Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,110

lost forever. But it had once stood in the middle of the pond at Dampierre, less than a cannon shot from the present castle belonging to the due de Chevreuse. Legend said that a dragon sorcerer had built it and lived there. Legend also said he had worked terrible, evil magic and added that he had been finally vanquished by valiant knights. The tale might have been mostly invention, but Leprat was convinced the underground vestiges of the cursed tower had not yet given up all of their secrets.

The entrance to the passage lay in the forest, not far from a granite cross that stood where two tracks met. The way had recently been cleared to an old gate set in the brush-covered flank of a mound topped by a large oak tree. Behind the gate were stone steps, the beginnings of a narrow spiral staircase that led down into the darkness.

Leprat tethered his horse a good distance away, where it would not be spotted.

Then he approached the gate cautiously, creeping through the underbrush, his sword in his fist. He had feared that the place might be watched, but there was no one about. However, he did see numerous boot prints scattered across the ground, no doubt left by Savelda's men when they had opened a path to the passage. And close by, at the beginning of one of the tracks, there were traces indicating that horses had been guarded here.

Leprat had brought a lantern. He lit the candle with his tinder lighter and, without re-sheathing his rapier, started down the stairs.

At the bottom he found a long corridor leading in the direction of the pond, and the island.

In the castle courtyard, the guests had watched the comedy standing behind the royal couple. Still chuckling over the antics of the players, they were slow to disperse, walking towards the salons and stairways, or lingering to converse in the light of the great torches held aloft by lackeys in livery aligned at regular intervals with their backs to the wall, standing as still as Atlases on a palace facade. Supper was due to be served before the costume ball and a fireworks display that promised to be splendid.

With a quick step that betrayed her anxiety, Anne d'Autriche regained the apartments that madame de Chev-reuse had assigned to her. Accompanied by the duchesse, she was trailed by the women of her suite, including Agnes de Vaudreuil who was doing her best to keep up her role as a lady-in-waiting. She tried to be discreet, helpful and considerate, taking care not to encroach where she was not wanted. With her hair and face prettily made up, this evening she was wearing a magnificent scarlet dress with a plunging neckline trimmed with lace, a starched bodice and a hooped skirt. She knew she looked beautiful. Nevertheless, she had missed having her rapier these past few days since she had joined the queen's household. The stiletto dagger tucked in her garter was a poor substitute.

One of the last ladies to start up the great stairway, Agnes felt someone take her by the hand . . .

. . . and allowed Marciac to drag her behind a pillar.

'Do you know what's wrong with the queen?' he asked without any preamble.

'No. But she was in a very sombre mood when she woke this morning, and it has only grown worse since. In fact, she has spent most of the day in prayer.'

'Try to find out more, all right?'

'All right. Where can I find the captain?'

'He is with Treville.'

'I'll do what I can.'

'Say . . .'

'Yes?'

'We've been seen going off together on our own.'

'So?' '

'Perhaps we should kiss. To keep up appearances, of course.'

'Or perhaps I should just slap you and adjust my attire as I leave. To keep up appearances, of course.'

With a quirk at the corner of her lips, Agnes climbed the stairs as quickly as her dress and manners allowed. She passed between two halberdiers, opened the door to the queen's apartments, entered an antechamber and smiled at the duc d'Uzes, who served as knight-of-honour. Proceeding to a second antechamber, she joined madame de Senecey, a lady-in-waiting, the elderly madame de La Flotte, a royal wardrobe mistress, and several other attending ladies, including two ravishing young women, Louise Angelique de La Fayette and Aude de Saint-Avoid. All of them were waiting in the antechamber unsure what to do because, bordering on tears, Anne d'Autriche had just shut herself up in her bedchamber with madame de