Castilla being too frequent a visitor to a certain Parisian gambling house, he was the first to be located. Then it was the turn of a young woman he often met, who proved to be none other than the dashing chevalier d'Ireban. No doubt in an effort to remain discreet, she still sometimes disguised herself as a cavalier. But whenever she wore a woman's dress, she had invented for herself the identity of a modest orphan from Lyon. As soon as it was possible, Gagniere—who also had much else to do—organised the capture of the couple with the assistance of Savelda, a henchman recently arrived from Spain. But the young woman escaped, thanks to a miraculous rescue, while Castilla was taken and tortured.
"Come to the point, marquis. And tell me what secrets Savelda extorted from Castilla last night."
"As we suspected, Castilla and the lady were lovers. However, it was not the Black Claw they wished to escape by fleeing Spain, but the demoiselle's father."
"Am I to understand that we have spent all this time and effort to find two eloping lovers?"
.
"Yes."
"And that Castilla never sought to harm us?"
"Never. And perhaps not even to abandon us."
The vicomtesse stifled a laugh.
"In other circumstances," she said, "I would be furious. But here we have the means of putting our Spanish brethren in their place and, if necessary, teaching them a lesson in humility. Besides, they won't be able to deny it when it is their own envoy, Savelda himself, who uncovered the full facts behind this story."
"I doubt that the more jealous of our rivals will appreciate the irony when the news reaches Madrid," said Gagniere in an amused tone.
"Henceforth, they will appreciate whatever we choose to serve them."
Smiling with pleasure, the young vicomtesse de Malicorne dropped into an armchair.
"But who is this father that Castilla wanted to flee from so badly, even when it meant incurring the wrath of the Black Claw?"
"That's the best part of the story, madame. The father is none other than the comte de Pontevedra."
The young woman's eyes sparked with sudden interest.
Pontevedra was a foreign aristocrat with a troubled past who, in less than two years after appearing at court, had become a friend of the comte d'Oli-vares and a favourite of King Felipe IV, thus winning both fortune and renown in Spain. The man was influential, powerful, and feared. And he was presently in Paris, on a mission as an ambassador extraordinary. For the past week he had been engaged in secret negotiations at the Louvre, no doubt with the aim of fostering a rapprochement between France and Spain.
A rapprochement that the Black Claw did not want at any price.
"Everything now becomes clear," said the vicomtesse. "At least until the Cardinal's Blades entered the scene. ..."
Gagniere forced himself to contain his skepticism on the subject.
His associate's obstinate tendency to see Richelieu's agents everywhere was becoming worrisome. Granted, her magic might be informing her of more than she was telling. But it was almost as if there were an old dispute between her and the Blades that obsessed and blinded her.
"Madame . . ." he started to say in a reasonable tone. "Nothing indicates that—"
"And just who, according to you, rescued Pontevedra's daughter last night?" she interrupted. "Her saviour did not fall from the Moon, so far as I
know. . . . And he was able enough to carry her off in the face of numerous opponents . . . ! Courage, audacity, valour: the very mark of the Blades. . . . What? You still have doubts . . . ?"
She had become uselessly worked up, as the gentleman's cautious silence made her realise. In order to calm and perhaps reassure herself, she opened a precious-looking casket set on a table beside her. It contained the Sphere d'Ame, which she caressed with the tips of her fingers, her eyelids half closed.
She drew in a breath and then carefully explained: "Do me the favour of thinking the matter through. You are the comte de Pontevedra and you know that your daughter has fled to Paris—where she is perhaps under threat from the Black Claw. Now, there is nothing that France would refuse you, given the importance of the negotiations that you are conducting with her. Would you not seek help from the cardinal? And would you not demand that he mobilise his very best men?" |
"Yes," Gagniere admitted reluctantly.
"The very best, meaning the Blades."
"I believe you."
"It's about time . . . ! But what a shame that Pontevedra's daughter managed to evade us! What a lever she would have provided us against him!"
"All is perhaps not lost on that score. I sent Savelda to the girl's house, in rue de la Fontaine. He may find something there and, if not, it will at least keep him busy."
"Excellent initiative. We will thus have our hands free to prepare the ceremony this evening. Is everything ready at the castle?"
"We are applying ourselves to the task."
"Nothing must disturb our very first initiations, marquis. The Grand Lodge will not forgive us if there is the slightest sour note."