Captain Alatriste

With your mortal flesh.' The word 'mortal' sounded even more terrifying coming from those icy, clenched lips. 'You have seen too much, you have heard too much, you have made too many errors. Your life, Captain Alatriste, is worth nothing. You are a cadaver that—through some strange chance—is still walking and talking.'

As the Dominican made that fearsome threat, the masked man was sprinkling powder on the sheet before him, to dry the ink. Then he folded it and put it into a pocket, and as he did, Alatriste again glimpsed the tip of the red cross of Calatrava beneath his black cloak. He also observed that the hands with the blackened nails collected the coins, apparently forgetting that part of them had come from the purse of the Dominican.

'You may go,' the priest said to Alatriste, looking at him as if he had just remembered he was there.

The captain looked back at him with surprise. 'I am free?'

'In a manner of speaking,' added Fray Emilio Bocanegra, with a smile equivalent to excommunication. 'You go with the weight of your treachery and our curses around your neck.'

'That will not be heavy.' Alatriste turned from one to the other, incredulous. 'Is it true that I may leave? Now?'

'That is what we said. The wrath of God will know where to find you.'

'The wrath of God does not worry me tonight. But Your Mercies ...'

The Dominican and the scribe were on their feet. 'We have concluded,' said the former.

Alatriste studied their faces. The candlelight from below cast ominous shadows.

'I find that difficult to believe,' Alatriste concluded. 'After you had me brought here.'

'That,' said the masked man as a last word, 'no longer has anything to do with us.'

They walked out, taking the candelabrum with them, and the last thing Diego Alatriste saw was the terrible gaze the Dominican threw his way before crossing his arms and thrusting his hands into the sleeves of his habit. The two men faded away like shadows. Instinctively, the captain reached for the grip of the sword that was not at his waist.

'A pox on them! Where is the trap in all this?'

His question was pointless, echoing through the empty room. There was no answer. As he strode toward the door, he remembered the slaughterer's knife he carried in his bootleg. He bent down and pulled it out, gripping it firmly, awaiting the attack of the executioners who, he was sure, were waiting for him.

But none came. He was inexplicably alone in the room dimly illuminated by the rectangle of moonlight falling through the window.

I do not know how long I waited outside, blending into the darkness, motionless behind the carriage guard on the corner post. I clutched the captain's cape and weapons closer, to borrow a little warmth from them—I was wearing only my doublet and hose when I ran after the coach of Martin Saldana and his catchpoles—and stood there a long while, clenching my teeth to keep them from chattering. Finally, when neither the captain nor anyone else came out of the house, I began to be concerned. I could not believe that Saldana had murdered my master, but in that city at that time, anything was possible. The idea truly alarmed me. When I looked closely I thought I could see a sliver of light escaping through one of the windows, as if someone were inside with a lamp, but from where I stood it was impossible to verify. I decided, despite the danger, to try to get near enough to peek inside.

I was about to step into the open, when, in one of those strokes of fortune to which we sometimes owe our lives, I caught a glimpse of movement some distance away, in the entry to a neighboring house. It was only a flicker, but a shadow had moved as the shadows of motionless objects do when they become animate. Surprised, I swallowed my impatience and stood there, undecided, keeping my eyes glued to the spot. After a while, it moved again, and at that same moment, from across the small plaza I heard a soft whistle that sounded like a signal: a little tune, something like ti-ri-tu, ta-ta. When I heard that, the blood froze in my veins.

There must be at least two, I decided, after scrutinizing the shadows that covered the Gate of Lost Souls. One of them was hiding in the nearest entryway; that was the first shadow that had moved. The second, the one that had whistled, was farther away, covering the angle of the plaza that led to the wall of the slaughterhouse. There were three ways out, so for a while I concentrated on the third. Finally, when the clouds parted to reveal a crescent moon, I was rewarded: I made out a third dark shape, silhouetted against the moonlight.

The plan was clear, and boded ill for the captain, but I had no way to run the thirty steps to the house without being seen. I pondered these developments, and sat down and unrolled the cape, then placed one of the pistols on my knees. Its use was forbidden by edict of our lord and king, and I was well aware that if the law found me with them, my young bones would end up in a galley, and my youth would not excuse me. But, upon my word as a Basque, at that moment I did not give a fig. So, as I had watched the captain do so many times, I felt to see that the flint stone was in place, and trying to muffle the click with the cape, I pulled back the hammer to cock the pistol for firing. That one I stuck between my doublet and my shirt. I primed the second pistol, and waited with it in one hand and the captain's sword in the other. I put the now empty cape around my shoulders, and thus equipped, I continued my vigil.

I did not have long to wait. A light shone briefly in the enormous entry to the house, then was extinguished. I heard a carriage and turned to see it approaching from one of the exits of the small plaza. Along with it, I made out a black silhouette that entered the courtyard and for a brief instant consulted with two dark figures that had emerged from the house. The first shadow returned to its corner, and the other figures climbed into the carriage. As it started off, with its black mules and funereal coachman, it passed so close that it nearly brushed against me, then it rolled off into the darkness.

I did not have long to reflect upon the mysterious carriage. The sound of the mules' hooves was still echoing across the plaza when from the spot where the black silhouette was posted came another whistle, again that ti-ri-tu, ta-ta, and from the nearest corner the unmistakable sound of a sword being slowly drawn from its scabbard. Desperately, I prayed to God to part the clouds once more, and allow me to see. But it is a long way from thinking about the horse to saddling it. Our Supreme Maker must have been busy with other duties, because the clouds stayed where they were. I began to feel light-headed; everything around me was whirling. So I shed the cape and stood, meaning to run more quickly to the place where things were going to happen. That was when I saw Captain Alatriste come out into the courtyard.

Then everything happened with extraordinary speed. The shadow closest to me moved from its hiding place, starting toward Diego Alatriste at almost the same time I did. I held my breath as I followed it: one, two, three steps. At just that moment, God chose to shed his light on me, and parted the clouds. In the pale glow of the crescent moon I could clearly make out the back of a heavyset man moving forward with naked steel in his hand. I also saw the other two starting from their corners of the plaza. And as I held the captain's sword in my left hand