The Loss

Chapter 4

Marie arrived at the Garrison with a clean dress and a few more of the simple dresses Christine preferred over her courtly gowns when working on her estate in the country or in the infirmary. She stowed them in Aramis' quarters.

"Just in case," she said, with a sad smile at her mistress.

A bath had been brought into Aramis' large room and Christine bathed quickly, washing the blood from her body. She looked around the room as she dressed.

Aramis, like most of the musketeers, maintained apartments outside of the garrison. As a founding member of the Musketeers and because he was often kept late in the infirmary caring for his patients, Aramis had maintained his room here as well.

A large bed stood in the corner with a table and four chairs opposite. A chest was at the foot of the bed on top of a rich but well-worn rug. A simple wooden cross was hung on the wall while a few books of poetry, anatomy and herb lore stood on the shelf in the corner next to a simple wood cabinet. On the side table next to his bed sat a candlestick, a bible and a ribbon Christine recognized from her own hair. A dry iris sat on the windowsill. Its papery petals still retained the blue vibrancy from the day Christine had pinned it to the musketeer's lapel so many months and ages before.

She took in the simple comforts of the room and smiled. How similar they were in some ways – they both had a simpler life they cherished outside of the trappings of court.

His prized treasures – her hair ribbon and the iris among them – warmed her heart, even in situations like these. She crossed herself and said a quick prayer as she shut the door, taking more solace from her brief time in that room than she thought possible. She steadied herself and returned to the infirmary.

oOo

Aramis and D'Artagnan had just returned as Christine was carrying a water pitcher to Adam's room.

"I'll bring it to him," D'Artagnan said sadly. She reached out and touched his cheek and smiled sadly at him.

D'Artagnan looked into her eyes, and returned her small sad smile. In the time that Christine had been in Paris, it was remarkable how close she had become to all of them; if anything were to happen to her or his brothers, D'Artagnan knew he would be inconsolable. With that thought in mind, he entered Adam's room, to bid goodbye to his friend and comfort his grieving brother.

"What did you find?" said Athos from his bed Porthos had returned him to once they had paid their respects to Adam. These men were all soldiers of war. They knew that with an injury like this, it was only a matter of time.

Aramis ignored the question as he began to examine Athos' bandages. Athos' swatted him away.

"I'm fine," he said, "Now for god's sake, sit down, eat something and tell me what you know before you end up in the bed next to me."

Aramis sighed. "The shooter was a marksman – an assassin I believe. I found his perch on the building across from the damage. There was a notch on the roof where he had rested his weapon as it fired. He must have been waiting for hours – days maybe, waiting for his target. It was an incredible shot."

"Days?" said Porthos in disbelief.

"What makes you say an assassin?" Christine asked as she handed him a mug of broth. He smiled at her and gave her hand a squeeze as he took it from her.

"One of these victims is not like the others," he said, taking a sip of the broth. "Cornet is looking into the identity of the nobleman who was killed by the blast. It seems as though a bomb had been tacked to the underside of the merchant's cart. It was triggered by the bullet. The merchant, his customers and the boy were all collateral damage."

"I surmised as much," Athos said, shaking his head.

"All those people! All that damage! For one man?" Porthos again exclaimed incredulously.

"It's not just that," said Athos. "Usually an assassin is trained to kill and disappear, typically employing artifice and subtly, but this one triggered a bomb. He showed a complete disregard for French lives."

"He's confident," said Christine. "He thinks he won't be caught."

"Which means he's murdered before," Athos said.

Aramis ran a hand through his hair. "There was one thing, might be a bit of a lead. The man was a smoker. He left his tobacco pouch by his mark," he said, passing a small leather pouch to Porthos.

Porthos took a sniff of the substance within it and grimaced.

"Might know where you can find this," he said. "There's only one man I know that sells it. Brings it in from England via Le Havre. It's the good stuff, which means this man's got coin."

"Good," Athos said. "Porthos, see if you can find any information from this vendor. Take D'Artagnan with you. No one rides alone. We want this man found and punished."

Porthos nodded and rose as D'Artagnan entered the room hastily wiping tears from his eyes.

"You've got something?" he asked, the angry and determined fire still burning in the Gascon's eyes in spite of the threat of more tears.

"I'll explain on the way," said Porthos.

"Wait," said Christine rushing over to D'Artagnan. "You haven't eaten all day. I know this is hard, but you are just coming off an injury yourself. You need to eat something to keep your energy up. Both of you." She tore a loaf of bread from a tray in half and handed it to the Gascon, the other half to Porthos. "Please," she said imploringly. They took the bread and nodded. She let out a small sigh of relief as the two men left the infirmary.

oOo