The Cardinal's Blades

17

Back at the Hotel de l’Epervier, where Marciac had returned just a quarter of an hour before them, La Fargue and Saint-Lucq found the rest of the Blades gathered together in the main room.

“Richelieu refused,” announced the captain upon entering.

Dismayed, they all fell silent as La Fargue poured himself a glass of wine and emptied it in one gulp.

“Does he know…” Ballardieu started to say in a voice buzzing with anger. “Does he know that Agnes is in danger? Does he know that she is being held prisoner by the Black Claw? Does he know-?”

“He knows!” said La Fargue sharply.

Then he added in a quieter tone: “He knows all that because I told him.”

“And despite that, he still refuses to return Malencontre.”

“Yes.”

“This time, it has not taken His Eminence long to desert us,” said Leprat whose dark gaze was lost in a limbo where he saw the outline of La Rochelle standing before him.

“But there’s more, isn’t there?” guessed Almades, standing in a corner where he leaned with his arms crossed. “Richelieu was not simply satisfied with refusing to allow you to speak with Malencontre…”

“No,” admitted the Blades’ captain.

He paused for a moment and then said: “Our mission has been cancelled. The chevalier d’Ireban has supposedly turned up recently in Madrid. Therefore we no longer have any reason to continue searching here in Paris.”

“But Ireban does not exist!” exclaimed Marciac. “He and Cecile were always one and the same person! How can he be back in Spain now?”

“Nevertheless, this is the case. At least, if one believes the ambassador extraordinary of Spain.”

“It’s absurd!” objected Leprat. “The cardinal can’t be taken in by this lie-”

“It was at Spain’s request that Richelieu entrusted us with this mission, and it is once again at her request that he has called us off. The stakes of the negotiations that are currently taking place in the Louvre go well beyond us. It was a matter of pleasing Spain. Now it is a matter of not displeasing her…”

“And we are suddenly asked to forget all about the existence of Ireban,” said Marciac. “And about Malencontre. And about the Black Claw which is scheming in the very heart of the kingdom!”

“Those are our orders,” insisted La Fargue.

“Are we also to forget about Agnes?” Ballardieu demanded.

“There is no question of that.”

Leprat rose and, despite his wounded leg, could not stop himself from pacing back and forth.

“Malencontre remains our best hope of finding Agnes quickly,” he said, thinking out loud.

“The cardinal only deigned to tell us that Malencontre was being held at Le Chatelet, awaiting transfer to the prison in the Chateau de Vincennes,” indicated Saint-Lucq.

Leprat stopped pacing to and fro.

“I will go and speak with Malencontre,” he declared.

“But he’s being held in solitary confinement!” the half-blood pointed out. “No one can see him without a signed order.”

“I am only on leave from the Musketeers. I can still wear the cape and monsieur de Treville will not refuse to help me.”

They all fell silent while they considered this idea.

“All right,” said La Fargue. “Let’s suppose that you manage to reach Malencontre. Then what? You have nothing to propose in exchange for his information.”

“Just let me have two words with him,” suggested Ballardieu, balling his fists.

“No,” replied Leprat. “Malencontre and I are almost old acquaintances by now. Let us do this my way…”

Later, while the Blades were getting ready, La Fargue took Marciac by the elbow.

“Did you find Cecile?”

“Yes. At the Saint-Louis hospital, at the bedside of the man she loves, just as I guessed. She was listening at the door when you announced that he was dying there. She fled the house in order to be with him.”

“Is she in a safe place at present?”

“She is in rue de la Grenouillere. No one will go looking for her in a brothel and Gabrielle and the girls will take good care of her.”

“I thought you and Gabrielle had…?”

“A falling out…?” said the Gascon with a grin. “Yes, we did, for a while… Let’s just say that she did not particularly appreciate the fact that I was returning to active service under your orders. She remembers how things ended the last time only too well.” He fell silent, thinking, and then with a shrug concluded: “Bah! She can always marry a haberdasher, if that’s what she wants.”

He was turning away in a fairly good mood, when the captain called him back: “Marciac!”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Puzzled, the Gascon frowned but said nothing.