Chapter 3

Athos wasn't sure who in the Palace engineered this monstrosity; he supposed the King had staff to provide whatever was required. If he ever met the designer he couldn't decide if he would punch him or kick him first. One thing was certain, he'd definitely hurt the idiot that designed this ill-fated contraption laying on the ground in front of him. First of all it was an eye sore, striped, like a wandering minstrel's pants. The word that came to mind was gaudy. Material a well-respected draper never would have purchased and a shyster would have snapped up and sold to a fool for a handsome profit, claiming it was the height of fashion. Not that Athos was inferring his King was a fool, exactly, merely his fashion advisor.

To each of the four corners, a solid pole had been attached. A quick examination of the craftsmanship showed at least someone was good at their trade. It appeared both neat and functional. The four poles appeared impressively stout, and heavy, which might come to be a detriment rather than a bonus. Couching down, he stripped off his glove and ran the materials of the canopy through his fingers. The frown on his face deepened as he let the canvas slide through calloused hands and debated the waterproofness of this striped monstrosity. Rising, he saw his three brothers eyeing him in expectation.

The thundercloud look on Porthos' face side it all. "This is not what I signed up for," he grumbled.

As he pulled his glove back on, Athos declared, "You swore to serve and protect your King." His eyes wandered over the gaudy striped material once more. "You are serving our King today, albeit in a somewhat unusual manner."

"Yeah. Unusual. Next, we'll be the ones opening the doors for him and fetching his slippers," d'Artagnan griped, never having imagined he'd be holding up a canopy as a King's musketeer.

"Maybe walking behind the Cardinal, making sure his cloak doesn't get caught."

"Turning down his Majesty's bed. Filling his bath and scenting it with rose petals." A cocked eyebrow from Porthos had d'Artagnan adding, "Well I mean if Kings do such things

As d'Artagnan and Porthos continued to banter, seeing who could come up with the most outrageous idea, Athos looked about to see why Aramis hadn't joined the fray. It was not like him to miss a good banter session. He noted that the marksman had positioned himself so he could peer through an archway. Strolling up behind the unsuspecting Aramis, Athos dropped a firm arm over the marksman's shoulders and forcibly turned him away from the opening and marched him back to where the rest of the musketeers were standing near the canopy.

"I think you'd be better served focusing your attentions over here," Athos hissed in Aramis' ear as he dragged him away from staring at her Majesty, who'd been beyond the archway. "There is less to get in trouble with…I think."

"I know, but I…"

Athos quickly cut off his brother before he could finish his statement. "It's not to be!" The swordsman's tone was low and dangerous. "You risk much for your folly." He cuffed Aramis on the ear before dropping his arm. "We'll not talk of this anymore."

Angrily, Athos strode off towards the far side of the canopy leaving Aramis standing near Porthos and d'Artagnan.

"Great. You've made him mad," Porthos remarked as he watched Athos across the room. "As if this assignment weren't bad enough already, you have to piss him off. What did you say?"

His other brothers weren't aware of his indiscretion with the queen, so Aramis shrugged and glibly replied, "A simple difference of opinion."

Porthos' expression showed he didn't buy into that explanation, but Athos calling the musketeers to attention ended the conversation for the moment.

Never one to ask his men to do what he didn't, Athos took up position by one of the four poles, before instructing Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan to man the others. "We'll rotate. Four on the poles, four off. After an hour we will change positions, carefully." The four musketeers not assigned to hold the poles spread out through the gardens to serve as watchers.

"Are you sure you want me to hold one of these poles?" Aramis questioned. "Won't my talents be put to better use if my hands were free to, oh I don't know, say fire my musket?"

Athos and Aramis stared at each other for a moment, before Athos vehemently spat, "No."

With a sigh, Aramis bent over, wrapped his hands around the wooden pole and stood it upright, dragging a portion of the canopy off the ground. Porthos and d'Artagnan did the same and Athos grabbed the one near his feet and hefted it aloft. Sluggishly, the gaudy striped material rose from the ground hanging limply between the four poles.

It took a concentrated effort to maneuver the twenty by twenty-foot canopy out of the palace room and across the courtyard in the rain to the gardens. Once outside, a fussy little man in an oilskin cloak instructed the four musketeers where to place the canopy. It was a tricky feat to stretch out the canvas over the area indicated, because while the ground in the middle was empty, awaiting a table no doubt, the outer edges of the canopy placed the pole bearers smack dab in the middle of the royal flower beds. The head gardener, also in a rain slicker, was standing at the edges of the beds, yelling at the four musketeers to be careful where they placed their muddy boots.

The four musketeers were quickly realizing that dealing with the awkward, soggy, canvas was going to be no picnic for them. It was hard to keep the canvas stretched out taunt and the poles were hard to grip and got slippery as they got wetter. Luckily, they had some time to work out adjustments while the table and chairs were brought out and placed under the makeshift pavilion, followed by crystal wine glasses and china place settings, silver cutlery and of course vases of fresh flowers for the table. The servants scuttled between the table and the palace and soon were as bedraggled as the four musketeers stoically holding the poles.

The rain, of course, did not cooperate and picked up in intensity. Luckily, there was no wind so it fell straight down which meant it didn't blow inside the makeshift pavilion, though it did manage to find its way down every musketeer's collar. The four musketeers not currently holding the poles managed to find spots under the few trees in the gardens that allowed them a strategic as well as a relatively dry location to watch over the proceedings.

Eventually, they heard sounds coming from the area of the lower Palace and trays and bowls of food were marched over to the table and set down. A few minutes later, colorful umbrellas, sheltering his Majesty and his guests appeared and made their way through the gardens over to the tent.

"Perfectly delightful don't you think, my dear" the King asked his wife as they entered the pavilion and settled at their spots at the head of the flower feast.

The Queen, who had caught the eye of Aramis as she walked by and nearly giggled at the drops of water running off his handsome nose. Even as she murmured her agreement, she glanced down at the hem of her dress and sighed. It was covered in dirt and grass stains that she doubted would ever come out. The King and his ideas.

As dinner was served, Athos kept eyeing the canvas they were holding up. Because of the weight of it, the four musketeers were unable to keep it stretched super tight and water was beginning to puddle in the middle. If he were able to lift up the middle, say with another pole, the problem would be alleviated. Alas, that also would mean standing smack dab in the middle of the dinner table, the place currently occupied by a magnificent, multi-tiered, flower strewn cake. Athos was fairly certain that the King would not want a wet, muddied, musketeer standing as the center piece for his soiree. Another solution had to be sought.

Gesturing with his head for the musketeer on guard a few yards to his right to come over and take his pole, they carefully performed the handoff. Athos then moved cautiously through the royal flowerbeds over to where d'Artagnan was stationed.

"We need to get that water off the middle of the canvas," Athos explained, as he discreetly pointed to the ever-lowering dip of canvas over the royal table. The younger musketeer glanced where Athos was indicating and immediately saw the issue at hand. Unless they wanted the garden party to be a total washout, they had to control when and where that water was deposited.

Treville, who, as usual, was stationed near the King, noticed his lieutenant's movements and a mixture of curiosity and dread ran up his spine. While Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were the best musketeers in the regiment, they were also the most trouble prone. When he had assigned Athos to work with the already established team of Aramis and Porthos, he had expected the Comte turned soldier to bring a level of decorum and stability to the team. Aramis and Porthos, though excellent soldiers, second to none, had a streak of carefree abandon to them that he thought the solemn Athos would help quell. Somehow, that had really not materialized the way he had envisioned. Yes, at times Athos tamped down the ill-advised exuberance of his peers, but just as many times he let them go on their merry way, or joined in with them, or worse of all, led them in their mischief. Perhaps he had expected more from Athos because of his upbringing and being a Comte. Athos was, perhaps mentality, more mature than the other two at times, but age-wise, they were all very close and it was his experience that young men occasionally did stupid things. So with all this in mind, he watched his lieutenant with a wary eye.

"We need to tip the canvas slightly, to get that excess water to run harmlessly off to one side. I need you to dip your pole and encourage the water to flow in this direction," Athos instructed a none-to-pleased looking d'Artagnan.

"Won't it end up pouring on top of my head?"

Athos had the same concern as the ex-farmer, but he wasn't going to voice it. Instead, in a confident voice he declared, "No. You will be able to angle it so it dumps beside you."

Treville could see his two men whispering, but he couldn't hear what was being said or fathom what was so important that is had to be discussed while on guard duty in front of the King. As he was debating if he should go over there and see what the issue was, his Majesty suddenly roped him into the conversation he was having with one of his nobles, and the Captain was forced to divert his attention away from Athos and d'Artagnan and focus on his King.

Athos moved down the side of the canvas so he could monitor the situation better, and to be away from where he anticipated the water would flow over the edge. Though it wasn't cold outside, still he did not relish the thought of standing guard for the rest of the day soaking wet. Once in position, he gave a nod to d'Artagnan. Athos watched as the young man lowered his pole and angled the waterlogged canvas to dip in his direction.

After he had been forced to hang his wife, Athos had begged and pleaded with God to punish him and send him to hell where he belonged. But no matter how many stupid things he did, God had seen fit to make him survive; a form of torture in and of itself. And on days such as this one, he came to realize that God was even crueler than he gave Him credit for, because He managed to make hell on Earth. The water obediently ran from the middle of the canvas towards the edge dipped near where d'Artagnan stood. However, just before it reached the edge, Aramis, who suffered from allergies, lost the battle to suppress the sneeze that had been tickling his nose for the last five minutes. As the marksman sneezed, his pole dipped just enough to divert the flow of the rain water so it poured over the edge on top of Athos.

To his credit, the stoic musketeer did not so much as let out a peep as the water streamed on his head, over his hat and worked itself inside his rain slicker soaking him. While D'Artagnan had a look of horror on his face, Aramis and Porthos looked amused.

Sputtering, d'Artagnan tried to apologize, but Athos glared him into silence. They were on guard duty and shouldn't attract any attention. Looking up under the sodden brim of his hat, his eyes sought out Treville, who, with that six sense he had for his men's antics, managed to glance at Athos just in time to see the water fall. The Captain was wearing an interesting expression between a smirk and a scowl. However, Athos had no illusions that his Captain would tolerate any further disturbance to the garden party.

As Athos let his eyes wander over the rest of the guests, it appeared the little water mishap had gone unnoticed by all, well other than their Captain. Checking out the center of the canvas, he could see it was sagging again, no surprise given the steadiness of the rain. As the last effort was not a responding success, he modified his strategy. Finding his three brothers watching him, as he knew he would, he indicated for Aramis and Porthos to dip the side between them, while he and d'Artagnan adjusted their poles ever so slightly to steer the stream. Nice as could be, the water streamed off the canvas, splashing harmlessly down the side.

A small smile of satisfaction tugged at the corner of Athos' face. They had beaten mother-nature.

For the next hour, things went smoothly and the guests seemed to enjoy the impromptu waterfall every so often, saying it added to the ambiance. Then what appeared to be a slight miscalculation had the rain water splashing very close to Porthos, who didn't appreciate his leathers getting splattered with mud. He glared suspiciously at Aramis who was looking a bit to smug for his taste. No talking was allowed during guard duty and they were too far apart anyway so Porthos could only scowl at Aramis. At his end, Athos could only glare at all of them trying to keep them in line. Apparently, their famous six-sense communication did not extend itself to matters that were not life or death.

Over the course of the next hour, the silent water battle raged on, with each one of them getting wet, and Athos was getting very disturbed at the antics of his brethren. The King and his guests seemed unaware of the tom-foolery afoot and actually invented a quick drinking game based on guessing where the water would cascade next. Treville, on the other hand was sure something was up, especially since his second refused to meet his eye.

As the May flower party drew into its third hour, Athos' temper had frayed to the breaking point. He was wet, cold, tired, hungry and incredibly annoyed at his brothers. They had even lost their ability to switch out on the poles because the Queen and the ladies of the garden party had wisely departed for the comforts of the indoors taking four of the musketeer guard with them. Unfortunately, Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were left outside, holding the poles and watching over the increasingly drunk King and his guests. Treville valiantly tried to get the King to move his soiree inside but to no avail.

Finally, when the wind picked up and the thunder and lightning began, the King agreed they should head inside, but he ordered the four musketeers to stay in place until the staff had a chance to bring all the china and such inside as he didn't want it to get ruined. The fact that the musketeers had to stay out in the increasingly poor conditions didn't seem to bother his Majesty. The Captain tried to reason with the King, explaining the dishes, glasses, tablecloths and serving pieces had to be washed anyway, but the King gave him the 'I am the King and am not amused' look and Treville was forced to make a small bow and acquiesce to the command. The four musketeers watched as umbrella laden servants bought the King and his guests safely and drily back into the palace while they were left to stand in the ever-increasing downpour. The wind kept increasing in intensity until the very trees themselves began to bend under its force.

It became impossible to hold the canopy aloft in the high winds. D'Artagnan could feel the wet, slippery, wooden pole being pulled through his gloved hands and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Watch out," he screamed as a strong gust of wind ripped the pole from his grasp.

The wooden projectile flew in the direction of Porthos, striking him across the head, neck and shoulders. Porthos dropped to the ground like a stone and, as he fell, let go of the pole he was holding. The furious wind latched on to the soggy canvas like it was a sail and suddenly Athos and Aramis, who had managed to maintain their grasp on their poles, found themselves being lifted aloft. The gigantic make-shift kite lifted the two musketeers into the sky and they flew down the length of the palace gardens.

Startled by the situation they found themselves in, Athos and Aramis weren't sure whether to hang on tight or drop to the ground. The decision was soon removed from them as their kite got entangled in a stand of trees and their journey came to a crashing halt. Both men were slammed into the branches of the oak tree where they got entangled with the canvas before before plummeting toward the hard ground.

Back in the main section of the garden, D'Artagnan sprinted over to where Porthos was slumped on the ground. Dropping to his knees next to the prone soldier, d'Artagnan reached out shaky fingers to check for a pulse. The amount of blood already covering the wounded musketeer's face was scary. However, to his relief, his questing fingertips found a very steady rhythm. Rocking back on his heels, the young musketeer was debating what to do next when he heard a sound that made his blood freeze. The wind began to make a roaring sound that he had heard twice before in his life and each time it had signaled the approach of death.

Lifting his eyes to the skies, he saw the dark mass of twisting clouds heading towards the Palace. Tornado!

Scrambling to his feet he shouted a warning to the people who were still in the garden cleaning up. He was having a hard time making himself heard over the increasingly loud roaring of the wind so he grabbed the arm of a servant near him and pointed him towards the oncoming storm. The stack of dishes in the servant's hands crashed to the dirt when he saw the twisting mass heading towards them. Suddenly, everyone's attention was focused on the approaching storm and screams began to fill the air.

D'Artagnan shook the servant he still held in his grasp to get him to focus. "Run. To the palace. Warn them to get everyone to safety in the cellars." With a final shake, he sent the servant hurdling towards the palace. The rest of the servants who were still in the garden were already running towards safety. Too late, d'Artagnan realized he was left alone with the unconscious Porthos and no one to help him get the big man to safety. Looking worriedly around him, he couldn't see any sign of Athos, Aramis or the canopy and though that troubled him, he knew he had to get Porthos inside the palace.

Grunting with effort, d'Artagnan gripped Porthos under his armpits and began hauling him across the ground toward the palace. The heels of the musketeer's boots left trowel marks through the bed of flowers that made d'Artagnan grimace, but there was no time to find a better way. The destructive twirling mass of wind was drawing ever nearer. His hair was being whipped about his head by the gale force winds like a horse's tail swishing flies, and large pieces of hail began raining down upon him in a most unpleasant manner. With a determined moan, he tried to increase his pace but Porthos was not a light load and, unconscious and unable to help, he seemed twice his normal weight.

When he was a few yards from the door, it was flung open and Treville stumbled out into the storm. The Captain made his way over to d'Artagnan and Porthos.

"The King?" the loyal musketeer asked of his Captain.

Even given their dire situation, Treville could not help being proud for a moment that the boy thought of his duty first. "His Majesty and his guests are safe in the cellars." Glancing over d'Artagnan's shoulder to let his blue eyes sweep the gardens he inquired, "Athos? Aramis?"

"Not with you?" d'Artagnan shouted reply begged for affirmation even though he knew the answer had to be no.

"No."

Both men's eyes drifted out to the demonic weather hoping against all odds to see the two missing men, but they were disappointed. The storm was almost hypnotizing and finally Treville tore his eyes away from it.

"They will be fine. We need to get Porthos to shelter and see to his wounds."

Reluctantly, d'Artagnan nodded, forcing his gaze away from searching for his missing brothers. The two musketeers put their shoulders under Porthos' arms and lifted the injured musketeer from the ground. Slowly, they dragged him into the palace and down the flights of stairs to the secure cellar. Gently placing him to rest under a lit sconce, Treville headed off to find the palace healer, leaving a worried d'Artagnan to watch over the unconscious man.

D'Artagnan knew he'd made the right choice, bringing his brother to safety, but his heart was having a hard time remaining calm wondering what was happening with his other two brothers.