Chapter Text
❧
“Your friend speak with the chandler again?” Porthos tapped his latest selected card on its edge and debated which one to discard in exchange.
“She may have,” Athos regarded Porthos over the fan of his cards. “I’ve not had an opportunity to speak with her, at least not privately.”
Porthos nodded, selecting the card he wanted to place facing up. “Y’need someone to help create a diversion?”
“No, thank you.”
They had to be cautious; their own investigation was ongoing and concealed from the Captain or anyone outside the two men sitting next to the common room’s fireplace. Gathering information and clues to Gallagher’s men had to be done in secret: the men had the Cardinal’s protection. It also meant the process was slow, but they were both determined to uncover what they could about the mercenaries.
“I hope to make a visit later this week.” Athos confirmed, and snatched up Porthos’ discard.
“Now yer doin’ it on purpose,” grumbled Porthos. “No way y’needed the last three I put down.”
“I assure you I am not,” Athos said. “Perhaps I am just fortunate you are choosing to toss out the very cards I need?”
Athos’ mustache tilted with the twitch of his lip, but Porthos didn’t detect a lie. He’d never cheat a friend – he’d bluff – but unless he openly stated his intent to use tricks he would never employ them against a friend. He was tempted to break that self-imposed rule.
“We’ll discover their game.” Athos assured, eyes flicking to the fire as he waited for Porthos’ next move. He took a sip from his glass and said nothing further.
Porthos nodded, trying to focus on their own game.
He’d just drawn a card from the deck when yowling noises pierced the silence between them. The disturbance carried on and animalistic cries that could shatter the ear were followed by the taunts of boys yelling over one another. The commotion continued as they simultaneously threw down their cards.
❧
“Got you now!”
“Catch it!”
“M’gonna cut its tail off!”
“Poke out its eye!”
Porthos’ build was as deceptive as his affable nature seemed a mismatch; most assumed he could best them in a fight and didn’t test him, but others underestimated his capacity for anger. His fists clenched at the sight of the young men crowding the area in front of the garrison. It was their prey that had Porthos locking his muscles against punching his way through the adolescents.
He sensed Athos coming up behind him and they both stepped forward at the next high-pitched cry.
“Get away from him!” Porthos bellowed. He lumbered forward keeping his shoulders hunched forward, all power and muscle; his arms loomed at his sides.
Athos meanwhile tracked the tangled netting and strings that were dragging along the ground in their midst. One slender, furry, leg extended through the entangled bindings to paw at the ground; the cat attempted to pull itself away from them despite the mess ensnaring him. The braziers in the arch of the garrison reflected in the amber eyes as they darted towards Porthos’ voice.
“I said get back!”
“Easy we’re goin’ – soon as we get our prize.”
“C’mere ya furry rat!” One of the boys stepped on the trailing end of the net, his weight no match for the small creature he trapped.
The dark face smushed into the bindings, eyes glowing with the firelight as he peered up at Porthos. A cry for his assistance was nearly lost under the jeers of the frenzied youths. The gangly one stepping on the ropes didn’t care that the cat continued clawing the ground, ineffectually pulling against the tether.
Athos admired the resilience and his anger nearly allowed his judgment to cloud: to let Porthos do as he wished.
As it was he smiled in unrestrained pleasure when Porthos grabbed the boy and lifted him by the collar: completely off the ground.
“What the hell?”
“Let him down!”
“Lemme go!”
Athos glared the remainder of boys into submission. Once their leader had been challenged they hesitated, unsure of what to do. Like many men who only followed the will of a crowd the boys were lost when the loudest among them was silenced; they were as easily cowed as they were led.
His honor would not abide standing by to witness such a fierce creature brought low.
‘Monsieur Charbonneau’ as Porthos so fondly named the cat, sensed it was free to move and didn’t hesitate. Unable to free itself of the knotted mess around him, the cat began to limp for the garrison while his tormentors were occupied with Porthos.
He looked up at Athos.
One fore-paw lifted.
Athos judged it best to use his hands to pick him up rather than follow his desire to smash a fist into the nearest young man.
“St John's Eve’s next week!”
“We need it!”
The one nearest Porthos and the young man he held cried out in protest.
Athos could feel the subtle tremble from the cat, but it was unclear if he was frightened or angry. His own hands were tense from restraining himself and he tried to soften his arms to gentle the cat’s reaction. His stomach soured at the thought of what these boys – these children – had intended.
“You do not.” Athos ordered them; his voice was cold, eyes hard. “You will not harm this, or any other, cat.”
“What d’you care...it’s just a stray.”
“Yeah and black ones are the worst.”
The one Porthos held tried to kick at him. “Bet it’d have squirmed and writhed real wild over the bonfire.”
Emboldened by their captured leader’s cruel taunt the others piled on like a pack of rabid dogs to scraps. “It’s a Devil’s creature!”
“Made enough noise when we were after it!”
Porthos’ voice was lower than Athos expected. He was livid though he doubted the boys could tell just how much, even with the tension in his frame. His normally warm baritone was underpinned with restrained rage. “Y’think it’s amusing? Held trapped and squirming? Wanna see how you like it?”
With only one arm holding him aloft Porthos raised the dirt-faced boy to eye-level. For the spindly teen that was nearly a yard off the ground.
“Maybe I’ll hold you over the brazier? Hmm? Think yer friends’ll find that entertainin’?”
The boy’s eyes went wide and he renewed his struggling; it was futile against Porthos’ greater strength. Especially since Porthos was only using one arm. As much as Athos was tempted to allow Porthos his threats and revenge he doubted the Captain would look fondly on his men pummeling miscreants in front of the garrison.
Their time was better spent assisting the wounded cat. He didn’t like what he’d heard and liked even less what he observed. Better to get the cat into the light and assess the damage.
“Porthos.”
“What.” Porthos didn’t take his gaze from the one he held.
“We made a promise of our protection, remember?”
“S’what I’m doing.”
Athos couldn’t object that their rescue was timely, and clearly necessary, but he was eager to see to the cat. He looked at the gathered boys, his voice a hinted warning. “We’ve made our point. Haven’t we?”
“Men aren’t meant to be cruel, and good men protect those that can’t defend themselves.” Turning to each of the assembled offenders his protective inclination made him a shade cruel and he was pleased to see scratches on their hands. He made sure to catch their eyes as his own passed over them. “There will be no more threats to this or any other cat. Should so much as a paw come to harm there will be reprisal.”
Like all bullies, adrift absent their leader’s prompting, the boys began to shuffle and fidget under the confrontation.
Athos gripped the bundle in his arms a fraction tighter when a meow followed his words.
The sound reached Porthos; and Athos assumed it prompted him to remember ‘Monsieur Charbonneau’ and their vow.
“He’s not a stray. Y’hear me? This cat’s under protection of the Musketeers, understand? Y’leave him alone.” He shook the lad he held with a sharp turn of his wrist.
Athos could feel the approving rumble from the cat, the soft sounds a low-thrumming against Athos’ doublet.
He lowered the young villain he held, but he did not release the fabric he’d clutched at the boy’s nape. “Better not catch you near here, or him, again.” He let the instigator go with a shove. “Keep away.”
Needing no further prompting and not wanting to risk their own feet being threatened over the fire the group took off. Athos and Porthos both watched a few moments longer after their backs had disappeared from view. The cat in his arms watched too.
“Porthos?” Athos called his friend back to their present concern. He gestured his chin at the cat still snared in the tangle of bindings.
He went loose-limbed as soon as his eyes landed on the bundled in Athos’ arms. “You heard what they said.”
“Yes, I heard.”
❧
“Here, let me have ‘im?” Porthos touched Athos’ shoulder as Monsieur Charbonneau craned his head to try to look backwards at them. “Yer hands are steadier.”
Athos’ expression was more open than he’d meant, but Porthos’ protectiveness stunned him.
“I’m too angry to cut him free of this, I don’t want to risk catching him on accident.”
The kindness in this man, so broad and tall that near everyone moved naturally from his path on the streets, caught Athos off guard. Although after what they’d stumbled on – what they’d been just in time to prevent – he was not surprised Porthos’ instincts were flared. He smiled with a soft laugh before he could prevent the reaction.
“What?” Still charged from their altercation Athos expected if Porthos had fur it’d be standing on end.
“Nothing, my friend.” He walked a bit closer to the fireplace, angling his back to it to be safe. It was not as if the cat had understood what had been said, but with what he thought he saw on the fur he wished to take care. “Don’t hold him too close to the fire. I fear he’s been doused with pine tar.”
“What!” Porthos bent down, peering at the patches of dark fur visible between the threads and loops.
Athos’ arms had extended slightly with his intent to hand the cat to Porthos. There was a little space between them and one foreleg poked through to reach toward the bending man’s face.
“Little monsters,” Porthos complained. “S’okay, give that here.”
“Porthos.”
“They are! What kind of person does this to a cat, huh?” Porthos hurried to pull off his glove, heedless of the filth on the cat, and cupped the dirty paw in one large, warm palm.
Athos expected from the helpless frustration in Porthos’ voice that he knew very well the type of person that would. Neither of them had shared specifics of their upbringing, but everything he’d pieced together indicated Porthos had seen and experienced cruelty of this sort.
A very faint mew interrupted Athos’ musing.
Poking at the stiff fur Porthos rubbed two fingers together, and confirmed Athos’ assumption. “Sticky, we’re gonna have to get that out.”
For a man who worried moments before about his strength bringing accidental harm he had the lightest touch for the delicate limb he held.
“Not sure he’s gonna be keen for a bath,” Porthos muttered as he looked about the common room for what they might use. “Best to get that stuff cut off him first.”
“Here,” Athos transferred the lithe figure to Porthos, the other man rising to accept the trapped cat. “Set him down…”
Athos cleared their abandoned cards and tucked the stack on the mantle. He pulled his main-gauche from his belts hanging over the chair and eyed the mess the cat was wound up in. “He’ll tolerate being cleaned, isn’t that right Master Cat?”
If Porthos thought it odd that Athos addressed the cat he didn’t show it; generally Athos talked about ‘Monsieur Charbonneau’ rather than at him in Porthos’ presence. He narrowed his eyes at Athos, a minor indication of his curiosity, before he turned his attention to the mass tangle of rope and twine around the cat. As the cat looked around one ear bent under a rope while the other popped free and stuck from the open weave of the carelessly constructed net.
“Let’s get you outta there first,” Porthos angled the cluster of bindings and cat so that Monsieur Charbonneau could crouch on the table. He looked back up, hands hovering either side of the cat, while he sat at the table. A quick nod to Athos and he moved his own palms lower to hem in Monsieur Charbonneau.
The bedraggled feline meowed and batted at the net, albeit ineffectively. Worried he might snag a claw or entangle himself further Porthos motioned for Athos to stop. He caught the edges of the agitated paw and flicked a glance to Athos. “Easy, easy, we’re gonna get you free.”
“Can y’slice through ‘em?” Porthos lowered his chin to the fist he made on the table with his other hand; eye to eye with Monsieur Charbonneau.
“It’ll take a while,” Athos kept his gloves on and pinched a selection of the grimy cords between his fingers. “Keep him distracted? It would be preferable if he didn’t panic or make any sudden movements.”
“He won’t panic,” Porthos smiled and squeezed the sides of the paw with light pressure. He rubbed his thumb over the sticky fur, but failed to dislodge any of the sap; he did manage to notice it was the same paw he’d healed with Aramis’ ‘magic’ salve. He smiled at the face gazing back at him through the temporary prison. “He’s a fighter; a survivor. Y’see what he did to ‘em?”
He spoke to them both, though mostly Athos, but he kept his eyes on Monsieur Charbonneau’s. “Outnumbered and cornered, but he was still fightin’ ‘em.”
Athos’ smirk shifted his beard. He cut another rope and unwound a cluster near the cat’s haunches.
The tips of Monsieur Charbonneau’s ears rotated toward Porthos and he let out a meow. His amber eyes glinted in the firelight. For a moment Porthos fancied he understood, maybe not all the words – but he sensed they were assisting him. He had their support. “And he knows we’re helping him, don’t you?”
“I imagine he’s not thinking of much after that ordeal.” Athos’ voice was firm, sure – like the cuts he made into the makeshift netting. It looked like something dragged from the sea, detritus and undefinable slick bits stuck into the tight-woven rope.
He glanced at Athos and then at the fire, remembering the boys’ taunts. His mouth formed the start of a word, but he closed it and swallowed back his response at the thought of what Monsieur Charbonneau had faced. What they’d potentially – almost certainly – rescued him from.
Porthos released the paw he held in favor of wriggling his fingers between the knotted bits over Monsieur Charbonneau’s head.
He looked at the fire and felt cold.
A stray they’d called him.
A Devil’s creature.
The words they’d said; the child-like glee at the prospect of a tortured cat squirming and writhing in pain. The thought of the small body on the table contorted – trapped – while subjected to pain was a thought too awful for him to imagine. Even the phantom vision made his head ache. He felt as though someone had slipped fingers beneath his ribs and tugged.
“Porthos?” Athos’ eyes were fixed on the twine, his dagger flashing a reflected bit of firelight on the upstroke.
A soft mew trailed Athos’ inquiry.
“They were gonna – and,...for fun.” His eyes remained on Monsieur Charbonneau. Unable to verbalize the clash of his upset and his relief he stroked his fingers over the tacky fur. He continued watching his trapped friend as his other worked to free him.
Before he’d registered the movement Monsieur Charbonneau’s second paw worked through the loop of his soft manacles. The pads of that paw were on his cheek and Porthos froze. His mouth trembled a bit at the gesture even if he’d no idea what prompted the cat. Maybe he could sense how Porthos felt, or maybe he was looking for comfort after the abuse he’d suffered. It didn’t matter, they’d saved him.
“Y’ever seen one?”
“What?” Athos asked, his long fingers separating and unknotting the soiled restraints.
“Bonfires...when they...s’it real?”
“I don’t know.” Athos placed his palm over the section he freed. “Be still, please.”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t have enough open for him to wriggle out as he’s attempting.”
“He’d not moving up here…” Porthos eyed Monsieur Charbonneau, the paw on his face slid to the table near enough to feel against his fist. The other paw remained in Porthos’ hand and neither had indicated the cat moving.
“They’re rather flexible, half the body moving without the other half being disturbed.”
“Never noticed.”
“I suspect it’s part of how they’re able to squeeze into so many tight spaces.” Athos guessed as he slit another section, flinging the knotted clump to the table.
“And outta trouble,” one corner of Porthos’ mouth lifted, then dropped. “Didn’t work too well tonight.”
“Thank goodness we were there then.” Athos pulled at a tight section and Monsieur Charbonneau gave a sharp cry of complaint.
“What’s wrong?”
“I expect you’re asking me?” Athos’ head was bent down and slightly away. “There’s a section here stuck to his fur. It’s better if I cut around it, we can soak it loose.”
“Why’d he – ”
“I didn’t realize it was stuck before I attempted to pull that bit free.” Athos said. “I suspect it hurt.”
“Oh,” Porthos raised his head to place that hand on Monsieur Charbonneau’s head. He rubbed his thumb on the small forehead and worked his fingers around the twine and ropes. “These parts feel loose, but I can feel sticky bits.”
“They probably dumped a bucket of it on him,” Athos eyed the dark shape and the lumped mess surrounding him, “his tail is matted down with it as well.”
Porthos’ response was nothing short of a growl – an inarticulate sound that welled from within his chest in place of his ability to form words. A hot rush of anger pulsed throughout his muscles, but he didn’t want to scare his friend. Either one of them.
“They’d’ve done it.” Porthos said, his voice menacing since there was no one before him that he could take out his anger.
“Those rotten kids, if they’d had...they could’ve lit a bit of wood – or just,” he swallowed, his anger giving way to the horror of the finished thought, “tossed him on one of our braziers…”
A mew sounded before the mass left around Monsieur Charnonneau moved as he dragged the remaining net and bindings along when he tried to move closer to Porthos.
“Sorry,” Porthos sniffed, watching the struggling cat, “you’re alright, yer gonna be fine…”
Porthos rubbed behind one pointed ear as Athos sliced and separated a few more clumped spots of twine and fur. He looked back at the small face that always seemed to be studying; assessing him, Athos, the world – looking for mischief as often as pleasure. He wondered what his small friend had been up to that found him waylaid by the group.
“Y’ever seen it happen?”
“What?”
“The...when they, bonfires, feu de joie, katten- katt, whatever they called it in Belgium, and the like, when – in Paris for, even some of the kings have overseen, and they say that…”
“Porthos.” Athos and Monsieur Charbonneau’s eyes were fixed on him. “I haven’t, no. I have heard, and I expect there are many capable of such.”
Porthos shook his head, he’d heard and he’d stopped anyone he’d ever seen so much as kick an animal, he couldn’t imagine what joy people got attain from harming others.
“People burn other people at the stake, if they are convinced such is justified it’s little matter to them to toss a few animals into flames if they believe it will ward off evil.”
“He’s only a cat…” Porthos said, moving his hands to help peel away more of the ropes. “He’s not evil...he’s, well…”
Porthos broke off when the small head shook the cut-up net, batting at the ropes and strings to free his face. Before Porthos could raise a hand to pet the newly freed cat his chin was knocked upward when Monsieur Charbonneau rushed forward to butt his face against Porthos. When his body caught up to the proceedings he drew a palm along Monsieur Charbonneau’s spine and tried not to be too disheartened by the sticky, crusted clumps he felt.
“Don’t understand what leads anyone to think torturing a cat, or any animal, growing up people said they liked to hear their screams.”
Porthos was glad Monsieur Charbonneau was safe, and continued to let them near him – after being tormented he still recognized they weren’t going to hurt him.
“Swept up in a frenzy, the opportunity to affix all blame for your troubles to a tangible, and destructible, source? Some people would commit many cruelties they’d otherwise deny themselves capable of if asked.” Athos paused, and cleared the remnants and scraps of the netting into a pile at one corner of the table. He looked at Porthos and the cat, studying the clusters of fur and moved off to retrieve the means to remove the tar.
Moving off to the shelves, he collected what they’d need. Porthos kept up his calming gestures – whether for himself or the cat didn’t seem to matter. “I suspect it’s as it was over the centuries of the scourings and expulsions.”
Athos pulled down a large bowl and set the oil, cloths and various other supplies in it before he pulled down a pitcher. He considered asking Porthos to carry over a bucket of water, but something told him it would be cruel to separate the pair. “There are those that will say ‘not I’ until they are given the choice absent repercussion. Once convinced to fear or blame there’s few boundaries left to convince someone to abandon the duties or morals they previously upheld. It is easier to be noble in thought when you do not have to prove it with your actions: a claim of duty does not prove one will fulfill it.”
“Yeah.” Porthos watched him set down the items and tracked him retrieving the bucket. “Those kids weren’t afraid...”
“No,” Athos put the bucket close to the hearth and began laying out the items from the bowl on the table. “I doubt either of us wish to theorize long on their intentions.”
“Stop, let’s…” Porthos shook his head, as though they could all so easily shake away the horrors of past and present, “enough talkin’ about it, let’s not upset him any further.”
“No,” a tiny smile curled the edges of Athos’ mouth, “best not to upset him.”
He moved to slide two fingers along the limp tail where it stretched along the table. “We’ll need to loosen this first, how stiff is the fur on his back?”
Porthos suppressed thoughts of how combustible the pine tar was and rubbed patches between his thumb and forefinger. “We’re gonna need to work the oil over it first.”
Athos nodded and poured some into the palm Porthos turned up in his direction.
As they rubbed and massaged the oil into the affected fur, they were silent. The only noises were the crackling fire and the building rumbles from the cat. Monsieur Charbonneau remained calm and cooperative, lifting his paws and even seeming to shift to help direct their hands. They worked the sticky substance free patch by patch.
“Looks like we can avoid cuttin’ any of it.” He smiled at Monsieur Charbonneau. “Be a shame, marring such a fine coat.”
A meow sounded before Athos could confirm they wouldn’t need to, but thankfully it appeared Porthos was correct. “We’ll need to let that sit for a few moments, let it soften – then we’ll cleanse the fur.”
Porthos scratched the pointed chin and snatched up the lump of net and severed bindings. “Let’s get rid of this.”
“Porthos, wait!”
Before Athos could prevent the action, Porthos tossed the mess into fire. The combustible pine tar flashed back instantly, sparks and flames rising – an odd echo of the intended bonfire originally planned. Athos’ eyes darted to the cat, expecting to see it shrink away; but, there was a gleam in Monsieur Charbonneau’s eyes, as he seemed to looked at the fire with approval.
Porthos didn’t regret his actions when he glanced down and saw the cat staring back at him.
Athos shook his head, all of the drama making him imagine meaning in natural animal behavior. “Come, let’s remove the last of this.”
Again they worked quietly, only remarking where they needed to wash or asking the cat to be still. Porthos did most of the chattering at Monsieur Charbonneau. The cat, meanwhile, seemed amenable to being moved and mainly opened his mouth to yawn or mew for attention to a spot they missed.
“Seems you were right.” Porthos stroked a wet cloth over one foreleg, plucking gently at the fur over the paw. “Guessing that’s a story there…”
Athos merely quirked his lips at the purring cat.
❧
“Since they’re both away, guess you’re stayin’ with me tonight...”
Monsieur Charbonneau had taken the stairs two at a time ahead of Athos and Porthos, as though he needed to prove he was back to himself. He followed the men down the hall and pushed ahead of Porthos into his bedroom, after nudging against Athos’ leg in an indication of thanks. Or, as Athos said, because ‘that’s what cats do.’
Porthos didn’t fuss, he was only concerned that Monsieur Charbonnaeu was alive. He forced his thoughts from slipping into the terrible stories and rumors he’d heard. As Monsieur Charbonneau stretched out next to him he felt a renewed sense of protectiveness. Being one of the Musketeers had been about the status and the path it would open for his life, but he also believed in their purpose, their brotherhood.
Porthos knew they weren’t musketeers, not yet, and neither he nor Athos was bound by ‘all for one and one for all’ – yet. But the promise they’d made to each other, they’d proven it back and forth between them since that night. And now, they’d even fulfilled Porthos’ promise to Monsieur Charbonneau.
“You’re safe now,” Porthos told the sleepy, purring, shape settled next to him, “l told you we’d look out for you too.”
❧