The Châtelet Apprentice Read Online Free Page B

and the faubourg passing through.’ The archway was the favourite haunt of thieves and fake beggars who lay in wait for passers-by under its solitary vault. He entered it cautiously, but only came across a water carrierand some day labourers going towards Place de Grève to find work.
    He reached the market of Saint-Jean via Rue de la Tissanderie and Place Baudoyer. It was, so his mentor had told him, the largest in Paris after Les Halles; he would recognise it by the fountain in its centre, near the guardhouse, and by the many people who came to collect water from the Seine.
    Accustomed to the good-natured orderliness of provincial markets, here Nicolas had to force his way through total chaos. All the goods were piled higgledy-piggledy on the ground, except for the meat, which was on special slabs. In the warm autumn air the smells were strong, foul even, around the fish stalls. He found it hard to believe that there could be markets bigger or busier than this one. The space for the stallholders was very cramped and it was almost impossible to move around, but this did not prevent horse-drawn vehicles from driving through, threatening to crush anything in their path. People were haggling and arguing and from the accents and the clothes he realised that many peasants from the nearby countryside came here to sell their produce.
    Carried first one way then the other by the crowd, Nicolas went around the market three or four times before finding Rue Sainte-Croix-de-la-Bretonnerie. This street led him without mishap to Rue des Blancs-Manteaux where, between Rue du Puits and Rue du Singe, he found Commissioner Lardin’s residence.
    He hesitated and gazed at the three-storey house, bordered on either side by gardens protected by high walls. He raised the knocker, which produced a dull echo inside as it struck the door. The door half opened to reveal the face of a woman wearing awhite mob cap, a face so wide and chubby that it seemed to be the continuation of a huge body, the top half of which was squeezed into a red jacket. This was framed by two arms, similarly proportioned to the rest, which dripped with washing suds.
    â€˜What do you want?’ asked the woman, with a strange accent that Nicolas had never heard before.
    â€˜I’ve come to deliver a letter from Monsieur de Sartine to Commissioner Lardin,’ said Nicolas, who immediately bit his lip, realising he had played his trump card rather too soon.
    â€˜Give me.’
    â€˜I must give it in person.’
    â€˜No one at home. Wait.’
    She slammed the door shut. All that remained for Nicolas was to show the patience that, as his own experience had confirmed, was the main virtue needed in Paris. Without daring to move away from the house he walked up and down, examining the surroundings. On the opposite side of the road, where there was an occasional passer-by, he glimpsed buildings, a monastery or a church, hidden amidst tall, bare trees.
    He sat down on the front steps of the house, tired out by his morning’s expedition. His arm was numb from carrying his bag and he was hungry, since all he had eaten that morning in the refectory of the Carmelites was some bread dipped in soup. A nearby bell was chiming three o’clock when a sturdily built man, wearing a grey wig and leaning on a cane very like a cudgel, curtly asked him to make way. Guessing who this was, Nicolas stepped aside, bowed and began to speak:
    â€˜I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but I’m waiting for Commissioner Lardin.’
    Two blue eyes stared at him intently.
    â€˜You’re waiting for Commissioner Lardin? Well, I’ve been waiting for a certain Nicolas Le Floch since yesterday. Would you know him by any chance?’
    â€˜That’s me, Monsieur. As you can see …’
    â€˜No explanations …’
    â€˜But …’ stammered Nicolas, holding out Sartine’s letter.
    â€˜I know better than you do what orders the Lieutenant General of