"I'm not in the mood to drag this out of you. You're supposed to keep me informed and serve me, aren't you?"
But the other man still seemed hesitant.
"Tell me everything you know!" ordered the young man, raising his voice.
"Yes, yes. . . . All right. ..."
The hurdy-gurdy player drank some wine, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and, giving Laincourt a reproachful look, said: "A while ago, La Fargue commanded a group of men who—"
"—carried out secret missions for the cardinal, yes. This much, I already know."
"They were called the Cardinal's Blades. There were no more than ten of them. Some would say they did the cardinal's dirty work for him. Personally, I would say that they were both soldiers and spies. And at times, it's true, assassins—"
'"Assassins'?"
The hurdy-gurdy player made a face.
"The word is perhaps a little strong, But not all of France's enemies fight on the fields of battle, nor do all of them advance to the beat of drum and preceded by a banner. ... I don't need to tell you that wars can also be waged behind the stage and that many deaths take place there."
"And for there to be deaths, someone has to cause them. . . ."
"Exactly. But I remain convinced that the Blades have saved more lives than they have taken. Sometimes you have to cut off a hand to preserve the arm and the man that comes with it."
"What happened at the siege of La Rochelle?"
Once again surprised, but now on guard, the old man lifted an eyebrow at Laincourt.
"If you're asking that question, boy, then you know the answer. ..."
"I'm listening to you."
"The Blades were given a mission that, no doubt, was meant to hasten the end of the siege. But don't ask me the nature of it. . . . Whatever it was, La Fargue was betrayed."
"By whom?"
"By one of his own men, by a Blade. . . . The mission failed and another Blade lost his life there. As for the traitor, he managed to flee. . . . And as for the siege, you know how it ended. The dam that prevented the besieged forces in the town from being reinforced by sea suddenly broke, the king had to recall his armies rather than risk the financial ruin of the realm, and La Rochelle became a Protestant republic."
"And after that?"
"After that, there was no longer any question of the Blades."
"Until today. . . . What do the Blades have to do with the Black Claw?"
"Nothing. Not to my knowledge, at least."
The dragonnet had fallen asleep. He snored softly. "La Fargue's return no doubt signals the return of the Blades," Laincourt declared in a low voice. "It must have something to do with me." "That's by no means certain. The cardinal always has several irons in his fire." "Be that as it may, I would prefer not to have to watch my flanks as well as my rear. ..."
"Then you chose the wrong path, boy . . . entirely the wrong path. . . ."
Later, as Laincourt ventured back out into the night, a black dragonnet with golden eyes discreetly look flight from a roof nearby.
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. . . ."