Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,117

among them pointing out the gentlemen they liked best. Among the dancers, the marquis de Chateauneuf in particular attracted much commentary, although most of it was not in praise. Watching out of the corner of his eye to see if the duchesse de Chevreuse was glancing in his direction, he exerted himself with each movement to adopt the most advantageous poses. But his age of over fifty rendered all these efforts somewhat ridiculous.

Spotting Laincourt, Agnes joined him by a window overlooking the moat and the great Renaissance flower beds among which couples strolled in search of a quiet corner.

'Did La Fargue let you know?' asked the young man.

'Yes.'

'It's now more important than ever that you remain with the queen.'

'I know.'

It was a trap.

The fertility ritual which the queen was supposed to undergo was nothing but a trap intended to lure her away, with her own consent, from the guards who watched over her. The Chatelaines' Superior General had been right: there was a plot threatening the queen. A plot in which madame de Chevreuse was a participant, acting in the belief that she was serving Anne d'Autriche's interests. A plot hatched by the Black Claw and the Alchemist, who had usurped the place of the duch-esse's master of magic. A plot, lastly, whose object was to abduct the queen.

But after that?

'It will happen tonight,' said Laincourt. 'And it cannot be done without the complicity of others. That of the duchesse, certainly. But also that of most of the ladies in her entourage, whom the queen has probably won over to her cause . . . Since you are not a part of the plan, they will try to divert you at the crucial moment. Keep your eye out. And be careful.'

'Don't worry.'

'Marciac was looking for you a short while ago and could not find you.'

The baronne de Vaudreuil reflected for short instant.

'Yes. It must have been when I went to fetch the queen's jewel box. Her pearl necklace broke just after the king retired to his quarters.'

'And the queen? Where was she?'

'She was waiting in the antechamber for me to return so that we could change her finery.'

Laincourt nodded distractedly as his gaze slowly swept over the queen and her entourage.

Then he frowned.

'I don't see Aude de Saint-Avoid,' he said.

Agnes turned toward the group formed by the maidens-of-honour and their governess, at the foot of the royal dais.

'You're right,' she replied.

'Do you know where she is?'

'No.'

The cardinal's former spy became worried. If Agnes — because she was a newcomer to the queen's suite — could be diverted when it came time to execute the plot, Aude was a different matter.

Like everyone else, the queen was wearing a mask.

Without meaning to, Laincourt caught her eye . . .

. . . and suddenly recognised — now looking alarmed as she realised she had been found out - the face of Aude de Saint-Avoid.

'They've already abducted the queen!' he shouted as he left Agnes standing there.

Unlike Mirebeau, Rauvin had not ventured alone into the underground chambers. He was accompanied by five mercenaries whom he immediately ordered to attack Leprat.

That's one, counted the musketeer as he ran his sword through the first man to come within reach.

He freed his blade, dodged an attack, parried another and forced his opponents to retreat with a few furious moulinets.

He then returned to the en garde position and waited with his back to the well which, beneath the dome, marked the centre of the circular room. The four mercenaries supposed that he was allowing them the initiative in making the next assault. They started to deploy in an arc. If the man before them was foolish enough to let them organise themselves, they would take advantage of the fact . . .

But in fact he wanted them to spread out in a row.

And to gain confidence.

So that they would lower their guard slightly.

Leprat suddenly attacked with a great shout. He deflected one mercenary's sword, stunned another with a blow of his fist to the chin, spun around as he raised his blade to shoulder height and carried through his motion by slitting the throat of the freebooter who was about to strike him from behind.

That's two.

The man staggered backwards, choking, his right hand trying desperately to staunch the wound from which blood was flowing freely, while his left hand flailed in the air, seeking a shoulder, a support, help of any kind. He finally fell backwards and lay still.

Leprat gave himself space to face a renewed attack. It