The Last Musketeer

by Stuart Gibbs

  “Then I’d worry about my own neck if I were you,” Athos said. “You’ve committed far worse treason than any of us.”

  Richelieu snorted. “You have just laid siege to a royal prison! I have done nothing but serve my king!”

  “So . . . he knows about the letter you sent Milady de Winter off with last night?” Porthos asked.

  Richelieu gasped in astonishment. “I did no such thing.”

  “Oh, no?” Greg demanded. “Because I saw you do it. And then I followed Milady to Saint-Germain-des-Prés. I’m sure either she or the monks there would reveal the truth if His Majesty the king asked them. Or perhaps the envoy from another country she met at the inn could help us—”

  “All right!” Richelieu shouted. “I sent out a letter!”

  “Then why was I not told of it?” Louis demanded. Greg was impressed; the boy’s voice was full of calm authority, unlike how he’d sounded back at the palace.

  “It didn’t seem worth troubling you over, Your Highness.” Richelieu forced a fake smile. “It was just an unimportant missive.”

  “Sent out under the cover of night?” Louis asked. “And delivered by a handmaiden? It appears you’ve been doing quite a lot behind my back lately.”

  “If I have offended you, I beg your forgiveness once again,” Richelieu said. “I have done nothing but serve my king and France, while these boys have destroyed a prison to free two people who planned to assassinate you!”

  “Indeed. My friend Aramis here says these prisoners were condemned to death for their acts. Is that true?” Louis asked.

  “That’s correct,” Richelieu replied.

  “I don’t recall issuing that decree, either,” Louis snapped. “Did you?”

  “Er, yes, but . . . ,” Richelieu stammered. “But it was in your best interests! They infiltrated the palace three nights ago with intent to kill you!”

  Louis fixed Richelieu with a harsh stare. “So you say. Although I’ve noticed that what you say isn’t always the truth.”

  “This time it is, sire,” Richelieu mewled. “I assure you.”

  “Well, I suppose we could investigate that,” the king said. “And while we’re at it, we might want to talk to some of the other prisoners in La Mort and see if they really did what they’re in there for . . . or if they’ve only been put away because you ordered it.”

  Richelieu swallowed hard. “Why would you say that, Your Majesty?”

  “Aramis and I had a very enlightening discussion on the way here,” Louis said. “It seems many of the prisoners in that jail are there only because you sent them there.”

  “It is true, I have sentenced some,” Richelieu admitted. “But never an innocent party. Everyone I’ve condemned has been guilty!” His voice rose, as if he were forgetting himself. “I have the authority, do I not, to mete out punishment? If I have the intelligence to perceive someone is a criminal, then shouldn’t I, as a member of the government, be able to mete out punishment?”

  “So by that logic,” said Louis, “I should be able to do the same?”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Richelieu replied.

  Louis turned to the soldiers. “Take Monsieur Richelieu prisoner at once. I perceive he is a criminal.”

  The soldiers seemed surprised, but none hesitated. They’d probably never received a direct order from the king himself. They turned their muskets on Richelieu, who went white with shock.

  “Your Majesty! You can’t do this!”

  “I can do anything I want.” Louis smiled. “I’m the king, remember?”

  The soldiers quickly closed in on Richelieu. “Where should we take him, sire?” asked a captain.

  Louis looked across the river to where La Mort was still burning. “I’m afraid La Mort is no longer an option. I believe there’s a dungeon in the Bastille. Lock him up there. That should require only a few men. The rest of you, take some boats out to the island, put out that fire, and attend to the prisoners.”

  “And what are we to do about these boys?” the captain asked.

  Louis studied the four boys one by one: Greg, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. “I’ll keep an eye on them.”

  “Sire? I must protest—,” the captain began.

  “I’ll be all right,” Louis said. “Now get that fire out. That’s an order.”

  The soldiers scurried off. Once they were gone, Aramis turned to Louis. “Thank you, Your Majesty. . . .”

  “No, I should be thanking you. This has been a fascinating night.” Louis looked up at the stars. “Is it always this beautiful out here?”

  “Well, there are usually fewer prison fires, Your Highness,” Porthos said. “But otherwise, yes.”

  “I’d forgotten.” Louis sighed. “I haven’t been outside the palace alone at night since . . . Well, I can’t remember. Since before my father was killed, I’ll bet. Richelieu has always insisted I stay inside for my safety. But it seems there are many ways of making someone a prisoner.” Louis turned to Greg and his parents. “So, you’re all deadly assassins, are you?”

  Greg’s parents knelt reverently. “No, My Lord,” said Dad.

  “I think he was being sarcastic,” Greg whispered.

  “Your Majesty.” Athos stepped forward. “While you’re putting criminals away, there’s another you should know about. Richelieu’s twin brother. Last we saw him, he was out in the river somewhere.”

  “Oh?” Louis scanned the choppy water and shrugged.

  “You don’t seem very surprised about that,” Greg said.

  “Aramis told me about him as well,” Louis replied. “Like I said, it’s been fascinating. I knew people were plotting against me, but I never suspected it was the head of my own guard and his evil twin. And if his twin is still alive, he probably won’t last long. Not in that water, and not with my soldiers combing the riverbanks. I suppose, with both gone, I’ll probably need someone else in charge of security.”

  “I’d say so,” Porthos agreed. “Someone trustworthy this time.”

  Louis regarded the four boys and smiled. “I don’t suppose you’d all be interested?”

  In the woods nearby, Milady de Winter watched the king and the boys from atop her horse. She was too far away to clearly hear all that was said, but she could tell what had happened. Richelieu had been revealed as a traitor and taken prisoner.

  Milady smiled. Everything had worked out so much better than she could have possibly hoped. For months, she’d been looking for a way to unseat Richelieu. Now these peculiar boys had come along and played right into her hands. With Richelieu out of the way, she was now free to enact the plans she’d devised long ago. She snapped on the reins, ready to ride. . . .

  But a few words from the king drifted to her through the night. Milady reined in her horse before it could go far. Had she heard correctly? Had the king just asked the boys to be his private security force? Interesting . . . and a surprise.

  Although not one she couldn’t handle. Milady knew Athos was suspicious of her . . . while Aramis trusted her wholeheartedly. She could use both their feelings to her advantage. After all, they were just boys.

  It wouldn’t be hard to manipulate them.

  It fact, it might even be fun.

  Milady laughed to herself, then spurred her horse and galloped away.

  LE FIN

  ONE WEEK LATER . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “D’ARTAGNAN! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!” ARAMIS WHISPERED.

  Greg turned to his friend, surprised. “Now? The ceremony’s about to begin!”

  “It’s important,” Aramis hissed.

  Greg glanced anxiously around the room where everything had begun: the room in the Louvre where he and his parents had tumbled out of the future and into the past. Only this time, he’d been invited. This time, he wouldn’t flee the building with the king’s security chasing him. This time, he was the king’s security.

  Only the other boys and their immediate families were present, along with King Louis and a few ser
vants. Louis had proven to be a surprisingly normal teenager on the night of the prison break, but today, to make the right impression on all the families, he was in an exceptionally formal mode. He was dressed in red velvet robes draped with ermine, and carried a jewel-encrusted scepter the size of a polo mallet. He also wore a ridiculously large white wig . . . even though he’d confessed to Greg that he loathed it because it made his scalp itch.

  While everyone’s families were thrilled to be invited to the palace, Greg’s mother and father were understandably the most stunned. During their horrifying days in La Mort, they had given up hope of survival. Now, they beamed at Greg, as if returning to the future didn’t even matter anymore. All that mattered to them was that their family was together again.

  Like the other boys, Greg had been provided with a dashing outfit, tailored just for him. It was similar to the uniform of a French soldier, only with a wide-brimmed black hat and a blue jacket inlaid with a large fleur-de-lis. “We must face facts,” Porthos had remarked earlier, while the boys had stood together before one of the king’s massive mirrors. “We look terribly handsome in these.”

  “Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and D’Artagnan, please approach the throne!” ordered the king.

  The boys dutifully lined up shoulder to shoulder and began to cross the room in a slow, stately manner. Even Porthos behaved himself for once. Greg focused on maintaining a stoic countenance as well, but Aramis had piqued his interest.

  “What’s so important?” Greg whispered to him.

  Aramis jerked his head over his shoulder. There, in the doorway, stood Milady de Winter, her long blond hair cascading down her shoulders. She smiled at them. “I told you we could trust her,” Aramis said, grinning broadly.

  Greg glanced at Athos and found him glowering; he’d spotted Milady as well and wasn’t so pleased by her presence. “I suppose we can,” Greg told Aramis, though he wasn’t quite sure himself.

  “Could you girls quit whispering?” Porthos muttered. “What we’re doing here is serious.”

  Greg and Aramis fell silent as they reached the king’s throne and knelt before it.

  Louis spoke to everyone in the room. “It is no surprise to anyone here that the last several days have been quite eventful. And sadly, we face more danger.”

  Greg and the other boys knew exactly what he meant. Michel Dinicoeur had escaped. His footprints had been found on the muddy riverbank—but despite scouring the countryside, the army had not found him.

  Louis continued, “As recent events have proven that I cannot trust even my closest adviser, I have decided to create a security force that answers only to me: the Musketeers.” He snapped his fingers. Four servants came forward. Each carried a silver sword on a velvet pillow.

  Louis took the first and spoke to Athos. “You have been chosen for your exceptional valor and skill in battle. Your abilities may not have been appreciated in the military, but I assure you, they will be here.”

  Athos graciously took the sword and bowed. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  His parents gasped in awe. Greg noticed that of all the parents, Athos’s mother and father were the most humbled by their surroundings. Clearly neither of them had ever dreamed they might someday be invited to the palace. They were dressed in their finest clothes, which were still threadbare.

  Louis turned next to Porthos. “I would never have expected you to show such valor, but your bravery and skill have impressed me. Plus, every team needs a member who can adapt and improvise.”

  For once, Porthos appeared to be at a loss for words. He simply took the sword and bowed.

  Louis handed the third sword to Aramis. “You have been chosen for your great intelligence and ingenuity. Every team needs a wise man to lead it. You will make a wonderful captain of the Musketeers.”

  Aramis, too, bowed without a word. He shot one more glance back at Milady and blushed.

  King Louis stood before Greg with the fourth sword. “And now for you, D’Artagnan, the last Musketeer. I hear you can swim rivers like a fish, climb stone walls like a spider, and conjure flame like a sorcerer. But you also possess a skill far more important. You know how to make friends and win the trust of others. To come to Paris, knowing no one, and then unite such a fine group of young men for a practically impossible mission within only three days, well . . . that is something few people are capable of. No team will work without someone to hold it together. That is your job in the Musketeers.”

  Surprised by the king’s words, Greg turned to look at the other boys.

  “Even if you do talk strangely,” Porthos cracked.

  Aramis elbowed him in the ribs.

  They weren’t merely fellow Musketeers, Greg realized. It was strange, but even though he’d only known them all for a very short time, he felt closer to them than to any friends he’d ever made. For the first time in his life, Greg felt as though he belonged somewhere—and that he’d earned that belonging.

  He did want to return to the future some day. No doubt his parents wanted to even more. But to do that, they had to track down the Devil’s Stone. And wherever it was, Dinicoeur was out there somewhere looking for it too. Finding it—and defeating Dinicoeur once and for all—wouldn’t be easy. But the prospect of being stuck in medieval France (at least for the time being) no longer seemed like a prison sentence. In fact, now that Greg was surrounded by friends . . . it might actually be fun.

  Greg graciously accepted the sword from King Louis.

  “It is my honor to serve you,” he said. “I won’t let you down—”

  “Your Majesty!” a voice shouted from the back of the room. A soldier burst in, trailed by an embarrassed servant. Greg noticed that Milady had vanished. Upon seeing the ceremony in progress, the soldier knelt and bowed his head. “I greatly regret the interruption, Your Majesty, but there is an emergency. There has been an attack on the Bastille. Dominic Richelieu has escaped.”

  Greg immediately knew who was responsible. “Dinicoeur.”

  The other boys nodded agreement. Athos turned to Louis. “Are the formalities taken care of, Your Highness?”

  “Yes,” the king replied. “You are all fully deputized agents of my authority.”

  “Then there’s no time to waste.” Aramis raised his new sword in the air.

  Greg and his other friends all did the same, touching the tips together.

  “All for one . . . ,” Greg began.

  “. . . and one for all!” the others replied.

  Then they sheathed their swords and ran for their horses.

  Acknowledgments

  WHEN I FIRST STARTED WRITING THIS BOOK, I KNEW almost nothing about life in medieval Europe or any French history before Napoleon. Thankfully, I had two awesome women to assist me in my studies. First, my dear friend Courtney Spikes fortuitously happens to be a professor of French history at Mount St. Mary’s College. Then, Emily Mullin was not only an incredible researcher, but she also knew how to fence—and ultimately helped me craft this story. Their help was invaluable.

  I am also deeply indebted to Daniel Ehrenhaft, who spearheaded this project and was essential to its development. Many of the great ideas in these pages are Dan’s. Without him, this book wouldn’t exist at all.

  And finally, I need to thank my wife, Suzanne, who, in addition to all her usual wonderfulness, arranged a fantastic Paris vacation for us a few years ago—and didn’t mind when I insisted spending part of it clambering around inside the bell towers of Notre Dame and exploring the medieval fortress in the basement of the Louvre. I had no idea I’d be writing this book at the time or that those excursions would ever be useful, but as you’ll see, they were.

  About the Author

  STUART GIBBS lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two children, Dashiell and Violet. He is a screenwriter and the author of the middle-grade novel BELLY UP. You can visit him online at stuart-gibbs.com.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.


  Credits

  Jacket art © 2011 by Poly Bernatene

  Jacket design by Erin Fitzsimmons

  Copyright

  The Last Musketeer

  Copyright © 2011 by HarperCollins Publishers

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-06-204838-7

  EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2011 ISBN: 9780062048400

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