Greetings, Dear Readers: Happy New Year!Well, this started off as Chapter 91 of Infirmary Talks, but it grew and grew, so now it's a multi-chapter fic. Twenty chapters, all plotted and written but who knows, it may still grow. I will post every other day. It's been nice to write something a little longer. I hope you enjoy it.
oOo
A FRIEND IN NEED:
Chapter One
The huge wooden doors creaked open.
Faltering footsteps made their way across the vast, empty barn.
Even in the faded light, the dull red hat gave him away.
"Silas?"
"Yes," the old man whispered, his voice infinitely sad.
He reached out his hand to lay it on the man's chest.
"I am sorry, I cannot free you," he said. "The rope is too high. Too tight. My fingers are stiff with age."
"You did your best."
"It was not enough," the old man replied. "They are a scourge on our once-beautiful village. They took it from us and ruined it."
The old man had previously explained in another stolen moment that these men had appeared one morning and simply assumed control. The crop had subsequently failed. But that had been the intention, for half-starved villagers were easier to control. Some had fled, of course, in those early days, before their iron grip tightened. Those lucky ones had managed to take what little they had, including animals. In the end, the old man, Silas, was the only one left.
"I will not give up," the old man said now, as he straightened and pulled a water skin from behind his back, looking around.
"They are drinking in the fields but they will come back," he added, as he held it up, watching as it was gratefully received.
"Don't spill it, or they will know," he whispered, urgently, as he gently pulled it back.
"I am going for help, Musketeer," he continued. "I will walk to the next village. Try to hold on."
"It's too far."
"You gave yourself over to them because of me," the old man said, before he faltered. "Try to hold on."
"Before I go," he added, "There is something you should know, Athos," the old man said.
oOo
Six days earlier:
"You four. Up here. Now!"
It promised to be another hot day.
The stable door stood open in an attempt to allow some air inside. Men sat around, cleaning weapons, rather than training in the heat. Dust from the yard hung in the air, which was heavy with the stench of the streets outside the Garrison.
Aramis, Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan had been at their usual table, under the balcony beneath Treville's office, where the shadows barely gave shade. Their uniform jackets had been abandoned after muster; too thick and heavy to wear.
Athos stood immediately, reaching for his jacket.
"Leave it," Treville said, from above. "It's too hot for formality, Athos."
Athos tilted his head in acknowledgement and flicked his hand at the others, as they formed an untidy line and trudged up the wooden stairs, their heavy footfalls evidence of their lack of energy.
The four men lined up in front of their Captain's desk and stood to attention, not entirely foregoing the habit of their station.
Four rolls of parchment lay on his desk, three together and one slightly apart.
"Your orders, Gentlemen. At ease," Treville said, after a moment of savouring temporary control over them.
They relaxed into the said position and Treville took one of the three papers and handed it to Porthos.
Porthos unrolled it and read it carefully.
"Taxes," he said flatly.
"To be collected from the Comte de 'Autevielle," Treville replied. "No problems are anticipated. He is late in payment due to a death in the family. It's been a long time and the King is impatient. Offer the King's condolences and come straight back."
"Maybe he was 'oping to avoid payin' them," Porthos said, rather uncharitably.
"A hopelessly futile notion," Athos murmured, from his end of the line.
"Who do you think pays your wages?" Treville addressed Porthos, curtly.
"I thought the King did," Aramis said, airily. "From the goodness of his heart," he added, hand on his own heart.
d'Artagnan remained silent, but looked amused.
Treville ignored Aramis's facetiousness and picked up the second parchment and handed it to d'Artagnan. As he read it, d'Artagnan said the name of its recipient, a question in his voice.
"Merely a message to be delivered," Treville intoned. "No answer required. It is important, nonetheless."
d'Artagnan rolled the parchment up and leant forward, giving Porthos his best smirk.
That left two more orders.
The final one of the trio was handed to Aramis.
Treville did not wait for him to unroll it, knowing its contents from the position on his desk.
"That needs a signature. Make sure you get the right one. The man has a twin brother and a rather foolish sense of humour."
Aramis smiled brightly, turning to look at his brothers. He obviously thought he'd got the best deal so far.
"Excellent," he said. "Nothing wrong with a sense of humour."
"Or a penchant for successful humiliation of the foolishly trusting," Athos added quietly, obviously aware of the recipient's reputation.
Aramis deflated and frowned, now not feeling quite as assured.
Treville hid a smirk of his own as he reached for the final order.
"A negotiation for you, Athos, for a strategic parcel of land," he said, handing it across. "But by no means beyond your skills."
This was why he had set that mission document apart. Careful negotiation was needed and Athos was the right man for the job.
"A little reduction on the proposed price would be appreciated by the Crown, however, before you shake hands."
"Of course," Athos replied, carefully reading the order. No money would exchange hands yet, this would be the initial agreement as to price, and signing of the document.
"Two to three days for each of you," Treville said, looking at Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan. "A little longer for you, Athos, should you need it. But no longer than five days. I expect you all back here by Friday."
As they all trooped down the stairs, Porthos dug d'Artagnan in the back for his earlier cockiness.
"Taxes," he growled. "I hate collectin' taxes."
To be continued ...