Athos helped Aramis hoist Felice aboard. The older man stared down at her with alarm. "It was Rochefort." Aramis told him, disgusted.
"D'Artagnan?" Athos asked.
"I do not know." Aramis shook his head.
"Hurry, and help the girl." Athos said. "I'll find D'Artagnan, and Rochefort!" He drew his sword.
"Miss Felice!" Kitty shrieked when she saw the priest carrying her friend in his arms, blood submerging the side of her outfit. Constance and Kitty followed Aramis inside. Planchet also followed, but the moment Aramis lay Felice down on the table, the manservant fainted at the sight of blood.
"What can I do?" Constance asked quickly.
"Fetch me some water, please, Constance." Aramis told her. "If you can find any." Constance nodded.
"Did you find D'Artagnan?" She asked.
"Not yet. Porthos will find him, dear." Aramis answered, slowly pulling back Felice's coat. She moaned, and still breathed raggedly.
"Oh my g-, Miss Felice! Is there anything I can do to help, Sir?" Kitty asked frantically.
"Try to keep Felice calm, Kitty. And don't let her move around too much." Aramis replied. "You'll be alright, Felice." He said gently, stroking Felice's head with one hand. "Just hold on, love." Felice grimaced.
"Ara-Aramis? I'm sorry." She said shakily.
"Shh. Save your strength, dear. Try not to speak." Aramis said, carefully lifting the bottom of her blouse so he could have a better look at the gunshot in her side. But then he noticed bruising under the hem of her shirt and rolled it up higher. He pressed his hand against her side and swore furiously under his breath when she cried out as he felt fractured ribs.
Felice's panic mounted. Her eyesight was fading, and fear seized her mind. "Ara-Aramis," She looked up at him with petrified eyes, "I-I'm not going to make it." Felice told him sadly, feeling the consciousness beginning to slip away. His heart lurched.
"Nonsense!" Aramis replied. "You'll be fine, darling. I'll take care of you."
"You're not going nowhere, Miss!" Kitty wept, squeezing her hand.
"Aramis, the water barrels have been turned over." Constance returned. "I'm afraid the contents are completely spilled." Aramis frowned. That was not what he wanted to hear!
"See if you can find some whiskey. I don't care what kind! If it's safely intact in a bottle, bring it!" He instructed her. Constance hurried away. Felice moaned, biting her lip as Aramis tried to gingerly examine the wound. He pressed down on it to staunch the bleeding. "From what I can see, it appears the bullet exited." He said. "That is good." How the heck did Rochefort miss such a direct shot? Thank God he did!
"Mmm-hmm!" Felice grunted.
"Will this work?" Constance asked, bringing him two bottles of wine. She'd found them safely tucked away in straw inside a solid chamber in the captain's quarters.
"Yes, thank you, dear! Very good." Aramis breathed in relief. "I want you to pour some of this into this scarf, and when I tell you, dab it onto the wound." Constance looked up at him nervously. "Please. I really need you to do this! We don't want to take any chances on infection." Constance obeyed, and while Aramis kept a firm hand on Felice's shoulder so she wouldn't bolt up, Constance tentatively dabbed the liquor onto the bleeding hole in her friend's side. Kitty held Felice's hand, squeezing. Felice nearly jolted, sucked in a breath, tightly clenched Aramis's wrist, and dug her fingernails into the thick leather of his black jacket. "I'm sorry, Felice." He said tenderly. She painfully breathed in and out as the burning sensation hit her flesh and her ribs throbbed. "But it will cleanse the wound."
Aramis…h-hel-" She tried speaking.
"Hush, love." Aramis told her firmly. "I will help you."
"Hel..." She whispered. Her eyes grew closed and her body slacked. Constance halted, unsure if her friend was dead or alive.
"Oh my g-! Is...is she dead?!" Kitty blurted. Aramis leaned closely over, listening.
"She still breathes." He sighed deeply. "Keep at it, Constance. You're doing fine." He encouraged her.
"Will she be alright?" Constance asked, and kept at her task.
"I hope so! If we can get the bleeding to stop, she may be alright until we can get her to a proper doctor." At least, that was what he kept praying. What if he was wrong? What if the bullet had lodged into one of her organs? What if he was only telling everyone what he wanted to be the truth?
"And D'Artagnan?" Constance spoke in a small voice. "I know Rochefort, how he plays by his own rules, how brutish he is." She said angrily. "He hates D'Artagnan. He'll stop at nothing to kill him for good." Her eyes began to well up.
"D'Artagnan is a scurvy Gascon, remember." Aramis reminded her. "I do not believe he will allow himself to be placed in a pine box that easily." He smiled. "No. If anything, it is Rochefort you should worry over! Rochefort is big, he's nasty, and skilled. But D'Artagnan has stubbornness in his blood, and his head is full of irony. He'll be the victor, I'm sure."
Kitty was weeping at Felice's side, hugging her arm. "Kitty, I need you to get a grip on yourself, child." Aramis told her.
"Miss Felice has been so kind to me, sir. She saved me!" Kitty blubbered.
"I know, I know." Aramis said soothingly. "But I need you to be brave and help me look after her for now. Find some bandages, will you, dear? They are-" Kitty yanked off her apron and ripped it into long strips of cloth. She anxiously handed them to him. "Thank you, darling." Aramis approved. He quickly set about bandaging Felice's side.
"The bleeding has stopped, thank God." Aramis breathed minutes later.
"Aramis!" He heard Porthos yell overhead. "Could use some help!"
"D'Artagnan?" Constance breathed.
"Kitty, stay with her, and make sure those bandages do not come undone!" Aramis told her as he hurried back up to deck.
Aramis darted to the stern of the airship where he saw Porthos lung over the rail, carrying a limp bundle in his strong arms. "Porthos!" Aramis exclaimed, rushing to help his friend.
"I found him! Little fool was trying to climb the mast. He can barely stand." Porthos said in a huff. Aramis took in the sight of the boy and was stunned with horror. D'Artagnan was even more pale than Felice, and much weaker. His shoulder, his hand, and his stomach all had blood stains there. Porthos's large belt was tightly wrapped just above D'Artagnan's left knee. His thigh was gushing out blood.
"Good l-, boy! The blackguard's cut you to ribbons!" Aramis gasped, catching D'Artagnan in his arms as the boy staggered and collapsed into him.
"I'm...alright." D'Artagnan said feebly.
"No, you are not!" Athos exclaimed.
"C-Constance…"
"She's fine, lad. Not a scratch on her." Porthos said.
"That's...good. Felice?"
"She's been wounded, but I believe she will mend." Aramis said quickly. "Now, let's get you inside."
"Felice…" D'Artagnan halted clumsily. "She tried to save me from Roch-I have to go to her."
"Not like that, you're not!" Athos barked as he appeared, his copper colored, wavy hair disheveled, and his shoulders heaving from exertion. "Aramis, Porthos, do what you can for him."
"Look, I'm alright." D'Artagnan said, nearly falling onto the deck, but Aramis and Porthos both prevented it.
Felice was regaining consciousness, and she whimpered from her battered body.
"Here, drink this." Constance told Felice, helping her sip from the bottle.
"Ugh. Repulsive stuff." Felice scowled.
"I know, but I have heard it can do wonders for pain." Constance sighed. Just then, Aramis and Porthos stepped inside, dragging a very pale, weakened D'Artagnan between them.
"D'Artagnan!" Constance gasped.
"Charles!" Felice echoed her.
"Felice, stay where you are! Kitty, keep an eye on her!" Aramis ordered her sternly. "Constance, remove my jacket and set it up under his head." Constance pulled the black leather from Aramis's back and folded it up. Aramis and Porthos gently lay D'Artagnan on the ground. "Thank you." Aramis told her.
"Ch-Charles?" Felice tried to sit up and see her brother.
"You must lie down, Miss!" Kitty cried.
"Felice, stay down!" Aramis scolded sharply. She slightly shrank back at his harsh tone, startled. He hated being so cold with her, but he needed her to stay still. He needed her to stay...alive, and D'Artagnan needed his undivided attention right now.
"I'm okay," D'Artagnan said, trying to sit up.
"No, you don't!" Aramis pushed him back down.
"Are you always this cocky?" Constance asked, kneeling at his side, brushing the dirty hair out of his face. D'Artagnan didn't attempt to rise again.
"Only...on Tuesdays…" He grunted.
"Well, it is not Tuesday, so I'm afraid this time, you have no excuse." Constance said sarcastically.
"Charles," Felice spoke from the table.
"Porthos," Aramis begged. Porthos walked to the table to keep Felice calm.
"He's alright, lass." He said.
"I'm not a small child where you have to lie to me about the gruesome details, Porthos!" Felice glared at him. "He's hurt badly enough or you wouldn't be keeping me here."
"You are right, love." Porthos frowned. "But you must lie down so as not to undo Aramis's work." Felice nodded, but tried to look over as far she could to see her brother, whom Aramis and Constance were hovering over.
"I'm not...that hurt…" D'Artagnan protested.
"You are a terrible liar." Constance rolled her eyes.
"Rochef-got...away." D'Artagnan said weakly. Constance squeezed his hand, and saw something shiny underneath his jacket. She reached and pulled out the diamond necklace!
"How bad?" Felice asked Aramis, even though she couldn't see him from her prostrate position.
"I do not know yet." Aramis answered. Athos appeared.
"How bad?" He asked breathlessly, his normally indifferent countenance wrought with anxiety.
"I do not know yet!" Aramis answered irritably.
"Constance, I am going to let you down with Planchet. You must reach the castle as quickly as you can and return the diamonds to the queen before it is too late!" Athos urged her.
"Of course, but I want to help." Constance replied.
"You've been a great help, lass." Aramis assured her. "But France still needs you. Go on. You've done your part here. Finish it!"
"We'll look after D'Artagnan." Porthos promised. Constance quickly kissed D'Artagnan on the top of his head, to which he grimaced.
"Oh, sorry." She apologized.
"Don't be sorry." D'Artagnan smiled a pale, cheeky smile.
"I'm afraid there is little time." Athos reminded the maiden, holding out his hand to her. She followed him out.
"Charles? Are you in great pain?" Felice asked.
"Not a...bit." D'Artagnan gritted his teeth as Aramis removed his jacket.
"Don't fret about him, lass. He's a hard head. He'll be alright. You just rest." Porthos told Felice.
"He'd be on his death bed, and claim it's only a minor little fever." Felice retorted. Porthos shrugged, rubbing his bald head.
"Most of these wounds are superficial, thank God." Aramis breathed. "But this one…" He tightened Porthos's belt around D'Artagnan's left knee as he pulled the ripped pants from the deep wound in his thigh. "Porthos! I need your assistance."
"Go." Felice nodded to him.
"I will look after her, Sir." Kitty told him. Porthos knelt across from Aramis.
"What do you need?" He asked.
"Keep as much pressure as you can on this wound. I'm going to try to clean around it as best I can. Do not remove your hands!"
"Aramis!" Felice called.
"Felice, I'm afraid must concentrate-"
"Here! Use this!" She shifted the bottle of wine as far to the edge of the table as she dared without it falling off. Kitty handed it to the priest.
"Thank you, dear." Aramis nodded. He poured it all over the wound, splattering it on D'Artagnan's trousers, and the floor.
"Please be okay, Charles." Felice prayed Kitty encouragingly clasped her hands.
"Don't slip out on us now, lad." Aramis whispered. D'Artagnan was barely aware of the people around him or what was happening. It was so dark from what he could see, and their voices all sounded dull and tedious. His eyes were barely open. Aramis and Porthos glanced frightfully at each other. The boy was no longer objecting to their doctoring, and not putting up a ridiculous fight to keep their mollycoddling off him!
"I should be glad you're laid up, boy." Porthos laughed strangely. "You-you've been stealing too much of my thunder of late," his voice was slightly quivering. "Don't...don't you even think of sit-sitting this one out on me. I'll show you how a real musketeer fights!" Porthos tried to chuckle in an exaggerated merry tone to drone out the sobs threatening to come up.
"D'Artagnan?" Aramis called. "D'Artagnan! Can you hear me?" The lad didn't respond at all. Aramis frantically checked his pulse and leaned his ear on his chest.
"Answer when we speak to you, boy!" Porthos cried vehemently.
"He's bleeding too much!" Aramis exclaimed. D'Artagnan had long since passed out. "Porthos! Push harder, man!"
"Do you want me to break him?" Porthos snapped. "I'm doing my best!"
Athos breathed heavily as he saw the palace walls, and steered the ship in that direction. He was afraid. He'd become very fond of those kids, and had felt obligated to keep them safe. D'Artagnan reminded him alot of himself when he was a younger musketeer. He looked forward to seeing the Gascons each morning, livening up their formerly dull life. And now, they could die! Both of them! They might not survive the landing to find professional medical help! Especially D'Artagnan. That thigh wound was aggressively bleeding. Hold on, D'Artagnan." He panted. "Hold on, son."