So this was originally going to be the last chapter with just a short epilogue to tie up loose ends but, the more I think about it, the more I realise there are a rather a lot of those so this is now, definitely, the penultimate chapter.

Once again, I'm sorry this took so long and my sincere thanks to all those who've taken the time to review this story and are bothering to stick with it during the prolonged denouement.

Enjoy!

A Simple Mission

Chapter 16

A few minutes earlier

Aramis supposed he couldn't really complain; relatively speaking, his current situation was some considerable improvement on what it had been just 24 hours previously. Nevertheless, the combined factors of his physical condition, the hard chair and being the target of the sustained glowering of the never-charming Climence were all starting to become more than a little wearing while he waited impatiently, and more than a little anxiously, for the others to return.

At first, he attributed his uneasiness to the fact he wasn't where he always felt he should be, alongside his brothers, and his forced passivity in the plan but it wasn't too long before he knew there was more to it than that.

For a start, the room, with no fire lit in the small grate, was warmer than might have been expected in the chill evening of early autumn; initially he dismissed that observation as being a reaction to two nights spent sleeping in the chill forest but, and he was sure he was not mistaken in this, it did seem to be getting warmer.

As subtly as possible he inhaled a little more deeply than normally, and certainly more than his bruised ribs were comfortable with; he did his best to disguise the resulting prolonged twinge of pain it caused him. The faint but unmistakeable tang of smoke hung more readily in the air than he would have expected from any fire elsewhere in the building, even one as simply built as this.

His eyes coming back to rest on the room's other occupant once more, he noted her eyes had widened slightly. Surreptitiously he followed their gaze as he would the sight of a gun to the side and left of him and saw, as she clearly had, a few tendrils of smoke starting to creep underneath the door. He eased himself from the chair and, removing one glove, tested the temperature of the door with the back of his hand; it was warm to the touch.

With increasing trepidation, he used his gloved hand to softly twist the key in the lock. The metal felt unnaturally warm even through the leather and confirmed his suspicion he wasn't going to like what he found on the other side .

Covering his mouth and nose with a cloth retrieved from the small table serving as a washstand, he cautiously opened the door a small amount holding himself a little to one side of the aperture. A blast of heated air accompanied with a considerable amount of smoke entered the room but, fortunately, no flames. Endeavouring to breathe as little of the noxious air as possible he peered down the narrow landing towards the simply-made wooden staircase. It became immediately obvious that a significant fire was burning on the ground floor or, possibly (and more alarmingly), had been set at the base of the stairwell, their only obvious way out.

Aramis thought quickly; conscious that the dry wood of the simple staircase would act like tinder and he couldn't be sure how long the floor beams beneath him would hold out; Athos and Porthos were only across the street but he wasn't sure if there would have been anyone outside who'd have raised the alarm yet, last time he'd looked, the main street was completely deserted.

He needed to get back to the other room, it was at the furthest point from the fire and its window looked out towards the bar; he should be able to get some attention from there.

The smoke within the room was already starting to become more dense. He could see Climence struggling not to cough.

Tempting as it was to show the same lack of compassion she had toward her men, Aramis was all too aware that he could not do the same.

"Mademoiselle, it appears we need to relocate elsewhere," he drew the small dagger from his belt and sliced through the ropes that attached her tied hands to the bedpost. She remained silent and showed no response to the action.

The instant she was freed from the spot, instead of standing, she drew her knee up toward her chest and kicked viciously at his right leg, maliciously landing her heel directly on the barely healing injury and brought both her fists, still tied together, up under his chin before fleeing for the door.

The uppercut lacked any real power but was sufficient to knock him off balance as the spasm of pain that racked his leg momentarily took his full focus. Stumbling to the floor, where fortunately the air was clearer beneath the pall of smoke that was now gathering, he drew some much-needed deeper breaths while Climence, hands still bound, wrenched open the door and stumbled toward the stairs: Unconcerned there may be any possibility of escape via that route, he maintained his low position and moved as freely as his leg would allow to follow her.

He arrived at the doorway in time to see Climence's silhouette, shrouded by smoke, screaming at someone she appeared to recognise, demanding they rescue her...the escape she sought but did not anticipate came in the form of two gunshots.

For all she'd done and the crimes she'd committed, Aramis couldn't help but feel some pity at the manner of her demise. He watched helplessly as her body tipped forward into the flames, now lapping at the walls surrounding the staircase; her body crashing on to what remained of the wooden treads causing it to collapse fully.

Any brief pity he may have felt was, immediately, dispelled as the massive amount of extra fuel and weight dumped onto the flames caused a fireball to surge upwards and along the passageway towards him.

His survival instinct overrode any other physical concerns as he sprang from his semi-crouched position to the only shelter within reach, curling in on himself behind the open door just in time to avoid the full force of the conflagration that flowed like a tide through every avenue it could reach: Facing into the corner of the room, he covered his head and face with his leather-clad arms and hat to protect his exposed skin, endeavouring to not breathe at all as searing heat filled the air.

TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM

Porthos had already emerged from the bar and was running toward the inn when the fireball that had consumed the stairwell caused the front door to be blasted open and the main street to be showered in glass and burning shards of splintered wood: He dived for cover, glancing behind him to make sure Athos had done the same.

The aftermath was a melee of screams and shouts as the shocked and stunned residents of Auchonne, already roused by the gunshots, flooded into the street. Panicked cries and orders to fetch water and rescue the horses from the neighbouring stables could be heard being issued by the calmest among them.

Athos, having been slightly further away from the blast, was first to recover and, pulling himself to his feet, caught up with Porthos just in time to prevent him from trying to enter the building. Gripping his coat firmly, it took all his strength to hold on to the big man; reason won out, but only just.

"We'll find him." Athos, gripped his friend's shoulders, ensuring he had his attention and stating the words with a certainty he didn't feel.

He had a horrible sense of deja vu as he realised he'd said exactly the same thing only that morning: He fervently hoped that the deity Aramis believed in so devoutly hadn't capriciously decided to recall the favour granted him at the ravine.

They both stood, temporarily motionless, as, with the resigned discipline found among people for whom every day was a fight to survive, a simple human chain formed to pass receptacles of all manner filled with water beginning the job of dousing the small fires dotted around the street and neighbouring buildings; the inference being that the inn was already beyond any kind of salvage and that the priority was to prevent the fire spreading.

Beyond the shouted instructions and the whinnying of scared horses as they were evacuated from the stables, their own among them, the sound of multiple riders galloping away from the stricken town was scarcely noted and made no impression on their consideration: Their frantic thoughts were focused solely on the building being consumed before their eyes.

Athos tapped Porthos' arm, nodding his head to indicate the corner of the inn closest to them, where their room had been located on the upper floor: The window was dark as though the fire hadn't penetrated that far yet.

Nodding his understanding, Porthos broke free from the hands holding him and, wordlessly, started to look for an alternative entry point.

TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM

The roar of flames and heat that had filled the room abated slightly and, tentatively, Aramis attempted a shallow breath through the cloth still covering his face: The air was thin, smoky and unpleasantly warm but a better option than suffocation for the time being.

Turning cautiously he could see small fires burning throughout the room; the bedding and furnishings in particular. The ceiling was blackened and scorched where the flames had risen up and small plumes of smoke from smouldering woodwork indicated it wouldn't be too long before they started to add further fuel to the inferno.

As he started to make careful headway around the door he could see small flames starting to lick through the gaps between the floorboards beneath him and realised that the beams below were now alight: The knowledge pumped even more adrenalin into his pained and injured muscles as he tenaciously pushed through the smoke-filled corridor towards the final door and his only hope of escape.

Coughing and choking, he used his leather-clad forearm to lever open the latch securing the door. Entering the room he noted thin wisps of smoke were already starting to weave upwards from the floor below.

Guided as much by the shouting from the street as the thin, reedy moonlight streaming through the window, he made it across the room only to realise, with a rising sense of panic, that it wouldn't open: The rotted wooden frame had, apparently, been painted with some kind of bitumen to strengthen and waterproof it but it had hardened and sealed not only the wood but the entire casement and clasp.

The gap he'd be able to create by smashing the thick crudely-made glass alone would not provide a large enough opening for him to get out quickly and he knew, from having witnessed it before, that the air such an action would let in would draw the fire upward and toward him as certainly as any chimney leaving him little or no time to gain anyone's attention.

On the other hand...another shallow breath resulting in a coughing fit which racked his still painfully bruised ribs proved that his options in this situation were woefully few.

Firmly of the opinion he'd rather die attempting something than suffocate helplessly, and without particularly considering how exactly this was going to work, he reached inside his coat and found the small pouch of gunpowder that always nestled there.

Hoping it would be enough for his purposes, or indeed to have any positive effect, he dispensed it all along the lower edge of the window in the groove between the frame and casement. Bracing his back against the wall alongside, as close as he dared, he used his hat to shield his face, raised his pistol and fired at the centre of the trail he'd left.

TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM~~TM

The street outside was mayhem as scared townspeople did whatever they could to save their humble dwellings and businesses. They ran to either side of the musketeers in their midst without sparing them a second glance, neither expecting or asking their assistance which, under any other circumstances, would have been freely given.

It hadn't taken long for the two of them to realise there was no way in to the building that wasn't already saturated by smoke and fire other than the lone window though, as flames had now started to pour out of the window directly beneath it, it didn't appear that would be the case for much longer: They stared at it helplessly, lacking any means to get there or even to know whether that would be a fruitless task if they were, somehow, to do so.

A sudden explosion from the object of their attention caused them to turn to protect themselves from the shower of glass and debris: When what appeared to be a body launched itself through the cloud of detritus, it was Porthos who reacted fastest, almost unthinkingly, throwing himself to intercept its fall to the ground and rolling, shoulder first, onto the littered street; clutching to him what he'd instinctively known would be Aramis...coughing painfully and covered in soot but alive.

The momentum of their fall had barely lessened when a further loud bang from the vicinity of the room so recently vacated indicated that the door had given way and a ball of flame shot out of the gaping aperture at first floor level.

Porthos neither acknowledged nor cared either about the effects the heavy landing might have had on his back or shoulder or, indeed, how he might appear to the villagers at that point in time; the screams he'd heard from various quarters indicated the dramatic escape had not gone unnoticed. His sole concern at that point in time was that his friend had somehow, once more, cheated death. Letting his head relax back on the ground he tried to laugh but it just came out as a massive sigh of relief instead.

After a few moments, Aramis' breathing started to even out and he raised his head stiffly:

"Nice catch." He patted his friend's shoulder area in a gesture of appreciation and started, painfully, to roll himself in a better position to attempt to stand.

"Anytime." Porthos made to sit up, helpfully assisting Aramis' attempt to get upright without obviously doing so. It did not go unnoticed by his friend that the big man was rolling his shoulder slightly or the grimace that accompanied the movement.

Two leather-clad arms, one of which was wrapped with a rudimentary bandage, were extended to help them to their feet and accepted gratefully by both men.

The townsfolk were being largely successful in keeping the fire away from the surrounding buildings but the inn itself was on the verge of collapse. Supporting Aramis, whose right leg seemed unwilling to take on the task, the musketeers started to move out of the street and away from further immediate danger. A woman dispensing water to the thirsty fire fighters indicated they should move in her direction and came to meet them with drinks which they accepted eagerly.

"You're hurt." Aramis paused after several mouthfuls of water and nodded towards the bandage on Athos' arm before he continued to drain the remainder of the cup.

"Says the man who just exited a building via an upper-floor window. I do hope you're not planning to make a habit of that."

Aramis huffed a small laugh in response:

"I'll try not to..."

He was interrupted by shouting from the fire fighters, warning one another to keep back, as the beams supporting the first floor of the inn finally collapsed followed almost immediately by the roof: Porthos moved away from the others to kick dust over some small pieces of flaming debris that landed near them while the men worked to extinguish the others but allowed the blaze in what remained of the building to exhaust itself naturally.

Aramis' thoughts dwelt briefly on Climence, there'd be barely anything left to bury. Heaven knew he'd found little worthy of redemption in the woman but, even so, she'd known those men and expected them to save her but they'd shot her in cold blood: He shuddered at all the deaths, Edouard's included, for whatever was written on the piece of paper that still nestled inside his coat.

As if wondering the fate of their erstwhile prisoner himself, Athos enquired as to what had happened; his face inscrutable as always when heard how she'd died.

"Her contact had been poisoned when we got to him," he simply intoned in reply.

"Seems like the intention was to ensure the trail stopped here." Aramis voiced his friend's tacit implication.

Porthos caught the end of the brief conversation and concurred with the conclusion even if he hadn't been privy to what had been said before. He looked around at the tiring villagers as they sought to keep what little they had. An occasional curious glance toward the musketeers in their midst confirmed his feeling that they had nothing to do with the men responsible for this.

"I suggest we get what rest we can tonight and head for Paris in the morning." Athos' suggestion met with the full agreement of the others.

"About time..." Porthos mumbled.

TBC