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...
..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.
You think I didn't try?
Rest now. Tomorrow we'll get you out of here.
Every minute you stay increases the risk to us all.
Charon. >
I'll be back.
We've got a visitor.
You forgot about us.
I didn't fit here.
We should get you out of those clothes.
Someone might mistake you for a gentleman and slit your throat.
And watch where you lay your eyes.
I'm looking for Porthos.
He's safe. Then take me to him.
He doesn't want to see you.
Give him a message. Tell him his friends will clear his name.
You left him to die. We saved him. His real friends.
Friends who'd murder each other for the sake of a coin.
Escort him out of here.
And forget about Porthos.
He's with us now.
The de Mauvoisins were once amongst the great families of France.
They've fallen on hard times of late.
But Emile de Mauvoisin is still in the King's inner circle.
What was his son doing drinking in a place like the Wren?
No trace of Porthos, but I ran into a friend of his.
He thinks that we left him to hang, that we abandoned him.
Porthos fought harder than any of us to become a Musketeer.
He wouldn't give us up that lightly.
Start by making a call on Monsieur de Mauvoisin.
Find out what kind of company his son kept.
I can see from your faces this is serious business.
Do you come on behalf of the King?
Our duty is of a more personal nature.
Then speak, please.
My son.
My God, what has he done?
It's not what he's done, sir. He's injured?
Dead.
How? He was shot.
A Musketeer stands accused of his murder. We believe him innocent.
Can you think of any reason why someone would kill your son?
Any grudge or argument?
Jean is...
..was a man of conscience and honour, he had no enemies.
May we see your son's rooms?
He did not live...here.
He...
took lodgings on Rue Calbert a few months ago.
If you think of anything at all, please let us know.
That boy.
What if I did kill him? If I killed someone, I'd know.
Either way, we have to get you out of Paris.
It's that or you hang.
You know I'm grateful.
But maybe I should stay here in Paris, clear my name.
The risk is too great, for you and us.
Unless you don't care about this place any more?
You always did whatever Flea told you.
Except when I begged him to stay.
All right.
I'll go.
Thank you.
I've ordered the celebration for tomorrow.
The people here need a distraction from their misery.
It's the perfect cover for you to slip away, get out of France.
Bit down-market for a de Mauvoisin.
The family's bankrupt, been living off borrowed money for years.
No.
You could always try knocking. That's true.
Whoever he was, he was keen to cover his tracks.
Most of this is burned beyond recognition.
A page from a Protestant hymnal.
What would a Catholic like de Mauvoisin want with that?
Never mind about that. What would he want with 6,000lb of gunpowder?
Bought from a mill outside the city three weeks ago. It carries his signature.
Sermons And Prayers by Pastor Ferrand.
Who's that? A well-known Huguenot preacher.
Jean's father is known for his hatred of the Protestant faith.
Perhaps the boy was a radical.
He was planning to blow up this pastor's church.
People have done worse in the name of religion.
You.
You were the best thief here.
And you enjoyed it.
Ah, maybe.
Yeah, the thrill, the danger.
The brotherhood.
Ah, and then I found those things somewhere else.
A brotherhood with honour.
So, there's no honour amongst thieves?
No, that's not what I meant. Your Musketeer brothers.
Where are they?
And where were they? At the Chatelet this morning.
They're my friends, Charon.
Yeah, you believe that if it makes you happy.
What's wrong?
I remembered something from last night.
The boy.
The one who I...who was killed. He was there.
At the Wren. I saw him.
Arguing with someone. Who?
Charon's busy, and lose your mask.
I need to clear my head.
If I could just remember what happened!
Perhaps you don't want to.
I mean, if you did kill that boy...
Flea's right!
I would remember, no matter how much I drank.
It's nothing. I'm fine.
Why would someone try to kill you?
How do you know it was me he was aiming at?
Religion without art is so much less...seductive.
In this church, we worship God, not beauty.
Well, at least the Catholic faith allows us a little joy before we die.
But we Protestants will have joy eternal at God's right hand, while you...
Roast in Satan's inferno.
As all benighted heretics must.
Surely even Huguenots believe in windows.
The stained glass was removed. We do not have the money to replace it.
If you wish to make a contribution, the collection plate is behind me.
Where did you serve?
Too many hellholes to recall.
You killed Catholics?
Not specifically. I fought for money.
And then you found God.
He found me.
Did you know Jean de Mauvoisin?
Well, he's dead.
The poor boy.
I will pray for his soul. How did he die?
He was shot.
Did you kill him?
Why would I do such a thing? Maybe because he was a Catholic
who intended to blow your Protestant church to kingdom come.
And why is that funny?
Jean was not a Catholic. He was a committed member of this congregation.
A Huguenot?
Well, his father is a prominent Catholic,
a man who hates Huguenots and urges the King to act against them.
Monsieur de Mauvoisin only converted to Catholicism to win favour at court.
Before him, the family were Protestant for generations.
Jean didn't find selling his conscience as easy as his father did.
There's something he's not telling us.
It's hard...for a man to see his son die before him.
It strikes a blow forward into time.
I'd hoped to witness Jean restore our family's greatness...
..and now...
A licence for the purchase of gunpowder, signed by your son.
What was Jean involved in?
Well, it's possible he was plotting with other Huguenot fanatics
to attack Catholics.
My God.
How many times did I beg him
to break with Pastor Ferrand and that nest of vipers?
Perhaps he had second thoughts... and broke with the other plotters.
Whatever my son did...
..I forgive him.
Oh, don't worry. I'm an old hand at this.
Right.
Suppose you're right and the shot was intended for me?
Who'd go to all the trouble? The Cardinal.
His guards can't reach you, so he sends a trained killer.
A shooting in some low dive in the worst part of Paris?
It doesn't add up.
Why did you abandon us, Porthos?
I wanted more.
Why didn't you come with me? I always felt right here.
I belong. It wasn't like that for you. I saw that.
So, I let you go because I loved you.
Me? You chose Charon.
He feels the same way I do about this place, and I admire him for that.
Admire? Oh. I thought you loved him.
One thing I'd forgotten.
What an idiot you are.
Try that key again.
A bomb-making factory? No.
A printing press. Hey.
It's ink.
Not in this one. There's the gunpowder.
What are you doing here?
There are three of us, Pastor.
Then you are outnumbered. I have God on my side.
Oh, I do hope he's good with a sword.
You lied to us. You were in a conspiracy with Jean de Mauvoisin.
Conspiracy? I have a large congregation.
This printing press is the only way I can stay in touch with them.
Do you use gunpowder instead of ink?
As God is my witness,
this has nothing to do with me or my church.
I preach reconciliation, not hatred.
Someone intended to blow up your church, probably during a service.
Catholics? Is it possible Jean was lying to you about his beliefs,
that he infiltrated your church in order to destroy it?
Jean was no turncoat
and he was a gentle soft-hearted boy, not an assassin.
Then why did he need a dozen barrels of gunpowder?
Huh...
This is Jean's name.
But it's not his handwriting. It's his father's.
All those years ago...
..you should have told me the way you felt.
Would it have made any difference?
We were on different paths even then.
So, what's this, then? Hmm? Nostalgia?
Charon can't know about this.
I don't want to hurt him. Hmm.
I told you to watch where you put your eyes.
Too late for that.
Don't get ideas. After tomorrow, you'll be gone.
There's a whole world out there, you know. You'd be good in it.
You're the smartest woman I've ever met.
If I'm so smart, what am I doing here with you?
Open it.
Treville needs to see this.
Looking at this map is like gazing at a beautiful face with an ugly wart on it.
It's hard to see the beauty for the imperfection.
After today, the blemish will be gone for ever.
And you can rely on your agent in this?
Completely. He hates the Court as much as I.
What of its people? As many as possible will be exterminated.
Those that survive may find some other hole to crawl into.
Your ally within the Court is aware of your plan to kill its people?
I have my own men to deal with that.
Besides, it is an act of mercy to put an end to their miserable existence.
Your compassion for the poor brings tears to my eyes(!)
Don't ask me to feel sorry for beggars and thieves.
A hundred years ago, my family was amongst the greatest in the land.
Now I can barely afford to pay my butcher's bill.
Once the Court is razed to the ground,
the de Mauvoisin fortunes will be restored overnight.
And you will have the King's gratitude,
by helping to build a new model Paris,
assuming everything goes as you expect.
I have sacrificed too much to fail now.
What's this?
What's a celebration without something to drink?
This is good stuff. Where did it come from?
Friends.
Must have cost a fortune.
Where's Porthos?
I don't know.
Thought you might have seen him. You two have got so much to catch up on.
Help yourselves! Drinks are on your king!
Charon!
Where's Charon? Charon? Where is Charon?
Charon!
Pack a bag. Now. You and I, we're leaving this dung heap for ever.
Are you drunk? It's Porthos that's leaving.
Are you going with him?
Is that what you planned in bed together last night?
Or were you too busy getting to know each other again?
Charon, it's not what you think. I saved Porthos for this?!
To watch him steal you from me?
I don't belong to you or him! Look, the Court is finished!
By tomorrow morning, it'll be nothing but a heap of ashes.
What are you talking about? Flea.
Just trust me. We have to go.
You need to see this.
Both of you.
All these are for houses inside the Court of Miracles.
All bought for a pittance within the last few months, hundreds of them.
But no rents have been collected in the Court for decades.
Why buy something that's worthless?
The land these houses occupy covers most of the Court.
The paper value is immense,
if there was a way to make them pay.
A business mind like yours is wasted in the Musketeers, Captain Treville.
You're right.
If the Court wasn't there, that land would be worth a king's ransom.
Who knows when it might prove a wise investment?
And, by the way, this search is illegal.
I suggest you leave before I inform the Cardinal.
Did you forge this in your son's name?
It's a simple matter to compare the two signatures.
I'll ask you again.
Is this your handwriting?
Yes.
Acquiring gunpowder without a valid licence is an act of sedition,
punishable by death.
At first we thought this was about attacking Protestants,
the fanatical convert proving his loyalty to a Catholic king.
But it never had anything to do with religion, did it?
This was about greed, pure and simple.
You're planning to destroy the Court of Miracles.
You must have had help on the inside. No-one could have moved that amount of gunpowder into the Court
without being seen. When is the plan to be executed?
At midday.
You're too late. My men are already at the Court.
I'll light the fuses.
Keep guard and kill anyone that gets in our way.
Here...
Gunpowder?
Yeah, the fuses have all been primed. Someone's going to blow this place to hell.
The Cardinal? Perhaps.
But there are hundreds of people living here, women, children.
There's something else, Charon.
I didn't kill that boy.
When I left the Wren, he was already dead.
The killer was standing over him.
It was you who planted the gunpowder in Pastor Ferrand's church.
Ferrand poisoned my son against me. Poisoned?
Thanks to him, Jean lacked the resolve to do what had to be done.
He was too worried for his precious soul.
He refused to buy the gunpowder. I had to obtain it in his name.
You deliberately incriminated him.
He betrayed his family!
He actually felt sorry for that filth in the Court.
Who really killed him?
I did.
When I find out who the old man was, I can prove my innocence.
I can't leave Paris now.
Let's get these fuses cut, make the gunpowder safe.
Step away.
Charon?
You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, Porthos.
Why did you have to go back to the Wren?
The old man, he argued with his son.
He shot him.
And there you were, the perfect scapegoat.
So, why save me from the noose?
We ran these streets together.
So much changes.
Everything becomes...
..complicated and compromised, but not that.
Not brotherhood. Loyalty.
Well, I couldn't leave you to hang.
But what does the gunpowder have to do with any of this?
The old man bought up all the land here. He paid me to smuggle it in.
There's more after the job's done, a lot more. And you were going to blow this place up?
I deserve better than this, Flea.
I just need a bit of money, a fair chance like everyone else.
But this is our home!
I'm sick of it!
The...the dirt!
The disease! The poverty!
Human beings rooting in filth like animals!
They're poor, that's all! This Court is finished!
The people here are doomed.
I don't want to leave you here, Flea.
Come with me.
If you love me, don't do this.
Last chance.
Him or me. That's not a choice!
You always loved him.
I was just all that was left.
No.
Go.
Go. I'll be fine.
Charon!
De Mauvoisin's men! Get them!
They mustn't get to the gunpowder!
Hey!
Where is Porthos?
Where is he?
Hey!
You.
Porthos followed Charon towards the main chamber.
I'll be fine. Save Porthos.
That way!
12 o'clock and no explosions.
There won't be any now, Monsieur.
It's over.
You murdered your son in vain.
Welcome to my empire of dust.
Flea loves this place.
I never understood it. Who'd settle for this?
You didn't.
You should have come with me all those years ago, Charon.
I wanted Flea!
I thought with you being gone that she'd be mine.
But she never was.
Not really.
I don't want to fight you, Charon.
Leave now.
I won't come looking.
I'm not like you, Charon.
That's why I left.
I'm a Musketeer.
Porthos!
Look out!
I told you, Porthos.
I told you I was get...
..getting out.
My full confession, completely exonerating your Musketeer.
I have a brother who will inherit my place as head of the family.
Perhaps he will do a better job than me...
of restoring this once-noble house.
Emile de Mauvoisin, it is my duty to arrest you.
That won't be necessary. You will lend me your pistol.
Whatever you may think of my actions, I am a gentleman.
Are you all right? I'll survive.
Hmm.
Charon, um...
he didn't want to kill you.
He loved you.
What now?
You could come with me.
You could stay here.
We live in different worlds, you and me.
I belong with my friends, and...you with yours.
You know it's doomed, this place?
It's only a matter of time
before the Cardinal gets around to destroying your world.
And that's not true of yours?
Let's just enjoy what we have while we have it.
Mm.
Goodbye, Porthos.
Maybe I'll come and...walk amongst the beggars and whores sometime.
Then you'd better watch your purse.
Ah, she's good.
You took your damn time getting here.
We would never let you hang. Of course not.
And if we had, the funeral would have been...beautiful.
We came looking. Charon said you were having such a good time, you didn't want to see us.
Be honest.
Did any of you think I did it?
Never even crossed my mind.
Did you ever think we'd abandoned you?
Never.
Come on, let's get the hell out of here.
I swear I'll kill you. Who are you? My name is Aramis, of the King's Musketeers.
Advance!
So, you're the one all this fuss is about?
I demand to see the King. Mother.
One thing you need to learn, d'Artagnan - don't get involved.
You know I could use a man of your talents. Are you making me a proposition?
Make your choice now, Cardinal.
Have you got this? Absolutely.
If you'd told us what you were doing,
we might have been able to plan this properly. Sorry. No, no, let's keep it suicidal.