Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,34

for the plot against His Majesty, they would be forced to wait until it was set in motion to discover its nature and scope . . .

Happily, the members of Parlement could not be displeased by tilings of which they remained ignorant. It was thus in

greatest secrecy that Alessandra spent her mornings with a magistrate at Le Chatelet, where she was asked questions which she answered graciously, while always endeavouring not to say too much.

She stayed at La Renardiere the rest of the time, protected by musketeers. There were a dozen of them, who patrolled the grounds and occupied a small wooden pavilion in the woods by the entrance to the hunting lodge's grounds. But the young Italian woman was not fooled: the musketeers were there to keep a watch on her as much as they were to protect her, just as the domestic servants in the residence were there to spy on her as much as to serve her. All of them were Richelieu's people, as was the gentleman who acted as her bodyguard.

That one was a Cardinal's Blade.

Seated at her dressing table, Alessandra was finishing arranging her hair and attire to her satisfaction when there was a knock at the door.

'Come in, monsieur!'

It was Leprat. Freshly shaven, wearing boots, breeches, gloves, and a doublet, he was dressed in red, black and grey. His spurs jingling at each step, he entered the room with his hat in hand and his sword at his side.

'Good morning, monsieur le chevalier,' La Donna greeted him, her eyes on the mirror which the chambermaid slowly moved around her. 'Did you sleep well outside my door?'

'No, madame.'

The young woman pretended to be concerned. She turned theatrically in her seat and placed a hand to her throat.

'Did you sleep poorly, monsieur? Are you feeling ill?'

'No, madame.'

Alessandra went from worry to pouting anger, still playacting.

'Then you must have slept elsewhere. That's very poor on your part. You abandoned me and I could have been assassinated. I'm very upset with you. I was happier when I thought you were ill . . .'

Leprat smiled.

'I was at your door, madame. But I didn't sleep. And I feel quite well.'

'Well, thank goodness on both counts! I am doubly reassured.'

Returning her attention to her toilette, La Donna continued to inspect her reflection in the mirror.

'Madame, would you be so good as to make haste. Your breakfast is served, and monsieur de La Houdiniere will no doubt arrive soon.'

Irritated, La Donna snatched the mirror from the chambermaid's hands.

'Monsieur de La Houdiniere shall have to wait,' she said. 'And in Paris, inside that depressing Chatelet where he insists on receiving me, monsieur de Laffemas can also wait. And, if necessary, the cardinal can wait too!'

'Madame. If you please . . .'

Alessandra caught Leprat's eye in the mirror.

She smiled at him, adjusted a curl of hair for form's sake, returned the mirror to the servant, and then rose to turn towards the former musketeer. She looked ravishing, in a snugly fitting but otherwise fairly plain brown-and-cream dress which nevertheless enhanced her pale skin, her red hair, and her pretty bosom. She seemed to be waiting for a compliment, but Leprat limited himself to a brief nod of approval.

The beautiful Italian woman had to satisfy herself with that and accepted the arm offered to her before passing into the antechamber.

Kh'Shak, the huge black drac, hesitated for a moment before opening the door and descending the stairs with a cautious step, almost on tiptoe, holding the scabbard of his rapier to keep it from knocking into anything.

The cellar was silent and warm, stingily lit by fat yellow candles whose flames gave off acrid wisps of smoke. The place reeked, filled with strong odours that would turn a human stomach but which were pleasant to drakish nostrils: the smell of blood, offal, and meat both fresh and spoiled.

The old pale-scaled drac was sitting cross-legged on the dirt floor. He was wearing the dirty, smelly rags that were his sole clothing, and his ceremonial staff —

the big carved stick with its feathers, bones, scales, teeth, and coloured beads — was resting across his meagre thighs. Eyes shut, he sat completely still, hardly breathing at all. The gutted body of a small white goat lay before him. Other remains were rotting here and there, mutilated and half-devoured.

Halting at the bottom of the steps Kh'Shak hesitated again, as if afraid to enter the cellar completely and set foot on the spattered, blood-soaked floor where he knew awful rituals had