A Plague of Lies by Judith Rock Page A

bleeding,
mon père
? It’s the soul of medicine! It will rid him of whatever is making him sick.”
    “Or whatever has poisoned him,” La Chaise said grimly. “Do you know where the Comte de Fleury ate his dinner yesterday? At the table of the Duc de La Rochefoucauld.”
    Le Picart frowned. “Fleury? Oh, yes, the poor man you told us about, who fell downstairs yesterday.” He shook his head at La Chaise. “But what you say is absurd. Who would want to poison Père Jouvancy? He hasn’t been at court since before he joined the Society.”
    La Chaise simply looked at his companions one by one. Charles felt himself go cold, because he saw fear in La Chaise’s eyes.
    “How do you feel,
mes pères
?” he said softly. “And you, Maître du Luc?”
    No one spoke. Charles was sure the others were checking their bodies’ feelings as carefully as he was.
    “Père Le Picart, Père Montville, come with me,” La Chaise said. “I will show you where you will stay tonight.” He looked at Charles. “And then I will bring a doctor. Just know that gossipwill spread like fire through the palace, true or not, if a doctor comes.”
    The three priests went out through the antechamber, and the gallery door shut heavily behind them. In the quiet they left behind, Charles breathed deeply and tried to get hold of himself. Jouvancy was still sleeping. At least, he looked as though he were sleeping… Charles bent over him, listened to his breathing, and straightened, reassured. But as he straightened, his stomach roiled and sweat broke out on his face. He got up and walked to the window.
Why would anyone poison
me? he thought, feeling his bowels go watery with fear.
I’m no one, I know no one, I just got here. And I’m not ill, it’s just seeing Père Jouvancy like this. And the travel, the strain of being here, the—
he cast about for something for it to be.
The water
, he told himself,
water often causes stomach upset, I’m used to Paris water now
. The familiar acerbic voice in him said back,
So you’re used to water straight out of the Seine, but the water here has undone you?
Charles went to the copper fountain in the anteroom, thinking that a drink would help settle his insides. But he put the glass down untasted. If someone
had
poisoned them, the poison might be in the fountain. He picked up the glass again and held it to the light beginning to stream through the west-facing window.
    As he looked into the innocently clear water, his fear conjured the face of Madame de Maintenon, her deceptively madonna-like eyes gazing coolly at him. The king’s wife might dislike Jesuits, but surely not to the point of poisoning them.
Oh, no?
the acid-tongued voice said.
Have you never heard of queens ridding themselves of inconvenient people? Not by their own hands, of course…
The door opened behind him, and he turned so quickly that he dropped the glass, which shattered and sprayed water everywhere.
    “
Maître?
Forgive me, I didn’t mean to scare you.” The footman Bouchel stood in the doorway to the antechamber, carryingtwo wooden buckets and looking in bewilderment from Charles to the glass shards and water on the parquet.
    “I—I was—yes, never mind.” Charles looked over his shoulder and saw, to his relief, that Jouvancy still slept.
    “I’ll clean that up,
maître
, after I fill the fountain.”
    Bouchel turned back into the antechamber and Charles heard him set down the buckets and take the cover off the copper reservoir. Water gushed as both buckets were emptied into it, and then the cover clanged shut. Bouchel reappeared with a towel over his hand and went toward the bed.
    Charles’s body acted without his brain’s cooperation and he launched himself toward the bed and stood at bay between Bouchel and Jouvancy. The footman’s brown eyes opened wide, and he kept one eye on Charles as he picked up glass and put it carefully on the towel. Then Jouvancy roused, retching direly, and for the next few minutes Charles