Seven Days of Joyeux Part 5
“Seven Days of Joyeux” is a Musketeer Space prequel novella by Tansy Rayner Roberts. For more Musketeer hijinks, check out the Musketeer Space Table of Contents. This festive novella is brought to you by my generous Patreon supporters.
Go back to Day 1.
Go back to Day 2.
Go back to Day 3.
Go back to Day 4
Go back to Joyeux Table of Contents.
It was 08:00 hours on the morning of Amends, and two of the three Musketeers known to their colleges as ‘the inseparables’ were severely hungover.
The other one was Athos.
“Your face is alarming,” groaned Porthos, who found it difficult to even lift her face from the table at the canteen outside Treville’s office. They usually avoided this place, because all three of them had a tendency to pick fights when they socialised too often with Musketeers besides each other. However, given that the Stellar Concourse, Marie Antoinette Esplanade and a bunch of their other favourite places on Paris Satellite were currently under several feet of snow, this was a much better idea.
“It’s the smile that makes it creepy,” said Aramis, wincing as Athos placed a cup of tea in a china cup and saucer before Porthos, a double shot chai latte in front of Aramis, and then presented a plate of savoury pastries for them to share. “Food. Athos, you don’t approve of food in the morning.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Athos, breaking pieces off a croissant and actually putting them in his mouth. “I wasn’t drinking last night.”
His two friends stared at him in mutual horror. “Misrule was yesterday,” Aramis said finally. “The solar system isn’t still supposed to be topsy turvy.” She shook her hair out, which she hadn’t managed to capture yet into its usual severe topknot. Glitter fell out of it. “Damn it, I had two showers this morning, where does the stuff keep coming from?”
“I see you’re back on the coffee,” grouched Porthos, as Athos knocked back an espresso with every appearance of cheer.
“Life’s too short to be without,” he said in a saintly voice. “ I drank vegetable juice when I first woke up. Genuine vitamins.”
Aramis collapsed slowly, resting her forehead gingerly on the table. “I woke up with a unicorn between my thighs.”
Porthos patted her friend on one shoulder. “Never tell me more details. Never ever.” She herself had awoken with Chef Coquenard pressed against her back, and it had been all she could do to convince him that no, she did not want him to feed her hangover, no matter how many sweet promises he made about blueberry pancakes.
“You three, in here, NOW!” roared Amiral Treville from her doorway. No one else in the canteen even turned a hair because ‘you three’ always meant one specific group of Musketeers.
Porthos trailed after Athos and Aramis into Treville’s plexi-glass office.
“Scrape yourselves off the floor, ratbags, I need you for a – what the HELL happened to Athos?”
Athos smiled sweetly at her. “Made good choices during Misrule, sir. Also, I had a healthy breakfast. I might make a habit of it, actually.”
“He’s doing it to spite us, sir,” sighed Aramis. “We’re trying not to be traumatised, but we might need to put in for therapy after the holiday.”
Treville folded her arms, her face taking on its usual resting expression of ‘Musketeers make me crazy.’ “I hate that I trust you three enough to send you on regular missions. I have grey hairs with your names on them. Look!”
Athos pretended to look and then gave Treville a charming smile. “Only adds to your mature-aged allure, sir. It’s distinguished.”
A low rumble that might have been a growl emerged from the depths of Treville’s barrel-shaped chest. No one was fooled. They all knew that Athos was her favourite.
“We’ll try to keep him from upsetting people,” Porthos promised, and then thought about what she had just said. “We’ll keep him away from people.”
“The Red Guard have detained a large number of suspects in the Winterlight-Joyeux terrorism case,” Treville said, obviously deciding to go ahead with their mission despite the fact that Athos being chipper might well herald the beginning of an apocalypse.
“Hang on,” said Athos, frowning. “Isn’t that our jurisdiction? This case is about royal security, not…”
“We share responsibility for the safety of Paris Satellite with the Church of All, Captain-Lieutenant,” Treville said sharply. “And given that eight different places of worship found themselves knee-deep in fucking SNOW overnight, the Regent did not hesitate to give her Eminence the Cardinal free rein to do whatever she wished in pursuit of the culprits.”
“That means the Musketeers and the Sabres and the Red Guard are all going to be tripping over themselves until this case is solved, sir!” protested Aramis.
“Yes,” said Treville without hesitation. “Too bloody right, Aramis. And there’s nothing we can do but suck it up and make the best of it. As I was saying, her Eminence has gracefully allowed me to send representatives of the Musketeers to observe the interrogations.” She paused, and looked meaningfully at the three of them. “For the sake of peaceful co-operation between the fleets.”
Porthos could not quite wrap her head around this. “And you chose us, sir? As your representatives. To make peace with the Red Guard and the Sabres.” She stopped just short of asking Have you MET us?
“Indeed,” said Treville, looking innocent and glare-y at the same time. “Any reason why I should not choose you?”
“We do,” said Aramis, and then stopped. “I mean, no one in this room has forgotten that most of the disciplinary marks on our files have to do with duelling out of hours, with the Red Guard? Right?”
Treville raised her eyebrows very high, as if this was the first she had heard of such a thing.
“Amiral Treville,” said Athos, clearing his throat. Shock had pushed him through outrage and concern all the way to polite. Porthos silently added that information to her mental list of ‘ways to manage Athos in an emergency’. “Can I ask – is our mission to observe the interrogations impartially, or is our mission to severely piss off the Cardinal?”
Their commanding officer did not smile, but something tugged at the side of her mouth which might resolve itself into a smile once all three of them were at a safe distance. She reached out, and patted Athos gently on the cheek. “I am as committed to finding the truth behind these attacks as much as anyone. But tying the three of you up with a red ribbon for the Cardinal is the closest I’ll get to giving myself a Joyeux present this year. So let’s just say, I’m keeping my options open.”
“I don’t know whether to be insulted or impressed,” Athos said, obviously still contemplating the complex wiles of Amiral Treville as they made their way over towards the Armoury. “Damn, she’s good.”
Several public walkways were still caked with snow, though many were in the process of being cleared.
“Whoever is doing this Winterlight shit has a sense of humour,” decided Porthos. “A nasty sense of humour at times, sure,” she added, thinking of the horrors that Day 2 and the coffee had inflicted on them all. “But – the rest of it has been almost harmless. Frivolous.”
Aramis made a humphing sound. “The snow was pretty awesome,” she conceded. “But we can’t afford to relax.”
“Nothing we’ve done so far has prevented any of it,” Athos pointed out, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his blue Musketeer jacket. “At least we can hope it will all be over with in two days.”
Porthos cheered up at that. “And also, Aramis will finally have to pay up from that stupid bet about us sleeping together!” She reached her hand over for the customary platonic fistbump and noticed an odd expression on Athos’ face which disappeared as quickly as she saw it. “What, did it stop being funny? Did I miss a memo?”
“Nope, all good, nothing to see here,” Athos said quickly, bumping her knuckles solemnly with her own, and walking a little faster.
Huh. Weird.
The Cardinal was nowhere in sight when Porthos, Athos and Aramis reported to the Armoury, which was probably just as well as it reduced the likelihood that one or all of them would end up on charges for sacrilege or whatever else they threw at you for getting mouthy with a religious leader.
Even Aramis had been known to get a bit sarcastic where Her Eminence was concerned, and she was the most religiously conservative of the three.
Claudine Jussac was in charge, which was exactly what they didn’t need. “You three,” she said with a malicious look as she came over to swipe them through security. “Was Treville hoping to turn this into a street brawl? I wasn’t aware you had any other skills collectively.”
“We’re at your disposal, Captain,” said Athos, little ray of sunshine that he was today.
Porthos was over today already.
“As observers, you are required not to interfere with our interrogations,” Jussac said, as if she wasn’t loving this. “I have just the place for you.” She led them to an operations room featuring several screens, each looking into a different grim cell. “So many suspects to get through, we’ll be working them simultaneously. I hope that won’t be too confusing for you.” She pushed a tablet into Porthos’ hand and left them to it.
Aramis leaned over Porthos’ shoulder, scanning the tablet. “That’s a lot of names,” she said.
Porthos scrolled down, and down, and down. “There are hundreds,” she said faintly. “Hundreds of – how can these all be suspects?”
Athos reached out, and took the tablet from her, running his eye over the list. “They’re not suspects,” he said finally, handing it back. “At least, not for any intelligent reason. That is a list of most of the practicing Elementals on Paris Satellite.”
“How do you know?” Aramis asked, and then bit her lip when Athos shot her a cynical look. “Are you saying that the Cardinal has taken this as an excuse to harass them all?”
“Or to ask questions she normally wouldn’t get to ask,” said Athos, glaring at the empty cells on the screens. “And we get to observe it all. Won’t that be fun. You were curious about religious differences, Aramis? Now you get a front seat to a live action theology debate.”
“That’s not fair,” she snapped.
“Isn’t it?” His mouth was a grim line, and he had lost all of that morning’s humour. “Nothing about this is fair.”
Stick a fork in her, Porthos was done.
Everything about her that was kind or good had dribbled out of her ears hours ago.
Ninety four suspects had been questioned today, and while the Musketeers had been able to do nothing but witness the interrogations, it was irritating and exhausting. Athos, she noticed, had barely listened to the answers given by the suspects, many of whom were defensive and scared. He had, however, taken very careful note of the questions being asked. Porthos had taken his lead.
Aramis had watched and listened quietly, taking no notes, and occasionally fetching refreshments for them all, as some kind of unspoken apology to Athos for something that wasn’t her fault at all.
By the end of the day, the emotions in the room were so fraught that Porthos wanted to set fire to everything.
She needed home and sleep and whatever good thing Bonnie was cooking. She needed uncomplicated sex with one of the various uncomplicated men in her life, which described all of them except for the Chef she was definitely not freaking out about. (Him, she wanted to wrap her arms around while she talked about her day, and that was so not happening, not today or ever)
Hopefully, her next work shift would involve something calming and predictable like her actual job. Flying through a minefield or taking a bullet for the Regent would be preferable to this shit.
Porthos couldn’t call Chef Coquenard (NOT THAT SHE WANTED TO). He would be prepping for evening service right about now. But there was at least half a temptation in her heart (NO, THERE WASN’T), to sit in a corner of his kitchen and drown herself in the scent of extravagant entrees and decadent desserts (PORTHOS, YOU’RE DOING DENIAL WRONG).
She wasn’t even looking around for Athos and Aramis as she headed out of the grey walls of the Armoury, but then a text flashed through her comm, the letters coming up in a brief glowing hologram as she passed her thumb over the stud on her wrist.
ARAMIS: Hold up – ATTM
Porthos closed her eyes and groaned. What the hell was her life, that she and Aramis got semi-regular use out of the acronym Athos Thinks Too Much?
“Rec space,” she said sharply into her comm, to Aramis and Athos both. “Ten minutes.”
She strode ahead, making her way along one of the moving walkways and making for the entertainment hub at Marie Antoinette Esplanade. She paid for a rec space and started tapping in the code for their usual practice gear.
Fencing was the default recreation that Athos always chose. Aramis had the perfect body for long distance running, and liked to use that to torture the other two on the grounds that they always vetoed her other favourite choice, an unholy combination of yoga and Tai Chi.
Today was Porthos’ choice, because she was here first, damn it, and she wanted to hit things.
When Aramis arrived, pushing a glaze-eyed Athos ahead of her, Porthos knew it had been the right choice. She threw a pair of gloves to him, and took some satisfaction in the sharp look he gave her as he caught them.
“Make yourself useful,” she challenged.
Athos nodded. “I need to -” He stopped, shaking his head. “Work through something.”
“Your brain,” Porthos said in a weary voice. “Hit me already.”
It took a solid thirty minutes of light boxing, Porthos and Aramis swapping in and out of bouts against Athos, before his face began to look more like it belonged to a person instead of a long haul space passenger who had been deprived of sleeping meds.
“Okay,” he said finally, flinging the gloves to one side and pacing back and forth across the floor. “It’s not any of the poor bastards we saw today. Whatever the Cardinal is up to, it’s not them. This whole festive terrorism bullshit was an excuse to make things uncomfortable for Elementals. Right?”
“I hate it when he paces,” said Aramis, dropping into a stretch. “It’s never good when his feet think harder than the rest of him.”
Porthos sprawled on the floor, gulping water from one of the bottles she had ordered. “What makes you think it’s not one of the suspects?”
“Because all of this, the green and the snow and the rain – it’s showboating. The only reason to pull off such ridiculous tricks on an entire space station is to prove a point. Today’s mass interrogation was a different kind of showboating exercise. The Cardinal didn’t care about any of the people in that interrogation room. She was staging it for an audience.”
“Why bother?” Aramis asked.
Athos frowned and paced some more. His hand flexed back and forth like he wanted to have a sword in it, but Porthos had stored all of their Pilot’s Slices in a locker when the other two were sparring. She stood by that decision. The last thing they needed when Athos was in a state like this was to arm him.
“Who’s the audience?” Porthos chipped in.
Athos spun around, his eyes blazing. “Someone she can’t touch any other way.”
Porthos thought about it for a moment, and then started swearing, because of course.
“The Prince Consort,” moaned Aramis. “Everyone knows that Prince Alek is from an Elemental New Aristocrat family. Her Eminence was against the marriage because of it.”
“Diplomatic immunity,” Porthos added. “It could be about Buck and her people.”
Athos was furious, either at the universe or at himself. “We have to talk to your girlfriend, Aramis.”
“Ex-girlfriend,” Aramis corrected. “Can we not involve Chev in this, please? I haven’t even had a day since our break up when we haven’t seen each other another and it’s awkward.”
“Yes, I imagine it is,” said Athos. He wasn’t lost in his thoughts any more. He was in sharp focus and terrifyingly present. “Do you know what else is awkward? She got me to destroy the fucking evidence.”
“Well,” said Minister Marie Chevreuse a couple of hours later, in her beautifully-furnished apartment at the Palace. Her gaze flitted from Athos to Aramis and back again, before finally landing on Porthos. “I’d ask why exactly the three of you felt this intervention was necessary, but if I’m wrong, it’s going to be embarrassing.”
“The Misrule footage,” said Athos in a cold voice. “I need to know what was on it.”
Her face closed over. “No you don’t. Damn it, Athos, I should have known asking you to keep a secret meant I was automatically telling two other people.”
There was an edge to Chevreuse’s voice that was out of place, even considering that the three of them had ambushed her in her own apartment. Porthos looked from Athos to Chevreuse, wondering if the current situation was the only reason they had to be angry at each other. They had seemed fine back at the fleur-de-lis game on Misrule, as friendly as they ever were.
“Athos thinks you got him to cover up the Duchess of Buckingham’s involvement in the festive terrorism attacks,” said Aramis, sounding calm. “Please tell him he’s wrong.”
Chevreuse looked genuinely startled, and then she began to laugh. She almost doubled over with it, she was so overcome. “Oh, that would have been awesome,” she said when she recovered herself. “I wish it was that good.” She met Athos’ gaze and shook her head at him, disappointed. “Did you forget that the bastard coffee pretty much wrecked my fleur-de-lis season? I am not on the side of the mistletoe-flingers.”
“I believe that you are professional enough to cover up a major diplomatic incident even if it inconveniences you,” he drawled.
“Aww, Athos,” said Chevreuse, batting her eyelashes. “That’s actually sweet.” Her face went suddenly very hard. “Fuck you, I’m not a traitor.”
“So what was it, if not to do with the Winterlight attacks?” Aramis pressed.
“I’m the Minister for PR, what kind of cover up would it be if I went around telling my ex-girlfriend and her playmates about it?” Chevreuse snapped. “This is not your business.”
All three of them stared at her.
She stared back.
Athos broke the silence first. “Blackmail or sex scandal?”
“Neither.”
“Come on, Chev.”
“It had potential for either or both,” she admitted reluctantly. “But it didn’t get that far, thanks to some quick intervention from me and a certain Mr Linton Gray plus a completely anonymous Musketeer who was supposed to never talk about that night ever again, thanks for that, Athos. It was personal and stupid and had nothing to do with the festive terrorism or whatever we’re calling this Winterlight business on Paris Satellite.”
“You’re sure of that?” Athos demanded.
“I thought I was, but now you’re freaking me out, and I don’t know anymore,” she hurled back.
Athos nodded, and then disappeared back into his own thoughts. Porthos wondered how many times she was going to have to punch him to get him back in the room. “Okay,” he said, a few moments later. “Print some coffee, Chevreuse. This is going to be a long night.”
She looked furious. “What? I just told you -”
“Her Eminence the Cardinal spent the day establishing the innocence of just about every practicing Elemental residing on Paris Satellite,” said Athos in a clipped voice. “I imagine she’s going to do the same tomorrow with every Elemental on Lunar Palais. All except for a handful of people with diplomatic immunity, and the one who is above such treatment because he is married to the Regent Royal.”
Chevreuse stared back at him. “Oh, hell,” she whispered. “So that’s it.”
“Can those in the room who aren’t political analysts maybe explain it for the rest of us?” demanded Porthos, irritated by both of them.
“Buck and her people are being set up,” said Athos.
“Or Prince Alek,” said Chevreuse. “Or both.”
“And if any kind of investigation is raised with the Regent -”
“- It will come to light that some security footage was deleted that night.”
“Footage involving the two of them, I assume?” Athos prompted.
“You know I can’t answer that.” Chevreuse reached out and grabbed his sleeve, dragging him over to the far side of the apartment so that they could converse in rapid, urgent whispers.
Aramis sidled up to Porthos. “It’s like they share a brain,” she said in a strangled voice.
Porthos nodded. She had been thinking much the same thing. “They’re practically finishing each other’s sentences, did you notice that?”
Aramis let out a small whimper. “I’ve spent the last six months dating the girl version of Athos.”
Porthos patted her arm sympathetically. “It’s okay, baby, it’s over now.”
Chevreuse’ wrist comm trilled. She glanced at it. “This is the secure royal line. Everyone pretend you’re not here.” She walked over to the window, speaking quietly into her arm.
Athos, Porthos and Aramis’ comms all went off at the same time. “You three,” said Treville in their ears. “Are you on Lunar Palais?”
“We’re off duty,” said Athos.
“That is not what I fucking asked.”
“Yes, we’re visiting Minister Chevreuse at the Palace,” said Porthos, stepping in to smooth things over. “What do you need, sir?”
“I need you to get to the Regent right this second, and stay with her until I get there. There’s been an assassination attempt.”
“On the Regent?” Porthos gasped, already making for the door.
“On the Cardinal.”
When Porthos and the others arrived at the royal chapel, on the ground floor of the Palace, they found that the Red Guard had already evacuated most of the people attending the Service of Amends, and cordoned off the chapel.
Inside, the Cardinal was propped up against the steps, being attended to by the Regent’s personal physician.
The only other people who had been allowed to remain in the chapel, apart from a line of guards and Captain Jussac by the doors, were the Regent, Prince Alek, the Duchess of Buckingham, and Mr Linton Gray.
Porthos went immediately to the Regent’s side. In a situation like this, a Musketeer’s default role was royal bodyguard. Aramis went to Prince Alek, checking the situation with him quietly.
Athos came in behind them all, having been in conversation with Treville all the way from one end of the Palace to here. “Reports are coming in from all over Paris, your Highness,” he announced directly to the Regent. “Eight high ranked priests of the Church of All were attacked in the middle of the Amends service.”
“At the same time?” the Regent asked, her voice crisp and angry. “The same type of attack as our dear Cardinal?”
Athos nodded. “Each of the victims were encased in a bubble that deprived them of oxygen for between a minute and a minute and a half.”
“Breathing the air,” said the Duchess of Buckingham in a half-whisper.
“This wasn’t an assassination attempt if they all cut out within that timeframe,” Chevreuse said, leaning lightly on her cane. “It was a warning. Whoever is doing this, they want us to know they can reach anyone at any time. So what are they working up to?”
“Elementals,” the Regent hissed furiously. “This is an insult to us, to all Paris.”
“Actually, your highness,” corrected Chevreuse. “This is quite obviously a plot to cause further division and distrust between the Church of All and the Elementals. That means we need to look further afield for suspects…”
“Minister Chevreuse is right, of course,” said the Cardinal in a croaky voice, pushing her oxygen mask aside. “We must not allow fear to rule us. Today is Amends, the day of forgiveness and reparation.”
The Regent was not to be reasoned with. “There is only one religion that brought us to the stars and kept our society together as we built a home here,” she declared, sweeping out of the chapel. “It’s about time everyone remembered that.”
As she followed the Regent out, Porthos caught the devastated look on the face of Alek, the Prince Consort.
“This is going to get worse before it gets better,” she muttered to Athos as she passed him.
Come back tomorrow for Day 6: Resolution [leaping the flames]
