“Porthos, what’s inscrutable is what you might be talking about,” Aramis said.
“No, no, that’s quite clear,” Porthos said. “The problem is that I haven’t told you yet of my conversation with Mousqueton.” And he proceeded to do that, as he always told stories, in a spare, straightforward style. At least, every time he tried to interject some odd observation or some strange idea of his own about what might have been happening, Athos would make a gesture as though sending him back on track, and Porthos would go back, and describe exactly what he had said, and what Mousqueton had said.
When he finished, he sat there, biting his lip. “You understand all of it, right? Including why there were swordsmen when Aramis came back into town?”
“I think I do,” Athos said. “However, if you wish to explain…”
Porthos nodded. “Hermengarde told Pierre. I’m sure of it. I’m sure that her relationship with him was such, she told him without the slightest idea what he would do with it.”
“But I don’t understand,” Aramis said.
“I do,” Athos said. “The mystery of the ambush can be laid at the feet of Pierre Langelier. You see, he heard from Hermengarde that Madame Bonacieux had taken alarm at the words of the duchess. It was probably told as a jest. You must remember, of all of them, only Hermengarde knew what sort of hold Madame Bonacieux had on D’Artagnan. And if she saw Madame Bonacieux leave in a hurry… well, Langelier and Hermengarde too, could figure her misunderstanding and what she’d set out to do. They knew she had probably sent a note summoning D’Artagnan to her, as a means to stop a presumed fight. All he had to do was ambush D’Artagnan in that part of the palace-in the most secluded area he could do it.”
“But why would he want to?” Aramis asked.
“Well, by that time, doubtless, he would have heard of the ghost in his father’s workshop. You have to remember, that though we didn’t deal with him, I’m sure Monsieur Langelier fils was often present while we talked to his father. I’m sure he knew us all by look and by description too, from Hermengarde’s story. He would hear of it and, I think, gather some friends and try his chance at catching us in the palace. Because that was his chance to put an end to our investigations. I’m sure by now there are rumors of how we solve crimes,” Athos said.
“But… it would be tight timing, and where would an armorer find seven fighters who could outmatch us on the sword?”
Porthos sighed. “Aramis, surely you remember my saying that armorers are all sword experts. They have to be, in order to make good swords. They have to know what makes a sword work, and be a good sword. They practice as much as we do, and perhaps more. They certainly understand their weapons better.”
“I was wounded by crafters?” D’Artagnan asked, shocked.
“Good crafters,” Porthos said, in the tone of someone who thought this ought to console the young Gascon.
“But why?” Aramis said. He was sure he would think more clearly once his headache was gone, but all he could do for now was to walk step-by-step past each of the hurdles in his way. “Why would Pierre Langelier choose to not let us investigate?”
“Well, your story and Porthos’s too told us that. He was a gambler, and deep in debt. This was never about his rivalry with Mousqueton, and only glancingly was it about Hermengarde’s pregnancy. It was all about his need for money. What Mousqueton said he remembered last, about-you know-the armorer saying he would disinherit his son. I don’t think this conversation was the sort that happened in front of the whole workshop. So, I presume it was just Monsieur Langelier and Mousqueton talking. And because Monsieur Langelier was probably repeating threats he’d made many times in person, he did not stop as his son came into the workshop. That his son was carrying a sword would occasion no shock, either. He probably, I think, hit Mousqueton on the head with the hilt, then ran his father through before he could reach for a sword himself. Possibly, before he felt any real alarm.”
He shook his head. “The thing is, you see, that if he had hit him with a hammer, he might very easily have killed him without meaning to. The hilt of a sword is more controllable.”
“And we should have known it from the beginning, because who else could have told the guards of the Cardinal that the hammer must have fallen on Mousqueton’s head, and been believed. The fact is that anyone else would have prompted the guards to look up, and at least see if there were hammers hanging. But the new owner of the place…” Porthos said, opening his huge hands.
“And Hermengarde?” Aramis asked, his headache forgotten in the wave of curiosity. “Why would he kill her?”
“Oh, you told us that yourself. Because he has another girl, whom he also impregnated.”
“But… if he impregnated them both, why would he prefer the other? And why kill Hermengarde?”
“First,” Porthos said, counting on his huge fingers, “because Hermengarde was a living danger to him. At any moment, she could have told us of her relationship with him, and then we might have thought that perhaps he was the one attacking us. Second, because the other girl was more sure of carrying a child of his siring. And third, because the other girl brought him money, which made it easier for him to pay off his debts and not sell his business.”
“Admirably put,” Athos said.
“The question remains,” Aramis said, “why would they ambush me when I came back from the country?”
“I would guess they had heard of your prowling about the night before,” Porthos said, “and were waiting for you to return. Only someone who had heard of your being around the workshop, and desirous to prevent your return, would set a watch there-which to some extent exonerates other suspects.”
“So this has nothing to do with a conspiracy against the Cardinal?” Aramis said. “Or the King?”
“No,” Athos said. “I think that was all-”
“I wouldn’t dismiss it so quickly,” Porthos said. “First because the Cardinal honored his side of the pledge and is keeping Mousqueton in some relative comfort at the Bastille. Second because there is some mightily smokey intrigue happening. What, with the duchess writing to the illegitimate brother of the King, and what with milady trying to kill us, and having obtained permission from the Cardinal by promising to do something. I wouldn’t consider this a total impossibility yet, but… I would say it has nothing to do with this crime.”
“So you’re saying,” Aramis said, “that while I was being hit on the head and taken for a long, slow ride into the country, it was because Langelier, who was supposed to be the one hit and kidnapped, had gone to kill Hermengarde?”
“I’m afraid so,” Porthos said.
“It’s infamous,” Aramis said. “Does this villain truly look that much like me?”
Porthos narrowed his eyes at Aramis. “Only from the back, or perhaps from a distance. His hair is yellower, and his shoulders are a little broader, and his features are considerably coarser. Besides, though I believe he is a flashy dresser, he is not, in any sense a good dresser, like you are, my dear Aramis. His suits are of cheaper material and cheaper cut.”
Aramis, realizing that Porthos was trying to soothe him, and also very afraid that the word inscrutable would make an appearance, sighed, as his headache returned. “Well, at least we know. Although we could never have a hope of proving it.”
“No,” Porthos said, just as gloomily. “If only we had someone who had seen something and who could say…”
“What if we had someone who says he’s seen something?” Athos said, suddenly.
“Someone?” Aramis asked.
“Some lady, an inmate of the palace, who claims they’ve seen the murder of Hermengarde up close,” he said. “And who is willing to confront Langelier and pretend to blackmail him, while we wait right by, and intervene when needed. We’d have to have witnesses, of course…”