"Just where do you think you're going?" a familiar deep voice said, as Porthos materialized out of the darkness before Aramis had gone more than two steps outside his door.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as his friend laid a friendly (and strong, his helpful mind supplied) arm around his shoulders, turning him around and back into his room.

"Porthos, I…."

"No need to thank me for saving your hide once again. Glad to do it, mon ami."

"He is going to die, Porthos, if I don't come. You do realize that, don't you?" Aramis' voice held a note of pleading and desperation that his brothers rarely heard, but the big man resolutely ignored it as he said, "We've been over this more than once, Aramis. Giving yourself up would just result in two deaths. They don't intend to release Athos, if their previous actions mean anything. All your going would do is result in a very painful second death at their hands."

Silence. Then, in a soft voice, Aramis said, "I have to try, Porthos."

"Not this way. Aramis. Not on my watch. We don't intend to ignore Athos' life. We'll get him back. Trust us."

Aramis' expression looked as if he had already lost his friend. Silent now, he let Porthos guide him to a chair and then sat heavily, sinking his face into his hands.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Treville and three of his men returned to the palace late in the evening. Normally, there would be many people of the Court gathering for the evening's entertainment, whatever Louis had devised and had set up by his servants. But since he had sent word that he was too devastated to participate in any affairs, everyone had either retired to their room or gone out to seek other places to eat, drink, dance or gamble the night away. The palace seemed almost deserted as a result, and Treville couldn't have asked for a better scenario.

He led his men up the broad staircase and down the hallways to the deceased First Minister's suite of rooms. Throwing wide the doors they entered, then softly closed the doors behind them. They didn't need an uninvited audience for what they had come to do.

Richelieu had always amazed Treville with the opulence of his tastes. The richest fabrics for his clothes, down to the finest hand-tooled leather on his feet. Bishops and Cardinals indeed wore fine garments for their liturgies, but not to the extent of Richelieu. Granted, he may have thought he needed to fit in with the elegance and wealth of the Court he dealt with, but he often outshone some of them, as well. He had apparently never had any sense of poverty of spirit in regards to imitating the Lord he supposedly served.

Treville, who knew him better than the Court members, due to the amount of time they were forced to spend in each other's company working on the security of the King and kingdom. Richelieu's had no faith or morals so far as Trevillen had ever seen, and no scruples as to how far he would go to achieve the ends he sought, either.

Looking around at the silks and brocade's adorning the rooms they were in, he shook his head. Such a waste. The man had always had an excellent and quick mind, a brilliance that he could have turned to seeking an even better France, instead of advancing his own agenda.

Treville instructed his men to search every inch of he rooms, looking for papers that might give them some clue about the nefarious doings of Mattieu, or instructions for concealing prisoners, ancient prisons, or private payments. He instructed them to search as quietly as possibly, in order to avoid detection that someone was in the rooms of the deceased.

He himself walked over to Louis' huge, ornate, intricately-carved desk. Sitting down, he decided to start with the least likely sources where the information he sought might be: the top of the desk and the top, unlocked drawer. It didn't take long. The Cardinal had never been a stupid man. He found nothing he sought there.

Pulling a small blade from an inner pocket, he used skills Porthos, with his knack for opening locks, would have been amazed to see. It only took a few moments to open the other three drawers. Putting away his blade, the Captain began sifting.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos had begun to cramping up after so many hours with so little room to maneuver. Regardless he continued to work at loosening the piece of stone. He had started to wonder if his efforts might be for nothing when the stone suddenly shifted slightly under his fingers. Elated, he began working at it even harder. He now felt a little more movement, but it still stubbornly refused to come loose.

Hearing the scrape of the key in the lock, he ceased his efforts and leaned back against the wall to cover the loosened stone, although in this light, he doubted that it could be up at the two burly men who had entered the small cell, he suspected what they were here for before the first fist hit him.

Several minutes later, he slumped against the wall, the men having taken a now-bloodied shirt from his back.

Mattieu's voice floated somewhere above him, as he said, "Your friends need another small token to induce them to respond to me," laughing at his own comment, before slamming the cell door shut behind him.

As soon as they had left and he was once more in the dark, Athos, wrapping an arm around his midsection, stubbornly and painfully turned around and resumed his efforts to free the stone. When next they entered his cell, he would be ready for them, he vowed to himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Just as Treville's frustration was nearing the boiling point, his eyes zeroed in on a line from the current paper he held in his hand. He was careless enough to leave the man's name on incriminating correspondence, Treville exulted, staring down at Mattieu's name written in Richelieu's bold hand.

Eagerly reading on, the Captain hoped for the information they needed. And there it was. 'MAr to be held at ….' There was no place name, but the date of the paper corresponded to the time of Aramis' disappearance. MAr would be short for Musketeer Aramis. He had read other confidential documents written by Richelieu over the years, so he knew the Cardinal's 'abbreviations. Scanning through the rest of the paper, he saw no further information. Disappointed, he turned to the paper underneath. Beginning to read, he caught his breath. Richelieu had either been careless or very stupid not to have destroyed these papers, he thought.

There, in plain French, were the words 'At, L of M'. 'Athos, Lieutenant of Musketeers',Treville deciphered. Reading on, he saw 'held at B for ins'. Again reading the code, he saw 'held at Bastille for insurance'. Richelieu's obviously didn't think Athos' aristocratic lineage was known well, but it was enough to imprison him somewhere in the bowels of the only prison to which members of the nobility were sent.

'You didn't exercise sense leaving this here, but you were very clever with this plan', Treville thought. 'He is concealing Athos there. His heritage is mostly unknown in Paris. He is probably buried out of sight in a cell as deep in the prison as possible, and the Red Guards have charge of him'.

Folding the paper and putting it in his pocket, Treville closed the drawers, calling softly to his men that they were leaving. Moving as quietly and unobtrusively as they had come, they retrieved their mounts once they were outside.

Moving quickly through the mostly emptied-out streets of a now quiet and dark Paris, they headed fr the garrison. 'We're coming for you, Athos. Hang on', Treville thought to himself as their horses' hoofbeats thundered on the streets.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I am so sorry this is so short. I had a very busy week, with a 2-day trip north for a family wedding, then Holy Week and Easter doings. I may have another chapter ready tomorrow or Tuesday for you.

The Bastille at the time of our Musketeers was where very important high-ranking prisoners were sent. In later centuries, it was used as a penitentiary.

As always, I want to tell you I am so incredibly grateful for your reading and, when you have the time, reviewing my stories!