Greetings from Hot Springs, Arkansas.

Apologies because I wrote a message before posting chapter 12 and it disappeared! As usual, I wanted to thank all those who have been reading the story and reviewing. I beg forgiveness for not responding to reviewers individually as I would do back home but between editing and posting these chapters, trying to find time to write new ones, updating social media on my adventures so friends and family can keep tabs on me and know I am okay, plus note making for the book based on this adventure (woeflly behind in that department at present), there are limits to the hours in the day as I am having so much fun and learning such a lot too. Nevertheless, I do love hearing from you and appreciate you taking the time and trouble. New friends are emergng all the time and it's great when you leave a comment.

I am just finishing chapter 21 at present so there is a little way to go before you 'catch up with me!'

So, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan now know what Athos is up to but are they happy or resigned to it?

CHAPTER 13

The three friends were in their favourite tavern but instead of revelling in the noise and bustle that surrounded them, they sat at a corner table in brooding silence, their mood an ironic copy of their absent friend.

"I don't like this. I don't like it one bit," grumbled Porthos. His ale mug was cupped in his hands, but he did not drink from it; he was concentrating on turning it in circles and glaring at its dark contents.

"Oh I do not think it's that bad," Aramas said, attempting a levity he did not feel. "It's no worse than we've had here before."

When his intended humour fell flat with his brothers, he downed the remaining ale in one and held out the empty pewter mug for the passing serving girl to refill. Under normal circumstances, he would have flirted outrageously with Cecille, bringing a blush to her cheeks, a sparkling gleam of anticipation to her eyes and a girlish giggle to her lips. She had greeted him with her usual enthusiasm but quickly sensed that something was wrong and withdrew, only approaching the table periodically to ensure that their drinks were replenished or to remove their abandoned, half-empty food bowls.

Something was clearly amiss for the big Musketeer to leave any food and her eyes swept the crowded room for their fourth. It had not escaped her notice that the dark, gloomy one who was normally with them would occasionally sit by himself at a table. The others would place themselves nearby and surreptitiously glance in his direction, but they would respect his privacy and maintain their distance until one or more of them decided that it was time to get him home, wherever that was. It never ceased to amaze her that he was still able to walk out the door, even if it was not unaided. There were other clients who did not imbibe as much as him and yet they would be unconscious in their seat or, worse, on the floor.

There was seldom any trouble with him; if anything occurred, it was usually the result of other people – often members of the Cardinal's Red Guard – deciding to cause difficulties and if he did not immediately retaliate, his friends would intervene. They always paid for any damage that might ensue and so her employer, Firmin Cosson, never had reason to complain to Captain Tréville but somehow the officer would make an 'unannounced visit' during the days immediately following any significant altercation. How he knew, Cosson could only guess at, but the Captain would explain that he always liked to see for himself that residents and businesses in the vicinity of the garrison were well and he did not want to appear distant and reclusive.

Cosson always said afterwards that it was the sign of a good commander. Tréville knew his men used the trades and taverns in the area and he did not want the regiment getting a bad name; he also understood that his soldiers weren't perfect and had to 'let off steam' somehow, as he was wont to put it, and if they had done something wrong that inconvenienced the locals, they were expected to rectify the matter promptly.

The tavern keeper defended the Musketeers and not just the four friends. As one of the taverns closest to the garrison, the soldiers' patronage was important to his coffers and he could not afford to lose their regular custom. It was just unfortunate that his establishment was also frequented by the Red Guard and they were not always so honourable. In fact – and here he was careful to remind the Captain – the Cardinal's Guard were more often the ones to instigate the trouble, when it did erupt.

Cecille's thoughts returned to the group. For so long, there had been three of them, but for some weeks now there had been a fourth. A handsome young man had succeeded in being accepted by the closely-knit trio but even he sat morosely, and she surmised correctly, as she set to cleaning the adjacent table and overheard the conversation, that their concerns were for their friend.

"I'm not talkin' about the ale as you well know," Porthos growled, unamused.

"Tréville doesn't seem to like the situation any more than we do," Aramis acknowledged.

"Then why's 'e not lettin' us do anythin' about it?"

Aramis sighed. "You heard his reasoning as well as d'Artagnan and I. You also heard that it was an instruction from Athos."

"We didn't 'ave to get in the way. We could've gone an' stayed our distance but at least we would've been closer if 'e'd needed us."

"You're assuming that he is going to get into some sort of trouble. Athos strikes me as one who can look after himself," d'Artagnan intervened.

The other two just stared at him for they had already seen the Gascon's undisguised admiration for their aloof friend.

"This is the man you accused of murder a few weeks ago an' 'e was totally innocent. We only got the King's reprieve to the Châtelet just in time to stop 'im bein' executed," Porthos reminded him. "If we'd been even a minute later…" He dared not think how close they had come to tragedy.

D'Artagnan looked downhearted for he had been trying his hardest since that incident to overlook how he had first met the three Musketeers.

Seeing the younger man's crestfallen expression, Aramis attempted to ease his disappointment. "Athos does not necessarily seek difficulties, but they somehow have a habit of being attracted to him; perhaps it is one of the downfalls of being a Musketeer. People want to test their mettle against those held to be the best; after all, we are supposed to be the King's élite."

"But he is not in uniform. These nobles will not know that he is a Musketeer," d'Artagnan persisted.

"But he is attempting to pass himself off as one of the nobles; there is much that can go wrong. I have no doubt about his ability with a sword to match any of them; his skills will far exceed most, but he is outnumbered and if he were to be overwhelmed, he stands no chance of defending himself."

"I say we go after 'im anyway," Porthos declared.

"Without Tréville's authorisation?" Aramis countered. "Then we'll be facing a court martial and will lose our commissions whilst poor d'Artagnan," and here he draped an arm around the Gascon's shoulders as they sat side by side on the wooden settle, "will never have the opportunity of wearing a pauldron."

D'Artagnan was torn. He desperately wanted to become a Musketeer but already looked upon these three men as the closest thing to family he had since the murder of his father. He could not bear to think of Athos being in such potential danger.

"Well 'e's due back in fourteen days. I don't like the idea of waitin' until the fifteenth day before we set off."

"My dear Porthos, we could set off on the fifteenth day and meet him on the outskirts of the city," Aramis grinned. "Think how displeased he would be; he would suspect that we don't think him capable of doing anything on his own without getting into trouble."

"We don't. I can't remember the last time we let 'im out of our sight when somethin' didn't 'appen."

"Very well," Aramis sighed. "We will ask Tréville if he will let us leave a few days earlier so we can either meet Athos on the road or at least be closer to finding him if need be. Satisfied?"

"No," Porthos responded getting to his feet and slamming his hat down on his head, "but I suppose it'll 'ave to do for now. I'm headin' for my bed, not that I reckon I'll be doin' much sleeping."

As the other two rose to join him, Aramis threw some coins on the table for Cecille.

They headed to the door, oblivious to the person who was sitting on the settle that backed onto theirs. The plain, woollen cloak with its hood conflicted with the rich fabric of the dress concealed beneath but, watching them go, her lower face concealed by a lace fan, was a green-eyed, dark-haired beauty who had heard every word of their evening's conversation.