A/N: Thanks for the review, laureleaf! ^_^

Let's catch up with d'Artagnan. He's not just going to sit around if he thinks his friends are in trouble...

Chapter 4

"Captain, it's been over an hour since they missed muster. How long do we wait before deciding something's wrong?"

Treville looked up at the young musketeer who had just barged in, raising an eyebrow at the boldness. "D'Artagnan. I thought I told you to get some sleep."

"I'm telling you, something's happened to them! They would be here by now. This is more than just sleeping off a hangover or jumping out of a lady's window-"

"Have I not made it clear that I don't want to know what you lot get up to after hours?"

"-and I can't just sit around and hope everything is alright!" D'Artagnan leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk. His dark eyes were full of pleading and worry as he finished, "Captain, you have to do something!"

Treville narrowed his eyes at the newest soldier under his command, allowing the lack of proper conduct since he knew it was born of loyalty and concern for the other three. "Rest assured, d'Artagnan, I agree. Athos, Porthos, and Aramis may have their vices, but they don't let them interfere with their duty. They should have been back by now. As it happens, I was about to leave when you came in."

D'Artagnan straightened, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. "Thank you," he murmured. "Where should we begin?"

"We? I am going to see the Cardinal-"

"Do you think the Red Guard are responsible?"

Treville cast an exasperated glower at the young man's impertinence to interrupt, and shook his head. "If they are, I will find out. You aren't going anywhere. You've been up all night and most of yesterday. Get some sleep. I'll wake you with any developments."

"No. No, I can't sleep while they're still out there."

"D'Artagnan, you need to rest. That's an order-"

"I'm going to the tavern they visited last night," d'Artagnan decided, already heading for the door. "Maybe someone there noticed something amiss."

He was gone before Treville could get another word in, leaving the captain to stare at the door as it banged shut behind the young musketeer. Treville shook his head and addressed the empty room: "D'Artagnan, go investigate the tavern they were at last night. That's an order. So I don't have to add your rebellion to my list of problems."

Treville hated to admit it, but he was as worried about the three as d'Artagnan, though he couldn't afford to show any chink in his armor. The young Gascon was hot-headed and impetuous, but Treville needed to keep his wits about him to figure this out. He mulled over the situation, striking out for the royal palace as quickly as he could.

With any luck, this would be a simple matter of a quarrel with the rival corps of soldiers, perhaps an argument gone too far that had ended with his three musketeers cooling their heels in the chatelet. If so, the Cardinal would doubtless be eager to let him know, smug in the small victory of his soldiers over Treville's. It would be worth the self-satisfied remarks from Richelieu to have his men returned safely.

The Cardinal was, predictably, in an audience with the King when Treville strode into the palace library to find the two conferring over some new matter of state. They stopped as he drew closer, though the King looked happy to see him.

"Ah, Treville!" Louis exclaimed, grinning at him with all thirty-two teeth. "I didn't know we'd be seeing you today."

Treville offered a swift bow, concern for his men not overriding proper etiquette. "Your Majesty," he greeted his monarch. "Please forgive the intrusion. There is a matter I need to discuss with Cardinal Richelieu."

He kept his eyes glued to the Cardinal, waiting for some hint that Richelieu suspected what this was about. But instead of a triumphant smirk, he saw nothing but impatient confusion.

"Can it wait?" Richelieu demanded. "I was just discussing with His Majesty-"

"I'm afraid it can't," Treville cut him off. "If I may have a word?"

"By all means, Cardinal," Louis invited, still beaming. "If the captain says it's important, it must be so. What is this matter, then, Treville?"

Treville hesitated to speak in front of the King of this, but there wasn't time to waste and it did concern His Majesty, being his personal guard that was missing. Squaring off to Richelieu, Treville demanded, "Three of my men have gone missing since yesterday. The Red Guard wouldn't have any knowledge of that, would they?"

Again, the satisfaction he'd been half expecting and half hoping for wasn't there. If anything, the Cardinal suddenly seemed troubled, his frown deepening as he studied Treville.

The King, however, tutted with amusement.

"Your men finding trouble again, eh, Captain? Three of them, you say… wait, wait, let me guess." Louis counted off on his fingers. "Athos… Porthos… Aramis?"

Treville jerked his head in affirmation, still watching Richelieu with shrewd, suspicious eyes. Either the Cardinal was doing an excellent job of acting or he had known nothing of this.

"Fighting with the Red Guard again?" Louis chuckled. "Why is it always those three?"

"With all due respect, Sire," Treville said, "this may be a serious matter. That they should still be missing is troubling. If I find that any of the Cardinal's men have dared harm-"

"It was not the Red Guard, I can assure you of that," Richelieu retorted. He shifted. "My captain would have informed me of the matter. If you'll excuse me, Your Majesty, I should-"

"Weren't you telling me only a few days ago that some of yours had disappeared, Cardinal?" Louis interrupted with blasé cheerfulness. "I say, should I be concerned that my two most trusted advisors can't keep a better watch on their own men?"

Richelieu looked displeased, but Treville growled low in his throat. "Well, Cardinal?"

"Yes," Richelieu bit out. "Two men. They disappeared over a week ago."

Over a week? Treville stared at the Cardinal, shaking his head. "Why was I not informed of this?"

"Why would you be? The Red Guard doesn't concern you."

"Missing soldiers concerns me!" Treville snapped. "We could have helped in the search, made inquiries."

The Cardinal lifted his chin, looking miffed. "We would have had plenty of men to conduct our own investigation, Captain. We would not have required the assistance of-"

"Would have?" Treville repeated. He narrowed his eyes. "You mean you didn't investigate their disappearance?"

Richelieu huffed. "I assumed they had deserted."

"You assumed-" The captain exploded, unable to believe what he was hearing. "Two of your men disappear and you don't even bother to look for them? That's the concern you show your soldiers?"

"Now, gentlemen," Louis spoke up in artificial placation, though he sounded gleeful over the back and forth between the two.

"Do not forget your place, Treville," the Cardinal retorted with icy ire. "I will not have you questioning me regarding my own guard. I have already told you that my men are not responsible for your missing pets, and I'm quite sure that wherever they are, it is of their own doing. Are we finished?"

Treville exhaled in discontent to let the matter die. Richelieu's lack of care for his own soldiers was hardly in keeping with the responsibilities of a leader, but it also wasn't his problem at the moment. The captain's priority had to be his musketeers, and he believed Richelieu when he said the Red Guard were not the ones behind this.

Still, feeling that there was more the Cardinal wasn't saying, Treville glowered at Richelieu as he nodded. "We're finished. For now."

He bowed to the King and made his exit. As Treville was hurrying down the stairs, though, he heard his name called and came to a stop. The Cardinal swept across the floor towards him, expression even more troubled out of the presence of the King.

"What?" Treville asked shortly.

"Your three. Perhaps we don't always see eye to eye, but they are… a valuable asset to the crown," he admitted grudgingly. "That all three might be missing does not bode well. And I would not care to entertain the thought that this may become a pattern of murdered soldiers."

Treville studied him. "No one said anything of murder. What are you not telling me?"

Again, the Cardinal hesitated. "Bertran and Lorens, the two men. They've already been found. Outside my door."

"Dead."

"Both had been strangled, though Lorens was also badly beaten. This was two days after they had disappeared from whatever tawdry tavern they had been at the night prior."

Treville's blood ran cold, shuddering at the thought of finding a similar scene. His best men beaten, murdered, dumped outside the garrison gates… "And still you didn't investigate?" he demanded. "There is no agent you might employ to-"

"My most trusted agent is involved in a different matter, abroad," the Cardinal hissed back, looking around for signs of eavesdroppers. "But now your men have gone missing, days after mine are found dead. Gone without a trace overnight. Possibly a coincidence, but if someone is targeting soldiers close to the highest offices in France, then I cannot ignore the possibility of a threat to the King himself."

Treville nodded. "I agree. If the disappearances are related, all the more reason to find the ones responsible immediately. D'Artagnan has gone to investigate the tavern my men would have been at. Where were Bertran and Lorens last seen?"

"Surely you don't expect me to know every coming and going of every soldier under my command."

Gritting his teeth, Treville snapped, "Then inquire with the captain of the Red Guard. If the same ones who took your men are responsible for Athos, Porthos, and Aramis's disappearance, we may only have a little time to find them."

Two days. Far too much damage could be inflicted in that span of time. Treville couldn't abide the thought, shoving it from his mind to focus on the next step.

"I will join d'Artagnan, see what he may have discovered," he decided. "Send your captain to the Musketeer garrison once he's determined when and where your men were before they disappeared."

Richelieu bristled at being given orders, but merely jerked his head in a sharp nod and swept off again with a billow of his cloak. Treville continued on down the stairs, mind churning through this development. For the sake of his men, he hoped this was mere coincidence.

When he found his men, the captain decided with fierce determination, he would find them alive.

.o.O.o.

Porthos watched intently as Aramis stormed back into the hall with Pierre's pistol at his back. His friend was visibly upset, but not with the level of despondency Porthos would have expected if Athos had indeed believed their friendship broken.

"Your payment for the water," Aramis snapped, holding his clenched fist up to the side so that the blood on his knuckles was visible to both Pierre and Porthos.

Porthos's shoulders sagged, angry for Aramis that he'd had to do that. They'd each taken their knocks for the sake of a good act before, though generally not while bound. The marksman would have had a harder time striking a defenseless friend than if it was a staged fight where Athos could get in a lick or two of his own.

"Well done, Aramis," Pierre said as he once again lashed the musketeer to the column. "Though I really think you could have been more convincing than that. Your scorn for him sounded real enough, but the personal attacks were… somewhat lacking. Too restrained, too tame."

Aramis didn't respond to that, merely glowered at their captor's back while Pierre strode towards Porthos.

The musketeer didn't move, refusing to flinch in the face of potential punishment for Aramis's lackluster performance. But Pierre only pulled the cloth free of Porthos's mouth and asked,

"Athos is nobility, it seems. What is his title?"

Porthos frowned, instinctively looking to Aramis, who nodded. "The Comte de la Fere, why?"

"And your captain, Treville. Does he show favoritism among the ranks?"

Ah, so this was a fact-checking quest, probably to make sure Aramis hadn't passed along any hidden messages—which Porthos was sure that he had. Scoffing slightly, he nodded and played along. "Everyone pretends they don' know, but 'e always preferred Athos over th' rest of us at the garrison."

"Very well. You'll still need to do better next time, Aramis. I will instruct you what to say. But for now, we shall give Athos a reprieve."

"Some reprieve," Porthos muttered, wincing at the thought of Athos's discomfort. Not that he was in a great situation himself, but at least up here there was light coming in, and a slightly better idea of what was happening.

One thing that was not better was that Pierre was up here as well, and the guy was creeping Porthos out. Dark eyes tracked the man making his way back over to Aramis, once again sitting in front of him and just… staring. Porthos could read Aramis's uneasiness and felt a swell of anger at his inability to do anything to help. The fact that his role was literally to sit here and force Aramis to submit to Pierre's instructions flooded the bigger musketeer with rage.

The one thing he had to offer was a distraction, keeping Pierre's attention on him so at least Aramis could have a moment to re-center himself.

"So here's what I don' get," Porthos spoke up, drawing their captor's eyes. "I ain't ever seen you before. 'Ow d'you know our names an' who we are?"

"I made inquiries," Pierre explained with a shrug.

"Yeah, okay… but somethin' made you ask about us."

Pierre rose, thankfully walking away from Aramis to gaze down at Porthos instead. His expression never changed, emotionless and flat. Not angry, but not… anything.

"There was a small riot in town, earlier this week," he said. "I first saw you there."

Right, Porthos remembered the one he meant; it had been a tense situation, only Athos's commanding presence and his own intimidating bearing keeping the sudden mob from attacking. They were lucky Aramis had survived to tell the tale.

"What, you started that?"

Pierre scoffed. "Hardly. There's nothing at all engaging about a mindless mob. I was merely witness. I heard Athos speak so fiercely in defense of his friend, saw both of you going to his rescue though all logic says you both should have fled. I suspected then that you might have that… certain something… that I find so puzzling."

Porthos snorted. "That somethin' bein' basic human decency not to leave a man behind?"

"There was nothing basic about it, it's a bond that is not found in ordinary men. That is precisely what makes it far more interesting to me. From there, I asked around. You're all quite well known around Paris, you know. Have you any idea what the people have dubbed you?"

"Tall, Dark, and Mysterious?" Aramis chimed in from the other column, offering a cheeky grin. "I'm the tall one."

"You're shorter than me," Porthos reminded him as he bit back a smile to hear his friend sounding more like himself.

"Yes, but I'm not as mysterious."

Pierre ignored the exchange. "They call you the Inseparables. Lofty, to be sure. I believe I'll find you to be quite separable after all. Athos was so intent on protecting his friend Aramis… but what shall he believe when that same friend turns against him? I think he will not be so prepared to risk his own life to defend him after that."

Porthos shook his head, stomach churning with both disgust and unease at what might still be planned. "You don' know Athos if you believe that."

"But I do know people. Humans are base, fear-driven creatures, and in the end, you're no better than any other ordinary human."

"You're wrong." Porthos leaned back against the column, not breaking their locked gaze. "Athos will hold out. An' our captain will come lookin' for us, an' then it'll be too late for you. So if I was you, I'd stop this now an' start runnin'."

Rather than looking intimidated, not that Porthos had really expected it, Pierre only drew his lips up into a crooked smile.

"Somethin' funny?" Porthos asked.

"Oh, no. Just that's the same thing the others said as well. Nobody came for them. Now if you'll excuse me-"

"Wait, what others?" Aramis demanded, straightening against the column. "Pierre, what others? Musketeers? Are there more here?"

Fear clawed at Porthos's chest at this sudden revelation, hoping to God above that d'Artagnan hadn't also been taken by this madman. If Pierre had made "inquires" about their little group, he couldn't have failed to hear d'Artagnan's name tossed about as well… And the pup had been on night duty, no one would have marked his absence until morning…

"Don't tell me now you would risk yourself to protect strangers as well."

"Strangers?" Aramis repeated.

"Perhaps not strangers, I have no idea if your paths ever crossed with the Cardinal's men. At any rate, they're gone now. That game played itself out."

Red Guard… Porthos digested the news, trading an askance look with Aramis. He didn't know what to make of this. The fact that Pierre was still alive and free meant that the Cardinal had not retaliated against him, which meant it was doubtful the Red Guard men had survived to name him the culprit.

"An'… how'd that 'game' end?" he couldn't help but ask.

Pierre regarded him for a moment, the eerie lop-sided smile not slipping an inch.

"Exactly as I knew it would. And exactly the way yours will, too."

.o.O.o.

D'Artagnan stormed out of The Blackbird tavern, trying to control himself. It wasn't the innkeeper's fault if he'd been too busy with the nightly crowd to note the specific activities of three men in particular. Had he recognized the descriptions of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis?

Yes of course he had, the three were regulars.

Had he seen anyone talking to them?

No, nothing out of the usual, though one of the tavern girls had spent a good deal of time in the corner with the tall one, but she wouldn't be in to work until much later in the evening.

Could he tell d'Artagnan where she lived, as he couldn't wait that long?

No, he couldn't, but d'Artagnan was welcome to come back later.

Had the innkeeper seen the three leave?

No, he hadn't, and did d'Artagnan have many more questions, because he had stock to replenish before the afternoon drunkards started making their way in.

D'Artagnan stood outside The Blackbird, hands on hips, looking around in frustration. No one could have taken the three directly from the tavern itself. If he had the mind to kidnap three able-bodied musketeers, he would wait until they were most vulnerable, no matter how many men he had with him.

"They always walk Athos home," d'Artagnan muttered, looking around again. Athos ended most free nights drunk and stumbling, with Aramis and Porthos taking it in turns to get him back to his apartments so he didn't end up drowning face down in a gutter somewhere. It would be the ideal time to make a move, when whichever escort it was last night had his hands full with Athos.

Turning another circle to regain his bearings, d'Artagnan hurried along the street in the direction he believed Athos's apartments to be in. Sliding deftly around the other people passing by, the musketeer followed the shortest route that the others were likely to have taken, eyes peeled for any sign of something amiss.

There was nothing, though, and by the time d'Artagnan reached the corner where the lodgings stood, he was ready to scream in frustration.

And then, as he spun to storm back towards the garrison, a clue presented itself at last. D'Artagnan froze for only a second before dashing across the street to a man sitting against the stone of a nearby building.

"You there!" he exclaimed, standing over the man as he shrank away. "That hat. Where did you get it?"

"Found it," the man muttered back, hugging his knees in against himself. "It's mine now. Go away."

"It's not yours," d'Artagnan snapped. "It belongs to a musketeer. One who's gone missing. Do you know anything about that?"

"No. I found it. Wasn't no one usin' it, didn't steal it or nothin'."

"Where?" the musketeer pressed urgently.

The old man pointed towards the other side of the street, then mumbled pathetically, "I found it, it's mine."

With a grumble, d'Artagnan pulled out a few coins and pressed them into the man's hand, then yanked Athos's hat off his head and hurried in the direction indicated. Across the street, d'Artagnan cast about anxiously for blood, but there was no trace, nor any sign that the cobblestone had been recently cleaned.

So, likely they hadn't been too badly injured during capture. That was something. If Athos had lost his hat, he'd probably fallen… and if someone had the upper hand over him, either Porthos or Aramis could easily be forced to cooperate.

D'Artagnan looked up, clenching the hat in his fists. If they'd needed further proof that the three had been taken instead of merely off somewhere shirking their duty, it was here.

"Hold on," d'Artagnan murmured. "I'm coming."