After swapping his uniform for a plain doublet and simple weapons Aramis left the garrison and walked towards Gerard home. He knew that the Baron would probably be returning to the house within a few minutes. Aramis wanted to be in place for the man's arrival. Although he did not have to watch the house covertly, he did not want to advertise what he was doing. If the Baron was updated by the Spaniards that Athos had been seen leaving the property Gerard would probably expect to be watched, but Aramis did not want to draw the attention of other people who might start to ask questions.
He reached the house in time to see Gerard pushing his door open. If the Baron had not been updated by his contacts about the intruder, Aramis guessed it might take him a few minutes to find the aftermath of the fight between Athos and the dogs. He wondered what the man's reaction would be. If he had not been updated, he might think the dogs were killed by a random burglar.
Aramis found a comfortable spot under a large tree, its exposed roots providing him with a place to sit and watch the house opposite. There were other people in the street. He did not look out of place. He quickly decided if anyone asked, he would say he was waiting for friends from the hotel further along the road. The late afternoon was pleasant and warm enough to linger outside.
The Baron appeared at his doorway, he looked up and down the road for a few seconds before beckoning to a boy that was walking past. He spoke to the boy for a few minutes before pressing a coin into his hand. The boy nodded and scampered off. Aramis came to the conclusion that the Baron did not know who had tried to break into his property, but that he was not taking any chances. Had Gerard sent a message to the Spanish? Aramis was annoyed he had been sent to watch the house alone if there had been two of them one of them could have followed the boy.
Gerard, a man in his forties, watched the boy go before glancing around again and disappearing back into his house. A few minutes later two women arrived at the house, rather than enter through the front door they walked around to the side and went in through the gate. Aramis was not surprised to hear a brief shocked scream from one of the women. He suspected they had found the dogs. A man's voice, probably Gerard's, berated the woman. One of the women left soon afterwards returning with a couple of men that could only be described as rough. They all went around the side of the house. The men reappeared a few minutes later each carrying a heavy-looking sack over their shoulders. The dogs were being disposed of elsewhere. Aramis wondered which shop would have some cheap meat for their pies the next day.
'You seem rather interested in that house?'
Aramis looked up at the owner of the voice that had spoken to him. She smiled down at him, her head slightly tilted. The last rays of the sun were catching her blonde hair making it hazy. She was well dressed, but not ostentatiously so.
Aramis smiled, 'I'm an observant man,' he said, 'although I will admit I did not notice you until you spoke, which is most remiss of me.'
The woman, who was probably in her late twenties, smiled shyly, she lowered her face and looked at Aramis through her eyelashes. Aramis wondered if she was genuinely flattered or just pretending, humouring him. Either way, she was a pleasant distraction. He could observe the house and enjoy the company of the young lady for a few minutes at the same time.
'What are you observing?' asked the young woman with a look at the house for a few seconds before she returned her gaze to Aramis.
Aramis knew he could not tell the woman what he was actually doing, but he had to give her something that would satisfy her curiosity.
'I was not really observing it, I was imagining what it would be like to afford such a large house. I'm only a clerk, I live in rooms in the centre of the city. Living here, in this quiet idyll is something I can only dream about.'
The woman nodded.
'Do you live near here?' asked Aramis. 'Do you live there?'
He pointed at Gerard's house.
The woman laughed, 'no. I'm waiting for my fiancé. He works for the man who owns that house.'
She pointed at the house behind Aramis. He glanced around. The house was a little bigger than Gerard's. Aramis nodded his approval.
'Is he the jealous type?' asked Aramis. 'Your fiancé? He won't challenge me to a duel for talking to you, will he? I'm surprised he doesn't have you escorted everywhere, to make sure you are safe at all times.'
Aramis gave the woman his winning smile. She giggled. Aramis wished he had such pretty company every time he had to watch the enemy.
MMMM
It always felt odd to Porthos when he was out of uniform. Ever since he had first been commissioned, he had hated being without his pauldron. He was a Musketeer, he belonged. Except when he was working undercover, he was still a Musketeer, but nobody else knew that. He was just another face in the crowd, an imposing face, he knew that, but still just another face.
He walked towards Gerard's house; Athos had been able to give him a reasonable description of the men that had attacked him. Porthos knew the generic clothing the men had worn would not help him locate them, but the physical descriptions might. Two thuggish men, one with only one eye. If they were still together Porthos would find them. He had already spoken to a few locals, traders who knew him as a Musketeer and were happy to help him out. One had suggested he try a small tavern that they rarely frequented.
The tavern was located along a dark alleyway, everything about the area screamed murder. Porthos kept his wits about him, his hand never far from his dagger. In keeping with his covert mission, he had removed most of his weapons. The lack of uniform and weapons made him feel naked. He knew he was perfectly capable of defending himself without weapons, but it was always good to be prepared. All he had with him at that moment was a dagger and a gun tucked into the back of his belt covered by the plain black cloak he was wearing.
The narrow alleyway was dark where the buildings on either side overhung, blocking out the light above. It was reminiscent of the Court of Miracles and like the Court, Porthos suspected there were places a man could stand and not be seen until their prey was in a prime position to be attacked.
A door opened a few yards in front of him. The stench of the tavern wafted out. Stale bread and hot embers from a fire. Porthos watched as a young woman emerged with a leering old man close at her heel, she coquettishly tilted her head at the man who did not take much persuasion to follow her. Porthos guessed the woman would not have to do much to earn her keep that night. They were heading towards the large house on the corner of the road, Porthos remembered it had been a hotel for a few years before the owner got into debt and left Paris overnight. The house did not take long to be given over to the pleasures of the flesh.
As the couple disappeared along the road Porthos pushed the creaking door to the tavern open. The musty smell nearly overpowered him. He descended the four steps to the dusty floor of the tavern. The only light came from a large fire at one end of the room. The far end of the room was in virtual darkness, Porthos could make out a few shapes sat at tables. He made his way towards the bar, a rough table set up in front of a stack of barrels. Porthos suspected there was only one, possibly two, drinks on offer and they were probably watered down even further than most other taverns did.
The scruffy man behind the bar looked up at him, he sneered, gaps in his rotting teeth revealed by the attempt at a greeting.
Porthos had no intention of staying in the establishment any longer than he needed to. He could feel eyes on him. He was a stranger and despite his plainclothes was probably too well dressed for the area. He stood out for the wrong reasons.
He reached out and grabbed the tavern-keepers' hand. The man offered a little resistance and was about to shout until Porthos pressed some coins into his palm. The man stopped his protests and looked at Porthos.
'Two men,' Porthos said. 'Older than me, white, one was missing an eye. The other was pretty much bald. Spanish.'
The man had already recognised the description, but the last part sealed the deal. The keeper nodded.
'I seen 'em,' he said. 'Not 'alf an hour ago. In 'ere, drinking each other's 'elf.'
'Where did they go?'
'One of 'em said somfink about goin' ta tha' whore 'ouse. They were lookin' for a good time.'
The man grinned, his gap-toothed leer.
'The house further down this road?' asked Porthos remembering the young woman and her paying customer walking towards the house.
The man nodded. Porthos smiled before pressing another couple of coins into the man's hand. He retreated from the tavern quickly, back to the clearer air of the street. If the men had been in the house for half an hour, he doubted they would be in there for much longer, if they were still there at all. He hurried along to the house, looking up at the shuttered windows. He shook his head at the thought that there were probably some people working in the house who did not want to. Locked up to keep them there. The young woman he had seen earlier was one of the lucky ones, although he doubted she knew any other life.
Porthos had no intention of entering the house. He found a recessed doorway across the street. He pushed himself into it, his black cloak wrapped about him, concealing him further from anyone who were to pass by and anyone who were to step out of the house.
Porthos waited.
MMMM
D'Artagnan watched Athos sleeping. His friend had fallen into an uneasy sleep once Porthos and Aramis had gone on their respective missions. The assault and loss of blood had caught up with Athos who looked pale. It had been horrific watching as the doctor treated his friend. It had been a tense few minutes as his assortment of injuries was dealt with. When Athos had come around and stayed awake, they were all relieved.
Now that silence had descended on the infirmary d'Artagnan had time to reflect on what had happened. Their mission to collect evidence against Gerard and uncover who was leading the planned assassination had started without any of them really realising it. D'Artagnan guessed he had realised before he had lost his memory. He wished he could remember what had happened to him. He hoped there were no details that had not written down that could be useful. What if he had written something down incorrectly?
He sighed, his own injuries were aching, his head still hurt. He had told the others that he was sufficiently recovered to watch Athos whilst they went about their tasks. Aramis had looked at him sceptically before Porthos had clapped him on the shoulder and pointed out that Athos was not going anywhere so d'Artagnan would not have to do much by way of watching if anything at all.
A low moan and a few muttered curses came from the other bed. Athos twitched his uninjured arm a little as if fending someone or something off. D'Artagnan watched as the bad dream passed. Athos settled again, his breathing evening out.
D'Artagnan wondered if his friend would be more affected by the dog attack than by being stabbed and beaten. Being attacked by men was almost a daily occurrence for them, but having to fight off two determined dogs who had no thought for their own preservation was unusual. Athos would not have been able to predict what the dogs were going to do. His friend could read a man in a swordfight as though he were reading a book, but animals, trained to kill were a different matter entirely.
He decided that he could sleep as well. Athos was settled again, he doubted he would sleep well, he would wake quickly if Athos became distressed.
After easing himself down to lie on the bed, a task that took far longer than he thought it would, d'Artagnan closed his eyes. Falling bricks and masonry filled his vision. He opened his eyes and stared at the solid ceiling of the infirmary above him.
He would not sleep well. Athos had his dogs to fend off and he had falling buildings to contend with.
MMMM
He had not had to wait for long, several customers arrived and left but the two Spaniards emerged soon enough. Both were grinning, the one-eyed man was still doing his breeches up. The scar across the man's face above and below the black eyepatch he wore was similar to Porthos' own. Except the man had been unlucky, where Porthos had been very lucky. He sometimes wondered if it was a good thing that he had no recollection of the strike from the enemy sword that left him with the scar.
The two men were laughing and swapping tales of their conquests as they walked away from the house. Porthos stepped out of the doorway unnoticed by either man. He stepped quietly, keeping to the side of the road, ready to step out of sight if either man were to look back. The darkness of the road was almost complete as the afternoon turned into evening. Porthos checked behind him, no one else was about. He took his chance.
Pulling the dagger from his belt Porthos approached the closer man, he twisted the dagger in his hand, punching the man in the side of the head. The force knocked him to the side of the closest building, smashing his head hard on the stone wall. The man crumpled to the ground. Porthos was not sure if he had killed the man or not. He hoped not, he had been asked to take the men alive so that they could be questioned. But at the same time, they were responsible for attacking one of his friends and they were involved in a plot against the King. He would not feel too guilty if the man was dead.
The second man whirled around. Despite missing an eye, the man had perfect aim with his knife. The knife had been pulled from somewhere in his coat as Porthos was dealing with the other man. The blade of the knife only just missed Porthos' throat, if the Musketeer had reacted a fraction of a second later, he would have felt the blade cutting into his flesh. As it was, he stumbled back slightly. The man took advantage and stepped forward; the knife ready for deployment a second time. Porthos managed to turn his own blade back on the man, slicing into his doublet. He knew the blade had not reached the man's skin; the thick leather would have absorbed the strike. But it was enough of a distraction for Porthos to shove the man back a few steps and gain the upper hand.
A young woman appeared at the entrance to a narrow alleyway between two houses. She was wearing a dark green cloak, a hood covering her hair. She gasped. Porthos saw the one-eyed man look at her, a smile played across his lips. The man was probably thinking about what he had been doing mere minutes before. Perhaps thinking about what he would like to do to the pretty young woman.
'Keep back,' ordered Porthos.
The woman looked at him for a few seconds before glancing at the one-eyed man and retreating the way she had come, Porthos could hear the heels of her shoes tapping on the stone as she went.
'Oi!'
The shout from above them followed by the sound of something hitting the cobbled ground a few feet away distracted them both. Porthos had to sidestep rapidly to avoid whatever was thrown by the disgruntled resident.
The one-eyed man saw his opportunity and ran. By the time Porthos had turned back, he had disappeared from sight. He looked down at the unconscious man lying in the gutter next to him, a bruise blossoming on his cheek.
'Guess it's just you and me then,' he muttered as he contemplated having to carry the man to the Chatelet a few streets away.
MMMM
Treville had been a little annoyed that one of the men had got away, but when Porthos had described the fight to him he understood. The area Porthos had confronted the men in was not the best area to arrest two desperate men. They could only hope the second man did not guess that the man that had attacked them was a Musketeer. With luck, the man that had escaped would simply believe Porthos was a robber looking for victims.
Now back in his uniform Porthos looked more at ease. Treville knew that none of his men liked to be out of uniform. The status they gained with the pauldron and cloak was hard-earned. He walked purposefully towards the Chatelet. Treville had been amused when Porthos had explained that he had spent some time convincing the Chatelet guards who he really was until the over-friendly governor had arrived, recognised him and waved him through the gates.
They reached the imposing gates which were pushed open at their approach Porthos glared at the man on the gate who was trying to pretend he had not been the cause of the Musketeers annoyance earlier in the evening.
'Are you here to see the man you brought in?' asked a short squat guard who seemed reluctant to get up from the table he was sitting at.
He had dropped his soup spoon back into the insipid looking weak liquid that was sloshing about in the roughhewn bowl on his table.
Treville nodded, 'we need to interrogate him. Although our methods might not be up to your standards.'
The guard sneered. It was well known that the interrogation of prisoners was considered an art form by some but barbaric by most.
'You're not gonna get much out of him,' said the man.
Treville just looked at the man, not wishing to humour him with a response.
'He's dead.'
'Dead?'
'Dead.'
Treville glanced at Porthos.
'He was alive when I left him, he'd come around as he was being chained up. He was swearing at me and protesting his innocence.'
'Well, he's dead now.'
'And how did that come about?' asked Treville as they followed the man along the dank corridor.
The man was busy unhooking his keys from his belt, shouting at some of the men in the cells along the corridor. Arms reached out towards them; shaggy bearded men peered from the shadows of the filthy cells. Treville made sure he walked in the centre of the corridor; it was not unheard of for visitors to be grabbed by the prisoners.
'He had a visitor.'
'I told you no one was to see him until I returned,' said Porthos.
'His visitor paid more,' came the simple reply.
Treville heard Porthos growl behind him, the Musketeer was probably very close to thumping the guard, Treville was unsure if he would try to stop him or not.
'What happened?' asked Treville.
'They talked for a bit; I couldn't hear what was said. The visitor left, the prisoner died… Horrible it was, gurgling, choking… took him ages to finally go still.'
'Did you do anything to help him?' asked Treville, his patience very close to snapping.
'Course not, he told us the prisoner was dangerous.'
Porthos sighed with exasperation.
They reached a cell with an open door. The guard pointed into it. The flickering light from the torches along the corridor illuminated the cell and the body within. The man was lying contorted in the centre of the floor, the chains keeping him restrained were stretched out behind him. It appeared he had simply crumpled down, he was in a half-sitting position, his head bowed forward his chin touching his chest. Evidence of the man throwing up could be seen down his sweat-soaked shirt and dirty breeches.
An ornate pewter cup was lying a few feet from the man, his hand resting on the floor was open, palm up, as if the cup had rolled away from him in his dying moments. The man had been poisoned.
'What did the visitor look like?' asked Porthos.
'Taller than me, slim, moved like a cat.'
Porthos sighed again, 'did he had a beard? What colour was his hair?'
'Don't know.'
Treville turned back from the unpleasant sight of the dead man and glared at the guard.
'He had a hooded cloak on. Plain black cloak. The. Hood. Was. Up.'
The man spoke sarcastically at them.
Treville looked at Porthos who was struggling to contain his rage. Treville knew he was not far off thumping the guard at that point.
'Why was the visitor allowed to give the prisoner a drink?' asked Treville.
The guard unhooked a money bag from his belt. It looked heavy.
'They gave me this. I don't get paid much. I looked the other way. I could hear whispers but couldn't make out what they was sayin'. They talked for a bit then the visitor left. A few minutes later the prisoner was chucking up on himself and stinking out my prison.'
Treville had heard enough, he glanced at Porthos who nodded. They both turned away from the guard and walked back the way they had come.
'You're welcome,' said the guard, the sarcasm still dripping from every word.
'I would have compensated you for your time,' said Treville over his shoulder, 'but I think you have more than enough from your previous visitor.'
MMMM
'Where's d'Artagnan disappeared to?' asked Aramis as he closed the door to the infirmary.
'Gone to find some fresh clothes and get us some food,' replied Athos as he pushed himself up to sit.
Aramis hastened across the room and helped him before pushing the blankets off him to check the assorted bandages. Athos allowed his friend to do what he needed to, even suppressing a wince of pain when the probing fingers pressed a little too hard over the stab wound. Aramis noticed.
'Sorry,' he said. 'You really are going to have to take it easy for the next few days. You will have to put up with feeling useless whilst the rest of us carry out the investigations.'
Athos nodded as Aramis rearranged the blankets, tucking them back down and rearranging the pillows slightly to make him more comfortable. Athos stared at him for a few seconds before Aramis broke into a grin.
'You enjoy mollycoddling us far too much,' remarked Athos with a smile of his own. 'How did your assignment go?'
Aramis spent a couple of minutes pulling off his weapons and doublet before pulling a chair over and settling next to his friend.
'It would have been extremely dull had it not been for Elizabeth.'
Athos rolled his eyes, 'you were working-'
'I can watch a house and talk to a pretty young woman at the same time,' said Aramis without hesitation. 'She didn't take too kindly to me asking her if her fiancé was good enough for her… she flounced off after that.'
'Flounced?'
'Tossed her blonde curls, hitched up her dress, patterned with some intricate dark green embroidery, and walked away…'
Aramis looked off into the distance for a few seconds.
'Anyway,' he continued. 'Gerard only had a couple of visitors, and I don't think they were too important. They took the bodies of the dogs away for him. He was in the house, alone, apart from two servants until about thirty minutes ago. The servants left then a few minutes after that he did. I followed him to the Palace. He disappeared inside.'
The door to the infirmary was pushed open by Treville who held the door for d'Artagnan and Porthos, who were both carrying trays of food. Athos was pleased to see d'Artagnan looked more his usual self, a wash and some clean clothes seemed to have done him good.
They settled down to eat. Athos could not manage much but ate a little to appease Aramis who insisted that he at least try to get some food into him. The watered-down wine was much more welcome. They swapped updates on what had happened. The loss of the two men that had attacked him was a blow. Knowing that one was still out there annoyed Athos, although he liked the idea that he might be able to get his own revenge on the one-eyed man.
'I think, gentlemen,' said Treville as they finished their meals. 'That we need to watch Baron Gerard for a little longer. Try to gather more information about the assassination attempt. For now, Aramis, Porthos, you two can take it in turns to follow him. D'Artagnan ones you are fully recovered you can join them. We will keep you updated on all that is happening Athos. Your insight, even from your sickbed will be useful.'
Athos knew he had not hidden his annoyance at the whole situation well.
'You were already injured when you were attacked by those men, Athos. You stood little chance against them. None of us blames you for being assaulted.'
Athos glanced at the others who all nodded their agreement with the Captain.
'It will be tedious, but we will uncover this plot and stop it. With luck, the King won't even need to know.'
MMMM