He removed his mask in the hope that the woman would imitate him, but she chose not to do so.
"We meet for the first time, monsieur de Laincourt," declared the vicomtesse de Malicorne.
"No doubt, madame," he replied. "I can only say that the sound of your voice is unfamiliar to me."
"It is rather unfair," she continued without acknowledging his remark, "because I know how highly I should regard you. At least if I am to believe monsieur de Saint-Georges. . . . And even monsieur de Gagniere, normally so circumspect, tells me that you are, shall we say, a rare find."
On hearing the compliment, Laincourt placed his left hand on his chest and bowed slightly. But this preamble did not sit well with him. He sensed a threat coming.
"However," said the vicomtesse, "your ambitions might seem overweening. Because you are demanding nothing less than to become an initiate, aren't you?"
"My situation is extremely delicate, madame. I believe I have always displayed perfect loyalty and I must now count on the help of the Black Claw against the cardinal."
Laincourt knew he was risking his all at this precise instant.
"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 promo-
tion 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 Lain-court to understand that he had already done too much to back out now. He must continue to serve the Black Caw, but henceforth in full knowledge of his actions. He would not regret it, and he only had to say the word.