Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,123

short steps leading to the walkway.

The fireworks' grand finale was now bursting overhead. The rockets' explosions sounded like cannon fire and, in the deafening din, no one could be certain of being heard.

'Halt, or we'll shoot!' warned the ensign.

'It's the queen!' La Fargue screamed. 'By all the SAINTS, LISTEN TO Me! It's THE QUEEN?'

He tried to take a step forward to explain. Three muskets immediately took aim at his chest and forced him to stop.

Savelda and the queen were now crossing the bridge. They would soon be out of sight.

'Musketeers, on my command!' ordered the young officer raising his hand.

'No!' yelled La Fargue at the top of his lungs.

But the order he dreaded so much never came.

Bringing the fireworks to a culmination, two immense gold and blue comets exploded at the same time as dozens of more ephemeral stars. The lights dazzled everyone except Savelda who had his back to the spectacle. The others averted their eyes, squinting or protecting them with their forearms.

It was the moment the Black Claw agent had been waiting for.

Pushing Anne d'Autriche over the railing on the left, he leapt over the one on the right. The two bodies splashed into

the moat's deep waters only a second apart. That of the unconscious queen immediately began to sink.

Marciac was the first to react.

He took off running, making himself the target of a volley of musket fire, the balls buzzing past him as he dove into the moat. He vanished without it being clear whether or not he had been hit.

Everyone present — La Fargue and the ensign leading the way - rushed to the edge of the steep ditch. The incandescent remains of the fireworks falling back to earth were reflected in the black waters while, at the other end of the castle, the duchesse's guests applauded the end of the display.

Unbearable seconds passed by as they all waited . . .

. . . until Marciac finally resurfaced holding the queen, who was coughing.

And therefore alive.

'Her Majesty is safe,' the Gascon announced to the dumbfounded musketeers. 'Could you lend me a hand? If you please?'

They hurried to assist him just as Almades and Treville arrived from the garden along with more men in blue capes, the captain of the Musketeers quickly taking charge of the situation.

Unnoticed by anyone, La Fargue stood apart from the others and looked out at the orchard for a long while, hands on his hips. The queen had been saved and that was the main thing, but the Alchemist had once again escaped . . .

Then he heard that two musketeers had been found unconscious among the fruit trees and, noticing that Saint-Lucq had also vanished, he smiled.

Saint-Lucq moved through the forest skirted by the road upon which the Alchemist's coach was travelling. He had heard the horse-drawn carriage leaving by way of the gate to the orchard and since then he had been following its progress by sound, pushing aside the low branches and eating up the distance with his steady, powerful strides. Thanks to the days spent watching the Dampierre domain, he knew which route

the coach would be forced to use. Right now, the road curved around the woods while the half-blood was able to take a shortcut. The vehicle would have to slow down as it approached a small bridge, and that was where Saint-Lucq hoped to intercept it.

The trees became more spaced out as the noise of the carriage came closer. Saint-Lucq realised that he was in danger of arriving too late. He picked up his pace, plunging through the underbrush and emerged from the forest, face covered in scratches, only to see the coach disappearing over the bridge.

He'd missed it!

But the Alchemist was escorted by several riders, including one straggler who was only now arriving.

Saint-Lucq seized this last chance available to him. He did not slow down, but instead adjusted his trajectory and gathered his momentum to take a flying leap from a mound close to the road. The rider never saw him coming. The horse whinnied and crashed to the earth in a great cloud of dust . . .

And stood back up, full of fright, but now mounted by the half-blood who urged it to a gallop.

Inside the coach, instinct warned the Alchemist that he was in danger. Leaning his head out the passenger door, he looked back and saw Saint-Lucq hot on his trail.

'Back there!' he alerted his escort, yelling to be heard over the thunderous hoof beats and the creaking of the axles.