“So in a manner of speaking, monsieur, you now wish to be repaid…”
“Yes.”
“So be it.”
The vicomtesse made a sign with her hand and Saint-Georges threw open the curtain that had hidden the alcove from view, revealing the hurdy-gurdy player. He was half naked, covered in blood, and possibly even dead. Chained to the wall, his head slack, the old man in his rags was slumped in a squatting position, suspended by his arms.
This vision transfixed Laincourt. In a fraction of a second, he understood that he had been unmasked, that the hurdy-gurdy player had confessed under torture, and that the Black Claw no longer believed in the deception Richelieu had created to counter its activities.
A deception of which Laincourt had been the instrument, and now risked becoming the victim.
He smashed the throat of one of the swordsmen with a violent blow of the elbow and suddenly spun to drive his knee into the crotch of the other, then took the man’s head between both hands and broke his neck with a brusque twist. Saint-Georges drew his sword and lunged at him. Laincourt avoided his rapier, ducked under his other arm, rose and seized the captain’s wrist to bring it high up behind his back, then finished immobilising him by placing a dagger against his throat. The vicomtesse had stood up by reflex and Gagniere protected her with his own body, brandishing a pistol. Irritated, the dragonnet spat and flapped its wings, still gripping the back of the chair.
“I will slit his throat if either of you makes the slightest move against me,” Laincourt threatened.
The young woman stared at him…
… then invited Gagniere to take a step back. Nonetheless, he continued to keep his pistol aimed at Laincourt and his human shield.
Saint-Georges sweated, trembled, and hesitated to swallow. On the floor, the swordsman with the smashed throat finished choking out his series of horrible death rattles. By a common accord, everyone waited for him to die and for silence to settle over the scene.
It seemed to go on for an eternity.
It had all started in Madrid where, already in the service of the cardinal, Arnaud de Laincourt had been appointed private secretary and trusted aide to an expatriate aristocrat through whom France had unofficially communicated with the Spanish crown. An agent of the Black Claw had approached him during this two-year mission and, understanding with whom he was dealing, Laincourt had informed Richelieu immediately by secret dispatch. The cardinal had ordered him to let matters take their course, without compromising himself too seriously: it was better at this stage to let the adversary keep the initiative and move his pieces as he saw fit. Laincourt thus gave a few tokens of goodwill to the Black Claw which, for its part, no doubt out of fear of discouraging a potential and very promising recruit, did not ask him for much. Things hardly went any further until his return to Paris.
Having entered the service of His Eminence’s Guards, Laincourt very soon rose to the rank of ensign. He never entirely knew if this swift promotion rewarded his loyalty or was destined to excite the interest of the Black Claw. Whatever the case, after a long silence, the organisation contacted him again through an intermediary: the marquis de Gagniere. The gentleman told him-as if it were a revelation-the nature of those who had been receiving the small bits of information he had shared in Spain. He’d led Laincourt to understand that he had already done too much to back out now. He must continue to serve the Black Claw, but henceforth in full knowledge of his actions. He would not regret it, and he only had to say the word.
With Richelieu’s accord, Laincourt pretended to accept and for months thereafter had provided his so-called masters with carefully selected intelligence, all the while gaining their trust and rising within their hierarchy in the shadows. His objective was to uncover the person behind this dangerous embryo of a Black Claw lodge in France. He was to prevent them from succeeding and also unmask another spy, one who seemed to be working at the highest level within the Palais-Cardinal. As a precaution, Laincourt did not communicate with Richelieu through the habitual secret channels-even Rochefort did not know about him. His only contact was an old hurdy-gurdy player whom he met in a shabby tavern and about whom he knew almost nothing, except that he was trusted by the cardinal.
But this comedy could not continue. Because he was sharing information that always turned out to be less pertinent than it seemed at first, or which hurt France less than it did her enemies, the Black Claw would eventually work out that he was playing a double game. He needed to hurry matters along, and all the more quickly as the French draconic lodge was on the point of being born…
Together with Pere Joseph, who was also in on the secret, Richelieu and Laincourt sketched out a bold plan. They arranged for the ensign to be caught in the act of spying, and, after that, they allowed a carefully prepared scenario to unfold. Convicted of treason, Laincourt was captured, locked up, and then freed on the pretext that he had threatened to reveal explosive documents. These documents did not exist. But they seemed to have enough value to convince the Black Claw to grant Laincourt what he demanded: to become an initiate, as the reward for his work and skills.
The plan, however, did not expect him to actually go this far. The important thing was to identify the true master of the Black Claw in France and learn the date and place of the grand initiation ceremony. He would inform the cardinal as soon as possible, via the hurdy-gurdy player, to allow His Eminence to organise a vast operation to haul in all the conspirators.
But the hurdy-gurdy player had not shown up for the final meeting.
And with good reason…
The vicomtesse lifted an indifferent gaze from the dead body of the swordsman and smiled at Laincourt.
“And now?”
Still threatened by Gagniere’s pistol, the cardinal’s spy hesitated, tightening his hold on Saint-Georges, and then motioning toward the hurdy-gurdy player with his chin.
“Is he dead?”
“Perhaps.”
“Who betrayed him?”
This question haunted Laincourt. Except for himself, only Richelieu and Pere Joseph were supposed to know of the role played by the hurdy-gurdy player in this affair. Even the traitorous Saint-Georges had been kept in the dark.
“No one did,” replied the young woman.
“Then how-?”
“I’m not as naive as you seem to believe, monsieur. I simply had you followed.”
Laincourt frowned.
“By whom?”
“Him.” She pointed to her dragonnet. “I saw your most recent meeting with the old man. Through his eyes. You can guess the rest… By the way, I must thank you for persuading the comte de Pontevedra to keep the Cardinal’s Blades away from us. But I’m afraid it will be the last service you ever render us…”
Understanding that he could do nothing but try and save his own life, Laincourt used his heel to hook his hostage’s ankles out from under him and abruptly shoved him. Saint-Georges tripped forward and collapsed in Gagniere’s arms. But the marquis fired at the same time and hit the cardinal’s spy in the shoulder as he was rushing out of the room and slamming the door behind him.
Gagniere took some time in untangling himself from his burden and the door resisted him when he sought to launch himself in pursuit of the fugitive. He turned around to address a helpless look at the vicomtesse.
Very calmly, she ordered: “Let Savelda take charge of searching for monsieur de Laincourt. We three have better things to do. The ceremony cannot be delayed any longer.”
21
Holding a lantern in one hand and his sword in the other, Savelda kicked open the door to an empty, dusty room, dimly lit by the nocturnal glow coming from its sole embrasure. He examined the premises from the threshold, while hired swordsmen came and went behind him on the stairway.