Still a bit uncomfortable about the scene earlier that day, the man ddi not speak much when they entered a tavern later that day. Inside, D'artagnan gave Arimis a sideways look and grinned. He knew what was coming...
And as sure as God made green apples, it happened...
They had done this many times before, and they had never done this without a good cause.
Arimis tried to manage a glare through his smiles, but finally, he did it and shoved the back of a seat, toppling Porthos to the floor. This was just another one of the pairs “battles”. Drawing swords, the friends took each other on, lunging and diving, parrying and swooping their swords in and out, in and out. Never once did they hit one another, but Diego was surprised to see a roasted chicken go from Arimis’ sword, through the air, and into the hands of D’artagnan, who handed it to Athos, who put it under his long black cloak.
This was very uncalled for...and Diego was now sure that these men, did not follow the rules all the time. And these were not the kind of fellows he should have been with...But they seemed to see no fault with it. He knew that they had no money whatsoever, and, though it was stealing, they were having fun.
D'artagnan suddenly jumped in the fight. Any other person would have stayed on the sideline if they were him, for one reason or another, he was always the one to end with soar jaws and bruises on his arms. But not him! He was the one who jumped into any fight that came his way...or that he came to...
Absorbed in what he was thinking, Diego had failed to notice Athos scooping salt into a purse not far away from him. When this done, so was the rest of the group with their fight. And as quickly as they had started it, they got out of that tavern.
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The rest of the night was spent being merry. And by the time it was over, Athos and Porthos were dead drunk.
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Silently, the twenty-three-year-old man pushed his plumed hat so that it almost fell off the back of his head. He had left his drunken and loud friends, intending to be back before he was missed. But that was an hour ago. Now, he was still outside.
Across the street he saw half a dozen of the Cardinal's gaurds, standing together and laughing at some sort of joke or another. Only one nodded politely at a red-haired girl who just walked on through the middle of the group, not paying one bit of attention to any of them whatsoever. Her eyes had a look in them as if she had just been fighting with the devil himself...and lost.
D'artagnan quickly sidestepped out of her path. He did not think it would be a good thing to make this girl cross, especially in his present state. Surprisingly, insted of storming past him as she had the Cardinal's gaurds, she stepped so that she was directly in front of him, thrust a letter at his chest, and left without a word.
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"Monsieur, I have something rather interesting for you.... Meet me in an ally behind the Luxembourg with your four friends....Athos, Porthos, Arimis and the Spanierd at one o'clock tomarrow night. ~A friend"
Arimis finished reading and glanced at D'artagnan, whose gaze was fixed on the window. None of them had an idea as to what to do, other than to go to the ally, as the note stated.
"I do believe," Athos spoke up, "that the lingering question is this: why would a red-haired girl whom we have never seen in our lives ask us, whom she has not met, to come to a back-ally in the middle of the night?"
No one tried to answer.
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Five
