Double Cross (16 page)

NINETEEN

A
RAMIS AND
G
REG CAREFULLY LED
M
ILADY DOWN
through the bell tower. They would have tied her hands, but there was no way for her to climb down the ladder from the roof that way, so instead they had to proceed with caution. Greg had no doubt that Milady was still plotting to get the upper hand in any way she could—and if that involved shoving them through the flimsy rail to their deaths at the bottom of the tower, she'd do it. Thus, he kept both halves of the stone safely tucked away in separate pouches and his sword trained on Milady's back. It took far longer going down than it had coming up, and by the time they reached the base, the city was already celebrating.

A great number of people had gathered in the plaza in front of the cathedral. It seemed as though half of Paris was there—and all of them wanted to know what had happened at the top of the tower. Several were relatives of Aramis, including the family members who had been so kind as to give Greg shelter after the last time he'd had a battle in the tower.

“Aramis!” they called, speaking for the crowd. “What happened up there?”

“A miracle,” Aramis replied with a smile.

This seemed to be enough for most of the people, who cheered in response. Church bells began to ring in triumph all over the city, so the priests at Notre Dame realized they had better literally chime in. Soon, Emmanuel was ringing as well.

The only person who wasn't happy was Milady. Now that they were safely on the ground, Aramis got some rope and cinched her wrists behind her back. Throughout it all, she didn't say a word. She simply kept her eyes narrowed at Greg with disgust.

“Gregory!” Mom and Dad had made it out of the ancient city. They shoved through the crowd to hug their son tightly. Greg hadn't seen them so happy in months.

“D'Artagnan!” Athos came from the other direction. He'd found a piece of debris and was using it as a crutch. He, too, gave Greg a hug, any distrust he'd ever felt long gone. “That was your doing, wasn't it?”

“Yes,” Greg admitted sheepishly.

“It was incredible,” Athos said. “I thought I was done for. One second, there was an enemy mob around me, ready to hack me to pieces, and the next they were all running for their lives. You should have seen the terror on their faces! I don't think they'll stop running until they get to the sea.”

“So, the stone did all that?” Mom asked.

“Yes,” Greg replied. “When you put the pieces together, they have far greater power than I ever imagined.”

Aramis tilted his head toward Milady. “Let's get her to the palace, shall we? We can lock her up in the dungeon there.”

“Plus, we need to see how the others fared.” Athos looked worried as a thought came to him. “If Milady got loose, then Condé must have as well.”

“Everyone is all right,” Greg told them. “I could sense them all before, when I was up there. I can't explain it, but . . . Porthos, Catherine, and the king are all alive and well.”

“I'm not saying I don't believe you,” Aramis told Greg. “But I'd like to see that with my own eyes.”

They all set off through the city. Their path took them over the Bridge of Saint Denis again and past the house where Greg had rescued his ancestors. As he stared at the still-smoking wreckage, he couldn't believe that had only happened a few hours before. This day had been the longest of his life. It felt like months had gone by. And yet he no longer felt exhausted, though he had no idea whether this was from the power of the Devil's Stone or adrenaline or the sheer joy of having succeeded in thwarting the enemy.

As they passed onto the right bank of the river, Milady brushed close to Greg. “Your friends may all be very proud of you,” she whispered, “but you're a fool. All that power and you don't even know what to do with it.”

Greg fixed her with a hard stare. “No,” he said. “You're the one who wouldn't know what to do with it. You don't understand the stone at all.”

“What do you mean?” Aramis asked.

Greg realized everyone else had heard him and was looking at him with great interest.

“It's true that the stone can give you whatever you desire, but I think that's the catch as well.” He turned to Aramis. “Remember when you figured out how to translate my great-great-grandfather's diary? The last page was missing.”

“How could I forget?” Aramis asked. “It was about to tell us something important about our enemies.”

“‘Hopefully, you will never have to confront Dominic, but if you do, there is something else you must know,'” Greg recalled.
“I remember because I read that over and over again. It was so frustrating. But now I think I can guess what those pages would have said.”

“What?” Mom asked.

“That Dominic's strength—his immortality—was also his weakness,” Greg replied. “He thought that eternal life would be wonderful, but in truth, it was terrible for him. He was miserable for hundreds of years, and that changed him. He wasn't really Dominic Richelieu anymore. He became Michel Dinicoeur, a man full of hate and rage, a man who would actually even consider killing his own child to get even with us.”

“I think you're right,” Dad said. “I'm sure Dinicoeur thought that he'd simply done things wrong. That if he got another chance at immortality, he could avoid those mistakes and live happily forever. But it's very likely that no matter what happened, he would have ended up regretting his decision. As it was, all those years he spent consumed by anger and vengeance corrupted his soul. He never realized that he wasn't doing this for Richelieu; he was doing this for himself. And ultimately, it was his undoing. Michel Dinicoeur destroyed himself.”

Everyone nodded agreement, except Milady, who looked annoyed at all of them. “That only proves that Dinicoeur was a fool as well.”

“I don't think so,” Greg said. “I think any attempt to use the power of the stone for yourself, no matter what, will end badly. They call it the Devil's Stone for a reason. It corrupts you. The only way to avoid that is to use the power for what's right.”

“But what about going home?” Mom asked. “We
can
use it to get back home again, can't we? Even though that's selfish.”

“I don't know if I'd consider that selfish,” Aramis said. “In a sense, that's just trying to undo the damage that Dinicoeur did with the stone in the first place.”

Before Greg could reply, they arrived within sight of the Louvre and heard a cheer go up. Porthos and Catherine emerged from the palace and ran to reunite with their friends.

“You did it!” Catherine cried, throwing her arms around Greg.

He hugged her back, only realizing now how worried he'd been that he might never see her again.

“Where's Condé?” Athos asked.

“We've already got him locked up in the dungeon,” Porthos said. “I'm surprised you can't hear him. He's bawling like a baby.” He looked to Milady and grinned. “We have a nice cold cell waiting there for you, too.”

Everyone suddenly fell silent. For a moment Greg thought something else terrible might have happened, but then saw the reason for everyone's reverence: King Louis had emerged from the palace as well.

Only, he didn't quite look like himself. He wasn't done up in his usual formal clothes, nor was he flanked by his standard retinue of servants. Instead, he was still wearing his bedclothes. Two guards were tailing him. “Oh, don't stop your celebrations on my behalf,” he said. “That's why I'm here. I didn't want to miss the fun.”

He approached Greg, and Greg could see that something had changed in the king since he'd last seen him. Now, instead of staring dreamily at Milady, Louis avoided her as though she was a poisonous snake. “France owes you her undying thanks for your service,” he said. “And
I
owe you an apology. You might have noticed that I wasn't quite myself the last time we met.”

“Yes,” Greg said.

“I am so sorry,” Louis told him. “I don't know what came over me.”

“I have a good idea,” Greg said, glancing toward Milady.

Louis turned to the two guards who'd followed him. “Please take Milady here to the dungeon.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” one said, though both hesitated before leaving.

“I'll be fine,” Louis told them. “I'm with the Musketeers.”

The guards took hold of Milady's arms and marched her into the palace. She didn't cry or beg for mercy. In fact, she didn't say a word. She just stared balefully at Greg as she walked away, as if she wanted him to know this wasn't the end for her.

Greg felt unsettled as he watched her go, but then Catherine slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “Forget about her,” she said. “She won't be any trouble anymore.”

Greg turned back to her and smiled. “You're right,” he said. In fact, when he thought about it, with Milady and Condé locked up, Dinicoeur and Richelieu gone, and the enemy army on the run, there wasn't any trouble brewing for the first time since he'd arrived in 1615. “Let's celebrate.”

“I'm all for that!” Porthos crowed, and soon the Musketeers, Greg's parents, and King Louis were all happily regaling one another with their tales of everything that had happened that night.

While Porthos and Athos gleefully tried to one-up each other in explaining how heroic they'd been, Aramis pulled Greg aside. “So,” he said. “After all this time, you have the stone. Are you ready to go home?”

Greg looked around him, at the city of Paris, at the street full of revelers, at his parents, at King Louis, at Catherine and his fellow Musketeers, all full of joy and excitement.

“Not quite yet,” he said. “I think it might be nice to stick around a little longer.”

 

LE FIN

TWENTY

I
N THE END
, G
REG AND HIS PARENTS STAYED IN
P
ARIS FOR
two more days.

The whole time he'd been in 1615, Greg had been desperate to get home. But now that he had the opportunity, he found he didn't want to rush his departure. The Musketeers were the best friends he'd ever had, and once he returned to the future, he'd never see them again.

His parents understood. In fact, they were happy to stay as well. With the king's enemies defeated, the entire city was ready to celebrate.

Greg was surprised to realize that beyond his friends, there were other things he'd miss about life in 1615. He'd grown used to how quiet it was and how dark the sky was at night. Paris itself might have been a bit of an eyesore, but there were still some lovely spots in it, and the surrounding countryside was incredibly beautiful. But there was so much he missed about his old life—books and movies and hamburgers and ice cream and computers and flush toilets (he
really
missed flush toilets)—that he eventually knew it was time to go home.

Everyone decided that the return should take place in the throne room. After all, that was the room Greg and his family had first arrived in, and it only seemed right (not to mention properly formal) for them to leave from it as well.

Louis, the Musketeers, and Catherine gathered to see them off. Louis and Catherine wore their finest clothes, and the Musketeers wore crisp new uniforms. Greg and his parents wore the closest things they could find to modern clothing, seeing as they'd end up right out in public when they jumped back. Greg took out his phone and then handed both pieces of the Devil's Stone to Aramis.

“We'll miss you all very much,” Louis told them.

“Have a good wedding,” Greg said. Despite everything, Louis's marriage to Anne of Austria was still on. “I'm sorry I'll miss it.”

“I'm sorry you will, too,” Louis said, then asked, “It
will
work out all right, won't it?”

“Yes,” Greg's father replied. “From what the history books say, you two will be a very lovely couple.”

“Even though her father tried to overthrow me?” Louis asked.

“I wouldn't worry about him too much,” Greg's mother said. “You just take good care of Louis the Fourteenth. He's going to do great things someday.”

Greg did wonder himself if history hadn't been altered too greatly, although it did seem to be back on track. The Spanish had been repelled, Condé's army had been defeated, and life in Paris was returning to normal: The wall around the city was being mended, and all the other damage that had been done was being repaired.

“You're sure this will work?” Athos asked, looking at Greg's phone curiously. “You can actually jump back through that?”

“To be honest, I'm not quite sure,” Greg admitted.

“Well then, what have we spent all this time saying good-bye for?” Porthos joked. “For all we know, you could end up stuck here forever.”

“There's only one way to find out,” Aramis said.

Greg nodded, then flipped on his phone. The battery was down to one percent, though that was enough for him to bring up the photo he'd taken just outside his apartment building in Queens.

“Let's do this,” Dad said. “Before the power dies out.”

Greg set the phone on a table, then took both pieces of the Devil's Stone and put them together.

Once again, there was a blinding flash of light and a surge of energy that almost knocked everyone off their feet.

Greg felt the power roll through him. Then the picture on the phone rippled and became more vivid, as though it had come to life. Even though it was only an inch across, it seemed to expand somehow. It was no longer merely a photo of modern Queens. It
was
Queens. Greg could feel himself being pulled into it, back to his own time.

He shoved the stone into Aramis's hands. Over the last week, they had talked at length about what to do with it once Greg had gone home. The Musketeers would break it in two again and make sure that the two pieces could never be reunited. Porthos would ride north with one and throw it into the sea. Athos would do the same in the south. “Get rid of it,” Greg said now. “Once and for all.”

“I assure you we will,” Aramis told him.

The time portal rippled, as though it wasn't quite stable.

Greg knew he had to go, and yet he wavered. He turned to the Musketeers, his friends, and held out his hand. “All for one . . . ,” he said.

The other three placed their hands on top of his. “. . . and one for all,” they chimed.

Then Greg turned to Catherine, who was wiping away tears.

“Go,” she told him. “This isn't the place for you.”

Greg stepped forward and embraced her. “I'll never stop thinking about you,” he said, and then kissed her.

“Hurry!” Mom said. “It's weakening!”

Sure enough, the window to the future was fading. Greg took one last look at his friends—Aramis, Porthos, Athos, and Catherine—and then turned and stepped through the portal.

His parents came with him.

A wave of energy surged through them . . . and everything changed.

The first thing that hit them was the smell. Truck exhaust and garbage and the odor of greasy fast food.

Then there was an unbelievable amount of sound: car horns, jackhammers, buses, and the hum of a thousand conversations at once.

Greg looked around him. Everything appeared exactly the same as he remembered. If anyone had noticed his family's sudden appearance on the street, they didn't show it. Greg realized he was now holding his phone. When he looked at the screen, for one last, brief moment, he could see into the past. The Musketeers were all watching him. And then the picture winked out as the phone battery died.

“We're back!” Mom cried. “Oh, Gregory, we're back!”

Greg took in his apartment building, the shops down the block, the cars whizzing by. Some of his schoolmates were playing touch football in the park across the street.

“Everything's the same.” Greg sighed with relief. “Just as we left it.”

“No,” Dad said. “One thing's different.”

“What?” Greg asked.

“
You
,” Mom told him.

Greg smiled, realizing she was right. He wasn't the same timid, unskilled kid he'd been before he'd left. He was confident, brave, and chivalrous. He'd experienced adventures that most kids his age could only dream of. He was a Musketeer now, no matter what century he lived in.

“Come on,” Dad said. “Let's go home.”

They started up the steps to the stoop of their apartment building. As Greg climbed, he realized something
was
different. He still could still feel the power of the Devil's Stone. He'd been thinking that it was some sort of cosmic residue from the jump through time, but now he realized it was coming from somewhere on
him
.

He felt through his clothes and came upon something tucked into them.

Two things, really. Wrapped in a piece of parchment.

He unfolded the parchment and read it:

 

D'Artagnan—

I know you would never have agreed with this, but I think it's best if we remove the stone from our time altogether. Do with it as you see fit. Destroy it once and for all—or keep it. You, of all people, can be trusted to do the right thing with it.

—Aramis

 

“Greg, is something wrong?” Mom asked.

“No,” Greg told her. “Everything's fine. I was just taking it all in.”

He headed inside, already thinking about what to do with the stone. Perhaps he could throw one piece in the East River and ship the other to Antarctica. Or he could find a steel smelting plant and have both pieces melted.

Or he could keep them, just in case he ever wanted to visit his friends in 1615 again.

Greg smiled at the thought, then stepped into his apartment. It was good to be home.