Chapter 5
"This feels like an act of desperation," Porthos groused to d'Artagnan as they sat upon their horses in the stable yard. "We should be out searching ourselves."
"We have been. For three days. We are desperate. If they are hurt seriously, they might not have much more time," d'Artagnan answered though his eyes remained on the two dogs sitting in the dirt, awaiting their master's commands.
"I don't know," Porthos said as he eyed the dogs. Where he grew up dogs were usually competitors for food, and a danger if you came across a pack. They were not useful things, though he did admit his perspective was skewed by his upbringing.
Finally, the dog master came out of the kennel and walked over to d'Artagnan. "You have the items."
The musketeer reached back and patted his worn leather saddlebags.
"Good, keep them there until I ask for them." With that, the kennel master mounted up, called his two dogs to heel and started off.
They went around the palace until they came to the gardens, still in disrepair from the storm. Here, the master dismounted and collected the two items from d'Artaganan, well-worn shirts from Athos and Aramis. He offered the items to the two dogs who drank deep of the scents before the master issued the command for them to scout the area. The two red dogs took off in a methodical manner, sniffing amongst the picnic remains.
Mounting, the kennel master moved his horse closer to Porthos and d'Artagnan's mounts. "This is a long shot you realize given the elapsed time and rain."
"You mean like an act of desperation," Porthos growled looking over at d'Artagnan.
Realizing that he may have sounded harsher than he intended, the dog master back pedaled. "These two dogs, though, they might be the ticket. Unusual. Bought for their coat color more than anything. I'd not seen a red poodle before. Freak of nature I suppose, but they have proven to be surprisingly good scenters. I've seen this pair find birds lost in the tall grass that all the other dogs missed."
Porthos looked at the red poodles in a new light. Freaks of nature. He'd been called that and yet he had value. Maybe he was being too harsh on the idea. "Given the direction of the wind that day, I'd say we head them towards the forest and the river," Porthos declared, trying to be accepting and useful. "Not, that we haven't already searched there," he mumbled under his breath, momentarily forgetting his vow.
The triad of horses and riders and the two dogs headed in the direction of the woods. The two poodles ran out in front of the horses, sniffing both the air and ground until they emerged from the woods on the far side near the river. Here they seemed to lose themselves for a while, running up and down the river as if they had forgotten the objective was to find humans not ducks.
Finally, the kennel master called them back to his side, made them sit and asked d'Artagnan for the two dirty shirts once more. He presented them to the two wiggly-butt poodles sitting in the grass.
"I dunna. They don't seem as well trained as the other poodles," Porthos said skeptically as he watched the two dogs jump up, grab the shirts and prance around with them.
"Maybe they are younger," d'Artagnan offered up.
They watched as the two mischievous poodles ran in circles with the shirts trailing in the wind, the kennel master trying to bring them to heel. Finally, the smaller of the two poodles flopped on the grass to chew on the shirt for a moment. Then, out of the blue, her head shot up and she left out a piercing bark. The second poodle dropped the shirt in his mouth and lifted his nose to the air. Like a bat out of hell, two red streaks shot across the grass heading north.
The musketeers and the remounted kennel master took off after the rapidly departing dogs who were bounding across the meadow. In sync, the two dogs slowed, dropped their noses to the ground and began scouting in a more methodical method. They came to a tree lying in the grass, sniffed it and then began furiously barking. Using their long, muscular bodies, they leapt up on the tree and then over it, all while barking at the top of their lungs.
"It's a tree," d'Artagnan said with dismay beginning to think Porthos was right, this was a wild goose chase. "Maybe they brushed against it, but I don't see any sign of them now."
The two red poodles continued their antics, much to the kennel masters chagrin. One of the dogs, who had been standing on top of the fallen tree, leapt off and began to scramble underneath the leafy tree. Clods of dirt soon were flying through the air.
"What the hell are you doing now, you scattered-brained puppies," the kennel master sighed as he dismounted to try to corral his charges.
"I think," d'Artagnan said as he slid off his horse, "there is something under the tree."
Porthos, still mounted, scanned the area around him, a thought niggling at the back of his mind. Finally, it hit him. "Ice cream."
D'Artagnan and the kennel master stopped to look at him with puzzlement.
"Couple of winter's ago we had to help stock the ice house that the King's mother had built. He liked to serve ice cream to his guests, especially in the summer, to impress them." Porthos' eyes swept the area. "This is about where it is I think. Underground. Perfect place to shelter from a tornado. We gotta move this tree."
Using ropes and the muscles of the horses, they got the tree out of the way revealing the door. The two once red poodles, who now had a layer of dirt covering their red legs, sat off to the sides, tongues hanging out of their mouths, waiting. Porthos grabbed the iron ring and heaved with all his might, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. Like greased lightning, the dogs rose as one and bolted down the stairs into the darkness and soon happy barks were sounding from the hole followed by weak, but familiar cursing.
When light suddenly flooded their cave, Athos and Aramis were momentarily blinded. They had been conserving the candles because they weren't sure how long it would take for someone to rescue them. They had been unable to open the doors, but weren't quite desperate enough to try to burn their way through them. It was just as likely the fire would consume them as well as the obstruction blocking the door. They were able to melt the ice for water and after the third day without food, had been willing to snare and roast a few rodents.
Aramis' wound was healing nicely, showing no sign of infection and being trapped in an icehouse wasn't all that bad for Athos' concussion either. Though Aramis wished he had something, other than ice, to help dull the pain he knew Athos was feeling, he had to admit being captive in an icehouse was the perfect way to make Athos rest without a fight.
Both men had been snoozing, but woke when the door banged open. They quickly closed their eyes against the light's intensity that flooded their cave. They didn't see, but rather felt the furry bodies flinging themselves on them. Instinctually, they started to try to push the unseen attackers off thinking wild beasts were about to make them into a meal. Then slowly, it dawned on the two musketeers that the wild animals were actually scrubbing their faces with their tongues.
"What kind of wild animal licks your face?" Aramis asked out loud as he tried to keep the four footed fur ball of exuberance from stepping on his heeling wound.
Athos's answer was a string of imaginative curses. It always surprised his brothers when he cursed for they wondered where, one who was raised as a Comte, in one of France's most prestigious families, had learned such language.
However, as the words floated out of the ice cellar, Porthos cheered! "Athos. I'd know that cursing anywhere."
Soon a happy reunion was occurring outside the icehouse between the brothers while two ecstatic red poodles danced about their feet. Having not thought to bring extra horses, Athos and Aramis were boosted into the saddles of d'Artagnan and Porthos horses before their brothers scrambled up behind them.
"All this because the King wanted to eat in the rain in the gardens," Porthos groused. "Royals."
"Now Porthos. The King was simply honoring his mother. April showers bring May flowers. He had no way of knowing they also bring tornados," Aramis stated as he looked over at his friend.
"So April showers, bring May flowers. What do May flowers bring?" Porthos asked wondering if there was a third piece to this peculiar rhyme he hadn't learned as a child.
"Allergies," Aramis offered up succinctly, having suffered since he was child in the late spring and early summer.
"And pilgrims," Athos muttered as he sat in front of d'Artagnan suffering through his headache that had been aggravated by the light, the barking poodles and now motion of the horse. "In 1620, a ship named the Mayflower sailed to the new world, with pilgrims aboard seeking religious asylum. Puritans."
Athos stopped his history lesson when he felt all the eyes, including, he swore, the two poodles, staring at him. "It's true."
"And that is what you thought of when you heard that childhood rhyme?" Aramis said with disbelief.
"Just how hard did you hit your head, Athos?" Porthos asked with a small smirk.
"April showers, bring May flowers. And what do May flowers bring? Pilgrims. Maybe you are funnier than I have ever given you credit for, Athos," Aramis declared earnestly even though his eyes were twinkling with delight.
"Heathens," Athos grumbled as he closed his eyes. He could hardly wait to get home to the garrison and drown his sorrows in a bottle or three of wine. He could do without April showers for the rest of his life. And May flowers, too.
Author's Note: Many thanks to Mountain Cat for doing this as a rush job. She is simply the best! And yes, the poodles are red in honor of my new pup, who is red.