"You've been beaten. Was it to make you talk? Did you tell them what you know?"

"Good Lord! What is this all about?"

The half-blood sighed and patiently explained: "You recently discovered and read a forgotten testament. The testament indicated where a certain doc.u.ment could be found."

"So, this is about ... that?"

"Well?"

"No. I didn't say anything."

Saint-Lucq waited.

"I swear to you!" the notary insisted. "They didn't ask me a single question!"

"Good."

Only then did the half-blood unfetter Bailleux, who asked: "And my wife?"

"She is well," replied Saint-Lucq, who in truth had no idea.

"Thank G.o.d!"

"Can you walk?"

"Yes. I am weak but-" There was the sound of a horse neighing in the distance and they heard hoofbeats approaching. Leaving the notary to complete the task of freeing his ankles, Saint-Lucq went to the door. Bailleux took note of his surroundings. They were on the ground floor of a disused, dusty old water mill, close to the enormous grindstone.

Having risked a glance outside, the half-blood announced: "Six hors.e.m.e.n. No doubt those to whom you were to be delivered."

"Lord G.o.d!"

"Do you know how to fight? Or at least how to defend yourself?"

"No. We are lost, aren't we?"

Saint-Lucq spotted an old, worm-eaten wooden staircase and raced up the steps.

"Up here," he said after a brief moment.

The notary followed him to the next floor, where the central driveshaft, attached to the hub of the huge waterwheel, joined the vertical axle which, pa.s.sing through the floor, had formerly powered the grindstone.

The half-blood forced open a skylight.

"We have to slip out through here and let ourselves drop into the river. The current will carry us away. With a little luck, we won't be seen. Although it's a shame, because I had horses waiting for us in the wood."

"But I can't swim!"

"You'll learn."

5.

That morning, reclining on a long, low seat, the vicomtesse de Malicorne was savouring the tranquillity of her flowering garden when the marquis de Gagniere was announced. The strange globe filled with its shifting darkness was next to her, on its precious stand, and she caressed it nonchalantly-as she might have stroked the head of a sleeping cat. The turbulent interior of the Sphere d'ame seemed to respond to each stroke. Gagniere, arriving on the terrace, made a conscious effort to look elsewhere. He knew the dangers that the soul sphere represented. He also knew the use to which it was destined to be put, and the casual manner with which the young woman was treating this relic, entrusted to her by the Masters of the Black Claw, both worried and astonished him.

"Good morning, monsieur le marquis. What have you come to tell me at such an early hour?"

"Leprat is dead."

"Leprat?"

"The messenger Malencontre and his men failed to stop between Brussels and Paris. Using your information I laid an ambush for him yesterday evening, near the Saint-Denis gate."

"Monsieur Leprat ..." sighed the young woman with a thoughtful look. "Is that so?"

"One of the King's Musketeers," Gagniere hastened to explain.

"And formerly one of the Cardinal's Blades. I told you you would be hearing more about them, didn't I?"

"Indeed. However-"

"You killed him?"

"Yes. With a pistol ball to the heart."

"My congratulations. And the letter?"

The elegant marquis took a deep breath.

"He didn't have it."

For the first time since their conversation began, the vicomtesse lifted her gaze to look at her visitor. Her angelic face remained unreadable, but her eyes burned with fury.

"Excuse me?"

"He did not have it on him. Perhaps he never had it at all."

"So he was simply playing with us while the true messenger travelled discreetly, by a different route and without mishap?"

"I believe so."

"Yes," said the vicomtesse de Malicorne, contemplating her garden anew. "It's certainly possible, after all ..."

They were silent for a moment and Gagniere did not know what to do with himself; his perfect manners forbade him from taking a seat without invitation so he was forced to remain standing, ill at ease, his beige deer-skin gloves in his hand.

"If the letter is at the Louvre-" he began.

"That indicates that the king and the cardinal now know we represent a threat to France," finished the pretty young woman. "I'll wager that the prospect of facing the Black Claw within their kingdom does not enchant them."

From the little smile she displayed, however, one could guess that this development, upon reflection, did not truly displease her.

"It's no use crying over spilt milk," she concluded. "For the moment we have other matters to attend to...."

She suddenly rose and, taking the arm of the marquis, asked him to stroll with her in the garden. This initiative surprised Gagniere, until he realised that the vicomtesse wished to be out of range of any listening ears. Even here, in her own home.

"You will recall," she said at last, "that our Spanish brothers and sisters promised to send us a trustworthy man. And so they have: Savelda is here in Paris."

"I still think we should not let him know of our plans."

"Impossible," interrupted the vicomtesse. "On the contrary, give him a warm welcome. Do not hide anything from him and employ him as usefully as possible. If it is understood, between you and I, that Savelda's mission is to keep us under surveillance, then we should not reveal our suspicions. We must show ourselves to be grateful of the honour the Grand Lodge of Spain does us by placing a man of his worth at our disposal...."

"Very well."

This matter being settled, the vicomtesse turned to another subject: "When will you capture Castilla?"

"Soon. Tonight, even."

"And the girl?"

"Castilla shall lead us to her and we will abduct her."

"Charge Savelda with the task."

"What-!"

"It will keep him busy. And that will leave us with a freer hand to prepare our first initiation ceremony. Once that has taken place, a Black Claw lodge shall exist in France and our Spanish brothers, jealous as they may be, shall not be able to do anything against us."

"You will then take the rank of Master."

"And you, that of First Initiate ... but do not cry victory just yet. Many have failed because they were too quick to believe they had succeeded and did not see danger coming. In our case, I do foresee that there is danger."

At the bottom of the garden, in a verdant nook, was a stone bench. The vicomtesse took a seat, and indicated to Gagniere that he should join her.

"There is one matter," she murmured, "about which Savelda and our masters must be kept in ignorance: one of our agents at the Palais-Cardinal was caught yesterday."

"Which one?"

"The best. The oldest. The most precious."

"Laincourt!"

"Yes. Laincourt.... I still don't know how it was done, but it has happened. Monsieur de Laincourt was unmasked. He is under arrest now, no doubt waiting to be interrogated."

"Where?"

"Le Chatelet."

"Laincourt won't talk."

"That remains to be seen. You will need, perhaps, to make sure of it."

6.

Along night had gone by since Captain Saint-Georges had solemnly requested his sword and in so doing indicated to Laincourt that he was under arrest for treason. The prisoner had then been led to Le Chatelet under a firm escort, where his last personal effects were removed before he was anonymously locked up. In the eyes of the world, he might just as well have vanished into the bowels of the earth.

He no longer existed.

In 1130, Louis VI had ordered a small fortified castle-or chatelet chatelet-built to defend the Pont au Change, which connected the Right Bank of the Seine to Ile de la Cite. Rendered useless by the construction of King Philippe Auguste's ramparts, the Grand Chatelet-as it was sometimes called to distinguish it from the Pet.i.t Chatelet built on the Left Bank at the mouth of the Pet.i.t Pont-lost its military function. But King Louis IX enlarged it, Charles IV remodelled it, and Louis XII restored it. In the seventeenth century, Le Chatelet was the seat of the legal courts under the jurisdiction of the provost of Paris, while its dungeon housed the prison cells. These cells, located on various levels, were given nicknames. On the upper level were the common halls where prisoners were packed together: Beauvoir, La Salle, Barbarie, and Gloriette; below that, there were three areas with individual cells: La Boucherie, Beaumont, and La Griesche; lower still: Beauvais, another communal hall; and finally, in the very foundations of the place, were the worst of all, without air or light: La Fosse, Le Puits, La Gourdaine, and L'Oubliette.

Laincourt had been accorded the honour of La Gourdaine, where he was forced to endure its rotting straw overrun with vermin. At least he had been spared the horror of La Fosse, a pit into which the prisoner would be lowered through a trap door, on the end of a rope. The bottom of that most infamous gaol cell was swimming in stagnant water and took the shape of an inverted cone, so that a prisoner could neither lie nor sit down, and was even denied the relief of something to lean against.

Since the door had been closed on Laincourt, the hours had pa.s.sed, stretched out and silent, in absolute darkness. In the far distance he heard the echo of a scream, that of a prisoner gone mad in solitude or of some poor wretch being subjected to torture. There was also the sound of water falling slowly, drop by drop, into deep brackish puddles. And the scratching of rats against the damp stone.

And then suddenly, in the morning hours, a key sc.r.a.ped in the lock. A gentleman with a greying moustache entered, with whom the gaoler left a lit lantern before closing the door again.

Laincourt stood and, blinking his eyes, recognised Brussand.

"You shouldn't be here, Brussand. I'm in solitary confinement."

"For you," replied the other, handing him a flask of wine and a piece of white bread. The former ensign of the Cardinal's Guards gladly accepted the victuals. He tore into the bread but forced himself to chew slowly. Then, having swallowed a mouthful of wine, he asked: "How were you able to get in here?"

"The officer in charge of admissions owed me a favour."

"Was the favour you did him as big as this one?"

"No."

"So now you are in his debt.... That is regrettable and entirely unnecessary on your part. Nevertheless, you have my thanks.... Now go, Brussand. Go before you compromise yourself completely."

"Our time is short, in any case. But I want you to tell me something."

Beneath his unshaved cheeks and drawn features, Laincourt gave a faint, pale smile.

"I owe you that much, my friend."