Seven Days of Joyeux Part 6

“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 Day 5

Go back to Joyeux Table of Contents.

Resolution was the hardest day of Joyeux. When she was younger and first away from home, it was the day when Aramis made a subspace call, no matter what else was going on, to hear the voices of her large, sprawling family, all shouting over themselves to tell her how much she was missed.

Now she had been away from home too long, and calling her family was no longer an option. It hurt sometimes, but had become a steady pain deep in her gut, as much a part of her as her arms and legs.

She had Paris. She had a sword and a spaceship. She had Athos and Porthos.

She had the Church of All.

Today of all days, Aramis had the Church of All, and as always when she was thinking of home, her heart led her to the Luxembourg. Aramis rose early, planning to get to dawn service for her own sake and not for her android Bazin, who was always happiest when he knew she was in church rather than at the helm of her beloved spaceship.

Inside the little church which looked just like the one she had first attended as a child, Aramis contemplated the stars and listened to the journeys of the Cosmonauts. The choir raised their voices in song so loud and joyous that she was sure it could be heard from several decks away. In the silence that followed the songs, Aramis whispered her resolutions for the year ahead along with everyone else.

I will love and be loved, I will serve God and the Crown. I shall be a good friend and a good soldier.



This was without a doubt the craziest and busiest Joyeux that Aramis had ever experienced, but there was time for this. For a short while, she allowed herself to contemplate that other life, the one she had always thought she would live.

Perhaps next year.

Aramis rose and left the church. Athos and Porthos were waiting on the steps outside.

“Almost got arrested twice,” volunteered Athos.

“I don’t know what made them think we were hanging around the Luxembourg for a duel,” Porthos added, with a sly smile. “No one has any faith.”

Aramis linked her arms in those of her friends. “Come on. We have to save Paris, or no one gets to open their presents this year.”

“If it is the Cardinal behind this, we can’t stop it,” said Athos. “We can’t fight her, she’s too damned powerful.”

Aramis frowned. “You really think it’s her? I mean, some of these incidents are bordering on sacrilege.”

“Whether it’s her or not, we’re going to have a hell of a diplomatic incident on our hands if the Regent gets any more riled up,” said Porthos. “Never mind the Ambassador of Valour – though let’s stop and think about the trouble that the Regent could cause by insulting Valour – but at this rate, she’s going to say or do something that Prince Alek finds unforgivable.”

“Marriage,” said Athos in disgust.

“Not for me, thanks, I’m trying to give it up,” said Aramis lightly, and didn’t realise until she saw Porthos’ face that she had said something tactless. Damn it.

Athos didn’t seem to notice. “Today is the day of Winterlight devoted to leaping the flames,” he volunteered.

Porthos shuddered. “Fire. Fire is much worse than snow.”

“Leaping the flames is a fertility ritual,” Athos explained. “An ancient form of marriage.”

Porthos brightened at that. “Oh, metaphorical flames. Much better. We can handle metaphorical flames.”

Athos’ comm chimed and he spoke briefly to Treville before stepping along faster, towing Porthos and Aramis both along with him. “The Dead District is on fire,” he reported in a crisp voice. “We need to get there now.”

“Metaphorical fire?” Porthos said hopefully.

But no, not with that look on Athos’ face. “Actual fire,” he said grimly.

This time it was Aramis’ turn to shudder. Fire on a space station was everyone’s worst nightmare.

The Dead District was the kind of lower level ‘living on the fringes of society’ community that always, somehow, managed to form on every space station and satellite city in the Solar System, no matter how many times those in power tried to make sure that they did not.

There was a higher proportion of dirtsiders living here – tourists whose credit had run out, aliens whose visas had run out, and former planetary residents who had fallen into crime or prostitution.

Every now and then, the church sent down the Red Guard or priests or charity workers to clean the damned place out and ship the residents back to their home planets, or find them hospice beds and school placements. And then every few months, the Dead District would re-form in a different spot in the maze of vents and tunnels and storage pockets ‘beneath’ that kept Paris Satellite turning.

The current Dead District was close enough to the central power spheres that literally ran Paris Satellite from within that the fire was a major problem. It had been extinguished by the time Aramis and the others arriave. All available personnel, including Red Guard and Musketeers, helped with the evacuation, clearing tunnels so that meditechs could get through to help the wounded and victims of smoke inhalation.

“What’s with the masks?” Aramis asked Athos as they passed each other at one point, her carrying a child on her hip towards the nearest first aid station, and he returning from delivering a couple of burns victims to a med station.

Athos tilted his head at her, as if not sure what she was asking, and Aramis gestured with a wide arm. “Not the oxygen masks. The mask masks.”

Many of the civilians had been in strange costumes, particularly the children. Most of the masks were scary faces, but Aramis had noticed something many of them had in common – a repeated motif of water, air, earth, fire. An Elemental cultural aspect she was missing, she assumed.

Athos looked surprised that she had noticed, or bothered to ask about it. Perhaps it was something he took for granted, from that new Aristocrat childhood of his that he never spoke about. “It’s a wedding thing. I told you that today is one of the days when those who follow the Elemental path pledge their troth to each other, by leaping the flames. It’s traditional to have attendants who represent each of the elements. Every dirtside kid, religious or not, knows that if they run around wearing an element mask on the sixth day of Winterlight, their chances of being invited to a ceremony is high.”

Aramis was bemused. “And that’s something kids want to do?”

“There’s usually food,” Athos said dryly. “Sweets, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” She glanced around, wondering how many of these children had missed out on a meal or at the very least a treat because of the fire. “Are the Church bringing in food supplies for the victims as well as medical assistance?”

“They’d better be.”

Several hours later, when things had settled down somewhat, Aramis and Athos found Porthos and the three of them sat down to swig water in a quiet spot near some of the worst of the fire damage.

“Some people go all out with this costume thing,” Aramis said at one point. She saw a man standing still on the edge of the crowd, watching the volunteers and services work the area, still dispensing aid to those who needed it.

There was something familiar about him, that man, though she couldn’t see any distinguishing features because he wore a head-to-toe robe of fluttering flames made from brightly coloured fabric.

“Is that what the well dressed bridegroom is wearing this season?” Aramis asked, meaning it as a joke.

Athos frowned, though, looking the figure up and down. “Perhaps,” he said, and there was an uneasiness in his tone that they both responded to.

“What is it?” Porthos asked.

“His sleeves,” Athos said. “And – something about the way he stands. I’ve seen him before. We know him.”

Aramis glanced across at Porthos, who shrugged.

“Do you know an interesting fact about arsonists?” said Athos slowly. “They almost always return to the scene of the crime. To check out the damage they caused. That man’s sleeves look genuinely burnt.”

He broke into a run from a standstill. Aramis hesitated only for a moment, and then tore after him. Damn it, no one who drank the way Athos did should be able to move that fast.

The masked man in the fire costume reacted to the sight of Athos coming at him, darting away. He might have made it, if he didn’t have to curve around the crowd to make it to an exit.

Athos wasn’t close enough to stop him reaching the sphere lift, but the curve of the man’s path pulled him back around to where Porthos waited, biding her time. She caught the man in a crash tackle, slamming him to the ground. Athos crashed into them both a few moments later.

“That was fun,” said Porthos, not even out of breath. “Let’s do it again.”

Athos reached out briefly, touching the edging of their prisoner’s sleeves. They were indeed charred, smeared with heat damage. “Let’s see what you have to say for yourself,” he said.

Since Porthos was pinning the man to the ground, and Athos was calling the shots, it was down to Aramis to remove the flame mask so they could get a look at their suspect. She hesitated only a moment before pulling it off.

This wasn’t the worst possible face she could have seen under that mask, but it wasn’t far off. From the pained look on Athos’ face, he agreed with her.

“Linton Gray of Valour,” he sighed. “Consider yourself in the custody of the Royal Musketeers.”

“I believe that I have diplomatic immunity,” replied the Duchess of Buckingham’s aide, untroubled by the situation.

“Luckily for us, we can still detain you for your own safety for up to twenty four hours,” said Porthos cheerfully. She bounced slightly on his chest. “I’m betting that if the Duchess of Buckingham knows anything about diplomacy, that immunity of yours is going to mysteriously vanish at some point during that time period.” She stood up, stretched and reached a friendly hand down to their suspect. “Come on. Let’s be having you.”

As Linton Gray rose, Porthos snapped a pair of handcuffs around his wrists. Aramis hadn’t even known that Porthos carried cuffs in her regular kit. Arresting people wasn’t really in their regular duties, though it was well with their power to do so.

“This is bad,” said Athos in an undertone, as Porthos gave Gray a bit of a shove to start him on his way.

“So bad,” Aramis agreed, matching his tone. “But it’s not our problem any more. Merry Joyeux, Athos. We cracked the case.”

Athos gave her a look that suggested she was being overly optimistic. “Call your girlfriend, Aramis. This is going to be one hell of a PR job to manage.”

“Ex girlfriend,” Aramis sighed. But she made the call.

After one of the longest days of Athos’ life since he first joined the Musketeers, he was looking forward to the silence of his empty apartment. He only had another day or two before Grimaud would be back from her holiday, and while she was as taciturn as he could ever hope for in an engineer (unless he stole Aramis’ android and reprogrammed it to be mute, a possibility he had not entirely ruled out for the future), she still filled the space, and living with her was not the same as living alone.

Actual solitude was a rare thing for him, and Athos prized it above almost all things.

It was 23:00 hours, and he was yet to pour himself a drink. Tomorrow was the final day of Joyeux. There was no more case to be solved, no more festive terrorism plaguing the space station, and he wasn’t even on duty.

He could have an early night.

He had only been home for ten minutes or so when he heard the persistent chime of someone leaning hard on his door alert. Athos rolled his eyes, psyching himself up to convince Porthos that he did not need to be fed, and Aramis that he did not need to be hugged or otherwise kept company. No other possibility occurred to him.

Chevreuse stood on his doorstep wearing a plain grey flight suit, her hair back to its natural blonde.

Athos blinked, staring at her. “Aramis isn’t here,” was the first thing he thought to say.

The minister looked exhausted. “I’ve already seen Aramis. I’m here to see you.”

“Oh.” This made a whole lot of no sense at all, but he stepped back to let her in. “How are things at the Palace?”

“Messy,” Chevreuse said, collapsing on his couch and putting her feet up on his coffee table, boots and all. “Irritating. Final.”

“I think I’m missing something.”

“You need to get me a drink before I tell you more.”

Seemed reasonable. Athos fished two bottles out of his cupboard: one wine, and one whiskey. Chevreuse pointed at the wine, and he took the time to find actual glasses. “Linton bloody Gray,” he observed as he poured.

“I know,” Chevreuse huffed. “I liked him, the bastard.”

Athos thought of the almost-flirtation that he wasn’t sure had really happened or not, the night of Misrule. “Me too, actually.”

She gave him an odd look over the back of the couch. “You hate everyone.”

“And yet.” He passed her a tolerable glass of red. “So how are we on a scale of diplomatic incidents?”

“Maybe a seven out of ten? It hasn’t hit the press yet, thank God. Our Mr Gray has confessed to all of the festive terrorism attacks on behalf of a group called the Independent Valour Party. Claims they supplied the nano-viruses, all he had to do was set them off on timers across the station. Buck has denied all connection with the group and stripped Gray of the diplomatic protection of her office, but her face is all over the IVP social media accounts. She’s definitely their preferred candidate for world leader, so it doesn’t look good.”

Athos raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. “You don’t think the Duchess was actually behind it?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t think she’s this stupid. But she doesn’t have to be bankrolling this group to be thoroughly compromised by Gray’s actions and his arrest.” An uncomfortable look crossed Chevreuse’s face. “And then there’s the other thing.”

Athos had known this was coming. “The deleted security footage.”

“It makes it look like I was covering up something political that night,” she admitted.

“Well, you kind of were.”

Chevreuse gave him a filthy look. “It was two people being careless and impulsive in the wrong bit of corridor, not an interplanetary coup.”

“I’m sure the Regent was very understanding about the distinction.” Athos paused. “I hate to ask…” He needed to know how badly he was implicated in her disaster.

She gave him a look that made it clear how transparent he was. “No, you’re not fired. I’m taking the fall anyway. It wasn’t exactly a hardship to keep your name out of it.”

“Thanks,” said Athos. He came to sit on the couch with her. Chev lifted her legs to make room for him, then settled them in his lap. “I’m a little short on job prospects if ‘Musketeer’ falls through.”

Chevreuse patted him on the shoulder. “Apparently the position of Ambassador’s aide is open. The successful applicant would have to be prepared to spend the rest of the term on Honour, though. Buck is being strategically repositioned far from Paris Satellite, Lunar Palais and the Regent’s hot, muscled husband.”

“So she’s officially innocent of wrongdoing, but still being blamed behind the scenes?”

“Politics,” said Chevreuse simply.

Athos leaned in, frowning at her over the top of his wineglass. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s not a secret,” Chevreuse said, sounding fed up. “I’ve retold it a bunch of times tonight, so forgive me if I drift off during this part. You know the Cardinal’s had it in for me for… well, a while.”

“Since about five minutes after she met you.”

“What can I say, I make an impression.” Chevreuse took a long, thoughtful swallow of wine. “The Regent wants to blame someone for this clusterfuck happening under her nose, and the Cardinal has managed to convince her that my loyalties are too closely tied to the Prince Consort, thanks to that piece of footage I made disappear. So – Buck’s not the only one being sent into voluntary exile.”

Athos hissed at the unfairness of it all. “Seriously?”

Chevreuse pretended she wasn’t bothered in the least. “Oh, yes. Paris and I are done with each other – for now, anyway. The Regent might take me back some time in the future, but I’m not holding my breath.” Something in his face must have given him away, because her arch smile softened. “Don’t look so stricken, Athos. I’m not short on resources. Montbazon and I renewed our marriage contract this morning, and I’m off to stay at one of his holdings on Artemisia. I can be a lady of leisure until I find someone willing to let me play politics again.”

He fiddled with the clasp on her boot, since it was right there in his lap. “When do you go?”

“Tomorrow.”

“So soon?”

“The seventh day of Joyeux is for family, and new beginnings. The sooner I’m out of here, the better. Let someone else deal with the trial of Linton Gray, and Prince Alek’s wandering hands. I’m done.”

“But,” said Athos, still shocked. “But, fleur-de-lis.”

At that, her facade cracked. He actually saw her lip wobble. “Shut up. They play Zero-G TeamJoust all over the solar system. I’ll find another team. Anyway, we had a perfect season. A perfect, unbeaten fucking season, and no one else has ever had that. Best to quit while I’m ahead, don’t you think?” Chevreuse smirked a little, behind her wineglass. “Packed the trophy in my bags. The Prince will never miss it, right?”

Here was the thing that Athos was blown away by: not that Chev had been screwed over, or even that Cardinal Richelieu had managed to turn a disaster like this into an opportunity to rid herself of a political enemy.

No, the thing that was currently foremost in his head was that he was actually going to miss Chevreuse.

When had that happened?

He didn’t say that, of course. What he said was: “Do you think the Cardinal was behind this whole thing? Behind Linton Gray, and the festive terrorism?”

Chevreuse looked grim. “Let’s look at the results. Not me being kicked out, that’s gravy on top. But the actual plot resulted in Elementals looking like bad guys, more of a wedge between the Regent and her Elemental husband than ever before, the Duchess of Buckingham losing any chance to gain political mileage out of this visit which has to be a blow to Valour’s bid for independence, and oh yes, the Cardinal looks like a hero to everyone because she was attacked at the height of popular sentiment around the Church of All.”

“A whole bunch of Joyeux presents for the Cardinal.”

“Tied up with ribbon.” Chevreuse reached out and took Athos’ near-empty glass from him, and placed it carefully on the ground with her own. “I don’t want to talk about her Eminence any more.”

“What are you doing?”

She sat there expectantly for a moment, her pale blue eyes fixed on his. “Saying goodbye, idiot.”

That was right. She was leaving tomorrow. “Doing the rounds of everyone you know?”

Chevreuse leaned in and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Just the people I’m going to miss most. Montbazon, Aramis. My book club. Alek and Conrad, and our favourite physio, the one with the magic hands and the really good pain pills.”

Athos tilted his head in her direction. “I’m a little surprised to find myself on that list.”

Chèvreuse rolled her eyes at him. “I know most of our socialising this year has been because of my relationship with Aramis, but you do realise that somewhere along the way you became one of my closest friends?”

Athos blinked. That was – unexpected. “I was not aware.”

“You’re hopeless. And I will miss you, just a bit.” She nodded towards the wine bottle on the bar. “I’ll admit I left you until last because I knew you’d provide the best drinks.”

“Oh,” he said, and smiled sidelong at her. “Now it all makes sense.”

She held out her hand. “A pleasure working with you, Captain Athos.”

Athos hesitated only a moment before pulling her into a rough hug, as he had been taught by the two most infuriating people in his life. “Glad to know you, Madame Chevreuse.”

“Oh, that sounds terrible,” she muttered into his neck. “I’d better get someone else to give me a Ministry position ASAP. What’s the government like on Artemisa?”

“Corrupt, probably.”

“I like a challenge.”

They could have left it at that. They really could. That would have been the sensible thing to do. But Chevreuse was warm in his arms, and this was goodbye, and perhaps it was an overdose of Joyeux sentiment that made Athos turn his face into her cheek, and breathe against her skin.

Day 6 of Joyeux: Resolutions.

I will not sleep with my friend’s (recently) ex-girlfriend.

I will not self-sabotage.

I will not blame the wine afterwards.

“Oh,” Chevreuse breathed as Athos dragged his mouth down the side of her neck, scratching her lightly with his beard. “That doesn’t make things easier.”

“No, not at all,” he agreed.

“Ten times worse.”

“About that, yes.”

But then her mouth found his, wet and hungry and wanting. There was none of that tentative brush of lips they had almost exchanged on the night of Misrule – this was something else altogether.

Chevreuse was practically in his lap, her hands framing his face, and every time Athos thought about voicing what a bad idea this was, she moved her hips against his, sending waves of heat directly into his veins.

“So,” she said finally, her fingers curling into his hair and her mouth reddened from all the kissing. “What are your resolutions for the new year ahead?”

“I will not make pointless resolutions that I don’t intend to keep,” said Athos. Sometimes the inevitable was there to be given in to.

“Works for me,” she said, and closed her lips around the edge of his ear. “Shall we skip the angst and get straight to the regrettable but extremely hot sex?”

“That’s what I love most about you, Chevreuse,” Athos drawled. “You’re a fucking romantic.”

Come back tomorrow for Day 7: Joyeux (for family, and new beginnings)