Black Water Rises
Chapter Four
Athos hooked his arms under the dead man's shoulders. "I'm not losing another one. We're taking him with us so we can keep an eye on him."
D'Artagnan gathered the legs into his arms, muttering under his breath. "And hope he doesn't fall apart."
They walked back to the village with the added burden of carrying a dead body slowing their journey. Even with Aramis leading the way with two torches, their glow barely reached the ground, leaving the terrain shrouded in darkness, and them stumbling every few feet.
Athos hefted the body against his chest to reaffirm his grip, then peered back at Porthos bringing up the rear of their procession. "You're quiet. And remarkably calm."
Porthos shook his head, raised a hand. "I'm tryin' to keep a steady head 'bout this. So just leave me be."
For the rest of the hike they walked in silence, save for a few grunts and muttered curses. Athos peered over his shoulder every few feet to assess Porthos' disposition; several times catching him shaking his head and mumbling under his breath. But for the most part, Porthos remained focused on the path before him.
This contented Athos, for he needed quiet time to think things through. Another body complicated things. But at least this one hasn't disappeared, he thought.
When they reached the village, they turned left toward the inn, where Athos and d'Artagnan lowered the cadaver to the porch next to the door.
Athos wiped his brow with the back of his hand. "For lack of a better place to put him. Here will suffice. Now let us hope the real innkeeper can shed some light on this… situation."
Athos expected to find the innkeeper behind the bar, and when he did, his head canted sideways with a smile he couldn't control. "Well, he seems to be alive and well."
"True," said d'Artagnan. "But why is the rotting corpse outside wearing the same vest?"
Porthos huffed a breath, threw his arms in the air. "Great. This day just keeps gettin' worse."
"Maybe the innkeeper has a brother?" suggested d'Artagnan.
Aramis stepped up beside him, lips curled into a smirk. "Like Jeanette had a sister?"
"Let's just get on with this," replied Athos. He stepped toward the counter, wherein Aramis grabbed his elbow. Athos turned to him. "What is it?"
"When Porthos and I left this inn earlier, that table was covered in food and the innkeeper was sitting here with us."
Not a napkin nor plate remained on the table, nor did the air smell of lingering food. The innkeeper stood behind the counter sorting papers, ignoring their presence. Athos didn't know how the innkeeper eliminated every trace of the feast so quickly, but kept that thought to himself. Aramis was fidgety enough. "It has been at least an hour since you were here," he said instead. "That is plenty of time to clean up."
"Perhaps," replied Aramis. He turned around and walked slowly to the window beside the door where he traced a finger down the pane.
"What is it now?" asked Athos.
Aramis spun back to him, shook his head. "Nothing to concern yourself with. Please proceed."
Aramis returned to Athos' side; his shoulders twitching under his blue cloak and jaw tense. Definitely not nothing, Athos thought with a frown, but marched toward the counter none-the-less. He would deal with Aramis later; first they had to deal with the corpse outside. "Do you know who we are?" he asked the innkeeper.
The innkeeper flashed a brief smile. "You are Musketeers."
"Indeed," said Athos. "So knowing that, I presume you would be kind enough to provide a room in which to store a dead body?"
"Sir?" The innkeeper gulped. "A dead body?"
In no mood to dawdle, Athos stepped back from the counter and peered down a hallway leading away from the main room. "Somewhere on this floor would be nice. I'm not inclined to carry it any further than necessary, particularly in its decomposed state."
"Ex… excuse me? The cadaver's decomposed… state?"
Porthos leaned on the counter, cracked his knuckles and smiled. "The room?"
"Uh, yes, right away." The innkeeper scurried out from behind the counter and down the hall.
"And a blanket would be much appreciated!" d'Artagnan called after him. He looked at Athos and shrugged. "We don't need to upset the innkeeper until we have to."
Athos agreed. Aramis could believe ghosts were walking the earth in Black Water all he wanted, but till a reasonable explanation for the dead bodies could be found, Athos preferred to keep the situation secret.
The innkeeper returned carrying a dusty canvas and handed it to d'Artagnan. "It is not a room, per say, but the storage closet in the back where we keep the hay should suffice, should it not?"
"It will do," said Athos. He motioned for his men to follow him outside. If the closet had no windows, he would place a sentry at the door and be content. The last situation he wanted was another missing dead body.
They laid the cadaver on the floor of the closet and covered it with the canvas. Athos fetched a chair from the dining room and put it up against the closed door before sitting down. "I will take first watch."
Aramis walked up and stood in front of him, hands braced on his hips. Athos knew there was something his friend wanted to say, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it, so he looked to Porthos. He stood with his thumbs hooked into his belt, eyes drawn and most likely ready to fall into bed and forget this entire day.
D'Artagnan presented his open palm, and Athos pulled a room key from his pocket. "Go. I'll be fine," he said, passing him the key.
Porthos and d'Artagnan turned to move down the hallway, but stopped in their tracks when Aramis cleared his throat. "We should have let the innkeeper see the body," he stated.
Athos rolled his eyes. Here we go… "Why is that?"
Aramis crossed his arms over his chest. "There is something wrong in this town, and having the innkeeper see that body would take us one step closer to the truth. These people need to be aware that something strange is going on."
Aramis' harsh tone sparked frustration in Athos. Black Water certainly reeked of foul play, and Athos knew Thunderbird would be found responsible for most of it. But Aramis' ascertations were ridiculous without proof, stressing Athos' patience to its limits.
Granted, two dead bodies wearing the clothes of two living souls did create a level of uncertainty Athos was finding harder and harder to curtail. But it wasn't time to panic yet. He tipped his chair back and pulled his hat over his eyes. "We will deal with it in the morning."
Aramis huffed. "This should be dealt with now."
Athos peered at him from under the brim of his hat. "Go to sleep. That is an order. I will watch the door until I wake d'Artagnan for the next shift. Until it is your duty to sit here, I want you resting. Now go."
Porthos pulled Aramis backward down the hall. "I'll make sure he does as he's told," he called over his shoulder.
Athos shifted in his chair, crossed his ankles and looked at d'Artagnan still standing in front of him. "And what do you wish to say?"
"There might be a very good reason these bodies are washing up on shore. If the Black Water crashed just below this village, some of the passengers may have gone overboard and drowned before touching land. Maybe those are the bodies washing up now?"
Athos frowned. "Saying that earlier would have been helpful. But although this is possible, it still doesn't explain the similarities with the clothes and necklace. Now go to bed. I'll wake you in a few hours. We'll deal with it all tomorrow when we're not so tired and likely to lapse into poor judgement."
D'Artagnan left, and Athos crossed his hands in his lap. After a moment's contemplation, and a quick excursion to the main room, Athos was sitting back in his seat with a bottle of wind he'd retrieved from the innkeeper.
~M~
Aramis lay on his bed. The amber glow from the village lanterns cast malingering shadows in the room. The haunting ballet the flickering lights played on the walls and ceiling mesmerized him. The flames twisted and morphed the dancing silhouettes into quivering demons with claws. But the light failed to reach the corners, leaving them shrouded in darkness; a perfect hiding place for waiting nightmares.
He wouldn't look at them. His mind was already afflicted with enough worries to keep him awake.
Porthos' soft snores drifted across the dimly lit room. Aramis envied his ability to rest so soundly. Frustrated, he burrowed his head deeper into his pillow, willing his mind to relax.
Their earlier conversation with Thunderbird in his cabin popped into his head. Images of Indians and sea storms ran through his mind, sending it into a tailspin.
Years of training and experience told him the best defense against any enemy was to be prepared for the worst. So Aramis sat up, and trying to keep the creaking to a minimum, he slowly lowered his bare feet to the floor.
He reached for his pants hanging on the bedpost, slipped them on and gathered his boots. Dressed, he stood and leaned into the middle of the room, listening for movement from Porthos' bed.
Porthos grunted, but when no other signs of waking presented themselves, Aramis crept toward the door between their beds, eager to get answers from the innkeeper and hopefully ease his obsessing mind. There was no need to bother Porthos further with his assumptions until he had proof.
Creaking bed slats stopped Aramis at the door. "Where are you going?" Porthos called, into the semi-darkness.
Aramis slumped his shoulders, turned back to his bed. "Would you believe I was going to relieve Athos?"
"No. Go to sleep."
Aramis pulled off his boots, letting them fall to the floor with a thud, before climbing back into bed to resume his vigil with the ceiling.
Once again, his mind conjured black skies, churning seas, and ethereal creatures with long claws and beaks terrorizing the lands. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn't eaten. He rolled onto his side, stretched his legs and stared across the room where Porthos slept on his back snoring quietly again.
Could it be Jeanette's body? Does the innkeeper have a brother who shares the same wardrobe?
He saw Thunderbird's face in the window, fingers like talons scratching down the pane.
He grunted, threw himself onto his back and closed his eyes, regretting that sleep would not come if his mind did not release these questions.
Why is there so much fog? Why won't anyone leave?
But the real question keeping him awake was, who, or what, returned to France on the Black Water along with the settlers from Acadia?
Surely something did.
Or no.
Perhaps Athos and d'Artagnan were right? They'd presented persuasive arguments against ominous wrongdoings in Black Water, which Aramis wished to believe, because what he believed was considered more ridiculous than rational. But what was he to do? Keep his mouth shut, watch and wait, or share his intuitions and possibly be deemed a madman? It seemed an easy choice; warn his brothers and perchance save them all, but of course, no one would heed the ramblings of a lunatic.
He gazed at the ceiling again, falling deeper into conflicting thoughts until sleep finally claimed him. When he woke, his muscles were stiff and aching. Groaning, he pushed up to sitting.
From the darkness came the sounds of snarling and gnashing teeth.
Aramis whipped his head around, searching for Porthos. A dark, obscured figure hovered at his friend's bedside; its height and bulk surpassing even Porthos. Aramis ran a hand down his face, rubbed his eyes, and the form morphed into an oddly shaped man with wing-like arms.
"Porthos?"
The shadow moved like smoke. Smooth and sinewy, it lowered itself over Porthos.
"Porthos!"
Aramis lunged off his bed onto the intruder's back.
The shape rose to full height, emitting a wet-sounding hiss that filled the room. It swung out a massive arm, tossing Aramis back across the room onto his bed. He scrambled to his feet with one thought in mind…
Get to Porthos.
Aramis knew he stood little chance fighting this monstrosity with simple brute strength, but his pistol was unloaded and he couldn't reach his sword hanging on the bedpost. To hell with it! Aramis grabbed his pistol from the nightstand and charged forward with the butt end raised.
The creature swung back at him, exploding Aramis' mid-section into what felt like a million shards of glass. He hit the ground next to his bed. The pistol fell from his hand and skittered into a dark corner of the room. Air rushed in and out of his lungs. Stabbing pain under his ribs temporarily paralyzed him.
Two eyes, as red as a courtesan's freshly painted lips, stared at him from the middle of the room.
"Holy mother of…"
The figure crept forward, hissing and snarling. Aramis scrambled for his sword, and unsheathed the weapon in time to see the figure step into the dim torchlight casting through the window above his bed.
"Thunderbird," breathed Aramis.
The town's magistrate threw his head back, revealing rows of teeth, jagged like the edge of serrated blades.
Roaring thunder echoed in the room. Thunderbird descended on him with arms outstretched. Aramis' heart beat in his throat. Panicked, he thrust his blade forward, piercing Thunderbird's thighs and dropping him to the floor.
Aramis pushed to his knees, panting and hungry for blood. But his first concern was Porthos. He stumbled over Thunderbird's fallen body and collapsed at his friend's bedside.
"Porthos! Wake up!"
Aramis grasped Porthos' shoulders, slapped his cheek. His friend squirmed and moaned, batting his hand away until he opened his eyes.
"Get up!" yelled Aramis. "We must get moving."
He pulled Porthos to sitting, took a hurried glance back at Thunderbird. Cold sweat beaded Aramis' brow, dripping into his eyes and blurring his vision. Creaking floorboards and a low, rumbling chuckle indicated Thunderbird had risen.
Aramis released his friend and turned to face his enemy. He raised his sword, heaved in breath after breath, anticipating the attack.
Thunderbird inched forward, dragging his feet across the plank floor. His arms, slowly rising out to his sides, ended with pointed claws that looked like they could shred a body to pulp in minutes.
"What's… what's going on?" asked Porthos.
Aramis glanced over his shoulder and saw Porthos struggling to his feet. He didn't have time to explain. He shoved Thunderbird back, away from Porthos, then dashed forward and ducked beneath his adversary's swinging arms. Aramis dropped to one knee behind Thunderbird's falling form; his sword pointing upward behind him.
The tip of his rapier pierced the back of Thunderbird's shoulder blade. An ear-piercing screech nearly shattered Aramis' eardrums as Thunderbird's body slid down the rapier's length to the floor.
Aramis left his sword embedded and ran to Porthos. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
Porthos shook his head, blinked his eyes. "Nah, nah. I'm good. What's going…" Porthos' eye's widened. "Who is…"
Aramis spun around. Thunderbird was pushing slow and steady onto his hands, and staring back with bloodshot eyes.
"Oh come on." Aramis moved to stand between Porthos and Thunderbird, hell-bent to protect his friend. "Stay behind me."
"No," growled Porthos. "I've got this now."
Porthos shouldered past Aramis, knocking him against the door between their beds. Aramis sunk to the floor, his breath exploding from already bruised lungs when his chest collided with the ground.
He heard Porthos growl. Then Thunderbird.
Next, the table across the room smashed into pieces, and Porthos lay among them, silent.
Thunderbird turned to Aramis baring his teeth. Saliva dribbled down his chin, pooled at his feet in a gelatinous mess.
Aramis dragged his body up the door high enough to sit, nails digging and scratching into the wood and splintering. "What are you?" He coughed blood and wiped it away with the back of his hand. "What do you want?"
Thunderbird pulled the blood soaked sword, sucking and slurping from his shoulder. "You interfered." A low husky laugh emanated from deep within his chest as he dropped the sword and grinned. "You will learn respect. And I will have my feast!"
Thunderbird lunged at Aramis with sharp talons curled to grab, and jagged teeth ready to tear skin from bone.
Aramis raised his arms in defense. Before his world turned black, Athos and d'Artagnan appeared over Thunderbird's shoulder.