Of necessity, no one but D'Artagnan was to know the true nature of their mission, since the honor of the queen was at stake. Andre and Lucas knew, of course, but they feigned ignorance. As for the other musketeers, all they were told was that it was to be a mission of great importance and that they had to go to London and very possibly get killed along the way. D'Artagnan told them that he had been entrusted with a letter and that, should he fall, one of the others would have to deliver it. Save for a few brief instructions regarding that delivery, the three musketeers knew nothing. Initially, Porthos had raised some doubts, but following a brief discussion of the risks involved and the reasons for their going, Athos settled the matter once and for all.
"Gentlemen," he had said, "is the king accustomed to giving you reasons for doing everything that you must do? No. He says to you, very simply, 'Gentlemen, there is fighting going on in Gascony or Flanders; go and fight,' and you go there. No, here are our three leaves of absence, which came from Captain de Treville, and here are three hundred pistoles, which came from I know not where. So let us go and get killed where we are told to go. Is life worth the trouble of so many questions?"
The issue settled, they departed for Calais, which was the quickest route to London. Finn had given Andre his cloak in place of her much more ornate one in an effort to fool the floaters. It was still dark and Lucas and Andre rode at the tail end of the group. Shortly after they left Paris, Lucas received his first contact from the floaters.
"Hawk One to Ground Squirrel, Hawk One to Ground Squirrel. Do you read? Over."
The throat transmitter enabled Lucas to speak softly, so that the others would not overhear him, but they would not have heard in any case, since they were all ahead of him and the group was in full gallop. Andre did not have a comset, so she was oblivious of the contact, but Lucas burst into laughter.
"Hawk One to Ground Squirrel, I'm getting a lot of noise. Are you reading me loud and clear? Over. ''
"You're getting a lot of noise because I'm laughing my ass off," Lucas said.
"Did you say 'over'?"
"Yeah, yeah, over, roger-willco," Lucas said. "What's with this Ground Squirrel shit? Who the hell is Ground Squirrel?"
There was a slight pause.
"What do you mean, who's Ground Squirrel? You're Ground Squirrel."
"No kidding?"
"Didn't Mongoose give you your call-sign? How the hell are you supposed to respond if you don't know your call-sign?"
"I am responding, you nitwit."
This time, the pause was appreciably longer. Lucas couldn't stop laughing.
“I don't see what's so funny, Priest. ''
"Well, Christ, if you know my name, why don't you use it?"
"Well, it would be a bit irregular, but I suppose there's no reason why-"
"Look, have you got something to report or are you just providing comic relief?" said Lucas.
There was a slightly longer pause. Finally, "Hawk One" came on and said, rather tersely, "All clear up ahead.''
"Assholes," mumbled Lucas. There was no further contact until they reached Chantilly.
The group arrived at a roadhouse a little after eight o'clock. They l
eft the horses saddled, in case they should have to depart in a hurry, and entered the inn to have a quick breakfast. The only other patron besides themselves was a drunk who greeted them with exaggerated bonhomie. They exchanged token pleasantries and nothing more was said between them until it came time for them to leave, at which point the drunk lurched to his feet, holding a wine goblet aloft and swaying unsteadily.
"Gentlemen, a toast!" he shouted, nearly overbalancing. He clutched at Porthos's baldrick for support, then lurched back several feet, accomplishing the act, miraculously, without spilling a single drop of wine. "A toast to the health of His Eminence, Cardinal Richelieu! Gentlemen, will you join me?"
"I have no objection," Porthos said, "if you, in turn, will join with us to drink the health of good King Louis."
The drunk spat upon the floor. "Pah! I recognize no king other than His Eminence!"
"You're drunk," said Porthos. "Otherwise, I might not so easily forgive your insolence."
"Drunk, am I?" said the man, reaching for his rapier and missing it. He grasped at air in the vicinity of his waist until his hand found his sword and he pulled it from its scabbard. "Well, we'll see who's drunk!"
"That was foolish," Athos said to Porthos. "Still, there's nothing to be done about it now. Kill the fellow and rejoin us as quickly as you can."
Porthos shrugged and drew his own rapier. The drunk came on guard with a sudden, remarkable sobriety. As they left the roadhouse with the sound of clanging steel behind them, Lucas suggested that it might be simpler, since there were ten of them in all, to gang up on the man and quickly get it over with. Athos looked at him with shock.