by Stuart Gibbs
“Up here!” Greg yelled back. “Hurry!”
More voices carried from the street. The other Musketeers.
“Hold on!” Aramis yelled.
“We’re coming!” Porthos cried.
Dinicoeur hissed in anger, then allowed Richelieu to pull him away. They ducked down the staircase, fleeing before the Musketeers could arrive.
Greg heaved a sigh of relief. He looked down at the wailing baby in his arms. It was bizarre: He was holding his own ancestor. And yet there was also something rejuvenating about it. Holding Stefan seemed to fill him with life and energy.
He felt the same sensation coming from Teresa as well. He turned to face her, to explain everything, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were riveted on something else just beyond him. “What is that?” she gasped.
Greg spun around and saw something the size and shape of an orange. Two curved metal pieces had been welded together to make a ball, from which a wick protruded. The wick was lit, sparking with fire.
“It’s a grenade!” Greg exclaimed.
Dinicoeur might have left with Richelieu, but he hadn’t listened to the pleas from his younger self to let Stefan live. The grenade sat between Greg and the stairs. The wick had almost burned up. Greg figured he had only a few seconds left at best.
There wasn’t enough time to get Stefan and Teresa out of the house.
NINE
THERE WAS ONLY ONE THING GREG COULD DO.
“Cover Stefan!” he told Teresa. “And get down!”
He shoved the infant into Teresa’s arms, dashed across the room, snatched the grenade off the floor, and heaved it out the window toward the Seine.
The bomb might have been small, but it was much heavier than he’d expected. The thing felt like it was almost solid metal. After smashing through the glass, it barely cleared the windowsill.
Greg spun around just as the grenade exploded.
There was a flash of orange light. Greg caught a glimpse of Teresa, curled in a ball around Stefan on the floor—and then the concussion of air sent him flying.
The house shuddered from the blast. The window shattered inward and hot shards of glass rained down. Greg tumbled across the floor and slammed into the wall.
He lay there for a moment, eyes shut tight, ears ringing from the explosion, until he felt it was safe to take a look around again.
The first thing he saw was Teresa. She appeared terrified, but otherwise unscathed. In her arms, Stefan was wailing.
Greg scrambled to the infant’s side and looked him over. He didn’t have a scratch on him, thanks to his mother; he was only crying due to fright.
The grenade had blown out almost the entire side of the house and part of the floor as well. A few licks of flame danced around the edges of the hole. Through it, Greg could see straight down the Seine. Parisians were gathered all along the riverbanks, staring at the house in astonishment. There were quite a few startled fishermen in boats on the river, but thankfully, no one had been hurt.
Greg realized Teresa was staring at him. He turned back to her and looked into the wide brown eyes. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m a, uh . . . a very distant relative of yours,” Greg replied.
“Why did that . . . that thing want to kill my son?”
“It’s a little hard to explain,” Greg said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Teresa said. “Stefan and I both are, I think.”
“Then we ought to get out of here just in case this whole place comes down.” Greg warily eyed the fire flickering around the hole in the wall.
Teresa held out her hand, and Greg helped her to her feet. The staircase hadn’t been damaged in the blast, and they hurried down it and through the cheese shop.
There was a large crowd gathered outside. The moment Greg emerged into the daylight, he was mobbed by people, demanding to know what had happened. To Greg’s relief, the Musketeers pushed through the crowd along with Catherine, who flung her arms around him and held him tightly. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” Greg said. “And I’m going to stay that way, now that Stefan is okay.” He turned to Teresa. “Teresa, these are the Musketeers. They’re here to help you.”
Teresa’s eyes widened. “The Musketeers? But I’d heard you all were fighting the Spanish in the south.”
“We defeated them,” Aramis told her. “So now we’ve returned.”
Teresa frowned as she thought back to the events that had just happened. “To get the man who was with Dominic?”
“Yes,” Greg replied, and then turned to the others. “What happened to Dinicoeur and Richelieu?”
Athos shrugged apologetically. “They got away. We saw them run out of the building, but then the explosion happened. Everyone in the streets panicked and ran. It was chaos, and Dinicoeur and Richelieu took advantage of it to cover their escape.”
“Then this isn’t over,” Greg said. “We need to find a place where Teresa and Stefan will be safe.”
“Notre Dame,” Aramis suggested. “All who are in need are welcome there.”
Greg shook his head. “Dinicoeur will think of that. In fact, he’ll probably canvass every church in town.”
“I know a place he’ll never find them,” Porthos said. “The home of a good friend. It has a secret room in the cellar.”
“Let’s take them there now,” Greg said. He started through the crowd, but Athos caught his arm.
“I’m afraid there isn’t time for all of us to do that,” Athos said. “Right now, there are so many urgent issues, I think we have no choice but to split up. Porthos can see Teresa and Stefan to safety himself. Meanwhile, we still have Milady and Condé to deal with.” Athos pointed to Greg. “You and Catherine go to the palace. Tell the king all that has happened and let him know his life is in danger. There’s a good chance Condé’s assassins are already within the city.”
“Then shouldn’t you come?” Greg asked. “You’re the best swordsman of us all.”
“Not anymore,” Athos said. “My leg is still not fully healed. Now you’re the best swordsman of us all. Protect Louis. Meanwhile, I’m going to see about getting those secret entrances to the city sealed off.”
“By yourself?” Porthos asked.
“No,” Athos told him. “I still have some friends in the king’s guard. I’m sure I can get some help.”
“But we don’t even know where all the entrances are,” Aramis protested.
“Yes we do.” Athos reached into his cloak and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Emil wrote this up for me last night. As a commander of the army, he’s one of the few people who knows all their locations. He gave it to me this morning, before we left.”
“That’s still a big job,” Aramis said. “I could help with that.”
“No,” Athos said. “You need to figure out where in this city the Devil’s Stone is hidden. Sooner or later, Milady or Dinicoeur is going to come looking for it, and we need to beat them there. For all we know, that’s where Dinicoeur is now.”
“But the city is huge!” Aramis protested. “The stone could be anywhere in it.”
“That’s why you’d better get started looking,” Athos said. “Start with the library at Notre Dame. If anyone can determine where the stone—or this Crown of Minerva—is, it’s you.” Athos turned to the others. “Let’s use Notre Dame as our base. If we need to find each other, we go there.”
Greg didn’t like the idea of splitting up, but Athos was right. There was too much to do.
Porthos held his hand out. “One for all,” he said.
The others placed their hands atop his. “And all for one,” they chimed.
Then they went their separate ways. Greg took only a few steps toward the Louvre, however, then turned back to watch the others: Porthos hurrying north with Teresa and Stefan, Athos heading east toward the city wall, and Aramis moving south toward Notre Dame.
“What’s bothering you?” Catherine asked.
“This just seems wrong somehow,” Greg told her. “The four of us haven’t been apart for over a month—and we’ve been through so much in that time.”
“You’ll see them again soon,” Catherine said.
“I think that’s just it,” Greg said. “I’m worried that I won’t see them. Without the others around, no one has our backs.”
“They’ll be all right.” Catherine slipped her hand into Greg’s and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
Greg turned to face her. At least he wasn’t alone, he thought. “You’re right. They will,” he said, although he didn’t really believe that. There were still too many enemies on the loose. He couldn’t shake the nagging fear that this might have been the last time he saw all the Musketeers alive.
“Then come on.” Catherine tugged on Greg’s hand, and he obediently turned and followed her toward the palace.
Catherine kept her hand in Greg’s as they hurried through the city. It was only a short distance from Saint Denis to the palace—less than ten blocks. She was silent for the first half of it, though Greg could tell there was something on her mind. Finally, she said, “Actually, I’m sort of glad it’s just you and me for once.”
“Really?” Greg said. “Why?”
“Well, with all that’s happened, you and I haven’t been alone together since Arles. And there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” Catherine turned to Greg, then grew embarrassed and turned away again. “It seems so improper of me to say this, but you’ve said that in the future, women aren’t so bound by convention.”
“I can’t imagine you ever doing anything improper,” Greg said.
Catherine met his eyes once again and smiled. “This Devil’s Stone you’re looking for . . . I suppose you know there’s a chance you might not find it, right? And then you’d be stuck here forever.”
“Yes.”
“Well, if that happened, would it really be so awful?”
Greg blinked, surprised by the question. His gut response was to say, Of course it would. But now, he realized, that wasn’t quite right.
“What I’m trying to say,” Catherine went on, “is that I don’t want you to go.”
“You don’t?” Greg asked.
“No,” Catherine said. “I admit there have been times when I have been wary of you. Even frightened, perhaps. And then, when I learned you were from the future, I didn’t really know what to make of that. But now, after all we’ve been through together, things have changed. And I’ve come to realize that I . . . Well, when I saw that building explode and I thought you were in it, I couldn’t bear the thought of you being dead. And now that I have you back, I don’t want to lose you again.”
Greg turned to Catherine, astonished. Unable to believe that someone was saying such things to him. Especially someone as wonderful as Catherine. Suddenly, he knew that he felt the same way about her.
And yet, it still didn’t change the fact that he desperately wanted to go home.
Catherine turned away, mistaking his hesitance for disinterest. “I see,” she said sadly. “You don’t feel the same way.”
“That’s not true!” Greg said. “Not at all! Catherine, you’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met in my life. I just can’t believe that I had to come all the way back to 1615 to do it.”
Catherine brightened, her eyes alive with excitement. “So . . . If you had to stay here, you wouldn’t mind being with me?”
“No,” Greg said. Which was the truth. If he had to stay here. And for a moment, he actually found himself conflicted. Could he actually be happy in 1615 with all the lice and disease and poor sanitation? Could he be happy without books and movies and ice cream and the millions of other things he missed from the future? All he’d wanted to do ever since he got here was get home, and now even doing that wasn’t going to be easy.
“D’Artagnan?” someone asked in surprise.
Greg looked up. He and Catherine had reached the small plaza before the front entrance of the Louvre. It was now surrounded by members of the king’s guard—far more than had been posted before Greg had left. Obviously, security had been beefed up during the siege. It was one of the guards who had called his name. Greg recognized him from his time living at the palace. Several others were staring at him in disbelief.
“Yes,” Greg replied. “I have returned.”
To his surprise, all the guards pulled out their swords. Within seconds, he and Catherine were surrounded, eight blades aimed at their chests.
“By decree of the king, you are hereby under arrest,” a guard informed them.
“For what?” Greg gasped.
“Treason,” the guard replied.
TEN
AFTER DISARMING THEM, THE GUARDS MARCHED GREG and Catherine through the palace to the throne room. King Louis XIII was waiting for them.
As Louis was only Greg’s age—and small at that—he still looked like a mere boy playing king on the throne. But his demeanor toward Greg had changed radically, and Greg saw it immediately. Before, Louis had considered Greg a friend and had always been eager to see him. Now, based on his stern expression and narrowed eyes, he regarded Greg with suspicion and anger.
Greg and Catherine were brought before the throne and forced to their knees. The guards stood behind them, keeping their swords drawn.
“How dare you show your face here?” Louis said to Greg.
“Louis, I don’t know what you think I’ve done,” Greg pleaded, “but you’re making a terrible mistake. I’ve been nothing but loyal to you—”
“Loyal?” the king snapped. “You and all the other Musketeers played me for a fool. You tricked me into sending my army out of the city so Condé could take Paris.”
“No! We did no such thing,” Greg protested. “Milady de Winter sent you those messages, not us!”
“I told you he’d say that, didn’t I?” The voice was beautiful, but it sent a chill through Greg’s bones. Milady de Winter emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. She wore a regal white dress and looked more stunning than ever. Louis’s gaze was riveted to her. Milady, however, kept her eyes locked on Greg and Catherine. Greg thought she looked like a cat staring at two mice it was about to play with.
“Yes,” Louis said obediently. “You did.” As Milady arrived at his throne, he took her hand.
Oh no, Greg thought. It was evident that Louis had fallen for Milady, just as Aramis and Athos had.
“Such a foolish and desperate argument,” Milady said. “Anyone could see those messages were in Aramis’s writing, not mine.”
“Only the first one was,” Greg countered. “She faked his writing in the others. There really was a Spanish army. But we defeated it—and then Milady betrayed us.”
“You betrayed me,” Milady spat. “You tried to kill me and left me for dead.” She turned back to Louis and stared lovingly into his eyes. “It was only through a miracle that I was able to return to your side.”
“Don’t listen to her!” Greg said. “She’s the double-crosser here! She’s aligned with Condé! She engineered this entire siege, and she’s plotting to kill you—”
“Silence!” Louis roared. “Milady is the one who has been loyal here. The moment she learned of your plot, she raced back to the city to inform me of it. You’re the one who plots to kill me.”
“If I was plotting to kill you, why would I just walk right up to the palace?” Greg asked.
“Because you didn’t count on Milady beating you back here,” Louis replied. “You expected to simply walk in here, pretending to be my friend, and then slit my throat.”
“Louis, please,” Greg pleaded. “I am your friend. I’m telling the truth. If you want proof, question Catherine and me separately. We’ll tell you the exact same thing.”
“All that will prove is that you’ve rehearsed your story well,” Milady said, then turned to Louis. “Why do you even let him continue spewing these lies? Let’s just find out what we need to from him.”
Louis snapped
his fingers, and his guards all pointed their swords at Greg again. “Where are the other Musketeers?” the king demanded.
“They are working to protect this city from Condé,” Greg replied. “They are working to protect your throne, unaware that Milady has poisoned your mind against them—”
“Enough lies!” Louis yelled. “Tell me where they are!”
“I don’t know where they are,” Greg said. “We had to split up.”
Milady whispered something in Louis’s ear. The king nodded agreement, then looked back at Greg. “It appears you need some extra motivation to tell the truth.” He signaled to some guards across the room.
They opened the door, revealing Greg’s parents.
They were flanked by more guards, who marched them into the throne room. Both of them were at once thrilled to see Greg and bewildered by what was happening.
“Mom! Dad!” Greg called. “Are you all right?”
“We are now,” his father replied.
“Thank goodness you’re alive,” his mother said. “We’ve been so worried about you.” She started toward Greg, but the guards blocked her path and aimed their swords at her.
“Now then, D’Artagnan,” Milady said. “Tell us where the other Musketeers are—or your parents will suffer.” As she spoke, Greg caught sight of something silver glistening just beneath the neckline of her dress: the chain that half the Devil’s Stone hung from. She was wearing it. Milady seemed aware that he’d noticed and smiled cruelly.
Greg seethed with anger, but he willed himself to stay calm. Athos had taught him that if he ever found himself in a tight spot, he needed to keep focused. He might not be as good a fighter as Athos, but Athos had trained him well, and he was certainly better than any guard in this room. Greg met Milady’s eyes. “Okay,” he said. “The other Musketeers are in Paris.”
“We know that much.” Milady took a few steps forward and looked down her nose at Greg. “The question is, where in Paris?”
“Look behind me,” Greg replied.
Milady looked up reflexively. So did Louis. And, as Greg had predicted, so did the guards surrounding him.
