Chapter 6
The note told them to leave word with Leon at the Wren, so after deciding on how to proceed, Athos and Porthos returned to the tavern, finding the barkeep nervously sweeping up the previous night's debris from the floor. Both of his eyes were bruised and swollen, his nose a large, painful looking lump between them.
"I already told those other soldiers I want no part in this," he informed them as they stepped foot inside the tavern. "Whatever this is it's between you."
Athos sighed and stepped over a splintered piece of wood that had no doubt been a chair in its previous life. He approached the barkeep and placed a hand on the broom, effectively stopping the man from continuing his work.
"When we returned to Paris, did you not state that it was better to have us here to keep the Red Guard from having their way with the merchants in this district?"
Leon turned to face him, his shoulders rigid. "I did. But –"
"But nothing," Porthos interrupted. "Our presence keeps you safe. You said that. Now one of our own has been taken and we need you to help us get him back." He stood to his full height, glaring down at the smaller man. "Aramis has helped you out many times."
Athos stepped closer, shouldering Porthos' intimidating bulk back a step. "We're not asking you to do anything other than deliver a message, Leon. Tell them we are willing to give them what they want. As long as Aramis is not harmed."
Leon looked from one to the other, his gaze finally settling on Athos with a reluctant nod. "Fine. I will do what you ask."
The Captain echoed Porthos' audible sigh of relief. "Thank you."
"One of 'em was here earlier," Leon informed them. "They would know when you showed."
"Cardonne has a man watching the tavern," Athos noted, unsurprised. "We will employ the same tactic. One of us will wait outside, hidden from view. When Cardonne's man returns to give you further instructions, alert us and we will track him back to where they are keeping Aramis."
"What if they see you?" Leon asked nervously. "What if they know you're following them?"
Porthos' laugh was cold enough to freeze fire. "They won't. Tracking a man through the streets of Paris without him knowing is one of the things I'm very good at."
"Once we know where they are keeping our friend, we will make sure Cardonne and his men never darken your doorstep again," Athos promised. "With any luck, this will all be over before anyone else gets hurt."
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
It was nearly midday before one of Cardonne's men approached the tavern. Porthos had made himself comfortable perched atop a barrel in the alley straight across the narrow street. The alley was between a pastry shop and a dressmaker's store providing ample distractions while he waited. The women entering the dressmaker's shop had eyed him warily until he'd shifted to expose his pauldron. The tantalizing aroma from the bakery had only managed to make him hungry.
He was about to give in to his stomach's rumbling and purchase some bread or pastries when a short man arrived at the door of the Wren. He ducked back into the shadows as the man surveyed the street before darting into the tavern, closing the door behind him. It was not unusual for patrons to begin visiting the tavern this early in the day. In the old days Athos had been known to remain planted in a chair for more than a night and day, and Porthos himself could be found some mornings playing cards and taking the coin of any Red Guard stupid enough to challenge him.
It wasn't the hour of his arrival that convinced Porthos this was one of the men who had taken Aramis, nor was it the cautious manner with which he conducted himself. It was the way his hand never strayed from the grip of his sword and the daggers attached to the well-worn belt that told the Musketeer this was no ordinary patron. He swallowed his need to storm across the street and confront the man, knowing the best way to find Aramis was to stick to the plan and follow him back to where they were keeping his friend.
He clenched his hands into tight fists, eyes never leaving the doorway as he waited. Only a few moments later the man emerged, once again glancing up and down the street before taking off to the south. After he started down the street, Leon stepped into view and nodded his head, confirming Porthos' suspicions that this was whom he'd been waiting for all morning.
Porthos returned the nod and quietly moved to the edge of the alley, his eyes scanning the street, quickly finding his target.
Though the Comte's soldier moved with purpose, he remained cautious, leading the Musketeer on a winding path through the streets of Paris. After almost half an hour of dashing in and out of alleys to remain inconspicuous, Porthos began to recognize his surroundings and smiled.
The man was leading him right to the Court of Miracles.
How Cardonne's men had been able to infiltrate the Court without being challenged was something he could wonder about later. For now, he was relieved they'd chosen a place Porthos was more than familiar with. If necessary he could call upon Flea to lend a hand, knowing his former lover would still come to his aid. After returning to Paris from the front he had taken it upon himself to visit her, make sure she still remained in the city, fighting for the people of the Court. The flux of refugees had added to the weight of her responsibilities, but she was still as determined and focused as always – and happy to see him even though they were no longer what they'd once been to one another.
Porthos ducked back behind a pile of empty crates as the man approached a small hovel at the end of a lane. The building was barely big enough for a man to stand let alone lay down. Back when he'd roamed these streets, the building had been used for storage of food and supplies though he was no longer sure the ramshackle structure was suitable for anything other than shelter for rats and stray dogs.
The man spoke to another who was positioned on a rickety stood just outside the door before turning and entering another building just to the side of the shack.
Porthos leaned back against the crates, forcing himself to remain calm.
So this was where they were keeping his friend.
He poked his head out around the wood, taking in the scene. There was only the one guard, but he was certain Cardonne and his remaining men were just inside the nearby structure the man he'd been following had disappeared into. Despite his need to see Aramis and make sure he was all right, Porthos doubted he could make his way to the shack without being seen or heard. He had no idea how badly his friend was injured – the blood on the pauldron they'd received a less than encouraging sign of good health. If the guard raised an alarm he would be faced with five-to-one odds with no back-up and little chance to keep Aramis out of harm's way.
It went against every instinct he possessed to leave Aramis in Cardonne's hands, but he knew he had to stick to Athos' plan. Now that they knew where Aramis was being kept, they would be able to confront the Comte's men and hopefully rescue Aramis without anyone dying.
A vision of the bloodied leather uniform flashed through Porthos' mind and the anger simmered anew in his belly. Maybe one or two of them could die, he amended. A fitting lesson to the others for messing with a Musketeer.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
His arrival back at the garrison was met with relief and determination. Once he'd relayed where he'd tracked the Comte's man to, they considered their options.
"The shack they're holding him in is nothing more than a stack of timber," Porthos pointed out. "There's a guard out front and the others are a shout away, but if I can get behind it without being seen, I can take it apart and sneak in while the lot of you are keeping Cardonne busy out front."
Athos nodded sagely. "That may work. Are you sure you can gain access?"
"The building is old," Porthos assured him. "Looks like a stiff wind could take it down. If he's in there, I can get to him."
"What instructions did they leave with Leon?" d'Artagnan asked.
"They want to meet somewhere else at dusk," Porthos informed them. He'd stopped at the Wren on his way back, the barkeep eager to give him the message and send him on his way.
"But we're not going to wait that long, right?" The Gascon looked from Porthos to Athos, waiting while the two held an entire conversation without saying a word.
"No," Athos stated after a few moments. "We will confront him at the shack. That way there will be no time for him to harm Aramis or create subterfuge." He turned to Porthos. "Are you certain we can rely on Flea to keep her people out of things?"
The big Musketeer nodded. "I'll send word. I'm not sure why they're allowing Cardonne and his men free rein –"
"They probably paid for the privilege," d'Artagnan interrupted. "This Comte seems to have deep pockets if his guards' attire is any indication."
Porthos shrugged in agreement before continuing. "I doubt Flea realized they were holding a Musketeer. I'm sure once that is made known, we can count on her and her people to let us handle it our own way."
Porthos assurance was enough to convince the Captain. "Then send word," he ordered. "We leave in one hour."
The other two Musketeers hurried to do his bidding leaving Athos and Erias alone in the office.
"Will this work?" Erias asked, his arms wound tightly around his torso. "Are we going to be able to get Aramis back alive? What if they've already killed him?"
"They haven't," Athos assured him. "They need him to make the exchange. If they cannot present him, their plan has already failed."
At Erias' haunted expression, Athos moved forward, laying a reassuring hand on the man's arm. Though his earlier reticence to involve himself in the negotiations still rankled, he was here now and willing to risk his own freedom to save his brother. Athos could ask nothing more.
"Don't worry. Aramis is one of the most resilient men I know. And if you believe any of us would allow these men to succeed in their objective, you haven't been truly paying attention."
Erias swallowed and gave him a tremulous smile. "I trust you," he admitted. "I don't know Aramis all that well, but I do know he has honor. And if he considers you brothers, so do you."
Athos was relieved to hear the words. He prayed they could live up to the man's expectations.
"We will get Aramis back. And the King will hear of Cardonne's tactics. If you do have to face Comte d'Everoux, I promise it will be with Aramis and the Musketeers by your side."
mmmmmmmmmmmmm
Flea was waiting for them as they approached the unofficial boundary of the Court of Miracles. The petite blonde was perched atop an overturned crate, her eyes stormy as they dismounted.
Porthos sighed and handed his reins to d'Artagnan, who wished him luck under his breath. He exchanged a look with Athos who merely shrugged before steeling himself and making his way toward the irate woman. Flea stood as he neared, crossing her arms over her chest and jutting a hip out defiantly.
"Thank you for sending word of your intentions," she spat out sarcastically. "Though a more personal explanation would've been more appropriate."
"I know," Porthos supplicated. "I'm sorry, but there wasn't time." Aramis had been in the hands of Cardonne and his men far too long, there wasn't a minute to waste on such courtesies.
Flea shifted, frowned, reacting to the seriousness of his countenance.
"This is a haven for the people who have been persecuted," she reminded him, her mouth in a tight line. "People who have nowhere else to go. I will not have Musketeers harassing them. We have enough trouble keeping the Red Guard away as it is. The last thing we need is you lot joining them."
Porthos held up both hands, placating. "We're not here to cause trouble," he assured her. "These men we're after, they're dangerous."
"And you think they're hiding here? What have they done?"
"They took Aramis."
Flea's stance softened immediately, her expression melting into one of concern. "I didn't know." Though there was little love lost between the people of the Court and the Musketeers, Flea was one of the few who knew exactly what the four of them had done for the denizens of the Paris slum.
Porthos nodded, accepting her unspoken apology. "It's all right. We're goin' to get him back."
Flea dropped her arms, her shoulders relaxing. "Why did they take him? Who are these men?"
"They represent a Comte from Everoux." He waved a hand behind him where Athos and d'Artagnan stood with Erias LaMonte across the road. "They came after Aramis' brother on some false charges intendin' to take him back to pay for somethin' he didn't do. When Aramis interfered, they took him as leverage to try and force our hand."
Flea glanced at the three men before returning her attention to Porthos. Her expression softened further. "You believe Aramis is still alive?" She was well aware of how much the marksman meant to her former lover, the concern in her eyes was more for Porthos than Aramis, but the effort warmed him all the same.
"They hurt 'im," he ground out. The image of the bloodied pauldron flashed behind his eyes, reigniting the fire in his belly. "We've no idea how badly, but we're not about to let them harm him anymore."
Flea released a long breath and balanced her hands on her hips. After a moment of consideration, she nodded. "I'll have men at the ready if you need them." She looked up at him, a sardonic grin tugging at her lips. "Just try not to leave too much of a mess. These people have seen enough bloodshed for a while."
Porthos couldn't help but return the grin. Flea would always have the best interest of her people at heart – even when circumstances were stacked against a peaceful solution. "We'll do our best."
If the war had never happened, they may have had a chance to rekindle the attraction that still burned between them. But four years is a long time to be away, and neither of them were the same anymore. With the refugees flooding into the city, Flea had more responsibility weighing her slim shoulders, and Porthos…. After four years of blood and mud and fear, he was no closer to knowing what he wanted than when he left the Court a lifetime ago. He watched her walk away before returning to the others.
"I take it she was not entirely pleased with our presence?" Athos remarked knowingly.
Porthos shrugged and moved to his mount to retrieve the rest of his weapons. "No, but she understands." He glanced around the quiet street, his eyes darting from one shadow to the next. "She no doubt already has men watching us. She's offered their assistance should the need arise, but they won't interfere."
Athos nodded once, satisfied, and turned to his own horse to continue his preparations.
Erias shifted away, tugging on d'Artagnan's arm to pull the younger man aside. He glanced nervously at the others as he spoke in a low, hushed voice. "Who was that?"
"Flea," d'Artagnan answered. He glanced at the now empty corner where the blonde woman had stood. "She's an old friend of Porthos and considered the Queen here in the Court of Miracles."
"He has interesting friends," Erias noted.
"And loyal ones."
"Do you believe we will be able to get Aramis out alive?"
D'Artagnan placed a hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed. "I have no doubt. Don't worry, Erias, Aramis is our brother as much as yours. We won't let him down."
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
With a silent signal, Porthos ducked into the shadows, quickly disappearing from sight. It had always been a source of amazement to Athos that such a big man could move so quietly, but he assumed growing up in the streets had made it a talent born of necessity rather than superfluous occasion. He waited a few moments to give his friend time to maneuver closer and take up position behind the shack before stepping out into the street just across from the cul de sac.
The guard posted at the door of the small building jumped to his feet as soon as the Musketeer Captain came into view.
"Tell Cardonne to show himself," Athos ordered. "I am here to retrieve my Musketeer."
It only took a moment for Cardonne to step out from the side door of the adjacent building. He made a quick motion to the guard who immediately disappeared into the shack.
"Ah, Captain," Cardone smiled belligerently. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you were able to find us. Although I thought we had a deal."
"I do not deal with the likes of you," Athos responded, his tone commanding, imposing. "Show me Aramis."
"I want Erias LaMonte," Cardonne replied evenly. He placed his hand on the grip of his rapier as he made a show of glancing about. "I don't see him. I thought the Musketeers always preached honor above all else."
"There is no honor in your actions," Athos responded. He turned slightly to the side and tilted his head. D'Artagnan stepped out from around the corner of the building directly across, his hand firmly about Erias' arm, his pistol pointed at the man's chest. "But as you can see, we have brought what you seek. Now where is Aramis?"
Cardonne smiled, pleased with how things were proceeding despite the Musketeers' unexpected arrival. "Excellent, Captain." He motioned for one of his men to secure their prisoner, but before the man could move, d'Artagnan shifted his pistol, taking aim on Cardonne.
"Not until we see Aramis," the young Gascon called. "Alive and unharmed."
Cardonne chuckled and shook his head. 'I'm afraid it's a bit late for that. Your friend was not as accommodating as expected and we had little choice but to explain to him the importance of cooperation."
"Aramis has never been very good at doing what he is told."
Cardonne shrugged at Athos assessment. "As we came to realize. I assure you he is alive, though it took a bit of… persuasion… to keep him under control."
Athos glanced sideways at d'Artagnan and Erias, noting their twin looks of fury at Cardonne's implication.
"Be that as it may, we will see Aramis before we go any further."
Cardonne spread his hands before him, supplicant. "And here I was hoping we could work this out amicably, as gentlemen."
Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
The sound of the familiar voice roused Aramis from the light doze he had fallen into. He wasn't sure if the voice had been real or imagined, but the sudden appearance of one of the Comte's men through the narrow door of the shack lent credence that it wasn't a dream. The man pointed a pistol at him and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide as Cardonne's voice filtered through the cracked wood.
"Ah, Captain. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you were able to find us. Although I thought we had a deal."
Aramis nearly fainted in relief as Athos' voice rang out in response.
"I want Aramis."
He relaxed further when Cardonne made it clear Erias was not in sight.
"There is no honor in your actions. But as you can see, we have brought what you seek. Now where is Aramis?"
He felt a twinge of fury toward the Captain for putting his brother in danger, but swallowed his irritation immediately, knowing Athos would never allow harm to come to an innocent.
"Aramis has never been very good at doing what he was told."
The guard who had twisted to peer out between the cracks in the wood turned back to Aramis, a mocking laugh escaping his lips.
Aramis merely shrugged, unable to deny the accusation.
As the guard returned his gaze to the scene in the street out front, Aramis tilted his head, his ears picking up a quick tapping from behind. He grinned, recognizing the soft chuckle that followed the taps.
Turning his head back to the guard, he took a deep breath and pushed himself up against the post as far as he could.
"He's right, you know."
The guard shifted, glancing back at Aramis with a frown. He leveled the pistol at the Musketeer, placing his finger once again against his mouth, issuing silence.
Aramis smiled. "Obedience is not one of my stronger points."
Before the man could move, Aramis lashed out with his feet, hooking the guard's ankles and pulling him off balance. The splintering of wood from behind was accompanied by a grunt of pain as the guard toppled to the ground, his pistol flying from his hand. Aramis slid his butt forward and wrapped his legs around the man's neck, gritting his teeth as he applied pressure.
The guard managed to get a hand under the Musketeer's leg, pressing back enough to keep his neck from snapping. With his strength waning, Aramis used every last ounce he could muster to keep the guard on the ground, but the long night had taken its toll. The man twisted, breaking the hold and shoved his legs aside, only to squeak in protest as a beefy hand grabbed him from behind and tossed him forcefully against the wall of the shack. The entire building shook with the collision and the guard dropped to the ground, stunned.
Gasping for breath, Aramis watched as Porthos stalked the short distance to the guard and grabbed him by the front of his doublet. He raised the man inches off the floor only to land a heavy blow to his face, rendering him unconscious immediately. The big Musketeer released his grip and stood back, allowing the guard to drop to the ground with a thud. Aramis couldn't help but wince as the insensible man's head bounced against the unforgiving dirt.
"I had everything under control," he leaned back against the post, grinning up at his friend. Porthos shook his head, his eyes raking up and down the marksman's battered countenance.
"Perhaps I should just leave the way I came if you're goin' to be so ungrateful?"
"No, no," Aramis countered quickly. "Now that you're here, I suppose it would be helpful if you could untie me?"
Porthos chuckled and knelt down, pulling a dagger and quickly severing the bindings.
Aramis groaned as he brought his arms around front, rubbing at his wrists.
Having lost track of what had been going on outside the shack, both men jumped as shots echoed from out front. Porthos grabbed hold of an arm and helped Aramis scramble to his feet, stepping back in surprise as the door before them opened.
TBC
