Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,66

point.'

Agnes rolled her eyes and shook her head. She was dressed like a horseman, as usual — boots, breeches, white shirt, cinched red leather corset — and had tied her thick black hair back into a long plait. At her side hung a rapier whose handsome elegance had often reserved deadly surprises for her enemies.

The thunder rolled above them, causing the window panes to rattle and the whole building's frame to creak. They were in the attic.

'There's Ballardieu too,' insisted the Gascon. 'He's watching from the street below, isn't he?'

The young woman was forced to agree:

'Yes. Ballardieu is keeping an eye on things below . . . But let's complete our task here and return to the mansion as quickly as possible, all right? In fact, we should already have finished by now.'

'Very good, madame la baronne.'

Pretending not to see Marciac's mocking bow, Agnes slowly swept her candleholder from side to side before her, surveying the bedchamber into which they had discreetly introduced themselves after bribing the owner. The room was rather shabby, as was the rest of the establishment, a very modest hostelry in the faubourg Saint-Jacques. It contained a bed, a chest, a table and a stool. Its legitimate occupant had also left behind a large leather bag.

Each of them holding a light, Agnes and Marciac got to work without conferring or hindering one another. Their mission consisted of verifying one of the few, rare pieces of intelligence that La Donna had provided to monsieur de Laffemas. According to her, an emissary of the queen mother -

a certain Gueret — was in Paris to hand sensitive documents over to the duchesse de Chevreuse.

Based on the spy's information, the Blades thought they could unmask this Gueret, but first they had to confirm his identity.

'What are we searching for, exactly?' asked the Gascon, kneeling before the clothing chest he had just opened.

There was more rumbling from the storm outside and the sound of the rain spattering down on the tiles of the roof resounded in the chamber. Already, drops were falling from a crack in the ceiling.

'Letters,' answered Agnes. 'Papers. Anything that proves we have located the right person. But without taking or disturbing anything. The man must not have the slightest reason to suspect that we have our eye on him . . .'

'Oh dear!' said Marciac in a strangely toneless voice, I'm afraid that particular cat is already out of the sack.'

Busy examining the contents of the leather bag, the young woman had only been lending him a distracted ear.

'Pardon?' she said, after a moment.

Raising her head, she saw the Gascon leap in pursuit of someone in the corridor. The chamber's legitimate occupant, no doubt. Whoever he was, they had not heard him coming over the sound of the storm and, for a few heartbeats, Marciac and the man had stared at one another in mutual disbelief . . .

. . . just before a clap of thunder broke the spell and precipitated the chase.

Recovering from her surprise, Agnes cursed, climbed over the bed and dashed out of the room in pursuit of the two men.

*

Having entrusted his cloak and hat to La Houdiniere, Cardinal Richelieu — in high boots, breeches and a doublet made of grey cloth — removed his gloves and announced:

'I must be at the chateau de Saint-Germain within the hour, where I will be joining the king and his court. So let us be brief, monsieur de La Fargue. My escort is waiting for me in the woods a quarter league from here.'

Almades and Saint-Lucq having gone downstairs to join the two gentlemen belonging to His Eminence's suite, only four men — the cardinal, La Fargue, La Houdiniere, and Laincourt —

remained on the upper floor of The Golden Hart, in a strangely quiet and desolate room that smelled of old wood and dust. A few candles placed here and there made the shadows dance and h611owed the faces of those present. Richelieu looked even more emaciated than usual and his glance seemed more penetrating.

'What news of this plot that La Donna claimed to denounce?' the chief minister asked. 'Is there any evidence of it, according to you? And if so, what can you tell me about it at present?'

La Fargue cleared his throat before replying.

'If there is one point on which La Donna has never wavered, monseigneur, it is this one. There is a plot, and it threatens the French throne.'

'And what is its nature?'

'We still don't know. But we believe that the Black