Chapter IV

There were six horses scattered in front of the mansion, and no indication of who their owners might be. Some noises which sounded like glass being shattered were heard from inside, followed by a high-pitched scream. The two Musketeers dismounted, already drawing their swords.

"There!" Porthos motioned to a pair of feet appearing through the front door. They belonged to a servant girl who seemed to have taken a blow to the head. Kneeling next to her, Aramis checked for her heartbeat and found one.

"This one was not so lucky," he said, witnessing the pool of blood spreading under the body of a valet. As he stood up, he noticed movement reflected in the mirror behind his friend. Putting a finger on his lips, he pointed in the direction of the stranger, then stepped back outside to wait, hidden by the front door. Porthos backed down against the wall, his sword in his hand, ready to pounce on his opponent.

"Didn't you hear a noise? How many of these dogs can still be hiding around this place?" The man wore old battered clothes, a piece of cloth covered his hair, and he smelled like rotten food. He did not notice Porthos as he walked straight to the door. "No, nobody's her..." His last words were cut off by Aramis putting his sword to his throat.

"In the name of the King, I order you to tell me who you are and..."

"Watch out!" Porthos shouted.

The bandit had no intention of complying with the order. His dagger only scratched Aramis's arm before a slash of a sword silenced him forever.

"I hate it when people do not take me seriously," he complained, cleaning the blade on the dead's dirty jacket.

"They might do if you stop looking like a choir boy."

"A natural quality."

"André, where are you? Emile wants us to look for the boy in the kitchen."

"I do not think so, no." Porthos blocked the second intruder's path with his massive body, his fist colliding with a nasty face. It sent the other to the floor, blood running down his face. "He's out cold. I did tell you I was the best when it came for fist-fighting."

More crashing sounds were heard from the first floor. A masculine voice was shouting threats while someone else, a girl probably, was screaming, visibly frightened. The two Musketeers ran up the stairs, passing more motionless bodies on their way. The last one they saw was the one of a man in his fifties. He wore richer clothes than the others and there was a bloodied sword in his right hand. Blood was pouring on his chest. He had taken a bullet straight to the heart.

The man had died in front of a large room where the commotion had been heard. The door was slightly ajar. Aramis peered inside. He saw two men with their backs to him, as well as another one who was holding a woman. He seemed to be having a hard time keeping her hands behind her back. She was putting quite a fight to break free until another man appeared on his visual field and slapped her across her face, leaving her speechless.

It was too much for the Musketeer and forgetting the surprise effect they could have taken advantage of, he sprang through the door, shooting one of their opponents from his left hand. He dropped the musket to take on a second one. When he was fighting, it was almost as if it was someone else taking over his body and his mind. Aramis did not have to think to perform any of his actions. It was instinct that guided his fist, his arm, his sword. It was his second nature. He knew exactly when to duck or swirl around to fend off an attack. He was also much aware of Porthos fighting next to him. Beside leading his own fight, he knew when and how to defend his friend.

Somehow, they managed to kill two of the bandits, a count to which they added a third body. Another intruder had arrived after them in the room, clearly alerted by all the racket.

"Enough! Enough! Put down your weapons or I kill her!" The one who seemed to be the leader had drawn a small knife and was holding is at the girl's white throat. She was petrified, her eyes filled with tears. Her whole body was shaking and she had difficulties breathing correctly. Porthos and Aramis obeyed, the two swords clanking on the wooden floor.

"What are two Musketeers doing here?"

"I think a more appropriate question is: what is a band of mavericks doing in such a rich mansion, murdering everyone on sight?"

"Do not play with me or the killing continues and you'll have this one on your conscience. Although it'd be a shame, really. She's so delectable." He smelled the girl's hair loudly and kissed her on the cheek. Her whimpers intensified.

"What do you want?" Porthos asked.

"We're looking for her brother. He struck some deal with us but unfortunately, he forgot to tell us it would be impossible to him to honour his debt. So we came to claim what was ours. Where is he?" he hissed in the girl's ear.

"I'll never tell you," she managed to answer. The blade was pressed more tightly to her neck and a drop of blood appeared.

"Wrong answer. My employer does not like being mocked so if we cannot settle the problem, we will have to take a replacement prize. What do you think? Would she do?" he asked his accomplice who looked even more disgusting.

Aramis gritted his teeth. He could not see how to get out of the situation without harming the hostage. He had already fired his musket, his sword was useless for now, and Porthos was in a similar position.

"We do not know what your problem with the boy is, but we have our orders to take him with us so whatever your business is, you will not win. I suggest you release her and leave before I decide to be less lenient." Porthos's words simply made them both laugh.

"Musketeers, always so full of yourselves. It would be a delight to continue this fine conversation but we have things to do. If you move one finger, she dies."

The trio passed them, the man dragging the girl who refused to move, and the second following suite, facing the two soldiers. The moment he eventually turned around to exit the room, things were set in motion.

They gathered their swords, Porthos stole pistols on two of the bodies, and tossed one to Aramis. At the top of the stairs, Aramis assessed the situation, then jumped over the banister to fall on the single man. The latter screamed out of shock, his legs giving way under the sudden weight of the Musketeers. A bit stunned, Aramis thrust his sword forward but his blow was too weak and he was disarmed easily. He drew his musket and the other grabbed hold of it, too, trying to steal the weapon. Suddenly, there was a shot, the girl screamed and she fell down the stairs, unable to break free from her kidnapper.

Porthos finished the one fighting with Aramis with a quick blow of his sword. His uniform was covered in blood. He held out his hand to help his friend on his feet. The mansion was eerily silent. Aramis's ears were ringing from the shot.

"Are you well? It was madness jumping like you did."

"It worked, it is all that matters. Who were these men anyway?"

"No idea, but it seems that Captain Tréville was correct about his nephew being a rascal. My God, look at this mess."

There was a faint groan behind them, coming from the tangled bodies of the girl and the criminal. They both knelt next to them, looking for any wounds and who had actually taken the bullet fired from Aramis's weapon. There was a considerable amount of blood, yet when he checked for a heartbeat, Porthos found one in the girl. The man, on the contrary, had none.

"He's dead as well. She looks intact except for this." Aramis gently grabbed the girl to lie her down at the bottom of the stairs. When the man had been shot, his dagger had ripped and there was a rather profond cut running from her shoulder blade to her back. Her dress had come loose. When she felt his hands inspecting her flesh, she bolted upright.

"Let me go!"

"Calm down, we mean no harm. We're Musketeers. We serve under your uncle's command. He's the one who sent us here. I'm Aramis and this is Porthos. What's your name?"

"Elise...My mother...and my father. Where are they?"

"You need to rest. You've been wounded and I need to take care of it before you lose too much blood. Porthos?"

"May I?" He did not wait for an answer and gathered Elise in his arms, looking for a bed or a sofa. He found a suitable one in the living room where the man he had punched was still lying on the carpet. Aramis found a curtain rope to tie his hands behind his back. They needed to know what had happened in this house, where young Christophe was.

"You take care of her and I'll ride into town to bring reinforcements."

Aramis ransacked the house in order to find supplies he could use. He tore apart some bed linens to use as bandages, he grabbed some more needles in a sewing box. Finally, he gathered as much strong alcohol as he could from a cabinet in what must have been the master of the house's office.

He drank some to gather his spirits, then looked at his patient, shaking and whimpering. After taking off his jacket and making himself comfortable, he knelt next to the couch. This was going to hurt.