The Alchemist in the Shadows

3

Upon their return to the Hotel de l'Epervier, Agnes and Marciac waited for La Fargue who, barely a quarter of an hour later, returned with Almades from the Palais-Cardinal.

'I know,' he said, seeing Agnes looking both angry and worried. 'The cardinal just informed me of your . . . mission.'

'Damn it, captain! What is going on ... ? Did you agree to this!?'

'Hold your horses, Agnes. I did not agree to anything at all. As I just told you, I was summoned to the Palais-Cardinal to have this fait accompli presented to me.'

They were in the fencing room, where the young woman was pacing up and down.

'And you accepted this?' she asked angrily, as if La Fargue had betrayed her.

'Yes,' he said. 'Because we are the Cardinal's Blades. Not La Fargue's Blades. And even less, de Vaudreuil's Blades . . . His Eminence gives the orders. And we obey them . . .'

With a resigned air, Agnes let herself fall into an armchair.

'Merde!' she exclaimed.

'You will only be joining the queen's suite temporarily,' the old gentleman explained in a patient tone. 'Your sole mission will be to keep your eyes and ears wide open. It's not so terrible . . .'

'But this is simply a manoeuvre, captain. A manoeuvre!'

'That's quite possible.'

'It's damn certain, you mean! Just think for a minute! One evening I go to meet the former Mother Superior General about an affair that might very well prove embarrassing to the Chatelaines, and the very next morning I find myself

summoned by the current Superior General. And given an assignment where I will be unable to upset anyone. Come now! You may fool others, but not me!'

La Fargue nodded.

'It may well be true that Mere de Vaussambre wants to keep you away from certain matters. But she did not hesitate in calling upon the cardinal in order to achieve her aims: the threat against the queen could very well be real . . .'

'I don't believe that for a second.'

'But what if La Donna's plot was directed at the queen rather the king?' interjected Marciac.

Agnes shrugged.

'The duchesse de Chevreuse? Scheming against the queen . . . ? It's impossible.'

'As far as I can recall,' said Almades, who spoke so rarely that everyone pricked up their ears when he did, 'La Donna always referred to a plot "against the throne". She never said anything about a plot "against the king". We were the ones who concluded that the person of the king was under threat . . .'

'Nevertheless,' insisted the young baronne de Vaudreuil. 'La Chevreuse and the queen are sincere friends. Whenever the duchesse has been involved in a scheme, it has been against the king or the cardinal. Never against the queen.'

In this, Agnes was right.

'Be that as it may,' said La Fargue after a silence, 'there is nothing we can do. I'm sorry, Agnes, but if the Superior General wanted you out of the way, then she has succeeded.'

'We'll see about that,' declared Agnes before turning round and striding away.

Where are you going?' La Fargue called after her.

'To find a dressmaker who can work miracles, by God! I'm going to need something decent to wear at court . . .'

Alter their stroll in the Tuileries gardens, Laincourt and Aude de Saint-Avoid returned looking pleased with themselves and with one another, sharing a sense of being guilty of a delicious prank.

They were still laughing as they descended from the

coach in the courtyard of the Hotel de Chevreuse, simply two carefree young people on a fine summer day in June. For the space of a few sunny hours, Laincourt had forgotten his mission. He had forgotten about the perils that weighed upon France, the Alchemist's plot, madame de Chevreuse's intrigues and the war being prepared against Lorraine. He had forgotten his hated profession as a spy and felt like a schoolboy.

Indeed, hadn't they just been playing truant? It was not a serious misdemeanour and the duchesse, who had boldly committed so many of her own, would no doubt forgive them. She might even be amused by their escapade, given her own fondness for the pleasures of life. As for madame de Jarville, the aunt they had been st> careful not to wake, she would have to accept matters. It must be said that Laincourt had behaved like the perfect attending gentleman. Thoughtful and courteous, he had offered his arm as they strolled along the crowded lanes of the great park. Then, growing worried about the heat from the blazing sun above, he had insisted on purchasing a parasol for Aude from a hawker. The parasol turned out to be cheap rubbish and broke the moment it was opened, but the young girl laughed and held onto it as a keepsake. Finally, they drank fresh orange juice at a stand, near the pit where they saw the sleeping hydras that the queen mother had presented to the king a few years previously.

And that was all that had occurred, apart from the glances and smiles . . .

Aude de Saint-Avoid was pretty, agreeable, witty and cultivated. Moreover, she was quick to wield irony with such an innocent air that she caught Laincourt by surprise several times. But above all, there was something luminous and happy about her, like a live flame, transmitted by her eyes and her smile.

Gallant to the end, Laincourt accompanied Aude from the coach to the splendid front hall of the Hotel de Chevreuse, where the maitre d'hotel informed her that madame la duchesse was waiting for her. Laincourt then wanted to withdraw but the young woman from Lorraine implored him to stay.

'Oh no, monsieur! Don't abandon me!'

'Abandon you, madame?'

'I'm sure to be scolded for our stroll,' explained Aude, half-seriously. 'I shall tell them you abducted me and you must confirm it!'

'Madame!' exclaimed Laincourt, pretending to be worried. 'Me? Accuse myself of abducting you?

I'll be thrown directly into prison.'

'Never fear. I shall arrange for your escape,' the girl whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

'Well, in that case . . .'

Thus it was on Laincourt's arm that Aude de Saint-Avoid entered the salon where madame de Chevreuse was idly perusing a book on astrology. And he learned at the same time as Aude that she had been admitted to the queen's household as a maiden-of-honour. The distinction was both immense and unexpected. In the heat of her emotion, Aude forgot all about proper form and threw herself at the duch-esse's feet, kissing her hands and calling her 'benefactress'. The duchesse, laughing, asked her to rise and when she was not obeyed, begged Laincourt to intervene. He helped Aude take a seat in an armchair and held her hand.

She cried, but her tears were those of joy.

'Will you visit me, monsieur?' she asked.

Arnaud de Laincourt smiled.

Maidens-of-honour were all of noble birth, lived under the watchful eye of a governess and did not appear in public except to accompany the queen on grand occasions. As for approaching them . . .

'Madame,' he said in a quiet voice, 'for that, I would have to be admitted to the queen's entourage as well . . .'

Before Aude could even begin to express her regret, the duchesse de Chevreuse announced in a playful tone:

'Bah! Consider it done, monsieur.'

Dusk was filling as the three riders came in sight of the inn. They had not exchanged so much as three words since leaving Ivry. Mirebeau, who led the way, did not seem to be in a talkative mood. As for Rauvin, he expressed his suspicious nature through silence and long stares which Leprat pretended to ignore. But the truth was that the man's hostility weighed on him.

Constant and insidious, it seemed designed to play on his nerves and trip him up, and thereby provoke a confrontation. Since Mirebeau acted as if nothing was going on, the musketeer was forced to put up with it. The worst part, however, was that Rauvin — deliberately — rode last. It was his way of saying that he was keeping his eye on Leprat. And he was not the kind of man that anyone wanted to have at their back ...

The riders stopped for a moment upon a hill.

The inn was still some distance away. Isolated, it was a former farm whose thick-walled buildings surrounded a courtyard defended by a massive gate. Right now, the two great doors remained open and there was movement in the lantern-lit courtyard. Most of the windows were brightly lit and festive sounds rose into the night: laughter, shouts, music and singing.

'Is that where we're going?' asked Leprat.

'Yes,' replied Mirebeau, urging his horse forward.

They reached the inn at a fast trot, dismounted after passing through the carriage gate and walked to the stable leading their horses by the bridle. Tables had been set up in the courtyard, along with a stage where musicians were playing. People were dancing. At the tables, the refrains were taken up in chorus, hands were clapped in time with the beat and glasses were raised only to be swiftly drained. Most of those present were soldiers, enjoying a last night of debauchery before rejoining their regiments, and here they found everything they desired: wine, drinking companions and women. There were not very many of the latter, but they did not mind being shared. Bawdy and drunk, they went from arm to arm, dancing a turn with every man, sitting on every knee, willingly allowing themselves to be rudely handled, laughing when a hand grasped their waist or a face plunged into their bosom. Anything more than that had to be paid for, however, and couples went off, out of sight from the lanterns and voyeurs, for brief fumbling embraces.

Mirebeau knew the place and was known here. Summoning the stable boy, who responded with the promptness reserved for good customers, he asked that their horses be tended to but not unsaddled.

'Keep them ready for us,' he said, giving the boy a generous tip. 'We won't be here for long.'

'Very good, monsieur.'

'This way,' he then indicated to Leprat.

'No,' Rauvin intervened. 'He stays here.'

He and Mirebeau stared at one another for a moment and then the gentleman gave in.

'All right.' And turning to Leprat, he said, 'Wait for us here, please. We'll be back soon.' .

The musketeer nodded.

He had resolved to appear docile, if only to avoid giving Rauvin any opportunity to tell him to shut up and obey. He wondered whether the man was once again demonstrating his excessive sense of wariness or was simply seeking to humiliate him. But he said nothing and, from the stable's threshold, watched the two men cross the courtyard and enter the big house that constituted the inn's main building.

He thus stood waiting, pretending to watch the dancers and to be enjoying the music, while he discreetly observed the courtyard and kept track of comings and goings without anything seeming out of the ordinary . . .

... at least, not until he saw Rauvin come hurtling out of a first-storey window.

That evening, La Fargue, alone in his office, asked for monsieur Guibot to come see him.

'Any news of Leprat?' he asked.

'None, monsieur.'

'And of Laincourt?'

'Nothing from him, either.'

'Very good. Thank you.'

As he was leaving the office, the old porter passed Marciac who knocked on the open door by way of announcing himself.

'Yes, Marciac?' asked La Fargue.

The Gascon seemed embarrassed. He entered, shut the door behind him and sat down.

'Captain . . .'

'What is it, Marciac?'

'I have something to tell you. It's about your daughter . . . I'm not sure of anything, but I think she may be in danger.'

Having been thrown, with a tremendous crash, through a first-storey window of the inn, Rauvin landed in the courtyard under the astonished eyes of the dancers, who came to a standstill, and of the musicians on their stage, who stopped playing. He immediately ran off, as a furious-looking comte de Rochefort stuck his head out of the wreckage above.

'Stop!' shouted the cardinal's henchman, before firing his pistol.

But he missed his target and Rauvin disappeared into the darkness.

'After him!' Rochefort ordered, and a group of red-caped guards suddenly issued forth from the inn's front door and set off in pursuit of the fugitive.

Out of instinct, Leprat had taken a step backward into the stable, and concealed himself from view.

Evidently Mirebeau and Rauvin had come here for a clandestine meeting, a meeting that Rochefort had gotten wind of and decided to attend, along with a detachment of Richelieu's men. An ambush had been set up. But if Rochefort and the Cardinal's Guards had arrived first to organise this mousetrap, they must have seen the duchesse de Chevreuse's agents arrive.

Which made Leprat wonder why he had not yet been apprehended himself.

'Don't make a move!' a voice behind him suddenly said. 'You are under arrest.'

In spite of the pistol whose barrel was now touching the back of his neck, Leprat smiled.

'You are going to be surprised, Biscarat,' he replied, extending his arms away from his body and turning around slowly.

After even a few months' service, the King's Musketeers and the Cardinals' Guards all knew one another by sight, if not by name and reputation. Leprat had earned considerable renown when he wore the blue cape, while Biscarat had been a member of the Guards for at least eight years and had achieved some fame of his own by crossing swords with Porthos in a celebrated duel.

The guard's eyes widened upon recognising his prisoner.

'You?'

There was no time for explanations, but this second of astonishment was all that Leprat required.

Pushing the pistol to one side, he swiftly kneed Biscarat in the belly and knocked him out with a right hook to the head, catching the man as he fell to prevent any further injury. Then he relieved him of his scarlet cape and put it on before venturing back out of the stable.

He quickly made his way across the courtyard, beneath the lanterns, moving towards the main building of the inn.

Rauvin had fled and, under the cover of night, would no doubt evade capture, but Mirebeau appeared to be trapped. While the fate of the first man was of little concern to him, Leprat could not permit the second to be arrested. The gentleman in the beige doublet was the only means he had of becoming involved in the duchesse de Chevreuse's schemes. Leprat was thus forced to rescue Mirebeau, even if it meant thwarting Rochefort and inflicting some blows and injuries on His Eminence's Guards.

The success of his mission depended on it.

With a resolute step, Leprat approached the row of curious onlookers who had gathered before the door of the main building and, lowering his hat to conceal his eyes, he passed through them with an authoritative air.

'Make way! Make way!'

The red cape was impressive and a passage was cleared for him.

Inside, dozens of torches lit an immense hall thai rose to the rafters. Twenty tables were set out on a dirt floor scattered with straw. A gallery ran along the rear wall, with a corridor and several doors on the first storey, which was accessible via two staircases that climbed the walls on either side. The hall was packed and noisy, to the point that it was impossible to be heard without raising one's voice, or to move without sidling and shouldering past people. The crowd here was the same as in the courtyard: soldiers and non-commissioned officers, prostitutes and serving wenches, plus a few debauched gentlemen. Almost everyone was on their feet protesting. The sound of a brawl coming from one of the chambers, followed by that of a breaking window and gunfire, had initially caused confusion. The appearance of the Guards in their capes and the prohibition of anyone entering or leaving the premises had then started to worry some of those present and to anger others.

Rochefort had in fact given orders to seal all the exits from the building. He was descending one of the stairways from the gallery when Leprat entered, and two guards armed with short muskets immediately took up post in front of the doors. The musketeer congratulated himself on not having delayed any longer. He didn't know how he was going to get out, but at least he had managed to slip inside without hindrance.

'Place more guards here at the bottom of these stairs!' ordered Rochefort. 'And where is Biscarat?

Somebody go find Biscarat! There were three of them!'

Merely one more red cape among all the others, Leprat shoved his way through the crowd while keeping his chin down. He chose the stairs opposite those Rochefort had taken, arrived at the bottom of the steps where three guards were standing and walked brazenly past them, helped by the fact that their eyes were fixed on the angry crowd. The inn was full of soldiers and gentlemen who did not appreciate being locked inside. Emboldened by wine, some were just waiting for a chance to have a go at the cardinal's representatives, who were almost universally detested throughout the kingdom.

With the exception of Rochefort, who followed his progress with a frowning gaze, Leprat reached the gallery without

attracting anyone's attention. Then he walked along the corridor where a guard was posted in front of a door.

Why keep watch on a door, unless Mirebeau was being held prisoner behind it?

Still walking with the assured step of someone who knows where he is going and who has every right to be there, while keeping his chin tucked in so that the brim of his hat concealed the top of his face, Leprat was relying on the scarlet cape to work its magic. He advanced and, at the last minute, surprised the guard by brandishing the pistol he had stolen from Biscarat. Then he forced him to turn round and roughly pushed him against the wall.

'Open the door,' he demanded.

'Impossible.'

'Where's the key?'

'Rochefort.'

Leprat cursed but did take long to reach a decision. He knocked out the guard with a blow from his pistol and then kicked open the door with his heel.

'It's me,' he announced to Mirebeau, who stood at the rear of the small room in which he had been imprisoned, blinking in the sudden light.

'Gueret?'

'Yes. Hurry up!'

Waving Mirebeau forward, Leprat glanced towards the end of the corridor.

'Good Lord! I thought you had fled—'

'I'm not Rauvin. Come on!'

The gentleman in the beige doublet was coming out just as Rochefort arrived, intrigued by this guard he had seen coming up the stairs, perhaps a little too hastily.

'Guards! To me!' he shouted as soon as he came onto the gallery. 'Up here!'

Leprat fired his pistol in Rochefort's direction, taking care, as he did to aim high. The pistol ball lodged itself in a beam, but caused the cardinal's henchman to retreat, which was all the musketeer had wanted. With Mirebeau on his heels, he entered the nearest chamber and the two men pushed the bed

against the door before Leprat went to take a look through the window. It opened onto a section of roof by means of which the fugitives made their escape as the guards attempted to force their way into the room.

'To the stable!' Leprat cried. 'We need horses, it's our only chance!'

Mirebeau nodded.

A few seconds later, just as Rochefort ran into the courtyard with several guards, and still more were cautiously exploring the rooftops, Leprat and Mirebeau burst out of the stable at a gallop, having first liberated all the horses they found there. Spurring their own mounts and yelling like demons, they provoked a stampede, aggravated by the muskets fired at them on Rochefort's order, the furious shouts from the soldiers who saw their horses dispersing into the darkness and, lastly, by the anger of those inside the inn jostling with the guards who were still trying to prevent them from leaving. Leprat and Mirebeau, moreover, decided to take the shortest route away from the scene.

Charging straight at the gate, they jumped their horses over the musicians' stage, and in doing so, carried away with them the strings of hanging lanterns. The little oil lamps broke as they fell.

Trailing behind the pair of riders, they formed blazing splatters pointing in the direction of the exit, completing the panic of the other horses that had been set free. The two fugitives made good their escape, galloping flat out into the night and leaving a veritable state of chaos in their wake, as men and beasts alike ran among the scattered flames.