The Musketeers

Wait, wait.

Don't worry. He's made this shot a hundred times.

He's drunk.

He's never made it sober.

Five, four,

three, two,

one!

How about we try it blindfold?

Take him!

Musketeers.

Always good for a little street theatre.

It's not what it looks like.

No?

So, what is it, then? Hmm?

You must remember something.

The dead man. Do you know who he was?

Where you... met him? You didn't kill him.

Is there anything you need?

A decent lawyer.

There's been a misunderstanding. We'll clear it up.

And you never know. We-we... we might get lucky with the judge.

I think it's quite clear what happened here.

Your Honour, if I might say something?

We'll come to you, Captain Treville.

Well.

What do you have to say for yourself?

It was my birthday.

The party was over, so I took a walk.

And what did you do on this "walk"? I, um...

admired the beauty and the serenity of Paris after dark.

What brings your sort to this part of town?

I grew up around here.

It's my birthday.

Many happy returns!

How old are you?

No idea.

I don't know when I was born.

This is just the day I picked when I was a kid.

One day is as good as another to celebrate.

Get this fine lady a drink.

What happened next? I don't exactly recall.

I must have fallen asleep.

To wake alongside a dead man with a bullet in his head?

Yes.

And you claim to have no idea how that happened?

Porthos du Vallon is a man of fine reputation,

a good soldier and a Musketeer of many years' standing. Du Vallon?

Another of these fellows who adopts a noble name

so he can play the gentleman?

I know many born gentlemen who could not hold a candle to Porthos.

Let me tell you something that life has taught me, Captain!

You can dress your dog in a fine suit...

Oh... but once a mongrel, always a mongrel.

A man lies dead, murdered!

An example must be made!

Porthos du Vallon...

I find you guilty and sentence you to death.

Sentence to be carried out immediately.

This is irregular, Sir! I will lodge an appeal with the King.

That is your right, Captain. Take this man to the gallows.

Delay them.

Strap him to the cart!

Get off!

Athos.

Porthos!

Musketeers! Go! Go!

The Mark of a criminal.

I know where they're heading.

Shh, shh, shh, shh.

Why are they doing that? It's a warning.

Do nothing, unless you're attacked.

So, where are we? The Court of Miracles.

This is too dangerous. We should turn back.

What about Porthos?

He'll be safe for now.

He has friends here.

How do you propose to build a shining new city

if we leave the filthiest part of Paris untouched?

Sire, the Court of Miracles is a miniature kingdom of professional thieves,

highway robbers, whores and beggars.

I know what the Court of Miracles is, Cardinal.

All the more reason to get rid of it.

The inhabitants of the Court are violent and feral.

Persuading them to join the march of progress is no easy task.

They remain strongly attached to their depravity.

Then they must be taught otherwise.

The Court should be one of the first districts cleared for rebuilding.

The matter is in hand, Your Majesty.

I'm glad to hear it.

A modern capital city for a modern France.

It will be my legacy to a grateful nation.

Your Majesty!

Ah, Treville. One of my Musketeers is...

Mistook a man's head for a melon and shot it off.

It is the talk of Paris.

Surely there are safer forms of target practice, Captain!

The facts of the case are as yet unclear.

Your Majesty, I'm here to plead for a stay of execution

until such time as I can prove his innocence.

I know Porthos. He did not do this.

What do you think, Cardinal?

About this whole melancholy business!

I think you should grant the stay, Your Majesty,

until such time as this murderer can be retrieved from the Court of Miracles

where he has fled to escape justice.

Porthos was an orphan, born and raised here.

Amongst thieves?

He never said a word. Little touchy about it.

So, why do they call it the Court of Miracles?

Because entering it opens the eyes of blind men... (BLADE RINGS)

and gives more cripples the use of their legs than our Lord ever did.

Buy an instrument. You have the hands of a musician.

I'm going in to find him.

Look, Porthos was drunk.

I'm sure it was an accident, but... what if he's guilty?

This is Porthos.

You understand? Yeah.

Go to the Wren. See what you can find out.

Charon.

Do that again, I'll break your leg.

It's been a while, huh?

Are you not glad to be back?

Yeah, of course.

Why? Cos we are still friends.

Though you forgot about us a long time ago.

I didn't forget.

You really don't remember whether you killed that man?

No more idea than you.

You seem disappointed. I have a reputation to think of.

People here believe I just saved the life of a murderer.

Maybe you did.

Are you the King here now?

A King of sorts.

Is it raining Musketeers outside?

I'm guessing you saw my friend here.

Yes.

Tall, better-looking than you.

There's no accounting for taste. Did you talk to him?

He bought me a drink.

He was a gentleman.

And did you notice anything unusual?

There was an argument involving a young man.

Did you know this young man?

Never seen him before.

He didn't look the type to drink here.

Now I look properly, I can see you're the handsome one.

Where's the blood?

I saw a man take a musket ball in a street fight once. Pff!

Contents of his skull painted a pretty picture all around.

And yet there's not a drop of blood... or a shard of bone.

He wasn't shot here.

Perhaps we should pay a call on the victim himself.

See what he has to say about it.

Here we wash the cadavers and remove the internal organs.

After the body has been salted and stuffed with straw to prevent bad odours,

it will be put on display until somebody identifies it.

Not necessary in this case.

Nuremberg egg. Portable timekeeping. Expensive.

Jean de Mauvoisin, a son of the nobility.

A tragedy indeed.

Put the key down. It's evidence. One question.

The victim was shot in the head, right? Yes.

Why carve him up? This is science.

We can learn a great deal from a fresh cadaver.

Oh, I see.

The pistol was close. Conjecture.

Based on extensive experience on the battlefield.

Hardly a clinical observation.

Well, killing is not an exact science, Monsieur, but a messy business.

And, as soldiers,

it is our business.

The killer was no more than a foot away when the shot was fired.

This was no accident.

It was murder.

Flea! Is that you?

All these years, never one letter.

How d'you know I learned to write? Hmm?

You two are together now.

Ah, it makes sense.

I'm happy for you.

You had your chance, Porthos.

If you wanted Flea, you should have taken her with you.