Chapter 9

"Aramis?" Jacqueline asked, not sure she'd heard him right. "Are you saying that Siroc is…?"

D'Artagnan chuckled, looking towards the blonde. "You mean…you haven't told her? And I thought you were supposed to be her teacher. Well, 'Jacques,'" he continued, turning to face her. "Allow me to introduce you to the 'legendary' Henri d'Aramitz, the musketeer-priest." He flashed a brief, almost maniacal grin before suddenly ramming his closed fist into Siroc's stomach. "Did you really think you were better than the rest of us?" D'Artagnan demanded, letting the inventor slump to the floor. "That being immortal made you special…that it somehow gave you the right to lord it over us mere mortals?"

"N-no," Siroc gasped. "Of course not."

"You know about immortals?"

"After Aramis here got himself skewered during a fight with Richelieu's men, he just had to let us in on his little secret. And once we knew, he started using his oh-so-vast experience as an excuse to treat his comrades--his supposed brothers-in-arms--like we were children."

"Not everyone," the blonde retorted, rising to his feet. "Just you. And don't act like you didn't deserve it." D'Artagnan's response was a swift blow to the jaw that sent him back to the floor, followed by a hard kick to the ribs.

"You're pathetic," the Legend spat. He whistled, and more men entered the cell. Not redcoats, but other members of the Order, all wearing black masks in addition to the black habits. Two of them grabbed Jacqueline, tying her hands behind her, while several more swarmed the elder immortal. In moments, he was once again chained to the wall, only this time he had no means of escape. "Let's go," D'Artagnan ordered.

"I thought Bernard said he was coming for me at dawn."

"There's been a change of plans, thanks to my meddlesome son and his Spanish friend." Without another word, the Legend turned and walked out of the cell, the masked men pulling her along in his wake. As they left, she could see Siroc pulling futilely on the chains, screaming obscenities the likes of which she never thought she'd hear from his lips. The door was closed behind them, muffling his tirade, and the group continued down the corridor with their prisoner. Unknown to them, however, as they walked, Jacqueline was busy working the dagger from the inside of her shirtsleeve. She soon managed to get it into her hand and immediately started sawing at her bonds. In seconds, the ropes fell away and she sprang into action. She kicked the man on her right in the leg, causing him to let go, then plunged the dagger into the one on her left. He fell, and she twisted around and did the same to the first. More started to close in, but D'Artagnan waved them back. "Nice try, girl, but you're not going to get off that easy. Now give me the dagger." He held his hand out expectantly but, instead of handing him the blade, she slashed out with it, opening a gash on his bicep. The Legend cried out, clutching the wounded appendage, and Jacqueline took the opportunity to turn and run, pushing her way past the masked men. She hadn't gotten very far down the corridor when she felt the presence of another immortal. Coming to a halt, she whirled around looking for the source. As her eyes finally fell on Bernard, something heavy slammed into her skull, plunging her into darkness.

When consciousness finally returned, Jacqueline opened her eyes only to find more darkness. She could feel the rough cloth covering them, but when she tried to do something about it, Jacqueline found that she couldn't move her arms. They'd been stretched out to the sides as far as they could go and tightly secured to whatever her back was against. She started pulling against the bonds, but stopped when she heard voices. Familiar voices. It was Bernard and D'Artagnan, and it sounded like they were in the middle of an argument. Jacqueline allowed her body to relax, hoping that neither would notice that she'd woken up.

"Are you sure it has to be her, Bernard? Couldn't we find some other immortal to use--Aramis, perhaps?"

"Tempting as that sounds, he's far too old. It has to be someone young…someone new to immortality."

"But why her? She's one of Charles' friends, and I'd daresay a bit more. If something happened to her, he'd be devastated."

"He'll get over it. You want to be immortal, don't you?"

"Of course I do, but you still haven't answered my question."

"You chose her, remember? A little more than twenty years ago, when you and your comrades went to that abbey."

"What are you talking about?"

"If I recall, it was the same night Charles was born. The woman who ran the abbey--Rebecca, I believe--had discovered an infant on her property the week before. A pre-immortal, in fact. She gave the infant to Aramis to bring back to Paris. And when you got the news of Charles' birth, you cut your own visit short, but not before leaving the infant with the cross I'd given you for that very purpose."

"You mean…that's her? That's Jacqueline?"

"Yes, that's Jacqueline…all grown-up and newly immortal. And we found her just in time, too. Her first death occurred last night, by my reckoning, which means she's still pure…her essence still entirely her own, untouched by the quickenings of other immortals. She couldn't be more perfect. Come dawn, her immortality will become yours." Jacqueline let out a small gasp at this revelation. Luckily, neither man seemed to be paying her much attention.

The Legend sighed. "Fine. As long as you remember your end of the bargain."

"Don't worry. I'll remember."

"My sons will remain safe from the Order, no matter what?" 'Whoa…did he say sons? As in more than one? D'Artagnan has a brother somewhere?'

"Absolutely. You have my word."

"Thank you." The voices stopped, and it didn't take Jacqueline long to figure out that she'd been left alone. She started working on the ropes again, but her efforts soon proved futile. Whoever had tied them certainly knew what they were doing. With a heavy sigh, Jacqueline leaned back against what she now realized was a set of iron bars, praying that Captain Duval would come through.

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To say Siroc was angry would've been a severe understatement. The combination of Bernard's earlier assault and Charles' betrayal had sent him to a level of pissed-off that he hadn't felt in centuries. Unfortunately, at the moment he was helpless to do anything about it. Jacqueline still had his dagger, far as he knew, and even if he'd had anything stashed in his pants legs, there was no way he could reach them. Impotent in his rage, Siroc slumped down against the wall in resignation, awaiting…whatever it was that would come next.

He didn't have to wait long. Something rattled inside the lock, and the door swung open to reveal Ramon and D'Artagnan, who immediately rushed inside and started unlocking the chains. "Are you alright, amigo?" Ramon asked as the last shackle fell away. Rubbing his wrists to get the feeling back into them, Siroc sighed.

"Physically, yes. But beyond that…" With an angry bellow, he whirled around and launched a kick at the wall. The wall didn't seem to care, and the only thing Siroc got out of the exercise was a couple of broken toes. Gritting his teeth against the pain as he waited for them to heal, he turned back to his comrades. "That son of a bitch…he somehow found out that you two were snooping around down here and moved up his plans."

D'Artagnan swore. "It must've been those guards we ran into on the way out. I knew we were too easy on them…."

"Too late to worry about that now, compadré. Siroc, do you know where they took her?"

He shook his head. "I wish I did, but seeing as I was chained to the wall….If I had to guess, I'd say they took her to Mazarin's oh-so-mysterious sanctum, wherever that is."

D'Artagnan swore again. "So we're right back to square one."

"So it would seem." Taking a deep breath, Siroc turned towards the Spaniard. "Ramon, would you mind giving us a moment?"

"What for?"

"It's rather personal."

"Fine," Ramon sighed, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'll just go see if Capitan Duval needs any help out in the corridor."

Siroc nodded. "You do that." With that, Ramon exited the cell, and the inventor turned back to D'Artagnan.

"What's going on, Siroc? Is this about Jacqueline?"

"Sort of….Earlier, when I said Bernard moved up his plans…well…truth is, I never actually heard him say that. He sent someone else to get Jacqueline."

"I don't get it…why is that such a big deal that you have to send Ramon out of the room?"

"It's not so much the fact that Bernard sent someone else as who he sent." He sighed, placing a hand on the Gascon's shoulder. "I don't know how to tell you this, D'Artagnan….The man Bernard sent in his stead…he…it was…."

"Who?" D'Artagnan demanded, shoving Siroc's hand away. "Tell me, damn it!"

"The man who came for Jacqueline was none other than your own father. I'm so—" Before he could finish, D'Artagnan's fist found its way to his jaw, sending him back into the wall.

"Liar!" Grabbing Siroc's collar, the enraged Gascon slammed him into the wall a second time, attempting to pin him against it. His own temper already at the boiling point, the inventor countered immediately, grabbing D'Artagnan's arm and twisting it behind him. Still holding the arm, he none-too-gently shoved the Legend's son against the wall face-first and held him there with a forearm to the back of his neck.

"Are you quite finished?" With nowhere else to go, D'Artagnan quickly nodded. "Good. Now…I wish I was lying about this, I really do, but what I said was the absolute truth. Your father, the Legend himself, came into this cell dressed in a black robe…just like every other member of the Order, excluding Mazarin's foot soldiers. He was accompanied by several other men, all wearing the same habits, only they were masked. The lot of them marched in here, chained me to the wall, then hauled Jacqueline off to gods know where. And, I hate to say this, but your father seemed awfully damned smug about the whole thing. I'd say that he's been involved with these people for quite awhile, and we've all been so blinded by his legendary status that we missed the signs. Understand?" D'Artagnan nodded, and Siroc immediately released his grip.

"Why are you telling me all this now?"

"Because I don't want there to be any surprises when we go to save Jacqueline. Forewarned is forearmed. Now that you know, you won't freeze up if we encounter him down in the sanctum…at least, I hope you won't."

He sighed. "No, I won't. You don't have to worry about that."

"Good. And if it comes down to a choice between his life and Jacqueline's?"

D'Artagnan looked right into his eyes, and Siroc could see the dark cloud settling over his usually carefree friend. "Do you even have to ask?"

Siroc nodded, but before he could say more, Ramon burst into the room. "Amigos, come quick! The capitan found something." Not needing to be told a second time, both musketeers ran from the cell. Near the end of the corridor, they found a group of their comrades, Captain Duval included, gathered around what looked to be a couple of dead bodies—ones clad in black robes. Pushing his way through the throng, Siroc knelt down next to the first, placing his hand on the man's neck to confirm that he was indeed dead. He pulled off the mask, revealing Louis' own steward.

"Alphonse?" a voice squeaked. Siroc looked up to see the King himself push through the crowd, sans wig and dressed in a standard-issue musketeer's uniform, which was why no one had recognized him sooner. His presence elicited more than a few startled gasps from the gathered musketeers.

"I'm afraid so, Sire," the inventor replied, not the least bit fazed by Louis' sudden appearance. "The Order appears to have even greater reach than we previously thought." He shared a knowing look with D'Artagnan, whose jaw was clenched tightly in suppressed rage. Shaking his head, the immortal got up and started towards the second, which was when Duval finally seemed to take notice of his presence.

"Are you alright, son?"

"Fine."

"Good. I was a little worried because those two," he said, indicating Ramon and D'Artagnan, "told me that you'd been beaten nearly to death. Glad to see that wasn't the case."

"It was, actually…just not in the way they obviously assumed. Bernard specializes in mental torture, and he managed to find and exploit a particularly sensitive point. That's over now, so perhaps we should concentrate on the matter at hand." The last part came out a bit more forcefully than Siroc had intended, but, fortunately, Duval seemed to be in an especially forgiving mood. The captain gestured towards the second body, and the inventor immediately moved in to investigate. He felt for a pulse and… "Captain, this one's still alive!" Yanking the man to his feet, Siroc quickly unmasked him.

"Dear Lord," Duval gasped. "It's the Duc d'Angoulême."

"Not anymore." Louis stepped forward, giving the duc the most furious glare any of them had ever seen from the young monarch. "Monsieur Valois, you are guilty of high treason against the Crown of France. Do you deny it?" The robed man shook his head. "Good. That makes this so much easier. For your crimes against God and France, I hereby strip you of your title and lands, and sentence you to death. Sentence to be carried out immediately. Captain..." Duval moved in, pistol trained on the traitor's head.

"Wait," Siroc called, moving himself in front of the captain. "Scum though he is, our dear ex-duc might have information about our missing comrade. Sire," he continued, turning to Louis. "Just give me a little time, and I'll find out all this man knows. After that, you can do with him whatever you wish." The King thought this over for a moment, then nodded. A rather malicious grin playing across his features, Siroc grabbed the condemned man by the arm and roughly dragged him through the crowd of soldiers. As they emerged on the other side, they were met by an equally determined D'Artagnan.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked as Siroc shoved the prisoner into the cell he'd just vacated.

"If you'd like…but I must warn you, it's not going to be pretty."

D'Artagnan locked eyes with the inventor, his own expression growing even darker. "Good."