Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,64

laughter of women rose from the scene, disturbing the night's nascent tranquillity.

In the courtyard, the chairs hindered the carriages as they made the turn to deliver their occupants to the front porch. Made nervous by the agitation, the horses held by their bits whinnied and threatened to rear up between their traces. Lackeys and coachmen did their best to prevent any mishaps. For their masters, it was a question of making the most noteworthy appearance thanks to the splendour of their team and the magnificence of their attire.

There was, however, one guest who — although he came unaccompanied by any servant and descended from a simple hired chair — inspired a certain amount of awe. Thin and pallid, with icy grey eyes and bloodless lips, he was dressed in the austere black robes of a scholar and did not exchange glances with anyone.

'Who is that?' some of those present asked in hushed voices.

'That's Mauduit.'

'Who?'

'Mauduit. Madame de Chevreuse's new master of magic!'

'The one they say is a sorcerer?'

Mauduit.

That was how he was known here. But he had borne and still bore many other names.

And, to a few people only, he was known as the Alchemist of the Shadows.

1

The meeting took place at nightfall, on the road to Saint-Germain-en-Laye, in a hostelry whose old sign depicted a hart's head in yellow, flaking paint. The establishment had seen better days. Once a thriving business, it had suffered since a bridge had been built at Chatou to replace the ferry —

which had previously been the only means of crossing the Seine in these parts. Although the bridge did not change the itinerary of those travelling back and forth between Paris and Saint-Germain, it did save time and make the stop at The Golden Hart less necessary.

The riders arrived at dusk.

There were four of them, all wearing great dark cloaks, wide felt hats, riding boots and carrying swords at their side. One of them was Cardinal Richelieu, riding incognito between two of his most loyal gentlemen and following the new captain of his Guards, monsieur de La Houdiniere. On this expedition, however, the latter was not wearing the prestigious scarlet cape with its distinctive cross and white braid beneath his cloak. He dismounted in the courtyard, knocked on the door according to the agreed code — three times, once, then three times again — and looked around him as he waited for a response.

A wyvern screamed in the distance. Perhaps a wild one, although they were rarely found in France except in the most out-of-the-way corners of the kingdom. More likely a trained wyvern, being ridden by a royal messenger or a scout from one of the regiments assembling around Paris before setting off for Champagne, in preparation for the forthcoming campaign against Lorraine.

Someone, at last, opened the door a crack.

It was Cupois, the hosteller, who presented an anxious face with a sallow complexion, topped by a crown of red hair.

'Is everything ready?' La Houdiniere demanded.

'Yes, milord.'

The hosteller had no idea who he was addressing, although he was sure he was dealing with a great lord involved in some dangerous intrigue. That, of course, worried him. But the lure of gold proved stronger than his misgivings when La Houdiniere - without saying who he was or whom he served -

had come by shortly before noon to inspect the place, giving strict instructions and leaving a handsome sum in advance. Cupois only knew that The Golden Hart had been chosen for a meeting that was at least confidential, if not clandestine, in nature.

'There are some gentlemen already waiting for you,' he said. 'They are upstairs in the largest of my rooms, where, according to your orders, I have placed a table and chairs.'

La Houdiniere entered, examined the common room which was plunged into half-light and listened closely to the silence that reigned within the hostelry.

'Did they have the password?' he asked, to set his own mind at rest.

'Of course,' replied the hosteller, peeking outdoors. 'Without it, I would not have allowed them to enter.'

The captain of the Cardinal's Guards could not refrain from smiling at the notion of Cupois trying to prevent La Fargue from entering anywhere.

'Good,' he said. 'Go join your wife in your chamber and don't come back out.'

'I prepared a light meal and I—'

'No need. Go to your bed, monsieur Cupois.'

His tone was courteous, but firm.

'They're coming,' said Almades, interrupting a conversation between La Fargue and Laincourt.

Standing at the window, but at a discreet distance, he kept watch on the surroundings of The