Summer, 1626

It was a night lit by a full moon. A cloaked man moved silently through the streets, relying on the bright moon for light. He slipped into a seedy tavern. The other men who chose to patronize this particular tavern didn't even look up at the newcomer. Curiosity could get a man killed in an instant in this section of Paris.

Moving to the bar, the man asked, "You have it?" He set five gold coins on top of the bar as he spoke.

Reaching under the bar, the bartender brought up a sealed letter. With one hand, he collected the coins, and with the other, he handed over the missive. Without a word, he turned away.

Tucking the letter out of sight beneath his cloak, the man also turned away. He wove his way through the crowded tables, making for the door. He heard a couple of drunks get up to leave at the same time, one of them loud and boisterous. Though they followed behind them, the cloaked man chose to ignore them.

It was to be his last mistake.

He had only gone a few steps when there was a blade at his throat. "The letter," a voice said calmly.

"It would be of no use to you, señor," the cloaked man responded, holding very, very still. "Even I do not know what it contains. I am simply a messenger."

"I will not ask again. The letter!"

The Spaniard shrugged and began to reach under his cloak. "If you insist."

He froze as the blade at his throat increased pressure ever so slightly. "Not a move, monsieur. Porthos. Relieve him of the letter."

A large man came around the Spaniard's left side. In a gesture of compliance, the Spaniard spread his arms out. "It seems like he's going to cooperate, Aramis," Porthos commented, searching the man's pockets.

"Ah, I know these names," the Spaniard remarked, his tone conversational. "Aramis and Porthos. Musketeers, yes? Loyal to your king and country. Where is the third member of your oh-so-famous trio?"

"You are remarkably well informed for being a simple messenger," Aramis remarked, ignoring the question.

As Porthos brought the letter into view, the Spaniard reacted. He threw himself backwards, away from Aramis' blade. He twisted around, drawing his own sword as he moved. His first slash caught the back of Porthos' hand, making the big man drop the letter.

"I have yet to fail in any of my deliveries, señores," the man informed them. He moved to stand over the letter where it lay on the ground. "I have no desire to tarnish that reputation now."

"I'm afraid you'll have to," Aramis responded, parrying the man's next attack.

Grimacing at the pain in his hand, Porthos drew his sword and joined the fight. The Spaniard skillfully met both men, blocking each blow, and proving he was not just a messenger, as he'd claimed. He'd had extensive training. He held his ground over the letter, not risking a move to pick up and not letting the musketeers near it at the same time.

Finally, Aramis managed to get in close enough to grab the man's wrist. He twisted it just enough to force the Spaniard to let go of his sword. "You will be coming with us," Aramis told him. "And you will answer our questions."

"I can tell you nothing!"

The moment those words left the man's lips, a gunshot echoed in the street. The Spaniard stiffened and fell onto his knees. Cursing, Porthos bolted down the street in the direction the shot had come from, in search of who had done it. Aramis knelt down by the injured Spaniard.

"Tell me what you know," Aramis demanded. "Who sent you for this letter? Who were you to have delivered it to? You can still leave this world with a clean conscience!"

Slowly, the man looked up. Hatred warred with pain in his dark eyes. "Even if I did, you won't be able to stop him," the Spaniard said, a gleeful laugh in his voice. "You musketeers will never win this..."

His voice faded and he slumped to the ground. Aramis checked for a pulse and found nothing. He made the sign of the cross and sat back on his heels with a sigh. He picked up the letter and studied it in the bright moonlight.

"Whoever it was got away," Porthos announced, coming back. He gave the body on the ground a brief glance. "He's dead? Did you learn anything?"

"All we have is the letter," Aramis answered, straightening up. "We're one step closer to finding the traitor in the court."

Porthos nodded, sheathing his sword. "This calls for for wine."

"After we leave this letter in Treville's office. Even then, we can't drink too much, as he'll want us to explain tomorrow morning."

Shrugging, Porthos accepted his friend's decree, and spent a few moments checking the body for anything else that would be of value. "I never imagined that it would be a Spaniard that would be the messenger," he commented. "Spain has no quarrel with France."

"That doesn't mean that can't change," Aramis answered. "And who knows how such a falling out would help Richelieu or any other man with a taste for power." He shook his head. "But, I am not well informed on the Spanish court at the moment."

"Maria would have been."

Aramis turned away. "We should go before we're found."

As the pair set off, leaving the body to be dealt with by another, Porthos looked up at the moon. "Its not too late to stop by a friend's house," he declared with a forced grin. He glanced over at his friend. "I suppose you have 'studying' you want to get done."

"If I'm to become a priest once more, it is a necessary action."

"If you knew you were going to do this, you should have accepted Richelieu's offer," Porthos pointed out, his tone disdainful. "Being a musketeer isn't good enough for you now?"

"We've discussed this before, and I still have no need to explain myself to you."

Silence fell between the normally close friends. And neither of them said anything to the other for the rest of the night.

~*~

The next morning, it wasn't Aramis or Porthos who were called to M. de Treville's office. It was Athos, and he wasn't the only one. "Athos," Giles, one of the older members of Musketeers, greeted the dark-haired man as he approached the door to Treville's office. "You were summoned too?"

In response, Athos simply nodded. Months had passed since the last attack from England. With the aid from Cardinal Richelieu, they had managed to keep Buckingham's forces from making any headway. In the end, Buckingham had admitted momentary defeat and had retreated back to England, presumably to devise a new strategy.

The musketeers had returned the king to France, and life had settled into an almost normal routine that had most of the musketeers chaffing for action once again. Though there was wine to be drunk, and patrols to go on, there was nothing to break the routine.

Not even a fight with Cardinal Richelieu's guards. Not to say there hadn't been a few close calls, but the guards had been keeping their distance and keeping their insults to themselves. The recent attack by Buckingham had forced the two sides to fight side by side, which had resulted in an almost respect to form between them.

Thinking of the results of that fight inevitably led Athos to remember something he preferred not to bring to mind: the departure of Maria Esperanza Fernandez de la Vega, Marquessa de Molin. The Spanish woman's flight had left two of the Inseparables not themselves, which was a mild way of putting it.

Immediately after having discovered the letter that detailed why she'd left, Porthos had spent several days very, very drunk. He'd then returned to the front lines, looking grimmer than before. And, when they'd returned to Paris, he'd thrown himself into a new relationship with a merchant's wife, resulting in even more outrageous attire.

Aramis had, somehow, become even more reserved. He had kept Porthos company in wine, though not becoming quite as drunk. Now that he was back in Paris, he spent his time among many women, and had even begun to mention making a return to holy orders.

As for Athos himself, he admitted to himself that he'd been affected by the void left by the woman, just in a different way than his friends. He felt no romantic attachment of any kind to the woman, while Porthos and Aramis...well, their flirtation with the marquesa had been an almost game. There was no denying that the woman had brought a liveliness into Paris. She had also freely called the Musketeers her friends, fiercely defending them to court. However, she had held onto many secrets, reminding Athos all too much of Milady.

"Athos, Giles," M. de Treville greeted, coming towards them. Thankfully, Athos left off thinking of the past. "Thank you for coming. Please come in."

The head of the musketeers led the two men into his office. He walked around his desk and took a seat. Athos and Giles took their stations in front of the desk, standing at attention. "I have a mission with a great deal of responsibility for you."

"I assume that there is a level of secrecy attached," Athos surmised.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Treville's lips. "Correct," he agreed. He selected a paper from among the many stacked on the side of his desk. "No one can know where you are going or what you will be doing. If it were to become known...well, there is the very real risk that it could turn into Venice all over again."

Giles glanced over at Athos, who made no reaction to the reference of the failed mission. "Perhaps you both are aware of the task that Porthos and Aramis have undertaken in these past few weeks, of uncovering how information was being leaked out of the palace," Treville commented. "Last night, they uncovered a letter of great significance."

"Sir, why are Porthos and Aramis not here?" Giles asked. "If they are the ones who uncovered this, then it ought to fall to them to continue with their mission."

"Once I've finished, you might understand my apprehension in sending Aramis and Porthos on this mission," Treville answered. "The letter was addressed to a certain traitor to France that we have long attempted to deal with. He has finally resurfaced and is proving himself as much danger to France as he ever was. It will be your responsibility to take him into custody and return him to Paris to be dealt with."

"He's not in France?" Giles queried in surprise.

At the same time, Athos asked, "Who is the traitor?"

"You both know him. It is Armand Firmin," Treville answered, his tone very serious. Both musketeers before him tensed. "I see you both remember him. Somehow, he has managed to keep his vine of information and is selling this information to Buckingham. You understand the need to end his work."

Athos nodded. "We will bring him in."

"He won't be difficult to find, as we know exactly where he is," Treville said. "He is in Spain."

"Spain?" Giles repeated.

It was well known that Spain was no enemy of France at the moment. But it was also no secret that for two Musketeers to go into the country to extract a man who had without a doubt made himself of use to said country, would not be taken very well by any country. Athos knew he and Giles would have to be quick and unseen.

"This should see you there and back," Treville said, setting a bag of coins on the desk. He set beside it the letter he'd picked up at the start of the conversation. "This letter, written by someone unknown to us in the palace, is expected by Firmin."

Giles frowned. "With all due respect, monsieur, shouldn't Aramis be the one going on this mission?" he asked. "He knows more of the language than I do."

"Perhaps, but I have my concerns about how focused he and Porthos would be in Spain," Treville admitted. "They will continue their search for the spy in the palace. I have assigned this to the two of you. I was thinking that this may be a good opportunity to train a younger recruit on the finer details of a mission of this nature."

"d'Artagnan," Athos said without hesitation.

"Exactly. Having grown up in Gascony, he will know some Spanish, which could be of some help. However, its not required."

Glancing over at Athos, who made a short nod, Giles said, "We'll be happy to take the boy with us, sir. Between us, we may be able to make do with what we know of the language. Is there anything else?"

"The quicker you go and return, the better. I'm sure d'Artagnan will have many questions and I trust you will enlighten him," Treville answered. "You are dismissed."

Athos picked up the letter and the coins. He followed Giles out. "Shall we meet here tomorrow morning at dawn?" Giles asked.

"I will let d'Artagnan know."

~*~

It wasn't hard to find the young musketeer, who was practicing with one of the other older men in the yard of the Musketeer Headquarters. For a moment, Athos simply watched the young man. In the past year, d'Artagnan had shown himself to be a capable and valuable member of the corps. He was generally well liked, and even Treville spoke highly of him.

There was still a hint of the cocky boy as D'Artagnan disarmed his opponent with a wide grin. "D'Artagnan!" Athos called out as D'Artagnan's weaponless opponent admitted defeat. "I need to speak with you."

Sheathing his sword, D'Artagnan helped his opponent up and then walked over with a bounce in his step. "What's happened?" he asked eagerly. At Athos' gesture, D'Artagnan followed the older man out of the yard into the street. "Is it as bad as all this?"

"M. de Treville has assigned myself and Giles a mission," Athos explained as he kept walking. "We are taking you along with us to train you."

At the prospect of learning something new, d'Artagnan's eyes lit up. "Where are we going?" he asked, keeping pace beside his friend. "What's our mission?"

"We are traveling to Spain to bring back a French traitor," Athos told him succinctly. "We can say nothing to Aramis and Porthos, or anyone else for that matter. Not even your Constance."

Considering this, d'Artagnan hesitated. "Spain?"

"Spain," Athos said. "The man we are seeking is a French nobleman by the name of Armand Firmin. Several years ago, we almost had him for conspiring against the crown. He managed to escape and we couldn't find him. A Spaniard contacted Treville to inform us that Firmin has finally come out of hiding in Spain."

As perceptive as ever, d'Artagnan frowned at the frigid tone of Athos' voice. "What else was there?" he asked. "There must have been scores of people who have plotted against France. What makes this one man so much of a threat?"

"He went through women like the king goes through fashion."

Not understanding, D'Artagnan practically ran to keep up. "I know a lot of men who enjoy the company of women. Look at Aramis. He's on intimate terms with-."

Stopping abruptly, Athos faced D'Artagnan, who recoiled at the barely controlled fury on his friend's face. "There can be no comparison between Firmin and Aramis. Firmin would kill the woman once he was done with them," Athos snapped, his tone blunt. "And his taste ran to young women, some no more than children."

Horrified, D'Artagnan widened his eyes. "Oh," was all he was able to say. Athos walked on, and D'Artagnan scrambled to catch up. "But now we'll have him?"

Athos almost smiled at his young friend's use of the word 'we', breaking through his grim demeanor. Any offense against the musketeers, or in a case such as this situation, and D'Artagnan clearly put himself on his friends' side as if it was an offense against himself. Though he hadn't been there at the start, it was his business now.

"Yes, now we'll have him," Athos agreed. "I only wish that Aramis and Porthos could be there to see it end."

D'Artagnan nodded, looking customarily grave. He knew as well as Athos did why their friends had not been included in this mission. Not only the matter of the fewer who knew the better, but Spain was where Maria had fled to. There could be no distraction, and it would not have been easy to keep Porthos and Aramis from trying to seek their female friend out.

"They'll understand," D'Artagnan said. "When we've returned and can explain."

When Aramis and Porthos had drowned their grief over Maria's flight in wine, D'Artagnan had been the one to bring them out of it with reminders of their duty to France. Athos had even on occasion found the youngest member of the Inseperables regarding him with concern in those few days. But Athos had spent too many days drinking over a woman, and he'd remained mostly sober.

"They will probably knock us off our feet for going out of France without them," Athos corrected and added silently, and for not searching the woman out.

Considering that, D'Artagnan shrugged his shoulders. "They've moved on though, right?" he asked, sounding more than a little uncertain. "Neither of them were actually involved with her, were they?"

"As far as I know, neither of them got farther than flirtation," Athos stated dismissively. "We meet Giles tomorrow at dawn in front of Musketeer Headquarters. We have preparations to make."

Visibly, D'Artagnan hesitated. "May I at least tell Constance I won't be coming around for a while?"

"Very well," Athos granted. "If you must."

Grinning, D'Artagnan took off in the other direction. Athos sighed and continued on his way.

~*~

"You've been assigned the task of tracking down who was to be the recipient of the letter?" Porthos exclaimed in disbelief the moment he returned from his patrol. Clearly, Treville had spoken with him. "First of all, why? The padre and I were the ones to get this far in the investigation! And second of all, why are we being excluded?"

"I am not the one to give you those answers, Porthos," Athos answered calmly. He tossed a bundle at Planchet to take care of. The already overwhelmed man servant managed to catch the bundle, but had to juggle it along with his other burdens as he worked to get Athos and D'Artagnan ready to depart. "Speak to Treville."

Porthos glared at him. "I already have! He wouldn't give me an explanation either!"

Calmly, Aramis turned a page in the book he was reading. "Then, apparently, we do not need to know Porthos," he said. "We still have to discover who it is in the palace who is sending information out of France."

"But its not right! We did the work."

"You'll survive, somehow."

Whatever Porthos intended to say was interrupted with D'Artagnan coming in, looking completely dejected. "What's wrong with you, boy?" Porthos asked, distracted by the unusual expression on his young friend's face. "Athos said you'd gone to speak to Constance."

Flopping down into a chair, D'Artagnan put his arms on the tabletop and rested his head on them. "I did," came his muffled response.

For the first time, Aramis raised his eyes from his book. "Is there a problem?"

"Constance is mad that I can't tell her where I'm going or when I'll be back."

Rolling his eyes, Athos poured himself some more wine. "Did you tell her it was for the good of France?" Porthos asked. "That should work. It generally does for me."

"Yes, that's what I told her, but all it did was make her even more mad at me," D'Artagnan answered. "She still didn't understand why I couldn't tell her and said I can't use France as an excuse. I haven't seen her so mad since we were in the country last year when all of you managed to offend M-."

He broke off, realizing what he was saying. "When we all offended Maria," Aramis finished for him. He closed his book and took his glasses off. "This seems to be a recurring problem with you and Constance, D'Artagnan. If you don't mind me saying so."

D'Artagnan's glare said that he did, in fact, mind Aramis saying it. "She's concerned that no one will know where to come after us when things go wrong," the young man said

"The girl does have a point," Porthos agreed.

"If it does go wrong, D'Artagnan and I would not be coming back," Athos said, anxious to put an end to the conversation. "But its not going to go wrong. The Corps would not be able to endure the disgrace of another failed mission."

His words made Porthos scowl. "Ah, another Venice mission," Aramis replied understandingly. Cursing under his breath at how much he'd revealed, Athos turned away. "We will question you no further. But know that our prayers will go with you."

As always, Porthos was distracted by Aramis' piety. "You're not still on that, are you?" he demanded. "You gave the priest thing more than enough time, Aramis. Look how well it turned out in the past. Why do you think it will be any different this time?"

"Not two years ago you were the one suggesting I go back."

"That was before we were reinstated into the musketeer ranks!"

D'Artagnan took the opportunity to pick himself up from the table and hurry out to avoid hearing the two debate the issue...again. Athos finished his tankard of wine, and reached for the bottle. At least the first part of the mission would bring some peace and quiet!

~*~

Gruff farewells were exchanged among them all when D'Artagnan and Athos left the house before dawn. Planchet yawned all the way down the street. By the time they met up with Giles in front of the Musketeer Headquarters, the sun had just started to peek over the horizon.

As they rode through Gascony, D'Artagnan was at first excited and then became withdrawn. Athos chose not to speak about the issue, knowing his young friend was missing his parents. He was relieved when D'Artagnan returned to normal, but made a mental note to speak to Treville about granting the young musketeer some time off once this mission was over.

The closer they got to the France/Spain border, the more Spanish became spoken in the taverns. Giles worked on honing his language skill more and more. It was time well spent. Once they crossed the border, he became their only way of communicating at each stop, though D'Artagnan could understand half of what was being said.

It took two weeks of riding before they reached Madrid. D'Artagnan was bursting with excitement to have finally arrived. He alone had found the journey to be boring, and was anxious for something new to happen. "Try to contain yourself, D'Artagnan," Athos advised. "If our purpose is revealed now, we'll not only lose Firmin, but Treville will demote all three of us, and that's only if he doesn't dismiss us on sight."

Flushing, D'Artagnan nodded and reined in his enthusiasm. He'd learned much from the two older musketeers already, and knew just what was at stake for this mission. He did not want to be the one to ruin it for them.

The trio took rooms at a somewhat respectable looking inn near the edge of the city. After a night's rest, the trio split up. Giles set off to get discover some information, while Athos and D'Artagnan went out to get a feel for the city. All three met up at sunset, having nothing new to report. And the next morning it began again.

For four days, the musketeers searched for their target. Then finally, they made progress. "Firmin's here," Giles reported when he returned just before the sun set on the fifth day of their search. He gestured to the barmaid for a bottle and waited until she'd left before he continued, "He has done extremely well for himself here in Spain. From what I've heard, he's gotten in with a Conde Marquez."

"Marquez?" Athos repeated. "The same family name as the Marquesa de la Vega's escorts to Paris."

Giles shrugged. "Firmin has a residence here in Madrid, and a country estate," he went on with his report. "And he's here in Madrid at the moment. Though he has plans on returning to the country for the summer."

"Then we have to move fast," Athos decided. His eyebrows went up as he caught sight of D'Artagnan entering the tavern. The young man was nursing a swollen eye. "D'Artagnan, what did you do?"

"Nothing!" D'Artagnan protested, taking a seat. "I was in the market and the next thing I knew, this guy was after me. All I did was make eye contact."

Sighing, Giles sighed. "Its offensive here, D'Artagnan."

"I didn't know that!"

"And keep your voice down!" Giles snapped as multiple looks came their way. "That's another fast way to offend Spaniards. You can say whatever you want, but for God's sake, keep your voice down."

Clenching his jaw, D'Artagnan said nothing. "The sooner we leave, the better," Athos decreed. "All right. We know where he is. Tomorrow, we reintroduce ourselves to our old friend."

The three musketeers took care to shadow their target all of the next day, conferring only once to establish a plan of action. The day faded into night, and the plan was set into action.

~*~

Close to midnight, D'Artagnan, his face hidden by his hat and the shadows, pounded on the front door. "Una audiencia con el conde," he announced to the stern butler who answered the door. "Traigo una carta de París."

The butler merely nodded and allowed D'Artagnan in. Keeping his head down, the young musketeer followed the butler to a library. He wasn't surprised when the door was closed behind him, and he was left to await the French nobleman.

Moving quickly, D'Artagnan opened the window. "He was expecting a messenger," the young man said in a hushed voice as Athos and Giles climbed in. "The butler didn't even bat an eye. Messengers must be a common sight here."

"Naturally, given that Firmin deals in information," Athos responded. He held his finger to his lips as footsteps sounded in the hallway outside. He and Giles quickly split up, each choosing a different place to hide. Giles dodged behind the door as it opened, and Athos blended into the shadows against a bookshelf so well he reminded D'Artagnan of Aramis.

Armand Firmin, a tall, well built man, strode across the library. He waved a hand in acknowledgment at D'Artagnan. He went straight to his desk and took a seat. He poured himself a glass of wine, sipped it, and, finally, held his hand out. "The letter, if you please," was all he said.

Trying to hide his irritation, D'Artagnan handed the letter over. He knew his accent would give him away, so kept silent. Firmin frowned at the seal. "This has been tampered with," he said, looking up. "You ran into trouble."

"Musketeers," D'Artagnan said in as gruff a voice as he could manage.

"Ah, it must be driving them mad to know you got away," Firmin commented with a wicked grin. He then seemed to forget D'Artagnan as he opened the letter and scanned the contents. He lifted a quill, dipped it in ink, and took a quick note. "As expected. This will bring a very good price."

He once again looked up and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You do realize that since that the musketeers have seen you, you are of no use to me," he said, bringing a pistol up. He frowned as D'Artagnan made no move, only chuckled. "What? What is so very amusing?"

"Firmin."

The man tensed as a blade came against his throat, and his blue eyes widened in fear for a split second before he was smiling with ease. "Well, if it isn't my dear fried de la Fere," he said, setting the pistol onto the desk. "What's it been? Ten years?"

Keeping his rapier steady, Athos regarded him with no expression on his face. "You know how long its been."

Slowly turning to face his new opponent, Firmin chuckled. "I have to say this is a surprise. What ever happened to that charming, lovely lady of yours?" Firmin asked. "Did she come with you? Though, I suppose if she had, she would be the one in here, not this boy of yours. Did you find yourself another pet, de la Fere?"

"I no longer by that name, Firmin," Athos said sharply, ignoring the man's questions. He glanced at D'Artagnan and nodded. With an answering nod, the young musketeer left the room. "You will return to Paris and face the justice you avoided ten years ago."

Firmin smirked. "Oh, I don't think so," he answered. "You see, I know you better than you think I do. I know what happened in Venice, my dear de la Fere. You can't risk causing another international incident, or you'll be ruined for good. All I have to do now is call for my servants and have you arrested. Then, I will vanish, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I did not come all this way to have a repeat of what happened ten years ago."

"I'm afraid that's all that is going to happen, de la Fere," Firmin sneered. "I'm impressed you managed to get in without being caught by my servants, but you were always very good at that, weren't you? And having your young friend pose as my messenger. That was a very good plan. They all look alike to me. But it will all be for nothing."

"You are mistaken."

"Have you done a search of my home already?" Firmin asked. "Did you happen to come across the lovely young lady I have waiting for me upstairs? When we are through here, I have her charms to enjoy."

"The child will be returned to her family where she belongs," Athos said, anger rising in his tone for the first time. "I know you, Firmin, and expected your tastes hadn't changed."

For a moment, Firmin looked annoyed and then he shrugged. "There will be other girls," he responded. "And money can buy a great many of them." He moved to stand up. "As pleasant as this reunion has been, I'm going to call for my men now. You shouldn't have come alone, de la Fere. Your pride will always be your undoing."

A smile found its way to Athos' face. "That is where you are wrong," he responded. "Giles."

Before Firmin could react, Giles came across the room from here he'd stayed by the door. Without hesitation, Giles struck the back of Firmin's head, knocking the man unconscious. "You were right," Giles said in surprise. "He thought you only had D'Artagnan, who you sent out of the room."

"He assumed that since Aramis and Porthos were not here, I would have no to assist me," Athos answered, walking around the desk to join his fellow musketeer. "We need to get him out of here."

Nodding in agreement, Giles took Firmin's right arm, and Athos took the left. Together, they hoisted the man out of the seat. "You know, D'Artagnan's strength and youth would have come in handy right about now," Giles commented, as they dragged the man to the closest window.

"He will be better off returning the girl to her family," Athos answered, pushing the window open. "His temper would have gotten ahead of him by this point."

"If you say so."

The ground was several feet below them. The two musketeers looked down and then exchanged glances. Together, they pushed Firmin out. Giles climbed out next, landing by their prisoner. After blowing out the candles on the desk, Athos followed Giles out.

"You think that old barn we saw on the way into the city will be good enough to hold him?" Giles asked, picking up Firmin's feet.

"One of us will be guarding him," Athos responded, taking Firmin's arms. "It will do well enough until we can get a mount to take Firmin back to Paris."

Giles grunted under the effort of carrying the unconscious man. "I have to say, I like it when missions go according to plan."

"Its not over yet, and I expect we'll have some kind of setback."

~*~

The tearful Spanish family thanked D'Artagnan over and over for having their thirteen-year-old daughter returned to them. As best he could, D'Artagnan made his escape. His blood still boiled when he thought of how he'd found the girl: tied to a bed in one of the chambers. She'd been crying. Even having been warned about Firmin's tastes, he would never have expected to seen it up close.

But Athos had, and had instructed D'Artagnan to find the girl, having no doubt that a girl would be found there. D'Artagnan supposed that having dealt with the man years before gave Athos a bit of an edge.

He rode to the designated meeting place. He arrived in time to see Athos and Giles finish tying the Frenchman in place. "You got him!"

"The girl?" Athos asked, glancing over.

"Back home. It wasn't very far away, once she calmed down enough to tell me where," D'Artagnan responded. "Her family was ecstatic." He glanced at their prisoner and grimaced at the thought of getting back into the saddle in the morning. "Please tell me we are not going to get back in the saddle tomorrow morning, are we?"

Giles chuckled. "No," Athos answered. "I'm sure finding a suitable mount won't be easy."

A laugh caught their attention. Firmin had come around and was tugging experimentally at his bound hands. "You really think you've won, don't you?" he asked, his tone conversational. He hissed in pain as he moved his head.

"I think that's a good summation of the situation," Giles answered. He turned his back on the man. "I can keep watch tonight, Athos. You and D'Artagnan get some rest. I can handle a restrained man."

"Just because I've been caught doesn't mean you've stopped the vine of information," Firmin said in an off hand way. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall as the musketeers looked at him. "My partner will just take over where I've left off."

"Partner?" D'Artagnan repeated with a frown. "He's working with someone?"

Athos shook his head and said in a low voice, "He's trying to save himself. Don't listen to anything he says, D'Artagnan."

Firmin chuckled. "How do you think France will fare if the currently peaceful relations with Spain become strained?" he asked. "She really has done her work well. I've always been an admirer of women, but never quite comprehended until now just what an asset a woman could be in acquiring information."

Exchanging looks with Giles, who shrugged, Athos stepped closer. "If you're trying to distract us, its not going to work," he warned, coldly. Firmin's words had brought to mind Milady, and that was never an improvement to Athos' mood.

"She managed what I had never even considered," Firmin continued as if Athos hadn't spoken. "Befriending the musketeers? A brilliant move! A shame she had to leave just when she was in the perfect position. But then, that's the nature of business, I suppose."

"Enough of the puzzles, Firmin," Giles snapped, grabbing Athos' arm to keep the man back. "If you have something to say, just say it."

Firmin's eyes opened, and he looked momentarily puzzled. "I have nothing to say."

"My blow must have loosened his wits," Giles remarked to Athos. "You go on. I'll keep my ears open."

Nodding, Athos started for the door. He caught D'Artagnan's arm and pushed him out. His steps hesitated, though, when Firmin called after him, "When you happen to see the former lovely Marquesa de la Vega, kindly give her my regards."

Knowing Firmin wanted his attention, wanted him to come back, Athos kept walking, making sure to close the door behind him. "What was that about?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I'm not sure," Athos admitted reluctantly. "Perhaps in the light of day, his words will make sense."

D'Artagnan nodded. "He seemed certain we were going to meet Maria here," he commented. "Do you think she's in the area?"

"Its none of our business if she is," Athos said, pulling himself into the saddle. "Let's go.