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Porthos and Aramis talk with Ferel

29 DAYS EARLIER

PORTHOS

Philippes Ferel isn't what I'm expectin' at all. For a start, 'e isn't old an' lookin' like 'e's got one foot in the grave. If I'm comparin' 'im with Gondy, 'e looks a lot cleaner, smells sweeter an' is better dressed.

"Ferel," the gate keeper calls out as we approach. "Musketeers want to talk to you." He turns to us, "I'll be getting' back to the gate then. I'll see you on the way out." And he's gone.

Ferel eyes us warily. "How can I help you gentlemen?" He even speaks better than Gondy and the gate keeper put together.

Between us, Aramis an' I tell him why we're there an' that we're wantin' to speak with this Gondy.

"That makes three of us then," he says, his features darkening.

"What do you mean?" Aramis asks him.

"Just that I haven't seen sight nor sound of him. This is the third day now when he hasn't come to do his duty."

"And you've not thought that strange?"

"Annoying more like," Ferel answers honestly. "It's meant I've had to work longer hours. The extra money will help but I'd rather be at home. I have a wife and sick child waiting for me."

I take up the questions where Aramis has left off. "Where does he live? Has anyone been to check on him?"

He looks at me aghast. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Might be the neighbourly thing to do. The man might have taken ill 'imself. Has he got any family?"

Ferel frowns. "I don't know. We're not friends or anything, we don't have cosy conversations and we don't work together. I come to do my bit and he does his bit, or is supposed to. We'll just speak as we replace each other; pass on any important information about any of the prisoners in our charge. Many's the time I've had to do the checks and things when he couldn't be bothered to do it himself. I've complained about him twice now, but nothing's been done; he's still here. If he doesn't come back to work, it'll be no loss. At least it'll silence his loose tongue."

I'm startin' not to like this man but I'm still hopin' that if we ask the right questions, he might be able to tell us something useful that he doesn't realise he knows.

"Talkative, is he?" I ask, wantin' 'im to elaborate.

"Too much. He seems to think that the move from the main cells to that block with the political prisoners and those from the upper class makes him more important and he has an inflated view of his own worth. He tries to ingratiate himself with those who have money in the hope that if he does more for them, he will be paid for those extra services."

"And what might those extra services be?" Aramis asks quietly. We dare not look at each other an' I suddenly realise I'm holdin' my breath.

"Getting extra food and better quality, running errands, taking and delivering messages."

"Letting in visitors when there aren't supposed to be any?" I suggest.

He raises an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"Just a suspicion we have regardin' your 'special' prisoner," I say to him, unwillin' to tell 'im anymore at the moment.

Ferel huffs. "I'm not surprised. He arrived and immediately Gondy was boasting about having some extra money; he was full of it when I arrived to take over from him. If he thought I was going to be jealous that he'd got in ahead of me with earning the extras, then he's mistaken. I don't give in to that kind of temptation."

"I'm sure you don't," Aramis agreed with him, "but have you any idea where we might find him?"

"You think he's done something serious?" Ferel asks, frowning.

Aramis sighs. "Our close friend, another Musketeer, has been missing for a week now. He was responsible for bringing in Bircann and now we can't find him. We're following up everything we can and we think Gondy might have taken money to let in a visitor or passed messages between them. It might even have something to do with our brother's disappearance. We have to try everything and that means talking to Gondy."

There's something in our appeal which reaches him. "The last I knew, he was living somewhere along the Rue de la Tuerie."

There is nothing else that he can tell us so we take our leave and head into the streets beyond the Chatelet. We do not have to go far to find where Gondy lives. Near the prison is a market that is well known for its meat.

"Rue de la Tuerie," I say as we push our way through the people thronging the market place. "Ironic that."

Aramis rolls his eyes. "I don't think I'd want to live somewhere named for slaughter but it's all tied in with the market. There's one called 'butchery', another is 'bacon' and yet another 'the cows' trotters.'

I snort with laughter and the tension that I have known for too long now eases a little. "I know the market's old. What? 12th century?" Aramis nods. "They didn't have much imagination in those days then when namin' things."

"I prefer to think that they were much more practical perhaps," Aramis says and breaks off to ask a stall holder for the street we need and if he knows Gondy. The man points down the road and indicates towards the right; he can help us with the former request but not the latter.

As we approach the turning, we ask more people if they know where we can find the gaoler and eventually someone tells us that he lives in one room on the first floor of a building about halfway down on the left-hand side; the one with a green door.

We move swiftly and soon find the street name high on a wall. Rue is grandiose for something that looks nothing more than a narrow alleyway, strewn with litter and questionable, stinking liquid pooling in the dips of the uneven ground. Aramis briefly touches the back of his hand to his nose, but I know it'll do little to minimise the odour which intensifies as we move down the alley. Our hands hover close to our daggers, our swords useless in the confined space.

The green door is easy to find; it's the first one of that colour that we reach. Aramis knocks on it and I look around us, relieved that we have not attracted any additional interest. Aramis hammers a little louder and longer, but as the seconds pass, there is no response.

I crack my knuckles and prepare to exert some strength, but before I can do anything, Aramis tries the handle and the door swings open. We share a brief smile and then, daggers drawn, move inside the room, pushing the door shut behind us. Blinking hard, we let our eyes adjust to the gloom, ears straining for any noise but there is nothing other than the distant sounds of the market. The ground floor is a living area. There's not much furniture and the little there is – a table, two chairs and a bench - has been upended. A mattress on the floor in one corner provides the sleeping area but the bedding is in disarray. Even the pots in the hearth have been thrown about. The room is clearly empty, and we move across the stone-flagged floor to the steep stairs against the back wall that lead to the upper level.

All is still silent as we move up the stairs cautiously. Aramis leads the way and I can tell by his sigh when he reaches the top and the fact that he sheaths his dagger that there is no danger. I come up to stand beside him.

Given the state of downstairs, there's not much up here either an' it makes our quarters at the garrison look like luxury accommodation. As we gaze about us, it's clear that there has been a struggle; furniture is knocked over, things strewn around and a few bits of pottery smashed on the floor.

Aramis crouches and touches the floorboards, studies and sniffs his fingers and then rubs them together.

"Blood," he announces. "Dried and plenty of it."

"And no sign of Gondy," I state unnecessarily. "Don't think he'll be comin' back 'ere."

"Another dead end," Aramis declares, his frustration evident as he stands, hands on hips.

"You think he's run?" I ask, knowing that it's highly unlikely, even as I speak.

Aramis shakes his head. "Too much blood here. He's either holed up somewhere, too hurt to do anything, or he's dead."

"Let's just hope he's gone to ground so we need to find 'im. Whoever's been 'ere will 'ave frightened 'im," I comment.

"He's upset someone," Aramis agrees.

"Or he's outlived his usefulness and whoever used him to gain access to Bircann doesn't want to leave any witnesses."

"Especially as he can't keep his mouth shut apparently," Aramis recalls.

"Whoever it is will want to shut 'im up."

"And just when he might've opened us and given us some kind of lead," Aramis' disappointment is palpable. Any lead that might ultimately identify the traitor on the council would be useful and could help us find Athos.

I start back towards the stairs. "I'm not prepared to give up on Gondy just yet. I'm tellin' myself that he's in hidin' somewhere an' that we just need to find him."