Athos followed the street boy. He knew he did not have a choice. He tried to hide how scared he was and the fact that he did not want to take orders from someone who was wearing such tatty clothes. Porthos' doublet was ripped and worn. There were holes at the elbows and dirty marks across the back. It looked as though he slept in the jacket. Perhaps he never took it off. His breeches were too short, and his boots were held together with string. But he seemed well fed. Athos did not want to get into a fight with the street boy.
Porthos led him further into what he had called the Court of Miracles. Athos thought the name wrong. The place was more of a court of despair. He spotted a couple of children, much younger than either he or Porthos. They were huddled together, shivering, hugging their knees tight to their chests. Tear-streaked dirty faces turned to watch him as he walked past.
'Down here,' said Porthos before guiding Athos along a narrower road.
Porthos had pushed Athos on the back to get him going in the right direction. Athos hated to think where the street boy's hands had been. He looked generally grubby. Athos decided, when he got home he would not complain if his mother insisted he washed that night.
At least he hoped he would get home. Porthos might have been leading him further into the maze of the Court. But Athos knew he could not run off. He had no idea where he was. He realised he had to rely on the grubby street boy.
They reached the end of the narrower road. Porthos indicated for Athos to stop and wait. Athos watched as Porthos took a couple of steps forward and looked up and down the road they were about to join. He turned back and beckoned Athos on. Athos followed him again only to be stopped abruptly as Porthos stopped staring ahead.
'What have you brought me, Porthos?'
A young man was standing ahead of them. He was flanked by two other men, all of them in their early twenties. Athos saw that they were all armed with daggers. One of them was carrying a sword that looked far more expensive than he could afford, tucked into his belt.
'He's no one,' said Porthos, who moved slightly to stand in front of Athos.
Athos was not sure what to do. He remained still. He could feel the fear rising in him again.
'He don't look like no one,' said the man, taking a step to the side to get a better look at Athos.
'Was you going to help him?' asked one of the other men, who was missing a tooth at the front causing his words to whistle.
'No,' said Porthos. 'He's going to pay me to take him out of the Court.'
'Is he now?'
Porthos nodded. Athos could see that the street boy was shaking slightly.
'You know what you've got to do to be in the gang, don't you?'
'Yeah,' said Porthos, a slight hitch to his voice.
'Kill 'im then.'
'No,' said Porthos.
Athos took a small step back only to find hands grabbing his arms. He tried to pull away but could not, the hands held him firmly. He took a breath so that he could scream for help but a dirty hand was pressed over his face, smothering the sound.
'Leave him alone,' Porthos said, swinging around to face Athos and the people who were holding him.
'You wanna be in the gang, don't you?' said the man.
Porthos looked back; Athos could see that the man had pulled his dagger. He was holding it out to Porthos, handle first.
'You can keep his doublet. We all know you like fine clothes. And you'd get privileges. Once you're in the gang you'll get looked after.'
'Not him,' said Porthos, a slight whine to his voice. 'He's not done anything wrong.'
Athos did not know what was happening, but he did know his life was in danger. He struggled against the men holding him still.
'He's a boy,' Porthos was saying.
'So?'
'I … can't …'
'You can't?' said the man, before stepping closer. 'Kill him, or I'll kill you.'
The men holding Athos managed to force him to be still, he was aware of another scuffle going on. The man that had first stopped Porthos and one of the other men were forcing him closer. The other man, the one with the missing tooth, had his dagger held to Porthos' throat. Now Porthos looked scared, he was breathing fast. Athos thought he could see tears in the boy's eyes.
'Kill him,' said the man whilst pushing the handle of his dagger into Porthos' hand.
They let him go. The man with the dagger kept it held close to Porthos' neck.
'Either slit his throat or stab him in the chest. It'll be quick. Or stab him in the guts, make it last. He'll writhe in pain.'
Porthos looked ill as well as scared. He took a step closer to Athos, who was taking short breaths. He was convinced he was about to die.
MMMM
Porthos knew the price of wanting to be in the gang. And he knew the security that being in the gang would be.
But.
He did not know if he could pay the price.
At least he had not known if he could pay the price until that moment.
Now he knew he could not.
He knew he would have to find another way to live if he could not get into the gang. It would be harder. It would be more dangerous.
But he could not kill someone. Not as payment to get into a gang.
He knew if he was attacked, he could kill his attacker.
But he could not kill Athos, son of the Comte de la Fere.
He stared at the boy, making sure the boy was looking at him. Athos was terrified. But there was something else. Some hint of a desire to live. It was that desire that Porthos clung to. Athos had to want to survive the next few minutes. If he did not try, they would both die.
'Move your arm,' said Porthos, with a glance at one of the gang members standing behind Athos.
Porthos was sickened by the mumbled encouragement and glee from the older boys. They wanted to see Athos die. They wanted to see him kill another boy.
He stared at Athos again before moving his eyes. Just his eyes, to the left. He repeated the movement a second time and raised his eyebrows a tiny amount. Athos looked back at him, his eyes wide, before he looked to his right. Porthos hoped the boy understood his intention. The road that way was the quickest way out of the Court. It was the widest. It would be the easiest to run along. But they would have to be quick.
Porthos levelled the dagger. Levelled it at the height of Athos' throat. But he had no intention of harming the boy. The blade had a different destination.
He slashed hard and firmly into the bicep of the older boy behind Athos. The older boy screamed and let Athos go. Porthos did not wait, he grabbed Athos firmly by the arm and dragged him away. Athos ran. Keeping pace, not slowing them down. Porthos wondered if Athos knew his life depended on it.
Angry shouts and the scream of pain from the injured boy behind them only spurned the two onwards. Athos did not try to pull away from Porthos, it was as though he understood that Porthos' grip on his arm was necessary. There would be no time for spoken instructions Athos would have to go where Porthos guided or dragged him with no notice.
Porthos knew exactly where he was heading. An open area that would be busy with tradesmen. Tradesmen who would not take kindly to members of the Court spilling into their land.
Individually, members of the Court of Miracles could walk among the good people of Paris unnoticed, but if there were more than a few of them they would be spotted, and none too gently forced back to their city within a city. Porthos was relying on the fact that they were not welcome outside their own space.
MMMM
As the light got brighter and the air seemed to lighten, Athos was pulled a little, causing him to stop running but maintain a fast walk. They were both panting. Porthos was glancing behind them before pulling them to a stop around a corner. Athos allowed the street boy to push him against the wall and hold him there. He did not think he could run away at that moment anyway. After a few tense seconds of peering around the corner, Porthos stepped back and released him.
They looked at each other.
Athos was not sure what he was supposed to do.
Porthos looked as unsure.
'Where's your home?' asked the street boy after a few seconds.
Athos thought for a moment before shrugging, 'we only got here this morning, I live miles away. We're only here for a few days. We're staying in a big house.'
'Can you remember where it is? Or what's near it?'
'I lost my mother in a big market,' said Athos, there was a building with red brick at the front and a clock.
Porthos nodded, 'I know where that is, it's not far.'
Porthos moved off; Athos followed. They walked side by side in silence for a few minutes.
'Are you really going to kill someone?' asked Athos when the curiosity got the better of him.
Porthos did not respond for a few seconds. He took a deep breath.
'No,' he said. 'I don't want to.'
'Will you be able to go home?'
Porthos shook his head, 'not back to the gang. I'll have to keep out of their way until I can find someone else to look after me. Or I'll end up like the ones that don't have homes. And I'll die on the street.'
Athos could not imagine living the way the street boy did.
'Thank you,' he said.
Porthos nodded but did not look at him.
They reached the market. Athos looked around, recognising the stalls, and he spotted the woman who tried to hit him. He turned slowly until he worked out which direction he walked into the market with his mother. He pointed.
Porthos nodded, 'I think I know the street where your house is,' he said.
They continued to walk.
Athos wondered what would become of Porthos. The boy had saved his life. Athos doubted Porthos originally intended to just help him find his home and walk away. He knew the boy would have wanted something in return. But now he suspected Porthos would just get him back home and walk away. Athos decided he could not allow that to happen.
They turned into the road where the big house was. Athos spotted his father's carriage. He saw the old footman standing at the bottom of the steps to the house. He looked worried, but when he saw Athos, he turned and called into the house. Athos was not surprised to see his father, closely followed by his mother, rush out. His father hurried down the steps.
Athos realised Porthos had stopped walking with him, he was a few feet behind. Athos turned to him. He was about to say something when he was interrupted.
'Who is this? Get away from my son,' said Athos' father.
'No, father,' said Athos, laying a hand on his father's arm to stop him from walking towards Porthos who had recoiled a few steps. 'This is Porthos, he helped me. He helped me find my way home.'
Athos was distracted by a smothering hug from his mother, who held him tight and kissed the top of his head. He hugged his mother back, not realising how scared he had been until he felt truly safe again.
'This boy, helped you?' his father said.
Athos nodded.
'Come here,' said the comte to Porthos, who took a few tentative steps forward. 'Thank you for helping my son.'
The Comte reached into his pocket and pulled out his money bag, he tipped a few coins into his hand and held them out to Porthos who did not hesitate to take the offered money. Athos knew it was not much to his father but would be a fortune to Porthos.
'Thank you, monsieur,' said Porthos with an awkward bow.
Athos wondered if Porthos had ever been shown generosity by someone outside his social class before.
Athos knew he had to show his appreciation as well. He untangled himself from his mother and walked up to Porthos, he held out his hand. Porthos looked a little uncertain but shook his hand.
'If you tell that gang that you robbed me would they respect you?' he asked.
Porthos thought for a moment and nodded, 'I could say that I was pretending to help you. I doubt they'd let me in the gang now 'cos I hurt one of them, but it might make my life a bit easier,' he paused, 'not sure they'd believe me though.'
Athos smiled for the first time in hours, 'I know how to make them believe you,' he said.
He reached up to the fine buttons of his fine doublet and flicked them open, he shrugged out of the garment. He knew it was likely to be replaced soon so he doubted he would get in trouble for what he was about to do.
Athos handed the doublet to Porthos who managed a smile.
'They said you like fine clothes. Now you have a fine doublet.'
Porthos wasted no time slipping the doublet on, over the top of his tatty, torn old one. Athos guessed Porthos saw it as an extra layer against the cold. It would serve two purposes.
'Thank you,' said Porthos.
'Thank you,' said Athos.
The End.
Whumpee: Athos. Featuring: Porthos.