The Cardinal's Blades

24

La Fargue was galloping through Paris at Almades’s side. He had just come out of the Palais-Cardinal and found the master of arms waiting for him with their horses. They rode along the Ecole quay and crossed a deserted Pont Neuf at full speed.

“His Eminence wants Malencontre?” the captain was saying loudly enough to be heard over the hoofbeats. “Very well. I can only bow to his demand. But nothing prevents me from dragging the truth out of the villain before I hand him over!”

“If the cardinal is asking for him, it’s because Malencontre is more valuable than we imagined. No doubt he knows a lot. But about what?”

“Or about who…? If we believe the cardinal, whatever Malencontre knows has nothing to do with the affair that concerns us. We’ll see about that…”

A short distance from Pont Neuf, they were forced to halt at the Buci gate.

They went forward at a slow walk between two crenellated towers, beneath a wide vaulted ceiling which made the horses’ hoofbeats echo against the paving stones like shots from a musket. The pikemen of the city militia called their officer over, who examined the riders’ passes in the lantern light and saw a seal-that of the cardinal-which opened gates everywhere in France.

The portcullis was already raised and the drawbridge lowered. But the enormous doors themselves still had to be opened and the sleepy militia soldiers were taking their time to remove the chains, lift the bar, and push the heavy iron-bound panels. They were wasting time that La Fargue knew to be precious.

He grew impatient.

“Hurry UP, messieurs!”

“Malencontre was still doing poorly when we left,” Almades said to him. “He had barely regained his spirits and wasn’t-”

“That doesn’t matter… I will make him spill what he knows in less than an hour. By force if necessary. Whatever the cost.”

“But, captain-”

“No! I did not agree to hand this devil over in good condition, after all. He doesn’t even have to be alive, come to think of it…”

At last they were able to pass and spurred their horses on to cross the foul muck-filled ditch before riding quickly through the streets of the faubourg. They burst into rue Saint-Guillaume just as Guibot was closing the gates to the Hotel de l’Epervier. Almades slowed down, but not La Fargue. He entered at a full gallop, obliging the old porter to jump aside while pushing one of the panels of the coach gate back open. La Fargue’s horse had to pull up abruptly in the courtyard as the captain jumped down from the saddle and rushed over to the main building… and found Leprat sitting, or rather sprawled, on the front steps.

Bare-headed, with his doublet open and his shirt untucked, his wounded leg stretched out before him, the former musketeer was leaning back, supported by his elbows against the last step. He was drinking, without thirst, straight from a wine bottle. His rapier, still in its scabbard, was lying nearby.

“Too late…” he spat. “They took him away.”

“Malencontre?”

Leprat nodded.

“Who?” insisted La Fargue. “Who took him away?”

The other man swallowed a last mouthful, noticed that his bottle was empty, and threw it against a wall where it shattered. Then he picked up his rapier and heaved himself up.

“It looks rather as if, in summoning you, the cardinal only wished to draw you away, doesn’t it?” he replied in a bitter tone.

“Spare me that, will you? And answer my question.”

“Rochefort and his underlings, of course… They just left. They had an order signed by His Eminence. An order that Rochefort seemed particularly pleased to wave under my nose.”

“I couldn’t have foreseen that! I couldn’t know-”

“Know what?” Leprat flared. “Know that nothing at all has changed? Know that the cardinal continues to play his own game with us? Know that we are puppets with him pulling the strings? Know that we count for so little…? Go on, captain, did the cardinal even tell you why he was taking Malencontre from us? No, I think not. On the other hand, he was careful not to announce his decision until you were powerless to do anything about it… That should wake some familiar memories in you. And it stirs up just as many questions…”

Disgusted, Leprat limped back inside the house.

He left La Fargue behind, who was joined by Almades leading their horses by their bridles.

“He… he’s right,” murmured the captain in a tight voice.

“Yes. But that’s not the worst news…”

La Fargue turned toward the Spaniard.

“Guibot,” explained Almades, “just told me Rochefort and his men brought a coach in which to carry Malencontre off. That means the cardinal not only knew we were holding him but also that he was not in a fit state to ride a horse.”

“So what?”

“We were the only ones who knew that Malencontre was wounded, captain. Just us. Nobody else.”

“Which means one of us is informing Richelieu on the sly.”