He looked down on the city from his perch way above on the parapet around the church spire, at all the ants running around the streets and alleys. At the horses speeding their riders around the city. At the carriages, forced to play follow my leader by the narrowness of the congested thoroughfares. A roll of the head from side to side, a stretch of the arms above his head, and a deep breath. He hadn't done this for a while, well not for fun anyway. He'd missed the feeling of freedom more than the adrenalin rush. He scanned the city, not sure what he was looking for. Maybe just pick a spot and head for it, just to prove he could. A disturbance outside a tavern caught his eye. Several soldiers spilled out into the street. Three against a dozen or so. As he was wondering if those odds were too high, a shout rang out, and more soldiers started to head that way. The outnumbered trio set off into the maze of alleyways, followed by a stampede of the other soldiers. Maybe he could help, but it had to be now or never. He ran to the edge of the parapet and jumped.

He landed on the flat roof below, knees bent, and threw himself into a forward roll before leaping upwards and vaulting the edge of the roof into apparent oblivion. He turned mid vault, grabbed the edge of the roof, and lowered himself down to a balustrade below. He ran along it, past open windows, ignoring the odd yell of surprise from within. He sped up as he neared the end, launching himself at the building on the opposite side of the alley, grabbing the fall pipe and sliding down it to ground level. He ran into the street, swerving to avoid an oncoming carriage, ignoring the angry cursing from the carriage driver. He ran as fast as he could down one street, swerving off down another, and diving down an apparent dead end.

He launched himself at the wall, grabbing the ledge of a bricked up window, pulling himself up. He turned around and leapt for the nearest roof, hauling himself up quickly. He looked around for the soldiers while he caught his breath, then he was off and running again, vaulting a chimney. He sprinted as he neared the edge, throwing himself across the alleyway to the next roof. A slight scramble, and he was off and running again. He veered towards the edge and peered over, searching out an open window, or one that could be opened quickly. He spotted one, and lowered himself over the edge of the roof, feeling for the window ledge with his feet. A quick fumble with his knife soon opened the shutters, and he was in. The trapdoor was easy to spot, and he charged down the rickety stairs, and stared at the door. Damn, it was locked, not bolted. He looked around frantically. Ah, there, on a nail in the wall. He grabbed the key and unlocked the door, stepping through quietly, while trying to get his breath back under control, hoping he was in time.

"This way."

Aramis charged down the alleyway, with Porthos close on his heels, and Athos lagging behind. They careered past a pile of boxes, with Athos having the presence of mind to pause send them scattering to the floor, partially blocking the alleyway and buying them a little extra time. All three men knew the Red Guards must be closing on them, and looked around for an escape route, or a place to hide.

"To the left." Athos pointed out the shadows on the left, and a second alleyway. He had no idea where it led, but it was probably a better bet than continuing down their current path.

This second alleyway was narrower than the first, and darker. Aramis once more led the way, with Athos bringing up the rear, more from the pain in his leg than anything else. The alleyway widened out, but there were no visible ways out other than straight forwards. They heard a yelling behind them and the pounding of footsteps.

"This isn't looking good," muttered Aramis.

From up ahead, there was a whistle. Aramis assumed a fighting stance, sword at the ready.

Remy stepped out of the darkness. "In here. Quick."

All three men hurried towards him, and stepped through a doorway into some kind of store room. Remy swung the door shut behind them, quickly locking the door and sliding the bolts into place. The three men stood still in the relative darkness. The only light in the room was drifting in from an open trapdoor, presumably from unshuttered windows above. Remy leant against the door, with his eye to a small crack in the planks. They heard the Red Guards run past, their feet thudding loudly, swearing and encouraging each other to catch the Musketeers. There was a slight pause, then more footsteps running past, fewer and slower this time, and accompanied by a lot of wheezing. Then all was silent.

Remy turned away from the door. "They've gone. Hopefully they won't double back and start checking doors, but these bolts should hold a casual check." The Musketeers looked around at the pile of sacks and boxes of varying sizes.

"What is this place?" asked Aramis.

"Er ... a storehouse?" guessed Remy, hoping they wouldn't ask any more questions.

Athos lowered himself onto a pile of sacking on the floor, with a groan. Porthos sat down heavily on a pile of crates and gingerly rubbed his head. Aramis looked from Athos to Porthos, and then to Remy.

"I don't suppose there are any bandages around here, Remy?" asked Aramis, crouching down beside Athos.

Remy shook his head. "No idea. Might be some cloth upstairs. I'll check." He nimbly clambered up the rickety staircase, disappeared from view, and returned quickly with a relatively clean piece of cloth. He handed it to Aramis. "Will this do?"

"Perfect, thank you, Remy. Alright, Athos, let me see the damage."

Athos moved a little to let the younger man see the deep laceration that was bleeding steadily, and winced as Aramis gently touched it.

"We need to get back to the barracks. Athos's leg needs stitching, and Porthos's head needs some attention."

Athos nodded. "I'm not about to dispute that, however, my leg won't carry me too far, or too quickly, Porthos doesn't look like he knows what day it is, and the Red Guards are still out there somewhere, probably still searching for us. Any other suggestions?"

"I'll go back to the barracks and bring help," said Aramis.

Athos tilted his head to one side, thinking. "And if the Red Guards catch up to you, what chance would you have on your own? We were struggling when there were three of us."

Porthos groaned and closed his eyes.

"I could go." Athos and Aramis turned to look at Remy. He shrugged. "I can leave by the window. The guards aren't looking for me anyway."

Athos frowned. "That might work. Go straight to Treville, but keep an eye out for the guards. They've got a taste for blood."

Remy grinned and headed back up the stairs. Aramis waited until he was sure Remy had gone, before crossing to the door and peering through the crack.

"Are you sure it was a good idea to let Remy go for help?" he asked.

Athos shrugged and leant back against the wall. "It's the only idea we had. He's resourceful, he'll be fine." He flinched as Aramis returned and carefully bandaged his wound.

Porthos groaned at the throbbing in his head. "I feel like I've been hit with a carriage."

"More like a chair," said Athos, wryly.

Aramis peered over his shoulder at Porthos with concern clearly etched on his face. "Just hang on a minute and I'll make sure you didn't lose what little sense you had left."

Satisfied with his temporary work, Aramis patted Athos on the leg before crossing the room to Porthos, who hissed as Aramis touched his face. "Badly bruised, but I don't think there are any fractures. It shouldn't affect your good looks. Then again, you didn't have any to start with."

"Why do you always get nasty when you're worried?"

"I do not get nasty. Gentlemen do not get nasty."

"You? A gentleman?"

Aramis raised his eyebrows. "You'd do well to remember that my hands are very close to your aching head right about now."

Porthos looked over at Athos. "See … nasty."

"He didn't deny being worried though," smirked Athos.

"You'd get nasty too if you spent all your time having to patch up your friends," scoffed Aramis, as he peered into Porthos's eyes and frowned.

"You just admitted to getting nasty."

"You're delusional. I blame the concussion."

"What concussion?"

"The one I think you may have. How did that all start anyway?"

Athos shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. Porthos was playing cards."

"Ah."

Porthos frowned at Aramis. "What do you mean? Ah?"

"I mean, you were playing cards and a fight started. Now I understand."

Porthos was having problems thinking straight, as his head was pounding so hard that thinking actually hurt. "I remember a chair bouncing off my head."

Athos half smiled. "More like three chairs."

"Ah. So that's why my head hurts."

"Three chairs? Well I always said you had a hard head." Aramis grinned mischievously at the big man.

Porthos attempted to glare at Aramis, and groaned as it simply made his head hurt more. "Wait until there's only one of you to hit, and we'll discuss this again."

Aramis frowned and went back to the door, peering out of the crack. His sigh of relief was audible. "Treville, with a cart and reinforcements. Well done, Remy."

Remy sat next to Athos on the bench, watching him clean his musket and trying to remember the names of all the parts as Athos explained what he was doing. The horse and rider trotted into the yard and the man looked around for someone to take the reins. He was a tall, well dressed man, with a sharp nose and an expensive looking hat perched at a slightly ridiculous angle on his head. His horse was similarly well turned out.

"Lucas is in town on an errand for Jasper, so you're up, Remy."

Remy nodded and approached the horse steadily, taking the reins firmly. The horse stood perfectly still as his rider dismounted. The man patted the horse's flanks. "Watch him for me. I'll only be a few minutes. Where's Captain Treville?"

"In his office, Sir." Remy indicated the building with his free hand. The man strode off purposefully. Remy walked the horse back and forth a little, before pausing to let it drink. When he saw the man exiting the building, with the Captain by his side, Remy positioned the horse correctly and waited patiently, muttering quietly to the horse.

"New stable boy, Treville?"

The Captain shook his head. "Not officially. Remy just helps out."

"Shame. He's an improvement on your last one. Just needs tidying up a bit."

Athos stifled a chuckle, thankful that Remy was out of earshot. The man strode forwards and swung up onto the horse as Remy held it perfectly still.

"Thanks, boy." The man threw a coin at Remy, who caught it deftly, as he released the reins. The man waved his hand as a parting gesture to the Captain and rode out, leaving Remy staring at the coin in his hand. He sat back down next to Athos and placed the coin on the bench.

Treville smiled. "I told you, Remy, you get to keep tips."

Remy glanced at Athos, still looking doubtful.

Athos chuckled. "Pocket it before Porthos appears, or you'll never see it again."

Porthos emerged from the armory behind them. "See what?"

Remy pocketed the coin quickly, as Treville and Athos laughed. Porthos scratched his head, wondering what he'd missed.