The Last Musketeer by Stuart Gibbs

Author:Stuart Gibbs
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins US

Chapter Fifteen

AS THE SUN SET OVER THE ROLLING HILLS AND FIELDS, Porthos led the way to his family’s “country residence.” Greg was a little more familiar with his surroundings by now . . . and he was almost able to laugh at the location. Four hundred years later, the palatial gardens and stables would be buried under several thousand tons of concrete to form the runways of Charles de Gaulle Airport. But in 1615, a turreted castle stood in place of a control tower.

Porthos’s home wasn’t as massive as the Louvre, but it was less fortresslike. After stabling their horses, Porthos led the four boys through a back entrance into a vast kitchen. Several servants greeted him by an open hearth at its center. They informed Porthos his parents had left for a few days, touring the far-flung portions of their land, which extended, Greg learned, halfway to Belgium. Porthos shrugged this off as if it happened all the time, then led the boys through a narrow passageway. Greg soon found himself seated at a table with the others in front of a roaring fireplace—devouring fresh bread, cheese, and sausage.

“Something’s not right here,” Porthos told Greg. “Richelieu knew you. I could tell when he entered the king’s chambers. He was surprised to see you, and he immediately demanded our arrest.”

Greg nodded. “I know. But, even stranger, he recognized all of you, too.”

The other boys exchanged confused looks.

“That’s impossible,” Aramis stated. “I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

“Neither have I,” Porthos said.

“I’ve spent a year in the militia trying to get Richelieu to recognize me,” Athos added. “But I never have. I can guarantee you: The man has no idea who I am.”

Greg shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t before, but he does now. I saw it in his eyes. He knew who all of you were. He seemed even more surprised to see you than me.”

“Nonsense,” Aramis argued. “He was looking at you the whole time. How is it that the head of the king’s guard knows a boy from Artagnan who arrived here only two days ago?”

“Because Richelieu is also Michel Dinicoeur,” Greg replied.

The boys gaped at him, trying to comprehend. Greg had expected this. He’d put a lot of thought into how much he could reveal about Dinicoeur—without revealing that he was from the future, too.

“I don’t understand,” Porthos admitted.

“He introduced himself to my family as Michel Dinicoeur,” Greg explained. “He’s the man who stole from us, who we followed to the palace, and who condemned my parents to death. But it wasn’t until he entered the king’s quarters that I discovered his true identity.”

Aramis’s expression hardened. “D’Artagnan, I think it’s time you owned up about what he stole from you.”

Greg bit his lip. He’d never heard Aramis sound so impatient or exasperated. “I told you . . . it’s a cherished family heirloom.”

“Yes, but what is it?” Aramis demanded. “I’d like to know the full story.”

“It’s a piece of jewelry. An extremely valuable necklace. In fact, it’s the most valuable thing my family owns.

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