The Loss
Chapter 7
The midday sun was streaming down on the streets of Paris when the musketeers came upon the only part of the city miraculously not brightened by the sunshine. They had left their horses at a reputable inn they knew well after exchanging a few coins with the innkeeper. It was not a good idea to bring their mounts into this part of the city where the hungry and the desperate would not hesitate to steal a musketeer's horse.
They entered Le Font D'Ors, Athos leading, Porthos at the rear. Little particles of dust could be seen floating in from the slight rays of light that made it through the shuttered windows.
"Two exits," Aramis muttered as he scoped the place out.
"We've got eyes on us from the right by the fire," said Porthos.
"And at that back table on the left," D'Artagnan whispered.
"That's our man," Aramis whispered. "If there's a sharpshooter in this room that's him. That's where I'd be. Clear visuals of both doors and a wall to my back."
Athos nodded and made for the table. The men at the fire watched them approach. All others kept their eyes down but their ears open. Clearly, secrets and their trade had value in this establishment.
"Bienvenido hermano," the man said smiling, his eyes locking on Aramis as the men approached. "Tengan un asiento," he said, smiling broadly and indicating the chairs around the table. The others looked at Aramis who nodded.
"¿Como puedo ayudarte? How can I help you?" said the man.
"You can start by speaking French," Porthos growled.
The Spanish assassin beamed at him. The man was dressed in a dark coat, which even a farm boy like D'Artagnan recognized to be made of very expensive material. The red silk shirt that was visible at the man's throat and wrists dripped of opulence. His dark hair was slicked back with grease. In many ways he looked like he could be Aramis' villainous brother – handsome, dangerous and cunning.
"Perdóname," he said, "but it's rare for me to meet another Spaniard on friendly terms here in Paris." Aramis bit his cheek to control his anger.
"Perhaps you are unaware of why we're here then," Athos said coldly. "Are you the man they call Ramero?"
"I am he," he said, leaning back and taking a sip of his wine.
"The murderer Ramero?"
"It seems as though my reputation precedes me. Though I'm not sure what you mean by murder," he said with a mocking grin.
"Oh ya, and what would you call it then?" asked Porthos.
"Customer service?" suggested the man, causing Porthos to growl again. He and D'Artagnan stood behind the chairs Athos and Aramis occupied. D'Artagnan was tense. His hand rested on his rapier as he kept his eyes on the men gathered by the fireplace.
"I believe we have different understandings of the term," said Athos.
"Come now mi hermanos, you kill people for money, do you not?"
"Don't," said D'Artagnan roughly. "Don't try to pretend what you do is comparable to our service to the King."
"How many men have you killed for your King, little one?" the man said, still grinning. "What is one less nobleman in the grand scheme of things?"
Aramis slammed his first down on the table.
"Six people are dead because of your actions, and several others seriously injured. One of those you killed was our brother. You will answer for all of those lives," he said, cold fury in his voice.
"Tell me, hermano," he said, his dark eyes glistening, challenging Aramis. "Why did you pledge your allegiance to this French King. I have no King, I serve only his coin. I can see the blood of my people both on your hands and in your veins. ¿Cómo somos diferentes?"
"¡Suficiente!"Aramis shouted as he upended the table and drew his pistol on the man. The men at the fire all drew their swords. "I do not kill the innocent. You will stand trial for their lives you stole and you will hang."
All at once chaos broke loose.
The men at the fireplace quickly engaged the musketeers.
Porthos grasped the man nearest to him and threw him bodily over the table. Athos drew his rapier and battled another while Aramis and D'Artagnan took on another four men, their backs pressed against each other.
Another man came at Porthos wielding a sinister looking blade. Porthos leapt back and grabbed a pewter pitcher off one of the tables. He blocked the man's wild lunges with the jug before smashing it into his hand sending the knife flying. He followed that up with a crushing blow with the pewter jug, breaking the man's jaw. He fell to the ground and moved no more.
Aramis and D'Artagnan moved as one as they defeated their opponents. Aramis instinctively ducked under one of D'Artagnan's swipes that felled one of their opponents. He kicked another in the knee sending him roughly to the ground. A quick blow with the butt end of his pistol had their opponents down to two.
"Aramis," called Athos who had just disposed of his own foe with a clever series of swipes with his rapier.
The assassin had calmly edged around the chaos of the bar room and had headed out the door. Aramis ran from the tavern, leaving Athos to assume his place against the final two men battling D'Artagnan. Porthos was hot on his heels.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" Aramis shouted, pistol still primed in his hand.
The assassin was only twenty yards away. The man raised his hands slowly and turned around.
In one hand he held a knife, and in the other –
"Bomb!" shouted Porthos as the assassin made to toss the explosive in their direction.
Aramis fired.
The man dropped.
The bomb dropped.
Aramis and Porthos dove for cover.
oOo
Tengan un asiento - Take a seat.
¿Cómo somos diferentes?" - How are we different?
¡Suficiente! - Enough