Entr'acte, part 2

Athos brought two bodies to the neat row behind the tavern, daubed whitewash on their doors, and delivered two ill adults to the tavern. Their daughter, barely six years old, trailed behind him, bewildered and scared. Athos left her in the care of the first woman he saw and went to find Marc.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked quietly. "How did it enter your village?"

Marc leaned against the nearest wall. He looked tired, Athos noted absently. "The mummers."

"Mummers," Athos repeated.

"Your first full day in town, a group of mummers passed through. They usually do around this time of year. They did a show for the children, they ate at the tavern, and they left before dark. Everyone who's died was either at the show or in the tavern."

Athos nodded, thinking quickly. If the mummers were ill enough to infect the people here, they probably haven't got far. Hopefully when they realised what was wrong they camped somewhere to save infecting anyone else. Porthos could go and look when he could next be spared.

"Your d'Artagnan watched the show with the children," Marc said quietly.

"Of course he did," Athos said with a sigh. "Where is he now?"

"He went with Christophe, my son, to find wood for the pyre. They'll be north of the village. We've no neighbours for miles out that way."

Athos nodded. "I'll check in with my men at the tavern and then go to help them."

"Make sure you eat," Marc told him. "I've two of the women cooking for everyone. Broth, mostly, but it's something."

"I will. Thank you."

Most of the makeshift cots in the tavern were full. Aramis and several villagers were moving from cot to cot. Athos caught Aramis' eye and waited until he raised both hands to show his gloves still on.

Porthos was making the rounds with a bucket of water, filling bowls and mugs by each cot. He paused beside Athos, rolling his shoulders to ease them. "You all right?"

"Fine. How are things here?"

Porthos shrugged. " 'Bout what you'd expect. Aramis is starting to struggle."

"Already?" Athos grimaced. They weren't even a day into the outbreak yet.

"It's a bad illness. And a lot of the sick are children."

"I was going to go and help d'Artagnan, but perhaps I should send Aramis instead."

"He won't go. He won't even take a break. Anyway, d'Artagnan'll be back here soon. Aramis told him to come back and eat."

"I see. Well, how can I help until then?"

"Here." Porthos handed over the bucket. "There's a barrel outside. Just keep doing the rounds. We're using it as quick as it comes in."

Athos nodded, terribly grateful that Porthos hadn't asked him to help tend to the ill. It wasn't his strong point, though he'd do his best if needed. Lifting the bucket, he began the endless round.

Christophe knew the woods, but he was all but silent as they worked. d'Artagnan didn't mind it. The fear and grief in the village pressed against his shields even at this distance. It was going to be harder than he'd thought to maintain them.

They'd been gathering wood for a while, stacking it in a clearing on the edge of town, when Christophe straightened. "Your friend said two hours, didn't he?"

"Has it been two?" d'Artagnan stood, looking at the pyre. It was a good start, but only a start; they wouldn't be burning anything on it for a while yet.

"Two, more or less. I can keep working a while."

"Can you? Thanks. I'll come back in a while, but he'll worry if I don't at least check in."

"Go ahead." Christophe smiled briefly before heading back into the trees.

d'Artagnan went past Pierre's on his way back to the village. Pierre was methodically picking his vegetables, packing them into baskets and crates. "Better to get it done as quickly as possible," he said when d'Artagnan commented on it.

"Are you feeling sick?"

"Not at all, but even if I'm lucky, the village will need this. We can feed ourselves well enough, as long as everyone's working. If too many people fall ill…" He shrugged, gesturing to a couple of packed baskets. "Can you manage those back to the village? Someone there will use them."

"Are you leaving enough for yourself?"

"Yes, plenty. And for you boys if you're coming back here."

"I think we will be, but I don't know what the plan is."

"You just come and go as you need to. Don't worry about me."

d'Artagnan nodded, lifting the two baskets and starting towards town. They weren't especially heavy, but they were awkward and cutting the wood earlier had left him tired and achy. It felt like a long walk before the village came into view.

He stopped a woman in the street, who said they were working from a stockpile and took the two baskets to add to it. She also told him that the others were in the tavern, that they were up to eight dead and just over thirty ill.

Half the town. d'Artagnan shuddered, forced his shields in tighter, and went to the tavern to find the others.

The main room was dim and smoky and far too hot; too many people in too small a space, and a fire roaring to help keep the temperature up. d'Artagnan hesitated in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and by the time he could see Athos was standing in front of him. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. It's just dark in here. How is everyone?"

Athos turned away from him, scanning the room. "Porthos!" Looking back at d'Artagnan, he said quietly "Aramis is having trouble. We're going to take a break now so he can eat."

d'Artagnan nodded quickly. "Sounds good." He didn't have much appetite, but he'd pretend if it would help. He was guessing Athos felt the same way.

Athos touched his arm and he blinked, realising he'd drifted away. "Sorry. What?"

"I was asking how you are."

d'Artagnan shrugged. "I had to block everything. I can't tell you how he's doing."

"I don't need you to tell me, I can see by looking at him. I was asking about you."

"I'm tired," d'Artagnan admitted. "This is bad. As bad as the Chatelet was, and I can't back out of here." He shrugged at Athos' look. "I'll manage, until I can't, and then I'll go out into the woods or something."

"Can we help?"

"No. I had to block you three out along with everything else. Nothing's getting through, right now."

"Nothing at all?" Porthos asked, joining them. He had one hand locked firmly around Aramis' arm, but d'Artagnan couldn't tell if he was restraining him or propping him up.

"The weight of it. I can feel it pressing on me. But nothing I can name, no." He studied Aramis. "I've seen you look better."

"I've felt better," Aramis agreed. "I'm not sick," he added when Athos started to speak.

d'Artagnan shifted, but he didn't speak, and after a moment Porthos said "Are we going out, or what? I'm not eating in here."

"Yes, we're going out," Athos said, waving them to go ahead.

Outside the sun stabbed d'Artagnan's eyes and he paused, one hand blocking them. Athos brushed his arm as he passed, but no one waited for him; after a moment he lowered his hand, squinting as he followed the others. They were sitting just beyond the last house of the village, Aramis leaning against a tree, Porthos flat on his back beside him. Athos was watching for d'Artagnan.

"Sorry," he murmured, hurrying to join them.

Athos shrugged, passing him a bowl – when had they got those? d'Artagnan realised uneasily that he must have missed more than he'd thought, standing outside the tavern. "Eat," Athos murmured, tipping his head towards Aramis.

d'Artagnan sank down to sit on the ground, cross legged for lack of anything to lean against, and forced his way through the bowl of soup. Athos had water skins, too, and d'Artagnan drank most of one on his own.

"How's the wood?" Porthos asked him when they'd finished eating.

"Cold," d'Artagnan murmured, and then blinked. "You mean the pyre? Christophe's still working on it."

"Where is it?"

"At the other end of the village." He waved vaguely in that direction. "Out towards Pierre's."

"Porthos and I will work on that this evening," Athos said. "You'll help Aramis?"

"Yes."

"You can take him, if you want, I can manage," Aramis said.

"Neither of you is being left alone," Athos said firmly. "Nor Porthos and I, if we can help it, but particularly you two."

d'Artagnan realised too late that he should have objected to that, but he couldn't muster the irritation he knew Athos was expecting.

"d'Artagnan," Athos said, watching him.

"I'm all right," he said, though he was starting to think it wasn't true.

No one pushed him; Porthos gathered the empty dishes, Athos slung the water skins over his shoulder, and they headed back towards the village. It was late afternoon now, shading towards evening; the sun hit d'Artagnan's eyes again as they reached the tiny square and he stopped again, waiting for the spike of pain to dissolve.

"d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked. He had to be nearby, his hand was on d'Artagnan's arm, but his voice was muffled.

"It's just the sun. I'm fine." He forced himself towards the tavern, tracking it by the sheer pressure on his shields.

In the shadow of the building it was a little easier to manage. At least, it was until someone opened the tavern door. The wave of pain and grief that rolled out froze d'Artagnan in place; he could barely breathe under the weight of it.

Porthos was suddenly there, in between him and the door, one hand on his shoulder.

"I can't," d'Artagnan said, staring past him as the door swung closed again. "I can't, Porthos, I can't go in there. I thought I could, I can't, I'm sorry…"

"It's all right," Porthos assured him, looking over his own shoulder. "Athos went in, but soon as he comes out…"

Someone cried out inside. The door opened again and desperate, soul-destroying grief rolled out, swamping d'Artagnan. He stumbled back blindly, trying to get away from it; he was already shielding as tightly as he could, there was nothing more he could do, he needed distance. Tripping over his own feet, he went down hard, rolling over to throw up.

Porthos levered him up, dragging him away down the street. As they got a little distance d'Artagnan was able to get his feet under himself, mostly keeping up with Porthos. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"What happened?" Porthos demanded.

"Someone died. A child, I think. They were so – I can taste the grief. It's like ashes."

"That might not be grief you're tasting, lad."

"What is it?" Athos shouted from behind them.

d'Artagnan groaned, folding to his knees as the noise went through his head like a knife; Porthos glanced down at him, keeping silent until Athos was closer. "Someone died?" he asked.

"A child." Athos glanced at d'Artagnan, sighing and crouching in front of him. "d'Artagnan…"

"I'm sick," he blurted. "I mean, I think. I think it's starting."

"You saw mummers our first day here?" Athos asked. d'Artagnan nodded quickly. "Marc thinks they were carrying the influenza. They're the only strangers apart from us who have come through." He pulled off his glove, pressing the back of his hand to d'Artagnan's forehead. His fingers were cold.

d'Artagnan swallowed the urge to apologise. "I need to go."

"Go," Porthos repeated.

"Away. Out of – if I'm sick, if it's the influenza, I won't be able to shield, it'll all – they'll all be in my head and I won't be able to get them out – I need to go."

"d'Artagnan," Athos said, gripping his shoulders firmly. "Calm down. I'll get Aramis; he'll help you."

"Aramis isn't supposed to."

"That won't stop him," Porthos pointed out. "And you can't just go and expect him not to chase you. We'll have to let him help you."

"Me, but no one else? Not the children?" d'Artagnan flinched at the look on Athos' face; he didn't need his Ability to know what Athos was feeling. "Sorry, I'm sorry."

"You. But not the children," Athos said softly. "I'll go and get him."

"I'm sorry."

"Rest," Athos murmured, glancing at Porthos before turning to jog back to the tavern.

"Relax," Porthos said when d'Artagnan made a move to go after him. "He knows what you meant."

"I can't do it here," d'Artagnan said suddenly.

"What?"

"He won't be able to Heal me while I'm shielding like this. We have to go."

"We'll go when the others get here. Longer Aramis is out of that place the better as far as I'm concerned." He glanced at the sky. "It's nearly night anyway. We could head back to Pierre's? Might be able to convince Aramis to stay overnight and watch you."

"In case I relapse?"

"Illness is tricky for Aramis. It's not like injury." He glanced down the road. "Here they come. Can you walk?"

"I think, yeah."

Porthos reached down, helping him to his feet. d'Artagnan swayed, holding tightly until he found his balance.

"We can't do it here, he can't let his shields down," Porthos said as the others reached them. "Back to Pierre's? It's late and we all need rest."

Aramis looked back at the tavern. "I should…"

"Get some rest, excellent idea," Athos said over him. "You go. I'll tell Marc that we're leaving and catch up to you."

d'Artagnan stumbled, entirely without meaning to; Aramis automatically reached to brace him, scowling. "I'm coming back in the morning," he said warningly.

"The morning is fine," Athos agreed, turning away.

Porthos wrapped an arm around d'Artagnan's shoulders; he was far too warm for it to feel comfortable, but he didn't dare try and shrug it off for fear of losing his balance. "Come on," Porthos murmured. "Let's get you lying down."

They were nearly back at Pierre's when it happened.

Such a simple mistake; Athos was watching d'Artagnan, visibly flagging despite Porthos' help, and he stepped on a rock that rolled. Losing his balance, he caught at the nearest tree for support, missed, and fell heavily against the trunk, catching his arm at exactly the wrong angle.

He whited out for a moment and came back with Aramis crouching in front of him; Porthos and d'Artagnan were watching from some distance away. "It's broken," he said tightly, bracing it with his other arm.

"Yes, it is," Aramis agreed. "Do you want help?"

"No. Just get me on my feet. I'll manage."

Aramis pulled his sash free from under his belt, wrapping it carefully around Athos' chest and arm. "Ready?"

"Ye – ow!"

Aramis smiled unrepentantly, tying off the sash. "Good. Arm."

He hauled Athos to his feet, bracing him until he caught his balance and then stepping away. "He's all right," he called to the others; Athos could see d'Artagnan sag in relief from here.

"It's broken?" Porthos called.

"Yes," Athos answered for himself, picking his way carefully back to join them. His arm ached dully, but the bandage had immobilised it enough for him to manage if he was careful.

"Should sleep when we get back," d'Artagnan mumbled, reaching out to pat him awkwardly.

"I will," Athos agreed. He'd only need an hour or so for an injury like this; he'd do it as soon as they got back. Porthos would watch over the others for a while.

It took them longer than he was comfortable with to get back to the farm. There was no sign of Pierre, but d'Artagnan insisted that he'd said for them to come and go as they pleased. Porthos deposited him in the barn and went to draw some water; Athos eased himself down onto a haybale, watching Aramis strip off his gloves and coat before crouching in front of d'Artagnan.

"Illness is difficult for me," he murmured. "It doesn't always work as well as injury."

"I understand," d'Artagnan assured him. "You don't have to try, I can fight it on my own."

"Don't be foolish," Aramis said briskly. Porthos came back in, and Aramis added "Drink some water and then we'll start, all right?"

He came to examine Athos while Porthos was helping d'Artagnan drink. "I can dull that pain some," he offered.

Athos shook his head. "It doesn't hurt much right now, and once I sleep it'll be fine. Save it for d'Artagnan."

"Sure?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"At least let me help you lie down first."

Athos agreed, letting Aramis help him settle on one of the pallets they'd used the night before. Had it only been one day ago? It felt so much longer.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he settled.

"None of this is your fault."

"It hurts you and I'm sorry for it."

Aramis patted his arm, smiling tightly. "Downside."

"Downside," Athos echoed.

Porthos came to give him something to drink and Aramis went to sit with d'Artagnan, murmuring gently as he began to Heal him. Athos sighed, turning to look at Porthos. "Need you to leave the village again."

"Why?"

"The mummers. If they were sick enough to infect the village, they probably didn't get far. Hopefully they realised what was happening and camped up to keep away from anyone. Can you take a look?"

"Tomorrow," Porthos agreed. "Get some sleep now. We need you better, especially if I'm going out."

Athos nodded, letting himself drift into sleep. He rose back to awareness some time later; the barn was dark but for a couple of lanterns, and his arm was fine.

He sat up, unwrapping the sash, and glanced around. Porthos' snores echoed from somewhere out of sight; Aramis was sitting beside d'Artagnan, one hand on his arm, but he glanced up when Athos moved. "Welcome back."

"How long?"

Aramis shrugged. "Not more than two hours, I think. There's no bells ringing in the village."

Athos climbed to his feet, glancing around for the bucket of water. "How is d'Artagnan?"

"I can't bring the fever down."

Athos splashed his face, bringing the bucket over to set it next to Aramis. "Have you been trying all the time?"

Aramis shook his head wearily. "I'm just keeping him asleep. He needs it, and he won't get it with a fever like that."

"You need sleep too. Let me try to keep him cool for a while."

"I'm fine."

"You're not, Aramis." Athos studied him for a moment. Aramis was very nearly grey, and fine tremors were running through him. All Athos' experience said that Aramis couldn't keep this up much longer, even if he really was only keeping d'Artagnan asleep and nothing more complicated. "Get some sleep, now, or stay here tomorrow."

"Athos," Aramis protested, "I have to go back to the tavern and help them."

"Yes," Athos agreed. "And you need to be rested to do that. Let go of d'Artagnan."

Aramis looked down at where he was holding d'Artagnan's arm. "He'll wake."

"I'll deal with him. Let go of d'Artagnan, stand up, and go over to Porthos. Can you do that? Aramis?"

"Yes," Aramis said eventually, though he didn't seem too sure. "Yes, I can do that."

"Good. Let go."

Aramis rolled jerkily away from d'Artagnan, struggling for a moment before he managed to stand. Athos watched him limp over to Porthos, all but collapsing against him; still asleep, Porthos wrapped an arm around him, letting him settle.

d'Artagnan slept on for maybe another half an hour before starting to stir. Athos was using rags and water to cool him down, but while it helped, it wasn't enough. d'Artagnan struggled awake only a few minutes later, staring dazedly at him for several seconds before seeming to recognise him.

"How are you feeling?" Athos murmured, dipping the cloth and draping it on his forehead. d'Artagnan groaned, pressing into the feeling. "d'Artagnan."

"Hot," d'Artagnan murmured. "Everything hurts."

"I made Aramis stop," Athos said quietly. "He couldn't Heal you, only stop it hurting for a little time, and he was wearing himself out. I couldn't let him keep doing that. I'm sorry."

"Sorry," d'Artagnan echoed dazedly. "No – s'is good. Don't want him hurting. Where's he?"

"Sleeping."

"Good." d'Artagnan reached for the cloth, pressing it against his eyes; Athos gently moved his hand, rewetting the cloth first. d'Artagnan sighed when it covered his eyes. " 'nks."

"Do you think you can drink something?"

"No," he groaned. "Sick."

"All right," Athos soothed him, glancing over at the others. Aramis had to be deeply asleep not to hear this, but if d'Artagnan was sick he'd drag Aramis awake without meaning to. "That's all right. Tell me if you think you can."

"Tired," d'Artagnan sighed.

"Get some sleep."

d'Artagnan shifted; Athos rewet the cloth and draped it over his eyes again. "Sleep."

"Y'r 'rm?" d'Artagnan managed.

"I'm fine," Athos told him, though he was almost sure d'Artagnan was already asleep again.

It was fitful, restless sleep this time, but it was sleep of a sort. Athos kept refreshing the cloths until Porthos woke some time before dawn; then he stumbled over to lie down beside Aramis. A couple of hours would be enough for his body, however tired his mind might be. Groaning, he stretched out on the pallet and was asleep almost at once.