The Hunt for The Red Cardinal

by Bradley Sinor

  D’Artagnan thought for a moment, then answered. “I may have a proposition for you that would help us all. I can’t tell you what it is right away, though. I must confer with the others.”

  He called his three friends to the small room they had formerly used.

  “I have the beginning of a plan that may rid this city of ‘those’ men, but we will need the young man’s help.”

  The others looked at each other, then turned to D’Artagnan.

  “Do you trust him?” Aramis asked. “But first, tell us the plan.”

  “Well, he told me he’s a calligrapher by trade. This is what I’m thinking.”

  D’Artagnan described the plan and explained the role that Pierre would play.

  “But we have to wait for Montaigne to return.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Afew hours later, Montaigne got back, bringing food and information with him.

  “I have tracked them to a tavern where they are eating and drinking. I struck up a conversation with them, but it didn’t go anywhere. Maybe they weren’t drunk enough. I couldn’t find out where they’re staying.”

  “If you couldn’t find that out, how could any of us?” said Athos. “You are the master spy.”

  “Well, I listened for a bit before I left. I heard one of them say something about the three musketeers. I don’t know what that means.”

  “I do,” exclaimed Porthos. “Months ago, before everything happened and we left on this journey, we met a man in a tavern who was talking about an up-time book by that name. It was apparently written in the future, in the 1800s, by a French author. And it was about us. Porthos,” he tapped his chest, “Athos and Aramis.” He pointed to them. “And D’Artagnan. It was very popular at the time. The man must have gotten it from a bookseller who had been to Germany or somewhere. Anyway, he had heard of us. One of you called me by name, which he recognized. By then you two were gone. Don’t you remember me telling you about it? He accosted me, asking about all the adventures ‘we’ had in the book. Of course, we had never had those adventures. I had to explain that to him, that we were just three musketeers among many and not that important. I’m sure I would recognize him again.” He turned to Montaigne and asked, “Was one of the men tall and thin, with fair hair and beard?”

  “Yes, one of them was. What are you suggesting?” Montaigne asked.

  “I’m suggesting that D’Artagnan and I, and you, go back to this tavern. If they’re still there, D’Artagnan and I will go in. I will make him recognize me and then deny it. He won’t know D’Artagnan, and I’ll say that I have distant cousins in Paris but that I’ve never been there.”

  Montaigne nodded as Porthos told the story.

  “If you can find out where they’re staying, and then keep them away, I can go to their rooms to rummage around for information,” Montaigne added.

  “Try to find a letter from Gaston. We need the seal from it, but bring the letter back with you if you find one. Here’s what we plan to do.”

  D’Artagnan repeated the plan to Montaigne, and then the three of them set off.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Five men sat at a large table in a tavern named The Three Cockerels. They had had their dinners and were drinking ale to pass the time before they returned to their rooms.

  Two men dressed as laborers entered and found a table nearby, while a third entered behind them and sat near the door.

  Porthos and D’Artagnan sat facing the large table. They ordered ale, bread, and cheese, and began to talk loudly.

  “Good weather lately,” Porthos said. “Easy to find work in good weather, probably anywhere in the city.”

  Presently, one of the five men took notice of the conversation and looked at the other table.

  “That man,” he said to his neighbor, “looks very familiar. I’m sure I’ve met him before. But what would he be doing here in Rennes?”

  He went over to talk to the man, since his curiosity was nudging him.

  “Hello,” he said to Porthos. “You look very familiar. I’m sure I’ve met you somewhere.”

  “I don’t think so,” Porthos replied. “I must look like someone you’ve met. But sit down with us. Maybe we can figure it out.”

  The man sat and stared at Porthos for a while, trying to think of where he could have seen him.

  “I know! It was in Paris a few months ago. You’re one of those musketeers in the book.”

  “Book? What book would I be in? I can’t even read.” Porthos spread his arms wide. “And I’m certainly not a musketeer. I’m just a laborer. I find work where I can to get by.”

  The man’s face fell. “It’s a book that was written in the future about three musketeers. Their names were… I’ll think of them.” A minute later he said, “Athos, Porthos and Aramis! That was their names. And you’re Porthos. I knew I’d remember.”

  “My name’s Auguste, not Porthos. What kind of a name is that? And how could you read a book from the future?”

  “Well, you look like him. I met him in Paris after I’d read that book. I bought it from a bookseller who got it from someone who knew an up-timer. Anyway, I like the book, and I was excited to meet someone who had been written about.”

  “I do have a distant cousin in Paris. Maybe you saw him. I hear we look a lot alike. You seem like a nice fellow. I don’t mind talking to you for a while. Just don’t expect me to be that Porthos, or whoever you said.”

  “All right,” the man said. “Would you like to come sit with us?”

  “Do you think there’s room? Besides, I have my friend, Antoine, here. Your table looks full. Sit with us for a while.”

  The man sat and introduced himself. “My name is André Boyce.”

  “So, Monsieur Boyce, are you just passing through or are you visiting?”

  “I’m – we’re just visiting for a few days, then we’ll move on.” The man seemed unsure of what to say.

  “Oh. Taking a tour of France’s best cities? Do you and your friends live in Paris?” Porthos began to try to draw him out.

  “I live there, but my friends live in other places . . .” Before he could say more, Porthos broke in.

  “Oh! Have you seen King Gaston? Now that he is king, I’m sure the country will be safe from up-time invaders. How exciting to live in such an – exciting – place.”

  During the exchange, D’Artagnan sat, watching Boyce with a bored look on his face.

  “But why would you leave a place like Paris to travel all this way to Rennes?”

  Boyce looked at his friends at the other table, but they were all talking among themselves.

  “We were sent by the king,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sure I can trust you, now that I know you support King Gaston. We are looking for enemies of the Crown.”

  “Enemies of the Crown? Who would they be? Everyone I know seems glad to have a strong king like Gaston in charge.” Porthos looked at D‘Artagnan, then back at Boyce. “Maybe we can help you.” Porthos was trying to insinuate that they would expect payment for their help.

  Porthos seemed excited to be able to help his new friend; so much so that, although he knew better, D’Artagnan was taken aback for a moment.

  “Yes, perhaps we can.” D’Artagnan added his voice to Porthos’. “But do you think it’s wise to discuss matter like this in so public a place?”

  Boyce looked around. The tavern was crowded, and although it seemed noisy, people sat so closely together that anyone who listened could overhear what was said at the next table.

  “Perhaps we could go to your home,” he said to Porthos.

  Porthos shook his head. “My home is so small that we would not fit into it. Also, my wife is a shrew. Why do you think I spend my evenings in places like this?”

  D’Artagnan said, “I live with my brother and his wife, and their nine children. I sleep in a closet under the stairway.”

  “What about your room?” Porthos suggested. “Or do you all sleep in the same bed?”

  Bo
yce thought about showing offense, then thought better of it. Auguste was probably just making a joke. “I suppose that would be better than going to the home of either of you.”

  He went back to the table where his friends were still sitting. “Those two that I’ve been talking to seem interested in helping us. I want to take them back to our rooms so we can talk privately. Which of you will come with me?”

  One of the men spoke up. “Why do you trust them? You just met them. It would be foolish to take them to our rooms.” He looked at the other men. “Bring them here so the rest of us can talk to them.”

  Boyce did so, squeezing two more chairs in with the five that were occupied.

  “This is Auguste and that is Antoine,” Boyce told his friends, then turned back to Porthos and D’Artagnan. “These men would like to talk to you.”

  “Of course,” Porthos said. “We’re glad to meet you, uh…” The other men did not introduce themselves.

  Porthos and D’Artagnan were quite amenable to answering the questions even though they didn't answer them completely honestly. When the questioning ended, the others decided that is was safe to take Auguste and Antoine back with them to their rooms.

  It happened that they were staying at the same inn, The Black Dragon, that the monks and their guards had stayed in. But, since it had been more than a week since they had left, Porthos thought they wouldn’t be recognized by the innkeeper. Just to be safe, they averted their faces when walking to the stairway. It was just a coincidence that both rooms occupied by the king’s men were the ones that they had used.

  Boyce opened the door to the larger room and ushered the two men into it.

  “We can talk in here when the others arrive.”

  Porthos looked around in awe. “This is surely a nicer room that I have ever seen. Of course, I’ve never stayed at an inn before. I’ve never been away from Rennes.” D’Artagnan just nodded.

  “We have stayed in many inns, and this room is average.”

  “This is so exciting, to help you on your mission. How do you know where to go next?” As Porthos spoke, D’Artagnan subtly looked around the room, noting where every bag was located.

  “The king gave us a list of towns and a map,” said Boyce.

  “What will you do when you find who you’re looking for?”

  Boyce thought a moment. “I suppose we’ll take the person back to Paris with us.”

  “So you’re looking for only one person?” Porthos said. “Perhaps we can help find him. Who is it?”

  Just then the door opened and the other men entered.

  “Just a moment,” Boyce said, and turned to confer with the others. Then he turned back to Porthos and D’Artagnan, saying, “My friends think it would not be a good idea for you to help us openly. But if you have information about who we’re looking for, you could tell us.”

  “We will, if we know who it is,” said Porthos.

  After another minute of thought, Boyce said, “It’s an important person from Paris who escaped when the former king died.”

  Both Porthos and D’Artagnan looked wide-eyed, as though they had no idea who the man was talking about.

  “He is a cardinal who was close to the former king.” Boyce looked impatient that the two strangers seemed to not know who he was talking about. “His name is Cardinal Richelieu.”

  “Oh,” Porthos said, drawing the word out. “We’ve heard of him. I think.” He looked at D’Artagnan for confirmation. “What does he look like?”

  Boyce took a sheet of paper out of a pocket, unfolded it and handed it to Porthos. “He looks like this.”

  Porthos and D’Artagnan looked closely, squinting at the paper. “It’s hard to see,” Porthos said. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen him. Have you, Antoine?”

  D’Artagnan shook his head. “Doesn’t look familiar.” But it is a very good likeness, he thought.

  “But we can look around for you. How about meeting again tomorrow night at the same place?” Porthos told him. “Maybe we’ll have spotted him during the day.”

  Boyce conferred again with his friends, then nodded. Porthos and D’Artagnan took their leave, going back toward the tavern. At the next corner they met Montaigne, who had followed the group but kept his distance.

  “They’re in the same rooms we had in The Black Dragon,” D’Artagnan told him after the three had turned the corner. “We’re meeting them tomorrow night at the tavern. It should be safe enough then for you to break in.”

  The next day was cloudy, but no rain came. Porthos and D’Artagnan went out and walked around town during the afternoon, ostensibly to look for the cardinal. They even asked random people if they had seen a tall, thin older man who they didn’t know. A few people said they had seen a man of that description and told them the part of town in which they had seen him.

  Later that evening, they went back to the tavern to meet their new friends. As soon as Montaigne saw that all of them were there, he started toward the inn.

  Just as he thought, no one recognized him when he arrived. He ordered ale and sat near the stairway. The public room started filling up just as he was served. He finished his drink, then started up the stairs, as though he was going to his room. Once he was outside one of the rooms, he took a small knife out of his pocket and pushed it past the edge of the door. The door opened quietly and Montaigne slipped in. The room had four beds, with a traveling case by each one. He quickly searched each case for a letter from King Gaston. He found nothing.

  Then he repeated his actions in the room next door with two beds. That room had a traveling case and saddle bags from all the horses. A search through the case yielded just what he was looking for: a letter from King Gaston to a Boyce Prideux. Montaigne quickly hid the letter in his vest, but before he could slip back out of the room, he heard voices in the hallway.

  “It must have been something I ate, I said,” said a man. The door knob shook as if someone was trying to turn it, but couldn’t because the door was locked.

  “No, you’re drunk,” said another man. “This isn’t the room you sleep in; it’s that one.”

  “Oh,” the first man said. “Come in here with me. I want to talk to you about something.”

  “All right. But I want to get something from the other room first.”

  Montaigne quickly crawled under the bed farther from the door, letting the bed clothes hang down to cover him.

  “What do you want from that room? Only Boyce sleeps there,” the first man said. “I’ll come with you and we can talk there.”

  “No! I’ll get what I want and come right back. You go in and lay down.” The second man opened the door and firmly closed it behind himself. Montaigne could see only boots until the other man stooped to rummage in the case, then rose, cursing. “That lying . . . So he didn’t get a letter from the king after all.” Then he stomped through that door and the door into the other room.

  As much as Montaigne wanted to hear what was being said, he felt it was better to leave the second floor. Downstairs, he resumed his table, which had miraculously remained unoccupied, and ordered dinner and another ale.

  At The Three Cockerels, Porthos and D’Artagnan joined Boyce and the others at a large table. The other men were eating, so two more meals were ordered.

  “Have you found out anything?” Boyce asked them.

  “Well, we walked around a lot, and talked to as many people as we could,” Porthos answered. “We asked if anyone had seen a tall, thin older man who they didn’t know, and several said they had. They pointed several directions where they had seen him, but the direction pointed to most was to the south and east. We walked in that direction, but saw no one by that description. We can look again tomorrow, if you like.”

  “We’ll check that part of town again,” Boyce said. “Yes, look more places tomorrow. We’ll see you here again tomorrow night.”

  At that point, one of the men complained of an upset stomach, and left to go back to his room. Another stood and follow
ed him.

  After the ones remaining had finished their meals, they all ordered more ale and sat talking and laughing a while longer. Soon enough the three men still there decided to go back to the inn. Porthos and D’Artagnan headed back toward the church, keeping watch that they weren’t followed.

  Montaigne was waiting for them when they arrived.

  “Did you find it?” D’Artagnan asked Montaigne the moment they were together.

  “I found one,” Montaigne answered. “I haven’t opened it yet; I waited for you to get back. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to wait, but I thought we should read it together. Also, two of the men returned when I was in the smaller room. One of them came in to look for this letter, but I already had it with me under one of the beds. He was very unhappy that there wasn’t a letter to be found and accused Monsieur Boyce of lying to them.”

  “Hm,” was the only thing that D’Artagnan said.

  D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis gathered around Montaigne as the missive was unfolded.

  After the obligatory from and to, the message was for the men to go to the listed towns and, if they should identify and capture the fugitives, to return them to Paris.

  “Now we have what we need,” D’Artagnan cried. “Pierre! We need your services.”

  Pierre immediately appeared, asking, “What do you need for me to do?”

  “See this letter? We need you to copy everything on it but the list of towns. Replace the names of these towns with several we will give you. Since the writing is not in Gaston’s own hand, you don’t have to copy the writing.”

  “But I can copy the writing, if you want. In fact, that looks like the way I write.”

  “Excellent! I will give you the replacement names shortly. I need to get some help from Father Jean.”

  “What direction do you want those men sent? I am familiar with towns to the southeast and southwest of here.”

  “Even better. But I do need paper and stamp from the priest. Unless you brought those things with you.”

  “I did. They are my livelihood. I couldn’t leave them behind.”

  “Do you have a blank stamp? The seal on this letter is blank.”