Chapter Text
Auxerre, France
The sun was high up in the sky, and the air was filled with the sounds of soft waves brushing against stone in the river nearby. The wooden sign of a tavern slowly swung in the wind and creaked awfully. It was the middle of the day, and the citizens of Auxerre were hurrying across the street to get their tasks done.
They all jumped aside when a man on a horse appeared, accompanied by three other soldiers. The pauldrons on their shoulders indentified them as musketeers, the King’s elite guard, led by their Captain, Tréville.
He came to a stop in front of the tavern, and turned around to one of his men, who was talking quietly to him.
“All I’m saying, Captain, is that we should check it out, maybe they’ll need our help,” the musketeer next to Tréville called Devin was saying.
The Captain raised an eyebrow.“Really? We’re musketeers, not some common arbiters for some drunken men’s fist fights. No, I think they’ll deal with it on their own. If they wish to be drunk at this time of the day, it’s not my fault.”
“But Sir, I really think...”
“No, we don’t have time for this, Devin,” Tréville said angrily. “We’re already late. Athos and the others are waiting for us, and I’m awaiting their report.”
He jumped off his horse energetically and knotted the reins around a wooden pillar. He glared at Devin one last time before he opened the tavern’s door, the urgency written all over his face. The scent of wine and bread came pouring out of the building and Tréville embraced it. He had spent the last week accompanying the Baroness de Villiers and her son to Auxerre, where he was supposed to meet up with Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan, as well as another musketeer group that would return from their duty today.
He wanted to give them new orders here, so he did not have to travel all the way back to Paris again to meet up with them.
Tréville entered the sticky tavern and walked over to a broad table with a can of water, and with a gesture of his hand, he invited the others to join him, before he let himself drop on a chair.
His eyes searched the area, and when he discovered no other musketeers, he called the keeper of the tavern over to his table.
“Monsieur, have you seen any musketeer’s lately? Have they arrived yet?”
The tavern’s owner, an old man with a giant, grey moustache, shook his head.
“No, Sir. Your group is the first one this week. We don’t see musketeers here very often.”
With those words, he left, and Tréville felt the stares of his soldiers on him.
“So, no trace of Athos, Porthos, Aramis or d’Artagnan yet?” one of them asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “How shocking.”
“Yeah,” Devin joined in. “Last time I was supposed to be on guard duty with Porthos, he was delayed by an hour because he needed to sort out a fight caused by one of his card tricks.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, he cheated,” the third one grumbled into his beard.
“And Aramis once missed a parade because a woman did not let go of him. Can you believe that?” Devin continued.
“What exactly are you trying to tell me?” Tréville cut in sharply.
Another man shrugged. “That they’re not always the most punctual men. No need to worry, Captain. They’ll arrive, eventually.”
Tréville scowled. “First off, you of all people have no right to point out mistakes some of my best men made once or twice in their careers. Second, Athos and d’Artagnan are with them too. Tell me, did Athos ever not arrive on time?”
That was a question his soldiers had no answer to, so they just steered their gazed back to the wooden table, cradling a cup of water between their fingers.
Tréville’s eyes burned holes into the building’s door, but then, he sighed.
“If they’re not here this afternoon, we’ll search for them.” He waved with his hand. “Until then, feel free to get some rest. You all deserved it.”
His musketeers grunted approvingly and gathered their stuff, when they heard loud noises from outside, startled gasps and the nickering of a horse that was forced to a violent halt.
Tréville rose from his chair and wanted to look for the source of this riot, but he did not have to. The tavern’s door was kicked open again, and out of reflexes, the Captain drew his pistol. When he spotted the man filling out the doorframe, however, he relaxed visibly and tucked his pistol back into his holster.
“Francois,” he greeted the senior musketeer. “I see you’re making a habit out of your dramatic entrances.”
A flash of confusion passed the musketeer’s face and he just left it uncommented and took his hat off, before he quickly walked over to his captain. Tréville sceptically searched for more men to come in behind Francois.
“Where are the others? You did not go on the mission alone, if I remember correctly?” Tréville asked sternly.
Francois shook his head. “My brothers stayed in Tonnerre. We delivered the letter, but something else required our attention.”
“Like what?” the Captain wanted to know.
“People vanished there. Without a trace. Without any evidence of fighting. So I volunteered to report to you, Sir.” He let his gaze wander over the assembled musketeers. “Athos and the others haven’t arrived yet?”
Tréville shook his head with a dark expression on his face.
“Not yet. According to plan, they should’ve passed Cablis this morning and arrived here an hour ago.”
“Chablis, Sir?” Francois furrowed his brow in confusion.
Tréville grunted. “Yes. Their main mission was to accompany the diplomat, but afterwards, they were supposed to stop in Chablis to deliver a letter from me to an old friend.” He narrowed his eyes when he saw Francois’ worried features. “Spit it out, Francois.”
“I just came back from Chablis, Sir,” Francois said slowly. “The people there claim they haven’t seen musketeers in weeks.”
“What?” the word escaped Tréville’s mouth before he could think about it. He quickly gathered his thoughts. “Are you sure?”
Francois raised his hands defensively. “The people there looked at me like they’ve never seen a musketeer before. So I asked them. Turns out, in fact, they haven’t. So wherever they are, they have never passed Chablis.”
“But the main road runs through the village,” Tréville said, more to himself than to anyone else.
“Perhaps they’ve taken a little detour? Or were forced to do so?” Francois suggested.
“No, there aren’t many detours they could take. Travelling offside the road harms the horses after a time, so they would’ve been stupid to do so. And we all know they aren’t stupid.” Tréville bit his lip, thinking.
“So, either they are that slow with their missions, or...” one of Tréville’s musketeer’s speculated, but their captain cut him off.
“This is Athos we’re talking about,” Tréville hissed. “And Aramis, Porthos and d’Artagnan. No matter what you think about them, but this behaviour is unusual!”
“Something might have happened,” Francois added, not helping at all.
“That’s what I’m trying to...” Tréville buried a hand in his hair. “Never mind. Our task here is done. Chablis is barely more than an hour from here. Perhaps we can start our search there and find out what happened.”
“If something happened,” Devin said, and received an angry stare from his Captain.
“Devin, you go and tell the Baroness de Villiers that she has to stay at her house for now. My duty calls.”
“Isn’t it your duty to protect her?” Devin asked innocently, and Tréville was close to just punching him.
“No!” he bellowed as he holstered his pistol. “That’s yours now. Move, before I forget myself!”
Devin’s eyes widened, and he quickly took a bow before he had to experience the legendary wrath of the musketeer’s captain nobody wanted to suffer gladly. Then he ran out of the tavern, and Tréville followed him, mounting his horse. Francois and the others followed his image, all with rather worried looks on their faces.
“Sir, despite all, I have to ask,” Révier, a musketeer sitting on the large black horse next to Tréville, spoke up. “What makes you think something happened to them? Devin could be right and they could just be delayed.”
Tréville swallowed down a snappy response and tightened his grip around the reins.
“Those four share a connection beyond my comprehension. And I have to admit I look at them as not only my musketeers, but also my friends. I have a responsibility, and I have a feeling that tells me something is wrong. If you doubt me, Révier, feel free to spend the next few days with Devin.”
Shock glistered in Révier’s dark eyes for a moment, but then he looked up at his captain with a certain determination.
“I’d never doubt you, Sir.”
-MMMM-
South of Chablis, France
The water of the river was gently brushing over the flat stones. The warm rays of the late midday sun warmed the shallow water, but the tall, sharp treetops of the surrounding forest cast dark shadows across the river, as if it knew what had happened hours before.
The silence was depressing, and no human soul could be seen. But a horse was grazing on a piece of meadow nearby, a large, brown animal, which was furnished with a leather saddle and a beautifully adorned bridle. The rider was nowhere to be seen, and the horse was peacefully occupied.
Nearby was stony bridge, connecting the two river banks, some of the stones looked old and morbid, covered in moss and dirt. An abandoned hat was lying on the ground, stamped and torn. Next to it, a sword with a golden, decorated hilt, as well as a pistol, which had been prepared, but never fired.
Near the railing, gathered in between two cracked cobble stones, was a pool of blood, some drops could be seen on the railing itself too, already dried by the warm sun.
The birds were singing cheerfully, framing the abandoned battle scene in a grotesque atmosphere.
And no man could be seen.