Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,70

man lying unmoving on the pavement five storeys down, surrounded by a dark puddle riddled by the falling raindrops.

They rode at a walk, through the night, along the road towards Paris and the storm. La Fargue and Laincourt went ahead. Almades followed, quiet and attentive. The old gentleman had not said a word since they had left The Golden Hart shortly after the cardinal's departure with his escort and Saint-Lucq. He seemed absorbed in his thoughts and Laincourt chose to respect his silence. Besides, he was fairly preoccupied himself.

Around them, the darkness seemed immense and the storm rumbled in the distance like the anger of some ancient god.

'It was at La Rochelle,' La Fargue said suddenly, without taking his eyes off from the path ahead.

'Five years ago, during the siege of 1628. We were there, some of the Blades and I, the others being busy in Lorraine. We had infiltrated the besieged town in order to carry out the kind of missions that you might expect . . .'

'Captain, I—'

'No, Laincourt. It's important that you understand. And I know you are the sort of man who can keep a secret. So don't interrupt me, will you?-J

'Very well.'

'Thank you . . . For the most part, it was a matter of collecting intelligence and, by night, taking it back to our own lines. The cardinal was thus kept informed of the state of La Rochelle's defences, of the imminence and scale of relief from the English, of the true severity of the food shortages caused by the blockade, of the shifting opinion among the population and the difficulties encountered by the town's leaders. We also carried out, on occasion, acts of sabotage. And, more rarely, we eliminated traitors and foreign agents.'

La Fargue turned to Laincourt and asked him:

'But you already know all that, don't you?'

'Yes.'

Nodding to himself, the captain of the Blades shifted his position in the saddle slightly to ease the pain in his back.

'We were doing what we do best. Meanwhile, the siege was turning in favour of the royal armies after the cardinal ordered a dike built to prevent ships reaching or leaving the port . . . Then one evening, when I secretly met with Roche-fort, he told me the Alchemist was in La Rochelle. Why was he there? My new mission was precisely to learn this and, if possible, to seize him. I endeavoured to do so with zeal because the Alchemist's renown, as well as the mystery surrounding him, was already immense. He was an enemy of

France and his arrival in La Rochelle had to be significant: something important was afoot . . .'

La Fargue paused in his recital of the tale and, holding back a grimace, rotated an aching shoulder.

After his fall into the moat at La Renardiere, Marciac — who had once almost become a doctor —

examined him and determined that nothing was broken. But the captain of the Blades, as solid and tough as he was despite his age, was not indestructible and had increasing difficulty recovering from the physical ordeals he inflicted upon himself in the line of duty.

'I soon learned that the Alchemist was supposed to attend a meeting. With whom, I did not know.

But I knew where and when, so I prepared an ambush. And in doing so, I walked straight into the trap that the Alchemist had set for us.'

La Fargue's glance was lost in memory for a moment.

hie resumed his account:

'I am convinced, now, that the Alchemist's mission was in fact to unmask us and remove us as an effective unit in the conflict.'

'Were you under suspicion?'

'No. But the blows we struck against La Rochelle's forces would have indicated that a clandestine enemy unit was operating within the town walls . . .'

'So the Alchemist arranged for the cardinal's men to learn he was in La Rochelle, is that it? So that you would be informed in turn and make every effort to capture him.'

'Yes, that's my belief. Aware of his own value, he made himself the bait to flush us out, which he managed without difficulty. A simple, effective plan. A brilliant plan. Often, the real t rick consists in making your opponent believe he's calling the tune . . .' The old gentleman slowly shook his head, as if the years had suddenly caught up with him. 'It was a disaster. One of us, Bretteville, perished during the ambush. And another, Louveciennes—'

—betrayed you and fled. Today he lives in Spain, as the wealthy comte de