‘I don’t think you’re taking me seriously, Citoyenne Laroche. You can stand up for this quaint notion of what’s right and kill the few people you have left. Or you can choose to keep them safe.’

Safe for how long? she thought, trying to catch her breath. They knew about Olympe, knew what she could do. How long would the battalion be allowed to live with that knowledge? And what had he said? They had no idea what terror was coming.

This wouldn’t end with handing Olympe over.

Whatever this was, it was only just starting.

He stepped back, straightening his waistcoat.

‘So what will you choose?’

16

The Locked Doors of the Théâtre Patriotique

A desperate mix of panic and despair and guilt paralysed Ada at the top of the stairs.

‘Can you pick the lock?’ asked Al.

‘I – I don’t know. I need space to work.’

She could see children in the crowd, some held aloft by their parents. They were the only ones who could draw breath to cry. The smoke would silence them too, soon enough.

They had to do something. They had to try.

‘I’m going back,’ she said. ‘I’ll find the keys. If we can pass the key down to someone…’

‘Ada – no – it’s suicide.’

‘I have to. I can’t let them all die.’

‘And setting yourself on fire is going to help how?’

‘What’s your plan, then?’ she retorted, breaking off into a cough that racked her body.

Al cast around, coughing from the smoke pouring in from the auditorium and rubbing grit from his eyes. Ada could feel the heat beneath her feet. The flames were coming.

‘Smash a window,’ he said. ‘Drop down to the street. Better a broken leg than a roasting.’

She looked at him, eyes wide with dismay.

‘What about the people?’

‘If they’re smart, they’ll follow us.’

‘Until the stairs give way and they’re trapped. I know you’re not that callous, Al.’

‘What exactly is it you want me to do? Burn alongside them as a matter of principle? If I wanted a stupid and pointless death, I could have stayed with my family.’

Ada lost her train of thought. ‘Wait, what do you mean about your family? Aren’t they in Switzerland?’

‘I mean that I’m not bloody interested in dying today! And I don’t know why you are.’

He strode to the window and smashed it with his elbow. Ada couldn’t resist moving closer to the flow of fresh air. People had begun to gather outside – the smoke must be showing – and a tall, blond figure was making its way to the front. Ada frowned.

‘Is that—?’

‘James!’ yelled Al. ‘British guy!’

On the street below, James glanced round, confused – then looked up.

‘Aloysius! Adalaide!’ He waved.

‘What are you doing here?’ called Al, half-hanging out of the window.