The Cardinal's Blades

18

At Le Chatelet, the guards and other personnel were relieved at five o’clock in the evening. Wearing his blue cape with its silver fleur-de-lis cross, Leprat presented himself twenty minutes before the hour at the admissions counter with an authorisation signed by the hand of monsieur de Treville, captain of His Majesty’s Musketeers, and was led to Malencontre’s place of detention. The man was being held in Le Puits, or the Well, one of the individual cells in the gaol’s lower depths. There reigned a dark and putrid dankness that would have undermined the health and courage of even the most solid of men.

The gaoler left his lantern with Leprat, saying that he would remain within earshot at the other end of the corridor and then shut the door. The light it gave off was dim, barely illuminating the miserable hole, but it sufficed to dazzle the prisoner. Filthy and tired-looking, stinking of urine and refuse, he was sitting on a carpet of rancid straw, his back toward the wall to which he was chained by the wrists. His position forced him to keep his arms raised, his long pale blond hair hanging before his face.

“Leprat?” he asked, squinting. “Is that you, chevalier?”

“It’s me.”

“You are very kind to pay me a visit. Would you like some foul water? I think I also have an old crust of bread that the rats haven’t carried off yet…”

“I came to speak with you.”

The musketeer swept his ivory rapier back, crouched before Malencontre and set the lantern down between them.

“Do you know what awaits you?” he asked.

“I wager that I will soon be asked lots of questions.”

“And will you answer them?”

“If that can save my life.”

“Then talk to me. If you talk to me, I will help you.”

Malencontre stifled a small chuckle and made a grimacing smile that highlighted the scar at the corner of his thin lips.

“I doubt that you have anything to offer me, chevalier.”

“You’re wrong. Those who will come after me will ask you the same questions, but in a different manner. Le Chatelet has no lack of torturers…”

“The cardinal will not send me a torturer right away. He will first seek to learn if I am disposed to talk. I will reply that I am and I will be treated well. I am no hero, Leprat. I am quite ready to collaborate and only ask for some small consideration.”

His crouching position becoming too uncomfortable due to his wounded thigh, Leprat stood up and, spying a stool in a corner, sat down on it, leaving the lantern where it was.

“You work for the Black Claw,” he said.

“Not really, no. I work for a gentleman who may, perhaps, work for them… You serve one master, I serve another.”

“Except that I happen to be free to come and go…”

“True.”

“Which gentleman?”

“A very good question.”

“The cardinal’s agents will not make the distinction. For them, you belong to the Black Claw.”

“That only increases the value of my modest person, wouldn’t you say?”

“You will never see the light of day again.”

“That remains to be seen.”

The musketeer sighed, searching for some means of gaining the upper hand with a man who had already lost everything and to whom he had nothing to offer. If he failed to make Malencontre speak of his own free will, the only solution that remained revolted him.

But the life of Agnes was at stake.

“The cardinal knows nothing of your visit to me, is that not so?” the prisoner remarked. “So tell me, what brings you here?”

“I am going to offer you a deal that you cannot refuse.”

Outside, in front of Le Chatelet, La Fargue and Almades were waiting. They were on foot, the other Blades guarding the horses a short distance away at the entrance to rue Saint-Denis.

“Do you think Leprat will succeed?”

“Let us hope so.”

Those were the only words they exchanged, both of them anxious as they remained there, keeping track of the time and observing who was coming out of the enormous, sinister-looking building.

As the half hour tolled, they saw the large felt hat and cape of a limping musketeer appear at last.

“He’s favouring the wrong leg,” noticed Almades.

“What does it matter?”

They hastened to flank Malencontre as closely as possible on either side, without attracting attention.

“You will not be set free until you have told us everything we wish to know,” La Fargue told him in a firm voice.

“And who says that you won’t do me an evil turn afterward?”

“I do. But if you try anything at all…”

“I understand.”

They moved quickly toward the other Blades and their horses, fearing that at any moment someone would call after them from the doors of Le Chatelet.

“Who are you?” asked Malencontre. “And how did you manage this?”

“We took advantage of the changing of the guards,” explained La Fargue taking a discreet look all around them. “Those who saw Leprat enter were not the guards who let you leave. The hat, the musketeer’s cape, the pass from Treville, and the white rapier did the rest. You will return that rapier to me, by the way.”

“And Leprat? Aren’t you worried about him?”

“Yes.”

“How will he be freed?”

“It’s possible he never will be.”