Invincible Sword, Redeux
Disclaimer: Young Blades characters property of Insight Studios. Some dialogue taken from episode 1x10 “The Invincible Sword.” (borrowed dialogue appears in bold) I’m just borrowing them for a while.
Author: Shirley Long
Rating:
Synopsis: “The Invincible Sword” as if Ramon gained control of Notung. (response to “What if…” Challenge #5)
****************
The four musketeers crept through the halls of the palace, stepping carefully around the red-coated corpses scattered every few feet as they made their way to the throne room. A deep voice bellowed for the King’s head, sending them racing towards the sound. Praying that they’d get there in time, Ramon couldn’t help but wonder how things had gone so horribly wrong…how a lighthearted morning of goofing around with Siroc’s latest invention had suddenly turned into a fight to save the life of their monarch.
Reaching their destination, the quartet was shocked to find not a small army, as the carnage had suggested, but one man. And a gigante at that, wearing antique armor and menacing the royal family with an ancient-looking broadsword.
Still trying to wrap their heads around this latest development, they got the royals out of the way, then argued for a moment over who would take on the behemoth. Finally, Jacques stepped forward, sword in hand. ‘Boy’s got more guts than brains,’ Ramon thought, holding his own blade at the ready.
With a touch of D’Artagnan’s arrogance, Jacques approached their overlarge foe.
“I am Siegfried,” the giant bellowed. “My sword is called Notung.”
Jacques stared him down, looking almost bored. “Your name and the name of your sword may be the same as the famous myth, but I doubt your sword is invincible.”
“My sword is Notung.”
“I’ll give you no tongue.”
With that, Jacques and Siegfried clashed, much like David and Goliath of old. Ramon watched his comrade leap agilely about the room, frustrating his opponent by staying just out of reach of the large blade. Unfortunately, Jacques’ luck soon ran out as Siegfried managed to land a blow that sent him flying into a nearby wall.
Ramon charged in immediately, diverting the giant’s attention before he could do any more damage. Of course, now that meant it was his turn to dodge the hefty broadsword. The first swing came dangerously close to his chest, and he was just barely able to turn it aside with his rapier. He then attempted to disarm Siegfried, but his own thin blade was no match for the so-called Notung. It was a miracle that it remained in one piece.
Shaking his head, Ramon was about to make a second attempt when he found himself being shoved to the floor by Jacques, who seemed to have found his second wind. His head collided with a nearby chair as he fell, stunning him momentarily. He recovered surprisingly quickly, only to watch in horror as the broadsword bit deeply into Jacques’ midsection.
Gasping, Jacques dropped to his knees, clutching his bleeding stomach. D’Artagnan and Siroc rushed right to his side, placing themselves between him and Siegfried. They both drew their blades, but Ramon was faster. He leapt to his feet, catching ‘Notung’ against his own blade and shoving his dagger between the behemoth’s ribs, just underneath the breastplate. Siegfried collapsed to the floor, the sword falling from his suddenly nerveless fingers.
The danger past, Ramon moved to check on his fallen comrade, who had quite possibly saved his life.
“I-I’m hurt,” Jacques wheezed, his voice oddly feminine. Without even waiting to see what Louis had to say, the three of them carefully lifted their fourth up off of the floor and carried him back to the garrison.
On arriving, they were informed that the Royal Physician was waiting in Jacques’ quarters. And, for some reason, D’Artagnan seemed panicked at the thought. He insisted on bringing Jacques to the lab instead, and made Siroc lock the door once they had their injured comrade laid out on the inventor’s bed.
“What’s wrong, amigo? It’s almost as if you don’t want the doctor to examine Jacques.”
He shook his head. “I don’t.”
“Not that I don’t agree,” Siroc said, “but why not?”
D’Artagnan sighed. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything, but under the circumstances….Truth is, Jacques isn’t exactly who he says he is. His…her…real name is Jacqueline Roget, wanted for killing Mazarin’s last captain, who murdered her father. If that doctor examines her, it will surely get back to the cardinal. And if he finds out…you see where I’m going with this?”
Siroc and Ramon stared at ‘Jacques’ for a moment, trying to reconcile what they thought they knew about their comrade with D’Artagnan’s revelation. Finally, the inventor nodded. “I should’ve known. He…she…always did come off as rather feminine. Well, like I said, I wouldn’t want that so-called ‘doctor’ treating our comrade anyway. More bleeding would hardly improve the situation.” He sighed, turning his attention back to the other male musketeers. “You two keep him out of here, and I’ll do what I can to help Jacques.” With that, Siroc went straight to work, while Ramon and D’Artagnan moved to stand guard outside. The doctor eventually found them, but the sight of their half-drawn blades quickly persuaded him to move on.
As the Royal Physician scurried out of sight, Ramon turned to his comrade. “Do you think that…uh…‘Jacques’…will be alright?”
D’Artagnan nodded, placing a hand on the Spaniard’s shoulder. “If anyone can save him, it’s Siroc. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.” He sighed. “If it hadn’t been for Jacques, that might be me in there. He saved my life.”
“Yes, and you saved the King’s.”
Ramon shrugged. “I was just doing my duty, compañero.”
“Perhaps. But knowing Louis, he’ll probably have some big, fancy ceremony in your honor for doing it.”
The Spaniard shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I know if Jacques is going to live.”
“Me neither.” With that, the conversation effectively ended. The two maintained a silent vigil outside Siroc’s lab for much of the day, only leaving when Duval came along and practically dragged them back to their quarters for some much-needed sleep.
********
D’Artagnan, as it turned out, was right on all counts. Jacqueline survived the night, which, while not a guarantee, Siroc assured them was a very good sign. And, once he heard the good news, the King summoned all the musketeers—minus, of course, Siroc and Jacques—to the town square for some big ceremony in Ramon’s honor.
Ramon didn’t answer the summons right away, though. Instead, he stood inside the lab, staring down at ‘Jacques’ and wondering how he could ever have believed his comrade to be a man. Jacques was an excellent soldier, no doubt about that, but now that the truth was staring him in the face, Ramon realized that the signs had always been so obvious…they’d just managed not to see them somehow. The voice, the mannerisms…even ‘his’ appearance practically screamed ‘woman.’
Of course, the more Ramon thought about it, the more he realized how little all of that mattered. Jacques or Jacqueline, she was still his friend and comrade, and he owed her a debt he’d probably never be able to repay. He eased himself into a chair next to her pale, fragile-looking form and took one of her hands in his. Her eyes fluttered open at the contact, and she gave her Spanish comrade a sort of half-smile.
“Hey…. Where’s D’Artagnan?”
He smiled back. “The capitan sent him out on patrol with one of the new recruits. He should be on his way back, though. So…how are you feeling?”
“Like I took a sword to the stomach…oh wait, I did.” Ramon’s eyebrow shot up. She chuckled, then winced a bit from the wound. “Actually…it still hurts, but not nearly as much as it did yesterday. I don’t know what Siroc gave me, but whatever it is, it’s working.”
Ramon nodded, gently brushing a few stray strands of hair away from her face. “That’s good.” He sighed. “You gave us quite a scare. What on earth were you thinking?”
“Just doing my duty. And speaking of which…don’t you have a ceremony to get to?”
He shrugged. “It can wait. Besides, if anyone deserves that honor, it’s you. You’re the real hero here. One of these days, I’m going to write a rhapsody in your honor. I just can’t seem to find the words at the moment.”
“You? Speechless? That’s a first.”
Ramon shook his head. “Point is, you’re the one who should be getting a ceremony. I just—“
“Did your duty?”
“Well…yes.”
Jacqueline shook her head. “You’re the one His Majesty wishes to honor, Ramon.” She took a deep, rather shaky breath. “Per…perhaps…you should get going.”
“She’s right, you know.” Siroc said, entering Jacqueline’s recovery area. “Best not to keep Louis waiting too long. You know how impatient he can get.”
“But—“
“But nothing. She’ll be fine, Ramon. I’m not going anywhere today. And if anything happens, I swear you and D’Artagnan will be the first to know.”
“Promise?”
Siroc nodded. “Absolutely. Now get out of here before His Highness decides to send out a search party.”
“Alright, alright…” Ramon muttered, throwing his free hand up in surrender. Reluctantly, he let go of Jacqueline’s and left the lab. He ran into D’Artagnan just outside the garrison, and the pair headed off to the ceremony together.
“So,” D’Artagnan asked quietly as they walked. “How is she?”
“Well, she’s awake…and rather talkative.”
“That’s a relief.”
Ramon nodded. “Siroc gave her something for the pain that seems to be helping.”
“Good.”
“Si.” He sighed. “Just so you know, amigo, she was asking for you. After we get this ceremony over with, perhaps you ought to spend some time with her.”
“That’s the plan. But first things first, eh?” He slapped Ramon heartily on the back as the two of them approached the crowd, quickly falling in line with their comrades. The anxious murmurs of the spectators, combined with the beat of the drums, had Ramon’s stomach wound into a fairly large knot by the time Louis stepped forward to begin the proceedings. The drumroll ceased, and the crowd fell silent.
“Musketeer de la Cruz, approach.”
Prodded by a gentle shove from D’Artagnan, Ramon nervously moved toward the King. He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious, to be honest. Normally, he loved being the center of attention…. Of course, he’d never before been honored for simply doing as he’d been trained to. Swallowing hard, he bowed respectfully, then stood at attention as he waited for Louis to continue.
Giving the Spanish musketeer a slight nod, the King glanced towards his attendant, who was standing by his carriage, bearing a red velvet pillow upon which the ancient blade was resting. “The sword?” The servant moved closer, and Louis carefully lifted the sword from its pillow and held it up before the assembled spectators. “Though it may not be the magic sword Notung from Norseman myth, the Royal metallurgists have authenticated it as an ancient blade many centuries old. In recognition for your bravery, we entrust it to your care, with our gratitude.”
Everyone, civilian and musketeer alike, broke into applause as the King offered the sword to Ramon. After a moment’s hesitation, the Spaniard accepted the gift, wrapping one hand around the hilt while reverently cradling the blade in the other. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the cold steel actually seemed to radiate a strange sort of warmth…life, even…as if it were an entity unto itself. An odd feeling came over him as he held the so-called Notung…a sense that he’d been touched by destiny. He opened his mouth to speak, but once again, words failed him.
“I’m humbled, Your Majesty,” he finally managed.
Louis shook his head. “No, we are humbled by your courage. Now hold high that sword, Musketeer.”
Beaming, Ramon did as his King requested, raising the ancient blade above his head for all to see. A moment later, amidst the thunderous applause and shouts of approval, a faint noise—almost like a hiss—caught his attention. Instinctively, he whirled around, bringing the blade down just in time to deflect a crossbow bolt that had been headed straight for Louis.
Almost immediately, the crowd began to panic as the other musketeers moved in to protect their sovereign. Once he was sure that the King was relatively safe, Ramon took off after the fleeing assassin. The man appeared to be a fellow Spaniard, and Ramon automatically called out in his native tongue for him to stop. And when that failed, he drew his main gauche and threw it.
The blade went right into the assassin’s thigh, sending him crashing to his knees. With him down, Ramon quickly caught up, bringing the tip of his broadsword level with the man’s throat. On closer inspection, he realized that his initial assessment had been incorrect. The assassin might’ve been Portuguese, perhaps even Italian, but he was certainly no Spaniard.
As he stood there, waiting for back up to arrive, the glint of gold caught his eye. Hanging from the assassin’s neck was a small gold crucifix. Immediately, Ramon reached forward and ripped the necklace away, pocketing it just as his comrades reached the scene.
“This him?” D’Artagnan asked.
“Si,” Ramon nodded. This is the cabròn who tried to murder our King.”
Returning the nod, D’Artagnan signaled to a couple of other musketeers, who hauled the man to his feet and began searching his clothes. They found some documents, which Ramon swiftly took possession of, as well as the small crossbow used in the attempt and a few spare bolts.
Just as they were finishing up, a young page came up and handed D’Artagnan a message. He read through it quickly, then took off running towards the garrison. Ramon would’ve followed, but he had far more pressing matters to attend to. He bound the assassin’s hands and personally escorted him to the Bastille.
Once said assassin was safely tucked away inside the prison, the Spanish musketeer went directly to Captain Duval’s office and presented him with the evidence he’d gathered. Unfortunately, after a rather cursory examination of the documents and the crucifix, Duval dismissed the evidence as being circumstantial at best—not nearly enough to warrant investigation into any sort of conspiracy. Ramon protested, certain that the captain was making a mistake. Ignoring his protests, Duval quickly dismissed him from his office.
Seething at the captain’s obvious ignorance, Ramon made his way back to his quarters. He could hear activity within Siroc’s lab as he passed, with ‘Jacques’’ name being thrown around several times, but figured that whatever it was, his inventive comrade probably had things under control and he’d just be in the way. So the Spanish musketeer spent the remainder of the evening in the privacy of his own room, polishing the newly-acquired blade. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the seemingly mundane act of caring for this particular sword actually seemed to soothe his anger. More importantly, it helped him formulate a plan for making his voice heard—before Louis ended up paying the price for Captain Duval’s lack of vision.
********
The next morning, Ramon and Captain Duval were summoned to the palace for a meeting with both King Louis and Cardinal Mazarin. Not the most ideal situation, considering the cardinal’s low opinion of the musketeers, but Ramon told himself it was better than not having a chance to speak with the King at all.
“Captain Duval,” Mazarin began. “What have you found out?”
Duval opened his mouth to speak, but Ramon beat him to it.
“The asesino is an agent of unknown origins—Portuguese…possibly Italiano, far as I can tell—affiliated with a religious order of some kind.”
“It’s an assumption,” the captain interjected. “Private de la Cruz found a note describing His Majesty’s movements. It was written in Latin. He also found a gold crucifix on the assassin’s person.”
“
“That’s a command decision, de la Cruz.”
“But he’s right, Captain,” Louis chimed in, ending the argument. “Good work, de la Cruz.”
Ramon smiled, pleased that at least the King was smart enough to take him seriously. “I feel as though I’ve been granted a special power, Sire. I wish to use it in your service.”
“A special power?” Duval asked, his tone disbelieving. Rather than responding verbally, Ramon pulled the blade and swung it, forcing the captain to duck. His free hand then shot forward, catching something that had fallen from the air.
“Palace windows should be kept shut, Sire. Security is getting woefully lax.” Ramon showed the item in his hand to the King—a fly, cut neatly in half. Louis’ eyes went wide in shock, as did Duval’s and Mazarin’s.
“Where have you been hiding him, Duval?” Louis asked. The captain just stood there with a rather odd look, still too much in shock to explain. With his audience speechless, Ramon threw the fly to the ground and sheathed his sword.
********
Later that evening, Ramon found his way once more to Siroc’s lab, where he found the inventor and D’Artagnan hovering over an unconscious Jacqueline. Brother Antoine was there as well, reading their comrade the Last Rites even as the other two insisted that she…well, ‘he’…was going to live. Siroc busied himself with some medicine or other, while D’Artagnan simply sat by her side, holding onto her hand. Eventually, the two of them noticed his presence and invited him in.
He shook his head. “I can’t…I don’t have time. This assassin failed, but there could be others…un conspiración. We cannot just sit here and wait for them to try again. We must take acción.” With that, Ramon turned and headed for the common room. After a brief stop to light the candles on the nearby wall, he sat down on the table. The Spanish musketeer then pulled out the sword and lay it across his lap, alternating between polishing it and staring at the assassin’s crucifix…‘borrowed’ from Duval’s office after the meeting with Louis.
A moment later, D’Artagnan stormed in. “What the hell was that about, Ramon?”
Ramon shrugged, not even looking up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t! Jacque—our comrade is laying there, possibly dying, and you can’t even be bothered to spend some time with him.”
“‘He’ was fine the other day, when I talked to ‘him.’”
“Yeah, and while we were at your ceremony, Jacques was struck by a fever. Siroc thinks the wound may have become infected. He’s doing his best to treat it, but it doesn’t look good.”
Ramon shook his head. “Jacques is a soldier, compañero. He did his duty.”
At that, D’Artagnan moved closer, his hands clenched into
fists. “So that’s it, then? Jacques did his duty, and now he’s
expendable?” He growled. “He
saved your life!”
“Well, I didn’t ask
him to.”
“You really have changed. The Ramon I know would be by Jacques’ side giving comfort, not sitting alone in a dark room polishing his…sword.”
Ignoring the rather blatant innuendo, Ramon sheathed the blade and stood up, towering over his shorter comrade. “What do you want from me, D’Artagnan? I’m not a doctor. Besides, there are more important things to worry about right now.”
“More important than a friend’s life?”
“Our King is in danger. There are people even now undoubtedly plotting to end his life. We must be vigilant every moment of every day. What’s one life compared to that?”
“Let me see that sword, Ramon.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Ramon glared, placing a hand protectively on Notung’s hilt. “I see what this is. You’re jealous.”
“What? That’s absurd.”
“Is it? I know what you all say about me…. ‘Ramon, the bottomless pit…no bird left uneaten….Ramon…writer of silly rhymes….’ Finally, I get the chance to do something important, and you can’t stand being pushed out of the spotlight by a ‘silly poet.’ Well, I have news for you, amigo. This job isn’t about who gets the glory. The King must be protected, and if you won’t do it, I will.” As he spoke, he brought his free hand up and poked the Gascon in the chest for emphasis, completely forgetting about the item clutched in his fingers.
D’Artagnan noticed, though. He’d been about to respond to Ramon’s accusations when he caught sight of the tiny cross, which seemed strangely familiar. “Where’d you get that?” he asked, indicating the crucifix.
“I confiscated it from the assassin. Why?” he demanded, looking at D’Artagnan accusingly.
For a moment, D’Artagnan began to wither under his comrade’s
surprisingly commanding gaze. “N-nothing. It’s
just…Jacques…he had one just like it when he first came here…gave it to his
brother before he left for the
“Oh really?” Filing the information away for later, Ramon sat back down and resumed polishing the sword. D’Artagnan quickly backed out of the room, a horrible feeling settling itself into the pit of his stomach.
********
Spurred on by the conversation with D’Artagnan, Ramon invited himself to the palace the very next morning to speak with Louis at a time when Mazarin wouldn’t be around to countermand his suggestions. When he arrived, servants were busy boarding up the palace windows, obviously heeding his advice from the last meeting. Louis wasn’t happy about it, complaining about what it did to the appearance of the room, but Ramon assured him it was for the best. Even artists such as himself had to be practical from time to time. During the course of their conversation, Louis made probably the most important decree of his reign so far, creating Ramon Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz the King’s ‘Special Protector.’ Now, Ramon had the power to do what he knew was best for Louis’ protection, and not even Captain Duval could stand in his way.
His new title and power secured, Ramon’s next stop was the Bastille, where the assassin was currently being held. He located the prison’s best interrogator, then the two of them made their way to the assassin’s cell. The interrogator readied the hot pokers, while Ramon first attempted to do things the easy way.
“I hear
“I have nothing to tell you.”
“You have the names of the others.”
“Others?”
With an annoyed huff, Ramon began pacing in front of the prisoner. “You dress like a peasant, but your hands are soft, uncalloused…and that crucifix…pure gold. No mere peasant could afford to buy a piece like that. Documents describing the King’s movements were found on your person, written in a hand other than your own. And your weapon…beautiful crossbow, meticulously engineered…armed with custom-made shredder arrows designed to inflict the greatest possible physical damage. Now you tell me you still operated alone?” Ramon moved closer, almost right in the assassin’s face. “Who are you working for? The Dominicans? The Franciscans? The Jesuits? You’re going to tell me the truth, one way or another.”
“Even if you kill me, others will rise up in my place.”
“Give me names.”
“You cannot defeat us! Our agents are everywhere…the towns, the cities. You’ll never know who may fire the next shot. A nobleman, a cook, or even a musketeer.”
“Which musketeer?” The prisoner responded by spitting on his boots. “Then you force my hand.” He signaled to the interrogator, then walked out of the cell. The assassin’s agonized screams echoed through the halls as Ramon left the prison, but Spanish musketeer ignored the small twinge of guilt that accompanied them. He had conspirators to find.
********
That evening, Ramon was busy reading in his new room at the palace when the door suddenly started to open. He leapt to his feet, dropping the book and grabbing his blade. As he turned, he saw that it was only Siroc and let himself relax a bit. “You shouldn’t barge in like that, amigo. I could’ve killed you.”
“And you shouldn’t be here instead of in the garrison. Whatever happened to ‘one for all and all for one’?”
“That’s the elder D’Artagnan’s motto, not ours.”
“Still true, though. There’s a palace guard, there’s a garrison full of musketeers. We all protect the King.”
“Si, but only I have the sword. Only I can fend off any attack.”
Siroc sighed. “It’s a nice sword…a fine piece of metallurgy if I do say so myself…but can you really believe it makes you unstoppable? We’re supposed to be working together.”
Ramon didn’t respond right away, but moved over to the bed, sitting down and resting his forearms across his thighs. “Perhaps I could use a bit of help, compañero.”
The inventor nodded. “There now…was that so hard?”
“It’s hard to know who to trust anymore.”
“You know who you can trust, Ramon. We’ve been friends for how long now?”
Ramon actually cracked a small smile at that. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, and though I can’t say I wholeheartedly approve of this new attitude, I’m willing to help…whatever it takes. Just say the word.”
“You really mean that, amigo?”
“Of course I do,” Siroc said, moving to sit next to Ramon. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Gracias, Siroc. That really means a lot to me.” With that, Ramon pulled his friend into a brotherly embrace.
********
While Siroc was busy talking to Ramon, D’Artagnan was keeping watch over a still-feverish Jacqueline. He placed a damp cloth on her forehead, as per Siroc’s instructions, then checked the poultice the inventor had made. As he did, Duval walked up behind him.
“How’s he doing?”
D’Artagnan shrugged. “He’s a little better. Siroc made some sort of poultice that’s stopped the bleeding…I think.”
“Well, I hope you’re right,” Duval said, placing a hand on D’Artagnan’s shoulder. “You get some sleep too, Private.”
D’Artagnan shook his head. “Not much chance of that, Sir.” At that, Duval’s hand came away from his shoulder, and he left the lab just as Jacqueline began to stir.
“B-brother Antoine?”
“It’s me, D’Artagnan,” he assured her. Unfortunately, his words didn’t seem to have registered.
“T-that sword…the German’s sword…it has…power.”
“I think you’re imagining things, Jacqueline. What’s going through that lovely head of yours?” Sadly, even his rather pathetic attempt at flirting went unnoticed.
“Y-you have to warn them, Brother.”
“Come on, Jacqueline. I’m right here.”
“I-it’s too late for me…”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“…but they might still have a chance.”
“Jacqueline!” he called out, fear evident in his voice. She continued on, as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Please…you have to warn them.” Suddenly, her hand shot up, latching onto his shoulder. “Tell Siroc and D’Artagnan…the sword…it can steal your soul!” Once the words were out, her hand fell away and she slipped once more into unconsciousness.
“No,” he cried, attempting to rouse her again. “Jacqueline!”
********
Unknown to any of them, an unearthly blue light snaked its way out of Notung’s jeweled pommel and over to the room’s occupants, just as Ramon released his grip on Siroc. The inventor sighed, running a hand through his unruly blonde locks. “Come on, Ramon…talk to me. Do you really believe that there are assassins falling from the sky…metaphorically speaking, of course.”
Ramon nodded. “I have to. If I stop thinking that, even for a second, then I’ll fail in my duties. Only through constant vigilance can we truly safeguard the King’s life.”
“Do you know how strange it is to hear you talk like that, Ramon? Not that it’s a bad thing…just different.”
“You’ve been talking to D’Artagnan, haven’t you?”
“Yes…he told me what you said. Believe me, Ramon, we’re not jealous…just worried.”
“Well, you don’t need to be. I’m doing great…better than ever, even.”
“That’s great, but it doesn’t mean you have to take this on alone. Let us help you. We’re a team, remember?”
“I suppose it couldn’t hurt….”
“Is that a yes?”
“Si, it is.”
Siroc nodded. “Good. Now…I heard you paid a visit to that assassin earlier. What did he have to say?”
Ramon shrugged. “Not much…he died during the interrogation.”
“What?” Siroc exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“Hey, he brought it on himself, amigo. It was a necessary evil.”
The inventor shook his head, glaring. “You’ve got the evil part right.”
“I thought you wanted to help.”
“Not like this.” Siroc turned on his heel and bolted for the door. As he did, Ramon leapt off the bed.
“Don’t turn your back on me!”
“You’ve already turned your back on yourself, Ramon,” he muttered. “Why should I be any different?” With that, Siroc walked out, slamming the door behind him.
********
The next morning, Captain Duval and D’Artagnan’s breakfast was interrupted by a group of red-coated guardsmen attempting to arrest a young woman and her aging father. Naturally, the musketeers stepped in, and a fight ensued. And, just as they were on the verge of winning said fight, Ramon strode into the café. His normally unruly hair was slicked back, and he was wearing a brand new fancy uniform, complete with an armband bearing the initials ‘SP,’ matching those worn by the redcoats.
“Arrest those two!” he demanded, pointing at the father and daughter.
D’Artagnan glared. “What are you doing?”
Ramon glared back. “By order of the Office of the Special Protector, all persons of Italian or Portuguese citizenship or descent, or who are affiliated with the Dominicans, Franciscans, or Jesuits must report to the Bastille immediately, pending further investigation.”
“Have you lost your mind, Ramon?” Duval demanded. Ramon ignored him.
“Take these two in!” Immediately, the guards grabbed the two innocent people and hauled them off. Ramon turned to some of the other guards. “You, come with me.” He turned on his heel and left the café, the guards right behind him.
Once they left, D’Artagnan turned to the captain. “My God…that’s hundreds of people.”
“And families.”
Just then, D’Artagnan remembered what he’d told Ramon a few nights before. “Oh no…Jacques!”
“What?”
“The crucifix Ramon took from the assassin…it looks just like the one Jacques had when he first enlisted. And I told Ramon about it….” Praying that he wouldn’t be too late, D’Artagnan turned and sprinted for the lab, with Duval following as fast as his leg would allow.
Unfortunately, they arrived to find Jacques being lifted from her bed by the guards while several more held Siroc back.
“Captain,” he shouted. “They’re taking Jacques to prison!”
“That man is a King’s Musketeer!”
“He’s your friend!”
“He’s going to die down there, Ramon!”
Ramon glared, placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Do you think this is easy for me? I’m trying to protect the King, and it would be wrong to make exceptions for mi conocidos (my acquaintances). ”
“No, but I’m sure you’re making an exception for Mazarin”
“He’ll get his soon enough.” He moved over to D’Artagnan and Siroc, speaking so only they could hear. “Just be glad I haven’t told them who Jacques really is.”
“You may as well have,” D’Artagnan growled. “Just by putting her in prison, you’ll succeed where Mazarin has failed. I hope you can live with that.”
“I suppose I’ll have to.” He turned to the guards. “Take him away.” They dragged Jacqueline off, and Ramon followed behind. Once they were gone, the other guards released the musketeers they were holding back and left as well.
********
Ramon was sitting in his room, doing some paperwork, when a knock came at the door. “Come in.” The doors opened, admitting Brother Antoine inside. “Brother Antoine, what brings you here?”
“I stopped by the garrison to look in on Jacques.”
“Si, he was rounded up with the others.”
Brother Antoine frowned. “So it’s true? You cast a dying man…a friend…into the dungeon?”
“I hear his condition is improving.”
“A true testament to the healing power of persecution and imprisonment. You can’t really think that Jacques….” He trailed off when he realized that Ramon wasn’t the least bit moved by his words, deciding to try a different tact. “Your friends are becoming concerned about you.”
Ramon shook his head. “If you’re talking about D’Artagnan and Siroc, I don’t need their concern. I need their support and their loyalty. We face a cunning and deadly enemy here.”
Brother Antoine laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps if we took a minute to pray together…ask God for divine guidance.”
The Spaniard glared. “Mi sendero es claro (my path is clear). I have been chosen…blessed with a calling and a higher purpose. Now surely you can understand that.”
“Over the years, I have sacrificed many things for my faith…but never my friends. You are in my prayers.” Giving Ramon a sad look, the Brother turned and left the room. The ‘Special Protector’ was unfazed, going right back to his work.
********
At the first opportunity, Siroc and D’Artagnan went to the Bastille to check up on Jacqueline. More accurately, they were planning to try and bust her out before any of the guards noticed anything amiss about ‘Jacques.’ However, that plan was shot the second they walked in, as Siroc’s metal detection device was now situated in the main entrance…stolen from his lab by the so-called ‘Special Protector.’ Reluctantly, the duo left their weapons behind and went to tend to their friend, both vowing to find some other way to get her out of there, whatever it took.
Meanwhile, Ramon was meeting once more with Louis, presenting him with some land seizure orders he’d drawn up the night before. But that wasn’t the only reason he had for that meeting. He needed to try and convince the King to do something about Mazarin. The cardinal may not have had anything to do with this attempt, but Ramon knew it was only a matter of time before he and his secret order tried something. Unfortunately, the young monarch seemed more worried about losing his precious ‘ravioli night’ should Mazarin be taken into custody than the potential threat the prime minister posed to his life. Devoted as he was to Louis, Ramon knew that the boy was still immature and sadly lacking when it came to brains. To remove Mazarin, he’d have to take matters into his own hands…for the King’s own good, of course. He left the meeting already plotting the cardinal’s downfall.
********
While Ramon plotted, Siroc and D’Artagnan were busy making plans of their own. Siroc, for his part, was pouring some rocks and gunpowder into a hollowed-out watermelon.
“Let’s get going,” D’Artagnan insisted. “Who knows how long Jacques will last in that hellhole.”
“Just a few more rocks…a little more black powder…”
“Do you really think that’s going to work?”
“My non-metallic concussion device will work perfectly. What I don’t understand is how we intend to smuggle it past those dungeon guards.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, D’Artagnan gave him the strangest look. “What?”
“Has anyone ever told you you have the most delicate…cheekbones?” Siroc’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out just what his comrade was getting at.
He didn’t have to wait long. Within the hour, D’Artagnan somehow managed to talk him into a noblewoman’s dress and wig, with the homemade bomb strapped to his stomach underneath, and was currently painting the hapless inventor’s face with make-up. He himself was dressed in a nice suit with a long brown coat, topping the disguise off with an obviously fake beard.
“I don’t know what your problem is,” the Gascon asked as he mixed up some red.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Don’t you want to get Jacques out of jail?”
“Yes, but I—“
“Hold still. You need more rouge,” he said, applying the color to Siroc’s cheeks. “Now, you saw his condition. He may not last much longer.”
“Yeah, I know, but—“
“Purse your lips.” Siroc did as his comrade asked, and D’Artagnan immediately started applying the red to his lips.
“This will fool no one,” he protested.
“Shh…you’re making me smudge.”
“A man dressed up like a woman,” he muttered. “What’s next, a woman dressed up like a…never mind.”
D’Artagnan laughed. “Hey, if Jacques was able to pull it off every day for months, surely you can handle a measly hour or so.” He turned the inventor towards the full-length mirror, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “You’re gorgeous.”
“You don’t think this dress makes my hips look too big?”
The Gascon rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said, escorting Siroc from the garrison. They soon reached the prison, the inventor walking in on D’Artagnan’s arm like a proper lady. Once they passed through the archway where the stolen invention was situated, a red-coated guard stopped them.
“What’s your business here?”
“Madame LePonte begs your pardon, sir, but she’d like to see her husband Jacques.”
“No one is allowed to see him,” the guard stated curtly. At that, Siroc cried out and grabbed his ‘stomach.’
“What’s the matter?” D’Artagnan asked.
“The baby…it kicked.”
“It did?” the redcoat asked.
D’Artagnan grinned. “New life…isn’t it exciting? You look like a family man yourself.”
At that, the guard quickly moved for a stool, placing it next to Siroc. “A woman in your condition shouldn’t be on her feet.”
Siroc gave a rather girlish giggle. “So kind…handsome, and kind…” He took a seat, with some assistance from D’Artagnan.
The Gascon looked pleadingly at the guard. “Surely you won’t deny the father of this child the opportunity to see his family one last time.”
The guard thought for a moment, then relented. “I’ll go get your husband.” He walked away, returning a few minutes later with Jacqueline, who looked quite pale and could barely even stand on her own. She was conscious, though, which was a good sign.
The two of them stood up, and Jacqueline stared at them for a moment, not quite sure she was seeing right. ‘Is that Siroc…in a dress? Sacre bleu…the fever must be causing me to hallucinate.’ “D’Art—“
“Darn the luck. Imagine you, locked up here without being able to see your wife…and her, with child…”
She was still trying to figure out what was going on when the guard spoke to her.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Don’t you have a kiss for the mother of your child?”
“Of course he does,” D’Artagnan chimed in, pushing Siroc forward. Slowly, Jacqueline moved forward to meet him.
“Darling…” Siroc squeaked.
“Mon Dieu…” She leaned in, putting what little energy she had left into the kiss in order to make it look convincing. Siroc didn’t seem to mind it much, and they only parted when D’Artagnan impatiently cleared his throat. The inventor gave another girlish giggle, and the guards smiled.
“That’s sweet. You want to feel the baby kick?”
“Baby?” she asked, still confused about the situation.
“Our baby…” Siroc answered, his voice still squeaking from his attempts to sound feminine.
“It’s got quite a kick.” D’Artagnan added, placing her hand on Siroc’s ‘stomach’ and patting it. Finally, it dawned on Jacqueline just what they were trying to do. Siroc made another odd noise. “It’s time.” At his signal, the inventor dropped the watermelon and kicked it towards the guards. There was a rather tense moment of waiting, and then it finally exploded, knocking the guards down and filling the halls with smoke. The musketeers used the distraction to grab Jacqueline and help her out of the prison.
“Nice perfume,” she commented, catching a whiff as they walked. “You been raiding my quarters again, D’Artagnan?”
“It worked, didn’t it? He said it was too flowery.”
“No, it’s lovely, really. One of my favorites.”
“Will you two just shut up!” Siroc snapped, ending the conversation as they made their way up the stairs leading outside.
********
Unaware of Jacques’ escape, Ramon sat at his desk, working on his plan to finally remove the cardinal’s dangerous influence over the King. He’d watched Louis sign those seizure orders earlier, and his signature wasn’t difficult to copy. The hardest part was getting hold of the Royal seal. But he’d gotten it, and was now writing up arrest and execution orders for one Cardinal Jules Mazarin, as well as a full pardon for Jacqueline Roget…the least he could do after sending her to jail. All he had to do was sign Louis’ name and add the seal, and Mazarin would no longer be a problem. Ramon knew that what he was doing could be considered treason, but it was for the King’s own good, even if he wasn’t yet wise enough to see that. One day, though, he’d surely thank him for it.
Unknown to the ‘Special Protector,’ the man in question was standing outside his door, which he’d opened just a crack in order to spy on the ambitious Spaniard. Mazarin’s face lit up in a malevolent grin as he watched Ramon forge the King’s seal and signature. Finally, he had a reason to get rid of the brat and reclaim his influence over Louis. He quietly closed the door, making plans to get his hands on those documents at the first opportunity. Lucky for him, most of the palace messengers either worked for him already or were easily bought.
********
The next morning, Ramon received word that ‘Jacques’ had escaped from the prison. He and a contingent of guards stormed into the garrison common room, where Siroc, D’Artagnan and Duval were attempting to have breakfast.
“Where is he?” The Spaniard demanded. “Where are you hiding him?”
“Hiding who?” D’Artagnan asked.
Ramon glared daggers at the three. “Don’t play dumb with me, D’Artagnan. I know you helped Jacques escape.” He turned to Duval. “Were you in on this too, Captain?”
Duval growled. “I didn’t even know he escaped.”
“I see….” He ordered the guards to search the garrison, then returned his attention to the musketeers as the redcoats moved to follow his orders. “They’re not going to find him there though, are they? Brother Antoine…is he the one hiding Jacques? Do you really think he’ll find santuario there?” Ramon would’ve continued his tirade, but just then one of the guards handed him a small scroll. He quickly unrolled it and read it through before looking over at Siroc and D’Artagnan. “The King wishes to meet with us. You can explain this outrage to him.”
********
A short time later, the two musketeers and Louis’ ‘Special Protector’ entered the throne room, where the King, the Queen Mother, and Mazarin were waiting for them. They all bowed respectfully, then stood at attention to await His Majesty’s pleasure.
“Your Majesty,” Ramon began. “I am here to allow you to personally ascertain innocence or guilt.”
Grinning, Mazarin leaned down towards the King’s ear. “I approve, Your Majesty.” Glaring at the Spaniard, he then drew himself back up and approached the group. “Helping a prisoner to escape the Bastille is a treasonable offense, punishable by death. A sentence, of course, which can only be handed down by the King.” He glanced at Siroc, who swallowed hard out of nervousness, and then continued on to where Ramon stood. “Then again, so is stealing the Royal seal, forging His Majesty’s signature on government documents, and plotting against high-ranking officials.” As the musketeers gaped in shock, Mazarin reached inside his robes and produced a stack of documents, which he then handed to Louis. “Sire, I personally witnessed your ‘Special Protector’ drawing these up last night, and they were delivered to me this morning by a loyal palace messenger. As you can see, de la Cruz has taken it upon himself to draw up orders for my arrest and execution, and to sign Your Majesty’s name to them without even consulting you.”
“Cardinal Mazarin poses a threat to the Crown,” Ramon protested. “I did what was needed to protect you.”
“Oh really?” Mazarin drawled, looking quite smug. “Then explain this other document…the one granting a full pardon to the fugitive Jacqueline Roget—the woman who murdered my last captain of the guard.”
“You say murder; I call it a matter of honor.”
“I see.” The cardinal turned his attention back to Louis. “I believe the evidence speaks for itself, Sire. Clearly, Ramon de la Cruz has been taking advantage of you…using the power you granted him solely towards his own ends…even so far as plotting to have me killed and set a notorious murderess free. You know what you have to do, Your Majesty.”
Louis nodded. “Siroc, D’Artagnan…take him into custody.”
At that, Ramon drew the broadsword, and the others did likewise with their rapiers. “Usted tendrá que matarme (you’ll have to kill me)” he spat.
Siroc carefully inched his way towards Ramon. “You don’t have to do this, amigo,” he said softly. “We’ll ask for exile….You’d consider exile, Your Majesty, would you not? He’s served you faithfully.”
“Don’t bargain for me, Siroc…bargain for your own life. I wield la espada invincible (the invincible sword)!”
“Sorcerer!” Louis squeaked. “He’s a sorcerer! Siroc, arrest him!”
Much as it pained him, the inventor moved to carry out his monarch’s wish. “Don’t do this, Ramon,” he pleaded. “Give me the sword…please.”
Ramon muttered something unintelligible in Spanish, then attacked the blonde musketeer with deadly intent. Siroc did his best to parry, all the while begging the Spaniard to reconsider. But it didn’t take a genius to realize that this would not end well. His fencing abilities were rather lacking in comparison to his comrades—no doubt a result of having spent more time in the lab than the training yard—and Notung was far heavier than his own blade.
Sure enough, Ramon soon
gained the upper hand. He knocked his
opponent’s blade away as if it were nothing, then
sliced his own across the inventor’s stomach.
Clutching at the wound, Siroc staggered for a moment before collapsing
to the floor. Watching his comrade fall,
Ramon finally realized just what he’d become.
He dropped the damnable broadsword and rushed to Siroc’s side, screaming
his name. “
Siroc’s eyes fluttered open, locking with the Spaniard’s own. “R-Ramon….”
“No…Siroc!” But it was too late. The inventor fell limp, his eyes closed forever to this world. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Ramon shook his friend’s still form, calling his name and begging forgiveness from whoever might be listening.
All of a sudden, everything changed. Random scenes from the past several days replayed themselves, the images seeming to come at him from all sides. Before long, Ramon found himself once more in the room where they’d chased the gigante, looking down into his own eyes as his other self lay sprawled on the floor, following the collision with that chair. Time seemed to slow down for several moments, as the two Ramons stared at each other. Then things sped up again, and Ramon was back in that crucial moment, right before Jacques was hurt. This time, Jacques was able to avoid the deadly blow. Seizing the moment, Ramon leapt right back into the fray and grabbed hold of the giant’s sword arm. The others quickly followed suit, and between the four of them they were able to subdue the so-called Siegfried.
Just as they were about to take the man into custody, a nun stormed in, calling him ‘Gunther.’ Apparently, she worked at a nearby sanitarium, and Siegfried/Gunther was one of the inmates. The good Sister confiscated the sword and handed it to Louis before returning to the sanitarium with her ward. Relieved, the King congratulated Ramon on a job well done and, in spite of his protests that it had been a group effort, offered him whatever he wanted.
********
Later that afternoon, the four musketeers made their way to a large lake out in the countryside. Ramon took the lead, the ‘invincible sword’ by his side. Enchanted or no, he wasn’t taking any chances this time around. The sword had to be banished someplace where it could do no more harm.
On reaching their destination, Ramon quickly dismounted and grabbed the broadsword, walking towards the lake with a purpose. Naturally, the other three were right on his heels.
“Are you out of your mind?” Jacques asked. “It was the King’s gift to you.”
“It’s a real shame Ramon. That’s a skillfully crafted piece of metallurgy.”
“And so impressive to the ladies,” D’Artagnan added. “A man with that trophy could have his pick of Paris.”
Ignoring them, Ramon stared into the blade, recalling the events of his dream…or was it a vision?
“What is it,” Siroc asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Ramon shook his head, tearing himself away from the sword to look at his comrades. “No…no fantasmas here. Only living men.” Giving them a reassuring smile, he turned and walked to the edge of the cliff overlooking the lake. Grasping the sword by the hilt, he threw it as hard as he could, watching with grim satisfaction as the blade disappeared beneath the pristine waters.
His task accomplished, he slowly made his way back to where his comrades waited. He didn’t know how much of what he had seen in the dream could be trusted as truth, but something like that couldn’t just appear out of thin air. No, there had to be something there inside him to have sparked such a vision…some dark demon in the back of his mind that was capable of such atrocities. Ramon had looked El Diablo in the eye, and it was wearing his face. And that scared him more than anything…so much so that he knew he’d never be the same again.
Of course, he couldn’t let any of them know that. If his comrades had any inkling of what he’d witnessed, they’d surely hate him for it. Better that he take the secrets of this dream to the grave…especially the one concerning Jacques. Even though none of those things really happened, he knew deep down that his vision had at least been telling the truth about their newest comrade. It was as if the proverbial scales had fallen from his eyes, allowing Ramon to truly see him—her—for the first time. And, as in the dream world, the knowledge changed nothing of how he felt. She was a trusted friend and comrade, and the Spaniard silently vowed to die before betraying her secret to anyone.
As soon as he returned to where his friends were standing, Siroc came up and quietly asked what he wasn’t telling them. With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Ramon simply informed his inventive amigo that some things were better left unsaid. In spite of his curiosity, Siroc nodded in understanding, deciding to just let it go…for now. The quartet mounted their steeds once more and headed back to the garrison.
While they rode, Ramon was already composing a new rhapsody in his mind of their latest adventure…at least, the version his comrades already knew. Tempting as it was to write one of his dream, even disguised as fiction, the poet took his vow seriously. That horrible vision would die with him, and he prayed that none of it would ever come to pass.
The End