Chapter Fifteen

"Just part of the price we pay for the little bit of praise and glory we do occasionally receive." Aramis lifted the candle he'd collected as he stepped over the thresh hold and stopped in his tracks. "By all that's holy!" he whispered, instantly enthralled with the bits and pieces shining back at him in the small pool of light. He lifted the candle higher to inspect further afield, though it's meager light barely dented the darkness of the huge room. "These things must be hundreds of years old! The entire city could retire! Collectors would pay a king's ransom for these things!"

Athos nudged the healer's shoulder impatiently. "No time to linger." A week among this treasure trove likely wouldn't be long enough to uncover its hidden gems, but they did not have a week, or even an hour to spare. He would have been glad of the time himself, but it was not meant to be. He closed and locked the door, much more easily this time, with two more candles providing light and urgency no longer oppressing his mind.

Porthos grabbed Aramis by the arm and pulled, though gently, mindful of the various bruises. "Come on, no time to gawk."

Aramis went, regretfully, but he went, following Athos through the maze, out the second door they locked behind themselves, and down the crooked staircase straight into the water.

"God's teeth, it's cold." Aramis' teeth were chattering instantly. Their room had been adequately warm, though not overly so, but the water, almost to his waist, took his breath away.

"Any idea how long it will take to get back?" Porthos had to shout to make himself heard, the roar of the water through the tunnel sounding like a rushing wind. His booming voice crashed against the timber-reinforced ceiling rolling around them like thunder.

"None."

"But you do know the way back?" Aramis headed crosswise to the other wall, presumably for support.

"Yes."

"To the bear pit?" Porthos' jolly tone made it sound as though they were on holiday.

"Yes."

"And how're we gonna get outta that?"

Perhaps he had misread the holiday tone. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Athos had purposely not brought up the bear pit again, though he had been mulling it over non-stop. If they could get Aramis up, and Athos made it as well, then together they could pull Porthos up. If, that was, the bears could be dissuaded from eating them. He'd gotten in without much trouble, and there was that roomful of bushel baskets of dried fruits and nuts and pails of salted fish.

They would contrive.

Somehow.

He hadn't been out of the aqueduct long enough to even nominally dry off, which meant the water was rising even more swiftly than he'd realized when he had waded out.

"Stop!" Athos yelled only minutes into the battle against the current. "We can't make it through this." The water was practically pushing them backwards, even Porthos was struggling to make forward progress. "We'll have to wait on the stairs until they've closed the water gate."

Porthos hesitated for a moment only. "You're right. No use doing the villain's job for 'em." He grabbed for Aramis as the marksman lost his footing and went under.

Aramis came up sputtering, swearing and swiping at his face. "Merciful Father, it'ssssssss cccccoldddddddddd!"

Porthos caught the back of Athos' jacket as the current tried to pull him under too, and hauled them all back to the opening, pushing Aramis up the stairs beyond the water line, dragging Athos behind. They slumped together, a cold, wet, shivering heap of temporarily defeated Musketeers; Porthos in the middle, Aramis and Athos huddled as close as possible without being in his lap.

"We should douse the lantern and save the candles," Porthos observed some time later.

"The wisssseeeee and foooooolish virgggggins." Aramis' teeth were still chattering, despite the shared body warmth. His own candle had been lost when he'd lost his footing.

"Huh?"

"Biblical reference." Athos coughed, checking the inside pocket just to be sure he hadn't lost the flint and steel before blowing out the lantern. "A lesson on preparation."

"Right." In the pitch black darkness, Porthos unerringly put his arms about his companions. "Next time we go on a diplomatic mission, we got to be as prepared as if we're goin' into enemy territory."

"Should have been anyway." Athos rose, raining water. "Budge up." He shoved at Porthos' knees, who pulled Aramis with him as he scooted over to let Athos sit down on the other side of the marksman.

"Youuuuu shoouddd be in the midddle." Aramis shouldered Athos.

"Ulterior motives," Porthos chuckled. "You're always the warmest of the lot of us, get you warm and you'll help warm us up."

"Youth and clean living," Athos intoned dryly.

"d'Artagnan is not here," Aramis sputtered again, though with a degree of mirth the dunking had not engendered.

"Right." Porthos matched their leader's dry inflection perfectly. "An all that bed sport keeps the blood flowin'."

The silence that fell was neither brooding nor uneasy. They were as safe as it was possible to be down here, cold but free, and they were used to endless waits. Waiting was at the top of a soldier's duties, to be accomplished with a minimum of fuss and bother.

"Let's go up further, might be nominally warmer," Porthos suggested, when Aramis' teeth had finally stopped chattering and Athos was no longer shivering.

"I don't want to move." Though Aramis let them pull him up. They clambered back up to the first landing, feeling their way in the dark, and sat again, with Porthos in the middle, establishing that whoever's turn it was to be in the middle had to go check the water level every now and again, and passed the time going over and over the few facts they had.

"You said d'Artagnan received a note," Aramis remarked two water checks later. "Who gave it to him?"

"A servant passed it to him."

"Where?"

"In the Hall of Council, he was at his usual post by the window." Athos, in the middle, straightened. "I'm an idiot. That must mean it has to be someone either on, or connected to the council!"

"Not necessarily, anyone on the street could have passed a note to an attendant out on errands or loitering near an entrance. Did you talk to the servant?"

"No, stupidly. It never occurred to me."

"Doesn't matter. Less'n it's a rank amateur behind this, that note would'a passed through several hands a'fore it reached the servant who giv' it to d'Artagnan," Porthos said with authority. "We never passed a note to the intended by our own hand, that'd give the game away, guv'ner."

"We still should have tracked him down and asked." Athos rose to go for his second check of the water level.

"I'm worried about 'em," Porthos said softly, as their leader disappeared around the corner. "He's wound tighter than d'Artagnan." He could feel Aramis nod his agreement.

"Maybe it would be best to collect the capitulation and be on our way."

"I don't think so. We leave here without answers, this'll gnaw away at him like rats in the gutter."

"You're probably right. And he's gnawed enough as it is." Aramis was thoughtfully silent for a few moments. "You know, it occurs to me, d'Artagnan's role in this has been played; he's expendable now."

"Damn!" Porthos was off the step like a shot, pulling Aramis up after him. "High water or not, we're goin'."

Athos met them coming down, at the first turn of the stairs, holding the lit lantern high. "The water is receding, it will likely do so quickly now. It's still at thigh level, but we can manage and I dislike leaving d'Artagnan to deal with this alone any longer than necessary. I told him to go straight back to the Rathaus and leave the room only if the coop master returned. That doesn't mean he'll stay there."

Aramis and Porthos exchanged another of those speaking glances they so often shared.

"He listens like a two-year-old," Porthos grunted, as the pair of them moved around Athos to trot down the stairs. "Let's go."

TBC 15/19