A/N: Thank you beeblegirl, Issai, pallysd'Artagnan, and Laureleaf for your reviews!
Chapter 2
Aramis coughed and choked on the dust particles clogging his nose and throat. He pushed his arms beneath him in order to leverage himself upright but felt resistance on his back. He rubbed at his eyes to clear his vision and found himself wedged between a row of pews, some broken pieces of wood lying across him. He shifted around to crawl out from underneath them instead. When he reached the edge of the pews, he was along the outer wall. Pushing himself to his feet, Aramis stumbled as he turned to survey the wreckage of the church. The front had been obliterated and was now a pile of rubble. Hazy smudges of sunlight filtered through the lingering dust where the middle of the ceiling had caved in.
Aramis coughed again. "Porthos! D'Artagnan!"
He waded through the debris in search of the others. He had been behind Jean and Porthos, pushing the older man ahead of him as they tried to flee from the imminent explosion.
"Porthos!"
He heard the shifting of rubble and a grunt. "Aramis!"
Aramis veered toward the sound of his friend's voice, picking his way through broken pews to where Porthos was shoving debris off of himself and hauling a dazed Jean to his feet. Aramis was halfway there when an anguished cry pulled him to a halt and he tried to find its source.
"D'Artagnan!"
"Help!" the boy called back, tone distraught. "Aramis!"
Aramis stumbled over the wreckage toward a figure he could barely make out, covered in dust as he was. As he got closer, he saw d'Artagnan on the ground, Constance's body hanging limply in his arms.
D'Artagnan lifted devastated eyes to his. "Please help her."
Aramis nearly tripped closing the distance between them and he dropped to his knees beside them, reaching a hand to Constance's neck. The flutter of a pulse beneath his fingers sent a rush of adrenaline through his already flooded system.
"She's alive," he assured d'Artagnan. "Come, we need to get out of here."
"Constance?" Jean gasped as he and Porthos made their way over. "Dear God, no."
"She's alive," Aramis repeated. He glanced around. "Where's Father Michel?"
"I'll find 'im," Porthos said and turned back to wade through the church ruins.
Aramis made to take Constance from d'Artagnan, but the young Gascon refused to let go. So Aramis held her head and neck stable as d'Artagnan struggled to his feet, then led them toward a gap in the wall they could climb out through. Outside, the street was full of stunned passersby, and Aramis couldn't help but sweep his gaze around in search of anyone who looked responsible for the explosion. No sinister figures lingered in the shadows admiring their work though.
He turned his attention back to Constance where d'Artagnan had eased her to the ground again. She was coated in dust like the lot of them and had a trail of blood coming from beneath her hairline. Aramis examined it carefully and determined it was shallow. He gingerly felt around the rest of her head and was relieved to find no give or swelling. Still, the fact that she was unconscious was worrisome.
"We should get her back to the garrison infirmary," he said.
D'Artagnan had eyes only for Constance, and he brushed a trembling finger down her face. "Aramis…"
"She'll be fine," he promised, though perhaps it was foolish to do so. It was just that he didn't see anything life threatening, but they should call for Doctor Lemay to confirm that.
He rose to his feet, scanning the wreckage for Porthos. It was another moment before he caught sight of his friend making his way out, an arm around Father Michel as the priest limped beside him. Aramis hurried over and helped Porthos ease the man onto the ground. They'd all survived, if not unscathed. Aramis made the sign of the cross in silent thanksgiving before his heart steeled. He didn't know who was behind this, but he was going to find out.
Aramis offered to bring Father Michel to the garrison with them, but the priest insisted on being cared for by his own. So Aramis went back to d'Artagnan and helped him lift Constance into his arms again, and then the five of them began making their way toward the garrison. By the time they arrived, word had apparently reached the regiment of the explosion and Treville was in the yard when they came limping in. His eyes widened at Constance.
"Is she…?"
"Alive," Aramis reiterated for the third time. "We should send for Lemay."
Treville nodded and waved at a nearby musketeer to do that. "What happened?" he demanded as he followed them into the infirmary.
"It was an attack," Porthos growled. "The doors were chained shut an' gunpowder set jus' outside. By the time we realized an' were tryin' to get 'em open, the fuse had already been lit. We're lucky we survived."
Aramis began to look Constance over more thoroughly after d'Artagnan laid her on one of the beds.
"Where's Athos?" Treville asked.
"He hadn't arrived yet," Porthos answered.
"And you have no idea who was behind it?" Treville pressed. "Was it an attack against the Musketeers or the church?"
"No way to know for certain at this point," Aramis replied, taking a wet cloth and gently wiping the blood from Constance's forehead. She moaned.
"Constance?" d'Artagnan exclaimed, squeezing her hand. Jean leaned over his shoulder and clasped her knee.
Her eyelids fluttered groggily. "D'Artagnan?" she said weakly.
"I'm right here." He brought her hand to his chest and kissed it.
Aramis touched the side of her head gently. "Constance, can you tell me where you hurt?"
She let out another low moan. "My head, a little. Nothing else, really."
"Are you sure?" Aramis pressed.
She started to nod, only to stop and squint in pain. "Yes. What happened?"
"Someone blew up the church," d'Artagnan replied, voice threadbare with fraught emotion. "But you're okay."
"Father?" Constance asked with a jolt of alarm.
"I'm right here," Jean answered, leaning further into her field of vision.
She frowned. "You're bleeding."
"We all are to some small degree," Aramis said lightly. "Doctor Lemay is on his way and I'd have you lie still until he arrives." He straightened with a wince, the adrenaline beginning to fade and revealing the myriad of hurts his own body was littered with.
"I don' like this," Porthos said to Treville. "Athos would've been here by now if he'd heard what happened at the church."
Treville's brows knitted together in apparent agreement. "I'll send some men to look for him and some others to handle the scene at the church. You all should get cleaned up."
With that, he excused himself and went to give the men their orders.
"Jean," Aramis called. "Let me tend those cuts."
Bonacieux shook his head. "I'm fine."
"The captain is right; we all need to get cleaned up. If I do it now, Doctor Lemay won't have to do it later and can give his full attention to Constance."
Jean hesitated for another beat before relenting and moving to sit on another bed. His injuries were minor, but they needed to be cleaned so they didn't become infected. Aramis had just finished with him when Lemay arrived and then Jean was back at Constance's side, anxiously watching the doctor perform his examination.
Aramis moved to the other side of the room and grabbed some towels and water to wash up with. Porthos joined him, wiping the grime from their faces and hands. Their clothes would have to be dealt with later.
Lemay declared Constance would be fine with rest, though d'Artagnan still hovered at her side. The royal physician offered to check the rest of their hurts but they politely declined since they'd already been tended.
Cornet arrived some time later, his brow furrowing as he entered the infirmary. "I had hoped Athos was here by now," he said.
Aramis dropped a towel on the table and walked over. "He's not."
Cornet's frown deepened. "We haven't seen any sign of him. But we have some witness descriptions of some men fleeing the church. The captain's ordered us to focus our efforts on the search for them."
Aramis nodded in understanding and turned to Porthos. "I agree with you; something isn't right. We should look for Athos ourselves."
Porthos nodded staunchly.
"You should go with them," they heard Constance urge d'Artagnan.
The young Gascon looked reluctant but did pull himself away from his beloved to follow Aramis and Porthos out to the dragon pens. Rhaego and Vrita had been lounging in the sun, but they rose swiftly with obvious concern at the appearance of their riders. Rhaego nudged Aramis's dust-laden coat and sneezed. Aramis patted his snout.
"Athos is missing and we think something's happened to him," he explained. "I need your help to find him."
Rhaego straightened at the ready.
Aramis grimaced. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything of Athos's for his scent." It would take extra time to make a trip to Athos's apartments and break in to get something that belonged to the man. Aramis placed his hands on the sides of Rhaego's face, capturing his gaze. "But you know him, you know his scent. You just have to call up the memory of it."
Rhaego's eyes crinkled dubiously and he shook his head.
"Yes you can," Aramis insisted.
His dragon's expression pinched with uncertainty and worry, and Aramis knew Rhaego was afraid of letting him down.
"Remember yesterday when we were going through the exercises," Aramis prompted. "Halfway through Athos stopped for some wine. He always smells of wine."
Rhaego dipped his head, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as he struggled to recall it.
Aramis looked over his shoulder at Porthos and d'Artagnan. "Get the saddles."
Rhaego made a grumbling noise in his throat.
"I'm not rushing you," Aramis assured him. "We just have to be ready. Take your time. You can do this."
He kept up a steady stream of prompting as Porthos and d'Artagnan got Vrita and Savron ready to go. They brought over Rhaego's saddle last, and Aramis continued to encourage him softly as he slipped the saddle over his back and cinched the strap. By the time they were ready, Rhaego still looked reluctant.
Savron walked over and turned his side to the younger dragon, cocking his head at the saddle.
"Good idea," Aramis said. "Rhaego, keep that memory of Athos's scent in mind and distinguish a trace of it on the saddle to solidify it. Ignore Savron's scent," he coached.
Rhaego sniffed down the saddle, paused, and sniffed again.
"Got it?" Aramis asked.
Rhaego grimaced.
"Hey," Aramis caught the dragon's chin. "I believe in you."
Rhaego made a gurgling noise of discontent but finally nodded. Aramis swung up into the saddle and attached his anchor line. Then Rhaego leaped into the air with a thwack of his wings. Porthos and d'Artagnan on Vrita and Savron followed suit.
"We should start at the tavern," Porthos suggested. "It's the one place we know Athos was at recently."
Aramis nodded and veered Rhaego over the city toward Athos's favorite establishment. The dragon flew low over the buildings, which sent people below scattering in startled fright. There was a wide street outside the tavern with enough space to land. Rhaego hovered briefly to give people time to clear the way, then set down. He immediately bent his nose to the ground and began to sniff. Aramis waited, tense in the saddle. Porthos and d'Artagnan remained airborne.
Rhaego snapped his head up, pupils contracting a fraction as he caught the scent. He launched back into the air, half flying, half hopping over rooftops as he tracked it. He landed in a square only a block away and pointed his head toward the mouth of the joining alleyway. Aramis scanned it intently for some visible sign of what his dragon had sensed. He spotted a hat on the ground, wedged under the wheel of a standing cart.
Aramis unclipped his line and slid from the saddle just as the others landed. He bent down and snatched the hat up. "It's Athos's."
"I knew somethin' happened," Porthos growled.
"Do you think he was mugged?" d'Artagnan asked. "Or could this be related to the bomb at the church?"
"Hopefully Cornet will find the suspects and get those answers," Aramis replied. And hopefully they found Athos.
Rhaego meandered over to the wagon and bent his nose to the ground to sniff it out. Suddenly he reared back with a shriek, thrashing his head back and forth and pawing at his nose wildly.
"Rhageo!" Aramis exclaimed in alarm, dropping Athos's hat and throwing his hands out in a helpless effort to calm his dragon.
Rhaego backed up into the edge of a building and curled in on himself on the ground, rubbing desperately at his snout. His eyes swelled with water that streamed down his face and he whimpered as though in pain. Aramis finally was able to get close enough, though he had no idea what had happened.
"There's some kind of red powder here," d'Artagnan called urgently.
Aramis glanced back at the ground surrounding where Athos's hat had been. Sure enough, he saw faint red flecks dispersed through the dirt and berated himself for missing it. He turned back to Rhaego and cradled the dragon's head. "Easy, easy, you'll be all right." He hoped.
Porthos knelt and dabbed two fingers in the silt. He rubbed them together, sifting out the dirt, and then lifted it to his nose. He gave it a quick taste with the tip of his tongue before spitting it out. "Cayenne pepper."
Aramis's brows rose sharply. "What?" No wonder Rhaego was in agony with his overly sharp senses after inhaling that.
D'Artagnan turned in a half circle as he surveyed the abandoned stretch of road between the alley and the square. He checked the crates in the back of the wagon. "Weird that so much would have been spilled," he remarked aloud. "I don't see any stores here."
Aramis stroked his hand down Rhaego's forehead, trying to soothe him. But each sniff the dragon couldn't help but make only made his eyes water more and he whined again.
"Maybe someone knew about Rhaego's trackin' skills," Porthos said, arms crossed with a grim look on his face. "Knew we'd come lookin'."
Aramis's stomach dropped at the thought. Someone knew they'd come looking for Athos with Rhaego and wanted to throw them off. He looked back at Rhaego, the poor dragon rubbing his nose in the dirt in a futile attempt to dispel the offending spice.
D'Artagnan's lost tone echoed what they were all thinking: "How are we going to find Athos now?"