This is part three of an SBI musketeers AU I'm writing based on the BBC show 'The musketeers'. I highly recommend reading my other fic 'friends and enemies' and 'sleight of hand' before reading this one, as you probably will miss some vital context if you don't.

The others laughed at Tommy when he said he'd never seen the ocean before.

How could he? Until a year or so ago, Tommy fully expected to live and die in a small farmer's town in Gascony. The sea was actually closer to his old home than it was to Paris, but Tommy's folks certainly never had the time for vacations. His journey to the capital had been the furthest he'd ever been.

Having seen it now, he could decidedly say the ocean was very overrated.

Le Havre was the port closest to the palace. Perhaps that was why it was constantly busy, at all hours of the day. Crowded too, loud. Tommy wouldn't consider himself to be overwhelmed easily, yet even he spent his days there cursing at the foul smells, the constant headaches. Paris was already an explosion of stimuli compared to his hometown, but this place was something else. The ocean was nice and all, Tommy could admit it was impressive enough to have him exhale a surprised breath at the sight. This large, endless expanse of water that stretches and stretches and doesn't end where you think it should. The small specks of white Phil pointed out to him were sails. Tommy was awed by how tiny they looked in the distance.

He wouldn't swim in the ocean though. It looked filthy. It probably was, considering what ships dumped overboard. The water was too cold and after a day or two, the novelty wore off. Tommy was over it. He couldn't wait to be back in Paris.

They came to Le Havre for a reason though. A whole week they waited, patiently checking the logs of any vessel that passed through the harbor. Until finally the name they were waiting for appeared on some lists.

Emile Bonnaire was a trader and an explorer, and he was as obnoxious as Tommy expected going by all accounts he had heard.

Tommy always thought Wilbur was a little flamboyant, quick to use his sense of fashion and ample charisma to attract the public eye. Both Techno and Phil would say it was funny though, so who was Tommy to judge? This Bonnaire guy seemed like he wanted the entire country to look at him.

At least it made Tommy's job of tracking the guy through the busy streets easier.

He followed the colorful plume sticking out of the man's hat as it swerved through the throngs of people on the docks, loading or unloading supplies. Several of the workers stopped to stare at Bonnaire. Some called a greeting or exchanged a quick word. The man was well-regarded, if not well-liked.

Probably not that last one, since Tommy saw others glare at the man. Not everybody was happy Bonnaire made his way back to France.

After a few minutes, Bonnaire took a sharp left, ducked his head, and went into a small pub settled between the wharves. Tommy descended the stone steps after him, squinting into the heated glow of candlelight beyond. He could spot all three of his fellow musketeers already present, scattered across the room. Bonnaire was a creature of habit, apparently he always came to have a drink at the same establishment first thing after reaching shore.

And the guy was clearly known for it by others too. He stepped inside a few paces in front of Tommy, raised his hat in a half-greeting, and bellowed out. "A round of drinks for everyone!"

Cheers answered him, and barmaids went around distributing cups of wine or ale Bonnaire so graciously would pay for. His job earned him vast riches. Tommy had heard that the man brought treasures back from the continent, gold even. No wonder he was a popular fellow. He briefly made eye contact with Phil and Techno, sitting at a small table pressed against the wall, then moved over to a little stool next to Wilbur, who had positioned himself in the middle of the pub. This way they could keep an eye on all entrances and exits, and were close enough to overhear any conversations Bonnaire had.

"Do you think he knows he's being watched?" Tommy asked Wilbur, voice low and hushed.

"Probably." Wilbur tapped his foot against the ground patiently. They'd been waiting there a while. "He loves to draw attention to himself, doesn't he?"

They watched as Bonnaire removed the feather from his hat so he could offer it to the girl serving him his drinks. She was young, pretty in a rather mundane way. Her hair was dark but messy.

"The tailfeather of an Amazonian macaw," Bonnaire said, as he held it close enough to slightly stroke her cheek. "Quite the loveliest bird in the jungle, yet not half as lovely as you."

Tommy snorted, hiding it as a cough into his fist when Wilbur elbowed him. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbled. "Really, though? Seduced by a fucking feather?"

"Anybody can tell a woman she's beautiful," Wilbur commented off-handedly. "Making her believe it? That's where the true genius lies."

And from what Tommy could tell, Bonnaire was skilled at that too. The girl took the feather from him, gingerly tucking it behind her ear as he leaned into her personal space. She lifted her hip so she could half-sit on his table, long skirt trailing off the side.

Tommy's attention was drawn away from the gag-worthy scene, towards the other scoundrels stalking Bonnaire. Tommy could count three of them, muscles tensed and ready to jump into action. A pub was as good a place as any to beat somebody up. This could turn nasty quick. Especially since Tommy saw two officials in distinctly Spanish-looking clothes also make their way down the stairs at the entrance. This could be an issue…

"Emile!"

Or maybe not.

The woman who had shouted above the drum of people in conversations and drunken laughter was gorgeous. If only her face wasn't so severe, clouded with annoyance. She stepped across the floor of the pub with purpose, heeled boots clacking against the cobble. Tommy swore he could see Bonnaire pale three shades, backing away quickly from the girl he'd been playfully courting.

"Dear god," the man said, sounding strained.

The woman who had spoken pulled a dagger out of her corset.

Tommy started to get up but Wilbur grabbed his elbow and pulled him down. He shook his head. "I wanna see how this plays out."

The woman slashed at the barmaid first, who responded by slamming her serving tray into the woman's cheek. Not that it deterred her from springing forward, trying to curl her long nails in the barmaid's hair. Tommy's eyes were wide as saucers at this point. He wasn't conservative enough to believe the fairer sex was any less capable of aggression than their masculine counterparts, but this was rather brutal even for a bar fight.

Bonnaire was poorly attempting to calm the ruckus down. "Darling, please, it's far too early in the morning for-"

"I'll kill you," the woman hissed back at him with venom.

One of the men stalking Bonnaire apparently thought this was the moment to step in, perhaps hoping to use the distraction to his advantage. Bonnaire pulled out his pistol and the stalker got a musket ball to the gut for his troubles. Chaos swept over the remaining patrons swiftly. The other folks after Bonnaire's hide also sprung up, but the musketeers were fast to intervene.

Tommy stuck out his foot to trip one guy trying to run at Bonnaire, only for Wilbur to get up and plant his knee on their ribcage. Techno had already knocked the remaining one into the wall so hard he collapsed.

Wilbur stood up, but the woman who was trying to murder Bonnaire herself moments ago whirled on him instead.

"Touch him and you're dead," she said.

Wilbur gestured at the trader in question, cowering behind her. "A moment ago you wanted to kill him?"

"I have the right. You don't."

Wilbur sighed, grabbing the woman's wrist and spinning her, easily prying the dagger from her grip without hurting her too badly. He pushed her away, at Tommy who held her arm to try and restrain her. She technically hadn't done anything wrong (yet) but she couldn't intervene with their arrest. The woman squirmed in his grip until she could pull up his hand and bite into the skin. Tommy yelped and let go.

Techno was laughing so hard he almost keeled over. And Phil, prick that he was, just stood there and watched in vague amusement.

"She- She just fucking bit me?!" Tommy yelled, holding up his hand.

Bonnaire stepped up and raised his hands, getting their attention. "Thank you, thank you, fine gentleman. I'm so lucky you were here." The woman scowled at him, not trying to attack a second time.

"Perhaps not," Phil said, smiling. He must be taking some pleasure in knocking the trader down a peg. "Emile Bonnaire? I am Philip d'Athos from the king's musketeers. You are under arrest. We shall take you to Paris, where you must appear before the royal court."

Tommy had never seen a man's expression shift from smug to dismayed so quickly.

Techno took Bonnaire's gun and sword off him, tossing them onto a nearby table. When he pulled out a secondary swordshort, he appreciated the gleaming metal for a moment, before giving it a place at his own hip with a grin.

"No, I'm afraid I can't," Bonnaire started, "Can't travel today, I got important business-"

"That will have to wait," Phil interrupted calmly.

As musketeers, they had the authority to take people into custody and no sweet talking from Bonnaire was going to buy him a way out of this. Though it seemed to Tommy that's what the man had done on other occasions to get out of a tight spot.

"What about her," he asked, pointing his thumb over to the woman who bit him. She glared, and Tommy glared back.

"I have a name," she spat at him. "It's Maria Bonnaire."

Bonnaire nodded his head. "Gentlemen, my wife." He indicted the woman with a little flourish.

"That explains a lot," Wilbur said with a chuckle.

Techno pulled Bonnaire a little closer to him by the collar, ignoring the antics as he often did. "Any hidden weapons we should know about?"

"No, no, I never carry any concealed weapons," Bonnaire said quickly. His mouth turned up into a grimace befitting his curled mustache when Techno found a second flintlock hidden away beneath the man's coat. "Oh, I uh, completely forgot about that one."

"As happens," Techno hummed, also pocketing this one. Tommy had to wonder where he kept all these weapons or what he did with them.

They gathered up Bonnaire's stuff. The trader pretty much resigned to being arrested at this point, especially as his alternative would be to take his chances with the Spanish. Those officials had made themselves scarce as soon as the musketeers stepped in, knowing it would not be worth it to start a diplomatic incident on French soil. Tommy was curious about what they wanted with Bonnaire of all people. No way to know unless the trader told them, and the odds of that happening were pretty damn low.

Right as they started to leave, Bonnaire hesitated. He held up his hand again. "Oh, uh, grant me one last favor before we go."

The musketeers stared at him, unimpressed. "What?" Phil asked flatly.

"A few moments alone with my wife?"

Tommy could feel his eyes practically roll out of his skull at that. "You must think we're stupid."

Though - much to his surprise - Phil nodded. Wilbur also gave a shrug to indicate that he could relate to Bonnaire's desire to steal a few more moments with this fiery woman he called his wife. "Fine. There's a room upstairs we could use," Phil said.

"Oh, terribly sorry, apparently we are fucking stupid," Tommy said out loud. Techno clapped him on the back and laughed.

"I must have your guarantee that you won't try to escape?" Phil added.

"You have my word as a gentleman," Bonnaire promised.

He was as slippery as the snakes back in his hometown. But Phil was the one who dictated their orders, so what he decided on was law. They went upstairs so Bonnaire could do his thing. Techno and Wilbur went outside to prepare for their trip back to Paris, which would take several days. The sounds coming from that room were… Well, they left little to the imagination. Or maybe Tommy didn't want to imagine what they were doing in there. He supposed if Bonnaire spent months across the ocean, he was eager to get some privacy.

"What do you think those shady guys wanted from him?" he asked, partly to distract himself from the indecency and partly because he genuinely was curious to know.

"Money, probably." Phil leaned against the wall. "Men like Bonnaire are notoriously dishonest. Their only goal is profit, so they tend to piss people off along the way."

"If he's so dishonest, why would you allow him out of your sight?"

The constant grunting and moaning had died off into an eerie silence. Tommy watched as Phil smirked, before slowly walking over to the door, knocking once, then opening it. It was empty.

"Wha- What the fuck?!" Tommy ran in and looked around wildly. "He escaped?"

"Through the window, most likely," Phil said. He walked over to the window, which was unlatched. Tommy ran to look out, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of Bonnaire escaping. They had to chase him, catch him before-

What he saw instead was their cart, prepared for the journey to Paris. Bonnaire was in the back, looking extremely grumpy. Techno was holding the reins, Wilbur was on horseback behind the cart. Bonnaire's wife had probably run when she realized their ruse didn't work, and he had jumped right into the clutches again. Literally.

"The stage lost a fine actor the day you decided to become a trader," Phil laughed. Bonnaire didn't answer, crossing his arms to hold onto his little remaining dignity.

The journey to Paris was slow going, with the cart.

If they all traveled on horseback, they could cover more ground. Bonnaire was not an experienced rider though. And despite the warrant out for his arrest, the king had also tasked his musketeers with bringing back the man's wares. Some of them were gifts for the royals too. Bonnaire clearly hoped they could sway the king's opinion in his favor, despite whatever he was accused of.

Wilbur wasn't entirely sure. He left all that technical stuff up to Phil and Techno. They were the ones who figured out their official matters, Wilbur was just along for the ride.

For an arrested man, Bonnaire was in a good mood. While Tommy went up front and Phil brought up the rear, each straddling their own horse, the trader traveled in the cart steered on by Techno. Wilbur walked beside them, weighing in on the endless chatter.

"You might not believe me, but I've always respected men of military disposition," Bonnaire said. "I was raised on tales of the musketeers' heroism, my father spoke of them often."

Techno scoffed, the reins held in one hand so he could lean on the seat with his other. A relaxed posture for the slow tempo. "I doubt that, considering the musketeers didn't exist back then."

Wilbur did his best not to laugh. Bonnaire's put off expression was hilarious in itself, though the man shrugged it off easily so he could continue.

"I was going to be a soldier myself, you know. But life had other plans for me." The man grinned broadly, taking pride in his adventurous spirit. "All the things I've done, the places I've been. My friend, you would scarcely believe the stories I could tell."

He scooted a little closer to Techno on the cart's wooden bench. Wilbur supposed that it was natural for a man like Bonnaire to try and get in their good graces. He banked on his charisma to carry him through any tough spots he encountered in life. There was something undeniably funny about seeing him try those tricks on Techno, a person who was as allergic to social interaction as he was to being told what to do.

"Hm, try me," he said. This prompted Bonnaire to go off into an animated retelling of some adventure he had in the Caribbean.

No, the strangest thing was not Bonnaire trying to make friends out of them. The strangest thing was that Techno was indulging the guy.

Wilbur dug his heels into the horse's flank to slow the pace a little. When he was parallel with Phil, he went back to his easy canter.

"We could walk to Paris quicker than this," he commented. It wasn't an actual protest to taking the cart, but Wilbur wanted it noted that he expressed his displeasure.

"Bonnaire hopes his gifts will soften the king," Phil shrugged - the same thing he had explained before. They watched the comical scene playing out before them. Bonnaire had dug up a flask of some exotic liquor from his treasures and was urging Techno to take a sip. The other man did. Techno could hold his booze better than Phil, so Wilbur doubted it would do much.

Tommy slowed down too, until they were all riding in more of a close-knit cluster on the wide open road that snuck through valleys and small hills. There were barely any towns in this region, farmland mostly.

"This sort of drink is made in the continent a lot, though we emulate it in France too. Plantations down in the south of the country, mostly." Bonnaire threw the cask at Tommy as he explained. The young man almost fumbled when catching it. The trader looked at Techno. "You might be familiar?"

Wilbur's hands tightened around the reins of his horse and he saw Techno sit up straighter too.

While they didn't discuss it in great detail, Wilbur was aware that most people could tell Techno was not born into wealth. A large majority of the musketeers were career soldiers, the children of the middle class or even nobility. Those were the ones who could rise in the ranks easily or buy their way to the top. Anybody from a lower standing would usually live and die as a foot soldier at best, no matter how trained they were. Techno was an outlier, somebody born in filth with exceptional skill and tactical insight who had managed to scramble to a musketeer rank by pure chance and luck, rather than remain as unrecognized cannon fodder.

Techno's rough exterior did show. Whether it was the way he carried himself, body language seeped in memories of a lowborn upbringing, or perhaps simply his accent which would betray his heritage outside of France.

"Maybe," Techno said.

"Indentured servitude?" Bonnaire asked. Say what you would about the man, he had no hesitation to sate his curiosity.

Wilbur observed too that Tommy was watching with great interest. Techno wasn't prone to talking about his past randomly.

"My mother came to Paris after she was freed," Techno said.

Indentured servitude was barely a step up from slavery. A wicked way to squeeze labor out of the uneducated or destitute. Often, people were tricked into signing a contract without being able to read, one that would be greatly to their disadvantage. Especially in situations where not signing was a death warrant.

"I know there are many who proposed after they are freed-" Bonnaire began, perhaps trying to backpedal once he noticed he hit a nerve.

"Yeah? Well, she didn't," Techno said. "I've been fending for myself since the age of five."

"From the streets of Paris to the king's elite regiment," Bonnaire nodded. "That's also quite a journey."

"I took to soldiering, unlike you." Techno grinned thinly at Bonnaire. Wilbur had known the man long enough to know he was humoring him.

They rode on in silence after that.

An easy journey to Paris would be too much to ask.

A few miles later, Phil came back after scouting their surroundings with the confirmation that they were being tracked. Wilbur had feared this could be the case. The men who had tried to attack Bonnaire were not keen to let go of their prey that easily. They were hoping for a good opportunity to strike.

In theory, Wilbur would have loved to keep denying them that opportunity forever. In practice, they could not stay on the road day and night. They had to slow down at some point, get some rest.

It was when they did that, trying to find a place where they could set up camp and settle for a night, that disaster struck.

The musketeers had their swords drawn before the attack could commence, but the rising tension hung so heavy in the air that it almost felt like they could taste it. Wilbur hated the uncertainty. He hated having to wait.

"Come out and state your business!" he demanded loudly.

Phil huffed a surprised laugh next to him. "That was very formal."

Wilbur shrugged. "I like to be polite."

The first bandit to run at them only had a club. Wilbur shot the poor bloke easily enough.

"Ambush!" Phil yelled, pulling the trigger on his own gun.

Ah, yes. Because things could never be simple for them.

They were outnumbered four to one at the very least, and Bonnaire was no help. That man crawled beneath the cart to save his own skin almost immediately. Considering the lack of bravery he had displayed at the pub too, Wilbur wasn't exactly surprised. Not worth focusing on though. He had enough trouble trying to fend off multiple assailants one-handed since he had no time to reload his pistol. The fighting was crude, with little honor. Once, an iron chain hit Wilbur in the side and he almost went down. The bandits used unrefined weaponry, but had numbers to their advantage. Wilbur slammed his elbow into somebody's nose hard enough for it to crack beneath the pressure, yet still they kept coming.

Then he heard Techno scream.

Wilbur was at his side in a second, instinct drilled in by war urging him to move to protect a fallen comrade. He stabbed the man standing over Techno through the back, until the glistening red metal of his sword came out from their gut. Their grip loosened on the handax they had used to inflict the wound. A deep slice cutting into vulnerable flesh between Techno's neck and shoulder, down his back. An inch or so more and his jugular could have been severed.

"Fuck! You'll be alright, you're alright," Wilbur said shakily, removing one of his belts in a vain attempt to push cloth into the wound and secure it with pressure. Something that would keep Tehcno from bleeding out in a matter of minutes.

"That's enough!" somebody called. Wilbur barely registered it, too focused on trying to keep Techno from stubbornly pushing onto his knees.

"Who the fuck are you?" Tommy asked whoever was coming to bother them now. Wilbur was so sick of this day, hands slick with blood and panic.

"I have no argument with you," the newcomer said. "Only with him." He pointed an offending finger at Bonnaire.

Truly, everybody had a quarrel with this guy.

"Ah, gentlemen." Bonnaire scrambled to get up from beneath the card, dusting himself off. "Allow me to introduce my business partner, Paul Monier."

"Doesn't look like you have a great partnership," Wilbur said, almost biting his tongue.

"I funded all of Emile's expeditions for eight years, yet here he is back in France with none of the cargo he promised me and not a word that he had arrived," the heavy-set man known as Paul Monier complained. Wilbur thought he'd vaguely heard of this guy before, some important merchant dealing in a lot of different trades.

"There was no time, Paul," Bonnaire said. "As you can see I've been quite engaged with…" He glanced at the musketeers around him. "Other stuff."

"I'd like to get my due," Paul insisted.

"I sympathize with your plight," Phil told him - sounding the furthest thing from sympathetic imaginable - "No doubt your business partner here is a swindler and has done you wrong. However, we have our orders. We are to bring him safely to Paris. You can find reckoning at the court. Now, tell your men to lay down their weapons."

After a terse few seconds of considering his options, Paul nodded.

"I'll tell the royals about your claims against Bonnaire," Phil said after everybody's firearms and swords had been done away with.

"How do I know you won't betray me?" Paul asked.

Phil stared at him with a thin, unamused smile. "I'm going to do you a favor, mate, and pretend I didn't hear that." He started to walk toward the cart. "If I see your scouts on the road again, there'll be trouble."

"Scouts?" Paul asked.

"Two men with black cloaks, they've been tailing us since Le Havre."

The merchant shook his head vehemently. "Those aren't mine." At the musketeers' obvious doubt, he added, "I'm not the only man who has grievances to settle with Bonnaire, trust me."

Ignoring him, Phil walked all the way over to where Wilbur was kneeling, trying to keep Techno in an upright position. The makeshift bandage could only do so much and none of them couldn't pretend to hear the labored breaths of pain Techno was trying very hard to hide.

"Be honest, Wilbur," he managed from between clenching teeth. "Will I lose my arm?"

"Nope, but you might lose your life," Wilbur told him, knowing Techno would appreciate his forthrightness.

"That bad?" Phil asked. Wilbur didn't look at Tommy, uncomfortably idling on the spot beside him. He'd never seen one of them get hurt before, despite this being pretty typical and an accepted risk in musketeering.

"It needs proper medical care, and stitching. Neither of which I can provide in a roadside camp," Wilbur said.

"Will he make it to Paris?"

Wilbur lifted the cloth an inch, the fabric already saturated and leaking. Techno made a pained little noise he quickly swallowed down again. "He won't make it to the next village if we don't do something soon."

"Then we need to find something nearby," Tommy spoke up. He looked frightened and Wilbur felt mildly guilty that he didn't have the time to comfort him while also tending to Techno. Didn't Tommy's father bleed out in the middle of the road too?

"Not here," Phil said. "We ride on for a few miles, then find somewhere."

"Techno can't ride anywhere," Wilbur said. Was Phil being willfully obtuse?

Nudging Tommy, the older man started to turn away. "Get him on the cart, then."

Wilbur's brow furrowed and worry morphed to anger for a hot second. He shot up, grabbing Phil by the shoulder. "Are you fucking deaf? If he doesn't get medical attention soon, he won't make it."

"We wait until-" Phil started.

Wilbur didn't let him finish, shaking him again. "What's the matter with you?! You care about Techno, right? You're going to let him die?!"

"Alright," Phil said. His blue eyes, normally wrinkled with age and full of life, seemed empty to Wilbur. "I know somewhere nearby." He pushed Wilbur off so he could mount his horse.

"Why the fuck didn't you say that before?" Tommy asked, but there came no answer to his question.

Wilbur had a feeling they would find out the answer soon enough.