AN: All right, all right! I know this was a long time coming. There’s only so much of me to go around these days. At least it’s a long chapter, and I hope it was worth the wait.

It was nearing midday when D’Artagnon jogged into town, having to weave his way through the full swing of the market place.

“Jacques, wait up!”

Jacqueline glanced over her shoulder and slowed her pace down the cobblestones until he fell into step with her.

“Bright and early, eh D’Artagnon?” she teased.

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me. The next time I spend half the cold, rainy night getting shot at by a satanic cult, remind me to leave a wake-up page. What are you doing here?”

“I’m on foot patrol. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you! I didn’t know Duvall had you back on duty yet, and when you weren’t in your room, I thought –“

Jacqueline gave him a look. “What? That our new friend had murdered me in the night? Sorry, she was too busy crying on my shoulder.”

“Where is Badger anyway?”

She jerked a thumb off to their left, not needing to look to know that the green-cloaked figure was gliding through the shadows at the periphery of the bustling crowd, barely visible even to those who might actually be looking for her.

“What’s she doing?” D’Artagnan asked, frowning.

“She’s been like that all morning,” Jacqueline said drearily. “She insists it’s necessary for my safety.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“Have I mentioned lately how much I hate drawing attention to myself? Musketeers are supposed to be body guards, not have them.”

“Well, what sort if body guard is she supposed to be if she’s all the way over – Augh!”

So suddenly that she may have appeared out of thin air, Badger was there with one hand clamped onto D’Artagnan’s face and the other raised aloft to strike him down. Jacqueline’s voice stopped her just in time.

“Badger, no!”

Badger blinked. “Oh, it’s you.” She let D’Artagnan go and awkwardly dusted off his shoulder. “Sorry, lad. Thought you were someone else.”

Jacqueline took Badger’s elbow and pulled her off to the side.

“Badger, you can’t go doing that to everyone who talks to me!”

“My lady –“

“Ssh!”

“I mean Jacques, it’s for me to protect you. I failed Madge. I’m not going to fail you.”

“Fine, but have I mentioned how much I hate drawing attention to myself?”

“Why?”

“Monsieur! Monsieur LePonte! Yoo-hoo!” a voice trilled from nearby.

Badger watched Jacqueline cringe up at the be-frilled woman who was trotting up to them, waving her handkerchief madly at Jacqueline the whole time as though trying to flag down a ship at sea.

“Among other reasons…” Jacqueline muttered to Badger before turning a polite smile up at the young lady. “Bonjour, Mademoiselle LeFou.”

Monique the fishmonger’s daughter stopped so close to Jacqueline that she was almost standing on the musketeer’s boots and made a rather impressive show of fanning her bosom.

“Monsieur, it is a miracle! They told me you’d gone missing and I was so afraid that I would never see you again!”

“Well. Here I am,” said Jacqueline.

“I should say, I might have been told that you’d returned. Here I was, sick with worry, and praying for you every single – Oh, dear! But you are wounded!”

“It’s nothing, honestly.”

“You brave man, you must not spare my sensibilities. How horrible your ordeal must have been! I simply cannot wait to hear every detail.”

“Another time perhaps, Mademoiselle LeFou. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have –“

The nymph swatted Jacqueline’s arm with her handkerchief. “It is ‘Monique,’ you silly boy! How many times must I tell you?”

“Monique, I hate to cut the conversation short, but I do have a patrol to –“

“Nonsense. You simply mustn’t go another step until I’ve had a chance to restore you.” Monique threaded her arm through Jacqueline’s and began to pull her off on a different course.

“But I –“

“Not another word. Just you wait: A few weeks of my tender care, and you’ll have enough stamina for the both of – Eek!”

Monique tripped to a halt, having almost run into Badger, who had materialized directly in her path.

“I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle,” Badger said. “What do you think you’re doing with my fiancé?”

Jacqueline’s moment of shock was outdone only by Monique, who luckily was too busy spluttering to notice the musketeer’s expression. If she had, it certainly would have ruined everything.

“You? His fiancé? You?”

“Yes, and I would appreciate you not pawing him like some over-amorous cat.”

Monique looked Badger over until a haughty smile curled her painted lips.

“He’s not your fiancé.”

“No?”

“No. A gentleman such as he is would never take a savage for his wife.”

“Hm.” Without another moment’s hesitation, Badger took Jacqueline’s face in her hands, stood up on tip-toes, and kissed her full on the mouth. Jacqueline had just enough presence of mind to keep her eyeballs in her head until she heard Monique’s footsteps clicking angrily off down the cobblestones. It wasn’t until the footfalls had faded into the crowd that Badger broke the kiss.

“Is she gone?”

“Who cares?” D’Artagnan grinned as he sauntered up to them.

“Bloody harpy. I can see why you avoid her. Half a minute of listening to her and I’m exhausted.” Badger frowned at Jacqueline, who was still speechless. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I told you it’s for me to protect you.”

“The Celts aren’t masters of subtlety, are they?” D’Artagnan mused.

“Sweet Jesus, what have I gotten myself into now?” Jacqueline muttered.

“There you are!”

The three of them looked up to see Siroc jogging towards them through the crowd. He stopped at the edge of their huddle and was a moment in catching his breath.

“You should’ve run faster. If you had, you might’ve made it in time for –“

“D’Artagnan!” Jacqueline cut him off.

“What? It’s as good a way as any to introduce a Celt, isn’t it?”

“What Celt?” said Siroc.

Frowning, D’Artagnan and Jacqueline looked to Badger, finding only an empty space where she had just been. A scan of the crowd showed no sign of her either.

“That’s going to drive me crazy,” said D’Artagnan. “Siroc, I swear I’m not going mad. She was right here. Tell him, Jacques!”

Jacqueline shrugged. “I never saw this oaf before in my life.”

“Never mind that,” Siroc said grimly. “Ramon’s been hurt.”

Philippe watched the three of them jog off toward the garrison from behind the pillar of the church, a slow, wide smile overtaking his face. Finally there was some good news to tell the cardinal.

Jacqueline, Siroc and D’Artagnan ran into the garrison common room to find Ramon perched on the table top, grimacing as he held a bloody towel to the back of his head. His right eye was nearly swollen shut, leaving the left to glare doubly hard at the newcomers.

“Not so loud,” he said. “I already feel like there’s an angry carpenter at work inside my skull.”

“Ramon, are you all right?” Jacqueline asked.

“Fine! I’ve just been knocked unconscious and left for dead. All in a day’s work, right?” He hissed as Siroc peeled the towel away and examined the wound. “One minute I was on patrol through the woods. Then I heard someone yelling for help. I went off the road to see what was up and then I got jumped by a pack of masked twats.”

“The Order?”

“Unless masks and hooded robes are coming into style,” said Ramon.

“But they didn’t kill you,” D’Artagnan observed.

“No, and after I took down a dozen of them too. I had the last few right where I wanted them, and then their biggest brute took me down from behind. Then he leaned over me and said ‘Where is it?’ My head was spinning so much that I thought there were about seven of him, otherwise I would’ve reached right up and tied a knot out of his –“

“Where was what?” Jacqueline asked with a sinking feeling.

“That’s what I said! Then he said something about a cross. I said ‘What cross?’ and he punched me in the face. When I woke up, they were gone.”

“God help me…”

“God help you if you ever meet that galoot, Jacques. He fights as dirty as his breath.”

“The good news is, he didn’t crack your skull,” Siroc announced.

“How can you tell?”

“That would be the bad news.”

D’Artagnan winced. “Did you get a look at him?”

“Sure I did. He was the one in the mask. Come on, Siroc. Let’s get this over with.”

Siroc helped the tall Spaniard stagger toward the laboratory, leaving D’Artagnan to sigh after them.

“Looks like they’re upping the ante, Jacques… Jacques?”

Jacqueline urged Fairlight into a leap over a fallen tree in the road. The mare sailed past the obstacle and landed perfectly back into her run. Her blue eyes were set on the way with the focus of an eagle and her mind so tunneled that she was nearly oblivious to everything but her goal.

And then Badger appeared in the road and stood directly in Fairlight’s path. The mare reared to a stop so close that her flailing hooves pawed the air inches from Badger’s stony face. Jacqueline, unable to keep the saddle at the steep incline, tumbled to the ground. As though sensing the ire of her mistress, Fairlight quickly settled and sidled several feet away.

“Badger! What on God’s green earth is wrong with you?” Jacqueline shouted.

“Me? Am I the one galloping into a dark forest where musketeers have an annoying habit of getting jumped? Are you mad?”

“I did not ask you to follow me around,” Jacqueline said, angrily getting to her feet. “You can’t just keep popping up whenever you feel like it!”

“I beg your roaring pardon, you crazy frog! Just what did you mean coming out here by yourself?”

“I meant to keep any more of my friends from getting hurt because of me. Ramon –“

“I know! Jacques, neither your God nor mine would have chosen a fool for your position, so think! They’re using your friends to get to you.”

Jacqueline laughed bitterly. “So what am I supposed to do? Watch them fall one by one like my brother and my father? That’s not going to happen while I’m alive!”

“Keep it up and that’ll be a moot point, won’t it?”

Jacqueline drew her sword, plunged its point into the ground, and advanced on Badger, actually forcing the Celt backwards half a step.

“What do you want from me?” she shouted. “You come here and tell me to forget everything I’ve ever known and everything I’ve ever believed, and for what? A dream? Some fantasy that for all I know isn’t true? No dream is worth that, especially if it means more good people have to die.”

“What do you want me to say? That I lied? I didn’t. If I could take it all back and make it all untrue, don’t you think I…” Badger cut herself off, took a deep breath, and met Jacqueline’s blue eyes with bare levelness. “I told you, it’s for me to protect you. Even if it’s from yourself.”

Before Jacqueline could ask whether that was some kind of threat, the forest air was split by a gunshot. Jacqueline snapped her head in the direction of the sound, just as it was punctuated by a dozen more. Off in the distance, a great black billow of smoke was rising above the trees. Before another word could be said, Jacqueline snatched her sword, vaulted onto Fairlight’s back, and kicked her into a gallop.

About half a mile from where the two women had been standing, there was a small village of miners and farmers. That morning, it had been the same pleasant if dull community it always was. That afternoon, it was something of a different story.

Captain Gilbert relished the chaotic scene through the eyes of his mask. The handful of villagers who hadn’t run when they first saw the approach of the captain and his fellows were being rounded into the center of the town like sheep by a pack of collies. Several bodies were already strewn about the grounds with gunshots to the back, a few farmers having met their end in a hopeless bid to save their houses from the torches of Gilbert’s subordinates. Those not engaged in the chase were now setting fire to the thatched roof of a fourth and fifth house. Gilbert smiled as a particularly spritely girl was carried bodily to the huddle and dropped next to a cowering man and his children. The girl bounced to her feet and glared.

“Stop resisting,” Gilbert said loudly. “We have not come to kill you today, but it’s won’t be much out of our way if you make things difficult.”

“What do you want with us?” the girl demanded.

Gilbert advanced on her, coming to a stop so close that she could count his eyelashes.

“Fortunately for you, nothing you can give.”

She spat into his mask, narrowly missing an eyehole. Furious, he raised his arm to backhand her with all the force and ominousness of a tidal wave.

A sound diverted his attention at the last moment. Frowning behind the leather, he turned toward the forest line and saw a familiar angry figure pounding toward him on a white horse.

With a collective battle cry, the half dozen black knights in the company ran to engage the musketeer. Gilbert noted vaguely that the villagers seized the opportunity to flee, letting them go in favor of watching the action.

Jacqueline drew the two loaded pistols she had tucked in her belt and fired them simultaneously, hitting one man in the kneecap and another in the throat. Not missing a stride, she dropped the spent pistols and drew her sword just in time to meet the next challenger with an upward stroke that opened him from navel to chin. Still in motion, she swept over Fairlight’s other side, parried an overhead chop from the next man, and brought her sword up into an arc that ended with the tip of her sword punched through his back. Her keenly focused horse continued to carry her past the falling corpse into another brief engagement that consisted of a single parry and a side-cut to a man’s carotid artery. She regained her balance just in time to duck the shot of the sixth and apparently wisest man, who had learned that it was unwise to engage this musketeer in close combat. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t have another plan should he miss. The bullet whizzed over her head, and he was still drawing his sword when she ran him through with hers.

Another gunshot pierced the air and the earth tumbled out from under Jacqueline. She hit the ground and tumbled with the momentum, ending prone and breathless on a patch of dead grass. Lifting her spinning head, she saw Fairlight down on her flank several paces before her, her hooves pawing the air in a feeble attempt to rise.

Jacqueline scrambled to the mare and was horror struck to find a shock of bright red blood cascading down Fairlight’s white foreleg from a wound in the withers.

“Ssh, easy girl. Easy,” she whispered helplessly, stroking the mare’s neck.

“I say, little man. It seems the only thing more hazardous than being you is knowing you.”

Shaking with her building rage, Jacqueline got to her feet and faced the man. He was standing with his sword swinging casually from his big hand, and a grin of cocky anticipation showing through his mask.

“I must say, the legends didn’t exaggerate. Are all musketeers so resilient, or is it just you?”

Jacqueline raised the bloody tip of her sword and sighted him down its length. “Yield, in the name of the king.”

He laughed. “My great and worthy opponent. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve searched the world for someone who could give me a decent fight, a real battle. Who else but the Last Guardian?”

“You should have just come after me if you wanted to live to tell about it. You screwed up when you went after my friends.”

“Yes, your friends. How does it feel to know that I used them just like the watchers are using you? How does it taste? Bitter and cold like digging for roots in the middle of winter? Like when Mazarin killed your father? Tell me one thing, great warrior. Why did you let that poisonous leech continue to live? Or did you just not like the old man enough to avenge him?”

Sheer fury propelled Jacqueline into an attack so explosive that Gilbert found himself stumbling into a retreat against the ferocious strikes of her blade. She struck at him as though he were Mazarin, as though he were Bernard, as though he were Justinian, and he alone was responsible for everything that had happened. It went on until he regained his bearings enough for some semblance of strategy, and met one of her wild strokes with a block that locked their hilts together. In that instant, he snaked out one long leg and swept Jacqueline’s feet out from under her.

Once again, Jacqueline was down on the ground, the leviathan looming over her with the hilt of his sword raised like a cudgel.

In the middle of his downswing, a miniature cyclone spun into him. Leaping over Jacqueline, Badger landed a kick squarely in the center of Gilbert’s chest, making him stumble a step backward. As Jacqueline watched, Badger pounced on his moment of imbalance, pinning his sword arm under her right, and raking the clawed fingers of her left hand across his face. In doing so, she caught the edge of the mask and sent it flying off to land in the dust.

All three of them froze: Gilbert with his face exposed and stinging from Badger’s fingernails, Jacqueline frowning as she recognized the captain of the Cardinal’s guard. But before she could voice her amazement, her eye was caught by Badger. The Celt was staring into Gilbert’s sneering face, her own suddenly white as lilies. In her green eyes was the sort of shocked terror that Jacqueline had always thought reserved for standing face-to-face with the Prince of Darkness, and it was only magnified by the trembling whisper that escaped Badger’s slack throat.

“The Wolf…”

TBC! And thanks for the encouragement, everyone. I wouldn’t have done it without you.