"You've done what?" the Musketeer captain exploded, scattering paper work everywhere as he sprang from his chair. Tréville got a hold of himself instantly, lowering his voice so it was barely audible as he growled, "Tell me this is one of your famous pranks, Aramis."

Aramis opened and closed his mouth.

Beside him, Porthos was grinning from ear to ear. "While I'll admit he took a bit of risk, sir, seems to me this is a brilliant solution to an untenable situation."

"Oh, what do you know of untenable situations," Tréville muttered, moving around the desk to pace the length of the office. His self-taught, former inhabitant of the Court of Miracles Musketeer could use the damndest words sometimes.

"We fer sure don't want 'm going over to the cardinal, sir—"

"He won't," Aramis asserted, only to be covertly kicked in the ankle as Tréville turned to pace the other way.

"And there ain't a recruit in the barracks couldn't use some advanced edification from a sword master like de la Fère."

"Athos," Aramis corrected, rubbing at his ankle with his other foot. Porthos' idea of instruction was often bruising.

"That won't be a secret for long," Tréville asserted with a half snort.

"He's counting on us to keep his identity to ourselves, sir."

Tréville whirled midstride. "And what, exactly, are we counting on from him? Besides the death and destruction he's left in his wake across the Continent."

"We thought we could put it about that de la Fère is still traveling. Whisper in a few of the gossipy ears at court."

"That doesn't answer my question. But when the newspapers quit crying about the death lists de la Fère is leaving in his wake? What then"

"Whisper that he must be turnin' over a new leaf," Porthos offered, attempting to look repentant on Aramis' behalf. "And what we'd be countin' on is a troop of excellent swordsmen, sir."

"He wants to, captain. He wants to turn over a new leaf." Aramis took up the plea. "He's desperate to escape the hole he freely admits he dug for himself, but he's in so deep he can't see over the top. You know I'm a good judge of character; I don't think you'll regret it if we give him a hand, sir. And I'll take all the blame if you do."

"Aramis, this undertaking is akin to turning a sow's ear into a silk purse, you know that."

It was Porthos who answered, with a considered response. "More like uncoverin' the silk purse that's been there all along, sir."

"Porthos is right, there's a good foundation. If Athos can find his footing again, he will be an outstanding addition to the garrison, sir."

"I'm not so sure of the foundation. I've heard his parents died while he was still young. I have no idea who had the raising of him."

"I can assure you there is a man of principal buried under all the dreck. Care to wager on the outcome of this?" Aramis produced a gold coin from a coat pocket and set it spinning on the desk top. "I say Athos will have earned his pauldron and your trust within a month."

"You're sure you want to waste your money this way?" Tréville had returned to the desk and flicked the coin lightly, sending it jumping as it spun, across the desktop. "I have more reason than you know to dislike that man, much less trust him. I shouldn't even be allowing this much."

"I promise you, he is worth saving."

"One more thing." Tréville pulled out the desk chair. "Any dueling in the ranks and I'll send you both to the gallows with him."

"Yes, sir," the pair answered smartly and in unison, sharing smothered grins. They'd won the first skirmish; now to plan the rest of the battle.

tbc