A/N: Just as a quick note, this chapter is directly inspired by the 2011 film with the impossible airships. I was amused by them and have included them.
Winter-1626
The battlefield was muddy and cold. Overhead, Buckingham's airships rained cannonballs down on the French soldiers. Ignoring the explosions going on around him, Porthos ran for the closest trench. A cannonball landed in the mud not more than a yard away, catching the large man's attention. Reacting immediately, Porthos flung himself into the trench.
The ball exploded, sending mud and dirt into the trench. Shaking his head, Porthos got to his feet and crouched by the wall of the trench. “Cutting it a little close, weren't you, Porthos?” Aramis queried, glancing over. He, like everyone else, was covered with mud. Only his gold cross distinguished him from the others. “How is it out on the field?”
“What do you think? We're getting slaughtered out there!” Porthos responded.
“We've got to figure out a way to take those ships down,” Aramis said, glancing up at the cloudy sky. “None of our artillery can hit the damn things!”
Porthos started to grin, and Aramis eyed him suspiciously. “I wasn't just out there getting shot at,” the large man said, with a hint of pride in his voice. “Buckingham's setting up camp nearby. I guess he doesn't want to waste time in having his ships go back and forth for supplies. Near as I can tell, the ships set down once a day.”
Amazed, Aramis stared at him. “How'd you find that out?”
“I went looking,” Porthos said smugly. He clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder, nearly sending Aramis into the mud. “I'm going to find Treville and let him know.”
“Athos went that way too,” Aramis told him. “You know D'Artagnan was assigned near Treville. Athos wanted to make sure the boy was all right.”
Chuckling, Porthos moved to straighten up. His eyes widened as he took in four airships headed directly towards where he knew his two friends, and his captain to be. “Aramis!” he said.
Turning, Aramis was in time to see the four ships bombard the ground with fire and cannonballs. The two friends exchanged quick looks and then they both pulled themselves from the mud. They wove their way through other soldiers, guards, and musketeers. Within moments, they had to fight against the soldiers fleeing the flames. Explosions and screams of pain filled the air around them.
Bringing his arm up to block the smoke, Porthos tripped on a musket that Aramis had so gracefully leapt over. Unable to get his balance, Porthos landed on his face. He picked himself up and turned to snap at the owner of the musket. However, when he saw that the pain lined and exhausted face looking back at him was D'Artagnan's, all annoyance fled.
“D'Artagnan!” Porthos exclaimed, scrambling to his feet. His voice halted Aramis, who'd continued on. Kneeling by his young friend, Porthos tried to find the injury on the boy. “D'Artagnan, are you all right? Where have you been injured?”
“I'm fine,” D'Artagnan answered, even though he grimaced in pain as he moved.
“I never took you for a liar, boy,” Porthos told him. “Now, tell me where you're hurt.”
After a moment, D'Artagnan gestured to his right side. “Its not serious,” he insisted as Aramis moved to take a better look.
“Where's Athos?” Aramis asked, trying in vain to look at D'Artagnan's wound through the mud.
“He's the one who got me here,” D'Artagnan answered. He looked between them with wide eyes. “But he went back.”
Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, and Porthos rose to his feet. “I'll go find him,” he said. “You stay with D'Artagnan.”
Overhead, an airship much larger than any of Buckingham's came out of the clouds. Its cannons fired on the four ships, sending them fleeing from surprise. “Richelieu?” Aramis said in surprise. “He's finally decided to help us out? The war must be going badly then.”
Slowly, the four smaller ships came around to take on the one sent from Richelieu. “If he keeps the field clear, fine,” Porthos said, losing interest in the battle. “I'm going after Athos. The fool probably got himself killed.”
“Believe that, and you're the fool.”
At their friend's voice, Porthos and Aramis turned. D'Artagnan's face brightened. “Athos!” the boy exclaimed, trying to get to his feet. “Are you all right?”
Athos was walking towards them, supporting a mud covered man. “Let's get out of this mud,” he said, ignoring the question. He cast a swift glance over D'Artagnan. “Richelieu’s ship ought to keep Buckingham's ships attention off the field for now.”
“I still foresee another night without a campfire to warm us,” Porthos sighed. He stepped over to help Athos with the wounded man. Up close, he thought he recognized the man. “Monsieur Treville!”
“He was caught in the last barrage, same as D'Artagnan and myself,” Athos said. “We need to get him to a physician.”
~*~
His waist encased in a bandage, D'Artagnan sat with Aramis and Porthos around a small lantern, the only light allowed. The tent for the wounded was overflowing with men from the latest skirmish, and as D'Artagnan could still walk, the physician had sent him on his way.
All three looked up as Athos joined them. “The physician says Treville was not seriously injured,” Athos reported. “But he won't be joining us on the field for several weeks.”
“What happened exactly?” Aramis asked.
Taking a seat next to D'Artagnan, Athos scanned the boy quickly to assure himself that the boy had been looked after. “The same as any other time,” he said. “Those damned ships came overhead and took out the entire section. We're losing our men fast, and hardly touching the English!”
“Tell us something we don't know,” Porthos told him.
“Master D'Artagnan,” Planchet said, his teeth chattering. “One of the Cardinal's guards delivered this letter for you.”
Eagerly, D'Artagnan accepted the white paper. “It must be from Constance,” he said, turning it over in his hand. Remarkably, the seal was intact. “I wonder how she convinced the guard to deliver it to a musketeer?” the Gascon commented, breaking the seal. He leaned closer to the lantern to see better.
“I hope Richelieu has more ships with him than that one,” Aramis said, glancing over to where the immense ship, slightly scarred from the battle earlier, sat next to the camp. “He's had plenty of time to build more than one.”
“That would mean we'd be beholden to Richelieu for putting an end to this,” Porthos responded. “Is that really something we want?”
“If it would mean kicking Buckingham out of France, then yes,” Athos said.
A strangled sound from D'Artagnan caught their attention, interrupting their conversation. “Bad news?” Athos asked.
Slowly, D'Artagnan looked up. His eyes were wide as he glanced between Aramis and Porthos. “Yes,” he answered. “It's...I don't know how to tell you.”
“Then, read it to us from your letter,” Aramis suggested calmly. “It can't be all that bad. After all, the cardinal is here. He can't be making trouble for the queen while he's concerned with this war.”
D'Artagnan swallowed hard and turned his eyes back to his letter. He cleared his throat and read:
“'D'Artagnan, you must share this letter with your three friends as soon as you finish reading. It is the queen's express command. We would write to them, and send it with all haste, if it would not draw unwanted attention. However, my writing to you is harmless, and thus it may take days for this to reach you.'"
Porthos smirked. “Leave it to a woman to bog an urgent message down with details,” he said. “What's the emergency this time?”
“'Dona Maria, Marquessa de Molin, has vanished.'”
Aramis and Porthos straightened up sharply. “What?” Aramis snapped.
Clearing his throat, D'Artagnan continued, “All of us retired as usual that night. When Queen Anne sent me to get the marquessa the next morning, when she didn't appear in the queen's chambers, I couldn't find Maria anywhere in the palace. No one saw her leave. I've asked every guard and servant.
“'I did manage to learn one thing from a maid who'd been in the wing. She heard the sound of a scuffle, but paid it no heed until questioned. D'Artagnan, the queen is very anxious that someone has abducted Maria. Please. You must come to Paris as soon as you are able.'”
“Richelieu,” Porthos growled. “It has to be Richelieu's work! What's he done with her?”
“As she is the queen's lady in waiting, hasn't the queen done anything?” Athos asked.
Quickly, D'Artagnan searched the handwriting. “'Her Majesty has repeatedly demanded Maria be returned to the palace, but the Cardinal insists that he has had nothing to do with the maquessa's disappearance,'” he read aloud. “'I don't know what game he is playing this time.'”
“He found out about Maria's past,” Aramis said quietly. He shook his head. “How? What proof did he get?”
“Since when has the cardinal needed proof?” Porthos asked. “Someone squealed on Maria, and he's locked her away, or worse, to keep her quiet because he thinks she's a threat.”
Athos stood and walked to the edge of their small camp. “Not someone. Juan Montoye,” he said over his shoulder. “He promised he was going to make Maria suffer. He told the cardinal.”
“So, what are we going to do?” D'Artagnan asked. He gestured with his letter. “The queen desires you to find Senora Molin and rescue her.”
The other three looked at each other. “Perhaps if we bring the matter up with the king,” Porthos suggested. “He's always been fond of Maria since she was the queen's favorite.”
“Richelieu is sure to have already told the king that he's arrested a traitor and has locked said traitor in the Bastille,” Aramis answered sharply. “We may have to get the information of where Maria is from one of the cardinal's guards, and then, once we've rescued her, send her out of France.”
“She's always be on the run,” Porthos objected. “There has to be some other way.”
“We're in the middle of a war, Porthos!” Aramis told him. “We don't have many options as it is.”
D'Artagnan looked up at Athos. “What do you think, Athos?”
The other two also turned towards Athos. The man turned around, a smile on his face. “I think we're going to find Maria,” he said. “And we're going to get leave from Richelieu himself to do it.”
“We are?” Aramis said doubtfully. “Exactly how are we going to do that?”
Athos smiled.
~*~
Another day of fighting passed. When the sun vanished beneath the horizon, that's when the real work for the Inséparables began. Under the cover of the dark night, the four friends crept towards the English camp. They reached the edge of the camp and split off without a word.
Porthos and Aramis went left, locating the English guards that were posted. Porthos crouched behind a tree and, when the first guard came close enough, took the man out without a sound. Aramis kept going, blending into the shadows with the ease he'd always had.
D'Artagnan and Athos, who'd gone right, were taking out the guards on their sides. “We have five minutes now,” Athos said as the last guard fell to the ground. “You know what to do?”
Grinning in response, D'Artagnan nodded once and slipped further into the camp. He'd begged to be allowed to help with the mission. Athos had, at first, been reluctant as the boy still experienced pain from his wound. But D'Artagnan had pointed out that he was well enough to fight on the field, and in the end the others had let him come along.
Keeping his eye on his young friend, Athos stayed in the shadows. On the other side of the camp, Porthos was watching Aramis in much the same way. Too many people in the camp would only complicate things. It was up to D'Artagnan and Aramis to pull this mission off.
They had only been at their work for a few minutes, when a trumpet sounded in the middle of the camp. The English came rushing from their tents and lanterns became lit. Athos cursed as he saw D'Artagnan jump behind a tent to avoid getting caught. The English soldiers rushed to their posts on the airships.
Swiftly, Athos adjusted the mission plan and headed into the camp. With everyone running around, he was able to blend in. So far, no one seemed to notice that the guards hadn't appeared from their posts on the edge of the camp. Athos joined D'Artagnan behind the tent.
“What are we going to do now?” the Gascon boy asked in a whisper. “I can't sabotage a ship if its not on the ground.” He shook his head. “I'm never going to get used to saying that.”
“How many did you get to?” Athos asked.
“Just those two,” D'Artagnan answered, gesturing to the two closest ships that were well on their way to lifting off the ground. “Its not going to affect Buckingham's arsenal much.”
“Well, if Aramis got to a couple, it should be enough,” Athos said. “Let's find him and then get out of here.”
D'Artagnan grimaced. “Let me guess. We're not going to be able walk out of here like we planned.”
“There's no sense in letting Buckingham have all the ships,” Athos answered. He crept carefully through the camp to find Porthos and Aramis. D'Artagnan stayed right behind him. They found their two friends alongside a ship at the farthest end of the camp.
Porthos nodded towards the ships in the air. “Wish there was a way to send a warning back to camp,” he said. “There's nothing worse than having a ship bombard you in the middle of the night.”
“Let's see if we can get there first then,” Athos said, gesturing at the ship. “And see if we can't clear the air a little.”
“You're joking, right?” Porthos asked.
Without answering, Athos dodged away from their cover towards the ship. Aramis was right behind him, followed closely by D'Artagnan. Sighing, Porthos bolted for the ship, trying to keep from getting noticed. “Here,” Aramis called out, tossing a hatchet over. “Cut us loose!”
Nodding, Porthos focused on his new task. He'd cut the first five ropes anchoring the ship to the ground when he was spotted. Aramis and D'Artagnan were already ready for the Englishmen who had realized that their airship was being hijacked and had come to take it back.
“Get on board!” Porthos shouted, reaching the last tether. The ship was already straining to get off the ground. Trusting his friends to have heard his warning and react, Porthos easily hacked through the rope, making sure to keep a tight grip on it. The ship rose from the ground, lifting Porthos with it.
Dropping the hatchet, Porthos pulled himself up, hand over hand to the railing. Aramis was there to help drag him over the side onto the deck of the ship. “Now, was that so hard?” the former priest asked.
“They see us!” D'Artagnan warned from the opposite side of the ship. “They're getting ready to fire on us!"
At the wheel, Athos did nothing. The ship closest to them, was coming around to chase after them. The musketeers all saw the crewmen on the other ship lighting their cannons. “This isn't going to be pretty,” Porthos remarked.
A split second later, the cannons exploded. The ship bucked, and began to fall towards the ground as fire spread. Panicked cries rose from the camp below. A second ship glided through the air to take up where its sister ship had failed, only for the same thing to happen to it as well.
“Let's get out of here,” Aramis said. “Before the ones we didn't sabotage get to us.”
Seeing what had happened to the first two ships seemed to have discouraged the other ships from pursuing, and the Musketeers left the camp behind them.
“Do you think you can land this thing without a problem?” D'Artagnan asked, looking over his shoulder to where Athos was at the wheel.
“No,” Athos responded, turning the airship towards their camp. “Hold on.”
Swiftly, D'Artagnan tightened his grip on the ship railing. “Maybe we should have brought someone along who knows how to fly these things,” he remarked to Porthos, who'd come up beside him. “Then, we wouldn't have to worry about the landing.”
“Yeah,” Porthos said. “Only I don't think the English would be very helpful. And Richelieu probably wouldn't lend one of his men to us.”
D'Artagnan grinned and nodded in agreement. Shouts from their camp reached their ears. “I hope they don't try to shoot us down,” Aramis called over from the other side of the ship. “The way the night's been going, Richelieu will have brought a way to take down airships.”
Without responding, Athos aimed the ship towards the field Richelieu's airship was resting. Moments later, the airship hit the ground. The four occupants were jolted as wood cracked and snapped. After the moments of silence that followed, Aramis was the first to pick himself up.
“Is everyone still alive?” he asked.
“Alive but bruised,” Porthos responded, dragging himself up. “Athos? D'Artagnan?”
“I'm still here,” D'Artagnan said, shoving a piece of he railing off himself. “I think I'm with Planchet: I hate air travel.”
“Surrender your vessel!” came a shout from the ground.
Athos, using the battered wheel as a support, stood up. “D'Anzy,” he called out, having recognized the voice. “Send someone to inform the Cardinal, the king, and M. de Treville, that we have secured another airship for them.”
~*~
The sun was just coming up over the horizon. Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan were kneeling before the king. “Well done,” Louis said. He glanced over to where Richelieu's men had already begun work on restoring the airship the group had stolen. “Richelieu, a purse of gold for each. And a week of leave.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Athos said.
The cardinal nodded once, eyeing the four suspiciously. “I am amazed at this sudden industriousness,” he commented. M de Treville, standing next to the king in spite of his wound, was also eyeing his four best men thoughtfully.
“We worked out the details shortly after you arrived, Your Eminence,” Aramis informed him.
“If you're returning to Paris, I would ask that you carry a letter for me,” Louis said.
“Of course, your Majesty,” D'Artagnan answered.
Richelieu raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I see,” he said. “Did you receive bad news from Paris that you desire leave?”
Porthos tensed, glancing swiftly at the others. “Bad news?” Louis repeated in concern. “Oh, stand up already.”
“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Aramis responded as he rose. “Athos, Porthos, and I have had no letter from Paris.”
After staring at the four musketeers for a long moment, Richelieu turned his back on them. “Your Majesty, we should discuss strategy,” he said. “This new ship, battered as it is, may still be of some use to us.”
“Of course, of course,” Louis responded, turning away. “How angry do you think Buckingham was when he found out?”
As the king walked away with Richelieu, Treville remained where he was, watching the four musketeers. “Monsieur?” D'Artagnan said, questioningly, giving in first.
“What takes you to Paris?” their captain asked. His tone was firm, making it clear he wanted the whole story.
“The Marquessa de Molin has vanished from the palace in Paris,” Athos answered, keeping his voice low. “The queen has requested that we return to Paris to find the her.”
“Does the king know?” Treville inquired. “Is this one of Richelieu's plots?”
The four friends exchanged looks. “We don't know, sir,” Aramis admitted. “The message we received merely said that Maria had vanished from the palace several nights ago. The queen has asked the Cardinal, but Richelieu maintained he knew nothing of the matter.”
“The woman seems to attract trouble,” M. de Treville remarked. “Get to Paris, as the queen has requested. I will try to learn what I can of the situation here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
~*~
Planchet was thrown into a panic when he was informed he was to pack up everything before morning. Still, the lackey managed and as the sun began to show itself, the four friends were on the road to Paris. Riding hard, stopping only when absolutely necessary, they reached Paris two days later.
D'Artagnan sent a note to Constance first thing and a response came within the hour. All four were summoned to the palace. They were ushered into one of the smaller rooms of the palace. Constance was waiting for them. “Her Majesty will be joining us soon,” she said. “I'm so glad you're here. So many days have passed, I feared the cardinal had taken my letter.”
“You've heard nothing from Maria?” Aramis asked.
Constance shook her head. “Not a word,” she answered. “If it had been any other woman, I know it would be plausible to suggest that she has taken a lover, but Maria would never do such a thing. She is unswervingly loyal to the memory of her late husband.”
“We know,” Porthos said, with a hint of regret in his voice. His eyes narrowed. “Is that what Richelieu has said?”
“Indeed he has,” Queen Anne said, stepping into the room. She gestured impatiently as the four men made their bows. “It is shocking that he would not only kidnap Maria, but also slander her reputation as well.”
“Your Highness,” Athos began carefully, “it may be possible that the cardinal, for all his hatred of Maria, may not have taken her.”
“There were only his guards in the palace that night, besides the royal guards,” Anne pointed out.
Aramis cleared his throat. “True,” he said, “but they may have been bribed by someone else.”
The queen frowned at him. “Who else would have a grudge against Maria?” she demanded. “She has never harmed anyone in her life! I am sure of it!”
“That's what we will find out,” Athos told her. “We've already come across one Spaniard who disliked her enough to want to kill her.”
“Perhaps there may be a clue in her chambers?” Aramis suggested.
Anne hesitated, and then nodded. “Constance searched the room herself and found nothing,” she said. “I ordered that the room be left as it was, though, on the chance that you would be able to discover something. Constance will show you there. I am relying on you to find her, messieurs. Soon.”
Taking these words as a dismissal, the men bowed and began to back out. D'Artagnan paused, and pulled a letter from his pocket. “Your Majesty,” he said, holding it out to the queen. “His Majesty, the king, desired that I deliver this letter to you.”
Smiling for the first time, the queen took the letter. “Thank you, D'Artagnan,” she said. She turned away to read what her husband had written.
“This way,” Constance said.
~*~
“So, these are Maria's chambers,” Porthos commented, the moment he set foot inside the room. “A shame it took her disappearance for me to get to see them.”
Constance sent a glare at him that wasn't half as irritated as the one Aramis leveled at the bug man. “What are we supposed to be looking for?” D'Artagnan asked.
“Anything out of the ordinary,” Athos responded.
At first, there seemed nothing out of the ordinary in Maria's rooms. The ornate bed was not even rumbled as though someone had slept in it. A hairbrush rested on the dressing table. At the desk, Porthos found an uncapped bottle of ink, though no pen or paper.
Then, Athos knelt in front of the fireplace. Using the iron stoke, he pulled a half burned scrap of paper from the edge of the flames. He unfolded what was left as he stood up.
“What's that, Athos?” Porthos asked, glancing over
“A letter of some sort,” Athos responded, casting his eyes over what words remained. “It's in Spanish. Aramis, you take a look.”
The former priest came over and held the paper in the light, squinting as he tried to make out the half burned away words. “I can only understand a few words,” he said. “'Return.' 'Warn.' 'Past.' The rest is impossible to make out. Do you think it was a threat?”
“Maria is not the type to burn letters,” Porthos answered. “Maybe it was a warning for us, and whoever took her had it burned?”
“Where's Carmen?” Athos asked, looking over at the lady in waiting that remained as look out in the doorway.
Constance frowned, looking startled at the same time. “I don't know,” she admitted. “She was here when we discovered Maria was gone, for she became hysterical at the news. But, now that you mention it, I haven't seen her since then. Do you want me to send someone for her?”
“Yes,” Athos told her.
D'Artagnan smiled at her as she left the room, and then became serious as the door closed. “What do you think happened?”
“I think someone wanted to make it seem as though Maria left of her own free will,” Athos answered, gesturing around the room. “Does anything strike you as odd about this room?”
“Its too clean,” Porthos responded instantly. “If Maria had been getting ready to retire for the night, there should be clothes here. Her maid wasn't with her when she was taken, so nothing would have been cleaned up.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Aramis asked suddenly, moving to the door. He pointed to a single bullet hole half way up the door. “Now, you can't tell me that everyone in this palace didn't hear a pistol being fired last night. I know this place is big, but not that big.”
The frown on Athos' face went deeper. “Whoever came must have had a lot of money to bribe that many people.”
“So where's the pistol?”
D'Artagnan shrugged, leaning against a bedpost. “Maybe they took it with them?” he suggested. “Or maybe its in her closet.”
Athos just shook his head as Aramis and Porthos burst out laughing. “We need to know ever person who came through this corridor last night,” Athos said decisively. He paused. “Who checked the wardrobe?”
The four men exchanged looks and turned their heads towards the large piece of furniture. “I thought either Porthos or Aramis would be more than happy to look through the marquessa's clothes,” D'Artagnan commented, making no move to go any closer.
“Watch your tongue, boy, that's a lady you're talking about,” Porthos threatened, taking a halfhearted swipe at his young friend. “Fine. I'll do it.”
“I'll do it,” Aramis said, straightening up. He glared at Porthos in challenge.
Amused, D'Artagnan looked between the two friends. The wardrobe door creaked as it opened, making them all look back at it. Looking irritated at the situation, Athos swept his hand at the bottom and came out with a small pistol. “Found it,” he announced.
“Think that belonged to the marqeussa?” D'Artagnan asked.
“Yes,” Porthos responded, looking grave. “I gave that to her before we left to fight.”
Walking over, Aramis took it from Athos and sniffed the barrel. “It's been fired,” he reported. “How did it end up in Maria's wardrobe?"
“Maybe she fired it at the door to warn off whoever was coming in,” Porthos said. “And then hid in the wardrobe.”
Examining the tiny weapon, Aramis held it up and aimed it at the door. “So why wouldn't she have just called for help?” D'Artagnan asked. “She must have known there were guards and servants around.”
“That didn't help her,” Athos said as the door opened.
Constance froze when she saw the gun being aimed at her. Almost sheepishly, Aramis dropped his hand. “Well? Where is Carmen?” Athos demanded impatiently.
“Carmen's gone.”
~*~
It was a morose group that adjourned to the a tavern. “So now what?” D'Artagnan asked, once they had all had time to finish one tankard of ale and get started on a second. “Where are we supposed to look for a woman when we don't even know who took her?”
"Someone in this city must have seen something," Porthos complained.
"We can't possible talk to every single person in Paris before we have to return to duty," Aramis pointed out.
"Well, there has to be something we can do," Porthos groused. He scowled at his tankard. "And why did we have to pass all those other taverns? They would have had better wine than this, I would hope, unless all of Paris has gone to the dogs since we left."
Athos lifted his hand and the tavern keeper hurried over. "Another bottle, gentleman?" he asked, a slight accent to his voice. Aramis, Porthos, and D'Artagnan looked at him in surprise.
"We're actually looking for the tavern a friend of ours stayed at," Athos said, playing with a coin. He didn't look at the man, whose eyes were riveted on the gold coin. "I am right in thinking this is where most Spaniard men of some means stay when they come to Paris, isn't it?"
Swiftly, Aramis glanced around and recognized the tavern as being a part of the inn he and Porthos had visited months before. "I do have that distinction, sir," the tavern keeper said, a suspicious tone in his voice. "Is there something that I can do for you, gentleman?"
"If this is the tavern, I wanted to see it for myself this paragon tavern," Athos said idly. "Tell me, what other tavern hosts Spaniards?"
"I don't have any rivals," the man answered, still suspicious. For a brief moment, he looked at the others gathered around the table. "I've seen two of you here before, haven't I? And there was a disturbance..."
Remembering the fight, Porthos looked in the other direction. Athos let the gold coin fall to the table and pulled another from a pocket to get the man's attention again. "Our friend arrived a week or so ago," he continued. "Would you be so good as to tell us whether it was here he came?"
The man drew himself up proudly. "I do not accept bribes, sir," he said, his eyes still on the coins. "I respect my customers privacy."
At his words, the musketeers exchanged looks, and Porthos got to his feet. "I suggest you tell us what we want to know," the big man said, a note of threat in his voice.
Pulling his attention from the gold, the innkeeper hesitated, sizing Porthos up. "There was a man," he admitted. "I was surprised because no one in their right mind travels such a distance this time of year. I left days ago, sirs, and I swear that 's the truth."
"Who was with him?" Aramis demanded. "A woman?"
"Not at first. But the night before he left, he returned with a woman, who left with him. I don't know who she was. I never saw her face."
"What room was theirs?" Athos asked, getting to his feet.
Looking concerned, the innkeeper gave the room location. Dropping the second coin on the table, Athos left the tavern. Quickly, his companions followed.
~*~
The room was as any other tavern room. A bed, a chair, and little else. A fireplace was in the wall, ashes still there. "They have a poor servant," Porthos commented, poking at it with his walking stick. "Maybe worse than Planchet, if that's even possible."
His stick dislodged something large from the ashes, and the sound of metal scraping against stone filled the room. Quickly, Porthos knelt down and picked a dagger up, blackened by fire. "Look at this," he said unnecessarily as the others had turned towards him at the sound.
"I gave that to Maria," Aramis exclaimed, recognizing the shape immediately.
"Well, now we know she was here," Athos said, turning away. "D'Artagnan, have a word with the innkeeper. See if he knows what direction they went in when they left."
"Hold on," Aramis said, kneeling in front of the fireplace. He searched through the ashes until he brought out an untouched piece of paper. "This man must really learn to make sure his papers burn when he tosses them into the fire."
Curious, D'Artagnan leaned forward. "What does it say?" he asked. "Is it in Spanish?"
Aramis shook his head. "No, it's written in French," he answered. "All it has is a name. Monsieur Renalde Fernandez Orville."
"Fernandez?" Porthos repeated. "I've heard that name before."
"The Orvilles are a noble family to the south," Athos said. "Their estate is just outside the city." He nodded once. "We leave at dawn."
~*~
It was a clear morning as the group left the city. It was close to noon by the time the four men reached the Orville estate. Stable boys hurried to take their horses from them as soon as they dismounted, and the front door opened before they had even reached it.
"I get the feeling we are expected," Aramis muttered in a low voice as he stepped into the large home.
"I will inform Monsieur Orville that you are here," the manservant said, taking their cloaks and gloves. "He has been expecting you for many days now."
Aramis sent a pointed look towards Porthos, who was occupied with looking around the home. Two young, black haired children came running into the hall. An older woman's voice rang out, scolding in Spanish. Startled, the musketeers spun towards the hallway and saw Carmen hurrying into view.
"Carmen!" Aramis and Porthos exclaimed simultaneously. The duenna came to a stop, her eyes wide. The former priest spoke further, having to go slowly to find the right words in Spanish.
"Messieurs," Monsiuer Orville came down the staircase towards them. Without saying a word, Carmen grabbed hold of her charges and rushed away. "I've been expecting you."
"So we were told," Athos responded, eyeing the man. "You know why we're here."
The nobleman nodded once. "Pera said you'd come," he said. He laughed slightly at the confused looks on their faces. "I suppose I should say, Maria Esperanza Fernandez, my father's sister's husband's niece."
"You're related to Maria?" Porthos asked in surprise.
"Distantly," Orville answered. He lifted his hand and held out a folded piece of paper. "She wished for me to give this to you." Cautiously, Athos took it from him. "I will have your horses looked after. I will leave you to your letter."
With a slight bow, the man left the room. "Leave us standing in the hall," Porthos complained as Athos unfolded the paper. A separate, sealed paper was contained in it. It was addressed to Queen Anne.
"I don't think we'll be staying long anyway," Aramis pointed out. "What does it say, Athos?"
His eyes scanning the script, Athos shook his head and handed it over. Clearing his throat, Aramis read aloud:
"'My dear amigos,
I am so sorry for the mess I have made of everything. If I had been completely honest with you from the beginning, if things had been different, I would not be fleeing for my life, and we could be laughing about this together. Maybe over some wine, yes? That would have been a good day.
You know it was very well known that my husband worked for the king of Spain, carrying his important papers. And that he was very fond of me. These facts are so well known that those who wish information have come after me, thinking I would have these papers.
I can see your frown, Athos, but I did not lie about not having the papers. I do not. However, I never said I did not read them.
And that makes me a target for the English.
Yes, the Duke of Buckingham has been actively seeking me. I know in my heart that I would not have the strength to withhold the information if I were to fall into his hands. They think I merely have the papers, but if I were pressured, I am sure to admit to knowing what the papers contained. I will not burden you with that information. I refuse to drag any of you into this mess.
I digress. The attack that Buckingham is making on France is a distraction to Buckingham's true purpose: that of finding me. It is not a secret where I am, but now Paris is not as well guarded as it once was. Buckingham has sent his spies after me. I'm sure you've seen the bullet hole in my door.
I would have been lost that night, but for one thing. My brother. It is by the merest chance that he was already coming for me. He knew he would not be able to see me publicly, as Richelieu hates Spaniards so, and snuck into the palace. I know Porthos is laughing at that. Proof of the palace guards laxness and stupidity.
Bernardo brought me to our cousin's home. From here, we will return to my father's home in Spain. I will be safe there.
Do not argue with me, Aramis, that the Musketeers would protect me. If the cardinal has any more fuel to his hatred of Spaniards, it would make things worse for Anne. I will not do that to my friend.
In any case, my father is ill and asking for me. I cannot deny him.
I regret I cannot say good bye to you in person, but I do not doubt we will cross paths again. It will not be long before the information I carry will be of no use to anyone and I may return once more to the queen's side.
Fight for France and justice, as you do so well.
Until we meet once more,
Your friend,
Maria'"
Stunned, Aramis let his hand drop. "She's gone," D'Artagnan said softly. "Back to Spain."
"She is out of Richelieu's reach," Porthos replied. "So she's safe."
"We should return to Paris," Athos said, holding the letter to the queen. "We have a letter to deliver."
~*~
Looking shocked, Queen Anne sat down, staring at the letter in her hand. "I can't believe she's gone," Constance breathed.
"I'm sorry, Your Highness, that we do not bring better news," Athos said.
"No, there is no need for that," Queen Anne said, pulling herself together. "It is better than I had expected. I had expected to hear that the Cardinal had captured her and locked her away. Now I know that she is safe, and that she will return when she is able."
She gestured to Constance. "Thank you, for your hard work," the queen continued. "You have served me well."
Constance brought a small bag over and handed it over. "Thank you, Your Highness," Athos said with a slight bow.
"Please carry this letter to my husband when you return to your duty," the queen requested, also holding out a sealed letter.
Nodding, Aramis took charge of the letter. "We return in two days, Your Highness," he informed her.
With a nod, the queen dismissed them all. "So how are you going to spend your time?" D'Artagnan asked, looking over at where Constance was waiting for him.
"Where do you think?" Aramis responded as Athos and Porthos walked off. "We'll be at a tavern until we ride out, if you need us."
"Are they all right?" Constance asked in concern when D'Artagnan joined her.
"I'm not sure," the young musketeer admitted. "But I think in two days they'll be fine."