Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,100

bridge's great stone arches.

As agreed, La Fargue stopped in front of the Bronze Wyvern.

This statue stood at the end of the Ile de la Cite, where the two halves of the Pont Neuf joined at Place Dauphine. It consisted of a wyvern with spread wings, resting on a marble pedestal at the entrance to a balustered promontory that -pointing downstream from the bridge — overlooked the river. Although it was represented saddled and harnessed, the Bronze Wyvern was riderless, among all the other trials and tribulations it had undergone. A gift from the grand duke of Tuscany to Marie de Medicis, following the death of her husband Henri IV, the statue had sunk off the coast of Sardinia along with the ship transporting it. Fished out of the sea a year later, it had finally been lifted into place by the Pont Neuf in 1614. But in 1633 it had still not been mounted by anyone other than the occasional drunkard or prankster.

La Fargue walked behind the statue.

A gentleman was waiting for him, leaning on the parapet and looking out at the reflections of the moon and the stars that danced upon the inky waters of the Seine. He had a felt hat with a plume on his head and a sword at his hip, and wore a black cloak over a light grey doublet with white slashes and silver thread. He seemed to be about thirty years old, although his hair had already started to grey. He was a tall, slim and fairly handsome man, whose eyes had pale irises surrounded by a dark rim.

La Fargue halted

'Who are you?' he asked in a suspicious tone.

'1 am the one who has been sent to you,' the other man replied calmly.

'I don't know you.'

'Well you're free to leave.'

The old captain thought for a moment and then asked:

'Your name?'

'Valombre.'

'Do you serve the Seven?'

The gentleman smiled.

'I serve them.'

'And are you—'

'—a dragon? Yes, I am. But unless you have a Chatelaine nun hidden up your sleeve, you will have to take my word for it.'

The jest did not make La Fargue smile and he stared at this so-called Valombre before finally saying:

'I believe you.'

'Good for you. And if we get down to business now, mon-senieur?'

The captain of the Blades nodded.

'I am worried,' he confessed. 'Rochefort's men are on my daughter's trail. Is she quite safe?'

'I can assure you that she is. Your daughter is doing splendidly and is out of reach of even the best of the cardinal's agents.'

'And of the Black Claw?'

'She is out of their reach as well.'

'They have immense resources at their disposal.'

'Our own are by no means negligible. Do you want to know where your daughter is?'

'No. I would be the first to be interrogated if—'

La Fargue walked several paces, turned around and raised us eyes towards the Bronze Wyvern.

'In two days' time,' he said, 'the king will have arrested his Keeper of the Seals, the duchesse de Chevreuse and all those who, with them, have plotted against the throne. The cardinal has been gathering testimonies and evidence against them for months now. It will cause a great deal of noise, no doubt about it.'

'This affair does not concern us.'

'Indeed not . . . But there's something else going on, isn't there? Something important. Something serious.'

He lowered his gaze to look at Valombre, who did not answer right away.

'Yes,' the dragon admitted at last, without any trace of emotion.

'Is the Alchemist part of it?'

'Possibly.'

'Are you not sure? Or don't you want me to know?'

'We're not sure.'

The old gentleman frowned.

'What are you hiding from me?' he asked.

'Nothing that the Sisters of Saint Georges don't already know. Perhaps you should take an interest in their secrets.'

'They seem to believe that the queen is threatened.'

'If it exists, the threat against the queen is only the beginning. But the greater danger that we fear will not spare anyone.'

2

In the Chevreuse valley, evening fell across the vast domain of Dampierre and Leprat watched from the bank of the great pond as the sunset lent its colours to the waters. Turning his back to the castle he enjoyed a moment of peace, filling his lungs with fresh air.

As they had agreed, he and Mirebeau had followed the marquis de Chateauneuf as part of his escort.

It was composed of over thirty gentlemen of noble birth, each of whom attempted to outdo the others in elegance. Their presence was meant to enhance the prestige of monsieur de Chateauneuf as much as to ensure his safety. A great lord