Chapter 5

"You know, it's not that bad, really." Siroc glanced over at his companion, who looked back at him, confused.

"What's not that bad?" she asked.

"Your hair. It's a little hacked, but nothing Philippe won't be able to fix."

For the first time since becoming immortal, Jacqueline couldn't help but smile. "I never thought I'd see the day when I'd need the services of a barber."

"It does improve the disguise, though. Women generally don't wear their hair short."

"I guess this means I really am just one of the--" A shot rang out, catching her in the right shoulder and knocking her from her horse, which then bolted from the scene. Siroc leapt from his mount and rushed to her side, carefully pulling off her jacket and pushing her shirt collar aside in order to examine the wound.

"Looks like it went straight through. You're going to be fine, of course. Just try to relax and let it heal…" He trailed off as both of them sensed the presence of another immortal. Quickly, he helped Jacqueline move back so she was leaning against a tree and handed her a pistol before shooting to his feet, pulling the strange sword once more from his jacket. Moments later, a man in a red jacket emerged, riding a white horse--Bernard. "Beltranus…" Siroc snarled, radiating hatred that obviously went far deeper than the rivalry between the musketeers and the cardinal's guards.

"Well, well, well…look what I found. A musketeer pup and his bitch."

"What do you want?" the inventor demanded, moving his sword into a more threatening position.

"Isn't it obvious?" Bernard caressed Siroc's cheek with his riding crop, causing him to flinch before pushing the crop away with his blade.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, boy. You never were very good at it….Oh, I see…you haven't told your young friend about us, have you?"

"Why would I tell her about something I've spent centuries trying to forget?"

"Oh my…I think I'm insulted." Faster than Siroc could react, Bernard whipped out his rapier and ran him through. Helplessly, Jacqueline watched it happen, and her mind briefly flashed back to the day her father was murdered. That's when it hit her--it had been him all along. Bernard had killed Claude Roget, then changed his appearance and identity after she'd 'killed' him. Remembering the pistol, she picked it up in her left hand, as her right shoulder still seemed to be in the process of healing, and rose to her feet. In the meantime, Bernard had dismounted and was approaching Siroc, who lay sprawled out on the ground with the sword still in his chest. The cardinal's captain broke the rapier in two, leaving a portion of the blade imbedded in the inventor's heart. He then produced an unusual sword of his own, raising it up as if preparing to strike the final blow. Jacqueline quickly cocked the pistol, aiming it at the red-coated immortal.

"Take him, Bernard, and I'll make sure you don't live to see another sunrise."

Lowering the blade, Bernard turned to her, amusement in his eyes.

"I should've figured you'd be one of us. After all, you and your father really did look nothing alike."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me, you murdering bastard?"

Laughing, he stepped over Siroc's prone form and approached her, stopping only when his chest made contact with the barrel of the gun. "He didn't tell you? And I thought teachers were supposed to be more informative. Not that it matters…" He raised his sword, and Jacqueline responded by poking the gun more insistently into his flesh. Bernard arched an eyebrow and returned the sword to its hiding place, clearly not intimidated. "You do know that you can't kill me with that thing, don't you?"

"Maybe not, but I can sure as hell slow you down until I find something that can."

"Oh really?" Faster than even Siroc could move, Bernard snatched the gun away, tossed it aside, then twisted around and latched onto her still-wounded shoulder. He squeezed hard, flooding her senses with an unparalleled agony that, quite literally, brought her to her knees. "Care to try that one again, girl?"

"Wha…what did you do to me?" she gasped.

"It's amazing what that obelisk can do once you know the true extent of its power. I merely infused one of my bullets with its energy…which, as I'm sure you've figured out by now, doesn't mix well with that of our quickenings. It disrupts our bodies' ability to heal, making certain methods of…persuasion…much more effective. But don't worry…the effects will wear off in a few hours. I've yet to find a way to make it permanent." He released his grip on her shoulder, but not before twisting that same arm behind her back and forcing her back to her feet. His other hand snaked its way over to her chest, only to grab hold of her cross rather than what she'd expected. "Thought you were clever, didn't you…sending this to the New World with that idiot brother of yours. A cunning move, to be sure, but not nearly clever enough." Before she had a chance to even wonder what he was talking about, Bernard let out a shrill whistle. Moments later, at least a dozen red-coated guards emerged from the woods on foot. "Take these two to the Bastille…find them a nice room in the lower dungeon."

One of the men…Lieutenant Loncrais, if memory served…looked down at Siroc's corpse and back at his captain in confusion. "Both of them, Sir? This one's dead."

"Did I ask you if he was dead, Loncrais?"

"No Sir."

"So what are your orders?"

"To take them both to the Bastille."

"Good. Now do it!" He shoved Jacqueline to the lieutenant, who quickly handed her off to two others. Both arms were wrenched behind her, and her wrists bound tightly together with a thin cord. At the same time, several other guards picked up Siroc's body and tossed it unceremoniously across the back of his own horse, tying it there like a prize stag.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Riding back to the garrison, D'Artagnan suddenly pulled his mount to a stop. Ramon quickly followed suit, giving his comrade a puzzled look.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going back." He started to turn around, and the Spaniard quickly grabbed hold of the reins to stop him.

"Are you loco? After what happened…if Jacqueline doesn't kill you, then Siroc most assuredly will."

"I know. That's why I have to go back."

"I don't understand."

"I'm going to go apologize…beg if I have to. There's no way I'm going to let my idiocy ruin our friendship."

"Alright…if you say so, amigo." Ramon let go of the reins, shaking his head. "If you die, I can have your horse…right?"

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Sure. Just don't--"

"Eat him. I know," Ramon said, also laughing. "I'll meet you back at the garrison. No offense, compadre, but if you're going to risk incurring the wrath of Siroc, then I'd prefer to stay out of the line of fire."

"Chicken."

"I am what I eat."

"That explains a few--" A gunshot echoed in the distance, startling the pair. D'Artagnan glanced in the direction the shot had come from, then back at Ramon. "Jacqueline," he gasped, fear in his eyes.

"You don't know that."

"I've got a bad feeling about this, Ramon. Do you really want to take that chance?" Without waiting for a response, he turned his mount towards the shot and took off. Unwilling to let D'Artagnan take the risk alone and unsure of what else to do, the Spaniard quickly followed suit. A flash of red stopped them in their tracks, and the pair slid off of their mounts and crept in as close as they could.

"Take these two to the Bastille," they heard Bernard order. "Find them a nice room in the lower dungeon." The pair moved closer to see what was happening, and found themselves watching helplessly as Jacqueline was thrust into the arms of several guards, who then proceeded to bind her hands behind her. At the same time, Siroc, who appeared to be dead, was slung over the back of a horse and tied there. D'Artagnan drew his sword, preparing to charge in.

"What are you doing?" Ramon hissed, grabbing his arm.

"What does it look like?"

"You crazy Gascon…can't you count? There's thirteen of them, and only two of us."

"So what? Are you saying that we should stand here and do nothing while Bernard has our friends thrown in the dungeon?"

"Remember what Siroc said? Bernard is like him. You kill him, and he'll just come right back and kill you."

"Not if I take his head off first."

"And what makes you think you'll get the chance? I don't think the twelve other guards will just stand there and wait while you decapitate their leader. We'd both end up in the Bastille--providing, of course, that they don't kill us outright--and what good would we be to our comrades then?"

"I don't care." Shaking off Ramon's hand, D'Artagnan rose to his feet, only to find that the cardinal's men had already left with his friends. He swore loudly, glaring accusingly at the Spaniard. "Now look what you've done. You held me back, and now they're gone."

"But at least we know where they were taken, amigo. Come on, let's get back to the garrison. We'll report this to Capitan Duval. If anyone can come up with a better plan for rescuing our amigos, he can."

D'Artagnan sighed. "Fine. Let's go." Still seething, the Gascon turned and stalked back to his horse, Ramon close on his heels. No further words were exchanged as the pair mounted up, and the deafening silence continued for the duration of the ride back. On reaching the garrison stable, they leapt from their saddles, handing their mounts off to a couple of new recruits before heading down the hallway towards Duval's office. D'Artagnan reached the door first, and was about to knock when Ramon grabbed him and pulled him aside. "What now?"

"We have to get our stories straight first, amigo."

"What for?"

"Siroc said not to tell anyone else about immortals, including the capitan. And I don't think it would be wise to tell him that 'Jacques' is a girl, either."

"Alright…we leave out the 'immortal' bits, and, as for the rest…well, we'll just have to improvise."

"Improvise? This isn't exactly Rhapsody Night at the café."

D'Artagnan shrugged. "Why not? It always seemed to work well enough for Uncle Porthos."

"What's that, Private?" Immediately, both musketeers whirled around to see Captain Duval standing right behind them. And he did not look pleased.

"C-captain…sir…" D'Artagnan stammered, snapping to attention. "I-I'm sorry….I…uh…we…had no idea th-that you were there."

"Obviously. Now where in blazes have you two been? And, for that matter, where are LePonte and Siroc?"

"Actually, sir," Ramon chimed in, "that's what we need to talk to you about."

"I see….Office. Now." He pointed at the door with his cane and the younger musketeers opened it and filed inside. Duval followed them in, closed the door, and sat down behind his desk. "Alright, now what's this about?"

The two glanced at each other and, moments later, the Gascon began to speak. "Yesterday, Jacques received a letter from his brother Gerard, asking for a meeting. Gerard was supposed to be in the New World, so, of course, Jacques was worried. He went to the place his brother had specified and I, unknown to him, followed--just in case it was a trap. Now, I don't know exactly what happened--all the information I have is second-hand--but, from what I was told, Jacques arrived to find both Gerard and their sister--his twin--Jacqueline waiting for him. They were tired of waiting for him to get their names cleared and decided it was time to take matters into their own hands and kill Mazarin. Apparently, they offered Jacques one last chance to help them, and, when he refused, they knocked him out and Jacqueline took his uniform. I found them a short time later and, unfortunately, managed to mistake Jacqueline for her twin, so great is the resemblance between them. The three of us went to the Roget farmhouse to discuss plans and, not long after we got there, Bernard showed up with another guard and attacked. We were able to take them both down, but not before Bernard's companion wounded Jacqueline. Gerard and I got her into a bed, and then tied the captain up so he wouldn't cause any more trouble. I left Gerard in charge there and came back here to get Siroc and Ramon."

"Si." Ramon nodded in agreement. "And on the way there, we found Jacques in the woods in his underwear. That's when D'Artagnan figured out about the switch. Jacques was angry, but only until we told him that his sister was hurt. We got to the farmhouse as fast as we could, and when we arrived…it was horrible, Capitan. Bernard had slipped away, Gerard was dead, and Jacqueline was too far gone to save. Siroc tended to her as best he could while D'Artagnan and I buried Gerard. We couldn't move her, and leaving was out of the question, so we all wound up staying the night. By morning, she was gone as well. Jacques reclaimed his uniform, put his sister in her best dress, and we laid her to rest next to Gerard. On the way back, D'Artagnan and I got separated somehow from Jacques and Siroc, and neither of us realized it until we heard a shot some distance away. We followed the sound to find Bernard and his men arresting our comrades…said something about the lower dungeon. Unfortunately, we were vastly outnumbered, so we decided a strategic retreat was the best option and came back to report to you."

"So your comrades are in the Bastille?"

"Si, that's what Bernard ordered."

"On what grounds?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "None, as far as we know."

Duval growled in frustration, slamming his fist against his desk. "Mazarin's doing, I'd wager. He's probably trying to make us all look like criminals so we'll be disbanded. Well, I'll be damned if I let that happen. I'll speak to the King myself."

"Thank you, Sir. Is there anything we can do?"

"Si, Capitan. Let us help."

"You want to know what you can do, Privates?" They nodded. "Nothing. In fact, until further notice, you both are confined to the barracks."

"What?" D'Artagnan defiantly faced his superior. "Why? That's not fair!"

"I never said it was, Private. But I'm already two men down, and I'm not about to sacrifice two more on some hare-brained rescue scheme. Am I making myself clear?" They nodded once more, neither one looking very happy. Duval sighed, his features softening. "Look, I understand how you feel, I really do. All I'm asking is that, for the time being, you let me deal with this. I swear, as soon as I can figure out a good way for the two of you to help, you'll know. Okay?"

D'Artagnan started to open his mouth, but Ramon quickly cut him off. "Gracias, Capitan. We understand. Don't we, D'Artagnan?"

"Yes, of course."

"Good. You're dismissed. Oh, and Privates?" They paused in the doorway, giving the captain a confused look. "In the future, don't lie to me."

"What are you talking about?" D'Artagnan asked.

"You two…covering up for LePonte." He pulled a piece of parchment from his desk drawer, unrolling it to reveal the dreaded 'Wanted' poster with Jacqueline's face. "I know."

"You do?"

"Of course. Do you really think anything goes on in my own garrison that I don't know about?"

"Of course not, Sir. You…you're not going to tell anyone, are you?"

Duval chuckled. "And lose one of my best soldiers? Are you mad? Who else am I going to get to keep you humble? Don't worry…the story you two came up with will remain the 'official' version of events. But tell me…is she really hurt, or was that merely part of the story to justify her supposed death?"

"Jacqueline was wounded, Capitan, but it was only a scratch. Her brother wasn't so fortunate, though. We really did have to bury him, alongside whatever substitute Siroc came up with for her."

"I see…well, thank you for your honesty. Now, you're dismissed." Nodding, the two walked out of the office, closing the door behind them. Duval put the poster back in the desk drawer and stood up, absently scratching at a small bluish tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. He straightened his jacket, grabbed his cane and his baldric, and left the office, heading towards the palace.