I promised some answers in this chapter but I was wrong and the story hasn't quite progressed that far. There will be one chapter after this one.

Phoenix Rising

Chapter Five

The funerals were over; seven plain wooden coffins consigned to the cold unforgiving earth. Athos lingered after the others had gone, waiting for Treville to acknowledge his presence. The Captain had taken the loss hard. It was one thing to lose men in battle and another to be attacked in your own home.

"I have been summoned to the Palace," Treville said, putting on his hat and stepping reluctantly back from the graveside. "The King wants an accounting."

"Of the loss of men or the loss of weapons?" Athos asked.

"I'm sure he's concerned about both. I leave you in charge while I'm gone. Start emptying the armoury. See if anything is salvageable." Treville began to walk back toward the garrison to fetch his horse.

"The men need rest after yesterday." Athos fell into step with his Captain.

"They can work in shifts. We have been excused duty at the Palace for the next few days. The Red Guard has taken over responsibility for the King and Queen."

"We should be there." Athos had no time for the Red Guard who, to his mind, were nothing more than thugs. He also didn't like the idea that this catastrophe was allowing Rochefort to grow ever closer to the royal couple. "What if this was just the first salvo in a war on French soil."

"All the more reason to find out who was behind it."

"We're compiling a list of everyone who visited the garrison in the hours leading up to the explosion. Porthos and I will follow up any leads."

"What about Aramis?"

Athos grimaced. "We can't get him to leave the infirmary. He stayed there last night and I don't think he slept."

"He won't do anyone any good if he keels over."

"He might listen to you because he certainly isn't listening to us," Athos said in frustration. He understood Aramis' driving need to be useful but sometimes their self-appointed medic forgot to take care of his own health.

"I will speak with him when I return. How is d'Artagnan?"

"Very weak. He's mostly lucid but that's all. I'm going to check on him now. Constance has returned to the Palace to ask the Queen for a leave of absence."

They reached what was left of the yard and parted company. Athos looked towards the gateway where four Musketeers stood on duty. Other able-bodied men waited around in small groups no doubt speculating about the cause of the explosion. He beckoned over one of the veteran soldiers. "The Captain wants an inventory done in the armoury. Anything that can be saved should be put to one side. Pick two men to work with you. I'll see that you are relieved in an hour."

He then approached one of the recruits. "Go to the infirmary and help Aramis. Get him anything he needs and make sure he eats."

"Yes, Sir."

Confident that everything was in hand he went to d'Artagnan's room, meeting Porthos who was on his way out. "How is he?"

"Drifting. Half the time he didn't know I was there."

"We'll ask Lemay to examine him again. I know that Aramis is still worried about him. He went through a traumatic experience and it will take time for body and mind to heal."

"This waiting is hard," Porthos said with a scowl. "What do you need me to do?"

"Talk to the men who were on guard duty yesterday. I've already asked them to write down a list of who they saw but it wouldn't hurt to ask them questions. They might recall something they'd forgotten. Find me when you're done and we'll see if we have any suspects."

Athos opened the door quietly and stepped into the room. D'Artagnan's eyes were closed but from the lines of pain marring his face he clearly wasn't resting peacefully. He hesitated, and was on the point of leaving, when the young man opened his eyes. D'Artagnan's breathing was shallow, undoubtedly in deference to his broken ribs. It was also uneven, a fact that worried Athos although he kept that worry from his face. He almost winced in sympathy when d'Artagnan made the slightest of movements and groaned, biting his bottom lip and turning ashen.

"I can ask Aramis to bring you a pain draught," Athos offered.

"He gave me one not long ago," d'Artagnan said, his voice so low that Athos had to strain to hear it.

"It doesn't seem to have helped."

"Trust me, it has."

For the first time Athos recognised the true depth of d'Artagnan's suffering and he silently railed against his helplessness. Every instinct screamed at him to offer his brother some comfort but there was nothing he could do. "I should leave you to rest."

"Wait." D'Artagnan's hand reached out weakly. "No-one will tell me what happened. I know there was an explosion." A haunted look appeared in his eyes accompanied by deep confusion. "Were many hurt?"

"You should concentrate on your own recovery." Athos was unwilling to dwell on the scale of the tragedy that had befallen them.

"That's what Porthos and Aramis said. I need one of you to tell me the truth."

Athos could see that the Gascon was becoming agitated and rested a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Recognising, however, that he wouldn't be able to sidetrack the young man he pulled over a chair and began to talk.

TMTMTM

The morning passed in a blur of activity. At noon Athos again extracted Aramis from the infirmary insisting that the medic needed to rest and eat. Aramis was equally insistent upon examining Athos' hand and he agreed in return for a promise that Aramis would leave the wounded in the care of Lemay for a few hours.

They sat down to a meal of mutton stew and were soon joined by Porthos.

"I've spoken to everyone who was 'ere before the explosion and I think we might have a lead." He gulped down a mouthful of wine. "All that talkin's thirsty business."

"What did you find out?" Aramis roused from his stupor to ask.

"You know how our meat's always delivered by Monsieur Boucher? Well, yesterday he sent someone different. It was a young man, with dark hair and eyes, who kept very quiet to avoid drawing any unwanted attention. He was seen arrivin' but no-one can recall seein' 'im leave."

"Interesting. Serge, do you recall the young man who delivered the meat yesterday?" Athos asked.

Serge limped over and ladled out their stew. "He said old Leon had hurt his leg and that's why he couldn't make the delivery himself. Didn't say much else."

"Did he have an accent?" Athos leaned forward eagerly.

"Didn't notice one," Serge said apologetically.

"You think he might be responsible?" Aramis asked.

"It's worth checking out. Porthos and I will head over there once we've eaten."

"I didn't pay much attention to him," Serge said. "Perhaps if I had this wouldn't have happened."

"You're not to blame," Athos said firmly. "Whoever did this planned it very carefully."

TMTMTM

"We're here to speak to Monsieur Boucher." Athos favoured the young woman behind the counter with a brief bow.

"My father's resting. He's injured his leg."

"This is Musketeer business so I must insist," Athos said politely but with an edge to his tone that conveyed his resolve.

"Very well. This way." She wiped her hands on her apron before holding open a curtain that was covering a doorway.

It led, Athos discovered, to the small living quarters behind the shop. A man he recognised as their regular butcher sat with his leg propped up on a stool.

"Musketeers here to see you, Papa," the girl said.

Boucher tried to rise but Athos waved him down. "Please don't get up on our account."

"I heard what happened at the garrison," Boucher said.

"That's why we're 'ere." Porthos stood in the doorway with his arms crossed. "Tell us about the young man who made your delivery yesterday."

"Why are you interested in him?"

"Just answer the question," Porthos growled.

"Monsieur Boucher, we have reason to believe the explosion was not an accident," Athos said with a quelling glare at Porthos. "We are trying to identify any strangers who visited the garrison yesterday."

"You think he was involved?"

"Possibly."

"I don't know much about him. I mean I've seen him around and when I hurt my leg…"

"May I enquire how you were injured?" Athos asked.

"I was hit by a wagon. Patrice was passing by and stopped to help. When he realised I couldn't walk he offered to help with my deliveries for a few days."

"That was very noble of him," Porthos said.

"I was grateful for the help, Monsieur."

"Do you know where we can find him?" Athos glanced at Porthos and gave a small shake of his head. He understood why his friend was being so intimidating but now wasn't the time to terrify their only reliable witness.

"He drinks at The Falcon. That's where I first met him. He was newly come to Paris I believe. I've no idea where he lives."

"Did he ever discuss politics?" Athos asked.

"Not that I heard. You don't think he used me to get into the garrison?" Boucher had paled considerably as the import of their questions finally took root.

"It seems likely. I suspect your injury was no accident either. When did you last see him?"

"This morning. He came to say he'd found work and wouldn't be able to help anymore."

"Convenient," Porthos said.

"You have been very helpful, Monsieur. If you see this man again please send a message to the Musketeer garrison. Ask for Athos. I'm sure the Captain would consider a reward for such useful information."

"Yes. Yes. Anything I can do."

"D'you think our quarry's still in Paris?" Porthos asked as they left the shop.

"I don't know but I intend to find out."

Tbc