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Treville, Porthos and Aramis visit Bircann.

35 DAYS AGO

ARAMIS

Porthos and I fall into step as we follow Tréville through the Chatelet and up the stairs to where Bircann is being held, our boots ringing out on the stone flags. We must appear an intimidating trio as guards along our route do not attempt to stop us but move out of our way, hugging the walls that they find at their backs.

No words have passed between us since we left the garrison. That was once the Captain had returned from the palace and informed us as to where we were going and why. The one question I did attempt to pose was met by an impenetrable wall of silence so there was no point in trying again. I glanced at Porthos for some sort of support, but even he would not look at me. His teeth were clenched, his face glowering and I knew he was simmering – a deadly combination of power and anger that was ready to erupt; a Vesuvius in waiting.

I cannot deny that I am worried for our missing brother's well-being and Tréville is utterly convinced that Bircann is behind it, despite his imprisonment. If that is so, then he has had contact with someone since he was brought here yesterday and so I mean to have words with gaolers before I leave the Chatelet. They can talk to me, or I will unleash Porthos. At present, I realise that I have him under an invisible, unspoken restraint, that a hand upon the arm might stay any spontaneous action, but for how long that is possible, I cannot say. He is a mass of pent-up fury borne of a helplessness that threatens to drown me too.

We have had little sleep in the intervening hours since we heard the dreadful news of Athos' abduction, for we have done our best to retrace his steps, repeating the search and inquiries of our comrades the day before, not because we distrusted them, but because we needed to be doing something as the day drew to a close and darkness fell. The council members - or rather the servants on their behalf – confirmed their earlier stories; that Athos had or had not delivered the letters from the Cardinal.

At first light, we were out again, going over the route Athos was likely to have taken between the last delivery and the first failed report. We searched every road and alleyway that led off that route but found nothing. There are plenty of buildings along there where he could be hidden or lying there insensible, but it would take more than the two of us and we returned to the garrison for help, arriving shortly before the Captain.

He listened and sent out Musketeers to those areas, going from door to door and searching through any property left empty. More teams were sent to check along the banks of the Seine within the city and beyond. I knew what he was doing. He wanted to see if Athos' body had been dumped in the water in the killers' vain hopes that it would be carried downriver before we discovered him.

It was only when he had seen off the search parties that he turned to Porthos and me and told us to accompany him to the Chatelet. We had no need to inquire why he was going there. It could only be to question Bircann and I was initially pleased that we had been invited to bear witness to their exchange for I was more than a little curious as to the man and why he had such a negative impact upon our Captain.

On arriving at the Chatelet, the chief gaoler was reluctant to grant us access to the prisoner, fervently repeating the order he had received from the Cardinal that Bircann should not be permitted any visitors. He even had the temerity to dance past us and stand before the large oak door that separated us from the body of the prison.

He was soon persuaded to change his mind though. Perhaps it was something to do with the hard, glacial stare that Tréville gave him, or the gruff explanation that the Cardinal knew all about the intended visit.

"It is within your rights to contact the palace to confirm this," Tréville had continued, "but the Cardinal might be very displeased that you waste his time and consider that my word, the word of the Captain of the King's Musketeers no less, is not to be trusted. That is without taking into consideration how very displeased this makes me, that you see fit to waste my time and the time of the men with me."

There was no further argument, although the man continued to mutter disagreeably under his breath. Instead, he unlocked doors and would have led the way had not the Captain swept determinedly past him, having already learned of Bircann's location from the Cardinal.

So here we are, about to confront the man we believe responsible for Athos' disappearance, and I cannot help but wonder why the Captain has brought us along. Does he distrust himself and is wary of how he might behave or react towards Bircann and hopes that we will provide an appropriate brake should the need arise? I am not sure how successful he thinks that will be, Or is that it? Porthos can provide the menacing presence whilst I bring the sympathetic reassurance. I have my doubts as to how Bircann will respond to that tactic. It seems to me that the man is too hard, too cruel to be swayed by any methods that Porthos and I might employ.

I steel myself to the fact that our visit is going to be utterly pointless. The man isn't willingly going to provide answers to any of the questions that Tréville puts to him, politely or otherwise and we have no recourse to actual torture, no matter what might be in Porthos' head at this moment. No, torture is the Cardinal's unspoken domain and I dread to think what the supposed man of God has in store for his prisoner, which is why the Captain was so intent upon speaking with Bircann first.

Tréville suddenly stops before a large wooden door at the end of the corridor and stands to one side to allow the gaoler access with his keys. He must be very poor-sighted the way he bends low to peer at the impressive lock. Perhaps his failing sight goes part-way to explaining his grubby clothing and the long, straggly hair that encircles an expansive bald crown, or perhaps he does not care about his appearance given his place of work. To be honest, the prisoners would not care what he looks like. What cannot be excused, though, is the odour that oozes readily from every pore of him; a mixture of stale sweat and the all-pervading prison stench that has soaked into his clothing and skin. I see Tréville recoil as the man gets a little too close for comfort.

"Visitors for you, Bircann, so you'd better be on your best behaviour," the gaoler calls out as he throws open the door.

Over his shoulder, I briefly see a man rise from a chair on the opposite side of the room but then he is gone, my view of him masked as first Tréville and then Porthos enter before me.

I hear Bircann instead, the voice dripping with sarcasm so that my blood immediately boils at his words.

"Captain Tréville, I have been expecting you. How does it feel to be so predictable? No, don't answer that. Tell me, have you lost something?"