Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,30
the former spy decided. 'Let's go inside.'
'Thank you, monsieur.'
Laincourt preceded the gentleman into a corridor that was both narrow and unlit, then led him up a staircase lacking both air and light. As they climbed, they kept a tight hold on the rickety banister, the former Cardinal's Guard cautioning the other man to be careful on the treacherous steps.
Reaching the second floor, and allowing himself be guided by habit, Laincourt found his door in the dark. He opened it with his key and left it wide open to assist the mysterious gentleman, who was still groping his way forward. A shadowy grey light filled the small apartment and outlined a faint, irregular patch of the landing.
Having arrived home, Laincourt remained faithful to certain routines. First of all he detached the leash from Marechal's collar. Then he made the dragonnet enter his cage, before striking a flame to light a candle. Those tasks accomplished, he filled the small reptile's bowl with water, removed his hat, hung up his baldric, and only then turned his attention to the gentleman who, hat in hand, was looking about him.
Laincourt's apartments consisted of two badly ventilated rooms. Very modest and poorly furnished, devoid of any personal note, they were nevertheless clean and tidy — obviously the abode of a bachelor who had never let himself slide into sloth.
'Monsieur,' said Laincourt, 'I only have one chair to offer you. Take it, I shall use this stool.'
'No need, monsieur. I shall not trouble you for long.'
'As you wish.'
'Permit me to introduce myself. I am the chevalier de Mirebeau and—'
'Just one thing, monsieur, before you continue.'
'Yes?'
'Speak softly. If anyone were to bother to listen, they would hear everything through this wretched floor,' indicated Laincourt, tapping his heel.
He imagined the Laborde couple below being showered with dust.
'I understand,' the gentleman replied in a lower tone.
'So what is it you want, monsieur de Mirebeau? I have spotted you, here and there, for the past week.'
'Forgive me, sir, but it has only been four days since I began observing you.'
'Six days. During the first two, you were trying to hide.'
Mirebeau admitted defeat:
'That's right.'
Laincourt didn't care if he was right or wrong.
'So? What do you want from me?'
'I have been charged with informing you, monsieur, that a certain party is surprised by the injustices that have been heaped upon you. This party is saddened to learn that you are alone and unemployed, and worries about your future.'
'So, I have a guardian angel looking out for me . . .'
'Your merits have not gone unnoticed, monsieur. Only a few weeks ago you wore the cape of His Eminence's Guards. You held the rank of ensign and you seemed destined for a lieutenancy. Without ever showing yourself to be unworthy of it, this cape was taken from you. Your name was then quietly cleared of any charges, but without the return of your cape, your rank or the honours that were your due. And then you were abandoned to your fate without further ado . . .'
Laincourt studied the gentleman's eyes and tried to read the truth hidden within them. What did he know, exactly? Was he aware of the circumstances under which Laincourt had been arrested and then dismissed from the Cardinal's Guards? Did he know of the dangerous double role the spy had played with the Black Claw's agents? Of the sacrifices he had been forced to make to complete his mission successfully? Laincourt had accepted the assignment knowing the consequences full well.
And he had been aware that it would require forsaking his rank and his uniform, because he was familiar with the rules of the game.
But in him Mirebeau only saw a loyal servant, dismissed out of ingratitude or negligence, whose legitimate ambitions had been shattered.
And, therefore, he had come to offer Laincourt a new master:
'You know how the world works. One cannot get very far or rise very high without a benevolent protector. The person I serve would very much like to count you as a friend. I said that your merits have not gone unnoticed. Your virtues are also known. As are your talents, which would finally be appreciated at their true value. Your Spanish is excellent, I believe. And you are perfectly familiar with Madrid . . .'
Laincourt did not react to this. After all, it was no secret that he had spent two years at the Court of Dragons.
What he had actually been doing there, on the other hand . . .