doubt be relieved at some point. No doubt they were as used to tedium as the palace guards and courtiers. He was not to know that Porthos had already discovered them and had entreated them to remain still and quiet.

Adding "voyeurs" to his list of possible passageway architects, he pulling back, and he turned to continue his exploration.

Ahead of him, another had also looked through the spy-holes and seen the bounty in the room below. He had made a mental note of where the room was and silently promised the women below that he and his men would return.

He too, had finally stepped back and continued along the same route that the Comte now followed.

To be continued ...