I wondered that too, Guest, about Gascons. So I looked it up. Basically, the people of Gascony, France were country folk, poor but not destitute, and smart. They looked out for their own, came together as a community and basically led a quiet, peaceful, country life. But they were quite feisty, easily offended, quick-tempered, and always more than ready to fight.
Thank you for the reviews! Glad someone is reading this. This chapter was fun, and the next one should be even more so.
"Well, here we are." D'Artagnan sighed as they entered the streets of Paris. Felice leaned her head on his shoulder from behind. Up close, the expanded city was livelier and more colorful than from a distance. It was indeed exquisite, but the excitement they'd felt that morning had diminished considerably after their escape from Rochefort.
After he'd left, D'Artagnan and Felice had entered the boarding house only to use the wash room privately. They'd washed D'Artagnan's shot arm and bound it as best they could. His stomach had welts that were tinted a majestic purple and blue. He'd helped Felice discard of her ruined clothes as she put on her simple blue tea dress from home. He'd seen the bruises on her upper arms and wrists. She'd rinsed her face from tears and then they'd departed on trusty Buttercup away from the village of Meung.
And now, they'd reached the great capitol of France! But sadly with less enthusiasm than before. The smell of wonderful food filled the air but it saddened Felice as she thought on her main purpose for coming here at all: her dream of becoming a famous baker. Now she wished they'd never come at all. There were sleek, robust horses, some with fancy hairdos and extravagant gear. Musicians played catchy tunes in the streets. Performers made people laugh and cheer at their stands. Beer wagons took up enormous space of the street as the drivers guided the large steeds under archways and tunnels. Merchants called out to promote their merchandise: scarves, shawls, waistcoats, fancy feathered hats, even talking birds! D'Artagnan noticed the silk scarves of every color imaginable. Perhaps he could buy one for Felice later on, perhaps it would cheer her up a bit.
"It certainly is lively, isn't it?" D'Artagnan spoke up.
"Yes." Felice answered. "Once we make enough money, we should find some wonderful gifts to send home to Mother and Father." She said, wishing she sounded more enthusiastic.
"Right. Ahh, here you go, Buttercup." D'Artagnan smiled in relief as they saw a vacant hitching post with a trough. D'Artagnan halted the horse then dismounted, grunting from the pain in his belly as he did. "That a girl." He said sweetly as he tied her up. Felice slowly hopped down.
"Take a load off your feet." She stroked the horse who whinnied back. Then her head jerked up tensely.
"Whoa, whoa! What's the matter, girl? Easy." D'Artagnan shushed her. Felice's breath caught in her throat.
"Ch-Charles! Look!" She pointed. A man in a black cape and with an eye patch on his face barged through the crowds on the street.
"Make way!" Rochefort ordered the citizens, as if he owned the cobblestones they walked on.
"He's not getting away this time!" D'Artagnan gasped. "Stay here!" He told Felice firmly.
"No!" She protested. "He'll kill you!" D'Artagnan bounded off after Rochefort. Felice raced at his heels.
The unforgettable fragrance of the local tavern wafted through their nostrils as D'Artagnan and Felice hurried along. "Watch out!" Felice warned him. Too late.
"Excuse me!" D'Artagnan elbowed a tall man in a fancy black jacket. The drunk growled like a grizzly bear, wincing.
"Oui!" His deep voice cut through the air as he snatched a hold of D'Artagnan's cloak and pulled him back to himself. Felice gasped and screeched.
"Sorry! I'm sorry!" D'Artagnan apologized in a rush.
"D-!" The old grouch grunted.
"Get your hand off him!" Felice barked up at him. She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, ready this time to defend him if necessary. She wasn't taking any chances.
"Are you blind?" The man asked in a slurred voice. He was very tall, his copper-colored hair wet and disarrayed.
"Let me go. I'm looking for the man who stole my letter of recommendation and tried to kill..." D'Artagnan explained breathlessly.
"That's not good enough. You spilled my drink, ruined my shirt." The man complained.
"Look, he said he was sorry. We're in a bit of a hurry." Felice replied. "Let him go!" D'Artagnan grunted painfully as he reached inside his pocket with his hurt arm and offered the man some money. The man looked most unimpressed.
"Ten sous? Who do you think you're talking to?" He huffed, finally releasing D'Artagnan.
"The town drunk, by the smell of you." D'Artagnan answered snarkily.
"On top of everything, you roughly brushed my injured shoulder. And that, my boy is no small pang."
"Your hurt shoulder?" D'Artagnan sputtered. "Doesn't say much for mine!"
"Well, if you're so hurt, you should see a physician, not wasting away with ale like a fool!" Felice snapped at the extremely disgruntled gentleman.
"Blind and deaf." He grimaced, peeved.
"What?" D'Artagnan frowned.
"Fortunately for you, I'm somewhat of a doctor."
"Great! When can you fit me in?"
"Twelve o'clock. Cooper's Yard. Saint Jermaine."
"I'll be there." D'Artagnan promised sourly.
"Well then, physician, heal thyself!" Felice retorted, smacking a handkerchief onto the man's chest then she once again ran after her brother.
"That way!" D'Artagnan told her and he darted up the shop porches.
"Charles, wait!" Felice called after him.
"Darling, you spoil me. I don't know how I shall ever repay you-" A large, bald man at the clothes shop murmured to a lady in a green dress, a small red purse passing between them. D'Artagnan hurried passed them but not without bumping roughly into the man's rear, causing him to stumble.
"Watch yourself!" The man bellowed.
"My apologies. Matter of life and death, won't happen again." D'Artagnan panted.
"What did you do now?" Felice groaned as she caught up with him. "I believe you dropped this." Felice handed the man the red purse.
"This isn't mine." He shook his head.
"I saw the lady hand it to you, I'm not blind." Felice rolled her eyes.
"Afraid I saw it too." D'Artagnan backed her up.
"Look, could you just take it, please? We're on an urgent mission." Felice sighed impatiently.
"Are you implying that I would take money from this woman?! Are you saying I can't pay for my own wardrobe, you little scamps?" The man growled, his ample chest seeming to expand every time he yelled. Felice backed away behind D'Artagnan. She didn't know this man. For all she knew, he might belt her across the ears! "Do you know who I am?"
"Do you know who I am?" D'Artagnan retorted casually.
"No!"
"Then we're even."
"Charles, let's go!" Felice tugged on his arm, his wounded arm. He grunted at her. The bigger man clapped D'Artagnan's wrist.
"You're in luck, boy. Ordinarily I would slaughter you on the street, but this is a brand new jacket." He said dangerously.
"Cooper's Yard. Saint Jermaine. One o'clock." D'Artagnan warned him.
"Charles!" Felice exclaimed in disbelief.
"I suggest you dress for a funeral!" D'Artagnan told the man and off he was again.
"Young whippersnappers." The man guffawed. "Who do they think they are?"
D'Artagnan and Felice finally stopped to catch their breath. They glanced all around but there was no sign of that rotten Rochefort. "No use. He's gone." D'Artagnan puffed.
"He'll show up again, I have no doubt. Bad eggs make it their goal in life to do that." Felice remarked. Good riddance! "Well, you've certainly gotten us into a mess."
"Me?"
"When Father told us to get into trouble, I don't believe this is what he had in mind! You can't just go around picking fights with everyone that you run into, Charles." Felice said, exasperated, sounding just like her mother.
"They got in my way." D'Artagnan said as they strode along back to find Buttercup.
"You can't be serious. They were just misunderstandings. It was an argument."
"That's what I told them. They didn't listen. The joke's on them."
"You knot-head-"
"Don't call me that!" D'Artagnan hissed in her face. "I saw the way that scoundrel in Meung looked at you, and the way he commanded his lackeys to...as if it was an every day occurrence. I'm going to find him and make him pay, for hurting you and stealing my letter."
"I know that, Charles. But this? Dueling with every stranger that you have a misunderstanding with? You're making a fool of yourself."
"Father did say to make mistakes."
"Like-hullo?" Felice reached over to Buttercup's saddle bag when they returned to her then handed a small piece of paper to D'Artagnan.
"Five francs." He read. "This is...what? Hey!" He called to the gentleman who'd put it there. He was lean fellow, handsome with dark hair and a small thin mustache. He wore a golden cross around his neck.
"It's a citation." He answered simply.
"For what?" Felice asked in irritation. "Look, if this is about the run-ins with the drunk and-"
"We weren't doing anything!" D'Artagnan added.
"It's a ticket." The man cut them off curtly. Didn't these kids know how to read anything? "Failure to remove animal bowel movements from public area."
"Again, please? And in a mentally conceivable language?" Felice chided him. The man sighed.
"Your horse took a dump on the street."
"Horses do that, you know. You can't hold it against Buttercup for being what she is."
"You're joking." D'Artagnan grinned.
The man chuckled as if they were little children, making a mountain out of a molehill. "That's what they all say." He shook his head and started to walk away.
"Hey!" D'Artagnan yanked him back by the arm. "You know what?" He tore up the ticket to shreds.
"What the-" Felice's jaw dropped.
"2:00. Cooper's Yard. Saint Jermaine." D'Artagnan told the man and whirled away.
"Not again!" Felice groaned in exasperation, trailing him.
The man arched his eyebrows. "Strange boy. Most strange, both of them."