The Cardinal's Blades

23

Sitting at a table in an empty tavern whose keeper was sweeping the floor at the end of a very long day, the Gascon was glowering into the bottom of his glass when he realised someone was standing nearby.

“Captain.”

“Good evening, Marciac.”

“Please, take a seat.”

“Thank you.”

La Fargue pulled a chair toward him and sat down.

A second glass, as clean as one might hope for in such an establishment, was placed on the table. Marciac took and filled it for the old man.

It was the dregs of the jug. Barely a mouthful.

“Sorry, captain. It’s all that’s left.”

“It will do.”

La Fargue didn’t touch his glass and, while the silence stretched out, noticed the crumpled letter which the Gascon had received in rue de la Grenouillere.

“The Blades are recalled to service, Marciac.”

The other nodded, pensive and sad.

“I need you, Marciac.”

“Mmh.”

“The Blades need you.”

“And who are they?”

“The same as before. Other letters have been sent. They will be arriving soon.”

“The same as before. That’s to say: those who still live.”

“Yes.”

The silence fell again, thicker than before.

Finally, Marciac burst out: “I have a life now, captain.”

“A life which pleases you?”

They exchanged a long glance.

“Which pleases me well enough.”

“And where is it leading you?”

“All lives lead to the cemetery, captain. What matters is to make the path pleasant.”

“Or useful.”

“Useful? Useful to whom?”

“We serve France.”

“From the sewers.”

“We serve the king.”

“And the cardinal.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“Not always.”

Their conversation, sharp and delivered like a lethal clash of blades, ended with these words. Averting his eyes, Marciac drained his glass and asked: “Will we be justly rewarded?”

“With neither honour nor glory, if that’s your idea. In that respect, nothing has changed.”

“Let us speak of finances instead. If I accept I want to be paid handsomely. Very handsomely. On the day and hour specified. At the first delay, I hang up my sword.”

La Fargue, intrigued, blinked slowly.

“Agreed.”

The Gascon allowed himself a few moments of further thought while he examined his steel signet ring.

“When do we start?” he asked.