Constant Companion (A 2011 The Three Musketeers Fanfiction)

Chapter Eleven

The corner lamps were few and far between, forcing me to make my way in growing darkness. I was fortunate I had made so many excursions through Paris on my days off. I knew the streets, though the night coming on was throwing me off a little.

As I walked, I tried to review my options for getting D'Artagnan on my side. My words -had it only been yesterday?- must have wounded his pride. It would not be easy to cover over that. A mere request or an appeal to his duty to France from me would do little good.

Even a simple apology would probably do nothing for me. “It has to be sincere,” I said out loud. Why would he do anything I asked? “Because I want him to.” Why him? Why not any of the former musketeers who have had experience in these things. The answer was frightening to think of, but I forced myself to say it out loud.

“Because...I like him.”

Because if he succeeded, he would have a reward from the queen. Coupled with the friendship with the king, he could be worthy of courting a noblewoman. Of courting me.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the pretty little noble maid.”

Caught up in my own thoughts, which I seemed to be doing quite a bit of lately, I found myself facing an oddly familiar man. As he stepped forward, I placed him. He was one of the men I took out with a shovel the day I met D'Artagnan. And he seemed to remember me.

“Monsieur, get out of my way,” I ordered, annoyed beyond anything.

“Who do you think you are, the queen?” the man asked, grabbing my wrist. He glared at me. “Don't think I've forgotten what you did. You've got nothing with you to save you this time.”

My free hand found the bag of money in my pocket. As I began to react, a gunshot rang out. Yelping, I ducked down as my attacker released me. A second gunshot sounded amid shouts from the occupants of the street. My attacker crumbled to the ground, blood spreading across his chest.

Spinning, I searched the street for my savior. Down, by the corner, a man dodged out of sight. But not before I saw the red and black of his uniform. One of the Cardinal's men!

As a few brave, maybe even drunk, men came from the taverns, I bolted for a shadowy doorway. I tried to steady my breathing. Why would the Cardinal's men save me? They could have just as easily shot me in the back and be done with me.

“They want to know where they are,” I breathed. “I'm leading them straight to D'Artagnan.”

“Mademoiselle?”

Startled by the soft voice, I jerked from my hiding place. A woman of the night, the kind of woman a lady like me should never have contact with, came into view. “Are you in trouble?” she asked, her tone kind.

Could she be trusted? Did I have any choice?

“I am trying to get to my friend's home,” I told her. I told her the address M. de Treville had given me. “But there are men, who work for the Cardinal, that are following me.”

“You know Monsieur Aramis?” the woman asked, her tone almost becoming jealous.

My god. Did I just stumble onto one of the man's paramours? “Not really,” I admitted. “My friend, D'Artagnan, is staying there. Please. Can you tell me how to get there without being seen?”

The woman smiled, looking pleased. “Certainly,” she said, opening her door. “Follow me. I will let you out on the other side of the house. It is only a few streets from here. No one will suspect you came through here.”

It wasn't much brighter in the brothel. I kept my eyes firmly on the woman's back until we reached a door leading outside. “Thank you,” I said.