Thanks for the continued support for this story and for your wonderful reviews. One more chapter without d'Artagnan, but I promise he'll be back in the next one. Hope you enjoy!
As was his habit, Athos was up before either of his friends and he moved around the room quietly, taking care of his morning ablutions. Once Aramis was awake, he would go to the garrison to speak with the Captain and make arrangements to speak with Rochefort, as well as bringing breakfast back for his friends. The medic awoke as he was securing his weapons around his waist, standing up and stretching before running a hand through his unruly curls. Joining Athos at the table so they wouldn't disturb their still sleeping friend, the older Musketeer explained his morning plans, Aramis nodding in agreement.
He left the room quietly, making his way outside and relishing the crispness of the morning air, not yet polluted with the scent of unwashed bodies and emptied chamber pots. While his friends believed him to be fondest of the evening hours when he would while away the time drinking, his favorite time of day was actually the morning, when the new day brought promise and hope of something better. He was certain that his brothers would be surprised by his sentiment, deciding long ago that he was far too much of a realist for his own good, and Athos was secretly pleased that he could still find something in the world to be optimistic about, remembering well the days after Anne's hanging when all hope had eluded him; he had fallen into an incredibly dark place and was loathe to ever return there.
The garrison was still quiet, the first few early risers sitting outside as Serge began serving breakfast and he nodded to the familiar faces as he passed by on his way to Treville's office. Unsurprisingly, the Captain was already awake and waiting for him when he knocked and Athos scrutinized his commanding officer carefully, aware that the events of the prior weeks had been difficult on Treville as well. He was pleased to find that, for once, the weariness that seemed to have settled on the man had lightened, and the Captain had a spark in his eyes that had been absent for the last short while.
"Good morning, Captain," Athos greeted as he stood in front of the man.
Treville waved a hand, indicating for him to relax. They had known each other too long to stand on formality, especially when it was only the two of them. "How was your night?" he asked.
Athos' lips quirked into a fond smile, "Despite his protests, Porthos was asleep shortly after you left. Aramis is happy that his wound is healing well and should be fine to be present during our conversation with the Comte."
The Captain nodded in satisfaction, knowing that Porthos would not have allowed himself to be left behind and pleased that he would not be placing his health in jeopardy to do so. "I have sent a message to the palace, requesting Rochefort's presence at the ruins outside the city wall this afternoon to discuss a matter of the utmost urgency." Athos lifted a brow at the man's words. With a rueful smile, Treville explained, "I may have left him with the impression that I have news regarding d'Artagnan."
Athos couldn't help but offer a soft grin as he gave a nod of appreciation for his commander's actions. "Will you be joining us?"
Treville shook his head. "I think it's best that you go in my place," he paused for a moment, "with my regrets, of course."
"Of course," Athos pursed his lips in thought. It was a dangerous game they were playing and there was no guarantee that Rochefort would allow himself to be intimidated. If the situation blew up in their faces Treville, at least, would have a modicum of deniability, hopefully allowing him to remain free and in charge of the garrison so he could lobby on their behalf, if required. Athos replaced the hat on his head as he prepared to leave.
"Athos, be careful and good luck," the Captain called to him before he'd left. Athos dipped his head in acknowledgement as he exited, heading directly for the stairs that led down to the courtyard. Now that they had a time and place, he was eager to return to his friends so they could prepare and he moved swiftly to the kitchens to collect a basket of food before heading back to his rooms.
Aramis and Porthos were both awake when he returned, and they greeted him from their seats at the table, Porthos grumbling quietly, "'Bout time. I'm starvin'."
Athos' eyes lit with amusement at his friend's predictable nature, pleased to see that his appetite had returned in full force. As they doled out the food, both men looked expectantly at their leader, waiting to be informed of the plan. Athos sat first and had a bite, encouraging his friends to do likewise, before he began to speak. "Treville has sent a message to Rochefort, asking for a meeting at the old ruins outside the city. We'll be there in his stead as the Captain will be unavoidably detained."
Porthos gave a nod as he chewed, happy to have something to look forward to. "What time?"
"Noon. I suggest that we arrive an hour earlier just in case the Comte's intentions aren't entirely honorable," Athos replied. None of them expected Rochefort to arrive alone and it was not entirely improbable that the man might have plans of his own to harm the Captain, the areas outside of the city notorious for their criminal activities.
They finished their meal and then dressed, checking their weapons before returning to the garrison to collect their horses. Being in the saddle would pull on Porthos' wounded shoulder but it would still be easier than making him cover the distance on foot. Besides, they'd left themselves plenty of time so the horses could be walked, easing the strain on the large man's injury. Aramis had wanted to bind Porthos' arm again, but a harsh look from his friend had the medic backing away, hands in the air in mock supplication. Aramis wasn't happy about it but understood Porthos' need to have both hands free, none of them knowing exactly what kind of danger they might be walking into.
Athos' suggestion to arrive early proved unnecessary, Rochefort reaching the meeting place only a few minutes prior to noon, accompanied by two Red Guards as was the usual complement when travelling outside the city walls. Aramis was ensconced in a high vantage point above them, providing additional protection to his friends below. When Rochefort spotted Athos, he motioned to his guards to stay back, walking forward to meet the man in the open space where he waited, Porthos also standing well back from the older Musketeer.
"Athos," Rochefort sneered in mock politeness, "what an unexpected surprise. I thought I was to meet your Captain here today." He looked around confirming that the man he referred to was absent.
Athos inclined his head in greeting, "Captain Treville sends his regrets and me in his place."
The Comte observed him for several moments before speaking, "You have news of d'Artagnan?"
"I do," Athos confirmed, his tone still congenial. "We have a witness who will testify that you were behind d'Artagnan's kidnapping. Further, we know about the letter from the Queen to her brother that you supposedly gave to the Spanish Ambassador." He watched Rochefort carefully for any signs of reaction as he ended. "How do you think her Majesty would react to find out it's been in your possession all along?"
To his credit, the Comte didn't show any outward response to Athos' accusations, nor did he try to refute the man's claims. "Suppose that what you say is true and, let's suppose further that I care. How does any of this help d'Artagnan? The evidence against him is still irrefutable."
Athos gave a nod, conceding the other man's point. "I don't know who really murdered Perales but you'll bring him to justice if you don't want your secrets aired before the King. We may not have enough to clear d'Artagnan's name but we certainly have more than enough to lose your hard-won favour with Louis." Athos' eyes narrowed as he gambled, "And I can't imagine the Queen will look kindly on being betrayed by one of her oldest friends." He let the words drop and fell silent, praying that his instincts had guided him correctly and that Rochefort held the Queen's opinion in high regard, just as he held the King's.
Rochefort's blue eyes were now darting around and Athos could see a sheen of sweat dotting the man's hairline as he considered the offer Athos had placed before him. He cleared his throat as he prepared to speak, his words low and hoarse from the fear that now gripped him, "How can I be certain that you'll keep your end of the bargain?"
Athos gave him a look of contempt that only a noble could perfect, "I am a man of my word, Rochefort. If the true murderer is revealed, I promise that none of this will ever reach their Majesties' ears."
Silence reigned for several seconds more until Rochefort gave a jerky nod in reply, Athos forcing himself not to visibly sigh in relief at his success. "There is some urgency, as you can imagine. I expect a resolution within three days' time." Athos stated, not wanting to give the Comte too much time, lest he change his mind, and aware of the fact that Treville would need to send word shortly to his sister regarding the state of affairs in Paris.
A last sharp nod from Rochefort had the man turning on his heel, ready to depart, but Athos' hand on his upper arm stopped him, the Musketeer leaning in close to whisper in his ear. "If any harm comes to d'Artagnan, please know that I will have nothing to lose and I will drive the breath from your body myself, regardless of the consequences." As Athos pulled away, Rochefort caught sight of the fury in the man's eyes and he jerked back, suddenly feeling the urgent need to be away from the Musketeer.
Above, Aramis watched as the Comte retreated, the two Red Guards falling in behind him. Porthos was already moving forward to stand at Athos' side, hand now cradling the elbow of his injured arm, and the sharpshooter felt safe enough to make his way down to his friends. While Athos was normally inscrutable, his expression was unquestionably satisfied and Aramis' face broke out in a broad smile, Porthos matching him, as he approached his friends, clasping a hand briefly on the older man's shoulder. "It worked?" he confirmed, receiving a nod in reply.
Porthos let out a loud laugh, the tension of the past few days releasing as they now plainly saw an end to d'Artagnan's troubles in sight. As one, they moved toward their horses, Aramis replacing his harquebus in the holster attached to his saddle. The three men were visibly lighter as they wheeled their horses around, moving in the direction of the Musketeer garrison, eager to share their success with the Captain.
The physician should have returned to his office by now, but the pull of strong brandy was too much to resist and he found himself once more at its sweet mercy, swallowing one mouthful after another until the world around him blurred, giving him a semblance of peace that sobriety could not. He only had two days left to settle his accounts and had no more means with which to do so now, than a week ago when he'd initially received the ultimatum. He'd known that gambling was a bad idea, but when his dear wife had passed, it was the only solace he found, throwing himself into the activity with a fervour that could only be called an obsession, idling the nights away at various card games both in his hometown and in the surrounding ones. Luck had been fickle and he'd begun losing – a lot. So much, in fact, that he'd been ripe pickings for a local lender who preyed on the weak-willed and desperate. At first, he only borrowed what he could comfortably pay back, but as his losing streak continued, his need for additional loans grew until he could no longer see a way of ever earning enough to pay back what he owed.
The threat to his physical well-being had been terrifying and clear, leaving no doubt in his mind that he would not be long for this earth once the men were finished with him. Resigned to his fate, he'd turned to drinking, running up a tab in the local tavern which he knew was another debt that would be outstanding at the time of his death. When the three rough looking men entered the dimly lit establishment, he spared them nothing more than a glance, their entrance a minor distraction from the focused drinking he was engaged in. It wasn't until one of the men arrived at his table, knocking against it with one hip and nearly spilling the amber liquid in his glass, that he brought red-rimmed and bleary eyes upwards to meet the man's flinty gaze.
"You seen this man?" the man asked, holding up a piece of parchment that held the image of a man. Squinting, the physician could make out the outline of a man's face, the strong chin and jawbone framed by long dark hair, and he started with the realization that the visage was familiar to him.
Licking his lips and working hard to keep the slurred edge from his voice, he asked, "Who is he?"
The man's eyes narrowed as he stared down at the drunk, considering for a moment how much information to share. "He's a murderer. My friends and I want to return him to Paris to hang for his crime."
The physician's eyes darted to the man's companions, sizing them up as he processed the man's words. Bounty hunters, he concluded. About to share what he knew, he paused as it occurred to him that this fugitive likely carried a price on his head. Had his circumstances been different, he never would have considered meddling with these men, but since he had a literal death sentence facing him in two days, he had nothing left to lose. "What's it worth to you if I can tell you where to find him?"
The man looked over his shoulder, motioning for his companions to join him. The three men now surrounded the table where the physician sat and he calmly took another drink from his glass, understanding that they were trying to intimidate him. The first man he'd spoken with leaned forward, a glare on his face as he hissed, "If you know where this man can be found, you'd best give 'im up before things turn out badly for you."
The physician snorted in reply, the bounty hunter jerking back in surprise at the reaction. Plastering a grim smile on his face, he replied, "I am a desperate man who has nothing and I expect to be dead in two days' time at someone else's hands. The only thing that will persuade me to share what I know is the means to pay off my debts so I might live past the end of the week. If you're unwilling to pay for my information, then by all means, carry out your threats. You'll only save someone else the trouble."
The three exchanged a quiet look, weighing the physician's words and then the bounty hunter pulled out a chair and sat down. "Alright, what do you want?"
The physician measured the men in front of him, knowing that the bounty must be fairly rich for them to be considering his demand. "Pay me a quarter of what he's worth to you and I'll draw you a map and even tell you his weaknesses."
"Twenty percent," the man countered and, after a few seconds of thought, the physician nodded. "Half now and half after we've confirmed that your information is good."
The physician shook his head adamantly, "No, I want it all know or you can bugger off. Nothin' to lose, remember."
The bounty hunter's jaw clenched angrily but he reached for his purse, counting out a quantity of coin that made the physician's heart jump as he realized that the money would not only cover his debt but leave him some extra. He felt a momentary pang of guilt and mercilessly quashed the feeling; there was no longer anyone who cared enough about him to be either proud or ashamed of his actions, even though selling out this man's location would certainly have made his wife cringe. Scooping up the coins and adding them to his own purse with fingers made thick and clumsy by the brandy, he leaned forward and gave them directions to the Trémaux estate, giving them the added bonus of letting them know the man they sought was injured, his head and ribs both points of weakness.
When he'd finished, the man gave a short word of thanks, rising from the table and taking his two companions with him as they left the tavern. The physician finished his glass, deciding against ordering another, buoyed for once by hope that he might still be able to salvage his pitiful life. Swaying and staggering, he navigated his way around the tables and other patrons, tripping slightly on the step as he exited onto the street. By the height of the sun, it was late afternoon and, since he was in condition to work, he aimed for home. As he passed an alley, he was shocked to be pulled nearly off his feet, a pair of strong arms flinging him from the street and against a building in the narrow lane. His balance gone, he slid down the building to land unceremoniously on his backside, his mind to slow to understand what was happening. Before he could even look up to identify his attacker, a flash of steel came at him and, moments later, he sat slumped against the building as his lifeblood poured from the gaping wound at his neck. The bounty hunter reached forward, retrieving the man's purse, the three men grinning widely as they headed for their horses, intent on finding the fugitive they sought.