"How did it go?"
"Clockwork." Milady murmured. She had entered Richelieu's office, and was here to settle their account before departing with Buckingham in one hour's time.
"Good. You'll go back to London with Buckingham and the diamonds." Richelieu approved, turning back to one of his law books that he was studying.
"And what should I do with them?"
"Put them in his personal vault, the most secure location in all of England." Richelieu instructed.
"The tower of London."
"Yup. When the scandal breaks, he'll deny everything. But once the diamonds are discovered in his possession…"
"He will have led England to war through his indiscretion. And what of the future of France?" Milady asked coyly. Richelieu glowered at her, clearly offended.
"I am France." He growled. Milady shrugged.
"Hmph. And what of the 'present' for Buckingham?" She continued.
"If he favors this 'gift' we have so richly bestowed on him, then he will suspect nothing. Leave it in his hands for all I care. Gascons are impetuously curious, not to mention perceptive. D- them! If the musketeers escape Rochefort, they will be far too occupied searching for their little lost lamb to even give thought to our plan. Once they are out of the way, no one can stop us."
"I see."
"One last thing. I suppose it's quite easy, possibly even tempting, for a double agent to play both sides." Richelieu stated.
Milady stiffened. "Have I given your eminence any reason to doubt my loyalty?" She asked suspiciously. Richelieu gloated, he was sure that he'd most certainly noted a glint of fear in her eyes. Yes, she'd dipped her feet into a dangerous game when she'd agreed to work for the Cardinal. He could easily break her, should he feel the need!
"Oh, spare me the d- rhetoric. I know who you are. I know what you are. You have a gift for corruption, and a penchant for betrayal. I admire such skills, but I'll destroy you the moment I suspect you might be using them against me. Do we understand one another?" Richelieu asked sternly.
"There are two different sides to that coin. Your eminence is perceptive to suspect. It's quite easy for an employer to sever all ties with his operative, in the event that they are compromised, leaving them to rot in jail or on the gallows."
"Your point being?"
"I require a guarantee that I shall not suffer a similar fate. An insurance policy, if you will." Milady remarked wryly.
"My word should suffice." Richelieu argued.
Milady scoffed. "I'm afraid I'll need something a bit more...substantial."
"Are you threatening me?" Richelieu snarled. Milady smiled innocently.
"You tell me." She challenged him. Richelieu scowled and sat down at his desk to write out a proclamation of approval for Milady to carry on herself should she be threatened with arrest.
"It is by my order and for the good of the State, that the bearer of this has done what has been done."
"Satisfied?" Richelieu groaned, handing the parchment over to her.
"Immensely."
D'Artagnan rode on Buttercup from the post. A letter had arrived from his parents, and he could hardly wait to share it with Felice. They hadn't heard from their parents for days, and the envelope he carried bore the smells of home: the hills of Gascony, the open countryside air, the homemade bread of their parents' cottage.
D'Artagnan noticed a sizable crowd had gathered at the bakery. "What the devil?" D'Artagnan's jaw dropped. He halted Buttercup and slid down, scurrying toward the entrance. Constables were trying to shoo the onlookers away, but D'Artagnan easily slipped right passed them inside. He was stunned to find the display in shambles, spilled food, doilies, and candlesticks all over the floor. "Felice!" D'Artagnan called.
Instead of his sister, an officer stepped out of the back room. "Run along, lad. Nothing to see here." He said gruffly.
"On the contrary, my good sir!" D'Artagnan retorted. "Do you realize who I am?"
"Should I?" The officer rolled his eyes.
"I am a musketeer to his majesty King Louis, recommended by Captain de Treville himself!" D'Artagnan explained, revealing his sword.
"My apologies, Monsieur. I was not aware." The officer gulped.
"My sister is an apprentice to Madame Raebourn. Could you please ask her to come out here? And what has happened?"
"A customer found Madame Raebourn lying against the counter, unconscious." The officer answered.
"What?!" D'Artagnan gasped. "Is she alright? Was she attacked? When did it occur? Is my sister injured as well?"
"The physician is seeing to the woman now. We do not know what happened in this place, or how long ago. And Madame Raebourn has not come to yet, so interrogations will have to wait until she has recovered enough to enlighten us."
"And my sister?"
"Your...sister, lad?"
"Yes. About my height. Carries a musketeer's rapier? Has long auburn hair, and brown eyes? She should be around here."
"I am sorry, Monsieur. But I have seen no such lass before or during our investigation."
"You're certain?"
"I'm certain. No one was accounted for here, save the civilian who alerted us and ran for the doctor."
"Good l-." D'Artagnan pursed his lips, flutters of worry filling his belly.
"Ahh. Monsieur D'Artagnan!" One of the officers entered the bakery. "You are to head for the palace on the double. The king's musketeers are to be present at the departure of Lord Buckingham."
"D-. Not now." D'Artagnan gritted his teeth. He couldn't leave! A crime of violence had been committed here, and...his sister might be the only one who could put it to right. Strange that she was not here at such a time! Where was she? "Monsieur? Thank you for informing me, but...I must decline the king's demand. Have a messenger sent that an urgent investigation has come up that requires my immediate attention. Say that it involves the king's secret musketeer, he will understand."
"But, Monsieur…"
"Do it, my good man. I promise, the king will understand. And you will not be faulted for neglecting your duty." D'Artagnan assured him. "If the king reprimands you, tell him to pass the punishment onto me, as it was my own fault and mine only that I did not obey his summoning. Make haste!"
"As you wish, Monsieur." The officer bowed and set out to complete his mission.
Felice, where have you gotten to? D'Artagnan thought.
King Louis was disappointed that D'Artagnan was not present, but he was pleased that the boy was devoted to his duty to the public. Nevertheless, he wished for his friend to be here, for moral support. Buckingham was leaving today, him and his precious warship! He would finally be out of his hair, and out of his wife's way. It could not come to pass soon enough for the young king.
Finally, Buckingham and Milady appeared before the king. "Your majesty." Buckingham smirked with a bow.
"Purple?" King Louis gaped. He himself was in his signature color, blue. Every time he contended with the duke on fashion, the dashing lord never failed to twist the expectations. Once again, Buckingham had outmatched him and displaying his sublime taste in kingly wardrobe.
"Fashion favors the bold." Buckingham said, holding out a purple feathered hat to the king. "Here, try this for size. Oh, well. Do give my regards to the queen. I will convey your diplomatic proposal to King James immediately. Cardinal Richelieu, a pleasure." Buckingham bowed and kissed the Cardinal's hand.
"All mine." Richelieu nodded.
"Your eminence." Milady whispered. Together, she and Buckingham gave one last bow then walked up the gangplank into the airship.
King Louis tossed the d- hat aside, scowling. "Good riddance! And too soon!" He didn't even wait for the ship to vanish, but marched into the castle with his back toward Buckingham, and all his extravagant glory.
D'Artagnan quickly made a search through the neighborhood surrounding the bakery to meet up with his sister as she headed back from pursuing the thief. But, he did not find her! Madame Raebourn had been transported to Doctor Beaufort's office, so that was where D'Artagnan rode now. When he stepped inside, Doctor Beaufort greeted him. "The mademoiselle has regained consciousness." He said. "You may question her if you wish, but be easy on her, young man! She has a mild concussion, and needs rest as soon as possible. Keep your questioning short!" The doctor warned D'Artagnan sternly.
"Yes, sir." D'Artagnan said meekly. He walked quietly into the examining room where the tall, plump woman was reclining in a chair with a pillow behind her head, and her ample feet propped up on a stool. "Madame Raebourn?" D'Artagnan whispered, removing his hat. "Excuse me, ma'am?" The baker stirred, grimacing. "I beg you to forgive my intrusion, Mademoiselle, but I am afraid it was unavoidable. How are you feeling?"
"How do you think I feel, rascal?" Madame Raebourn scolded. "I was shoved off my feet, and knocked into a counter! So, you tell me, boy! How should I be feeling?!" She winced, rubbing her head.
"Of course. Forgive me for my stupid inquiry, ma'am. I only meant it as a courtesy. You say you were shoved? You mean, someone pushed you?"
"That's what I said!" Madame Raebourn groaned. Her head pounded, and the last thing she felt like doing was repeating herself right now! Especially to an inquisitive Gascony youth!
"If you please, ma'am, can you recollect to me what you are able?" D'Artagnan asked thoughtfully.
"Ugh. Yes. Did Felice catch the thievin' rat who dared to steal into my bakery and swipe off with my products?"
"Uhm...not as of yet." D'Artagnan shook his head.
"Oh, dear. As I said...I heard the bell ring, so I came to greet my next customer. I was appalled to find a gangly youth stealing! I confronted him. The skinny devil spread a mess of my proper establishment! I...charged him, but he knocked me back." She squeezed her eyes shut painfully. "All I can remember is that Felice ran after him with her sword...after that...that is all I can remember, lad."
"Thank you, madame! Oh, one more thing: can you tell about what this happened?"
"It was nearly eleven, as I can recall. If you would care to not disturb me now? My head aches ."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you!" D'Artagnan breathed, then whizzed out of the doctor's office.
D'Artagnan raced home, hoping to find his friends relaxing there and entreat them to help him find his sister. Planchet informed him that all three of the gentlemen were out: Athos to the tavern, Porthos calling on one his lady friends, and Aramis was tending to his role as magistrate for the Hall of Affairs, writing tickets for public offenses again. D'Artagnan fled the house, debating who to find first. Porthos? Nah. He was courting...or rather, rendezvousing with his sweetheart-who knew which one it was this time? Aramis? He could be anywhere in the city! Athos. Right. Athos would most likely spend most of his day at the saloon, just drinking and letting the world pass by.
On his trek toward the local drinking house, D'Artagnan was sure he'd spotted Aramis traipsing around near the blacksmith. The musketeer was not donned in his cloak or hat, but he was bearing the golden cross around his neck. "Hail! Aramis! Aramis, my friend!" D'Artagnan called to him. The priest glanced around, trying to find the voice's owner. He finally noticed D'Artagnan.
"What is it, D'Artagnan?" Aramis asked, approaching the younger man. "You have a most anxious look on your face."
"A-Aramis," D'Artagnan panted, trying to catch his breath, "I need your help. Madame Raebourn has been hurt, and Felice is missing!"
Aramis's face fell. "What do you mean, missing?" He asked, startled.
"I will explain to you. But would you be able to tell me where we can find Porthos? We need his aid, and I am on my way to meet Athos at the bar."
"Of course, lad. I know exactly where Porthos has gone to. Leave it to me! I will fetch him! D'Artagnan," Aramis spoke in a serious tone, "you are sure that Felice is actually missing?"
"I am!" D'Artagnan nodded.
While Aramis ran his errand to steal Porthos away from his leisurely afternoon, D'Artagnan did indeed find Athos in the tavern. Luckily, he was sober enough to comprehend what was being told to him, although he felt D'Artagnan must have been exaggerating...until they called on Madame Raebourn and questioned her themselves.
"And when did this take place, again?" Athos asked. They'd searched the bakery all over for some kind of clue, but had ended up with nothing. And no other customers had been around at the time of the robbery.
"Over three and one half hours ago!" D'Artagnan cried. "She has not been seen! I scoured the area for her, three times! I could not find her!"
"Easy, lad." Porthos said soothingly. "Being a Gascon, I'm sure she is out in the countryside, unwilling to return until she has captured her fugitive and avenged her mistress. Like a certain young man we could all name!"
"No." D'Artagnan shook his head. "Felice wouldn't do that with such revenge for a little sneak thief. No, I do not believe that is the case, Porthos. For such a petty crime, she would've come back to insure her mistress was not badly hurt. That has not happened."
"You don't suppose…" Aramis grimaced, his arms folded over his chest. "You don't believe that Rochefort…"
"Aha!" D'Artagnan hollered. "It's him! Has to be. Who else would dare to wish my sister harm? He's kidnapped her!" He drew his sword, and headed for the door. "Come, gentlemen! Let's seek him out!"
"Wait, D'Artagnan." Athos said calmly, blocking the doorway.
"Step aside, Athos!" D'Artagnan growled. "I have to save my sister!"
"Slow down, lad. We must not jump to conclusions. We must sort out all of the facts."
"Rochefort is a dirty thug, and he hates us. What more do you need to know?" D'Artagnan huffed impatiently.
"Who else have you and Felice recently crossed, intentional or not?" Athos asked.
"Buckingham!" Aramis answered quickly. He'd personally been greatly annoyed at the duke's open, shameless outward affection to Felice without her consent.
"Of course!" D'Artagnan agreed. "He thinks he can have whatever he wants."
"And he is not above employing devious means to obtain his desires." Porthos puffed.
"Still though. Felice is only a country girl, not a lady in waiting to Queen Anne." Aramis spoke up. "Would he really stoop to such levels for someone in her position? A humble baker?"
"Are you insulting my sister, Aramis?" D'Artagnan narrowed his eyes.
"Never!" Aramis sputtered. "But Buckingham is a frivolous sort. What could he expect from Felice? She is of noble spirit, all can see that. But not noble born. Would he actually abduct someone like her for his own pleasure?"
"I do not trust the peacock as far as I can throw him, but Aramis does have a point." Porthos sighed.
"Something about this still does not add up." Athos said. "We must consult Captain de Treville."