Chapter 4 - Simply Unexpected
D'Artagnan paced up and down the streets of Paris, going nowhere in particular. Thoughts of Milady, Lord Buckingham, and their diabolical intentions filled his mind once more ... as they had for the past few hours.
He was going to be sick of the whole thing. Yet he couldn't drive it all from his mind, because of that overwhelming sense of duty drummed into him from his first days as a Musketeer. By definition, wasn't he charged with protecting the royal family and France as a whole? Sounded like too much, but that was exactly what he had to do. And that meant getting to the bottom of the enemy's plans.
How was he going to do that, if he didn't even know who they were? All he knew was that they were formidable enemies, with formidable plans. He seriously hoped that when he did finally find out who they were, he would still be alive to show for it.
Okay, now that was just all-out disheartening.
D'Artagnan sighed deeply and kept on walking aimlessly. The Musketeers needed an informant, a spy in the enemy ranks, or they were going to be useless against any sort of foe.
Now, if only he could find one…
All of a sudden, loud voices, one of them female, interrupted D'Artagnan's thoughts. He turned the corner and found a young lady surrounded by several men.
"So maybe being myself isn't even a good idea now," thought Annette as she watched the drunks draw closer. Silently, she cursed herself for not having brought anything to fight with - she was completely unarmed, not even a dagger or one of those awesome fans from Cathay or Japan or someplace, with tiny blades embedded in them ... but that was just too out-of-place here in Paris, plus she didn't know how to use one ...
Stop getting distracted! The sane part of her mind shouted at her. You're in danger, in case you've forgotten what that means ... wait. Danger is now spelled with an A, for Annette. Remember?
Annette sighed. Why am I always running into trouble?
It was partly her fault she was ever in this mess in the first place …
So fight her way out, then. She felt suddenly tired. Everything had to have "fight" in it nowadays.
Well, that was what sharp heels were for anyway - besides haute couture, of course.
She still had the wall to her back, though, so ... the only alternative was to dodge flying glass bottles, while using her shoes as a weapon. She took them off and brandished them at the men.
What a sight I must look - waving my shoes in the air like this. What a proper lady – but I've never been a proper one anyway, not even close.
"You had better not get any closer!" she shouted, trying to quell the growing feeling of fear. She was supposed to be a Musketeer, for crying out loud! "I'll give you a piece of my mind ... or my incredibly sharp high heel!"
Her voice wavered, and she felt weak.
Apparently, she was not the only one who sensed it.
"Here, pretty girl," one said, leering at her and stepping closer.
There was nothing for it. Annette braced herself to fight - but she never had to. A familiar tall man had jumped in front of her, blocking her from the leering drunks.
"Don't you dare lay a finger on her, or you'll have me to answer to."
D'Artagnan suddenly found himself in front of the girl, shielding her from the other men as he fought them off (or rather, scared them off with the sight of his unsheathed sword). He was not impressed, but at least his Musketeer instincts were still intact.
He really had to stop walking around distractedly like this.
On second thought, he sort of wished some of the men had not run off. He was itching for a fight (which could not be a good thing).
The coast was clear now, and he turned to the lady behind him. "Mademoiselle, are you all right?"
She had really beautiful grey eyes – he couldn't help but notice. Leave it to D'Artagnan to fall for the first damsel in distress he met.
But then again ... she did look rather pretty. Definitely French, by the way … but she didn't look like she came from these parts. Probably somewhere from the south …
He realized she was staring right back at him with those grey eyes of hers, which now looked oddly haunted. In fact, her entire face held an expression of unbearable fatigue and hardship that no one like her should ever have had. D'Artagnan suddenly felt an unnatural sense of worry cloud his mind.
What had happened to make her look this way?
He didn't want to think about it.
"Are you all right?" he asked again, more gently this time.
"Y-yes," the girl gasped out, not sounding at all well – and suddenly she'd pitched forward into his arms and D'Artagnan had to struggle to hold her upright. He hoped she hadn't fainted – she hadn't, thank goodness.
Now, she was just looking at him again with those eyes that told of unspeakable burdens … and D'Artagnan, for some reason, was seized with the impulse to pull her close and sooth away her fears.
He realized the girl was speaking.
"Th-thank you …" Her voice was soft, and he could imagine her saying more – like, perhaps, "I love you" …
He pushed that thought out of his mind.
"I could accompany you if you like," D'Artagnan offered gallantly. She really didn't look well – her face was pale and she looked shaky all over, as if she might collapse. But the girl refused.
"I'm all right. Thank you," she said, and then, even more softly, "sir Musketeer …"
And then she was gone, leaving D'Artagnan alone in his thoughts once more.
How … how had she known who he was? He hadn't even dressed like a Musketeer. But then again, most young men in these parts were either Musketeers or the cardinal's guards, so there was little room for doubt …
Still, decidedly strange. She must have some connection to the Musketeers, at least.
Then a flash of pink on the ground caught his eye. He strode over, bent down, and picked up a pink handkerchief embroidered with the initials "A.D."