Author's Note: I'd hoped to get this up quickly, but never imagined it would be the same day. I'm hard at work on Alexandre's secret and of course the fate of d'Artagnan.
From the Ashes
By Ecri
Chapter 6
Plots and Schemes
Athos, Aramis, and Porthos rode to the Lambert farm. Athos was quiet as Aramis and Porthos discussed the case against the boy, but could think of no recourse. If the Lamberts yielded no further information, what else could they do?
Aramis turned an appraising eye on Athos. "You've nothing to add?"
Athos didn't reply.
Porthos sighed. "Out with it."
When Athos refused to speak, Aramis brought his horse around to block his path. "You're brooding again, old friend, and without a bottle of wine or a tavern in sight. What's set you off now?"
Athos glared, but cleared his throat and confessed the road his thoughts had traveled. "Did you see him? He flinched away from me. He was expecting to be hit."
Aramis nodded. "They haven't been kind."
"Kind!" Athos seethed. "That boy was stiff-necked, opinionated, prideful and confident when last we saw him. Now, he's cowering in a filthy corner expecting to be hit…and not trying to defend himself!"
"It's what happens when you've been treated bad." Porthos insisted. "Eventually, you expect it. You're sure of it, and you want to minimize the damage. I've seen it before."
Athos turned to Porthos. "We cannot simply accept this! That boy was full of promise. Now…"
"Now, he's to be hung at dawn. That's less than half a day from now. We can restore him once we've saved him." Aramis waited for Porthos and Athos to acknowledge him before again attempting to devise a plan to do just that. He could think of little except to get the Lamberts to admit to their deception.
"Getting them to admit to murder ain't goin' to be easy," Porthos said.
"It is remarkable what a man will confess when his life is threatened," Athos replied.
"Ah, yes, but we don't want them to claim later that they said it because their lives were threatened. D'Artagnan's life might be forfeit the minute that were to come out." Aramis said.
Porthos shook his head. "The lad might be challenged as well. The Lamberts, if they're not hung for the crime, might take him on. Or some cousin or uncle we don't know about."
Aramis sighed. "It seems the lad's life is being turned upside down yet again. If we do save him from the noose…"
Athos cut him off with a glare. "When we save him from the noose."
Aramis held up a hand. "I misspoke. When we save him from the noose, his life here won't be what he wishes."
"If they've all turned on 'im like 'e said 'e can't really go back to the way things were when 'is dad was alive. You heard 'im. 'e said they're all talking about 'im. Tellin' the tale." Porthos couldn't hide his distaste for that sort of behavior. To a soldier, trust in your comrades was paramount. For The Inseparables, anything other than complete trust was unimaginable.
"We will deal with the aftermath tomorrow at dawn. Until then let us remain focused on our objective." Athos chided gently.
Porthos shrugged. "They could be anywhere."
"Their father's murderer hangs tomorrow. They won't leave Lupiac until they've watched that." Athos said.
They left the wagon not far from the road and approached the house on foot. Alert for anything unusual, they moved silently towards the nearest window. Athos peered inside. He held up a hand with two fingers raised telling the others how many he could see inside.
Athos signaled to Aramis to move around the house. He would enter from the front door, and Athos and Porthos from the back.
Aramis moved stealthily around the house, but had only made it part of the way when he felt the presence of someone just behind him. He knew Athos and Porthos well enough to have been able to tell if one of his friends were behind him. This was someone else. He whirled around holding his pistol straight out before him. The young man who'd been following him came skidding to a stop and half-turned as though to run. Aramis called out to him. "I'm the best shot in the King's Musketeers. I can shoot you just as easily in the back."
The stranger stopped, dropping his sword. He had no pistol, so he raised his empty hands, his eyes wide. "Please don't shoot."
"Yet presumably, you were quite prepared to come up behind me and run me through," Aramis mused.
"He what?" Porthos booming voice came towards them from behind the young man.
"Oh, see what you've done." Aramis said to the young man. "You've upset him," Aramis shook his head as though in lament.
Porthos drew up next to the man and grabbed him by the throat. "Yeah, I'm upset. Maybe I'll rip 'is arm off."
"Porthos, thanks to you, there are quite enough one-armed men wandering the streets of Paris without you deciding to inflict the injury across the whole of the French countryside." He looked at the stranger, shrugging once. "What can I say? He's not very creative. He's gotten in a rut. Always ripping arms off."
The man looked fearfully at Porthos. "Please don't…"
"Maybe if you give him something he'll leave you alone," Aramis suggested as though the idea had just occurred to him.
"What? What would he want?"
Aramis shook his head. He gestured toward Porthos. "Ask him."
"What do you want? Anything. I'll give you anything."
"Don't want anything." Porthos grinned.
"But…"
"Come now, maybe if he told you everything he knows about the death of Monsieur Lambert?" Aramis suggested.
Porthos seemed to consider that. "Well, maybe, if 'e 'as a good tale to tell."
The man blinked. "But…" he began.
Porthos made a move as though to get a better grip on the man's arm.
"All right! Charles d'Artagnan killed my father."
Aramis and Porthos exchanged confused glances. Having been certain the Lambert brothers had been behind this, they could now believe either that the man was lying so as not to admit complicity in patricide, or he truly believed d'Artagnan had done the deed.
The man began to laugh. "He won't make it to his appointment with the gallows tomorrow morning. He's going to commit suicide tonight."
"What?" Porthos roared.
The man was laughing as though he'd no intention of stopping. "My brother has gone to his cell. He won't see the dawn!" He laughed some more, but Porthos, impatient and angry, punched him soundly sending him to the ground. He lay there not moving for a moment, but groaning loudly.
"I think he's broken," Aramis muttered.
"Who cares?"
"Indeed," said Athos as he came around the corner.
"Where were you?" Aramis demanded.
"You didn't need my help. If you had, I'd have offered it."
"D'Artagnan…"
"Yes. I'm going to take care of that. You two stay here and speak to the other two." Athos gestured toward the house. "See if you can learn anything. I'll see to d'Artagnan."
Aramis watched him go. He didn't bother with the borrowed wagon, but instead leaped onto the back of an already saddled horse amidst protests from the man at Porthos's feet.
"That's my horse! He can't take my horse!"
Porthos helped him up and shook him silent. "He can do as he pleases, and you better pray he gets there in time or you'll suffer for it."
The man fell silent.
"How do you want to do this?" Aramis asked Porthos.
Porthos shrugged. "Let's tie this one up and go in and see who's left."
"A sound plan as far as it goes."
"You got a better one?"
Aramis looked around as though an answer might be found written on the wind and inhaled deeply before turning back to Porthos. "No, not an inkling."
"All right then." Porthos found a bit of rope in the wagon and tied the man securely. He shoved one rag in his mouth and tied it there with another. "Don't want you helpin' whoever's left in the house, do we?" He chuckled.
Porthos drew his sword, and Aramis kept hold of his pistol as they crept towards the door. They could hear someone moving around, but hoped to surprise the man.
"So, what was it you heard?" The voice called.
They didn't respond. "Gustave? Can you hear me?" Footsteps came closer and Porthos and Aramis positioned themselves on either side of the door.
The door swung open and out came the man in question. He was walking fast and obviously irritated at having to come outside after his brother. He was also obviously not really expecting trouble.
Trouble now stood behind him in the form of two rather formidable Musketeers.
"Turn around slowly, Monsieur," Aramis said. "I have a pistol pointed at your head."
The man raised his hands and turned. "Where's Gustave?"
Aramis gestured to the side of the house. "He's tied up around there. Tell us Monsiuer, you are Gustave's brother, are you not? What can you tell us about the murder of your father?"
"I know that the hothead at the next farm did it." The man spat the words, anger to rival any they'd seen from d'Artagnan animating his face. "He plunged a knife into his back and watched as he bled to death!"
"Nah, he didn't," Porthos said in a tone more indicative that he found the man's comment idiotic than that they were discussing something so serious as murder.
"He did!" The man dropped his hands, and his eyes were wide with fury. "We saw it from the crest in the hilltops. We couldn't get there in time. The knife was still in my father's back! In his back! The coward didn't even have the decency to face my father before killing him!"
"You're talkin' rubbish!" Porthos seethed.
"You're his friends! You'd say anything to save him!"
"You got that right," Porthos muttered. "But in this case, we don't 'ave to lie. D'Artagnan wouldn't kill a man like that. There's nothing that would make 'im stab a man in the back!"
"How would you know?" The man demanded, staring at Porthos with a look that told both Musketeers how much he had lost when his father had been killed. "You've knew him for a few days and that was a few months ago! I've known him all my life!"
"Then you know 'is father always talked of honor. That's what I learned of Alexandre d'Artagnan! Would 'is son abandon something 'e likely spoke about every day of 'is life?"
The man stopped for a moment, staring at Porthos as though this were a new idea. The anger faded replaced with thoughtfulness and uncertainty.
"Was there blood?" Aramis asked calmly.
"Of course there was blood!" The anger streamed back, but was tinged now with impatience. "He was stabbed!"
Aramis shook his head and spoke as though he were explaining this to a small child. "On Monsieur Charles d'Artagnan. Was there blood on his arms, his clothes, anywhere upon his person?"
The man went still. The anger melted from his face and was replaced by wonder and realization. "No," he whispered. "Not a drop."
Aramis smiled sadly. "Unlikely that he did it then, wouldn't you say. Whoever you saw attacking your father, it was not Charles d'Artagnan."
He closed his eyes as though merely understanding what Aramis had said was an unbearable burden. "Wait, then why would he confess?"
Porthos shot a look at Aramis. Aramis frowned. "He wouldn't confess."
"We were told he confessed. We were certain…" he looked away, but looked back at Aramis, his eyes full of fear and panic. "Marcel went to…" he swallowed.
"Ah, Marcel? Is that the other brother? Yes, Gustave mentioned that he was going to visit d'Artagnan. He'll fail."
"I have to talk to him. Explain it. We've been duped. We assumed it was d'Artagnan. My brother won't stop short of being killed. I don't want to lose anyone else, Monsieur. Let me go to the prison." He was pleading, his hands clasped before him in supplication.
Aramis looked to Porthos. Their silent communication seemed to unnerve their captive.
"Very well." Aramis said. "We'll all go. Your brother is staying tied up in the wagon. You will go with your hands tied. We cannot trust either of you where you might do more harm to d'Artagnan."
The man nodded and held out his hands to be bound. "Just get us there quickly."
Aramis again glanced at Porthos. If the man were this eager to go to his brother and this willing to be bound on the way then that could only mean the brothers hadn't killed their father. If they saved d'Artagnan from being murdered, they could still lose him to the hangman's noose.