The Musketeer's Seamstress - By Sarah D'Almeida Page 0,28

much he, himself had changed since he’d come to Paris full of high flung hopes and his father’s instructions to obey the Cardinal and the King equally.

“So,” Athos said, and sighed. “I shall borrow horses from Monsieur de Treville. Having been wounded this morning, I think I’m justified in taking a few days for my recovery. I shall go and see Raoul and study how much he’s changed. I’ll be back in a week.”

“You are not going alone,” Porthos said.

“I believe I must,” Athos said. “You must stay behind and get to know all the maids in the palace. Even for a man of your excellent talents, such a work should take at least a week.”

“But—” Porthos said, “If by chance her husband did murder her, and if he perceives your intentions in visiting him, he might try to kill you also. You cannot go alone.”

“I believe I must,” Athos repeated.

And once more, as he had many times in the past month, D’Artagnan felt as though he were invisible, as if his friends could not see him and would not dream of taking him into account in their plans.

Oh, he did not hold it against them or not exactly. He knew that for years there had been three inseparables, in feasting and fighting, in duel and field of battle. The three leaned on each other without thinking, as a man leaned on his own legs and counted on them to support his weight. To add a fourth to that number must feel as strange as adding a third leg.

At least D’Artagnan hoped that was it. He was not so foolish that he hadn’t perceived, in their investigation of the last murder, that there were secrets his friends kept from all—even each other. Perhaps Athos was afraid that by accompanying him D’Artagnan would penetrate the secret of Athos’s identity? But surely, D’Artagnan had gone a long way towards that with the last murder they’d solved. And he had spoken to no one about it. Not even to Porthos or Aramis. Surely Athos remembered that act of loyalty?

At any rate, D’Artagnan felt he must speak. “Athos,” he said, very quietly. “I am sure I can visit Monsieur des Essarts and let him know that I must accompany you on your trip for your health. Monsieur de Treville will vouch for all of us. Oh, he’ll know we’re all helping Aramis in some way, but he will not refuse us his help. You know he values Aramis.”

Athos frowned at D’Artagnan through this speech. Almost before D’Artagnan was done speaking, Porthos thundered his fist down on the table, making table and floor shake. “Sangre Dieu,” he said. “That’s it. The boy must go with you. He’s almost a child, still—” Porthos flashed D’Artagnan a smile, as though aware of the wound he was causing to the young guard. “But he’s the devil himself with a sword and he’s almost as devious as Aramis. With him by your side, I shall not worry.”

“But that leaves you alone in town,” Athos said.

“Oh, I know how to take care of myself,” Porthos said, and twirled the end of his red moustache. He grinned, a devil-may-care grin. “Look, Athos, most of the court thinks me too thick and too slow of mind to pose any threat in this type of case. They will think that Aramis is plotting something, and that you and D’Artagnan have been called to him. Me? I shall pass unnoticed.”

The idea that someone could not notice the redheaded giant struck D’Artagnan as laughable, and yet he knew exactly what Porthos meant. He had seen that attitude himself. People tittered behind their hands at Porthos, and laughed at his utterances as they would never dare do to either of the other musketeers. They didn’t seem to realize that Porthos’s lack of interest in discussions or philosophy, his inability or disinterest in complex plots, did not mean he lacked wit or sense.

“Well,” Athos said. He looked D’Artagnan over, appraisingly. “Certainly you’ve given proof of your trustworthiness in the last month.” He extended his hand to the young man. “I shall be pleased with your company. Meet me at Monsieur de Treville’s this evening, after you make your arrangements. I shall borrow horses for us and for Grimaud and Planchet. They must all be swift horses, for our servants must keep up with us.”

D’Artagnan shook Athos’s hand. The left one, he noted. And thought perhaps Athos was at least half-serious at going away to recover. D’Artagnan didn’t