Athos and Porthos, backed up by an order of Treville, had insisted that d'Artagnan get some rest, even though he resisted, wanting to immediately begin helping to search for Aramis. Athos recruited one of the off-duty veterans to sit with him to ensure that he did indeed stay put.
Despite his best intentions, d'Artagnan was asleep within minutes of protesting. Several days of almost no sleep had finally over come him.
Laurent stood and watched their interactions, wishing he had brothers like d'Artagnan had, even though the young man knew they weren't blood brothers. 'But they are more real brothers than mine ever has been', he thought sadly and with the bitterness that couldn't help but have accumulated through the years at his treatment by his blood brother.
Athos and Porthos quietly left the room and sat down at their table to go over what they already knew.
"He disappeared quite rapidly once he went over the garrison wall," Porthos said. "We didn't take that long getting out of the gates to try and catch him. That probably means they had men in the area watching."
"D'Artagnan wanted to go back to where he himself had been kept," Athos said, "but these men seem wily enough not to get caught out that easily. They were probably gone very quickly after d'Artagnan escaped. I really doubt, too, that there are going to be any clues laying around for us to find."
He thought silently for a few minutes, then said, "We seem to have forgotten Laurent. His brother will have realized that we would no doubt question him to find out what he might know. But there may be places his brother used to take him that might help us. Let us find out."
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Aramis lay in the dirt of the oubliette floor in complete inky darkness. He tried hard not to give in to the despair that was threatening to overwhelm him.
When Richelieu had swept his hand towards the oubliette, it's ladder just visible at the lip of pit, a rare sense of gripping fear came over him.
As a soldier and as a Musketeer, he had heard horrifying stories about them over the years. People were condemned and left in them to a long, lingering death in isolation and utter darkness. Sometimes, their jailors denied them food or water, which must had seemed to them like a mercy because it wouldn't then take as long to succumb to death.
He had fought as fiercely as he was able to avoid this nightmare. But he was hopelessly outnumbered. His head and body were littered with welts and bruises before they had been able to pin him down.
They had dragged him to the ladder where he balked, digging his heels into the dirt. They had finally had to threaten to throw him bodily into the pit if he didn't climb down the ladder on his own, an action that would have resulted in a much quicker death. Aramis, defeated at last, slowly made his way down the ladder, hampered by his chained hands.
Maybe because of his desperate but futile struggle to avoid being put down here, he thought, they had not removed his shackles. Or maybe they had done so deliberately. Now he was confined, not only by the oubliette and darkness, but his hands still were tethered to his belt.
He pushed himself up against the wall to a sitting position, even that made more difficult by his chained hands.
He honestly didn't know if his brothers would be able to find him, or find him in time. Richelieu had said this prison had been abandoned for over a century? No one would even know it existed now. And it had taken his captors quite a while to bring him here, so it had to be on or near the outskirts of the city, or even past the city walls.
He was desperately trying to find some glimmer of hope in the midst of this nightmare he found himself in. But so far, his thoughts added to his growing sense of hopelessness.
No, he shook himself, I will not give up hope. That is exactly what Richelieu is longing for. The man had stood in front of him arrogant and positively gloating. I will not willingly give him anything else to smirk over.
The man was a complete disgrace to the office he held, and was utterly contemptible in the garb of a Cardinal of the Church. It had always been obvious to Aramis that Richelieu had wormed his way into the priesthood for his own nefarious reasons, falsely giving an impression of piety that was as untrue as everything else he project to the King and the public.
But he had never imagined that even Richelieu would go as far as something like this. And if it hadn't occurred to him, it wouldn't have occurred to his brothers either.
Automatically strarting to reach up with his hands to run his fingers through his hair, a reflexive movement he often did without thinking about it when he was upset about something, but he was brought up short when the chains prevented his hands from doing so.
Slumping down further against the cold, damp wall, he let his eyelids fall, but he refused to let go of his tears. He would not give Richelieu the satisfaction, he grimly thought.
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Richelieu met with the men he had hired in the old warden's office, having had one of the men sweep away the dust and cobwebs from the desk before he himself sat down at it.
Looking up at the men, he smiled.
He said, "Well done. You will be amply rewarded for your work. Any of you who would like to earn more gold may work with my Red Guards to keep the prison secure. I doubt if his friends will get an inkling of where he is, but we need to keep guard, just in case."
He dismissed them after four of them had eagerly volunteered for the extra work, figuring it would be easy money as no one knew about this place anyway so there wasn't much to guard against. They walked out the door already envisioning a stretch of drinking and cards.
When they had gone down the corridor far enough to be out of range of any possiblility of Richelieu's hearing, one of them turned to the man who had been their spokesman, saying, "Why didn't you tell him about Laurent leaving? Then, once he finds out the other Musketeer escaped, he will know that we aren't to blame for it. If Laurent remembers the conversations several of us had while he was with us, he may also have heard the name of this prison. Our heads will roll for our part in it."
Jacques, the barrel-chested, middle-aged man who had spoken for all of them, said, "Mattieu, Laurent's brother, wants to get his hands on him. Laurent's days are already numbered. As for telling Richelieu, he will blame us all if he finds out that other Musketeer escaped from us, and that one of us helped him to do it. Then, we'll end up in prison, and probably at the end of a rope. Silence is our best friend right now," looking around as if daring any of them to refute what he had just said.
Satisfied by their expressions that his words had been accepted by the notorious vicious men recruited for this enterprise with him, he turned and led the way to their quarters in another part of the prison.
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For several days, Athos, Porthos and a now-recovered d'Artagnan had visited the worst areas of Paris, places basically run by men such as the type they were looking for. They knew they had a very slim chance of learning anything from the poverty-ridden inhabitants, who were probably terrorized by men who held life very cheaply. They also tried the shopkeepers, but the same men more than likely extorted money from them to 'protect' their shops, and the shopkeepers were afraid of the damage the men would do if they spoke to the Musketeers.
The brothers were beyond frustrated when they returned to the garrison each evening by their lack of any clues as to where Aramis could have been taken. Doubling their frustration was that Laurent seemed to have disappeared after bringing d'Artagnan back and no one knew where he was, so they were unable to talk to him and see if he could remember anything that would be useful to them.
They ate their food as if it had no taste, slumped at the table in dejection, which was very unlike any of them. There was little attempt at conversation, and afterwards, they would head for a few hours of restless sleep, their minds bringing disturbing images to their minds of Aramis alone and in pain.
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Aramis had no idea when one day blended into another. There were no windows, and so far, no one had come back to the room far above him. If they had, not only would he have heard booted feet, but light would have come through the grate.
He had dozed a good deal of the time he had been there, but it wasn't a peaceful rest that brought his mind and body any refreshment.
His waking hours were filled with prayers to the God he loved so much, asking for release from his predicament. He had not received what he had asked for yet, but his faith held strong and he continued his prayers, asking that God's will be done.
He had been given no food or water as yet. His stomach was beginning to growl incessantly, and his mouth was bone dry.
Just as he was beginning to think that he had misjudged Richelieu wanting him to keep him alive and suffering for quite some time, and that he had instead ordered no food or water for him, he heard boots walking on the floor above. A moment later, light shone through the grating followed by a key turning in the lock. Then, heads appeared above the opening.
A small bag and a waterskin were slowly lowered by a rope down into the pit, and one of the men said, "Thought you were going to be starved to death, didn't you?" laughing at his own words.
When the bag and waterskin neared him, Aramis couldn't help himself, even with an audience of men above him enjoying themselves watching him. He grabbed them, immediately wanting to slake his thirst.
But when he attempted to raise the waterskin to his lips, his heart plummeted, as he realized that his hands couldn't raise the waterskin up far enough to reach his mouth! Neither would he be able to eat whatever was in the bag.
"Not so hungry yet?" the mocking voice taunted him again. He refused to even respond to them.
One of the other men came around to the one speaking, and told him, "He can't eat. He can't raise his hands high enough to get the food and water to his mouth."
That threw another light on the situation. The men all knew the Cardinal wanted the Musketeer alive until whenever he deemed he had suffered enough and gave the order to let him die.
They huddled for several moments talking, then the increasingly annoying voice said, "Move back against the wall, Musketeer, and stay there. Your hands will be released from your waist, but if you so much as make a move, well...," indicating the other men, all of whom now held muskets and pistols unerringly aimed at his head. Aramis slowly complied with the order until his back was against the wall.
The man climbed over the pit's rim and began his way down the ladder that had been dropped down. When he reached the dirt floor, he halted and repeated his warning. Obviously, they held a healthy respect for the reputation of the Musketeers' prowess in fighting.
Aramis stook very still, watching as the man approached him. Then the man reached out and grabbed the chain holding his left arm to his waist and unlocked it. He then did the same to his right arm, leaving his arms still shackled with a length of chain in-between, but finally freed from his waist.
Aramis figured this would probably be his one and only chance to attempt to free himself. As the man started to back up again, Aramis sprang forward, pulling the man in-between himself and the guns trained on him.
They struggled, each trying to gain the advantage. But Aramis was at a severe disadvantage from lack of nourishment and his still-chained hands. He tripped over the chain connecting his ankles, and it gave the men up above the target they needed, Aramis' body having now been exposed to the weapons above him.
A shot rang out. He gave a sharp cry and sank to his knees, then to the ground.
Sorry to leave you with another cliffhanger over the holiday week. I wish all of you a very Merry Christmas!