can fend off the next one, in this condition. A week from now, though, I should be able again.”
Monsieur de Treville’s eyes widened. “Wounded?” he said. “May I see the wound?”
Athos recoiled, feeling his heart contract and blood flee his head, as if he’d been slapped. “Do you doubt me, sir?” he asked, his hand going to his sword immediately.
Monsieur de Treville might be the captain, and in this office Athos had heard lectures and rebukes that could skin an elephant without making any move to avenge his injured honor. But this was too much. To doubt Athos when he’d gone so far as to admit to a weakness . . .
But Monsieur de Treville shook his head. “My dear Athos, it would never cross my mind to doubt you on anything you stated. But if you’re admitting to the wound, it must be grievous indeed, and I’m not sure I should let you leave without the services of my surgeon.”
Athos relaxed, letting his hand fall from the sword, as though it had never been there. “There is no need,” he said, drawing himself up. “I was seriously wounded and lost a great deal of blood. But D’Artagnan has the recipe for a miraculous salve, which he consented to let me use. He tells me it shall be healed in three days. I’m not sure it will be that fast, as it had reached bone. But I do believe it will heal by the time we return.”
Monsieur de Treville evaluated both men with a weary eye, then sighed. “I see I cannot dissuade you from this travel into Dreux. Very well.” He sat down, reached for his pile of papers and wrote rapidly, “This is in case anyone tries to stop you. Let it be known you’re on a mission for the King’s musketeers.”
“It is hardly likely someone will try to stop us,” Athos said.
But Monsieur de Treville only cocked his head to one side. “Only if Aramis is truly guilty and there is no conspiracy to account for it. Otherwise, Athos, the murderer will know that his friends will try to clear his name. And he will try to stop the friends.” He shrugged. “Since we don’t know who the murderer is, we will not know what lengths he’ll go to just to put a stop to yours and D’Artagnan’s journey. And we have to fear that he has great means indeed and will go to great lengths.”
Athos considered this a moment and realized he could not argue with Monsieur de Treville’s words. If it was true that someone had been so powerful as to strike Madame de Dreux through such underhanded means, surely he would be able to dispose of a musketeer and a guard traveling with their servants along country roads. He bowed to Monsieur de Treville’s superior wisdom and took the proffered leather purse as well. His funds were low, since he’d had a run of damnable luck at cards. “I will pay it back,” he said.
Monsieur de Treville allowed a smile to slide across his lips. “Athos, I would never doubt it.”
They bowed to their captain, and left, to the stables at the back where Grimaud and Planchet already waited with four horses.
No more than a breath later, they were crossing Paris, towards the road to Dreux. Newly awakened to the dangers of their journey, to the fact that if Aramis was innocent, then perforce someone else must be guilty, someone capable of great cunning and greater ruthlessness, Athos scanned the road and the upper stories.
And bridled, reigning in his horse as he noticed a knot of people ahead of him. There was a great press of apprentices and women, and others who could either legitimately be idle at this time of day or else who could legitimately be outdoors, pretending to be busy. At the edges of the crowd, at the back, street urchins pushed and shoved trying to get in.
One of those urchins noticed the two men on horseback, and came running back, to Athos’s horse. “I’ll show you a way around through the backstreets Monsieur.”
“Thanks,” Athos said. “But I know my way around Paris.” And, seeing the urchin’s great disappointment, he fished for a small coin from his sleeve pouch, and threw it at the boy. “What is the disturbance?”
The boy caught it midair, and looked at it, glinting in his palm, then flashed Athos a brief, feral grin. “It’s the acrobats,” he said. “Somersault artists and jugglers and tightrope walkers.”
Athos blinked.