. . . “I am aware of the dangers,” she replied solemnly. Her temper fled quickly, though her stubbornness remained relentless. “Besides, that’s irrelevant. I’m already involved. You said so yourself. And…they won’t be able to recognize me if I go as Christophe.” Seeing from her expression that Thomas wasn’t going to let her get away with it, he defiantly made her best point. “Need I remind you that only I know where the papers are now? If you don’t give me your permission, I’ll go anyway and you won’t have those documents, so I implore you to tell me everything I need.” know.”
Thomas shook his head gravely. “Laurel, you have no idea what you’re asking of me. YeahI know you will do what you say. Very good, my daughtercontact Compton in Marseilles and tell him’the three crowns.’ He will give you further instructions. In the meantime, I will still head to Luz and Brussels. I hope you will send me a letter addressed to the estate of the merchant Jacques Devré in Brussels. Also, I’ll try to find you somewhere near Boussac, if possible. Understood?”
Laurel nodded and didn’t press her father further. Both knew better than anyone to work on the subject; there was no time, and it would be useless.
Two stubborn souls weren’t likely to change their ways anytime soon; Had there ever been such a case of like father like daughter before? And they had more pressing matters, like figuring out exactly how they could orchestrate the passing of messages between the two of them so that Thomas could pass important information to his daughter not yet in her possession, and she to him. I pray to God that her old nemesis doesn’t figure out her game or let Thomas get away this time.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The acrid smell of well-roasted food mixed with alcohol and tobacco swirled in the air. Lights flickered and waitresses wandered from table to table, delivering beer and food. Sometimes more than that.
As he was known to do, Porthos was giving d’Artagnan another lesson in wooing women while Aramis looked on with what some might interpret as mild amusement. Even so, he could hardly ever be sure what the man who wanted to be a priest really thought. Not that the young man needed much instruction when it came to Aramis. With that handsome face and body of his and those eyes, not to mention his seductive recklessness, he had already commanded a lot of female attention. It seemed to matter little that he was more reckless than charming, more daring than subtle. Oh well, don’t worry; D’Artagnan knew how to take care of himself most of the time. Besides, the boy was already basically outclassed by Constance Bonacieux, so the boy was in no danger of falling for an unsuitable woman.
No, d’Artagnan could handle himself quite well. It was Athos Aramis who was worried. The man had been drinking heavily. True, he was serious about his drinking, but he drank more than usual, and the man was like hell under his influence. In that condition he might as well strangle or shoot or break the neck of anyone who wasn’t a good friend and accidentally trigger his anger. Not to mention that he ended up saying things that he would later regret.
Still, Aramis could not blame Athos too much. Highly unlikely, Aramis admitted to himself, that he would be better off if he met a wife he believed to be long dead and then discovered that he was an agent of one’s own worst enemy. Nor could it be easy to watch her jump to her death. Very hard. And very hard was surely an understatement.
Of course, Aramis was not married, never had been, so he could not understand the depth of grievance Athos must feel. Aramis gently shook a servant’s arm and excused himself from the table. Wenching could wait another night. There were many beautiful and willing women for him to choose from. Most of the time they threw themselves at him. Methodically, he went to the far corner of the darkened room and stopped the server.
The would-be priest shook his head firmly. “No more drinks for him. I’ll take care of him. Just make sure everyone else stays away from him.” The girl stepped back and Aramis sat down across from her old friend.
“Ah, Aramis, come and toast with me,” said Athos, filling a glass with a trembling hand. He was already beginning to show signs of intoxication, in short, he didn’t hold liquor very well. Not a good indication, as she needed a lot to drink before Athos revealed his drunken state. After a brief pause, the drunken musketeer pushed the filled glass toward the raven-haired man, then took another healthy drink from his mug. He wiped a trickle of beer off his lip with his sleeve, then took another swallow.
Aramis’s deep brown eyes flecked with gold looked up at the older man. He hated to see the usually fastidious Athos reduced to this state. It was like watching his older brother drink himself to death again. “No, thanksThanks, Athos. I’ve had enough to drink.”
“Oh, Yeah‘I almost forgot,’ said Athos condescendingly, ‘no more than one glass of ale a day for the would-be priest. He would not want to offend God by drinking more than in moderation. He could be convicted of that.”
“That’s enough, Athos,” Aramis said softly but firmly as he took the other man’s hand and prevented him from raising the mug to his lips again. The young man’s eyes were cold and unreadable. “We should go to sleep.”
“Listen, Aramis, you may not want a drink for some damn, damned and wrongly noble or self-righteous reasons, but that’s no reason to stop others from enjoying their pleasures as they please. I’ll drink whenever I want. Now let go of my hand, and go get drunk for once or better yet go find yourself a new bitch like you always do.”
Aramis struck the table with Athos’s hand, breaking the jug and cracking the table. Athos moved to throw a punch at the other man. However, his reactions were slowed by the drink and Aramis easily blocked the blow. “Enough“That is enough, Athos,” he said, endeavoring to control his temper with moderate success. You’ve had too much to drink, and I’m not just saying that because I choose not to drink too much. Can’t you see what it does to you, man? Her.” He leaned closer to Athos. I don’t like seeing you like this, and I don’t want to see you drink yourself to death. I’ve seen my brother do that before, and I don’t want to lose one of my best friends in the same way.”
