Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,5

hollow. Keeping her golden eyes fixed on the half-blood as he passed, she tilted her head slowly to one side, then to the other. Could he really see her? Finally, when she was certain that the rider with the strange red spectacles was staring right back at her, she growled at him in hatred and fury before taking flight from her hiding-place.

La Fargue and Almades both reacted to the sound of wings flapping swiftly through the forest and, thanks to a flash of lightning, they caught a brief glimpse of the small reptile as she sped away.

Saint-Lucq, expressionless, turned his gaze back to the trail ahead.

'We're almost there,' he announced, just before the roll of thunder came.

The storm was still in full fury when the trail began to gradually slope upwards and led the riders to the crown of a hill, where a large building could be seen emerging from the treetops, like an island in a sea of tossing boughs. It was a

former inn which had been abandoned after being partially destroyed in a terrible fire. The windows were boarded up, the roof tiles rattled, and the inn's illegible sign swung wildly in the gusting wind and rain. An old wall surrounded the courtyard and a well. Only a few charred vestiges remained of the stables, evidently the starting-point of the blaze.

The riders passed beneath a stone arch and crossed the courtyard, halting in front of the inn. They cast wary glances at their surroundings and although they had extinguished their lanterns they still felt exposed out here in the open, beneath the turbulent sky. Remaining in their saddles, all three could see the wavering light coming from behind the boards nailed across a window on the upper floor.

'She's already here,' La Fargue observed.

'I don't see her mount,' Almades replied.

'Neither do I,' added Saint-Lucq.

The old captain stepped down from the saddle into a mud puddle, and gave his orders:

'Almades, with me. Saint-Lucq, keep watch out here.'

The half-blood nodded and turned his horse around. Almades dismounted as La Fargue, always cautious, loosened his rapier in its scabbard. The weapon was well-matched with its owner, being both solid and quite long: a Pappenheimer, named after the German general who had equipped his cavalry corps with it. La Fargue had put its qualities to the test - and had sometimes been tested by it himself— on battlefields in Germany and elsewhere. He appreciated its robust strength and long reach, as well as the guard with its multiple branches and the openwork shell that protected his hand.

The dark, cluttered ground floor of the inn smelled of old soot and wet wood. It was impossible to move without stepping over pieces of debris or making the floorboards creak alarmingly, as if they might give way at any moment. The wind whistled through the gaps between the planks that had been crudely nailed across the windows. A single lit candle had been placed on the lowest step of the staircase leading to the upper floor, the flame guttering in the draughts.

'Wait here,' ordered La Fargue before climbing the stairs alone.

Obeying with some reluctance, Almades unsheathed his rapier and took up vigil below.

At the top of the stairway, the old gentleman found a long corridor with a second candle burning at the end, placed on the worm-eaten lintel of a half-opened door. Other doors — which led into the bedchambers - also lined this hallway. But the door at the end, in addition to being lit, was the only one which was not closed.

Since the way had been so kindly shown to him, La Fargue advanced towards the light. He trod carefully, however, keeping a cautious eye on each door as he passed, his hand resting on his sword . . .

There were leaks in the ceiling, and in places, he could hear rain pattering in the attic, directly over his head. The roof must have split wide open, although neither he nor his men had noticed this when they arrived, but a section of it was invisible from the courtyard and could have been missing as far as they knew, not having made a point of inspecting it.

La Fargue stopped in front of the door indicated by the candle.

'Come in, monsieur,' said a charming feminine voice.

A scraping could be heard through the racket of the storm, coming from just beneath the rafters.

There was a peal of thunder at almost the same instant, but the sound did not escape the keen ears of the captain, who