The Alchemist in the Shadows

3

That night, at La Renardiere, Alessandra di Santi was reading when she heard riders approaching at a gallop. As her hedchamber only offered a view of the garden paths and the great tree-lined park, she went into the antechamber and, parting the curtains slightly, caught a glimpse of La Fargue and Almades as they jumped down from their saddles and climbed the front steps where they were met by Leprat.

She smiled, withdrew from the window, adjusted her red curls as she passed in front of a mirror, told herself that the soft yellow light of the candles decidedly suited her and, back in her room, returned to her armchair and her book.

The chambermaid soon admitted La Fargue, and lifting her eyes to his, La Donna greeted him with a dazzling smile.

'Good evening, captain. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?'

The old gentleman closed the door without replying, turned the key twice in the lock, looked briefly out the window, drew the curtains, and then, looking grave and almost menacing, came to stand before the beautiful lady spy.

'Ah!' she said, putting her book down. 'So this is not a social visit . . .'

'Enough play, madame.'

Serene, Alessandra rose under the pretext of pouring herself a glass of liqueur from a bottle placed on the side table. If she remained seated, she would be permitting La Fargue to dominate her with his massive figure and hold sway over her, something which she detested.

'And what game do you think I am playing, monsieur?'

'I still don't know the rules or the object. But I can affirm that it ends here and now. I am not monsieur de Laffemas, madame. I am a soldier. If you persist in playing games, our conversation will take a most discourteous turn.'

'Are you threatening me monsieur?'

'Yes.'

'And you are a man who is willing to transform your threats into action . . .'

This time, the captain of the Blades was silent.

La Donna met his stare without blinking, returned to her armchair, and invited La Fargue to sit facing her, to which he consented after removing his baldric and his sword.

'It's about the Alchemist, isn't it?' Alessandra guessed.

The old gentleman raised an eyebrow. What exactly did she know about the blows t«he Alchemist had struck against the Blades?

'Rest assured,' she said as if reading his thoughts, 'I don't know the details of what transpired a few years ago at La Rochelle. I only know the bare essence. But perhaps that is already too much for your taste?'

La Fargue gave La Donna an expressionless stare.

'Do you know the nature of the documents that you arranged to have handed over to us today?'

Alessandra shrugged with an air of annoyance.

'Obviously.'

'Is the Alchemist part of the plot against the king that you claim to have information about?'

'Of the plot against the throne,' she corrected. 'And yes, the Alchemist is the principal instigator. The duchesse de Chevreuse is also a participant—'

La Fargue greeted this revelation without much surprise, but he hadn't heard the worst yet.

'—as is the queen,' the adventuress finished.

The old captain was visibly shaken.

'You mean the queen mother, of course . . .'

Alessandra rose from her chair, going over to the large cage and teasing one of her dragonnets by sliding an index finger between the bars.

'It's true, of course, that the queen you speak of is also implicated,' said the beautiful Italian woman in a light-hearted tone. 'Isn't she always? But I was thinking of the other, of the reigning queen . . .'

'Of Anne d'Autriche.'

'Yes.'

La Fargue now rose in turn, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace; and finally asked:

'These documents from the Black Claw, how did you come by them?'

'I stole them.'

'From whom?'

'By God! From one of its members . . . ! And as you can imagine, although I don't know how they learned it was me, they are most displeased about it!'

'Why?'

Sincerely puzzled, Alessandra looked at the old gentleman.

'I beg your pardon?'

"Why did you steal these documents from the Black Claw?'

'Ah . . . !' she said, finally understanding. 'Would you believe me if I told you that I dislike the Black Claw as much as you do and that, when possible, I apply myself to doing them harm?'

He approached her.

'No,' he replied. 'I would not believe it.'

She smiled and resisted the temptation to step back.

'So, why?' La Fargue insisted.

'Because I received the order to do so.'

He came closer still.

Now they were practically touching and Alessandra had to tilt her head to see the black look on her interrogator's face.

'Who was it, who gave this order?' he demanded in a grave, menacing tone.

'It came from our masters, of course, captain.'

'I serve the king of France and Cardinal Richelieu. Do you claim to do the same, madame?'

The young woman did not blink.

'1 claim nothing of the sort, monsieur. Do you really want me, here and now, to name those I am thinking of, and know that you are too?'

La Donna and the old captain both remained silent for a moment, face-to-face, he trying to probe her soul and she opposing him with the calmness of an indomitable will. They did not move, glaring at one another, barely breathing.

And someone knocked at the door.

'Captain!' called Leprat.

La Fargue hurried to open up.

'What is it?'

'The sentries in the park no longer answer to the calls,' replied Leprat. 'And the valet I sent to alert the other musketeers posted at the entrance to the domain has not returned.'

Marciac had been waiting in front of the massive Saint-Eustache church for a few moments when Rochefort finally arrived. The cardinal's henchman was accompanied by two other gentlemen, whom he asked to wait behind. Then he walked up to the forecourt alone and, not seeing the Gascon, slowly spun around, searching the darkness.

'Since when do you bring company to our meetings?' Marciac asked him, emerging from the shadows.

'Since it pleases me to do so.'

'It's contrary to our accords.'

'They are far enough off that they cannot hear you or see you. And don't speak to me of accords that you have been the first to betray.'

'Does the cardinal have any reason to complain about the success of my mission in La Rochelle?'

'No. But he still recalls that, not so long ago, you refrained from saying anything about a certain person of interest to us.'

Marciac knew that Rochefort was referring to the hidden daughter of La Fargue, who had been found and protected a month earlier by the Blades. To ensure her security, the Gascon had even entrusted her to the care of the only woman he had ever loved. Gabrielle, who happened to keep a certain establishment The Little Frogs, in rue Grenouillere — where amiable young women practised the profession of satisfying the desires of generous men.

'I didn't know who she was and, therefore, was unaware of the interest that she might hold for you,'

Marciac defended himself.

'And where is she, at present?'

'I have no idea.'

'But there was a time when she was hiding in Paris, wasn't there?'

'Yes,' the Gascon admitted reluctantly.

'And where was she?'

'It doesn't matter.'

Rochefort displayed a sinister smile.

'I have the notion that this girl was in a house that was quite ill-suited to someone of her sex and her age. And since you are not offering me any information, it's possible that I might have to start knocking down doors and asking questions in rue Grenouillere . . .'

Marciac's blood started to boil. His face turned red and, with a sudden move, he seized Rochefort by the collar, lifted him up on the tip of his toes, and forced him back several steps until he thumped into the church door.

Don't you dare go near Gabrielle!' he spat. 'Don't threaten her! Don't even look at her. Forget you even know of her or, as God is my witness, I'll kill you.'

Livid, his lips twitching, Rochefort replied in a toneless voice:

'Release me, Marciac. Remember we have spectators who won't keep their distance for long if you cause trouble . . .'

The Gascon had indeed forgotten about the gentlemen who were waiting at the corner of rue du Four. In the darkness of night they would have difficulty seeing what was happening. But from their attitude, he could see that they were starting to worry.

'Will they do me an evil turn?' Marciac asked mockingly.

'It will be enough that they recognise you.'

The Gascon thought about it and then reluctantly released his grip on Rochefort.

'Don't go near Gabrielle,' he warned again, jabbing a menacing finger. 'Ever.'

And he was so wrapped up in his anger that he did not see the blow coming that caused him to topple backwards.

'And you,' hissed Rochefort, 'don't ever lay a hand on me again. Don't forget who I am, don't forget who I serve, and above all, don't forget what you are.'

Upon which, the cardinal's henchman turned on his heels and calmly walked away, rubbing his fist.

'Damn!' La Fargue swore.

Leprat had just informed him that, in all likelihood, La Renardiere was being attacked.

Without sparing La Donna a glance, he left his lieutenant by the door and went to look out of the window. The garden looked deserted despite the fact that musketeers were supposed to be patrolling there. Further off, the park was a great rectangular lake of blackness, surrounded by trees as far as the eye could see. A crescent moon and some stars dispensed a paltry bluish glow over the scene.

The Blades' captain cursed under his breath.

If the enemy had overcome the sentries without a fight, by now they could be anywhere within the domain.

'It's the dracs,' announced Alessandra. 'They've found me.'

At that instant, a silhouette — with a round back and taking large strides — crossed a garden path and vanished again into the shadows. A hired blade, clearly. But a drac? A man? La Fargue couldn't say. But his instinct told him La Donna was right.

'Stay right here,' he ordered her in a tone that brooked no argument.

Snatching up his rapier in its scabbard, he buckled on his baldric as he left the room with a determined step, Leprat following in his wake.

'The chambermaid?' he asked the former musketeer.

'I am here, monsieur.'

The woman in the service of La Donna was standing in a

corner of the antechamber, near the cot on which she normally slept. Worried, almost frightened, she did not dare to move.

'Go and join your mistress next door,' La Fargue commanded her. 'Do you have the key?'

'Yes,' replied the woman showing him her bunch.

'Then lock yourselves in.' Leprat said in turn. 'And don't open the door for anyone except the captain or myself. Is that clear?'

'Yes, monsieur.'

The two men did not wait to see if they were obeyed.

They hurried down the great stairway to join Almades on the ground floor where, as a security measure, he had already extinguished most of the torches. Only a few candles remained lit here and there.

'Well?' La Fargue asked in the large front hall filled with shadows and echoes.

'They are still not showing themselves,' said the Spaniard, standing slightly back from the window through which he kept watch on the courtyard. 'But I've seen some wisps of that black mist—'

'So it is the dracs.'

'They've come to capture La Donna,' said Leprat.

'Yes. Or to kill her.'

The old captain also took up a position at a window from which he tried to take stock of the situation. The hunting lodge consisted of a small central pavilion and two wings enclosing its courtyard. The whole building was surrounded by a dry moat crossed by a stone bridge, a bridge which, unfortunately, they were too late to defend. The servant quarters lay beyond the moat, on either side of a long forecourt that stretched along the axis of the path leading to the woods.

La Fargue spared a thought for the servants housed in the outbuildings. Were any of them still alive?

'All of the windows within a man's reach are solidly barred,' Leprat indicated. 'And only the main pavilion, where we are now, is occupied. Elsewhere, the doors are locked and the rooms are empty.'

Of the three of them, he was the only one who knew the place well.

'In fact,' replied La Fargue, 'right here in this front hall is where we stand the best chance of defending ourselves, isn't it?'

'Yes. And from here we can guard the main stairs.'

'There are others. There are service stairs. And the hidden ones.'

'To be sure, but the dracs won't know where to find them. Whereas this one . . .'

In French chateaux the main staircase was always found near the entrance of the central pavilion, of which it formed the backbone.

'Then let's barricade ourselves,' decided the captain of the Blades, already pushing a bench into place. 'God only knows when the dracs will make their assault.'

Shots were suddenly fired, and the window panes by the main door shattered. The horses that La Fargue and Almades had left outside whinnied. Almost immediately, the three men heard a dull thud from above, the sound of a body falling heavily.

'Hold them back!' exclaimed La Fargue as he rushed to the staircase.

Already, other shots resounded and more musket balls came crashing into the walls.

The captain of the Blades climbed the steps two at a time, crossed the antechamber in La Donna's apartments, and ran into a locked door.

He swore, striking his fist against the panel, calling:

'Open up! It's La Fargue!'

Receiving no response, he moved back a pace, lifted a knee, and sent his foot crashing against the door. It shook on its hinges without giving way. He swore even louder, took a running start, and threw himself forward shoulder first. The wood split, the lock broke and the door flew open as if it had been hit by a battering ram. La Fargue stumbled into the bed chamber. But he managed to keep his balance and unsheathed his sword by reflex when he saw what awaited him inside.

The chambermaid was lying unconscious on the floor, next to the scattered keys from her bunch. At the rear of the room a wall tapestry was folded back, caught in a door that had been shut too quickly. But above all, there was a black drac who had just entered by the wide-open window.

From the yellow patterns decorating his facial scales, La Fargue identified him as the chief of the drac mercenaries who had been sent after La Donna by the Black Claw. As for Kh'Shak, he recognised the old gentleman soldier who had barred his way in Artois with surprise and pleasure.

The captain of the Guards immediately placed himself en garde.

His opponent smiled and, instead of a sword, brandished a pistol.

'I promised you we would meet again, old man,' he said taking aim.

The very same moment the shot rang out, the entire building was rocked by an explosion.

On the ground floor, the main door had just been blown into pieces, destroyed by the explosion of a black powder charge. Thick smoke invaded the front hall and, dazed, Leprat and Almades painfully picked themselves up from the floor, coughing amidst the last bits of debris that were raining down.

His ears ringing, Leprat thought he could hear drakish war cries. Tottering on his feet, he had just realised that he'd managed to keep hold of his pistol when he saw a silhouette outlined in the gaping frame of the doorway. He took a very approximate aim and missed his target by a fraction. The drac rushed him. Still shaken by the explosion, he was late in comprehending what was happening. And he was only starting to draw his rapier when the drac struck.

Too slow to react, the musketeer saw his death rushing towards him . . .

. . . when he heard another loud blast.

Leprat quickly recovered his wits upon seeing the drac's head burst. His face spattered with black blood, he turned to see Danvert armed with a smoking arquebus. Other dracs were pushing their way into the building and Almades had already engaged two of them.

His white rapier clenched in his fist, Leprat dashed forward to lend him a hand.

Kh'Shak had aimed for the head and had scored a hit. But his arm had wavered at the last moment due to the explosion, so that the pistol ball had merely cut deeply into La Fargue's brow as it skidded over the bone, rather than penetrating his brain.

His hat torn away, the Blades' captain reeled. His vision was blurred and his ears rang as blood dripped down into his eyes. He thought he was going to collapse yet, somehow, he remained standing. But the floor seemed to be swaying beneath his feet.

Kh'Shak, still brandishing his smoking pistol, struggled to understand how his adversary could still be alive and on his feet, face bloodied, after receiving a ball in the middle of his forehead. Then he pulled himself together, threw his pistol away and drew his sword as he marched toward La Fargue.

The latter, half-stunned, saw the drac coming as if through a veil. He parried as best he could one, two, three successive attacks with the wild gestures of a drunken man, and attempted a riposte that the other easily countered.

The drac started to play a cruel game with him.

'You're no longer up to this, old man.'

He lunged, bypassing La Fargue's uncertain parry, and plunged the point of his blade into the captain's right shoulder. The old gentleman moaned as he retreated, bringing his hand up to the wound. The keen pain aroused him somewhat from his torpor. But the floor continued to move beneath him and his buzzing temples continued to deafen him.

'You should have hung up your sword long ago.'

Another lunge and this time La Fargue felt two inches of steel penetrate his left thigh. His leg faltered beneath his weight and almost gave way beneath him. He only just succeeded in remaining on his feet. Still retreating, he wiped a sleeve across a brow that was sticky with blood and sweat. He blinked several times. And with an immense effort of will he managed to focus on the blurred silhouette that was tormenting him.

'It's too late for regrets now, old man. Goodbye,' said Kh'Shak, as he prepared to deliver the fatal stroke to his exhausted opponent.

But it was La Fargue who attacked.

Dropping his sword and roaring like a savage beast, he rushed at the drac, grappling with him and shoving him backwards. Wide, massive, and solid, the captain of the Blades was a force of nature despite his age. And as strong and vigorous as he was, the huge drac was unable to halt the old gentleman's momentum. Benefiting from the element of surprise, the man was also powered by an overwhelming rage born of desperation. Kh'Shak felt himself being lifted off the floor. And he realised too late that La Fargue was propelling them both towards the open window.

'You old fool. You're going to—'

His teeth red with blood, La Fargue wore an evil smile of triumph and rancour as they toppled together into empty space.

With Charybdis flying ahead and Scylla right behind him, Alessandra moved away as quickly as possible from La Renardiere and into the surrounding forest. After stunning her chambermaid and stealing the key to the small hidden door, she had descended a damp, narrow stairway. Then, taking advantage of the confusion that reigned at the hunting lodge, she had discreetly made her escape.

Scylla gave a raucous cry: they had arrived.

And, indeed, La Donna soon saw the clearing ahead of her where Aubusson, her friend and accomplice, was waiting with (wo horses he had hired that day from the master of the staging post at Dammartin.

They exchanged a long embrace.

'At last!' said the painter. 'You did it!'

'Not yet.'

'What? You're free, aren't you?'

'I shall never be entirely free as long as that sorcerer lives.'

'Don't tell me you intend to—'

'Don't worry, just return home. The cardinal's men will soon be asking you numerous, pressing questions.'

'No. I'll come with you.'

'Don't. You've done enough already. We'll meet again soon, my friend.'

And hitching up her skirt to reveal the breeches and boots she had donned before leaving her apartments at La Renar-diere, she mounted a horse and dug her heels into its flanks.

'Captain! Captain!'

La Fargue slowly regained consciousness. The last thing he remembered was the sound of the drac's ribs cracking as they hit the ground.

Moaning, the old gentleman discovered innumerable pains as he sat up to see Leprat descending into the moat.

'Captain! Are you all right?'

'I'll live. And him?'

He leaned on one elbow and pointed to the drac stretched out beside him.

'Dead,' replied the musketeer.

'Good. And the others?'

'Also dead. But there were only five of them. Six, with this one.'

'So there's one still missing. That's too bad . . . And La Donna?' La Fargue asked as Leprat helped him to his feet.

'She's nowhere to be found.'

At the home of the cardinal's master of magic, Agnes and Laincourt were drowsily waiting in an antechamber, one on a bench and the other in a chair, when the sound of a door being flung open roused them.

It was Teyssier, coming in search of them.

His face looked drawn, there were rings under his eyes and his hair was dishevelled. His fingers were ink-stained and in his hand he held dog-eared sheets of paper, covered with cramped writing and many crossings-out. Unshaven, he had spent the entire night studying the documents La Donna had stolen from the Black Claw.

'I need you to escort me to the Palais-Cardinal,' he said in an urgent voice. 'I must see the cardinal as soon as he wakes.'

Laincourt turned to the window.

The night was just starting to grow pale.

Dawn was breaking over Paris and the He Notre-Dame-des-Ecailles.

Down in the cellar that stank of rotting remains, his ritual staff across his thighs, the old drac was crouched in a meditative posture. He did not make the slightest gesture and kept his eyes closed when he heard steps behind him.

'I've been waiting for you,' he said in the drakish tongue.

'Pray to your gods one last time,' replied La Donna, unsheathing a dagger.

The sorcerer stood up and faced her.

Dressed in a sturdy leather hunting outfit, she was alone. She had preferred not to bring her two small companions out of fear of being recognised at the gates of Paris. A pretty young red-headed woman with two dragonnets would not go unnoticed, and she had excellent reasons to believe that all of the cardinal's informers — although they might not know why had received instructions to keep a lookout for her. Besides, even without Scylla and Charybdis, returning to Paris was imprudent on her part.

But Alessandra di Santi knew there was still an act to be played out in this story, before she disappeared for good.

The old drac gave her his toothless smile.

'What is it, sorcerer? Do you think I will hesitate to stab you if you stare at me? Then you do not know me . . .'

La Donna, however, was about to fall victim to her pride.

Too sure of herself, she did not see the danger coiled in the shadowy corners of the cellar, which was already creeping out to surround her. Silent and deadly, tendrils of black mist snaked towards her, licking her boots, winding around her ankles.

'Your little dragonnets, they would have sensed it—' said the drac.

'Sensed it? Sensed what?'

'This—'

The sorcerer's eyes sparkled. His fists clenched around his staff and he suddenly brandished it in the air. Instantly, the tongues of black mist rushed to attack the young woman, like a vine suddenly wrapping itself around a column. They seized her and pinned her arms against her body. Incapable of making the slightest movement, she felt herself lifted from the floor.

'I understood too late,' said the old drac. 'I realised too late that you had stopped running. I saw, too late, that you were only hiding for long enough to discover my lair . . . Indeed, how did you manage that? Your cursed little dragonnets, no doubt . . .'

He shook his staff and rattled the talismans — little bones, scales, beads, claws — that hung from it.

La Donna stiffened, her body paralysed. She tried to speak, but could only manage a hiccup. Like a vice, the wisps of mist were now crushing her chest. She was starting to lack for air.

'But it wasn't enough for you to draw my warriors into a trap. Even once you were rid of them, you knew your flight would never be complete as long as I held within me that small shred of your soul which I stole from you. You needed to kill me. And that's why I was waiting for you.'

The sorcerer shook his staff again. Alessandra gave a jolt. Her eyes round with fear, she felt the black mist running fine, agile fingers over her throat towards her face, her lips, and her nostrils.

If this horror reached inside her . . .

'Dying of the sudden ranse is extremely painful, did you know that?'

La Donna gathered her last strength to tear herself away from the mist that threatened to invade her nose, her mouth, her throat, and her entire being. In vain. She gave a long painful moan in supplication. Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes.

The worst thing was that she and the sorcerer were not alone in the cellar. La Donna had seen someone slowly emerge from the shadows behind the drac's back. But why didn't he act? Why wouldn't he help her? Was he content to watch her die? Why? What had she done to deserve such indifference?

Do something . . . For pity's sake do some—

She was losing consciousness when the mist suddenly relaxed its embrace. The young woman collapsed on the dirt floor and, through a veil, saw the sorcerer frozen in shock, a blade pointing at his chest. Then the blade disappeared with a sound of steel clawing at scales and bone, and the old drac fell down dead. First to his knees. And then on his belly.

The black mist dissipated.

Coughing and spluttering but quickly regaining her wits, La Donna dragged herself backwards away from the body and the pool of blood spreading beneath it.

"Wh . . . What were you waiting for?' she finally asked, between two great gulps of air.

'I was waiting to hear the full story,' replied Saint-Lucq.

'You bastard.'

'You're welcome.'

The half-blood crouched to wipe his blade on the sorcerer's filthy, stinking rags. Then he stood up, re-sheathed his sword and, from behind his red spectacles, watched La Donna struggle to her feet, one hand seeking support from the wall.

'You'd better hurry, madame,' he said in a voice that betrayed no emotion. 'As perhaps you would like to rest for a little while, before your next appointment with monsieur de Laffemas at Le Chatelet.'