Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,57
knows what he looks like, his age, or even his true gender. He is supposed to have been involved, to a greater or lesser degree, in every important plot and bloody revolt that has taken place. Yet, even if we can detect his presence everywhere, no one has ever caught sight of him anywhere—'
'—to the point that some people doubt his very existence,' Agnes finished for him. 'Yes, I've heard all that before . . . But
are you one of these sceptics, Arnaud? If you are, then I urge you to revise your opinion. Because the Alchemist, to our great misfortune, does indeed exist. He was even on the verge of being captured, once. By us, by the Blades, acting on La Fargue's initiative.'
Laincourt frowned.
'I didn't know that,' he confessed.
The young woman's face darkened.
'It was five years ago,' she said.
Night had fallen upon Ile Notre-Dame-des-Ecailles when Kh'Shak, returning after an hour's absence, entered a miserable back yard and found his soldiers standing in front of the shack where they had been hiding these past few days. Ready for an expedition, the black dracs were heavily armed and struggling to contain their impatience. Kh'Shak was surprised. He had given no orders to prepare for a sortie before he left in search of Ni'Akt, the youngest member of his unit. Since they had been in Paris, Ni'Akt had suffered more than his fair share of humiliation and insults from his elders and Kh'Shak had feared for a moment that he'd deserted. But guided by rumours, he had quickly found his dead body -already stripped of its possessions — lying in a fresh pool of blood.
And then he had come right back.
Kh'Shak walked right through his men without looking at them.
He went into the shack and descended the rotting stairs to the damp cellar filled with its appetising odour of rotting meat. Gutted animal carcasses littered the dirt floor and there were yellow candles burning that produced much smoke in addition to their dim light.
Kh'Shak had expected to find his saaskir cross-legged on the ground in the middle of the room. But the old pale-scaled drac was sitting on a keg, gnawing a haunch of raw, spoiled meat with what remained of his yellowed teeth, finally at the end of his long fast.
'Ni'Akt is dead,' announced the hulking black drac. 'He went out despite my orders and was killed. I think the half-blood murdered him.'
The other drac nodded but continued to eat.
'That means he will find us soon,' added Kh'Shak. 'He is very close now.'
'It doesn't matter,' said the sorcerer. 'The one we are searching for has finally revealed herself to the Eye of the Night Dragon. I know where she is hiding and I shall lead you there by thought.'
'At last!'
'Did you believe the task was easy?'
'No, but—'
The old drac lifted a thin clawed hand in an appeasing gesture.
'Rejoin your men, Kh'Shak. Find your horses and leave without further delay. If you act quickly and well, La Donna will be dead this very night.'
3
That night, at La Renardiere, Alessandra di Santi was reading when she heard riders approaching at a gallop. As her hedchamber only offered a view of the garden paths and the great tree-lined park, she went into the antechamber and, parting the curtains slightly, caught a glimpse of La Fargue and Almades as they jumped down from their saddles and climbed the front steps where they were met by Leprat.
She smiled, withdrew from the window, adjusted her red curls as she passed in front of a mirror, told herself that the soft yellow light of the candles decidedly suited her and, back in her room, returned to her armchair and her book.
The chambermaid soon admitted La Fargue, and lifting her eyes to his, La Donna greeted him with a dazzling smile.
'Good evening, captain. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?'
The old gentleman closed the door without replying, turned the key twice in the lock, looked briefly out the window, drew the curtains, and then, looking grave and almost menacing, came to stand before the beautiful lady spy.
'Ah!' she said, putting her book down. 'So this is not a social visit . . .'
'Enough play, madame.'
Serene, Alessandra rose under the pretext of pouring herself a glass of liqueur from a bottle placed on the side table. If she remained seated, she would be permitting La Fargue to dominate her with his massive figure and hold sway over her, something which she detested.