D'Artagnan's sword is lost and his enemy, wielding a blade, will soon be upon him.
The musketeer adds priming powder to the flash pan of his pistol, pours more into the barrel. He fumbles for the ball, cursing the time it is taking to load his weapon.
He rams ball and powder home and attaches the slow burning match.
A pistol blast rips through the air. His enemy falls.
Aramis taps his comrade’s shoulder with his spent weapon. “A little faster would be good next time, my friend.”
“Likewise,” d’Artagnan says, clumping Aramis on the arm with his loaded pistol.
