Black Water Rises

Chapter Two

After hitching and feeding the horses at Black Water's stable, Athos and d'Artagnan returned outside to wait for their brothers. They leaned against the side of the barn digesting their bleak surroundings, Athos in particular, curious about the weather. Rain-bloated clouds blanketed the sky, casting Black Water into a monochrome world of greys, making him wonder if this town ever saw sunlight. This part of France was notorious for bad weather, but never had he experienced fog heavy enough to thwart his sense of direction.

"It's almost creepy, isn't it?" asked d'Artagnan, rubbing his arms. "The way the fog slithers through the village, lingering at doorstops and hovering around people's feet."

Athos honed his attention on the residents to discover their lower bodies obscured by grey mist. "Like ghosts not ready to ascend," he said, absently.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Gee thanks, that makes me feel a lot better."

Athos pushed off the wall to face him directly. "I'm sorry, but something is wrong in this village. And I'm not only referring to the weather. I've felt nothing but suspicious since we arrived, and Thunderbird's uncanny foresight is not sitting well with me. How could he possibly know we wouldn't be able to leave?"

"And did you see the way he looked at Porthos?"

Athos arched an eyebrow. "I saw. But Aramis intervened, so I held myself in check." He leaned back against the wall. "Thunderbird is hiding something. I just don't know what… yet."

"Not paying taxes?"

"I suspect much more than that."

Porthos' booming voice startled them both. Athos turned toward the forest and saw him emerging from the fog like an angry bull released from its pen.

"No, no, no!" Porthos yelled, stomping into the settlement.

Aramis ran behind him trying to catch up. "Porthos, listen to me," he called.

"No, I don't have to listen to you. Not when I can prove it isn't her!" Porthos plodded on, his eyes darting back and forth. "Where is she?"

Athos caught his friend by the arm. "Who?" he asked. "What is going on with you two?"

Porthos' eyes were wider than Athos had ever seen them. "Jeanette La Salle," replied Porthos.

"Why are you looking for her? What has she done?"

"We may have a problem," Aramis said, stepping into the conversation. "Well, we definitely have a problem."

D'Artagnan dropped his crossed arms to rest his hands on his hips. "What happened?"

Aramis frowned. "We found a dead body on the shore… and…"

Porthos pulled out of Athos' grip. "Stop it, Aramis. You're speaking nonsense," he growled, before stomping toward Thunderbird's cabin.

Athos turned to Aramis. "Explain."

Aramis drew a breath and exhaled slowly while pushing his hat off his brow. "The body has long since expired, but we recognized the dress and necklace as those worn by Madame La Salle, the woman we met earlier."

D'Artagnan shrugged. "So? Two women wear the same dress and jewellery. It's not unheard of."

"You don't find it odd?" asked Aramis.

"Odd, perhaps," said Athos. "But more importantly, a dead body on the shore is Musketeer business. So why is Porthos upset about this?"

Aramis glanced at the ground. "I may have… merely, suggested that it was Jeanette La Salle's dead body."

D'Artagnan cocked an ear forward. "What was that?"

"You heard me quite clearly."

"You tried to convince Porthos Jeanette was a ghost?" hissed Athos. "Why would you rile him up with such nonsense?"

Aramis scratched his beard. "It may not be nonsense."

"Enough," stated Athos. "First let me handle Porthos, then I'll deal with you."

Athos caught up with Porthos outside Thunderbird's cabin, where he grasped his friend's shoulder before he could enter. "What exactly are you about to do?"

"I'm just gonna ask where she is."

Athos crossed his arms over his chest. "First, we will investigate what you and Aramis found. If a subject has been murdered on French soil then it is our business to attend to its custody and find the culprit responsible. And if the body is found to have died of natural causes, then we'll proceed accordingly, find the family and have her laid to rest."

"What if Aramis is right? What if it is Jeanette La Salle we found on the beach?"

Athos sighed. He couldn't afford Porthos distracted by Aramis' wild imaginings. "Do you honestly think that's true? Do you really believe we were talking with a ghost earlier? An actual apparition?"

Porthos scowled. "When ya put it that way… no." He stomped his foot, clenched his fists. "Aramis just had me going."

Athos rolled his eyes. Perhaps it wasn't Porthos who needed mollifying. "Aramis does have a flare for the dramatic."

He ushered Porthos down the front steps, back toward the others. "We will look into this together before anyone jumps to macabre conclusions. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. Now lead us to the body."

~M~

"It was right here!" shouted Porthos, pointing at the ground.

"She," corrected Aramis, signing the cross. "The body is a she. That we know for sure."

Porthos glared at him before turning to Athos. "I'm tellin' ya, she, was right here!"

Athos looked at the ground beside the rock, watched frothy waves roll up over the shore and back out to sea. "Well, there's nothing here now."

"Maybe she was behind a different rock," replied Porthos. He walked away and started searching behind nearby rocks.

"Jeanette's body was right here," insisted Aramis. "Not elsewhere. Unless… unless god has risen her and… and she's also walking around that village up there."

"Is that your way of… merely suggesting?" chided d'Artagnan.

Athos frowned, shook his head. "Do you mean to tell us you really think the Jeanette we met is an apparition?"

Aramis removed his hat, scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't know what to believe. I just know that we saw her in the village and then dead on the beach. And not recently dead. Dead, dead. For a very long time."

Athos spent many years haunted by the ghosts of both his dead wife and murdered brother, and knew how easy one could lose themselves in such beliefs. It was a dangerous path that, for him, led to drinking and despair. He couldn't allow his men to fall victim to the same demons, so he hoped that by directing the conversation away from Aramis' theory and toward facts, he would keep them grounded until they uncovered the truth.

Athos glanced up the cliff to where its edge disappeared into the white mist. "Do you think murder was the cause of death, or could Jeanette have fallen?"

"Perhaps she went over the cliff," replied Aramis. "But that doesn't rule out murder. Jeanette could have been pushed."

"Well, you saw the body. Did you see any signs of foul play?" asked d'Artagnan. "And could we please stop referring to the corpse as Jeanette until we find proof? It's a little disturbing."

Aramis hung his head before looking at d'Artagnan. "I didn't have time to look for cause of death. And with a body decomposed to that degree, it would be hard to tell."

Porthos returned from his search shaking his head. "I know what I saw. There was definitely a body here, but why it's gone now… I have no idea."

"I believe you," assured Athos. But sensing his men's restlessness he added, "Someone must have moved Jean… the body."

"I'm almost certain it was Jeanette La Salle lying here," stated Aramis, pointing at the sandy shore. "Same height. Same dress. Same necklace. How could it not be her?"

Athos leaned close to Aramis' ear. "Enough," he seethed. "I'm in no mood to deal with a frenzied Porthos, so I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself before you completely unsettle him. Now go and sort him out."

After a huffed breath and quick nod, Aramis stepped closer to Porthos and patted him on the shoulder. "Perhaps I am letting my imagination get to me," he said, leading Porthos back to the path.

Athos watched them disappear into the fog then beckoned d'Artagnan close.

"Seems you were right," said d'Artagnan. "Something is amiss in Black Water."

Athos grunted. "But I was thinking more along the lines of illegal dealings, not murder and ghosts," he said with a smirk.

"That does complicate things."

"Yes, but unfortunately we can't pick the problems that land at our feet. Now go find the real Jeanette La Salle while Aramis removes this ghost nonsense from Porthos' mind. I'm going to have a little chat with Thunderbird."

"What for?"

"Information. A dead body is still a dead body, missing or not, and the matter needs to be addressed."

~M~

Athos found Thunderbird sitting crossed legged on the porch of his residence. With closed eyes and palms resting on his knees, he sat still as stone.

"Hello, Athos of the King's Musketeers."

Athos stopped a few steps from the bottom of the porch. "How did you know it was me?"

"Let's say a little bird told me and leave it at that," replied Thunderbird. He opened his eyes and stood. "Where are your friends?"

"The little bird didn't tell you?"

"It doesn't tell me everything."

Athos sighed. "Are you aware of anyone missing from your village?"

"No one is missing."

"The body of a young woman resembling Jeanette La Salle was found on the shore."

"Is it there now?"

"No."

Thunderbird smiled. "Then what is the problem?"

Athos drew himself to full height. "Where is Madame La Salle?"

"She is a woman of the Earth, not of my possession. She is where she is."

"Alive, I presume?"

"Is that really the question?"

Athos rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and stepped forward. "Two of my companions found the body, but when we returned to the scene later it was gone. The identity has yet to be confirmed, but I assure you we won't rest until the matter is resolved."

Athos had no reason to believe Thunderbird had committed murder, but he was certain the old man was up to something. Unsure whether to proceed questioning Thunderbird without sufficient proof, he decided to end this fruitless conversation and headed to the inn.

He found Aramis and Porthos sitting in the back nursing two large mugs of ale. Athos tipped his hat in their direction but chose to sit at an empty table near the door with his back to the wall to think things over.

He ordered wine from the innkeeper and told him to leave the bottle after he poured him a glass. Before Athos took his first sip, the tavern door flew open revealing an eager d'Artagnan. He stood in the doorway scanning the room, then nodded at Athos before striding over to Aramis and Porthos.

Athos watched the young man talk with their friends, then return to the door. When d'Artagnan leaned outside and ushered Jeanette La Salle into the inn, Athos followed them to the table where Aramis and Porthos were sitting.

They rose from their seats, Aramis' expression a mixture of confusion and surprise,while Porthos smiled broadly.

"See, I told ya it wasn't Jeanette's body," Porthos whispered to Aramis, before sitting smugly back in his chair.

Aramis frowned and shook his head.

Athos eyed them both wearily then addressed Jeanette. "Madame," he greeted, with a tip of his hat. "So it seems you are alive and well?"

Jeanette frowned. "Was there cause to believe otherwise?"

"Of course not," said Aramis. He hurried around the table and pulled out a chair. "Please, we would love to hear more about your town."

"And perhaps about any family you might have in Black Water," added Athos, taking a seat next to Aramis and sharing with him a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps a sister?"

"It is only my father and I," replied Jeannette.

"Any popular dressmakers in Black Water?" asked d'Artagnan.

Jeannette furrowed her brow. "Of course not, what an odd question."

The innkeeper arrived with two fresh mugs of ale, and placed them on the table before stepping back.

"It is rude to drink in the company of others without offering," said Aramis. "Please bring a bottle of your finest wine."

"Oh no," replied Jeanette. "I shouldn't. Thunderbird has prepared a feast for you tonight." She nodded at the long table on the other side of the inn. "It wouldn't be wise to drink beforehand. But I'm sure you sturdy young men can handle your fill, so please enjoy."

She rose from her chair and curtsied. "If you will excuse me, I have things to tend to," she said, and walked toward the door.

"The innkeeper also mentioned something about this feast," said Aramis. "As if Thunderbird knew we would be staying in Black Water."

Athos braced his elbows on the table and massaged his temples to alleviate his budding headache. "If I believed mortal men could control the weather, I'd wager Thunderbird caused the foggy conditions trapping us here. I have this sneaking suspicion he knew we would be unable to refuse his invitation."

"And what about the dead body?" asked d'Artagnan.

"There is that," added Aramis. "What's our plan?"

Having left his wine at his table, Athos dragged Aramis' mug of ale toward him and took a long swallow. "D'Artagnan and I will search for the body while you and Porthos attend this feast."

Aramis nodded and turned to Porthos. "I'm sure you're happy to hear you'll get to fill your belly," he said.

"I'm even happier that was Jeanette sitting across from us," replied Porthos.

Athos' headache presented a dull ache between his temples. He couldn't have his soldiers so easily distracted; they'd need their wits about them if they were to solve the mystery of the missing dead body and uncover the secrets he felt Thunderbird surely kept.

Athos stood and whispered in Aramis' ear. "Keep him calm. For the sake of all our sanities, we have to keep a logical mind about this until we find a reasonable explanation."

"And if you don't?" asked Aramis.

Athos looked sternly at him. "I will, because there has to be one. And I'll start with finding that body. Now, where are our rooms?"

Aramis passed him a key from his pocket. "Upstairs."

"We will meet you later tonight," he said. "And Aramis, I trust you will use your considerable social graces this evening to uncover the hidden secrets of this village. And be sure to talk to Thunderbird. Make him aware we are investigating him. I want him on edge, perhaps he'll slip up and reveal what this town, or more accurately he, is hiding."

Aramis dipped his head. "Consider myself your eyes and ears to Black Water's dirty little secrets."

Athos left the tavern with d'Artagnan, doubtful whether Aramis would be on his best behaviour. When focused, Aramis could charm the habit off a nun, but with thoughts of ghosts addling his mind his concentration might lapse. However, it was out of Athos' control, he and d'Artagnan needed to find this body.

Outside the inn, Athos stood with his hands braced on his hips looking up at a starless night sky. "We'll need torches before we go," he said to d'Artagnan, then started for the stable.

"Where are we going to look first?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Where the body was last seen."

"What do you expect to find? There was nothing there the last time."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

After retrieving torches from the stable, they headed into the forest. Shadows cast by their flickering lights danced and twitched like ethereal creatures around them. Athos carefully wove his way through the underbrush, eyes darting back and forth as the dark menacing shadows followed them to the sea.

A twig snapped behind him. He turned, heart racing and hand rushing to the hilt of his sword.

"Sorry. Just me," said d'Artagnan.

Athos breathed deeply. "I'm letting Aramis' imagination get the better of me," he mumbled.

When they arrived at the beach the temperature dropped considerably. Athos' breath escaped as a white cloud before dispersing into the fog. He tucked his torch under his arm and rubbed his hands together, wishing he'd brought his cloak.

D'Artagnan crouched behind the rock where Aramis and Porthos had found the body, and ran his fingers across the wet sand. "Even if there were footprints, they're gone now."

A wave rolled onto shore, stealing away the marks he'd left in the sand with his fingers. D'Artagnan stood and slowly cast his torch back and forth. "There are tracks back here, but they could be ours. Maybe the body washed out to sea?"

Water slapped against the rocky shoreline, splashing Athos' boots. "It's possible," he replied. "Let's check the shoreline to see if it surfaced elsewhere. The tide doesn't seem strong enough now to wash a body back, but that doesn't mean it couldn't have done so earlier."

D'Artagnan turned to face him, his brows pulling together in a crooked line. "Tell me something first," he said.

"What?"

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

"No."

Athos held up his torch, throwing smudges of amber and orange into the dense mist looming over the dark shore. The colours danced with the fog, swirling and swaying together over the sea like fire and smoke lingering over a burning building.

Like the night he'd thought he'd seen his dead wife.

She'd stood in the antechamber amidst glowing flames and embers. The fire accentuated the hatred burning in her eyes, and his inebriated self thought her an apparition; a demon raised from hell to take her revenge.

A wisp of air brushed Athos' neck, sending icy fingers down his spine. He shivered and turned to d'Artagnan. "Well, maybe. Why do you ask?"

D'Artagnan's fidgeting hands moved to his hips, his eyes cast downward as he stared at the ground. "I did… as a child. Now? I'm not so sure. There's certainly a lot in this world I don't understand." He met Athos' gaze with a soft smile. "Aramis seems to believe, though."

Athos canted his head to the side. He didn't share a monogamous relationship with god, his faith tended to waver more often than not, but the same could not be said for Aramis "That is because Aramis believes the soul eternal, opening his mind to all possibilities."

"What about you? Are you open to possibilities?"

"There is also a lot in this world I don't understand," he replied with a smirk. He bent his head to catch d'Artagnan's gaze from under the brim of his hat. "But there was a time, not long ago, when I could have sworn I'd seen a ghost."

"That night in Pinon? I remember."

Athos nodded and reached out to squeeze d'Artagnan's shoulder. "Let's go find us a body."

After scouring the shoreline for nearly an hour, and cursing his lack of a cloak, Athos called to d'Artagnan. "I believe we have a problem."

D'Artagnan rushed to his side. "Did you find the body?"

Athos pointed to the ground. "I found a body. Unfortunately, I suspect it's not the right one."

The man lying at their feet had died long ago. His clothing hung tattered on a skeletal frame. Remnants of skin, barely tethered to the bones and joints, flapped with the waves washing over it. Around the waist, pants far too big for the decaying body rested on hip bones covered in seaweed.

A crab scurried out of an empty eye socket and d'Artagnan turned away. "Oh, that's disgusting."

"That it is," replied Athos.