Seven Days of Joyeux Part 7

“Seven Days of Joyeux” is a Musketeer Space prequel novella by Tansy Rayner Roberts. For more Musketeer hijinks, check out the Musketeer Space Table of Contents. This festive novella is brought to you by my generous Patreon supporters.

Go back to Day 1.
Go back to Day 2.
Go back to Day 3.
Go back to Day 4
Go back to Day 5
Go back to Day 6
Go back to Joyeux Table of Contents.

Porthos awoke to the smell of brandy and green leaves, of coffee and sweet rolls and a strange, plummy flavour to the air that made no sense at all.

Her door slid open for a moment, only making the smells more intense. “Your friends are crazy,” Bonnie informed her. “There’s a cake in the oven, take it out when the timer goes. I’m going to church.”

Porthos rose up on her elbows. “Happy Joyeux?” she ventured. She hadn’t even realised that Bonnie had returned from her family visit, but it was good to have her back.

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Bonnie. “And a jolly new year to you too. Maybe the Joyeux elves have left you some new friends in your stocking because, have I mentioned? Your current ones are crazy.”

“All I want for Joyeux is you,” Porthos sang at her.

She could hear voices in the other room, but she took her time about dressing for the day. It might as well be her uniform, since had a duty shift in the afternoon, but she paired it with a festive wig and some sparkling gold earrings because what was the point of life without making an effort on festive occasions?

“What’s all this?” she said as she stepped out into her living room to be faced with a tree of all things, green and bushy, set in the middle of the floor where her favourite armchair used to be.

It was half-decorated with sparkly baubles, stars and a long, dangling thread of what looked like candied popcorn. Porthos just blinked, and stared at it.

“The tree is my Joyeux present to you,” Aramis called out from somewhere behind the tree. “And my Joyeux present to Athos is choosing to do this here instead of in his apartment.”

“Much appreciated,” said a grave voice from somewhere near the floor. Porthos looked down and saw Athos bending over the end of the popcorn thread with deep concentration, apparently threading new pieces on with a needle.

“It’s a tree,” said Porthos, in case neither of them had noticed.

“I’ve been reading up on Winterlight traditions, thanks to the whole – you know, business,” said Aramis. “And I thought this was a nice one we could borrow.” She ruffled Athos’ hair.

“By putting a sparkly tree in my apartment?” Porthos asked, just to be clear.

“Maybe?”

Porthos shrugged. If you can’t beat them, join them. “Well, okay, but I’m having cake for breakfast.” She was pretty sure that wasn’t a Joyeux or a Winterlight tradition, but she was a big believer in making her own. “Also, don’t think this gets you out of paying us 50 credits each.” She extended her fist to Athos, who bumped it solemnly with his own.

“Of all the mistakes we have made this year, sleeping together was not one of them,” he agreed, and then turned his face very quickly back down to the popcorn, as if he was trying to stop himself volunteering further information.

“So,” said Porthos, summoning up as much false cheer as she could. Fake it until you make it, and all that. “When does the drinking start? Everyone else has been celebrating for days, and we have a week of festive bullshit to catch up on.”

“Way ahead of you,” said Athos, picking up a glass of red wine from beside him on the floor and saluting her with it.

“There’s champagne and cake in the kitchen!” Aramis called behind her as she headed in that general direction. “Bonnie says she will be home later, so this is my only chance to cook for you all.”

Porthos and Athos exchanged an alarmed expression.

“Please don’t cook anything!” Porthos called after her. “Come put the star on the tree, and we’ll print as much food as we need. Nice freshly printed food. Paris Satellite doesn’t deserve to be set alight twice in two days.”

Aramis hovered at the doorway, frowning reluctantly. “Can I play Joyeux carols if I’m not allowed to cook?”

“God no,” said Athos, at the same time that Porthos said:
“If you must.”

Aramis’ smile lit up the room, and she began to fiddle with the sound system in the wall. “There will be dancing,” she informed them both.

“I hate you all, and also I hate Joyeux,” Athos replied, fixing his attention firmly to the popcorn.

Porthos grinned at them both, suddenly very glad to have them here. “Best Joyeux ever.”

Mr Linton Gray lay on the narrow bunk in the solitary cell, deep in the bowels of the Armoury. He was exactly where he needed to be – exactly where he had expected to be, on the last day of Joyeux.

It was almost restful, after his busy week.

He was not thinking of the Musketeers who had arrested him, or one Musketeer in particular. That could wait. He excelled at many things, but nothing so much as the long game.

Revenge was a slow burn that had lived inside him for a long time. He could wait longer.

The cell door opened, and a woman stepped in. She wore a bright emerald flight suit, though her long fall of shiny black hair suggested she was no pilot. She had a long, prominent scar slashing through one eye.
“I wasn’t expecting a roommate,” Gray observed.

“Thanks for the offer, but I have much more comfortable lodgings available,” she said, dropping on to the foot of his bed as if they were friends. “Brought you a care package from a mutual friend.” She tossed a small bag to him.

There were clothes inside, and a clamshell tablet. A flask of something that smelled distinctly festive and a block of expensive chocolate. “Merry Joyeux,” he said, not entirely sarcastic. “Isn’t she thoughtful, our mutual employer?”

“I’m Ro,” said the maybe-not-pilot, holding out a hand. After a moment, Gray held out his own and they shook warily. “We’ll be working together soon, I expect. For the breakout, at the very least.”

Gray bit into the chocolate. “And when is that scheduled?”

“It will take us a little while to arrange a suitable body before we can stage a convincing death in custody, and Her Indoors would prefer it to be after a decent interval. A couple of weeks, perhaps?”

“I can restrain myself from making my own escape arrangements for a couple of weeks,” Gray agreed.

Ro stared at him with undisguised curiosity. “Is it true you can change your face?”

He ran his hands over the distinguished but bland ‘Linton’ features that he had never grown entirely used to. “Holographic mask. Acquired on the black market. It’s bonded to my DNA, so no one’s getting it off me unless I’m dead.”

“I’ll have to remember that if I ever come across your dead body,” Ro murmured.

Oh, he liked her. “Want to see?”

Her smile was surprisingly warm. “There are no active cam feeds on this floor for the next hour.”

It wasn’t a holographic mask. But the excuse had worked so far, for all his previous employers. The Cardinal – and he rather liked the idea of referring to their mutual employer as Her Indoors, he would remember that – had shown no sign that she had any other theories as to how he was able to change his facial features so distinctly.

Gray allowed the ‘Linton’ face to fall away in favour of the one he used most often. Since he was showing off, he let his hair melt into the shade he had always preferred, the silver-blond that looked so jarring and effective with his youthful face.

“Ohh,” breathed Ro, leaning back rather than forward. Interesting reaction. He collected it, as he did every little piece he was learning about her. If the Cardinal planned for them to work together, he wanted to know this woman inside and out. “Good cheekbones,” she said after a thoughtful moment.

“Thank you,” he said politely. “I’ve put a lot of work into them.”

“This is going to make faking your death so much easier.”

“Obviously.”

“What should I call you, once we’ve killed off Linton Gray?”

He smiled at her, making the most of the charm and handsomeness that belonged to this face. He had used this face as a weapon since he first insinuated himself among the humans, and claimed his first victim. “If we’re to be friends, sweetness, you can call me Milord.”