Chapter 10: Set, Game, Match
Cardinal: -steps on stage- Greetings, worthless peasants-
King: -interrupts with distress- Richelieu! Richelieu! I am interrupting with distressing news!
Cardinal: -forces smile- I am addressing this... lovely group of audience Your Majesty. What is the problem? Another wardrobe malfunction?
King: Yes and no! First off, radiolover1029 said I must wear an orange hat made out of dyed duck feathers for a scene! The atrocity! Oh, and second this mysterious letter addressed to me tells me to say to you that you must stand right on the spotted mark "X".
Cardinal: What?
King: Right there. -points to "X"-
Cardinal: -rolls eyes- If you insist. -stand on "X"- Now what?
King: Next it says for me to get out the prepared umbrella and then watch with laughter.
Cardinal: O.o What, I repeat?
Me: -pops out of nowhere and smashes a banana cream pie on his face- Suck it Cardinal! Sincere hilarity, from Buckingham.
Cardinal: -with a banana cream stashe- This means war!
Me: Hehe, not if I do this. -pulls secret lever. Watches with glee as the "X" mark turns into trap door-
Cardinal: AHHHHHHHH! NOOOOOOO! FOILED AGAAAAIIIIINNNN!
King: Oh! Oh! Radiolover1029, may I?
Me: Sure!
King: Radiolover1029 does not have the authority vested in the respected industries and companies to own any part of the Three Musketeers except for the original ideas radiolover1029 came up with.
Me: For a man willing to wear puke green, you're alright. Hahaha
There wasn't a moment too lose in the day.
Or at least those were the Queen's parting words.
Right? At least something of the sort...
Either way Antoinette followed her heart straight to rickety home on the riverside boulevard. With total elation she spent the rest of the waxing night catching up with the others. Discussing old times, recollecting the happy memories or the victorious smirks shared in their story telling. Some more exaggerated tha others- Porthos.
They drank. They laughed. And then they retired for the night. Most of them. Three guesses who.
Her hair laid in disarray across the cool pillow. Tonight was a rare occasion the weather didn't bother to stick humid mist on the town. Instead it was sprayed with a light shower.
Much needed Antoinette thought of the flowers she planted years ago aroound the house. They had made a nasty habit to brown in the dry heat and suffer without a drop of water due to the other occupant's neglection. Antoinette gave each of them an earful when she found her prized tulips down.
The soft breathing of Aramis soothed the noisy crickets outside. But for some odd reason it could not rest Antoinette's eyes at ease. It only took a short interlude of whispering breaths to droop her eyelids. Just like the uncanny weather, her conscious refused to sleep.
She cringed her eyes together shut and flopped to her sides. No comfort. Her back nor her stomach compromised any feeling of acheless sleep. Giving up, she ripped her side of the blankets and fur out of frustration. Her hair in the midnight light hugged the frame of her back. She shrugged on her night shawl and tucked two fingers on the candle light holder lit on the desk.
Antoinette proceeded out of the room, shivering in her shawl from the drafty hallway window at the end. Loud stomps came up the stairs besides her. A rotund shadow followed after portly Planchet, whose nightcap slipped towards the right.
He smacked his lips noisily and rubbed some deprived sleep from his eyes to address his mistress. "Wouldn't go down there, miss. Master Athos is at the bottle again," he mumbled. His stance wasn't firm and he looked ready to keel over from exhaustion.
Out of all the men living together, Athos seemed to talk the less. If he didn't watch it, he would turn out lie Aramis in the beginning of his Musketeer days- to speak only when spoken to. Not even drinking or feasting loosened his tongue the hours she spent with them on recent. "Figured as much. Thank you, Planchet. As you were," Antoinette waved him on to his new posted bed- the rusted, crap filled balcony.
Planchet nodded rambunctiously. He passed her with some unsteady steps. She descended down the stairs, using only the glow of the half burnt candle guide her down. Once close to the kitchenette table, she blew it out curtly. The waft of smoke curled towards her shadow, which clung to the darkwood walls. Taking the center of the table were three bottles: two opened with one gone and the other half filled. One more bottle settled out of it's brethen, standing as the back up drink. Grasping the neck of a bottle, Athos quirked his eyes to the bottle and then leant back in his seat as if he must move or do something to reason his drinking.
Antoinette watched sadly as her companion drunk in silence. No grumbles or mutters opened his mouth. His stoic face held no emotions. Athos might have not been known for his expressions but certainetly he wouldn't want his legacy wet with beer stains.
Without so much as a wave or friendly greeting, Athos consumed his face to the bottle. "Pointless to conceal yourself. You know my sixth sense,"
Setting the candle away from the spills of alcohol, Antoinette occupied the head of the table seat. Athos neither looked nor spoke anymore to her. Looking at the bottles and the few last spoils at the bottoms, she shook her head disapointedly.
She narrowed, "It is also wasteful to drown your sorrows before the morrow,"
With mirth, he scorned, "Aramis did not tire you out?"
Antoinette, neither repulsed or responsive, took the only other bottle. She uncorked it and just then noticed how Athos did not require the obstacle of a glass.
Almost used to the derogative tone drunk men possessed she thought nothing of Athos' growl building up in his throat for stealing his drinks. "No, he did. It's his bear-like snores that keep me from sleep," She rolled her eyes swallowing a drink from the slender bottle. If you can't beat 'em, might as well join 'em. Athos never did listen with that thick skull of his.
Athos mockingly offered the drink she already obtained. "Drink?"
She chanted with empty meaning, "Warm my belly and soothe my brain," Low beats of sloshing liquid were heard. Antoinette drummed her fingers impatiently on the table. Athos conversed only with the liquid burning in his throat. Her palm covered her heavy head with an elbow kept on unlady-like on the table. "Is this routine? You have an off day and then drink away your troubles to the bottom?"
His seemingly soul less eyes lit when turned away from the bottle. Half of a smile worked it way around his mouth. "Not always. Sometimes on good days as well," He didn't bother to laugh.
She bit her lip, debating whether she should tell of the sighting at the palace. He didn't have to know, but he had a right. To harm or to protect- the resuls would surely self destruct him to the bar for the next month. The guilt ate away at her stomach. Finally she blurted gracelessly, "I saw her,"
Athos eyebrows jumped at Antoinette's shaky voice. But nothing on his face other than that read concern or care. The grip on the bottle stretched the skin on his knuckles until he had to let go. From sudden shift of center, the drink tipped to the side and spilt a small puddle of amber slosh. Athos didn't care to react. "She was at the palace,"
He narrowed his eyes, "Guards will never catch her. Not as an emissary," Athos might as well spat the words to the floor as he swung his head back to clear his head. His mood rang through the panic alarm in Antoinette's head. She suspected this sudden flash of behavior. She teased it and it flared with a venegance. Only now she had to withdraw the information to calm him. Elsewhere, he would destroy himself with curiosity.
Antoinette cocked her shoulder to the armrest. "I don't think she's allied to Buckingham. We all know her true colors," Her words whispered irritatingly in Athos' ears. He covered a hand over one before grabbing Antoinette's drink out of her right hand. Her fingers that held nothing but air retreated to her lap.
With no forewarning he muttered coherently, "Black as her soul," She knew he never meant those words. The drink took care of that. Deep in his slippery heart he still attained a part of him to Milady. However small that shard was, it refused to detach or surface through his emotions.
Her chest heaved with a raging bull of emotions. Hardly resisting, she asked, "What she did was regretable and unforgivable. But don't you think forgetting the past can open you to the future?"
Filled with anger and small regret, Athos laced his words together like a play. He firsted started with an orchestra to set the mood. "Antoinette, you haven't broken. Your heart hasn't been torn in half, cut out of your chest and hand delivered to the most vile villain in all of Europe," Second he delivered a few words to open up the curtain, "You have him. I once had her," Seeing her taken back, he sighed. "What's done is done," He blew into the bottle.
Never had she met a more stubborn man than her father. Athos failed to realize winning and losing came with sacrifice. You gain and you give. He was so determinated to continuously drown whatever emotion he came across. Antoinette stood up, head aching from her friend's stupidity. "Alright, Shakespeare, but this is only the first act," she waved a finger at him.
As a friend she supported those she loved the most. But she couldn't help without a little cooperation. Stubborn or headstrong, Athos needed to come to terms he was a flawed human being such as herself with imperfections as obvious as a red stain against a white blouse. Whether or not he had lost the unofficial most hated double crosser of the era, he could be in a much better place.
"I may have only loved but I did lose some things from Venice, Athos. As uncomparable they are to whatever lies in the liquor you bathe yourself in, I had hope a day would come when all of us wold be reunited," She drew her chair behind her and stole his bottle away. Athos did not struggle but mewled a quiet groan as the glass cascaded into thousands of pieces against the ash covered grate. She looked down to him pitifully. "Unfortunately that day hasn't come yet,"
She left Athos in his muddled and hopefully sobering thoughts.
The next day, Antoinette had yet to clean again. It did not take long for these boys to make a mess. Planchet mostly. And perhaps Porthos. But only on Fridays and Mondays. Yesterday just so happened to be Friday.
Aramis had continued his job for the city only until noon. Just enough time to see his lady finish her housework. Tired and worn, he guided her back to sleep. He had known living with them once more was an out of body experience. Being lavished at the palace, sitting with dukes and baronesses was nothing compared to three rowdy ex-Musketeers and one pudgy servant man.
He let her rest. Aramis enjoyed reading some passages from his pocketbook, occasionally giving into his desired eyes to watch her in her sleep. Curled up to her left side, she found comfort in her sheets and pillow close to her arms. He sighed contently.
His muse, the reason for diverting him back onto the rightful path, sleeped soundly. It was one of those rare times where he could see how breakable she really was. Rarely did just anyone could see the darker side of her. He remembered the first time he had seen that side.
She had tried to push him away when she had mourned her mother the year after her death. Aramis had promised her they would find a time to visit Notre Dame. To the exact same spot Antoinette had retold many time at the alter where she had imagined a ghost of her mother's spirit. It left her restless for many months after their visit. And then the cold came, the dark days crept back to her when her father and mother argued in front of her. The day she first noticed her bruises. The day she found her father spend time in their room with another woman half draped over him. And finally the hazy memory of her father pushing her down the stairs and the concussion that led to it.
Her nightmares grew worse when she bottled up her emotions. It took the lot of them, even Milady to console her. Her eyes had finally opened up when Aramis promised he would stay.
Not just on that night. But to be there for her. Ever since then, whenever the opportunity arose, he guarded her in her sleep. Watching out for any quirks that showed that dark side.
He smiled to himself as she tossed back to the other side with a lazy smile drawn. With a careful eye, he returned back to the book, hovering over the book to watch over her. As her guardian angel.
"Delicious pot roast, Antoinette," D'Artagnan commented at the melt-in-your-mouth food on his plate. Steam and the au jus dripped in a puddle around the savory meats and soft vegetables.
She smiled with her eyes. "Thank you, D'Artagnan. It is by our lucky stars someone was raised to clean and take care of oneself. I cringe at the thought of eating pigsty food," She pointedly narrowed her eyes at a certain person at the table with a smirk.
Porthos pretended to cough. "Planchet,"
Planchet, hearty and ready to be spiked, laughed good naturedly. "Yes, sirs and lady. Good sport, sir," He faked the usual smile.
"So what next? Surely you couldn't return to your old lives with the King's fortune?" D'Artagnan asked with a handful of bread in his grip.
Porthos chugged down a carrot with wine poured in. "Might invest a little at the shipyards,"
Athos narrowed, "Just as I will 'invest' the stock at the bars,"
Antoinette put a finger to her chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shall renovate the park districts. Flowers aren't as blooming as I would like them,"
Besides her, Aramis chortled, "With enough to support the house, faculty, and a slice to the Church, I'll quit my day job,"
Looking around unbelieving, D'Artagnan noisly dropped his fork utnesil. "That's it? You have new clothes and money! You are the Musketeers! You could do whatever you wish to," he raised his voice.
Around her side, he sighed, "But without honor, a name is only a name. Respects cannot be handed out by one action alone," The gloomy bunch stopped the clattering of food and gulps of wine to the quiet clinking of knives and plates touching forks.
Not wanting to receive a lashing for despairing moods from his masters, Planchet cried, "Cheer up sirs! I have in store a reserved bottle for such dreary occasions. Boys down the block promised me a beauty in this one," He bustled out out of the room to gather the prized un-special bottle of liquor.
Athos, knowing of Planchet's habits to bargain shop, huffed, "Oh no, what did you trade?"
Planchet sniffled his nose in retailiation. "I thought it a good deal!" he defended. "Ten blocks of cheese. Fair price in my mind," Planchet smiled to himself proudly.
Antoinette asked for the alcohol. She inspected the neck and the labeling. Not nearly as satisfied, she uncorked the thing and sniffed. Her nose inhaled something as foul as the sewer. She coughed rapidly. "Yes, if you wished to drink river water," she barely managed out.
Porthos took the bottle from his hand and took a whiff. He ripped the label off the rip off fake. To his anger he pulverished the glass into the burning embers. It roared in retailiation. "Planchet!" he roared.
Planchet fumbled with his fingers. Sweat emerged on his brow. Porthos, wanting to foam at the mouth like a rabid dog, smashed his fist at the table, leering at the bumbling buffoon. Sad to the tears, Planchet defended, "How was I suppose to know? It's in a bottle with a label!"
D'Artagnan inspected the labeling wet from the old bottle, as it now resided in it's personal hell. "Is that date suppose to be chicken scratch?" He wiped a finger on his shirt from the slimy film.
Porthos yelled, "Label is a fake and now we will starve without drink. Off with you!" The manservant jumped two feet in the air before cowardly reverting to the corner. Athos rolled his eyes as Aramis shook his head in a hand. Porthos, refusing to let go the anger when Antoinette produced a safe and secured original chardonnay from three decades passed.
From a certain distance in the dusty corners, could you hear the incoherent curses coming from the stupified man. "Rowdy bastards," Planchet flicked a bowl from the counter top, which he misjudged the distance ending the bowl's existence into pieces on the unswept floor. Planchet looked from all around to his masters for any maddening looks. He kicked the broken porcelain underneath the rug he stood upon, guilty blushing his face.
Antoinette, not bothering to correct Planchet for his carelessness for the breakage of another china piece, uncorked the bottle and handed it to Porthos. "Can't be the end of the world,"
Porthos slid the liquid down with a haste. "Has to be. At least Jesus had a decent last supper," His grimace showered over the dismal display of food prepared for the evening meal.
Aramis dented a piece of the table with the cut of the knife. His glare pierced Porthos. "Do not defile the Lord's son in comparision," he muttered.
Antoinette patted her lover's curling fist around the stabbing knife. "Oh, Aramis. You should learn by now he's always grumpy when he provokes religion," she lectured as she scooped some steamed vegetables onto both of their plates. Aramis let go of the knife once Antoinette wrapped her hand in his.
The company, slightly miffed, enjoyed the clinging of cutlery as they laughed and ate the little food made for each of them. Peace and tranquility circled the troupe, that was until Planchet quirked his head inside the room.
"Oy!" he announced noisily. "We have company!" He pointed to a fleeing figurine running down the street in a befuddling state.
Athos, quick to play with his temper, snarled, "Then go get it, Planchet,"
Crinkling his nose, Planchet hurried off to the front door. He met halfway when the incessant pounding came from the other side of the door. Aramis grabbed for Antoinette's hand in a flash. She glanced at him, the same question written on their faces.
"Coming, coming! Hold your horses!" cried Planchet He opened the door to the stranger without authetication of the unexpected visitor. "It's not a matter of life or death, you know?" he belly-ached.
A familiar feminine voice pitched, "Actually, it is,"
Her recognition hit her like a box of boulders. Antoinette dropped a forkful of chicken meat as she whizzed her head to meet the no longer hooded stranger. "Constance?"
Constance nodded her presence to the quizzical Antoinette. She turned from the strange man leaning towards her to the familiar faces of the Musketeers. "Might I have a word with D'Artagnan. It's of the utmost importance and national security," she urged.
D'Artagnan did wait a moment to lose. He tucked Constance to the side away from the grinning Planchet and the eavesdropping men and lady around the table. Porthos frowned. He pushed the plate away to dunk his bread in the olive oil.
"Why weren't we summoned?" he asked his companions.
Aramis turned his head. "Jussac can only go so fast on his steed,"
Athos humbled a laugh. His suspicious eyes wavered over to the two before settling on the half cut up food on his place. He chucked the knife and fork into the meat. "Whatever it is, I don't like it," he voiced.
Antoinette drawled over her cup of wine, "You never like anything besides beer, bars, and brawls,"
He pointed his knife like a finger. "You forgot Yuletide,"
"What's the difference?"
Porthos listed off, "Free alcohol, empty bars, and on occasion jolly fights," He smiled with hidden joy. Antoinette smiled at her friend imitating a rousing fight during the season times when she unmistakeningly caught D'Artagnan, voice raising, speaking incredibly towards Constance.
"...You want me to go to England, retrieve the diamonds which the Queen has suspicions might be in Buckingham's possesion, which will naturally involve breaking into some heavily fortified, highly impregnable facility?" Antoinette's interest in talking or engaging any activity around her- including the kneading pressure from Aramis' hand- escaped her. As she was closest, she occupied her time keening out of the closest conversation from loud Porthos to the delicate mousy voice she had grown accustomed to.
"The Tower of London. Since the Cardinal's spies are trying to implicate the Duke. It's the most logical choice,"
Antoinette's mind reeled. Something wasn't right. In no right mind would Constance suggest of all people to retrieve something in the Tower of London- the most dangerous fortress to encounter- and make it back over the Channel in one piece. What was so important? Who would be messing with Lord Buckingham?
Several possibilites entered her train of thought. First there was Cardinal Richelieu. His thirst for fresh power and hunger for continental domination never sated. Along with Rochefort and the witless Captain Jussac, his spies and armed forces would penetrate the barricades any Englishman put up. However it did not add up. Be it, Buckingham had control over the Tower of London and housed torturous dungeons not even the strongest man alive could surpass a night.
The second and final choice steamed her insides. A mere thought boiled her anger into a hot flash. She gazed at Athos, ever resilient, but kept a wavering turn to the conversation between the two youths.
Her eyes flickered over to Porthos. His brow furrowed at Antoinette's intense staring. A hand clamped over hers, as she nodded towards D'Artagnan shaking his head bewildered.
"...Then return to Paris with every soldier, assassin, mercenary, bounty hunter, on both sides of the Channel out to stop me from doing so,"
Porthos caught the drift of words and turned pointedly to his fellow Musketeers. "When he puts it like that, he makes it more like a chore than fun,"
"Did I miss anything?" D'Artagnan cut across abruptly.
Constance bit her lip. "All in five days,"
Antoinette patted her hand against Aramis. They briefly glanced at the youngsters before boring eyes against each other. Five days from now. The King had declared a magnificent ball in his wife's name. Five days from now, something would destroy that.
Aramis dug in the tip of his dagger in hand, poised into the skin of the wood. His eyes wavered over his comrades. "Whatever they are whispering about sounds like another mission," The dagger deepened in irritation. Splinters of wood chipped around it. Antoinette released his hand from the pressure of the handle.
All around the table, she felt mixed emotions. As the coin of call thumped each Musketeer, Antoinette drew the connections that bound them to honour and duty. Aramis' silence spoke thousands of words. His loyalty to his past life proved penance to his future in the trio. She knew he would never reject the call. Not even to save his life.
She drew a deep breath. Just when God had shone on her, a cloud in the shape of Richelieu's sneer darkened her hope. So far in her life clouds seemed to always block the sun, the brillant everlasting ray. If it were up to her...
Her thoughts interrupted by Athos' pertruding words. "The good thing about being semi-employed is we chose our own cliental," He relieved some of the tension in the group. However smaller the air was, Antoinette's ears rang in their incoming upheaval.
"A minor detail. Anything else?"
Constance's mouthed, "No,"
She glanced at D'Artagnan. "Well, I really have one question for you. Why in the world would I do that?" Almost predictable, Constance snuck in a quick kiss. Antoinette blushed for looking upon their private moment. Once, she had been like Constance. Impetuous, quick, cut, and clean. Her ways had changed overnight, tossing and turning remembering her peculiar conversation with the priest.
D'Artagnan's eyes widened but his mouth jumped to his dimples. "England it is," He decided.
Porthos huffed his laughter. He casually punched Aramis, whom owned a small corner of a smile. He leered, "Aramis,"
He scoffed, "She wasn't that persuasive,"
Antoinette turned her head on the point. "What?"
Noticing a short shiver pass over he replied, "Nothing,"
She rolled her eyes. "Uh huh,"
The young man with Constance in tow, stood behind an empty chair gazing at his questioning peers.
He summed up, "Okay. Diamonds, Buckingham, Tower of London, five days, Queen's reputation and the fate of France as we know it. Who's with me?"
Antoinette's chest sighed as she pieced them together. Milady. She was there in the Queen's wing. Where if she knew her ways, she could stumble upon the Queen's diamonds in the vault. Milady was an agent of deception. She never left any mess or stood behind lines. She made the lines.
If Milady were aligned with the Cardinal, she would be double crossing him. Therefore she would pass over the diamonds to Buckingham, ruin the Queen's reputation, maybe in the end keep the diamonds as a spoil of impending war.
How diabolic.
Not a person whispered opinions. It was to be suspected. The window was limited, and this mission was arrived in a hushed fashion without the opportunity to prepare.
Porthos, however, wanted to rally the old troop. He whisked his old cane into the air. "Well, I should imagine the Queen would be quite generous. Count Porthos. Hmm? What do you think? Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" he asked all around playfully swinging the cane around his fingers. He pointed out, "Besides, I hear the English women are a lot like a frosted bottle of champagne. Ice on the outside, but once you warm them up..." His eyebrows wiggled suggestively.
Antoinette smacked a hand to her forehead at his silly behavior. Meanwhile her beloved Aramis grumbled under her breath. He stood up to recieve wrapped parcels concealing their emergency weaponry.
"This isn't a great cause, but it'll have to do," Aramis counted himself in. He averted his eyes to Antoinette who nodded fiercely. The Queen was her friend; friends depend on one another in times of need.
Planchet's hand barely touched the loaded rifle when Porthos smacked his hand in retailation. He cried out his pain as he rubbed the numb mark.
Athos leaned over the table, eyeing Antoinette only once. "Buckingham's there, so is she,"
The curious teen asked foolishly, "Who?"
All around the table Antoinette and the men stiffened. Their eyes made their way to Athos.
"Comtesse de Winter," he answered. "Charlotte Backson. Anne de Breuil. Lady Clarick. Milady," As he numbered out the names without hesitation, it was crystal clear his voice hid the pain and foggy anger.
"Milady? I know her," D'Artagnan said. "I saw her with Rochefort,"
Porthos confirmed, "She's switched sides again. She's working for the Cardinal, no doubt,"
Constance asked Antoinette, "Wasn't she the one you told the guards?"
Antoinette narrowed her eyes to the table of weapons. Her mind filled with ideas and ways to rid of Milady if she were only as predictable as D'Artagnan. "Wasn't to capture her. Just to divert her attention long enough," Too many memories of Venice played, reversed, and then replayed unkindly. "If she knew I was there, she would never allow me to leave the palace," She traced a finger around the trigger of a gun.
D'Artagnan asked, "What will you do if you catch her?"
They won't. She's too cunning and conniving. Even if the slightest chance they would, Athos wouldn't allow any harm come to her. His once love outmatched any venegance he stored. His conscience would blame him if she were caught and outbeat.
And then the peace altogether shattered. By an idiot.
A loud hoarse voice that could only be Jussac yelled from below the streets. "Musketeers, open up and surrender by order of the Cardinal!" Antoinette and Constance visibly jumped out of their skin from the intrusion. A hand clutched her racing heart.
"Lady de Lorraine, you are under arrest for false pretenses of leaving the vicinity by order of the Cardinal!"
Aramis glared at D'Artagnan and his new companion/girlfriend. "You were followed," he growled, hand fastened on Antoinette's shaky shoulder.
Athos glanced out the window. "It's Rochefort,"
One by one, Rochefort's thick cords lashed out their names. "Athos, Porthos, Aramis, D'Artagnan, and Antoinette, surrender your weapons and no harm will come to you,"
"False," she said rushing to the window with Athos. No doubt there was Rochefort and his neanderthall team of guards upon horses with lit torches.
Athos ordered, "Damn. To the horses!"
In action, Antoinette helped roll the weapons with Porthos. Aramis grabbed the other parcels and stuffed as much necessary tools for the journey.
Over the disarray, D'Artagnan called, "Planchet! Get the weapons. Constance, follow!"
Tucked in the foldings of her skirts, Antoinette felt Aramis slip two knifes, and a cocked gun. He grabbed her around the waist to sieze her attention. "Antoinette. Just in case," His husky voice reverbrated.
She smirked as he kissed her longingly. "I hate being safe,"
He eyed her. "Not when it comes to Rochefort, you don't,"
She rolled her eyes, continuing her work of fastening the straps as she flew down the stairs and to the secret door to the stable.
"I'll count to FIVE and then we'll BURN you out!"
Antoinette bit down on the leather and pulled at the stubborn knot on the pack. "Planchet! Improvise!" she yelled. Planchet nodded before rummaging around for something.
"One! Two Three-" A sickening splash could be heard along with a disgusting odor curled down to the already smelly barnyard.
Planchet shouted from above their heads. "Oh! Sorry! Didn't see you there!" They could only guess what Planchet had used as a distraction. Antoinette pretended to gag as she untethered her horses.
Constance's nose crinkled. "Foul,"
Athos laughed heartily. "Do you have any other suggestions?"
Jussac cursed loudly, "Damn you!"
Antoinette latched a foot around Rosemary. She situated the supplies on behind before handling the bridle. She comforted the jumpy horse. Antoinette whispered soothing words to hold ground while they awaited Athos' commands. Aramis marched his horse besides her, with his hat on top of his head. She smiled at him as he grasped for her hand. A quick kiss on top of it and a snatch from his head- Aramis glared as Antoinette cheesily wore the hat.
He took it back erupting Antoinette into a fit of giggles.
"Now!" Athos called.
"Fire!" She had heard. Rosemary raced out of the doors along with the others. The troops diverted from the horses' path in the opposite direction. Antoinette dug her heel into Rosemary's skin.
On response, she and her horse outran the speed of the bullets in their course. Her few out of place hair strands billowed in the wind like weeping willows miles and miles away from Paris. They followed the streets until the horses' prints hit the rough gravely dirt of the country roads. Into the night they road on.
And road on did they run. Just enough time for Antoinette to think of interesting ways to kill Buckingham and the Cardinal.
My goodness! So so sorry for not posting this sooner. Not much to talk about this chapter other than fill you in more of Antoinette's background and her guarded attitude. I just realized that the chapters may be a little slower on schedule because I have so many extra scenes to do and figure out that it will take forever and a couple days to process them out on the drawing board.
I do admit this chapter is not one of my best chapters but I do try.
Oh! And I've hit over 50,000 words. :D Probably the only story on this section to do so. So proud for doing that :) Maybe it will spark some other authors to write some more of The Three Musketeers fanfiction :)))
Until next time!