The master spy or Puss in the boot adventures

The servant in the kitchen,Part 3

The servant in the kitchen ,Part 3

Sharp Moustache's lip curled in disdain as he spoke, "Well it's true, you may have worked in the palace...but only in the lowly kitchen peeling potatoes and mopping up after the nobles. Oh, what grand adventures."

Mer-mer's eyes narrowed at the condescending comment but he simply nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, I was a servant in the kitchen," he admitted.

A smug grin spread across Sharp Moustache's face, but before he could gloat any further, the old cat slapped him hard on the back of his neck.

"But only during the day," Mer-mer continued with a hint of pride in his voice. "At night, I was known as D'artagnan, the invincible protector of the poor."

Sharp Moustache raised an eyebrow skeptically. "And why did D'artagnan need a servant from the kitchen to do his job?" he questioned.

"The situation was complicated," Mer-mer replied cryptically before trailing off with a heavy sigh. 

Mer-mer's eyes grew distant, lost in the mists of memory. His voice, though weak, took on a lyrical quality as he began to recount tales of his secret double life:

"Picture it, my son - the grand palace of Versailles, its gilded halls gleaming in the candlelight. By day, I scrubbed pots and peeled potatoes, just another lowly servant. But as night fell, I would slip away to don my true identity."

Sharp Moustache found himself drawn into the vivid imagery despite his skepticism.

"In those days, corruption ran rampant through the nobility. The poor suffered while the rich grew fat. But there was one who dared to stand against this injustice - the mysterious D'artagnan."

As Mer-mer spoke, the dingy walls of the mill seemed to fade away, replaced by vivid visions of a bygone era:

A cloaked figure darted across moonlit rooftops, rapier glinting at his side. This was D'artagnan, champion of the downtrodden. Below, in narrow cobblestone streets, a band of the Cardinal's guards harassed a group of peasants. With a daring leap, D'artagnan landed in their midst, blade flashing.

"Gentlemen," he purred, "I believe you're lost. The brothels and taverns are that way." His sword danced, disarming two guards before they could blink. The others fled, leaving the grateful peasants to shower their masked hero with blessings.

The scene shifted. D'artagnan crouched in the rafters of a grand ballroom, watching as nobles in powdered wigs and opulent gowns twirled below. His keen eyes caught the glint of a poisoned dagger, meant for the queen. In one fluid motion, he swung down on a chandelier, snatched the queen from harm's way, and hurled a silver platter to knock the assassin unconscious.

"Forgive my interruption, Your Highness," he said with a rakish grin, setting her gently on her feet. "I believe this dance is mine."

The visions faded, and Mer-mer's voice grew soft. "But my greatest challenge was yet to come. For you see, I had fallen in love with the queen herself. Our affair was passionate, but doomed from the start..."

Mer-mer's eyes glazed over as he was transported back to his glory days. The memories flooded back, vivid and intense...

The moonlight glinted off D'artagnan's rapier as he deftly parried the attack of the masked assassin. They danced across the palace rooftops, blades clashing in a deadly duel. D'artagnan's ears twitched, alert for any sign of the assassin's accomplices.

"You'll never reach the queen, villain!" D'artagnan growled, lunging forward.

The assassin stumbled backwards, nearly losing his footing on the steep tiles. D'artagnan pressed his advantage, driving his opponent towards the edge of the roof. With a final flourish of his blade, he disarmed the assassin and sent him tumbling into the moat below.