Three chapters to go! Thanks to all for reading and reviewing.
oOo
Chapter Twenty One
Earlier:
Athos wrapped his right arm around d'Artagnan's waist, hooking his fingers into his belt. They both wore their cloaks and if anyone looked, it was not obvious that d'Artagnan was lending assistance.
d'Artagnan waved at the Guard on the wall nonchalantly, and the man waved back, seeing nothing amiss. Musketeers had been coming and going since early light. News of a prisoner's escape and the executions meant the whole Garrison was busy. The guard did cast a wary eye at Athos, having not seen him since they had brought him back. It was good to see him on his feet once more.
"We are going to my rooms," Athos shouted up at him. "I have grown tired of my surroundings," he added.
d'Artagnan looked up and made a quick drinking motion with his hand and smiled. The guard laughed and turned away.
Once out of sight, Athos's gaze slid to his companion and he raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry," d'Artagnan muttered. "I meant both of us," he added, sheepishly.
Athos huffed non-committally and they moved away through the archway and turned right into the street.
They had only gone a little way down the street when Athos stepped to the side and leaned against the wall. d'Artagnan moved to stand in front of him, shielding him from view as people walked by. The people of the district were so used to seeing the Musketeers coming and going they rarely raised an eyebrow. Today, of course, they knew of the executions taking place at noon, so the Musketeers would be wearing their cloaks and pauldrons. d'Artagnan and Athos continued to blend in in that regard, but Athos rarely liked to draw attention to himself. If he could remain on his feet, all would be well.
This was the first time Athos had walked so far. He had taken a turn around the room a few times, usually on his own, as he knew that if his brothers saw him, he would immediately forfeit his freedom. His knee, though not as swollen as it had been, was stiff and felt as if the bones beneath the skin grated. His ribs were not yet healed and therefore he still had to regulate his breathing in order not to disturb them. The bruises around his eye were now a lighter hew of blue, tending toward green, but at least his eye was open and he could see. The fingers of his left hand were still splintered and he had tucked that hand into his partially unbuttoned jacket to support it.
His thigh was healing well, but the lack of bandage meant that it chafed on the leather of his breeches, for it was the first time he had donned his uniform. And then, of course, there was the matter of his shoulders. He still could not raise his arms above his head, hence his purchase around d'Artagnan's waist.
Their destination was, indeed, Athos's rooms on the Rue Ferou. Athos walked the straight, cobbled street every day, but today, as he raised his head, it looked as if it stretched far into the distance and he was aware of how he listed into d'Artagnan's steady weight, the air now hissing through his teeth between held breaths.
"Alright?" d'Artagnan said softly, unsure if he was doing right in this. But how could he refuse his mentor's request to return to his own space, having been confined for days?
"Absolutely," Athos ground out and, taking a steadying breath, he moved away from the wall, and together, they proceeded steadily to their destination.
oOo
Meanwhile, in one of the narrow streets of the Faubourg Saint-Aintoine district, the Apothecary shop was just opening. Inside, a man in a white apron opened the internal shutters and turned the key, although he did not open the door. The street was slowly coming to life, though there were still only one or two people moving around, workers who's day began at the crack of dawn.
Having waited for the sign of life, a man slowly approached. Holding his ribs, he shuffled to the door, his hand on the handle. When the door creaked open, a bell above him rang and the man in the apron, now standing behind the counter with his back to him, turned around.
"Good morning, Monsieur," he said, taking in the appearance of his first customer with a practised eye.
The man shuffled forward, bent forward, his hand clamped to his side.
"You look in need of assistance," the Apothecary said, coming around the counter.
"Pain relief," the man gasped. "I was thrown from my horse. My ribs ..."
"Of course," the man replied. "Would you like me to examine you?"
"No," the man replied. "I am on my way to see my physician but I fear I will not get much further without something to take the edge of this pain."
The Apothecary hesitated, though he could not deny that the man was in a great deal of discomfort.
"I have willow bark," he said, turning to the set of small drawers built into the wall behind him.
"Something stronger," the customer said, instantly. "Laudanum."
The Apothecary looked up, in time to see the gold coin in the man's hand. He licked his lips.
"Very well," he replied, turning back to open another drawer.
As he did so, the room went dark.
Turning, he saw that the man, now straight, and obviously fully recovered, had pulled the shutter on the door. Advancing toward him, his eye on the prize and the gold coin back in his pocket, he sneered.
"That will do very well," he said.
He did not need a weapon. He was practised in the fine art of strangulation.
After, the Apothecary stowed in the back room, the man picked up a parchment with the establishment's name emboldened across the top in red and gold letters. Smiling to himself, he re-rolled it and tucked it into his cloak.
Taking the key from the dead man's apron pocket, he let himself out and locked the door behind him. Along the way, his tossed the key into the mouth of an alleyway and turned toward his destination, a spring in his step.
oOo
"The street is longer than I remembered," Athos hissed.
His vision had dimmed a few times, but he had got into a routine of putting one foot in front of the other now, and d'Artagnan had tightened his own hold around his waist, averting any stumbles.
A fine sheen had appeared on Athos's forehead, and his limp had become more pronounced.
"Not far now," d'Artagnan replied, looking around.
oOo
The streets were thinning out less than an hour later, as noon approached and people rushed to the square for the spectacle.
At the Garrison, the guard found himself once more conversing with a body below.
"State your business," he shouted at the cloaked figure below him, who was looking around in a confused manner.
"Pardon, Monsieur," the man called, "Is this the Musketeer Garrison?"
"It is," the guard replied, gruffly. "State your business."
"I am assistant to the Apothecary, Simon Archambeau " the man replied, holding up the unrolled parchment, resplendent in its red and gold lettering.
When the guard did not look impressed, the parchment was quickly re-rolled and replaced by a small box. The lid was flipped open, revealing a glass phial within.
"It is my first day in the Apothecary's employ," he continued. "I have been tasked to bring this to the Musketeer Athos. My master has told me to deliver it personally into his hands, lest it fall into the hands of others. It is a medicine that requires respect."
The guard looked down at the man, and the man smiled.
"You would do me a favour, sir, if you allow me to complete my task. Or I fear my first day may be my last. My wife … would not be pleased," he pleaded.
The guard considered the request for a few moments before replying.
"Musketeer Athos is not here," he said.
The man raised a shaking hand to his mouth and looked around, a little lost.
"Then I am lost," he replied, verging on panic. "Unless, you know where he is?"
The guard faltered. d'Artagnan had implied they were not on duty, indeed they were going to seek a tavern at some point. But the sight of the poor man below him, and the wrath of his employer and his wife was not something the guard, himself a married man, wished on his conscience.
He pointed down the street.
"You will find him in his rooms in the Rue Ferou. To the end, turn right and it is the building next to the sack-maker's. At the top of the stairs."
The man visibly relaxed and carefully stowed the box back under his cloak.
"Thank you, Monsieur," he called. "I will be forever grateful. If you every need an Apothecary, I will be happy to serve on, on my master's behalf!"
"On your way now," the guard waved, hoping he would not be needing the services of such an establishment in the foreseeable future.
He watched as the man moved along the street in the direction he had pointed him.
oOo
At last, the Rue Ferou was in sight. Turning to the left, the pair moved toward the building that housed Athos's three rooms. Ahead, there was a wooden staircase to negotiate, though, and that looked taller than when he had last seen it.
They stood at the bottom, looking up, before side glancing each other and taking a breath. Both tightened their holds and began their ascent. There was a turn in the middle, where they both paused to catch their breath.
"Did you have to live on the first floor?"d'Artagnan panted, hand now braced on the banister.
"I have always found the higher position beneficial," Athos replied loftily, though breathlessly, moving ahead on his own. "It has its advantages," he added, as he swayed perilously.
d'Artagnan made a grab for him and they completed the ascent a few minutes later.
Athos passed the key to d'Artagnan, who inserted it into the lock.
Finally, the door swung open, much to the relief of both of them.
Athos slumped in his chair, his foot on a stool, arms crossed over his chest as he breathed carefully. He tucked his right hand under his left arm, to support his aching chest.
"It is good to be back," he sighed, as d'Artagnan opened the shutter on the window, sending dust moats swirling into the room.
The room they occupied was much as he had left it three weeks ago. Sparsely furnished, the bed had been made in a very rudimentary manner; the cover merely pulled roughly over the mattress. A half empty bucket of water stood under the window; Athos's usual means of clearing his head, when needs be.
From his chair, Athos looked around.
The table top in the corner was bare.
"It seems I am out of wine," he said, looking at the table.
He raised an expectant eyebrow and nodded toward the basket beneath the table. It usually held three or four bottles but was also empty.
"I'll go," d'Artagnan said, picking up the basket.
Athos watched him leave, before reaching inside his jacket. Taking out the now-familiar red hat, he carefully unfolded it and placed it on the arm of his chair, his hand coming to lie on top of it.
Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes.
oOo
d'Artagnan's departure did not go unseen.
Waiting until the young man had turned left down a side street, swinging the basket, Raymond moved from beneath a nearby overhang. Walking slowly toward the building, he stood at the foot of the wooden stairs, looking up at the door. Casting a furtive look around, he smiled as he drew his cloak around him and slowly walked up the stairs.
Inside, Athos shifted to get comfortable, adjusting his leg on the low stool.
Suddenly, the door opened and the room was flooded with light.
Athos looked up as a man filled the doorway.
"Hello, Athos," the familiar voice said.
To be continued