Alchemist in the Shadows

by Pierre Pevel

  The young drac preferred to beat a retreat, which only earned him more scornful laughter.

  But he had a plan.

  This morning, at dawn, he had overheard Kh’Shak con-ferring with the saaskir after returning from a discreet nocturnal sortie. The chief had learned that a half-blood was looking for them, asking lots of questions and leaving bodies behind him. Evidently, venturing into Les Ecailles did not frighten him. In fact, he seemed to arouse a peculiar fear in the dracs he encountered . . .

  Like Kh’Shak, who was growing worried, Ni’Akt was convinced this half-blood was the same one they had met on the night when they had almost caught up with La Donna: he had the same black clothing, the same scarlet feather on his hat and, above all, the same round spectacles with red lenses.

  To the young drac it seemed as if destiny was offering him a chance to wash away the affront he had received. This evening he would sneak out and, if luck smiled upon him, he would find the half-blood.

  And then he would kill him, bring back his head, and drop it into Ta’Aresh’s lap. ?

  La Donna’s carriage was about to take her back to La Renardiere when La Fargue and Laincourt, followed by Almades, arrived in the Grand Chatelet’s courtyard at a slow trot.

  Le Chatelet was a sombre fortified edifice which had originally been built to defend the Pont au Change, but had since been rendered useless for military purposes following the enlargement of Paris and the construction of new city ramparts by King Philippe Auguste in the 12th century. Massive, sinister, and somewhat deteriorated, Le Chatelet stood on the Right Bank, its main facade looking out over rue Saint-Denis. At present the seat of the law courts under the jurisdiction of the provost of Paris, it possessed several round towers and a large square pavilion, a sort of keep which housed a prison. The sole entrance was an archway flanked by two turrets. Fairly long but narrow, it opened onto a small, foul-smelling courtyard where visitors were immediately struck by the full misery of the place.

  From his saddle, monsieur de La Houdiniere, captain of the Cardinal’s Guards, had already raised his arm to give the departure signal to the coach and its escort. He froze on seeing La Fargue and frowned when he recognised Laincourt, having been his direct superior until the young man had left the company of His Eminence’s horse guards. La Houdiniere had only been a lieutenant then, and he had not delved into the circumstances behind Laincourt’s dismissal. All he knew was that those circumstances were murky.

  ‘You’re returning to La Renardiere already?’ La Fargue observed in surprise as he approached at a walk.

  Almades and Laincourt remained behind.

  ‘Yes!’ replied La Houdiniere. ‘Monsieur de Laffemas chose to cut short his interview today as he deemed it to be entirely unfruitful. La Donna’s latest whim, it seems, has exhausted his patience.’

  ‘A whim which I believe I know,’ said the old gentleman, looking at the coach where a pretty hand had discreetly lifted the window curtain.

  The note he had received at the Hotel de l’Epervier had come directly from Laffemas. La Houdiniere, no doubt, did not know its contents.

  ‘Would you allow Laincourt to have a conversation with La Donna, right here?’ asked La Fargue.

  The other man thought for a moment and then shrugged.

  ‘All right.’

  He gave the necessary orders, and Laincourt, after a nod from the captain of the Blades, dismounted. He walked across the uneven paving of Le Chatelet’s courtyard and, under the gaze of his former brothers-in-arms, climbed aboard the vehicle. No one heard what was said within, behind the richly padded walls and the thick drawn curtains. But less than half an hour later the coach and its escort moved off, taking La Donna back to La Renardiere, while La Fargue, Laincourt, and Almades proceeded to leave Paris by the Saint-Martin gate.

  Taking the road to Senlis, then the one leading to Soissons, the three riders passed Roissy and continued at a gallop to Dammartin. There, they needed to ask for directions. The first good wife they came across in the village square was able to assist them. Everyone living in the area knew the manor belonging to the famous painter, Aubusson.

  ‘Where did you meet La Donna?’ La Fargue asked Lain-court as they followed the track that had been indicated to them.

  Keeping a watchful eye all about, Almades brought up the rear in silence.

  ‘During my stay in Madrid,’ Laincourt replied. ‘She was already busy there, hatching schemes.’

  ‘Were you adversaries or allies?’

  The young man smiled.

  ‘Frankly I still don’t know, to this day. But I would probably not be far wrong to say that La Donna had no true ally but herself, as is always the way with her . . .’

  ‘You seem to be very wary of her.’

  ‘As if she were a salamander on live coals.’

  ‘But she must, for her part, hold you in some esteem. Laffemas has interrogated her for days, practically in vain, and here she is suddenly confiding in you.’

  ‘Don’t be fooled, monsieur. I count for nothing in this whole affair. If La Donna spoke to me it is merely because she had already decided to speak, to me or to someone else, in the fullness of time.’

  ‘Then why did she ask for you?’

  ‘Someone constrained by force or a threat to reveal a secret will often offer a final resistance by demanding the right to choose the person they shall finally speak to. It’s a way of not surrendering completely, of maintaining some semblance of freedom and control.’

  La Fargue nodded.

  ‘And La Donna, according to you, was playing out such a scene.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘So that it would seem like she was finally giving in. So that we would be less suspicious of her impromptu revelations. And so that we would not wonder why she chooses to speak now, when in fact that is the only question which should interest monsieur de Laffemas.’

  ‘Why now.’

  ‘Precisely. Why now.’

  The old captain raised his eyes towards the manor whose red tiled roofs could be seen behind the trees that crowned the hill.

  They were getting closer.

  ‘And this Aubusson. Do you know who he is or why La Donna is sending us to him?’

  ‘He is a painter,’ said Laincourt, drawing on his recollections. ‘A portrait artist who, some years ago, was quite renowned. At present he seems to have retired from the world . . . But I do not know what bonds unite him to Aless— to La Donna. I imagine they met at a princely court somewhere in Europe, when Aubusson still travelled abroad.’

  ‘Perhaps she was his mistress,’ La Fargue suggested slyly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Laincourt impassively.

  And perhaps she still is,‘ added the old gentleman, watching the other out of the corner of his eye. ’I have heard that she sometimes uses such means to further her ends.‘

  ‘We’re almost there now.’

  Aubusson was reading when his valet came to warn him that three riders were coming up the road leading to the manor. Visitors were rare in these parts. Understanding what was going on, the painter thanked the boy, put his book down, and went to his room to find the thick leather folder that Alessan-dra had placed in his care the week before. ‘You’ll know the moment has arrived when a certain Captain La Fargue comes seeking these papers,’ she had told him. ‘You won’t have any trouble recognising him. A white-haired gentleman, but still big, strong, and full of authority. His visit will be the signal.’

  From the window of his chamber on the upper floor, Aubusson watched the riders enter the courtyard at a walk, and immediately spotted La Fargue.

  Aubusson called back his valet:

  ‘Jeannot!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When the oldest of those three riders tells you his name is I ,a Fargue, I want you to give this to him.’

  The boy took the folder, but hesitated.

  ‘The matter has already been settled and he won’t ask you any questions,’ the paint
er reassured him.

  Jeannot scurried away. He ran down the stairs, crossed the front hall with his heels clattering on the flagstones, burst out onto the front porch, and went with a quick step to meet the visitors.

  Without seeking to conceal himself, Aubusson watched the scene from his wide-open window. After exchanging a few words the valet gave the leather folder to La Fargue. The latter untied the ribbon that held it shut, cast a glance at the documents it contained and, without expression, closed it once more.

  After which, he lifted his eyes to look up at the painter, as if in search of confirmation.

  Is that all? he seemed to be asking.

  Aubusson gave him a slow, grave nod, to which the old gentleman responded with a brief salute before giving his companions the signal to depart.

  The portrait artist watched the riders head off into the distance at a fast trot and waited for his valet to rejoin him.

  ‘Monsieur?’

  ‘Go to the village and ask the master at the staging post for two saddled horses.’

  ‘Two, monsieur?’

  ‘Yes, two. And don’t tarry on the way . . .’

  The boy scampered off again.

  . . . because it’s happening tonight, Aubusson added to himself.

  ‘And now?’ Laincourt asked, in loud voice in order to be heard over the beating hooves.

  ‘Here,’ replied La Fargue. And without slowing their pace, he handed over the leather folder they had obtained from Aubusson.

  The cardinal’s former agent hastened to slip it inside his doublet.

  ‘What am I supposed to do with it?’ he asked.

  ‘You must take it to rue des Enfants-Rouges, to sieur Teyssier. He is the—’

  ‘—master of magic for His Eminence, I know. But why?’

  ‘So that he can study these documents and determine their authenticity. I will be content with his first impression. Wait until he communicates that to you, and then come and find me at the Hotel de l’Epervier. Almades and I are going there directly, in case there is news waiting for me there.’

  ‘News from La Donna?’

  ‘Among others, yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me what these documents are, that I’m carrying?’

  ‘If they are in truth what they seem to be, they were stolen from the Black Claw. As for their content, I cannot say. The text appears to be in draconic . . .’

  Saint-Lucq tottered backward, leaning against a scabby wall and, eyes closed, waited to recover his breath and his calm. Strength and lucidity returned to him. His heart ceased to beat so furiously. He inhaled deeply and reopened his eyes.

  The body at his feet lay in a spreading puddle of black Mood. The fight had taken place in a deserted alley in Les Ecailles. It did not seem to have drawn anyone’s attention, which was a good thing. But someone could turn up at any moment. Night was falling, which meant that Les Ecailles would soon be swarming with creatures the half-blood would rather not have to face, especially not with drac blood on his hands.

  Saint-Lucq re-sheathed his rapier. Then, crouching, he pushed his red spectacles up onto the bridge of his nose and turned over the body to examine it.

  A drac, then.

  A black drac. Young. One whose cheek bore a nasty wound that the half-blood abruptly recognised: it was the hired blade he had provoked and wounded that night during the storm, in Artois. Saint-Lucq supposed the young drac had spotted him and been unable to resist the temptation to take immediate revenge. Had he warned his comrades? Probably not. If he had, the half-blood would not have confronted a single impulsive adversary in a hurry to finish him off, but instead a whole group of determined, well-organised mercenaries.

  Saint-Lucq stood up again.

  He looked around, sniffing at the damp air, and was suddenly convinced that he was close to his goal. It wouldn’t be long now before he found the lair of the dracs on La Donna’s trail.

  Upon their return to Paris, La Fargue and Almades left Laincourt at the entrance of rue des Enfants-Rouges and continued down rue du Temple. They took the Pont au Change, crossed the Ile de la Cite, and then the small arm of the Seine by way of the Pont Saint-Michel. On the Left Bank, they passed through the Buci gate as they returned to the faubourg Saint-Germain and, finally, rue Saint-Guillaume and the Hotel de l’Epervier. They entrusted their horses to Andre, and La Fargue immediately summoned his troops. Only Leprat and Saint-Lucq were missing, the former on duty at La Renardiere and the latter busy searching Ile Notre-Dame-des-Ecailles. So it was therefore Agnes, Marciac, and Ballardieu who joined Almades and their captain in the main hall on the ground floor — their converted fencing room. They all found a seat wherever they could.

  La Fargue began by asking if they had received any news from La Renardiere, the Palais-Cardinal, the Louvre, or even Le Chatelet. And when they replied no, he proceeded to recount the events of the afternoon. After — and even during - this recital, he had to answer questions about Aubusson, Laincourt, La Donna, and above all, the famous documents they had received from the painter. This took a good hour.

  ‘So,’ Marciac summed up, ‘having revealed the existence of a plot against the king, La Donna spends almost a week dancing this strange pas de deux with monsieur de Laffemas until, one fine morning, she suddenly declares that she will speak to none but Laincourt and, without further ado, sends him to the one person who can provide proofs of her claims.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Am I the only one to find this rather astonishing?’

  No one knew how to reply to this, except Ballardieu, who muttered:

  ‘I find this Italian woman very capricious. I say a good spanking would probably suffice to bring her back to sweet reason. The cardinal has coddled her, if you want my opinion.’

  The others glanced at one another, thinking there was a certain amount of good sense in the old soldier’s words. Marciac, however, was the only one to really imagine the spanking.

  ‘But that’s not the most important thing,’ said Agnes. ‘After all, if La Donna has found some personal advantage in this affair then so much the better, since without it she would have kept the information to herself or else sold it to the highest bidder. What does matter, on the other hand, is the plot itself. Our first duty is to protect the king, the queen, and the cardinal. Not to guess at the secret motives of a foreign spy.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said the Gascon. ‘So what about these papers found at the painter’s home, this Aubusson? Do they even attest to the existence of a plot?’

  La Fargue shrugged.

  ‘How can we know? I can only say that if these documents are authentic, their value is immense.’

  ‘Documents belonging to the Black Claw,’ Almades reminded them.

  ‘Yes. They will reveal their secrets once they’ve been translated. It’s only a matter of time.’

  ‘To be sure. But isn’t time precisely what we lack?’ Agnes emphasised.

  A silence followed, finally interrupted by monsieur Guibot who knocked, opened the door, and announced Laincourt. The latter was promptly invited to enter. Looking grave, he distributed courteous nods all round, gratified Agnes with a more pronounced salute, and then gave La Fargue a questioning glance.

  ‘Speak,’ said the Blades’ captain.

  ‘1 have just come from His Eminence’s master of magic. He cannot yet attest to this formally, but the authenticity of the papers he has studied appears to be borne out. According to him, they are quite definitely Black Claw documents, and may even emanate from the Grand Lodge itself—’

  The Black Claw had many lodges throughout Europe, France excepted. The Grand Lodge was that of Madrid. Historically, it was the first to be founded, and it remained the most important and influential of them all.

  ‘—and they have much to do with a certain Alchemist,’ Laincourt concluded.

  This last revelation had the effect of a thunderbolt in a clear sky. All those present were dumbstruck, as if seized by a superstitious awe. Then, slowly, eyes
turned to La Fargue.

  His face had turned frighteningly pale.

  “What name did you just say?‘ he asked faintly.

  Not understanding the commotion he had just provoked, Laincourt hesitated.

  ‘The Alchemist . . . Why?’

  ‘You say these papers of the Black Claw relate to him. What else ?’

  ‘That was all Teyssier said on the subject.’

  ‘Could La Donna have dealings with the Alchemist?’

  ‘Who knows?’

  La Fargue rose from his chair with a determined air.

  ‘Almades,’ he said. ‘Ask Andre to saddle two horses. You and I are leaving for La Renardiere at once.’

  ‘Captain . . .’ Agnes objected. ‘It will be the black of night by the time you arrive . . .’

  But the old gentleman appeared not to hear her.

  ‘Monsieur de Laincourt,’ he asked, ‘could you be ours until morning?’

  When the young man nodded, he went on to say:

  ‘In that case, I want you to return to sieur Teyssier and oblige him, if necessary, to spend all night studying the documents we entrusted to his care. Make sure he knows how important this is. If you wish, Agnes or Marciac will accompany you.’

  And turning to those two, he added: ‘But I want at least one of you to remain here, to wait for news from either of our two parties. Is that understood?’

  *

  Less than a quarter of an hour later, after La Fargue and Almades departed into the dusk, it was decided that Agnes would go with Laincourt to see the cardinal’s master of magic.

  ‘It’s up to you to guard the fort,’ she said to Marciac.

  Embarrassed, the latter rubbed a hand over his stubbled cheeks and, drawing the young baronne aside, out of earshot of the others, he murmured to her:

  ‘I have to go somewhere, Agnes.’

  ‘What? Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that.’