Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,69

in fact chasing Gueret, the agent that the queen mother had sent to the duchesse de Chevreuse. Provided La Donna hadn't lied. Provided they had not been mistaken about the room at the inn or its occupant. Nothing was certain. On discovering two strangers searching his belongings the other man, to be sure, had not raised a hue and cry but had instead immediately taken to his heels. And now he was still fleeing as if he had the Devil on his trail, over rain-slicked rooftops in the middle of a stormy night, at the risk of breaking his neck. Frankly it was not the behaviour of a man with a clear conscience. Nevertheless. If this fellow was not Gueret, then Marciac was making a huge mistake . . .

Out of breath, soaked to the skin, his face spattered by volleys of fat, stinging raindrops, he slowed down for an instant and sought to catch a glimpse of his fugitive. He spotted his silhouette thanks to a flash of lightning. The loolhardy man had not weakened. He continued running and appeared to be taking a giant leap over a major obstacle. Feeling anger grow within him, the Gascon resumed the chase and discovered, by almost falling into it, the nature of the obstacle in question. He managed to halt himself at the last minute on the verge of empty space. This time, it was not a matter of crossing a narrow alley. Or even a street. He looked down into the shadowy well of a small courtyard.

'Merde de merdeP exclaimed Marciac furiously.

Going around would mean letting the other man escape. But so would waiting here for much longer.

The Gascon hesitated. He backed up a few steps, all the while cursing himself, his contrary fate, and imbeciles who scarpered over roofs during a deluge in the middle of night. He took a deep breath.

Cursed some more.

And launched himself into thin air.

Windmilling his arms and kicking his legs, Marciac's leap was not a beauteous thing to behold. But it propelled him across five metres of cavernous darkness to land on the ridge of a sloping roof.

After that, things took a turn for the worse.

The roof was not only sloped but also streaming with water, that is to say,, it was extremely slippery. And most of its tiles were just waiting to be dislodged.

Like a high wire artist in a gale, Marciac teetered, waving his arms, shifting from one leg to the other . . .

'Oh, merde . . .'

He fell onto his arse and slid down the slope, faster and faster, preceded by a cascade of tiles which came loose beneath his heels.

'Merde-merde-merde-merde-merde-merde-merde . . .'

And then there was only empty space.

'Meeeeeeeeeeerde!'

Some worm-eaten planks slowed his fall with a crash, a thick layer of straw then cushioned it further and finally a hard bump on the floor of a stable brought matters to a conclusion. Marciac felt pain, swore in his usual manner and still very angry, rolled over on his side, grimacing.

Which he probably would not have done if he had known he was about to put his nose in a pile of . .

.

'Merde.'

Agnes's heart leapt in her chest when she saw Marciac fall.

'Nicolas!'

She too jumped across the small courtyard, landed with more aplomb than the Gascon and cautiously succeeded in reaching the edge of the roof.

'Nicolas!' she called out in an anxious voice. 'Nicolas!'

'I'm down here.'

'Anything broken?'

'Don't think so, no.'

'How are you?'

Displaying a definite sign of good health, Marciac's boiling temper rose to the surface.

'Admirably well!' he shouted sarcastically. 'No Gascon

HAS EVER SPENT A BETTER EVENING! So HOW ABOUT GOING AFTER THAT OTHER

ACROBAT, HMM?

Reassured, Agnes withdrew from the edge of the roof and stood up. Beneath the storm and making use of the flashes of lightning she scanned the rooftops around her, but did not see the runaway and finally picked a direction at random. She doubted she would ever be able to catch him. Even if she knew which way to go, the man now had too great a lead.

A little further on, coming around an enormous chimney, Agnes found herself looking out over a wide crossroads. The person she was looking for was not visible on any of the surrounding rooftops.

It was the end of the chase.

Regretfully, she was about to turn back when her glance fell onto the street below.

And there, dimly lit by one of the big lanterns that were left burning all night in a few scattered places in the capital, she saw the