I never intended for this story to be so long and I am grateful for the wonderful reception it received. This is the final chapter.
Phoenix Rising
Chapter Six
"Where are we goin'" Porthos asked as Athos set off with determined strides.
"The Spanish Ambassador's residence."
"There is no Spanish Ambassador. Not since Perales was murdered."
"I'm aware of that." Athos quickened his pace. "However, his household wasn't disbanded. Maybe someone there knows this Patrice."
"You think that's his real name?"
"Not for a second."
"What about the tavern?"
"If he has any sense he won't return there. He must know we'll be asking questions."
It didn't take long to reach the residence which was looking the worse for wear with all the windows smashed and anti-Spanish slogans daubed on the walls.
"I'm surprised anyone stayed," Porthos said.
"Where else would they go? I doubt if any of them have the money for passage back to Spain and there is always the possibility Philip will send another Ambassador." He knocked on the door and, when he received no answer, tried the handle. "Locked. Let's try the back."
They found the kitchen door open and guarded by a young man holding a pistol. He looked at them with unconcealed terror. Since Emilie had disbanded her 'army' the streets had been quieter but it was still a dangerous time to be Spanish.
"We mean you no harm," Athos said, keeping his hands away from his weapons. "We are King's Musketeers. Who is in charge here?"
The guard's hands were shaking so badly that it was doubtful he could hit them had he chosen to shoot. "Esteban," he said.
"Can we speak to him?" Athos asked. "We are here on the King's business."
"Wait here."
They waited as patiently as they could while the man went inside, returning a few minutes later with a grey-haired man who radiated a sense of command.
"I am Esteban. This house is in my care. What can I do for the Musketeers?"
"You heard about the explosion at the garrison yesterday?" Athos asked.
"Word travels quickly."
Athos noted that there was no expression of sympathy or enquiry as to the effects of the blast. "We seek a man known as Patrice, although it is likely his true name is different. He is lately come to Paris."
"Why are you asking me?"
"Because we believe he's a Spanish spy who was sent to destroy the regiment," Porthos said bluntly, taking a threatening step forward and laying his hand on the hilt of his sword. "You'd be wise to cooperate with us."
"I know of no such man."
Athos narrowed his eyes, sure that they were being lied to. "How do you think the people will react to news that it was Spain that perpetrated this atrocity? Men died. Good men."
"Do you threaten me?"
"Yes." Athos also moved closer. "Do not look to the Musketeers for protection if you withhold vital information."
"You would leave us to the mob? I thought Musketeers had honour."
"Blowing up the garrison wasn't very honourable," Athos said drily. "Tell us what you know." Involuntarily his hands closed into fists. He was very close to losing all control and could see from Porthos' face that his friend was seconds away from violence.
Esteban looked from one to the other before his shoulders slumped. "We did not know of his intent. I would have stopped him had I known."
"I believe you. Tell us where we can find him." Athos consciously forced his muscles to relax. "No blame will attach to you if you help us."
"He has lodgings on the Rue Raynouard. Number eleven. Be careful of him, Senores. He is man who lives for violence."
TMTMTM
Aramis tried to rest but his conscience wouldn't allow him to sit idle while there were people in need. He made his way to d'Artagnan's room, quietly opening the door and peering inside. His young patient was awake and staring morosely at the wall. Aramis gave a fond smile and entered the room.
"How do you feel?"
"My chest feels like a horse landed on it," d'Artagnan said on a weak breath.
"It will improve given time," Aramis assured him. "For now it's important that you not breathe too deeply." He sat in the chair by the boy's bedside.
"Don't worry. My ribs remind me every time I forget that piece of advice."
"And your leg?"
"Throbbing." D'Artagnan looked at him pleadingly. "Will it heal?"
"Dr. Lemay assures me that it will."
"I don't remember getting hurt."
"That is not surprising. You sustained a severe head injury."
"I remember the heat and the noise then…nothing." He drew in a shuddering breath. "Who would do such a thing?"
Aramis leaned over to brush the hair out of d'Artagnan's eyes. "Athos suspects the Spanish. He and Porthos are following up on a lead." He frowned when he saw d'Artagnan's eyes screw up in pain. "Does your head hurt?"
"Everything hurts," d'Artagnan said piteously.
"I can give you something to relieve that." Aramis stood up but was stayed by d'Artagnan gripping his wrist weakly.
"You will tell me when Athos and Porthos return?"
"You have my word, my friend. Now, rest and heal.
TMTMTM
Rue Raynouard was in one of the least desirable neighbourhoods and was a perfect place for a man seeking anonymity. Athos ignored the surreptitious glances they were receiving from the ragged men and women who frequented the street.
"We don't know which room he's in," Porthos said.
"No and I'm not sure I want to confront him in a confined space."
"We wait?"
"Yes."
Twenty yards down the street was the entrance to an alley. It gave them a good view of the building while allowing them to keep out of sight. The street was not particularly busy. It wasn't a thoroughfare so only those living there or visiting residents traversed it. The wait was hard. They both felt that they were close to their quarry and each felt a driving need to obtain revenge for the deaths of their comrades.
It was late in the afternoon before they saw Patrice walking down the street. He passed them without glancing in their direction. Athos stepped out, sword and pistol drawn, confident that Porthos would be beside him.
"Halt in the name of the King," he called.
Patrice's footsteps faltered and he looked over his shoulder. "Musketeers," he snarled.
"Surrender," Athos said, walking slowly forward. "You are under arrest on suspicion of causing the explosion at the Musketeer garrison."
Patrice's lips turned up in a cruel smirk as he turned to face them. "It saddens me to see that any of you survived."
"You don't deny the charge?" Athos' pistol didn't waver. On the periphery of his senses he was aware that everyone else was moving quickly to get away from this confrontation.
"Deny it? Why would I? It was my finest work."
"You bastard!" Porthos growled. "Why?"
"Everything I do is in service to my King," Patrice said, his hand straying towards his pistol.
"Don't," Athos said warningly as he tightened his grip on the trigger.
"I do not recognize your authority, Musketeer." Patrice reached for his pistol, his hand not reaching the handle before two shots sounded. Both balls caught him squarely in the chest. Blood bubbled out through his lips as he collapsed to his knees.
Athos rushed forward and caught him before he could fall further. Patrice turned a blood stained smile on him before his eyes closed and he went limp.
"That was too quick and easy," Porthos groused. "He deserved to suffer for what he did."
"I agree but we have taken a dangerous man off the streets. Who knows where he might have struck next."
TMTMTM
Six weeks later Treville stood in the armoury with Athos by his side. He looked around at the racks of swords, pistols and muskets. "It's hard to believe that a few weeks ago this was nothing but rubble."
"Aramis says that rebuilding it is part of the healing process."
"The men seem to be recovering well physically, although I have heard that a few are still having nightmares."
"That will pass in time." He knew that d'Artagnan was still experiencing disturbed nights. His memory of the event had gradually become clearer and it had been a shock to the young man to realise how close to death he had come.
"The King has received a letter from Phillip." Treville led the way outside. "The King of Spain writes that he deplores the needless violence and denies any involvement in the plot."
"Do you believe him?" Athos looked across the yard to where d'Artagnan was engaged in a gentle sparring practice with Aramis while Porthos shouted encouragement. The splint had been removed from his leg two days earlier and Lemay had pronounced his ribs sufficiently healed for light exercise. It warmed Athos to his core to see his little brother up and about again. The visceral fear he'd experienced when they had dug the boy out from under the debris had left its mark and he was more determined than ever that no further harm should befall him.
"Louis chooses to believe him," Treville said diplomatically.
Athos bristled at that. It was wrong that the King so lightly forgave their enemy although he wasn't blind to the politics. To accuse the King of Spain of complicity would have pushed the two countries to the brink of war and Athos had no wish to visit that fate on anyone. He had experienced too many wars and had seen the damage done to the ordinary citizens and the countryside.
He gazed at a section of the wall that was still blackened by the blast. It was a lasting visual reminder of what had happened. Some scars would remain despite their best efforts, but their brotherhood endured and that, at the end of it all, was what mattered.
The End