The Alchemist in the Shadows

3

A few days passed before La Fargue, for the second time in less than a fortnight, paid a visit to the Grand Chatelet. Accompanied by Almades, as always, he arrived by way of the Pont au Change, whose houses aligned on either side com-pletely hid the Seine from view and gave one the impression of travelling down an ordinary street. The two men rode at a walk, side by side, in silence. It was late morning, on a sunny day, and Paris stank more than ever.

Nothing had filtered out concerning the plot that the Blades had thwarted and — it was hoped —

nothing ever would. The scandal would be enormous. Although she had obviously been unaware that she was delivering herself into the hands of the Black Claw, Anne d'Autriche was nonetheless guilty of having wanted to subject herself, unbeknownst to the king and contrary to the laws of the kingdom, to a ritual involving draconic magic. Besides, like the duchesse de Chevreuse, most of those implicated in this affair believed they were doing no evil, having persuaded themselves — out of loyalty, affection or naivety — that they were secretly helping an unhappy and humiliated sovereign conceive an heir to the throne. Within the queen's entourage, no one knew what would have really happened if the queen had been successfully abducted by the alchemist ...

L.a Fargue and Almades exchanged a look before they passed through Le Chatelet's dark archway.

La Fargue guessed what the Spaniard was thinking and waited for him to say it out loud.

Although planned for some tunc, the wave of arrests ordered by the king on the day following that famous night

had very opportunely dominated public attention ever since. The gazettes and the gossipmongers had discussed nothing else, in Paris, in France and in the other princely courts throughout Europe.

The arrest that caused the most astonishment was that of the marquis de Chateauneuf, who was third personage of the State in his role as Keeper of the Seals. He was firstly reproached for being too eager to succeed Richelieu in the post of chief minister to His Majesty, which was often the first step on the path leading to treasonous plots. But more to the point, he was accused of confiding State secrets to his mistress, the highly suspect duchesse de Chevreuse. Some of those secrets concerned the citadels France was occupying in Lorraine. And there was also the matter of a French officer, an intimate friend of the marquis, who had been arrested recently, just before he could divulge information about the army the king was presently mustering. Thanks to the confessions of this officer, a trap had been set at an inn near Neuilly, but unfortunately it had not led to the arrest of any accomplices. Chateauneuf s guilt, however, had clearly been brought to light. He had been thrown into a prison from which he would not emerge for a long time, while others were also being dealt with by the king's justice. Convicted of having communicated State secrets, confided to her by the besotted marquis, to the duc de Lorraine, the duchesse de Chevreuse was of course one of them.

But her rank still seemed to protect her, even if in truth she was skilfully negotiating the terms of her silence about what threatened to become the affair of the Dampierre ritual.

The two Blades dismounted in the courtyard of Le Chatelet and again La Fargue's eye met Almades's. This time, however, the fencing master asked:

'What do you expect from this meeting, captain?'

'I don't know,' the old gentleman admitted. 'Answers, I think.'

'Answers to which questions?'

He fell silent and the two men let themselves be led into the imposing lower that housed the prison.

Even if the duchesse managed to evade the full severity of the punishment she deserved in the Chateauneuf affair, La Fargue deemed that the greatest dangers of the Dampierre case had been averted. The queen was safe and the Black Claw mercenaries who had not been killed would never again see the light of day. To be sure, Savelda had escaped and could not be found. But the Alchemist was behind bars. As for the Blades, they had come out of the whole matter quite well, They had even acquired a new member, Laincourt, whose shoulder wound had not proved serious.

Also slightly injured, Marciac was torn between two sentiments: joy at having held a queen of France in his arms and frustration at not being able

to boast about it. Saint-Lucq had disappeared again and Agnes was occupied elsewhere after receiving a letter from the Former Superior General of the Sisters of Saint-Georges. In the end, the captain was only worried about Leprat, who had returned from his mission looking much the worse for wear, Physically, but also mentally speaking.

At Le Chatelet, a gaoler opened a door on the level con-taining individual cells and stepped aside to allow La Fargue and Almades to enter. The room was cool, quite dark and sparsely furnished with a table, a stool and a bed. They found the Alchemist there, looking through an arched window lefended by thick bars. As solemn and sinister as ever, he was dressed in grey, with a bandaged shoulder and his wrists bound by shackles made of a steel alloy containing draconite, the alchemical stone that inhibited the power of dragons.

The Alchemist's thin, scarlike mouth twisted into a strange smile as he turned towards his visitors.

'How kind of you to accept my invitation, captain.'

The first person to raise an alarm was a ditch digger who, poking up at the sky, could not at first believe his eyes, but then ran to the nearest village. He arrived frightened and out of breath, hammered at the door of the presbytery, and then had trouble making himself understood by the parish priest.

The latter also had difficulty believing the news. The man's eyes had played a trick on him. Or he had been drinking. But other witnesses arrived soon afterwards.

They had also seen it.

They were also afraid.

The priest decided to ring the church bells.

Looking out the window of his private office, the comte de Treville looked out over the courtyard of his mansion in the rue du Vieux-Colombier for a long while. Then he turned away and asked Leprat:

'Have you truly made up your mind?'

'Yes, monsieur.'

The captain of the King's Musketeers seated himself at his desk and granted himself a few more moments of reflection. He used this time to examine Leprat who stood at attention without blinking, with his ivory rapier at his side and his right hand wrapped in a bandage.

'Don't misunderstand me,' Treville said at last. 'I ask for nothing more than to see you wear the blue cape once again. Indeed, no one is more worthy of wearing it . . .'

'Thank you, monsieur.'

'But I know what the Blades represent in your eyes. And I also know the respect and the friendship you have for monsieur La Fargue . . . Have you told him of your decision?'

'I shall tell him this evening, along with the other Blades.'

'It won't be easy.'

'I know.'

At the Hotel de Chevreuse, Arnaud de Laincourt joined the duchesse on the large terrace. Still looking pale, he had his arm in a sling. As for the duchesse, she was no less beautiful or less elegant than usual, but she was alone and wore a grave expression on her face. She stood beneath a canopy that shaded chairs and a table bearing untouched delicacies: crackers, cakes, marzipans, fruit jellies, preserves and syrups. In her hand she had a liqueur glass filled with golden henbane and, from the gleam in her eye, Laincourt guessed she had already been partaking of it immoderately.

She held out her hand to be kissed and then said:

'So, you never stopped being an agent of the cardinal, nonsieur de Laincourt . . .'

'No, madame.'

"Well, it's only fair, I suppose ... In contrast to the marquis de Chateauneuf, who wanted to recruit you, monsieur de Mirebeau never believed it would be possible to win you over to our cause. He said the cardinal is a master one never ceases to serve.'

'No doubt he's right.'

'Do you know what became of him? Was he arrested?'

'Mirebeau? No. He's dead, madame.'

'Oh! That's a pity, isn't it?' said madame de Chevreuse in the same tone she might have employed to regret the loss of beautiful rosebushes killed by frost.

Laincourt did not reply and together they turned towards the magnificent garden.

'I must thank you for agreeing to visit me, monsieur. No one knocks at my door anymore, you know? All those fine people who danced at my ball and applauded my fireworks how avoid me as if I had the ranse . . . But I've long been accustomed to changes in fortune at court and I wait patiently to learn the fate in store for me. It will be exile, won't it?'

'Probably, yes.'

'And what about poor old Chateauneuf?'

'I doubt he will ever emerge from His Majesty's prisons.'

'Exile . . .' sighed the duchesse, her eyes lost in con-templation.

A lackey brought, upon a tray, a box covered with a piece of cloth. He stood there waiting patiently for his mistress to notice him.

'Ah!' she said at last. 'This is why I asked you to come see one. Take it, monsieur. It's for you.'

Intrigued, Laincourt picked up the box, but waited until the Lackey turned away before opening it.

It contained a letter — which was addressed to him - and a small painted portrait.

'The letter,' indicated madame de Chevreuse, 'is from nadame de Saint-Avoid who, for reasons you must be aware

of, has been obliged to return to her native Lorraine with all due haste.'

The portrait was also of Aude de Saint-Avoid. The same one the duchesse had commissioned in order to show her master of magic how much, if the upper part of her face were masked, the beautiful Aude resembled the queen: they had the same eyes, the same mouth, the same chin, the same throat.

'Please accept this gift from me, monsieur. For if I have many faults, above all I suffer from that of loving love.'

Laincourt accepted it, feeling moved.

Bells were ringing in the distance and the sound seemed to be drawing closer, but the Blade and the duchesse paid it no heed.

'Goodbye, monsieur de Laincourt. I doubt that we will meet again for a long time.'

'Goodbye, madame. But—'

'Yes, monsieur?'

'Would you agree to answer a question?'

'Is it a question the cardinal is asking through you?'

'No, madame.'

'Then I will answer.'

Laincourt took a breath and then asked:

'Why, madame? Why did you wish to help the queen to conceive a child? Your hatred of the cardinal is a secret to no one. And, for reasons that are strictly yours, you do not seem to like our king at all. And a throne without an heir means no end of pretenders and opportunists willing to scheme and rise up against your enemies. By favouring the birth of an heir apparent, you would have strengthened the throne and consolidated Louis' reign.'

The duchesse smiled.

'You forget, monsieur, the affection I have for the queen, and how painful it is for me to see her so unhappy and so often humiliated . . . And then there was that night when, as a game, I encouraged her to run through the Grande Salle at the Louvre. If not for me, she would not have tripped against the platform. If not for me, she would not have fallen. And if not for me, three days later she would not have lost the child she

was carrying. A boy, apparently . . . And while the queen forgave me, I never could forgive myself . . . So, when the man I believed to be a wise master of magic confided to me that he could . . .'

Overcome by emotion, she could not finish.

Then she exclaimed:

'Those bells are going to drive us all mad!'

To the bells ringing in the faubourgs, were now added several more in the neighbourhood of Saint-Thomas-du-Louvre.

It was both unusual and disquieting.

Laincourt lifted his eyes to the sky just as a great shadow passed overhead.

Leprat descended the great staircase in the Hotel de Treville when he suffered an attack. He was suddenly very hot, his vision blurred and, realising what was happening, he murmured:

'Oh, Lord! Not here . . .'

In a sweat, staggering, he bumped into a musketeer who was coming up the stairway, tried to grab hold of another and only managed to tear the man's sleeve as his legs gave way beneath him.

He tumbled to the bottom of the steps and lay there, convulsing.

A crowd gathered round him. A few men seized hold of his limbs to restrain them. They also attempted to slide a belt between his jaws to save his tongue.

'A doctor. Someone fetch a doctor!'

And while he arched his back, moaning, a black bile began to flow from between his grimacing lips.

'It's the ranse!' one man exclaimed. 'He's been stricken by the Great ranse.'

'The poor wretch . . .'

'Do you hear that?' said another. 'It sounds like the tocsin.'

Close by, the bells of the Saint-Germain-des-Pres abbey were pealing.

*

An immense, terrifying, winged shadow settled upon the prison at Le Chatelet. In the Alchemist's cell the light suddenly dimmed, while a booming roar shook the walls. Outside, all the bells in Paris were ringing.

La Fargue turned towards the darkened window . . .

. . . and saw the great black dragon that faced him, opening its menacing jaws ready to breath fire . . .

He faced it, frozen in awe.