Thanks to everyone who continues to follow along with this tale. I hope you enjoy this next part!
The three Inseparables stood before Treville, awaiting their orders. That they were lacking their fourth was somewhat strange, but not enough to for any of them to dwell on the matter. d'Artagnan spent most of his days training with the three, but he wasn't a Musketeer, or even a formal recruit, allowing him more latitude with his time. If he chose to spend it in some other fashion, that was his choice.
"You'll be apprehending a money-lender by the name of Broussard," Treville stated, his gaze resting on his lieutenant. Immediately, he saw Athos' brow lift, questioning the order.
Porthos wasn't as subtle as the older man, and voiced the question had sprung to mind for all of them. "Why us? Isn't that a matter for the Red Guard?"
Treville nodded, unsurprised that he was being challenged by these three. "Normally, yes, but it seems that some of the Red Guard have also been customers of Monsieur Broussard. As a result, previous attempts to apprehend him have been unsuccessful." Porthos snorted inelegantly at the comment while Aramis smiled knowingly. Protection from those guarding the city and enforcing its laws would be considerable leverage when negotiating the repayment of loans.
"He's been known to frequent the Rue de l'Echelle, making it easy for new and current customers to find him," the Captain went on. "Once you've apprehended him, there's a cell waiting at the Chatelet."
Aramis hesitated for the first time since they'd entered their commander's office. "Shouldn't we wait for d'Artagnan to join us?" He glanced at his companions, assessing their expressions to find his answer.
Before either man could respond, Treville interjected, his face a mix of amusement and admiration for the skills of the men before him. "I'm certain that this will be an easy mission for three of the King's finest." Athos met his Captain's bright blue eyes, giving a minor tilt of his chin in agreement.
Aramis' expression suggested he'd still prefer to wait for the Gascon, but orders were orders, and there really was no valid reason for them to wait for someone who might not even show up at the garrison that day. With that conclusion, he gave a small nod, which satisfied Treville.
"Good. Report back to me when it's done." The men filed out at the tacit dismissal, gathering at the railing outside of Treville's office.
The Rue de l'Echelle was within walking distance, but the additional trek to the Chatelet, and then back to the garrison, would make their day unnecessarily long. As though reaching the same conclusion at the same time, they were in motion seconds later, this time heading for the stables to retrieve their horses.
As Treville had indicated, Broussard frequented the Rue de l'Echelle. Despite the number of people that either lingered or simply passed through the area, their target was relatively simple to find – at least that was the case with Porthos at their sides.
"There 'e his," the large Musketeer indicated with a tilt of his head. Athos and Aramis subtly shifted their gazes, letting them settle on a smallish man dressed in a dark brown doublet, which covered an off-white shirt and tan breeches. The man looked unremarkable at first glance, but for the hat on his head, the crown of which was adorned with several colorful peacock feathers.
Keeping his eyes on the man, Athos asked lowly, "How can you be certain?"
Fully aware that the older man was simply looking for confirmation before they acted, Porthos replied. "Check about six feet to his left. That's Bernier, his enforcer. Made a name for 'imself years ago in the Court."
"Mon Dieu! That's a bear, not a man," Aramis proclaimed as he took in Bernier's size.
Porthos chuckled as he said, "He's big, but it's his head you have to watch out for. He proved early on that he's got brains and knows how to use 'em."
"Will he cause trouble?" Athos queried, now contemplating how they would arrest their target if his protector intervened.
Porthos was already shaking his head. "Don't think so. His allegiance has always been to his bosses' purses, and I think he'll scamper right quick once we identify ourselves."
"Only one way to find out," Athos said as he swung down from his saddle, leaving the reins lying across his horse's neck and trusting that the well-trained animal would wait for him. Porthos was already following suit, while Aramis let out a sigh before doing the same, praying that the giant man would stay out of the coming conversation.
They managed to get within ten feet of the money-lender before the man noticed them, despite the fact that they'd spread out to be less conspicuous. As their gazes locked, Athos called out to the man, needing to confirm his identity. "Monsieur Broussard?"
Their target began edging towards his enforcer, eyes already darting to Porthos and then Aramis and deciding that he was in danger. "Bernier," he called out to his man, and the giant responded by taking a protective stance in front of his employer.
"Monsieur Broussard, you are under arrest by order of the King," Athos said, muscles tensed in anticipation of the criminals' reactions. He didn't have to wait long as the money-lender shot out from behind his enforcer in a bid to escape. At the same time, Bernier took a menacing step forward, prompting the Musketeers to spring forward as well.
Athos and Porthos both darted around the giant to chase after Broussard, while Aramis found himself face-to-face with the large man. Reaching down to pull his pistol, his hand had barely brushed the stock when he found himself flying through the air. His flight was short, and ended abruptly as he collided with the sturdy wall of a building. His head struck a moment after his shoulder, and the force of it was enough to have him sliding limply down the wall to the dirty street.
He fought hard against the spots blackening his vision, but in the end, he must have succumbed for at least a few seconds. His next conscious thought was of Porthos staring at him worriedly, and he blinked heavily at the concern darkening his friend's eyes. "Are you back with me now?" the large man asked.
Aramis' heavy eyelids closed and opened slowly once more before he found the wherewithal to answer. "No fui a ninguna parte," he slurred, somewhat surprised at how difficult it had been for him to form the words.
Porthos' brow furrowed deeply as his concern spiked. "What did you say?"
Aramis licked his dry lips as he gathered the strength to repeat himself. "Didn't go anywhere," he managed. Another glance at Porthos' face showed that his friend was less than impressed, and he tiredly allowed his lids to close once more, snapping them open again when pain flared at his temple. "Stop," he protested, sluggishly bringing a hand up to his face, only to have it caught in another's and pulled away.
"Stop that, Aramis," his friend scolded without heat. Patting his pockets for a moment, Porthos withdrew his scarf from his doublet, folding it carefully before pressing it to the wound on his friend's head.
Aramis winced at the sting of pain and Porthos gave him a contrite expression. Deciding to distract his friend from his guilt at causing him pain, the marksman asked, "Is there much blood?"
The large man lifted an edge of the kerchief to look underneath before replying. "Nah, it's already slowin'. Might need a stitch or two, though." Aramis groaned in response, brining a grin to Porthos' face. "Here," he said, guiding the marksman's hand to his temple. "Hold that. You ready to get up?"
He wasn't, but knew that waiting was unlikely to make things any better, so he wordlessly extended his free hand to Porthos who carefully and slowly lifted him to his feet. Aramis was pleased when the world stayed still beneath his feet, giving his friend a smile as he said, "I'm good."
Porthos released him as Athos spoke. "I'm glad to hear that, because we have a prisoner to deliver to the Chatelet." In the confusion, Aramis had forgotten about Broussard who now stood next to the older man's horse, his wrists tied by a length of rope which ended in the Musketeer's hands.
"You caught him," he blurted out in surprise, earning him a much gentler version of one of Porthos' regular shoulder slaps.
"Of course we caught him," the large man responded, now guiding the marksman to his horse.
"But what about the giant?" Aramis went on, regretting his words as soon as he'd spoken them.
With a mild smirk, Athos replied. "Apparently, you scared him off."
"Yeah," Porthos agreed as he swung himself onto his horse. "As soon as he threw you out of the way, he took off like a shot."
"He caught me momentarily unprepared," the marksman retorted good-naturedly as he mounted as well. "Of course, I didn't see either of you deciding to take him on."
Porthos snorted with laughter as Athos remarked, "You seemed to have things well in hand, even if your strategy left something to be desired."
Aramis could feel heat flushing his face, but more with embarrassment rather than anger. He knew that neither of his friends would have left him to fend for himself, but it had been a good reminder to always enter every situation prepared, with his weapon drawn. With a nod, he fell into place behind Athos, allowing Porthos to follow and keep an eye on him.
Bernier slunk through the crowds with ease, people instinctively moving out of his way as he hurried to his destination. He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he considered his good fortune, something his employer – former employer – would have been chagrined to find out. Broussard had been a decent boss, paying him well enough that he could afford some proper clothes, relatively good food, and even the occasional bottle of decent brandy. However, the man underestimated his enforcer, just as so many before him had.
Bernier had dutifully completed his master's bidding, keeping the man safe from his enemies and providing motivation and punishment in equal measure when customers found themselves unable to repay their loans. It was a win-win situation; he was allowed to indulge in the physical violence that he craved almost more than drink, while his employer became both rich and feared, at least in comparison to many others in the Court of Miracles.
It should have been enough, but Bernier was always looking for his next opportunity, and he'd been attentive when doing his rounds with Broussard, carefully noting the names and locations of the man's debtors, and the amounts each owed. It had been a daunting task, given that he didn't know how to read or write, but he'd managed to devise a system of symbols that only he could understand, and which would now lead him to wealth of his own. Given Broussard's reputation, there was no doubt in his mind that customers would continue to show up to pay or to try and renegotiate their terms. With the money-lender indisposed, Bernier would step into his place and take over the thriving business for himself.
With those thoughts at the forefront of his mind, he arrived at one of the better taverns in the city, his one hand wrapped protectively around the purse he'd liberated from Broussard's belt before the man had fled. Tonight, he'd eat and drink like royalty before taking his former boss' house for his own. Tomorrow, he'd begin collecting from his customers. Sitting down at a table near the back of the establishment, he gleefully withdrew several coins from his purse, slapping them down onto the table in front of him. His grin widened as the maid who'd come to take his order became suddenly more attentive. Luck had most definitely smiled on him.