Ha, thank you for the laughs. I got a kick reading your reviews! I'm with Aramis on this one, although, I would have fled the scene as soon as Amis had shown up.

Here's the next chapter...

Chapter 5

Aramis could suture a wound in the heat of battle while musket balls, flames, and cannon balls pierced the air above his head. He could manage the screams of men as they writhed in pain. He could nobly walk through the dark halls of abandoned buildings that creaked and groaned in search of lost children. Aramis would fight to the death to defend his king, his brothers, and even a stranger. Though he hated snakes, he could manage them — even catch them if he needed to remove them from whatever situation they had found themselves in. And he could, when the moment came, stand for what was right when everyone else stood against him… even those he loved most.

Large spiders with long legs, enormous eyes and fangs were not on Aramis' long list of things he could manage or face with any sense of decorum. They made his skin crawl, his spine turned to liquid, and his eyes grew twice their normal size. The bigger the spider, the bigger the problem, and the bigger his reaction. It was something he had faced during his travels south, but never in Paris, and never in the higher elevations. Paris was safe… or so he thought.

When Amis brought the crawling thread-spinner back from the docks, the men at the garrison looked at it in awe. Many told tales of coming across them during their travels, and others simply stepped back and away from the creature. It was a novelty, something rarely seen for those who had lived their lives in the North.

Then, when Amis grinned and offered a wager to see who was the bravest amongst the King's Musketeers, Porthos had immediately placed his coins into the basket. Aramis, unwilling to admit himself a cowered in the face of something with eight legs and a body the size of his thumb, placed a wager himself. He had been eyeing a new main gauche and winning would help him achieve the cost. However, he underestimated his own fear as he placed his hand on the table and watched the creature move its long, jointed legs in different directions as its fangs shifted and its eyes beaded. The moment it scurried across the table, Aramis had screamed, pulled his hand away and darted from the scene. He had meant to stop outside the garrison and collect himself, but the fear of facing his friends and brothers — and the spider — had him running to the Wren for a bottle of wine.

Good wine.

A lot of wine.

Wine that would force his mind to wonder and his thoughts to think of the things he admired and cherished.

Women.

Beautiful women.

Aramis didn't wait for a cup when he ordered the bottle. Instead, he simply grabbed the port with a bulbous belly, and pressed the opened mouth to his lips and drank. He needed the image out of his head, the feeling of long, fuzzy legs on his skin and out of his mind, and he needed it replaced with breasts, a long slender leg, and the curve of a rounded hip.

The queen.

He could think about the queen. Her beauty, the brilliance of her smile, the sparkle of her eyes, the button shape of her nose. And when he remembered that night, he could still feel her skin beneath his callused hands. Aramis took a deep breath, sighed, and then leaned against a table as he held the bottle. She was perfect. She had smelled like fresh pine and lilacs. Her skin was like porcelain… flawless. He took another long drink when he felt the presence of someone before him.

He looked at the tavern wench, who smiled and winked. Aramis patted his pockets and groaned when he remembered he had left his coins in the pocket of his doublet that was hanging in his quarters. He looked at the weapons belt that was cinched around his narrow waist and hips, the silver buckle that looked back at him, and then at the beaded necklace that hung around his neck.

"You look stressed, handsome," a woman said as she gently ran her fingers across his shoulder and stepped before him. She was short with long blonde hair that was haphazardly pinned to the back of her head. Her chamise was covered with an exposed corset that cinched her small waist and intensified the size and shape of her breasts. "Can I help?" She smiled seductively as she stepped closer to him.

She was missing her front two teeth and the stench of her breath caused Aramis to return to his bottle and take another long pull.

"No, Mademoiselle," Aramis said, and then wiped his lips with the sleeve of his blouse. He pushed her back to arm's length and smiled like the gentleman he was, but he could not avoid the crinkling of his nose. "I'm on duty."

"Even better," she said and tried to take a step forward but frowned when Aramis kept her at a distance. "I can do things," she said and raised her eyebrow. "Bedroom things."

D'Artagnan chuckled, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at Aramis, who looked side-eyed at him. D'Artagnan met Aramis' eyes and then subtly tilted his head in the prostitute's direction.

Aramis looked at his hand that was pressed to the woman's breast and quickly pulled away. "My apologies," he said, feigned a quick smile, and motioned to leave.

"Consider it a gift," the woman said. She smirked and quickly strode to the next table.

"Spiders?" d'Artagnan said and tried to keep his grin curtailed but failed. "I never would have guessed." He scratched his jaw and tried to stifle his laughter.

Aramis rolled his eyes and turned as a glass shattered when it fell from a table. "I'm not proud of myself." He raised his bottle toward d'Artagnan in question but sighed when he refused to partake. "I'm not going to pretend that they don't terrify me." He suddenly shivered as though one was crawling up his back. The wine in the bottle swayed and slapped the sides.

D'Artagnan arched a sly brow. "Just spiders or all bugs?"

"Spiders," Aramis took a long pull from his bottle and motioned toward the door. "Perhaps we can put this behind us, since spiders of an unusual size don't normally frequent Paris." He clapped d'Artagnan on the shoulder and they walked to the door.

"Monsieur Aramis," the barkeep shouted. "You haven't paid." He raised his hands in annoyance and furrowed an angry brow.

Aramis looked sheepishly at d'Artagnan and shrugged. "I was in a hurry."

D'Artagnan snorted with a roll of his eyes and removed his coin-purse. He walked to the counter to pay while Aramis stepped outside and took in a deep breath of warm summer air. The wine had taken the edge off. He could smell the scent of rotting kitchen scraps, and he spotted several dogs scouring the pile near the side-door of the tavern. A drunk sat a short distance from the chaos, watching the dogs bark and snap at each other while holding an empty bottle of wine. Aramis looked at his own, and then, with a sense of compassion, he strode toward the drunkard and handed it to him.

"Mer…thi," the drunk said with a smile that was void of teeth.

"I just paid for that," d'Artagnan said as he exited. He raised his hands in disbelief. "You owe me three sous."

"Consider it your virtuous obligation for the day," Aramis said. He turned to walk with d'Artagnan back to the garrison.

"What of the spider?" d'Artagnan asked with a hint of amusement.

Aramis took a contemplative breath and twisted his mouth into a grimace. "I shall shoot it."

D'Artagnan snorted, wiped his mouth free of spittle, and then wiped his hand on his britches. "I'd wager that you'd miss it."

"Never," Aramis said confidently. "It's too big to miss."