Porthos’ eyes went darker than usual. “I don’t care if it’s selfish,” she said after a long moment. “I don’t give a flying frig if it makes us bad people. I want her back. She’s my best friend, and they can’t have her. Also, she owes me money.”
Dana felt relief wash over her. “Okay,” she said with a biting grin. “Let’s be terrible people.”
“It’s what Musketeers do best,” Porthos replied.
Crevecouer Abbey would not let Aramis go without a fight. Their opening salvo consisted mostly of nuns. Several elderly, sweet-faced old dears met Porthos and Dana at the door, politely explaining why it was that ‘Novice de Herblay’ could not receive visitors during the period of contemplation, as she was in consultation with several advisors about the thesis she was to present to the Abbott. The Abbott would then decide on her suitability to join the Church.
Every time one of them referred to Aramis as Novice de Herblay, Porthos gritted her teeth and corrected them with ‘Captain’ until she looked about ready to explode.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Dana put in when there was finally a gap in the conversation. “We have brought some papers for Captain Aramis that she greatly needs to reference in her thesis proposal.”
“Oh, that’s all right then,” the nuns said happily, and offered them fresh-brewed tea.
“Maybe later,” said Porthos. It was a sign of how desperate things were that she turned down the offer of tea that had been brewed instead of printed.
One of the more elderly nuns led the Musketeer and her friend up a winding staircase, and along to a library. Bazin the android stood to stiff attention, guarding the door of his mistress.
As he saw Porthos and Dana approach, the android looked more dismayed than Dana had thought was even possible, on the face of an artificial person.
“Please, Captain-lieutenant Porthos,” he moaned. “It’s so calm here, and no one ever tries to shoot at us, and Novice de Herblay is planning a most excellent thesis that will confirm her brilliance in the scholarly arts of theology…”
“Modesty in all things, Bazin,” said the nun, chiding him. “We have no need for pride here.”
The android’s stiff metal shoulders slumped. “Yes, Sister,” he sighed. “I would prefer not to allow these people in to interrupt Novice de Herblay.”
“We serve God and All, Bazin, not our personal needs,” said the nun, moving him aside.
“I dislike spaceships so much,” the android engineer muttered. “A few centuries of religious contemplation and not being shot at, is that too much to ask? We were so close.”
Porthos gave him an unsympathetic clap on the shoulder as she was ushered into the library by the elderly nun. “We’ll have a talk about loyalty to the Royal Fleet later, Bazin.”
“Yes, Captain-lieutenant Porthos,” Bazin sighed.
Dana slipped into the library after Porthos, and almost crashed into her back because her friend had stopped still.
There, at a table strewn with antique books, was their Aramis. She wore a flowing black robe and a full star-scarf wrapped around her hair. Her eyes were alight with animated intelligence as she argued with two priests about the nature of God and All.
“But surely it is not heresy to acknowledge one’s reluctance at choosing to serve God…” In that moment, Aramis saw her visitors. She broke off her earnest debate, and smiled with dazzling warmth.
Dana’s old crush on her friend smacked her hard in the chest all over again. She had somehow lost her immunity to Aramis’ beauty in the time they had been apart. Aramis glowed with happiness, still fired up from the intellectual debate.
“Oh, we’re terrible people,” Dana whispered.
“I can live with it,” said Porthos.
“My friends,” said Aramis, her joy filling the room. “I am so glad to see you are unharmed.”
“Mostly,” said Porthos. “I took a wound or two but it’s all fixed up now, and Dana’s barely dented. How about you?”
Aramis pressed her hand to her chest and smiled. “You’ll tease me for giving God the credit and not the medibay, but this time I do believe I was saved for something more, Pol.”
“Something more than being a Musketeer,” Porthos repeated. “Something more than Paris and friendship and serving the Crown?”
“I hope you don’t mind the interruption, superiors,” Aramis added to her new companions, who eyed Porthos and Dana as if they had rolled in drunk from the nearest tavern. “I have not seen my friends in a long time. Porthos, D’Artagnan, perhaps you can bring your perspective to the debate.”
Porthos let out a short laugh, but pulled up a chair to the table. “If it’s about your thesis, darling, I doubt I can contribute much.”
Dana followed her lead, sitting beside Porthos. “Unless your thesis is about swords or spaceships,” she added, happy to play along. “We’re good at swords and spaceships.”
Aramis’ eyes gleamed, and she continued with unironic enthusiasm for her topic. “Ah, but you see, it’s all about dogmatism versus idealism, and I am sure you have an opinion as to which most accurately reflects the kind of priest I should become upon my ordination…”
Dana saw Porthos grip the chair arms, her knuckles standing out as white against the brown skin of her hands.
“You mean to go ahead with this?” Porthos asked softly.
“It is the life I have always wanted, dear heart,” Aramis replied, breaking off further discussion about dogmatic theory to smile at her friend. “And – it is the right time, for me.”
Dana realised the exact moment that Porthos gave up: her face pulled itself into an ‘I am happy for you’ expression instead of the more expected ‘if you do this I will burn this abbey to the ground’ expression.
“I think perhaps,” Dana broke in. “Before you make the final decision about this thesis of yours, Aramis, you should consider all the relevant source material.”
The priests blinked at her. Aramis had an odd smile on her face. It lacked the warmth she had turned upon her friends earlier. She was still so beautiful that it made Dana want to cry. “Did you have something in mind, pup?”
Dana slid the letter from Captain Dubois out of the inner pocket in Athos’ jacket. “Like this, for instance.” The paper crackled as she handed the envelope across, placing it into Aramis’ outstretched hand.
Aramis gripped the envelope firmly. It crumpled in her fingers with a sharp sound before she seized control of herself and flattened it out against the surface of the table. After contemplating the envelope for a moment, she tore the letter open and read it silently to herself.
Dana did not dare look at Porthos. She stared at Aramis and waited, well aware that everyone in the room was also staring at Aramis and waiting.
No pressure, or anything.
“Superiors,” Aramis said after a moment. “You will excuse me, please. I must – commit myself to private contemplation for an hour or two. May we pick up this discussion after Matins?” She rose, ushering the priests to the door. “Bazin, see I am not disturbed,” Aramis added, and then closed the door behind the representatives of the seminary.
Porthos turned to look at Aramis, hope alight in her eyes.
Aramis pressed the letter to her chest and grinned the wickedest of grins. “She loves me. Tracy Dubois loves me.”
Dana let out a long huff of air in relief.
“Well, of course she does,” said Porthos, as if she hadn’t doubted for a minute.
“How quickly can we get home to Paris?”
“That depends,” said Dana. “Do you want to collect your ship before you go? Because we might not have enough credit to get the Morningstar out of hock.”
Aramis laughed carelessly. “We’ll work something out.”
Porthos leaped to her feet and gave Aramis a rough hug. “You scared me for a minute there, you rotten cow.”
Aramis kissed her hair. “All for one and one for all, you silly bitch.” She looked over Porthos’ head
to Dana. “Where is he?”
Dana might not be smart enough to contemplate a pre-ordination thesis in theology, but she knew exactly who Aramis was talking about. “Athos is on Valour. We crashed the Parry-Riposte more than a week ago, and I had to leave him and Grimaud to salvage the ship while I completed the mission.”
“He’s down on the planet?” Porthos exclaimed. “You never told me that. That’s not good, Dana. We should have collected him first.”
Dana wanted to point out that they might have lost Aramis to the Church forever if they hadn’t picked her up today, but she knew better than to protest.
Aramis paced back and forth in front of the door. “This is bad. Athos and Valour do not cope well with each other.”
“I’m aware,” Dana said sharply. She wasn’t an idiot.
“Either he’s dead, or there’s no wine left on that planet,” announced Aramis. “I know which option I’d bet my money on.” She tucked the love letter from Tracy Dubois inside her flowing black robes. “Let’s find out where Bazin has hidden my flight suit, and bring home our boy.”
29
The Husband of Athos
“And I thought my ship was in bad shape,” Aramis said sadly, looking at the crumpled heap of metal that remained of the Parry-Riposte. Planchet had tracked the salvage code to a shipyard in the city of Amiens, north of the lake with which Dana had recently become acquainted.
“What are you doing?” Dana asked as Porthos climbed up on top of the nearest charging hub, planting her booted feet astride it.
“I’m noting all the drinking establishments that are visible from this yard,” said Porthos, her eyes slowly sweeping the area from her new high vantage point. “He wouldn’t have walked any further than he had to.”
“Grimaud was wounded,” Dana said, feeling that someone had to defend Athos at this point. “I’m sure the first thing Athos did after getting credit for salvage wasn’t to buy a drink.”
Aramis and Porthos simply looked at her.
Dana sighed. “Fine, okay. But what makes you think he’s nearby, and still drunk? It’s been a week.”
Porthos patted her arm as if she was a child. “It’s not that we’re deliberately thinking the worst of him, Dana. But we know him really, really well.”
“Spread out, take a street each,” said Aramis, cuffing Dana lightly across the back of her head. “I hope he hasn’t run out of credit. Athos shouldn’t have to deal with this planet sober.”
“Hell,” said Porthos. “If we have to deal with Athos dealing with this planet, I don’t want to be sober.”
Athos being sober was the last thing they had to worry about. Dana was assigned to the Rue de Souveray, which sounded far grander than the cobbled alley that it turned out to be. The surfaces in this city were cracked and uneven, another aspect of dirtside life that Dana was glad she would never have to get used to.
It was mid afternoon in this time zone, with the sun already losing its enthusiasm for the day. The bars were not open yet, catering for the nightlife of Amiens. Dana did find a bakery that turned out to be not much help because they didn’t serve wine, and then went further up the street only to discover a dance club. Athos would rather cut off his arm than drink there.
Dana frowned, staring back down the street. To find Athos, she had to think like Athos. Where he would have chosen to drink?
She returned down the sloping street to look more closely at the closed establishments. What about that pub down on the corner? It looked shabby and comfortable; the kind of place where people didn’t ask questions about where your credit came from.
It shouldn’t be closed. A place like that got half its income from serving hearty lunches and letting customers linger at tables long into the afternoon. The Gilded Lily was scrawled on a sign that swung off an iron hook on the corner of the street.
As Dana watched, two customers approached the doors and knocked. They shouted their protest through the door, and eventually sloped off, looking unhappy.
Dana pressed her lips together. There was something going on. She headed down and knocked for herself, peering in through the glass panel (real glass!) in the door.
A man with a broom passed in front of the door and made a vague ‘fuck off’ gesture at Dana, then ignored her. She knocked again, more forcefully.
Finally, the landlord came to the door, holding his broom aggressively. “Not open!” he grunted. “Can’t you read?”
Dana cupped her ear, pretending she could not hear him through the glass.
He opened the heavy door about four inches. “We’re not bloody open, okay? Not today, not tomorrow at this rate.” He paused, staring at Dana’s jacket. “Are you one of them?”
Dana had considered shoving her foot in the door to prevent him from slamming it in her face, but with the size of the landlord and the vibrating anger coming off him, that would be a good way to lose a foot. She backed up from the door. “Am I – one of what?”
“You’re a bloody Musketeer,” snarled the landlord.
Dana squared her shoulders, tired of correcting the world. “Yes, I am,” she lied between her teeth. “I am a bloody Musketeer.”
“Thank Earth and Fire for that.” He reached out and seized her, physically lifting her inside the pub. “Get that sodden, wine-soaked bastard out of my cellar before he destroys everything I have left.”
Ah. This was what professionals would call: a clue. “Wine-soaked bastard?” Dana said innocently.
The landlord shoved at her shoulder. “He’s yours, aye? The maniac with the sword and the woman who looks like a good religious sort but is basically as bad as him?”
Tact was called for here. Tact and subtlety. “Does the wine-soaked bastard have a beard?”
The landlord grabbed Dana around the arms again, propelling her across the floor. “You have to get him out of here. I can’t run a business like this. Can’t even sleep because I keep expecting the arsing sot to set fire to my pub in his ravings. Get him out.”
Dana found herself facing a large, barred doorway. “I can do that,” she said. She should call in Aramis and Porthos. She knew that. And yet – she was the one who had left Athos on this planet. It was up to her to rescue him.
The landlord wrenched the bar off the door. “You’ll be settling his bill before you leave,” he growled.
“Consider it done,” said Dana confidently. She wasn’t sure there was enough credit left for that even with the funds she had received from both Treville and Buckingham. Porthos had been expensive, and Aramis insisted on leaving a generous donation to the abbey as well as getting the Morningstar out of hock. “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Church guards,” the landlord said, and then spat on his own floor. “Hammers. Never liked letting that sort in, especially in red uniforms and spouting Paris accents. But when they give me orders, I know better than to do otherwise, you know?”
Dana didn’t like the sound of this. “Go on.”
“When your man came in, he was quiet enough – the kind who doesn’t want anything to get between him and his glass. The lady wasn’t any trouble either. But a couple of them churchies came in, shouting about how they’d caught him – claimed he was a credit fraud, and the governor himself wanted him in custody.”
Dana nodded grimly. It made sense – they wouldn’t have wanted to admit the real reason to arrest Athos.
“He turned fierce, and the lady too – they fought off the guards and killed them right here on the floor, then barricaded themselves in my cellar. I sent word to the governor about it all, expecting him to send some more men to dig the criminals out of my place.”
Dana looked from the door to the landlord. “How long ago was this?”
“Three, four days.”
“And he’s still down there?”
“The governor didn’t know nothing about it,” the landlord stuttered. “Local enforcement took the bodies but no one wanted to claim them – they weren’t churchies at all, turned out, let alone
from Paris. The credit fraud they’d been talking about, he was arrested three provinces from here.”
“So Athos – my friend – was innocent,” Dana said darkly. “And you’ve kept him imprisoned down there for days.”
“Imprisoned!” the landlord protested. “I’ve tried to give him his damned freedom. I’ve offered it to him on a silver platter. But he and that engineer of his, they refuse to come out. Tried to shoot me last time I put my head around the door, and ordered me to bar it closed.”
Dana did her best not to smirk. “And uh, he’s all right down there? Does he have access to food and medipatches and -”
The landlord turned a furious face upon her. “Food? He has all my bloody printers. My stores. My wine. I can’t open up without them. He’s going to ruin me.”
Dana clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m taking him home.”
“Raving nutter, he is. They go funny sometimes, you know. Them who fight in the wars. It’s not good for a person.”
“Open the door,” said Dana, steeling herself for the worst. “I’m going in.”
The landlord obediently took the bar off with a loud creak. “None of your shooting!” he yelled down into the darkness. “Brought a mate of yours, gonna take you home!”
There was a long silence. Then the bright white light of a pearl stunner flashed in the darkness. Dana ducked fast, going down to her knees.
“Don’t trust you, little man,” called Athos, his New Aristocrat accent ringing out clearly from beneath them.
The sound of his voice made Dana’s stomach tighten. She felt exactly as she had looking upon Aramis’ face for the first time, back at the Crevecoueur Abbey, and at Chantilly Station when she saw for herself that Porthos was alive.
It was all going to be okay now.
“Athos,” she yelled down the stairs into the blackness within. “What did we agree about you and pearl stunners? Stick to the sword, and maybe you won’t hurt yourself.”
There was a silence, and a soft choking sound. “Is that D’Artagnan?”
Musketeer Space Page 27
