Kneeling in front of the new grave, Adolphe Beauchene put his hand on the small stone that marked where his only son was buried. "I will get justice for you, Dion, if its the last thing I do on this earth," he swore, moving his hand to the gold cross that hung at his neck. "The men who killed you have not long in this world."

"You must let me know if he answers you. I've always wanted to meet a ghost."

His face hardening, Beauchene straightened and turned to face the man he'd arranged to meet. "You're late, Artus," he said, his tone filled with cold disdain. The raggedly dressed man just grinned in answer. "Have you news?"

Artus' grin widened. "Paris suffers in the heat," he said, pushing the brim of his hat back to catch the sun's rays on his face. Though sweat beaded on his face, he didn't seem at all inconvenienced by the temperature. "It won't be long before the nobles flee like the weak men and women that they are. The man you seek will be vulnerable then."

"Good to know I'm not paying you for nothing."

"My men are keeping watch, and will come the moment the court makes plans to leave."

Beauchene nodded. "Good. I want to see the musketeers crumble for what they have done to my family."

"When will this heat end?"

Already irritated, Aramis sent a less than patient look at his companion. "D'Artagnan, surely you are more accustomed to this kind of heat," he pointed out. He focused on the street they were walking down, where the houses were of finer quality. "And even then, complaining about won't make it any easier to deal with."

Suddenly, the peaceful street in front of the two musketeers was disturbed by a man who came stumbling out onto the cobblestones from the direction of one of the homes. He landed in a heap, his musketeer's outfit in a disarray that would have brought M. de Treville's wrath down on him in an instant if he'd been there to see it.

"And don't come back until you learn some manners!" came the angry shout from the house. There was no mistaking the owner of the voice.

"Well, I see Porthos is already here," D'Artagnan commented, not sparing his fellow musketeer another look as the poor man struggled to get to his feet. "Why am I not surprised?"

Since his arrival in Paris, Monsieur Algier Mandeville had opened his home to a privileged few. Where some homes were the gathering places of philosophers and politicians, the Mandeville house was for those whose full support was with the king and France. Treville was a constant visitor, along with the four Inseparables.

Having spoken with the man, Aramis, Porthos, and Athos were among the few who knew the reasoning behind the move. One of which directly concerned Doña Maria Esperanza de la Vega. "My niece has made enemies, through no fault of her own," the woman's uncle had said to the musketeers. "I will not always be here for her, as I have not been able to protect her in the past. I prefer to have allies who are in a position to protect her."

"How can you be so sure that the Musketeers will do so?"

Mandeville had smiled. "Because you have already protected her. Maria's loyalty will always be with her friends, especially the queen. The queen's loyalty is with the king. The musketeers' loyalty is also with Louis. Other nobles will bend with whoever is in power. You can understand why I choose to encourage the musketeers in my household?"

Shaking his head, Aramis pulled his thoughts from the conversation that had occurred only a few weeks before. "You know Porthos will take advantage of any kind of free drink," he said as he and his young friend walked towards the front door, which had already closed. "Planchet is always happy for any relief from providing wine."

A young nobleman bowed as they passed him on the threshold. The Mandeville house drew all who had deep loyalty to the king. At the same time, Aramis knew that there were those who were against King Louis who made attempts to learn information from the gatherings. Each man admitted into the house needed a recommendation from an already accepted guest, not an easy thing to acquire.

"So, Athos will be here as well?" D'Artagnan asked.

"I would imagine." While they all had a taste for quality wine, Athos was the one who indulged the most. Perhaps because he had many more demons in his past that he tried to escape, but Aramis couldn't say that was so with any certainty. "Who would pass up the opportunity to enjoy good Spanish wine?"

D'Artagnan sent him a look that said he wasn't convinced. "Then, the company of Dońa Maria has nothing to do with it at all?"

"What are you trying to imply?" Aramis asked, reaching out and stopping his young friend in the foyer.

Predictably, D'Artagnan became embarrassed. "Nothing."

"Where have you two been?" Porthos asked, appearing in a doorway with a glass of wine. "Giles is trying to outwit some noble at chess."

Swiftly, D'Artagnan got free of Aramis' grasp and hastened to join the largest of his friends. "I'm assuming there was there a reason you threw Delancy out," Aramis remarked, turning his attention to one of his closest friends. "The poor man looked a little worse for wear."

Porthos snorted. "Then, he should learn to hold his drink better, or not speak at all," he responded. "He referred to a lady of my acquaintance as a scarred, used woman, therefore, I showed him the way off the property. It was because he was under the influence of drink that I allowed him to keep his life. For now."

D'Artagnan flinched and followed Porthos in to join the others that were there. Shaking his head, Aramis continued on his way, bypassing the rooms where his comrades were enjoying themselves. The ever organized manservant who essentially ran the house, Wadsworth, directed him towards the garden where Mandeville was.

When he stepped back out into the harsh sunlight, Aramis could see that even in the sheltered garden, the heat was taking its toll. The flowers and plants that had been carefully cultivated were withering. Even so, there was the slightest of breezes that made it a bit more bearable than within the grand house.

Mandeville was not alone in the garden. Dońa Maria was sitting on a bench against the wall so that she was out of the sun. For the first time in nearly a year, she was not dressed in black but in a pale blue gown. There was a book in her lap, though she wasn't reading it. It seemed as though she was in the middle of a heated discussion with her uncle for she was pointing emphatically as she spoke, and the older man had his hands up in a placating manner.

Deciding that it would be better to come back later, when it would certainly be safer, Aramis to go back a step. He inadvertently brushed against a plant, and the dry leaves made a crunching sound. Maria turned her head and spotted him.

"Uncle, you have a visitor," she announced, getting to her feet. There was an unmistakable note of coldness that lingered in her voice. "Aramis is here."

"Monsieur. Maria," Aramis greeted, forcing himself to move forward. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

A broad smile appearing, Mandeville came forward, holding his hand out. "Not at all, my friend. I am always pleased to see you hear," he said. "Was that Porthos I heard a few moments ago?"

"Porthos took it upon himself to deal with an insulting guest," Aramis responded, sending a glance towards Maria. Though the woman had kept her distance from her uncle's guests, it had gotten around very quickly about the state of her face. Aramis himself had put several thoughtless men in their place when they had been foolish enough to say something of the matter in front of him.

Mandeville didn't seem at all concerned with the answer. "I appreciate the diligence with which he, and the rest of you, perform such acts," he stated. He turned towards his niece.

The woman unfurled her fan with a sharp snap that spoke volumes of her mood. "Let me guess," she said, waving the fan with angry energy. Her dark eyes were glittering with barely controlled irritation. "This is the moment when I am asked to return to the suffocating heat of the house and leave the men to their business."

"I was merely going to ask that you remember your manners and greet our friend, Pera," Mandeville informed her, his tone calm. "Whatever irritation you have towards me, it is not right to direct it at a poor musketeer just off his watch."

Aramis glanced between them, amused at the pet name the man had for the woman. Maria's fan closed with another snap that drove his amusement away. "Forgive me, Aramis. I am not in humor with the world today," was all that Maria said, every word insincere.

"Monsieur Mandeville, there is a messenger here for you," Wadsworth called from the door.

"Business calls," Mandeville said with a sigh. "Please excuse me."

Stepping aside, Aramis allowed the older man to pass and then he was left alone in the garden with Maria. The woman had turned and walked to a fountain that was devoid of any water. Slowly, Aramis followed her there. "If you would rather not have any company at the moment, DoñaMaria, I can leave," he told her.

Heaving a sigh, Maria took a seat on the edge of the fountain and placed her book by her side. "No, its fine, Aramis," she responded, turning her gaze to the sky. There was still an edge of irritation in her voice. "Was your watch uneventful today?"

"I don't think you really want to hear about a boring watch." Raising a hand to her head, Maria was silent for a moment. Aramis carefully took a seat next to her. "What is it, Maria?"

The woman let her hand drop, and Aramis realized that she'd been covering the scar that marred her face. Whether it was from the heat or from her heated emotions, the scar was an angry red. A moment later, Maria turned her head as if she'd seen Aramis looking. The musketeer grimaced, knowing he'd just made a mistake.

"My uncle wants to send me out of the city," was all Maria said, though.

"Any particular reason why?" Aramis asked with a frown. Mandeville had visited the Musketeers' Headquarters only a week before to discuss the possibility of traitors to the king. Athos had pointed out that the man was making himself a target by such open allegiance to Louis. Perhaps the older man had taken their words seriously and was at least getting Maria to safety...

"He is unsettled by the rumors that there is a sickness spreading."

Or perhaps not. Aramis considered this new bit of information. "I have heard that many are succumbing to the heat," he said. "But not that there was any sort of illness."

Her eyebrow raised, Maria finally looked straight at him. "Fifty men, women, and children have died in the past three days, Aramis," she informed him, her tone slightly chiding. "Its in the poorer sections of the city, but my uncle fears that it will spread into the more noble houses if this heat continues for much longer."

She unfurled her fan, this time much more gently, and began to wave it in front of her face. "If he feels you would be safer-," Aramis began to say.

"Safer?" Maria interrupted. "Aramis, how will leaving my protectors behind make things any safer?"

His frown creasing his forehead even more, Aramis leaned forward. "Are you afraid that harm would come to you if you were to leave Paris?" he asked. The fact that Maria shifted her gaze away told him that he had spoken true but he couldn't think of single reason she would have such a fear. "Why? Have you been threatened?"

Ever since she had returned to Paris, Aramis had seen a change in the woman. Her initial manner had faded into a reticence that didn't fit the spirited woman he'd come to know. Whatever had happened in Spain, the incident that had left her scarred, had never been fully explained to him. Athos had stated that the matter 'was of the utmost secrecy' and that he'd been forbidden to speak a word of it to anyone.

A ghost of a smile had appeared on Maria's lips. "I hardly fear for myself, Aramis," she responded, forcing a lightness into her tone that Aramis knew was not as sincere as she would have him think. "Just think of the trouble you and Athos and Porthos would get into if I were to leave you here? I could hardly do that to poor Treville."

"Maria, don't try to convince me that you're all right," Aramis told her. He reached over and took her hand in his. "I can see that you're not."

"Paris is the only place I have ever felt as though I were completely safe," the woman whispered, just loudly enough for him to hear. "My uncle is right: I have enemies. My husband had enemies. They will take any chance they can get to kill me." She hesitated and then shook her head. "Its silly."

Feeling as though there was still something she wasn't telling him, Aramis regarded her with concern. "Have you even left this property since you came back?" he asked abruptly. He understood that she wouldn't be at court, but he'd only ever seen her in this garden or in the house. Never exploring the city as she used to do.

Maria was on her feet in an instant, pulling her hand free. "Why do you question me like this?" she demanded. "Why can you not leave me in peace, Aramis?"

"Because you are not at peace, Maria," the former priest responded gently, "and you are not yourself. The Maria I know would be thrilled to return to the country, whatever the reason. She would be longing to take her shoes and stockings off to wade in a stream like a child. Did you think I had forgotten that?"

Closing her eyes, Maria went very still. "I'd forgotten I'd told you about that," she admitted, sounding vulnerable. "I know I am not..." She opened her eyes as she struggled to find the words. "Please just let me be, Aramis. All I need is time."

"Maybe if you told me of the demons that haunt you, it would be easier to continue on with your life."

At that moment, Mandeville returned to the garden. "The king has terrible timing," he announced, not seeming to notice that his niece and Aramis were in the middle of a discussion. Just barely keeping from sighing, the musketeer got to his feet. "I have been asked -no, ordered- to accompany the court to the country."

Casting a quick glance at Maria, Aramis nodded. "I'd heard rumors that the court would be seeking the cooler air of the country," he answered. "Given the queen's condition, the heat may be too much for her."

"You see, Perita, now you have no choice," Mandeville said to his niece.

Maria's chin came up. "I am no longer a member of the court, uncle," she responded. Once again, her fan snapped out. "And I will not be leaving Paris."

Raising an eyebrow, Mandeville watched the woman stalk out of the garden. "I'd hoped you might improve her mood," he confided to Aramis.

"When I have no clue as to what is wrong, how can I be expected to help?" Aramis asked.

Mandeville scoffed. "I should think it obvious," he responded. "You've seen what Firmin had done to her face." Aramis went very, very still. "It was a traumatic experience, and she will never be able to reclaim what she once had. She may not speak of it, but I know Maria still has nightmares about the incident."

"Armand Firmin," Aramis repeated. His hand clenched into a tight fist. "Was in Spain?"

"I assumed you were aware of the circumstances," Mandeville said with a frown. "I didn't think Athos would keep it from you. My apologies. I would not have said a word if I had known it was a secret."

"Rest assured, I do not blame you, monsieur." Aramis' words were completely sincere. He knew exactly who would be held responsible.

"Athos, I thought you would have been here hours ago," Porthos said cheerfully as his friend entered the room. He held out a glass of wine. As Athos accepted the glass, Porthos studied the expression on the man's face. "I know that look. Trouble?"

Without answering, Athos drained the glass and held it out to be filled once more. "Several of the men have fallen ill," he said once he'd swallowed the second glass.

"Ill?" D'Artagnan repeated, scrambling up. The other musketeers in the room murmured in unease and concern. "Will they recover?"

"A physician has been sent for," Athos responded. "But it looks as though it is the illness that is spreading in the seedier sections of Paris. The king has ordered the court to the country. The palace leaves the day after tomorrow."

Groaning, Porthos put his glass on the closest table. "Well doesn't that ruin a perfectly good day," he said with a sigh. "I'll start packing."

Stepping closer, Athos lowered his voice so that only the large man and D'Artagnan could hear him. "No," Athos told them. "Porthos, you and Aramis will remain here in Paris. You both have some experience with caring for the sick and we cannot leave Paris completely undefended. Treville will remain behind as he is waiting for some important dispatches. I have been charged with escorting the king."

"There couldn't be a better replacement for Treville," Porthos said enthusiastically.

"Athos!"

At Aramis' voice, Athos looked up. The former priest coming towards him with a look of fury in his eyes. "Aramis, good," Athos said in an attempt to head off whatever confrontation his friend was looking for. "There's much that needs to be discussed-."

Aramis grabbed Athos' jacket and jerked the man out of the room. Exchanging looks, D'Artagnan and Porthos rushed after the pair. The rest of the men in the room wisely turned their attention elsewhere.

"When were you going to tell us that it was Armand Firmin who harmed Maria?" Aramis demanded, his voice a hiss.

D'Artagnan flinched, already seeing where this conversation was going. Beside him, Porthos had tensed. Annoyed, Athos jerked free of the other man's grasp. "You didn't need to know," he responded. "The mission was-."

"Didn't you think that Porthos and I would want to be there?" Aramis interrupted. "You weren't the only musketeer who was assigned to stop Firmin. We all saw what that man had done. Did you stop to think that we would want to be there to see Firmin finally face justice, to finally know that the monster wouldn't harm another living person again?"

"It was Treville's orders."

Porthos stepped forward. "Why?" he demanded.

"Because he wasn't convinced you would manage to keep yourselves focused," Athos responded, his tone sharp with the brutal, honest truth. "Treville believed that at the first moment, both of you would have gone looking forDoña Maria."

Instantly, Porthos grabbed Athos by the front of his jacket. "You questioned our loyalty? We would have done our duty. If you weren't a friend, I would demand satisfaction from you."

"Well, don't allow friendship to get in the way of your honor."

"Enough!" Maria's voice rang out in the hall. The woman stood on the staircase. "How dare you fight like this?"

With a disgusted look, Porthos shoved Athos away and turned his attention on the woman. "Maria, we were just having a disagreement about a past mission," he said, his tone placating. "It has nothing to do with you."

"I'm scarred, not deaf, Porthos," Maria responded, her voice rising. "How dare you use any circumstance connected to me as a reason to fight among yourselves?"

D'Artagnan took a step back, judging the distance to get to the front door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the others were at the doorway, trying to get a look at what was going on. "I'm sorry you had to hear us, Maria," Aramis spoke up. He shot Athos a sharp look. "It wasn't my intention to upset."

"All of you get out."

Even Athos looked slightly startled at the coldly spoken words. "Maria," Porthos tried again.

"I said get out!" Maria shouted, pointing at the door. "Now!"

Only the four Inseparables remained where they were as the nobles and other musketeers retreated out the front door. "Did you not hear me?" the woman asked, coming down the remaining steps. Her voice was as cold as a winter wind. "Leave this house."

"You're throwing us out?" Aramis asked incredulously. "Maria-."

"Constantly saying my name will not change my mind," Maria snapped. "I refuse to allow you to fight in my home over something that cannot be changed. You two-," she pointed at Aramis and then Porthos, "should trust your leader's judgment. If Treville chose not to inform you of the details regarding Firmin, then he had his reasons!"

Before D'Artagnan could feel even a bit of relief, the woman had turned her finger towards him and Athos. "And you two should trust your friends," she continued. "When have they ever slacked in their duty or on a mission? I am ashamed of all of you, and I will not see any of you until you have put this behind you!"

She spun and went back up the stairs she'd just come down. She vanished from sight as chiding Spanish began. Looking flustered, Wadsworth held out their respective cloaks and hats. Porthos was the first to snatch his and storm out the door. Aramis was not far behind him.

"Its probably a good thing that you and I are leaving Paris," Athos said to D'Artagnan as they left the house. The door closed behind them. "We're about to have a very uncomfortable two days."

Startled, D'Artagnan looked at his close friend and mentor. "What are you talking about?" he asked as he hurried to keep up. "From where I was standing I didn't figure into the conversation at all. Why would I-?"

"It won't take them long to remember that you were with me in Spain, and also didn't tell them about Firmin."

Biting back some choice words, D'Artagnan groaned. "Oh, great."

"They'll get over it," Athos told him. "By the time we return from the country, they will have earned their forgiveness from Maria and all will be well."

"But what about you? I mean, I can't say I was ever on close terms with Doña Maria, but have you forgotten about the trip to the Comte de Carti? Don't you need to find a way to make amends too?"

D'Artagnan heartily regretted speaking when Athos glared at him. "I will meet you at the garrison," was all the older man said though. He turned to go another way and called over his shoulder, "Have Planchet pack my things."

Heaving a sigh, the young Gascon shook his head and hurried on.

Over half of the men in the musketeer ranks were preparing to leave. Aramis and Porthos were not at all subtle in their avoidance of their otherwise close companions. Treville said nothing and asked no questions, only raised his eyebrow when Porthos stormed through the courtyard after having been gone for several hours.

By the evening, D'Artagnan found that he couldn't stand the silence between his friends and had boldly approached where Aramis was sharpening a dagger. For a moment, the young Gascon hesitated. "You would have done the same thing," he finally said. He was fairly certain his friend wouldn't murder him on Musketeer ground. At least, he hoped that was the case.

"What makes you say that?" Aramis asked, his tone cool. He kept his eyes on the edge of his blade.

"Because you're an honorable man," D'Artagnan pointed out, feeling more confident. Aramis' hands stilled. "So is Athos. Treville swore us both to secrecy. Would you have us both go back on our word of honor?"

Aramis finally lifted his head. "You are a fool if you believe that to be the reason for my anger."

"What was Athos supposed to tell Treville?" D'Artagnan demanded, knowing exactly what Aramis was referring to. "Argue? Try to change his mind? Fine things for a soldier, a warrior, to do with his superior officer!"

"I would expect Athos to have a little faith that we would do our duty."

On that point, at least, D'Artagnan was confident. "How do you know he didn't?" he challenged. Aramis' forehead creased with a frown. "Just because Treville decreed that you and Porthos weren't to know the whole of the matter doesn't mean that Athos didn't desire you to be there for the end of Firmin."

His frown going deeper, Aramis looked thoughtful and not as angry. "D'Artagnan!" Giles called out, coming in through the gate. "I think your sweetheart is coming. Don't tell me you haven't made an effort to see her today."

At the thought of seeing Constance, D'Artagnan decided that he'd done enough to repair the chasm between his closest friends and turned away. He ignored the catcalls and jokes that followed him. The heat outside was only slightly less than that of inside the garrison. He looked up and down the street, not immediately seeing Constance.

When he did finally see her, she at the far end of the street, leaning against a wall. She'd walked past the Musketeers' Headquarters. Puzzled, D'Artagnan set off after her. "Constance! Hey, Constance!" he called out.

He knew something was wrong when she didn't make a move. Reaching her, D'Artagnan put his hand on the young lady's shoulder. "Constance, are you well?" he asked with no little concern.

Lifting her head, Constance peered at him with eyes bright with fever. Her cheeks were flushed. "Oh, D'Artagnan," she said, hoarsely. Her neck was different shade of red, almost as though she had been in the sun too long. "There you are. I was waiting for you. We didn't finish our conversation when you ran off."

"Ran off?" D'Artagnan repeated. "Constance, this is the first time I've seen you this week." The fact that the woman stared at him in confusion only made his concern grow and he had the vague feeling he'd seen this kind of behavior before. "Hey, why don't I take you back to the palace now?"

Constance jerked away from him, her movements jerky and sudden. "Why? You don't want to see me anymore?" she demanded, her voice gaining strength with paranoia. "Is there someone else? Some whore on the streets, who's more convenient for you to see?"

With a start, D'Artagnan remembered. He'd only been a child, but he'd been among the few who'd survived the outbreak of illness that had hit the farms around his family's farm. Paranoia and hallucinations were among the symptoms that he'd seen and, according to his mother, had displayed himself.

"Constance, you're not well," he said, keeping his voice gentle and cautious. "Let me help you."

After a moment, Constance frowned at him and began to tremble. "D'Artagnan?"

Stepping forward, the young Gascon put his arms around her and pulled her close. He could feel the heat coming from Constance's body, though she was shivering as though it were the middle of winter. He grimaced, realizing that he couldn't take her back to the palace. With the court leaving, there would be no one there to care for her, and it wouldn't do to risk bringing the disease to the palace.

There was only one place he could think of, and as D'Artagnan scooped Constance up, he hoped he'd manage to get in the door. For Constance's sake.

The news that the court was abandoning the city seemed to have spurred the majority of the noble families to do the same. The flurry of activity forced D'Artagnan to weave his way through people, making him more and more irritated. He finally reached his destination, where a carriage was already sitting out in front.

"Monsieur D'Artagnan!" the ever busy Wadsworth exclaimed, in the middle of directing several trunks be loaded onto the carriage.

"I need Doña Maria's help," D'Artagnan said, hurrying past the man. The door was wide open and no one was in sight, so there was nothing to keep him out. And if he got inside, he knew that Doña Maria wouldn't refuse him. "She's still here, isn't she?"

Wadsworth hoovered behind him, taking care not to get too close but unwilling to abandon what he viewed to be his duty. D'Artagnan made it into the foyer. He was relived to see that Maria was already in the hall, giving orders to a pair of maids. The woman turned to face him as he carried Constance further into the room.

For a second, D'Artagnan could've sworn he saw anger in her eyes, but then there was nothing but concern. "Constance!" the lady exclaimed, rushing over. With no trace of fear, she placed her hand on Constance's forehead. "It is as though she were on fire! How long has she been like this? Why is she not in her bed?"

"I think she was coming to see me," D'Artagnan admitted. "I can't take her to the palace. I didn't know where else I could bring her where she would be safe."

Gravely, Maria nodded. "Follow me," she told him. She spun on her heel and strode towards the stairs. His arms trembling from the strain, D'Artagnan hurried after her. The woman was snapping out orders in two languages. "Traer el agua! Inform my uncle that Mademoiselle Constance, lady in waiting to the queen, is here."

The first bedchamber she came to, Maria threw the doors open and stepped aside to let D'Artagnan through first. Constance gave a moan as she was settled on the bed, her eyes fluttering open. D'Artagnan squeezed her hand once before the mistress of the house pushed him aside.

"Ah, my friend. What have you gotten yourself into now?" Maria asked, her tone light as she took a seat on the side of the bed. She put her on Constance's forehead once again. "D'Artagnan, you should go now. You are a Musketeer, not a physician."

"You'll let me know how she is?" D'Artagnan asked, backing reluctantly towards the door. A familiar older woman pushed past him with a bowl of water.

"Yes, yes. Now go."

Turning, Carmen shooed him out. Caught off guard at seeing the woman who'd been Maria's duenna before she'd gone to France, D'Artagnan found himself in the hallway with the door closed in his face. He rested his hand on the wood and then turned. Mandeville was just coming up the staircase. The older man took one look at the closed door and heaved a sigh.

"I assume Maria has shut herself in there with the ill girl?"

Keeping himself from jumping to offense, D'Artagnan nodded. "She and Constance are friends. I think," he said.

"I see," Mandeville said. "Well, I should have expected Maria to find a way to make sure she wouldn't go with me to the country." He seemed to spot the anger on D'Artagnan's face. "I'm truly sorry to hear your friend is ill. Please believe me."

"I have to return to Headquarters," D'Artagnan told him. He hurried down the stairs and left the house, ignoring the sympathetic and fearful looks that were sent his way.

"You do realize that you'll only destroy half of the musketeers with this plan," Artus said, pushing away the map that was laid out on the table. He picked up his cup of wine and drained what was left of the liquid inside. "The men guarding the king will return, and they won't let the massacre of their ranks go unpunished."

Beauchene shook his head. "As long as I destroy the man who killed my son, I will accept whatever consequences there are," he answered.

Artus snorted. "You may be willing to hang, but don't expect me or any of my men to wait around to get caught in the hangman's noose."

"You'll have your money when the musketeers' headquarters is in ruins."

The hired bandit grinned. "That's what I like to hear." He pulled his pistol out and checked it. "Let's kill some musketeers."