Black Water Rises

Chapter Three

Flickering lanterns cast shadows on the festive wreaths hanging on the walls on the inn. Scents of charring pine needles and withered wood burning in the hearth infused the room, while its heat kept the outside chill at bay. Combined with the aromas of roasted meats and herbs wafting from the table, the comfort of the inn provided a welcome distraction for Aramis. Jeanette's existence still confused him, leaving him wondering if she was indeed a ghost.

Her earlier presence at the inn should have put his mind at ease, but instead, he couldn't shake his suspicions that it had been her body at the beach. The resemblance was too close.

Beside him, Porthos tugged at his shirt collar. "I hope this damn fog clears up by mornin', so we can get the hell outta here. I've had about as much of Black Water as I can handle."

"I hear you, old friend," Aramis replied. "But try and relax. Right now, we're just sitting amongst normal people, enjoying a normal meal."

Porthos drew in a deep breath and released it quickly. "I'm tryin'. But it ain't easy."

Aramis patted his shoulder. "Try harder. The worry evident on you face is going to scare the other guests."

Aramis sat back in his chair and surveyed the room. Around him, the villagers sitting at the table and milling around the inn kept to themselves, their vacant stares and lack of idle chat making it hard for Aramis to initiate conversation. So when the front door opened heralding Thunderbird's arrival, the sudden chatter from the crowd struck Aramis as odd.

"Why is there a fire burning?" bellowed Thunderbird, stopping short of the table. "Extinguish the flames at once!"

The harsh demand startled Aramis, while around him several villagers scurried for buckets of water to douse the flames.

Beside him, Porthos furrowed his brow. "What's all this about?"

"I don't know," replied Aramis with a shrug.

When the last burning ember fizzled to ash, a cold chill invaded the room. Thunderbird lowered himself into the chair in front of the hearth undeterred by the temperature drop, and gazed languidly around the table; his watchful eyes never resting anywhere long enough to invoke conversation.

"Well then, can we start eating?" whispered Porthos. "Or are we supposed to wait for the host to start?"

Aramis leaned toward him. "In polite society, yes, we wait. So I suggest we use the time to get to know these people."

Aramis straightened and turned to the man sitting on his left. "Good-evening. My name is Aramis, and who might you be?"

The elderly gentleman beside him smiled and nodded. "Monsieur La Salle."

"Ah, Jeanette's father." When La Salle nodded his confirmation, Aramis continued. "How long have you been in Black Water?"

"As long as I can remember," the man replied in a weak voice. His gaze drifted aimlessly across the room. "There was this other town…" He shook his head, snapped his attention back to Aramis. "It is of no consequence. Black Water is the only home my daughter and I know."

"My friends and I met your lovely daughter earlier today. Fine woman. Very generous and kind-hearted."

"Thank you. I've raised her the best I could since her mother died."

Aramis crossed himself. "I'm sorry to hear of your wife's passing. Has it been long?"

Monsieur La Salle cast his eyes into his lap and Aramis worried he had opened old wounds.

"It… It was before Black Water," replied La Salle. "Winters were harsh in Acadia. She was a frail woman. I think she died… died during a storm…"

Aramis thought it odd La Salle did not know the exact circumstances of wife's demise, but changed the subject as the conversation seemed to be upsetting him. "Has your daughter found a suitor since your arrival here?"

La Salle's eyes snapped up to meet Aramis'. "Are you interested? I must admit, when you and your friends arrived, hope sprang anew that I would meet someone of your stature who would take notice of my Jeanette."

Aramis shifted and hid a grimace behind an awkward smile. As pleasant as Jeanette seemed, his heart belonged to someone else. "I'm afraid my life is in Paris. And alas, my duties as a Musketeer don't leave time for much else. But I would love to hear more about where you came from in the Americas."

"Americas?"

Aramis raised his brows. "You returned to France from Acadia, did you not? The east coast of the New World?"

La Salle canted his head. "Yes. Acadia sounds familiar."

When Porthos nudged Aramis' shoulder, Aramis raised a finger at La Salle to excuse himself from their conversation.

"It's like pulling teeth tryin' to get anything out of these people," whispered Porthos. "The blacksmith here keeps avoidin' my questions about Thunderbird."

Aramis patted his forearm. "Try and be subtle. And patient. I'm having the same issue when I bring up Acadia."

Porthos frowned. "Yeah, subtlety and patience aren't really my strong suit."

"I've seen you charm many women before."

"The blacksmith ain't no woman."

Aramis chuckled and left Porthos to his task by turning back to La Salle. "You were telling me about Acadia?"

"Cold," murmured La Salle. "I remember the cold."

Well, that's succinct, thought Aramis. "What about the voyage back to France? Did you see any sea creatures? How was it being surrounded by nothing but water for miles to come?"

"Yes… No… Terrifying. But then peace. I scarcely remember landing here, but when we built this village it felt like home."

"It seems a nice place to live," said Aramis, hiding his lie behind a friendly tone. "If not for the weather. I prefer a tad more sunshine brightening my days."

"Weather? Oh, you must be referring to the fog."

Aramis' mouth opened, poised with another question, but his grumbling stomach interfered. "Excuse me," he said, patting his belly. "It has been awhile since my friends and I have eaten."

La Salle reached into the middle of the table and pulled a platter with meats and buttered corn toward him. "Please. This feast is in your honour."

Aramis' mouth watered, but when he looked around, he saw no one had touched the food. It seemed odd, but he preferred to remain polite, so he declined the offer. "I will wait," he replied. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, your arrival back in France."

"There is not much to tell. We arrived. And under the guidance of Thunderbird, we built this village and have all lived here peacefully since."

"Thunderbird mentioned no one from Court has ever visited here?"

"That is correct. We have visitors everyday, but none from Paris proper that I'm aware of. And I suppose one cannot call them visitors anymore, for they never left. They are residents now, just like Jeanette and myself."

The blood left Aramis' skin. "Never? Not one has left?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

Aramis shook his head in disbelief. "But, if people arrive everyday and don't leave, wouldn't the village need expansion?"

"No, we get along fine with what we've built. Once visitors realize what a pleasant village Black Water is, I guess they simply can't resist making it their home."

"My friends and I have every intention of leaving."

La Salle's lips twitched into a smile. "That is what they all say."

Aramis' brows shot up, about to reply, when Thunderbird called his name. A seat had opened next to the village magistrate, and he was motioning for Aramis to join him.

Aramis excused himself from his conversation with La Salle and rose from his chair to join Thunderbird. When he rounded the table, he caught Jeanette's attention when she entered the inn. She smiled, and beckoned him with her finger, so he changed direction to join her at the door.

"It is nice to see you again, Aramis. Are you enjoying the meal?"

The lighting of the inn accentuated the colourful jewellery around her neck, which contrasted harshly against her alabaster skin. Tearing his gaze from her necklace, he found Jeanette watching him closely; her dim and foggy stare conflicting with her lively demeanour. "Um, yes… no. Unfortunately, I haven't had the pleasure yet."

Jeanette gestured to the table where two chairs sat empty. "Please, sit with me."

Aramis dipped his head. "I'm sorry, I seem to have been summoned by your Magistrate," he said, glancing at Thunderbird. "I shouldn't keep the host waiting."

Jeanette replied with a smile. "Then I won't keep you. But I will admit, without your company this feast will be much less enjoyable."

Aramis couldn't stop his gaze from sliding back down her slender throat to the necklace. The jewellery was exquisite, and its mystery forced his thoughts of Thunderbird to the back of his mind.

"Tell me more about this necklace," he said. "I saw another quite similar to this one and I was wondering about its origin."

Jeanette laughed. "Don't be foolish. This necklace is one of a kind. Made just for me."

A shiver raised the hairs on Aramis' neck.

"A suitor of mine was a great hunter of the Mi'kmaq'," continued Jeanette. "He gave this to me on the day we left to return to France."

Aramis smiled despite the hollowness in his gut, aware it no longer just craved food. "It is quite beautiful. He must be a talented artist. Can you tell me more about him?"

"I don't seem to remember his name…" She stared intently at her fidgeting fingers. "But he had black hair. Yes. I'm sure he had black hair."

Aramis remembered each birthmark and mole of every one of his past lovers, so how could she not even remember his name? Then he remembered her father having similar memory problems and frowned.

Jeanette bowed her head to catch his gaze. "What is wrong? Have I said something…"

Aramis looked into her pale eyes and forgot what he'd been thinking. "It's nothing. So tell me, why did this suitor of yours not join the journey to France?"

"Only some Mi'kmaq returned with us," replied Jeanette. "Some wanted adventure, some wished to remain with their land and families. He desired the latter. He could not bring himself to leave his home."

"So you do remember more of him," said Aramis.

Jeanette frowned. "Hm, I suppose I do." She traced her fingers along the quills and beads around her neck. "I hadn't thought of him since arriving in Black Water."

"I apologize if I've brought up bad memories."

"No, no. It's all right." She smiled and placed a hand on Aramis' arm.

Startled by her icy touch, he stumbled back. "As much as I would love to stay and enjoy your company, I'm… I'm afraid I've kept Thunderbird waiting."

"Nonsense," replied a deep voice.

Aramis spun around to come face to face with Thunderbird; taking a step back when confronted with his predatory grin. With his forearm still echoing the coldness of Jeanette's touch, he rushed to say, "I'm afraid my friend and I must…"

When his gaze flicked to his host's dark eyes, the inn and its guests slowly retreated to the recess of Aramis' mind.

"Don't be foolish," said Thunderbird.

Aramis collided with hard wood beneath him, felt something solid at his back, and realized Thunderbird had guided him into a chair.

"We haven't spoken yet," continued Thunderbird. "And I'm sure, Madame La Salle, won't mind if I borrow you for a moment."

Aramis barely noticed Jeanette backing away as Thunderbird's attention narrowed in on him.

"Now. Has something upset my guest?" asked Thunderbird. "You look… perturbed. Like someone who has seen the impossible."

His following laughter chilled Aramis to his bones, awakening a small part of his focus. While he failed to break Thunderbird's stare, he managed to cross his legs to hide his hand sliding to the hilt of his sword.

Thunderbird sat next to him, rested his hands on his knees, and flicked his gaze to Porthos across the table. "His strength really is exemplary, is it not?"

Aramis finally formed a coherent thought. What the hell? Hisinstincts demanded Thunderbird stop his fascination with Porthos, but although he had regained some composure, all that slipped from his lips was, "What… is it you wish to discuss?"

Thunderbird leaned back in his chair. "I see you found young Jeanette alive and well. Your friend Athos inquired about her well being after you presumably found a dead body on the shore."

Yes. That sounds familiar. "There was a body," he mumbled. "It wore the same necklace as Jeanette."

"How strange."

"Indeed."

Aramis now saw only Thunderbird's dark eyes shimmering like stars in a night sky. Tables, chairs, walls and people; everything else in the room swirled around him like water down a drain. When Thunderbird spoke, his deep voice wrapped around Aramis' fledgling thoughts and dragged them to the back of his mind.

"Perhaps your eyes deceived you," said Thunderbird. "The fog tends to play with one's imagination. Perhaps you saw nothing at all."

"I… I could have sworn…"

Thunderbird's eyes widened, and Aramis fell deeper into brilliance. "You just saw for yourself Jeanette is alive and well. That could not have been her body, if indeed you saw a body at all."

"Yes, yes, of course," murmured Aramis.

"Now please, enjoy the rest of the feast."

Imprisoned by Thunderbird's allure, Aramis failed to stop him from leaving. His gaze fell to the table where he stared at the untouched food spread out before him, their once enticing smells now turning his stomach.

Porthos dropped into the chair beside him, a half empty wine glass in hand. "What'd he say?"

"I just felt the most…"

Porthos nudged his shoulder. "You look white as a sheet. What happened?"

"It's not Jeanette's body? It's not her… it is not hers…"

"Aramis. Aramis! Snap out of it. What's up with you?"

Muttered noise fell from Aramis' lips until Porthos shook him gently. "I don't know," Aramis said, running tired fingers through his hair. "I feel… I'm not sure."

"Well, something's up." Porthos passed him his glass of wine. "Here, you look like you need a drink."

Aramis swallowed several gulps, then placed the empty glass on the table where his hand lingered on the stem. When the alcohol slowly untangled the cobwebs in his mind, his fingers tightened around the stem with almost enough pressure to snap it in two. "Porthos. What just happened?"

"You tell me."

Aramis' eyes moved around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He remembered entering the inn, talking with Porthos, Jeanette and Thunderbird… He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the ache behind his eyes.

"Porthos," he muttered.

Porthos straightened, banged a fist on the table and stood. "What'd he do? I'll kill him."

"I'm not sure." Aramis pulled Porthos back into his seat. "Thunderbird just told me it was not Jeanette's body we found at the sea."

"Yeah, we knew that."

"But I…" Aramis refused to extinguish the confidence shinning in his friend's eyes, and decided not to share his experience. Instead, he changed the topic. "Tell me, what did the blacksmith say?"

"He came here a few weeks ago after the Cardinal died."

Aramis' eyes went wide. "And you didn't find that strange?"

"Why would I?"

"Because the Cardinal died almost a year ago."

Porthos shook his head. "Naw. Must 'ave been a mistake, then. The blacksmith must 'ave meant months ago."

Aramis sat forward. "What else did he say? Where did he come from? Why did he stay?"

Porthos held up a hand. "Whoa, slow down. That's too many questions at once."

"This is important, Porthos. Why did he stay?"

"He said…" Porthos firmed his lips, furrowed his brow. "He said he liked the fog. Yeah, I remember him sayin' he got lost in the fog just like us, cause I was thinkin' at least we're not the only fools."

"And…"

"Give me a second." Porthos picked up a pheasant leg from a serving plate on the table and ripped a bite off the bone. "He took a room and never left. Wait…"

Aramis scooted closer. "What?"

Porthos swung the pheasant leg as he spoke, flinging meat and juices onto the table. "Yeah, yeah. The blacksmith felt comforted by the fog." Porthos frowned at Aramis. "That's weird, isn't it? And then he said something about barely rememberin' his life before Black Water. He couldn't even tell me where he came from."

"And you didn't find that odd?"

Porthos scowled. "Course I did. But when I pressed him further, he up and left, and I was too hungry to care."

Aramis ran a hand down his face, his heart fluttering when Thunderbird's weathered face appeared in the window by the door. Illuminated by the inn's amber light, and silhouetted by the black night outside, he appeared like a demon staring through the veil.

Aramis blinked, rubbed his eyes, and tried to erase the image of Thunderbird dragging his hand down the glass; his long fingers leaving behind smudged imprints.

When blinking didn't help, Aramis shook his head, and Thunderbird finally disappeared.

He grabbed Porthos by the shoulder. "We must find the others."

Aramis dragged his friend to the door where they stumbled into Athos and d'Artagnan.

"We have something to show you," Athos said immediately.

"And we have something to tell you," replied Aramis. "I can speak as we walk. Right now I'd like to put a little distance between us and this inn, so lead the way."

After gathering more torches, Aramis followed his friends through the village, listening to Athos describe the body they'd found. Aramis told them the history of the necklace, but at the risk of sounding like a madman, he omitted telling them about Thunderbird in the window, and what he'd experienced while talking with him.

When they entered the forest, the torchlight played with the fog, transforming tree trunks into monsters; their long twisted branches above, stretching out with crooked fingers to snatch passing prey. Dried leaves crunched underfoot, creating the sound of an army marching when there were only four. None of it played kind to Aramis. His ominous surroundings teased him, toyed with his bravado, making it hard to forget the portentous feelings still lingering inside him from the feast.

To help himself focus, he thought of the hustle and bustle of Paris' city streets, the cheering and drinking of ale at the local pubs. He thought of Anne; the way her curls fell onto her shoulders, and the way her pink lips puckered right before she smiled.

By the time they arrived at the beach, Aramis had forced enough of his otherworldly thoughts aside so he could concentrate on the current problem. "Where is the body?" he asked, swinging his torch in a slow arc.

Athos waved his hand, trying to disperse the fog hovering around them. "Doesn't this ever let up?" he mumbled.

"Not according to the blacksmith," replied Porthos. "It's here everyday."

"Trapping lost travellers in Black Water as it seems," added Aramis.

D'Artagnan cast the light of his torch over a cadaver. "Here it is."

Waves lapped at the corpse, tugging it toward the open water like a thief trying to snatch it away. Aramis signed the cross then pulled the body further onto shore to study the remnants of its ragged clothes. "Porthos," he said with a sigh. "Do you see what I see?"

Porthos groaned. "Yes. I don't believe it, but yes."

"What?" asked Athos.

Aramis ran his fingers over the beadwork of the victim's vest. "This is the innkeeper."

"Who was sittin' across from us only an hour ago," added Porthos.