CHAPTER 3

A week later, Gerard Daumont was executed for his crimes. The four musketeers were at the hanging, and his brothers wondered how Athos would take it, but the man stood there stoically, a neutral expression on his face as the trapdoor was opened and Daumont met his deserved death. After it was done, Athos had simply turned away and headed back to the garrison. And it seemed, that was that, though the other three did feel that Athos became even more remote than normal.

Summer gave way to autumn and then winter. December turned out to be unusually bitterly cold and snowy. The horses grew shaggy, indicating this weather wasn't going to end any time soon. The musketeers had taken to wearing multiple layers of clothing when they were forced to go on missions in the snowy, icy world, but it seemed no matter what they did, the insidious cold found a way in and chilled their bones.

Aramis and Athos had just returned from a three-day journey from the coast, exhausted and frigid. They had been grateful to be able to hand their mounts, Roger and Fidget, over to the stable lads, upon their arrival in the garrison. The horses were as worn-out as the riders from traveling on the treacherous, snowy roads between Le Havre and Paris.

The two frozen musketeers shuffled into the mess hall, which was blissfully warm from the roaring fire and the men eating a midday meal within its four walls. Porthos and d'Artagnan spotted their frozen brothers the minute they stepped through the door. One look at them and the two stood up, went to greet them and then ushered them to the chairs closest to the fire. Porthos only had to tilt his head slightly to get the two musketeers occupying the chairs to relocate. The swordsman and the marksman were so tired and grateful to be next to something warm they didn't even feel guilty about ousting the former occupants of the chairs.

Mulled wine in warm mugs was handed to them and the two shivering musketeers stripped off their gloves and wrapped their achy fingers around the pleasantly warm metal. Food also appeared, hot soup, which felt marvelous as it burned down their throats to land in their empty bellies, where its warmth seemed to seep into the very core of their being.

"Bad trip?" d'Artagnan asked as he settled on a footstool near the left side of Athos' chair. The Comte nodded, but said nothing as he held the metal cup filled with wine tightly between his two chilly hands.

It was Aramis who answered, between spoonsful of soup. "Stupid harbor master. Didn't believe it was the King's seal. Then we were kept waiting on the cold, wind-swept docks forever while they located the parcel on the ship. You'd think they'd be a bit more careful with a gift from the King of England to the King of France."

"What was it?" Porthos asked with curiosity as he munched on a roll slathered with creamy butter.

Aramis shrugged. "Don't know. It was in a sealed box. About this big." He spread his fingers wide to indicate the length of the box.

"It was a pocket watch. Quite ornate. Jeweled," Athos offered up. When his brothers all turned to look at him, he gave an indifferent shrug. "The box may have slipped from my cold fingers and opened upon falling to the ground."

"Or you may have opened it to see what was inside," Porthos suggested slyly, which earned him a small grin from Athos.

"That, I suppose, is another …possibility."

The marksman was amazed to hear Athos conversing, as he had been distracted and uncommunicative on the journey, even by his standards. When Aramis had asked why, Athos had refused to enlighten him. Since it was so cold and miserable, Aramis had let it drop and simply focused on staying warm.

Before they could ask any more questions, Captain Treville entered the dining hall. He stood in the doorway, scanning the room until his eyes lit on the four by the fireplace. Purposely, he moved in their direction.

"I got a bad feeling about this," Porthos groused softly to his companions as they watched their commander approach.

Athos watched as the Captain came over to their chairs. He got a uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that his plans were about to be ruined. He knew he shouldn't have delayed for so long.

"Athos, Aramis. You're back," Treville said without a preamble.

"Yes. The package has been delivered safely into the hands of the King," Athos answered smartly, unconsciously straightening up in his chair as he gave his brief report. "Forgive us, but we stopped to warm ourselves, before coming to your office to report."

The Captain didn't appear upset by their delay in reporting. "And you had no troubles?"

Athos gave a shrug. "A rather illiterate harbor master, a somewhat surly ship's Captain and a few inept bandits. Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Good. I hate to say this, gentlemen, but I need to send you on another mission."

"Tomorrow?" d'Artagnan asked without much hope.

"Now," came the Captain's expected reply.

"But it's cold out there," a very tired Aramis blurted out before ducking his head in way of an apology for his uncharacteristic whining.

The Captain had the decency to appear somewhat remorseful. "I know. And I'm sorry. I know you must be cold and exhausted, but duty calls. And you four are the most suited for this task."

"What is it?" Athos asked in a resigned voice. Whatever it was, he hoped it was of short duration. Christmas was coming and he had things he needed to accomplish.

"Delivery. Of a very sensitive missive. To the Abbey of Saint-Germain d'Auxerre. You must leave immediately."

Porthos groaned and shook his head. "That's a good day's ride from here and fairly remote. And it's snowing again. Look!"

All the heads turned to look out the window where they could see falling snow in the mostly empty courtyard.

"I'm sorry. But it's urgent and you four are the only ones I trust with the delivery of this letter," the Captain stated firmly.

"What exactly is in this missive and to whom are we delivering it?" Athos asked their commander, reaching for his mulled wine and downing it in one gulp.

"I can't divulge any of that information other than to say it has to be delivered to the Abbott and only the Abbott. And it has to be there by tomorrow night."

"We will do…our duty," Athos formally stated, eyeing the others as if he dared them to complain any further. "Aramis and I will require new mounts. Our horses are too worn out to be asked to go on the road again this soon."

While he kept his face neutral, he was very unhappy about this trip because it was taking him away from Paris once again. Christmas was not that many days away and he'd barely had any time to gather the gifts from Pére Noël that he would leave in the inn in Pinon for the children of the village. He had not missed a year since it became his duty and he'd be damned if he faltered now. Too many times he'd disgraced his family name. He'd simply have to make sure this trip was over as swiftly as possible, get back to Paris, purchase the toys, food, and clothes and deliver them, in secret, on time. Duty.

"Take whichever horses you want from the reserve," the Captain agreed. No one mentioned that the horses' riders were also too exhausted to be going on the road again so soon. Duty.

"Finish your meal and then hit the road. Athos, stop by my office for the package." With that, the Captain turned and left the dining hall. An eddy of cold swirled into the room upon his departure not letting anyone forget how chilly it was outside.

Aramis sent d'Artagnan off to get him another bowl of warm soup and more bread. Athos contented himself by draining glasses of warm wine until Aramis gave him an evil eye.

"Food, Athos. Not just wine," he suggested in a tone that was closer to an order.

"If you add wine, or any alcohol, to a liquid, it takes longer for it to freeze," the Comte educated the rest of them.

"As fascinating a fact as that is, I don't see the point in relation to you not eating," Aramis pointed out as he finished up his second bowl of soup and was using the bread to wipe the vessel clean.

"I am diluting my blood so it won't freeze so quickly once we are back on the road," the swordsman patiently explained.

Aramis threw a piece of bread at him, which out of instinct, Athos caught. "Eat!"

With a shrug, Athos put down his wine and picked up a bowl of soup, polishing it off quickly along with the hunk of bread Aramis had tossed at him. He drained his wine cup for the last time, then stood. "Gentlemen, let's go."