Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,114
No doubt he had been wandering down here for too long. How long had it been, in fact? No matter. The musketeer deemed that he had seen enough. Besides, he noticed that the syles were starting to become dangerously hold and, to make matters worse, the flame in his lantern was showing signs of weakness.
Rather than retrace his steps, Leprat looked for stairs leading upwards. But it was, instead, a door caught his eye: a large, black double door whose stone lintel was decorated with entwined draconic motifs. Intrigued, he approached cautiously. He listened closely and heard nothing within, then drew in a breath before pushing one half of the door open . . .
... to find himself in a circular room beneath an onyx dome.
Vast but empty, it was plunged in a dim amber light, coming from the glowing golden veins in the black marble that lined the floor and ran around the room in a frieze where the dome rose from the wall. The room had a large well at its centre. And four identical doors — including the one by which Leprat had entered — which faced one another in pairs as if marking the cardinal points of a compass.
The musketeer set down his now useless lantern and stepped forward, keeping his rapier unsheathed. He became filled with the conviction that the black tower had once risen directly above this dome which he examined with an attentive eye. But his thoughts were interrupted by a sound that made him turn round.
Mirebeau was aiming a cocked pistol at him.
'A fertility ritual,' repeated La Fargue after listening to Laincourt's report.
'That's what Teyssier claims. And we already knew that this pentacle was not harmful in purpose . . .'
They were in a small room adjoining Treville's bedchamber. The captain of the Musketeers had allowed the Blades to meet here while he watched over the opening of the ball. The orchestra was playing at the other end of the castle. They could hear the music rising through the open windows into the warm night.
'Might the pentacle be for the duchesse de Chevreuse?' suggested Marciac. 'After all, we're here in her home and it is her master of magic who—'
'She has already had six children,' Laincourt pointed out.
'No,' said La Fargue. 'The ritual is intended for the queen.
She has not yet provided an heir to the throne and we know she now fears being repudiated.'
'We do?'
'This evening Agnes overheard a conversation between the queen and the duchesse,' the Gascon explained to the cardinal's former spy. 'Very upset, the queen said that she wanted to renounce . . .
we don't quite know what. In order to overcome her misgivings, the duchesse gave her the pamphlet that the queen mother's secret emissary had on his person. You recall it?'
'Yes. Claiming the king intends to repudiate the queen.'
'We believed this prospect was enough to convince the queen to participate in the final act of a plot against the king. An act that would take place this evening or later in the night.'
'It seems we were wrong,' concluded La Fargue.
His eyes became absorbed in thought.
Anne d'Autriche was desperate to become a mother. But the years had passed leaving her prayers unanswered and now, in addition to suffering from the king's estrangement and attacks from within his court, she faced the despicable threat of repudiation . . .
'So the queen has decided to resort to magic in order to become fertile,' Marciac reflected out loud.
'As for the duchesse de Chevreuse, she has taken it upon herself to arrange the whole matter with the aid of her new master of magic. And all this is taking place in utmost secrecy, as one might imagine. For if it were discovered that a queen of France—'
'A queen of Spanish origin, moreover,' added Laincourt. —was subjecting herself to a draconic ritual . . .'
The Gascon judged that there was no need to finish his sentence.
'Whatever the queen's motives,' said Laincourt, 'the king will not pardon her. In addition to other considerations, he has despised all magical arts ever since La Galigai was beheaded for bewitching his mother.'
'Not to mention the fact that an heir born in such circumstances could only be—'
Once again, Marciac did not complete his sentence, but this time because Almades had knocked on the door and entered.
La Fargue shot him a questioning look.
'Their Majesties have just opened the ball,' the Spaniard reassured him. 'All is well.'
'And Agnes?'
'I saw her and she saw me. She did not seem alarmed.'