Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,74

symbols that were mostly borrowed from alchemy.

The cardinal's former spy smiled faintly.

'It's a very simple cipher. Each symbol stands for a letter, and that's about all there is to it.'

'You can tell all this with just a glance?' asked La Fargue, giving the young man a measuring look.

But Laincourt was already absorbed in deciphering the text.

'Perhaps certain symbols stand for frequently used words. Or certain persons. But there's nothing more complicated than that . . . And see how this sign occurs so frequently? No doubt it's an "a" or

"e",. if the text is in French. And you see this one, it's doubled several times suggesting that it's a consonant, an "r" or "s" or "t", for example . . .'

His eyes shining, Laincourt displayed an excitement that was unusual for this young man, ordinarily so thoughtful and reserved.

'Just a moment,' he said.

And, without waiting, he rose, went over to the chimney mantelpiece, snatched up a small notebook that Nai's used for her shopping, tore off a page, returned to his seat and with a lead pencil began to transcribe the coded letter. His eyes danced from one sheet to another while his hand wrote nimbly, as if possessed of a life of its own. With pinched lips and clenched jaws, his face betrayed his intense concentration.

'This will be easier than I dared to hope,' he said.

'Why is that?'

'Because I already know this cipher.'

La Fargue was discovering that Laincourt had hidden talents which could be highly useful to the Blades. A few minutes went by in a tense silence, broken only by the scratching of pencil on paper.

'And there you have it!' the young man declared, pushing both the letter and his transcription towards La Fargue. 'You may have trouble reading my writing, but at least you won't be late in arriving at the Palais-Cardinal.'

He was almost out of breath, but displayed no pride or even satisfaction in his work.

Smiling, the captain of the Blades sat back in his chair and considered Laincourt with the admiring and amused gaze of someone who has just been fooled by an amazing feat of magic.

'You asked if I could spare you a little of my time,' he said after a moment. 'For what reason?'

'I have a way to get close to La Chevreuse.'

'How?'

The young man then explained how the chevalier de Mirebeau had approached him with his offer, and a note that would give him entry to the Hotel de Chevreuse.

'And you propose to make use of this note,' concluded La Fargue.

'Yes.'

The old gentleman thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons.

'All right,' he said at last. 'But you must be very careful.'

'Understood.'

'Keep your eyes and ears open, but in a natural fashion. Remember the cardinal's orders: we must not, at any price, risk arousing the duchesse's suspicions. Don't listen at doors, peer through keyholes or ask any indiscreet questions.'

'Very well.'

'And above all, be very wary of the duchesse de Chevreuse. You wouldn't be the first person that she has led astray . . .'

La Fargue had just rejoined Almades, who was patiently waiting for him in the courtyard with their two horses, when a coach entered by the carriage gate which Guibot, hobbling on his wooden leg, had hastened to open.

'Who is that?' asked the Blades' captain. 'Did you hear the name announced through the hatch?'

'No,' admitted the Spanish fencing master. 'But it's rare to see monsieur Guibot hurry like that.'

Drawn by a smart team of horses, the vehicle halted in front of them and they understood the reason for their concierge's

alacrity upon seeing the marquis d'Aubremont emerge from the cabin. A man of honour and duty, he bore one of the most prestigious and respected names in France. He was also the last friend La Fargue possessed in this world. Like the captain, he was about sixty years old with grey hair, a dignified air and precise mannerisms. He and La Fargue exchanged a warm greeting. They hadn't seen one another since the marquis had buried his eldest son.

'My friend,' said La Fargue, whose eyes sparkled with a contained joy. 'If you know the pleasure that I—'

'Thank you, my friend, thank you ... I too am very happy to see you again.'

They had once been part of an inseparable trio: La Fargue, d'Aubremont and Louveciennes.

Companions and brothers-in-arms, they fought together during the civil and religious wars that had ravaged the kingdom, and then helped the 'man from Bearn' take the French throne and become King Henri IV. Upon the death