Chapter 48

Four mercenaries were waiting outside the door and took Madeleine and d'Artagnan into their midst as they were led away through the residence once more. Their leader knew his way around and which room was for special guests. He headed there with a purpose, conferring with his comrades about a bulging purse and a deal. Their hierarchy seemed dissolved after Serge's death in the Fir Cone, but the weight of the coins kept the troop together. Who would go to the palais and who would stay in the house was quickly decided amongst them.

By now, all the servants were on their feet, curiously attracted by the events. They remained in the background, flitting by unseen or peering out of their chambers. Many a whisper followed the men and their captives, furtive glances were spying from every niche. In the candlelight, their pale faces all looked the same, indistinguishable. Footmen and maids, a secret army in Paris whose scouts carried the news to every corner. Elise could have communicated with them only by looks, Madeleine and d'Artagnan hardly noticed them.

One of the maids seemed to follow the mercenaries with special persistence, even though she always disappeared out of the corner of the eye before she was really spotted. For a moment, d'Artagnan hoped for Monsieur in disguise who would have entered the house. But not only was the thought grotesque - it also proved to be completely wrong at the moment when the maid did not dart quickly enough around a corner and d'Artagnan glimpsed her face and clearly recognised a woman in her.

Wait, was she...? No, that could not be. A mistake in the dim candlelight, an error out of desperate hope, which d'Artagnan abandoned once and for all when the mercenaries pushed her and Madeleine into a room that would serve as their prison.

The door was locked behind them and the women were left to themselves. Madeleine looked around and put her hands on her hips to express her indignation. They had been taken to a bedchamber, sumptuously furnished like a suite in the Louvre or Palais Cardinal. Expensive tapestry, parquet flooring, precious furniture and velvet curtains at the window.

A sound of sheets billowing made Madeleine turn. D'Artagnan was lying back on the bed and staring motionlessly up at the canopy. It was a strange sight to see the usually indefatigable and restless lieutenant suddenly very quiescently.

Madeleine frowned. »Well, dear? What's your plan?«

»What plan?« asked d'Artagnan back tonelessly. A sky without stars was stretched above her, crushingly heavy, shielding the bed and robbing her of all strength.

Madeleine joined her by sitting on the edge of the bed. »I'm sure you'll have some idea by now to get us out of here, rush into the palais and rescue Odette in time, won't you?«

»No.«

»Huh? That doesn't sound like you at all.«

»Maybe...«

»Fine! But are you also thinking of Elise? You won't let her down, luv!«

D'Artagnan made no move, she remained impassive, as if none of this concerned her any more, as if she were only idly awaiting fate. Madeleine's unease grew at her friend's unusual and strange behaviour. »Charlotte, what's wrong with you? I'm worried, talk to me!«

»You don't have to worry. Elise won't be harmed, Tréville would never let that happen. He himself will somehow get out of this, and Odette is well protected by the Guard.«

»And what about you and me?«

»Your Bernajoux will come and smash everything to pieces to free you.«

»Of course he will, along with his comrades!« exclaimed Madeleine, and then made a discarding gesture with her hand that was not lacking in sarcasm. »But they'll leave you here because you screwed up thoroughly. How would anyone even think that the guardsmen would throw themselves into a fight for you! You don't mean a thing to them, except a whole lot of trouble.«

A thin smile flickered at the corners of d'Artagnan's mouth and immediately faded again. »There you have it, that's wrong with me.«

»Nonsense! Tell me what's really going on in your mind!«

»What do you want to hear? Yes, I screwed up, I'm in for a good scolding or worse.«

»Not the first time either. The prospect of a tirade has never made you sit idly by.«

D'Artagnan sighed at the Chevrette's persistence and, to have her peace, admitted, »I'm just... exhausted.«

»Exhausted?« Madeleine scrutinised her friend thoroughly, her tired features, her blank mien behind which she tried to hide her thoughts and feelings without fully succeeding. One hand rested on d'Artagnan's stomach, a healing gesture after the blow to the gut which was now making itself felt. The strangulation marks on her neck that would take a few days to fade, while the emotional hurt would last a lot longer. Yes, a certain exhaustion definitely mattered, but Madeleine suspected only half the truth in that.

»You're tired of having to save everyone else all the time and receiving the beating that they actually deserve for their foolishness. Are you now trying to play the role of princess yourself and wait for things to come, resigned to your fate? Don't be ridiculous, there is no pea!«

»There isn't? Then what presses me so unbearably?«

»This stupid corset you've forced yourself into, and I don't just mean literally.«

»You're painting splendid pictures with your words again.«

»And you're avoiding them again. Come here, dear.«

Madeleine reached for her friend's hands and pulled her into a tight hug as they stood up. It took a moment, but then d'Artagnan indeed found new courage in the gesture. She was not betrayed and abandoned by all her friends again. Not this time, and she whispered a sincere, »Thank you...«

»Good again?«

»A little better.«

»Just a little!« exclaimed Madeleine, waving it off. »But then, I'm not Sorel. He'd know how to loosen your corset...«

»Madeleine!«

The women glared at each other, one embarrassingly incensed, the other teasingly challenging. Until finally d'Artagnan proudly raised her head and shed her melancholy. »You're right, of course. I'm not a helpless princess, I am Lieutenant d'Artagnan, mordieux! Enough of that, now give me back my uniform, I have an idea.«

»That's the spirit I favour you in! What do we do?« asked Madeleine, already stripping off the feathered hat and the red tunic.

»We wait.«

»That is supposed to be your idea?«

»Indeed. We wait and meanwhile, you undress.« D'Artagnan fled with a furtive grin, pursued by Madeleine's indignant looks, the few steps to the door. There she knelt level with the keyhole and sized up the field of vision before pointing to a certain spot in the room. »Stand there. Yes, right there, and take your time changing.«

»Sometimes, I loathe you.« Madeleine wrinkled her nose but followed the finger pointing, slowly unbuttoning her doublet, taking it off and untying the cord of her shirt which delicately and tantalisingly covered her breasts, not without muttering in a low voice, »This isn't going to work.«

»If you can think of something better, go ahead.«

»Tréville threatened those bastards not to touch a hair on our heads, and he was pretty serious about that.« Madeleine threw her shirt and then her trousers onto the bed along with the uniform and stretched out more than necessary, covering her bareness only with her arms. »They won't open the door carelessly because they would be tempted to do something shameful. Tréville will kill anyone who even looks at you the wrong way.«

»That's why you're to be looked at, I have nothing to offer to make lonely men forget all reason,« d'Artagnan replied and listened at the door. Behind it, something actually stirred, heavy breathing could be heard and if a broad grin ever made a sound, it probably was... like a sudden grunt and a body collapsing on the floor.

A moment later, a key was turned, the latch pressed and d'Artagnan jumped back ready to fight, every muscle tensed.

Madeleine frantically grabbed a sheet and wrapped herself in it just as the door swung open. The antechamber beyond lay quiet and empty, only a single mercenary had been posted outside the door - and then a hem of clothing swept in one great stride past the unconscious man. A woman slipped into the room, her eyes fixed on Madeleine, as distracted almost as the mercenary had been before. Her startled cry was smothered in d'Artagnan's hand as she was grabbed from behind and clutched tightly.

»Not a word!,« d'Artagnan murmured in her ear and pushed the door shut.

Against all expectations, the woman did not fight back, she did not even seem to be afraid after the attack and only nodded. D'Artagnan slowly lowered her hand, prepared at any time to shut the maid up again if she screamed. But nothing of that sort happened, no, the woman just breathed a sigh of relief - and then all tension fell from her, in fact, she virtually snuggled up to d'Artagnan like to a lover and purred, »Oh, now he's finally holding me in his arms... and then it turns out, Monsieur d'Artagnan is not a Monsieur at all!«

»Josepha! You?!« D'Artagnan immediately let go of the barmaid and pushed her hastily, almost roughly away from herself.

Josepha curled her lips in a way that would have been dangerous to any man, even though she had covered her voluptuous charms with plain linen and hidden her soft hair under a bonnet. »Yes, it is I, quite as she stands before you - and as she feels awfully miserable to get an ultimate rejection by the handsomest lieutenant in Paris!«

D'Artagnan frowned in embarrassment, caught and confused at the same time. »How did you...?«

»Tush! I always suspected it anyway. You were never hungry enough for a soldier.« Her ambiguous gaze slid over d'Artagnan's figure. »Besides, I've made eyes at you so often that I always recognise you, even in a dress.«

»Is that why you helped us at the Fir Cone earlier?«

»Maybe? A damsel as a cavalier, a cavalier in a dress...«

»Speaking of,« Madeleine cleared her throat loudly, her mien speaking volumes, »I'm getting cold.«

D'Artagnan blinked, reminding herself that they had no time to lose, that they were on the run and still in danger. She nodded and exchanged clothes with Madeleine. As she peeled out of her dress and slipped into her shirt and trousers, she asked Josepha, who was keeping a lookout at the door, »Why are you here anyway?«

»Do you want me to leave?«

»You know what I mean. Did Monsieur hire you? Or have you been serving the cardinal all along and were spying on us?«

Josepha laughed brightly. »What you're thinking of me now! Who's this Monsieur supposed to be? I'm certainly not a spy; I'd be paid better for my services.«

»So someone did hire you.«

»Not for money.« Josepha sighed like a woman longing for love and therefore easily persuaded to do someone a dangerous favour. »He has such beautiful, dark eyes...«

»Rochefort?«

»He's the first one that comes to your mind? 'Best friends', for sure.«

Josepha's insinuating teasing was meant to prevent further questions, a little secret she obviously still wanted to keep for herself despite her hints. D'Artagnan waved it off, buttoned her doublet and swung the uniform around her shoulders. Sooner or later she would have to face Josepha's employer and justify herself. She was in no hurry to do so, other things required more attention now.

Madeleine was also ready and only laced up her corset. She seemed to be somewhat upset, not because of Josepha's secrecy, but because she suspected d'Artagnan of just pretend to be crestfallen earlier. »Did you know that Josepha is here to help us, and therefore you just waited?«

»I thought I saw someone on our way to the chamber.« D'Artagnan shrugged. »Though Josepha was definitely the last person I would have expected. How did you get into the house?«

»Servants' entrance.« Josepha smiled with seductive and extremely dangerous innocence. »Most men don't resist me that easily, monsieur le lieutenant. You had the same thought with Madeleine! That fellow outside was quite engrossed in the keyhole, it wasn't particularly difficult to knock him upside the head.«

D'Artagnan nodded appreciatively, at the same time avoiding an apologetic look at Madeleine that would have been returned in a scathing manner. Instead, she put on her feathered hat, adjusted it and was ready to leave. She carefully opened the door, only a crack at first. The mercenary was still as unconscious as Josepha had overwhelmed him. On the wall, a gap between two candlesticks testified to the nature of the crime weapon. The antechamber lay quiet, no one had noticed anything suspicious yet.

D'Artagnan dragged the mercenary by the feet into the bedchamber and took his weapons. She would much rather have had her own equipment with her, but it had been taken from Madeleine earlier during the body search. She had to make do with what was at her disposal, but also a mercenary was careful with his weapons. The épée weighed well balanced in her hand, the dagger was sharp and the pistol clean.

»Bind and gag?« asked Madeleine a little too eagerly.

D'Artagnan shook her head. »He won't wake up soon, we'll have escaped by then. Let's not waste any more time.«

Madeleine sighed. »Can I at least have the pistol?«

»Do you feel safer then?«

»A little.«

»A little! But then, I'm not your Bernajoux,« d'Artagnan grunted sarcastically. Nevertheless, she handed over the weapon so Madeleine would be more at ease. »To the servants entrance?«

Josepha nodded and took the lead. D'Artagnan was reluctant to let her go first, for the barmaid had not moved through the residence quite as unseen and secretly as she might have thought. They could only hope that the host of servants would continue to turn a blind eye and deaf ear.

Fortunately, Josepha must have been a member of a regiment in this secret underground army of Paris that knew all about the structure of a town palace. She slipped out into the hallway and led them through dark and silent side passages, far from the lodgings of the footmen and maids, close to the service rooms which had been abandoned for the night. They proceeded unnoticed and reached the kitchen.

Their lucky streak ended there. The mercenaries, who seemed to have strangely disappeared until now, were in the kitchen, with plenty of wine and supplies from the pantry. They were celebrating their victory and the generous Baron de Grinchamps. Either no one had told them that they were about to get an executioner's meal in case the cardinal's Guard attacked the estate, or they did not care because the money from the purse had been fairly distributed.

The women huddled at the corner to the corridor, from which the cheerful noise from the kitchen echoed towards them. The door to it was wide open, they could not get past unnoticed. Josepha chewed on her lower lip. »We have to go that way.«

»No alternative, a parallel path?«

»Do I live here?« snapped Josepha nervously back, and d'Artagnan placated, »We'll find another way out.«

»We can't. We need to go through here!«

D'Artagnan turned her head and eyed Josepha warily. »Why? There's still the main gate for us.«

»But at the servants' entr-« Josepha fell silent in mid-sentence, Madeleine flinched in fright, and d'Artagnan froze - a scrawny mercenary with a sallow face grinned ugly, his sword resting cold and sharp on d'Artagnan's shoulder, close to her face. »Surely you cuties didn't mean to-?«

That was all he could say. D'Artagnan pushed the blade away faster than any thought and jumped to her feet, the dagger in her other hand. Madeleine aimed the pistol at the man, at the same time sharp iron tickled him below his ribs, carving his skin at the next movement. A drunken curse tumbled from his lips in deathly disdain before the combined blows of a pistol grip and a dagger knob against his temples knocked him down.

The noise from the kitchen changed, ebbing in disbelief, then roared in understanding and rushed angrily out into the hallway. The men were headless and reeling, uncertain of their purpose, and d'Artagnan gave Madeleine a shove.

»Run! Into the courtyard, hurry!«

Madeleine stumbled and looked back over her shoulder instead of taking to her heels. Josepha was gone, long since run away, past the kitchen to the servants' entrance, without the mercenaries having noticed her in the rising chaos; she escaped the henchmen at the cost of abandoning d'Artagnan and Madeleine.

»I'm right behind you!« shouted d'Artagnan and Madeleine took off in a rush, turning some corners, running through corridors to the entrance hall, behind her menacingly close yells, barked orders and increasingly loud echoing footsteps.

She gasped, her heart pounding wildly, her lungs on fire, but d'Artagnan stayed with her as promised, urging her on and grabbing her arm as she stumbled. Madeleine kept running to the front door, pushed it open and fell out into the night-black courtyard.

The mercenaries were close behind them, d'Artagnan dragged Madeleine on by the hand, always in the shadow of the house wall, into the garden. The gnarled plants offered no cover, stretching their bare branches into the sky and enclosing the flowerbeds in thorny walls. No secret entrance to the courtyard was hidden among the vines and leaves, and with every passing second the certainty grew that they would never reach the main gate before they got captured.

Winter cold enveloped Madeleine's hand, creeping cuttingly into her fingers as d'Artagnan suddenly released her. The lieutenant of the guard took a firm stand and drew her sword. She shook her head as Madeleine readied the pistol and peered between the hedges for their enemies.

»Keep running to the gate, you can make it!«

»I won't let you-!«

»They're encircling us, now do it! You must get to the palais, warn Bernajoux about Tréville! I'll buy you time, don't look back!«

For a blink Madeleine still hesitated, fearful for her friend and frozen before the approaching mercenaries.

A pleading look from d'Artagnan gave the final push, a silent »Please...« in which lay her hope of saving, if not her own skin, then at least Madeleine, Elise and Odette. This was what d'Artagnan had been drilled for, this was her self-chosen life and she feared failing her duty more than she feared death.

Madeleine sobbed as she understood, but she nodded and fled on alone. She darted past the bushes and trees, not looking back, but keeping the main gate in sight, the goal so close and yet dangerously far away. Only a few more steps, only a bolt on the door - but between her and the escape to the street was open field, the main path to the residence, which she had to cross before she would have found shelter again in the dark archway.

She crouched by a hedge, not knowing whether to rush forward or wait. The decision was taken from her, for suddenly someone roared in the distance, a howl of triumph at first that became a cry of pain. Then swords clashed, blades sang, loud battle cries and orders. Madeleine ran as if on signal, it was now or never!

She ducked her head and ran blindly on, listening only to her instinct, and almost bumped into the gate that suddenly towered before her in the darkness. Just in time she caught herself with her hands and then groped frantically for the latch.

Her fingers slipped off as she got hold of the bolt, she found it again, pulled and tugged and finally loosened it, tore at the handle - and a desperate cry reached her ear, a faint noise that she herself uttered, because the door did not budge an inch, because it was not only bolted but also locked, because there was no key, because Josepha had been right and only the servants' entrance led to safety. She was trapped.

Madeleine turned frantically, the gate relentlessly at her back, her eyes fearfully dilated, but she could see nothing more than shades in the distance. Dancing shadows, engaged in a fight, twitching silhouettes, billowing darkness engulfing itself.

Something about it was not right.

Madeleine's heart was beating in her throat, everything around her seemed slower and more tenacious as her thoughts raced, whirling haltlessly around the scenery, but in the vague feeling that something about the chaotic happenings did not match her expectations. It was just a tiny abnormality, a movement in the wraithlike battle, a back and forth that was not meant to be there, that could not be there, and yet, when Madeleine focused on it fully, when she could think clearly again, it was unmistakable there; the mercenaries were not hunting, they were the hunted.

Almost against her will, Madeleine took a step towards the unreal scene, and then another, and another, until she could make out individual figures. A fight was raging, a confusing skirmish between the mercenaries - and a host of red uniforms who stood at d'Artagnan's side and joined her in pushing back the enemies.

The matter was quickly decided. Those of the mercenaries who were not yet dead on the ground surrendered to the Guard. Any attempt to escape was futile, Nièvre's men were surrounded by superior forces and laid down their arms. Their grumbling and cursing quickly died away in the face of the weapons aimed threateningly at them.

In the background, d'Artagnan heard the joyful laughter of Madeleine, who was held tightly in the arms of Bernajoux. D'Artagnan herself was leaning against the exterior wall of the house, gasping for breath. This would almost have been the place where the first lieutenant of the guards would have fallen, if that very same Guard had not unexpectedly stormed out of the mansion at the last second and rushed to her aid.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and gratefully reached for Cahusac's outstretched hand. He pulled her back upright to her feet, restoring the image of the imperturbable swashbuckler in front of the other men.

Not only Bernajoux, Meunier and Forgeron had come with him, Biscarat had also joined the rescue mission. After a brief exchange of glances with him, d'Artagnan knew whose dark eyes Josepha thought so attractive, so there was almost no need for the appearance of the barmaid, who now came out of hiding in the entrance to the house. She snuggled herself with purring sounds to Biscarat, who enjoyed it with a broad grin.

D'Artagnan averted her eyes from the flirting couple and secretly peered among the men for Grégoire. He was not there, Ensign de Sorel had not rushed over to rescue his lieutenant out of enemy hands.

Instead, she was scrutinised by Cahusac, by Meunier and Forgeron. It was clear what they were thinking. Their lieutenant was supposed to be on home leave, wasn't he? Had they not been sent to rescue three women?

D'Artagnan let her sword slide into its scabbard and looked at the men in front of her one by one with a determined gaze, without denying anything. Meunier and Forgeron stared back in perplexity, not yet fully understanding, then at Cahusac, their longest serving comrade. His judgement was to be theirs too, and because Cahusac only raised a brow meaningfully and otherwise gave the impression of not being surprised, confused or even outraged, they, too, put their own thoughts aside for the duration of the mission.

D'Artagnan agreed to the pact with a nod, hardly surprised herself that old Cahusac must have long since known something, even before anyone else. »Explanation later. How are things at the palais?«

Meunier saluted his lieutenant, quite composed as if the last few seconds had not happened. »Mademoiselle Odette de la Nièvre is well back in her chambers. For her safety, Ensign de Sorel is with her.«

»Understood.« D'Artagnan ignored the painful twinge in her chest. Of course Grégoire was with Odette, why should he have insisted before Jussac to lead the rescue squad? Especially as it was far more important to protect Odette from Tréville and Grinchamps and- »Hell, we must get to the Palais at once! Biscarat!«

Biscarat listened to the call and detached himself from the clinging Josepha with a vague apology and secret relief. He joined the semicircle around d'Artagnan in complete nonchalance in face of a revealed truth, smiling at Meunier's and Forgeron's sarcastic snort about the fact that the casual spy in their ranks had, of course, known about it all along. He gave his report.

»Jussac ordered us to support you, he was having one of his gut feelings. After Monsieur joined us midway unbidden, I asked Josepha-«

»Where's Monsieur now?« interrupted d'Artagnan impatiently.

Cahusac pointed with his thumb at the estate. »Snooping.«

»Keep an eye on him! Meunier, Forgeron, Bernajoux, watch the captured mercenaries! Biscarat, back to the palais with me!«

D'Artagnan did not wait for her commands to be confirmed. She turned on her heel, closely followed by Biscarat. They had no time to lose, they had to reach the palace and alert Jussac before Tréville and Grinchamps could carry out their plan!