The Loss

Chapter 3

The hours seemed to drag by as Treville and his men sat, stood or paced outside the infirmary door.

Finally, it opened, and the surgeon exited the room. The exhaustion was evident on his face. He smiled grimly at the men that were waiting on tenterhooks for him to speak.

"What's the prognosis Doctor?" Treville asked finally when words seemed to have escaped the surgeon under the desperate eyes of so many armed soldiers.

Swallowing thickly, the surgeon began to speak. "Your man was gravely injured during the explosion. I was told he used his body to shield a young boy from the blast. Unfortunately, his actions were for naught. I have learned that the boy has succumbed to his injuries," he said sadly.

D'Artagnan gasped, and Porthos swore and bit his fist to suppress his sorrow.

The surgeon continued, "Your musketeer took the brunt of the flying debris. He was impaled by a large metal barb that punctured his lower side. We managed to remove the barb, but I'm afraid with the damage done to his vitals, coupled with the amount of blood lost and whatever other damages he sustained following the explosion…it is unlikely…that he will pull through. I would suggest you make him as comfortable as possible and prepare your goodbyes," he said.

"No," said Bernard hollowly. "No! This can't be," he said pushing forward and grabbing the surgeon by his shirtfront. "Get in there and make him well! You can't! You can't just…take him from us!"

Treville and Porthos both put a hand on Bernard's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," said the doctor, placing his hands on the musketeer's wrists and gently extricating himself from the grip. "Truly I am. I know the service you provide your country and the brotherhood that exists among you, but there is nothing more that I can do. I wish there was. I am truly sorry," he said.

All the soldiers gathered could read the sincerity in the surgeon's eyes.

"We moved him to the far room to allow him some privacy."

"Thank you," said Treville, dismissing the surgeon.

Slowly, Treville entered the infirmary.

oOo

The first thing they saw was Christine leaning against the windowsill. She was covered in blood; the apron she had worn was nearly entirely scarlet. Her arms were crossed defensively across her chest and she held her head in her hand as Aramis stood next to her and tried to bring her comfort. Etienne was checking the other patients. Athos was pale, and drawn having been witness but helpless throughout Adam's surgery. Porthos went to his side immediately.

Treville approached Etienne and asked for a status update on the other patients. Etienne mumbled to Treville, and on the Captain's command, Francois stepped forward. More quiet words were exchanged and Francois approached the table where the young boy lay covered. He left the room carrying the lad with Etienne following slowly behind, joined by Cornet who had arrived with the remains of the other victims of the explosion. Francois fought his tears as he carried the still child.

Bernard stood on the threshold of the infirmary. Christine looked up and they made eye contact. She rose as he made his way trance-like towards her. His outstretched hands met hers and she led him into the back room where Adam lay, his breathing shallow.

Running his hand through his hair, Aramis approached his captain.

Treville took in the marksman's full appearance. Grief, pain and anger burned in his eyes. His shirtsleeves were soaked to his elbows in blood, which had begun to stiffen. He looked tired, but Treville knew that there would be no sleep for Aramis that night, not while a brother clung to life.

"Captain," he said and swayed slightly.

"Sit," said Treville.

"I'm fine," Aramis replied curtly. "Tell me what you've learned."

Treville sighed. He had known Aramis for most of the man's life, so he ignored his impetuousness in situations like these.

"We know that four people were killed in the blast –"

"- five," Christine corrected as she joined them, putting an arm around Aramis' waist to steady him.

Treville nodded. "Five," he admitted. "One was the vendor of the cart, the other two were another vendor and his wife. The fourth was a nobleman who was apparently a frequent visitor to the stall. The fifth was…the boy," he said sadly, his grim face growing even grimmer.

"Were they able to apprehend the shooter?" Aramis asked.

Treville shook his head. "No, not yet. We need to further examine the crime scene. Perhaps if we can determine the shooter's positioning, we might find a clue about who this madman is."

"I'll go," said Aramis.

"And me," said D'Artagnan who had been hanging back. D'Artagnan and Adam had been very close. They were the two youngest members of the musketeers, and so had bonded easily when D'Artagnan had joined the regiment. The level of pain that showed on D'Artagnan's face in that moment was matched by the fire in his eyes.

Treville nodded. "Change your clothes first, and be safe. The shooter might still be out there. Hurry back," he said as he looked towards the room where Bernard sat next to Adam, his shoulders heaving under his silent sobs.

Aramis nodded. "The injuries…" he said, "This will be slow. I've prepared several pain draughts. Give him whatever he needs."

Treville nodded and moved towards Bernard.

Aramis looked at Christine, "You should return home to change," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I don't want to leave him," her grey eyes shining like the rain.

Aramis nodded, taking her face in his hand. "I'll have someone send for Marie to bring you a new dress. You can sit by Athos for the time being. He will need to be brought up to speed. I'd ask you to try to rest…"

"…but you know me well enough to know better," she said with a sad smile. He kissed her softly and turned to leave the room. D'Artagnan was already prepping the horses.

oOo