Al dug around in the supplies stashed in the crypt and brought back a length of cloth and a piece of old bone. There were plenty of bones to choose from, scattered around the floor of the crypt. It was cramped and dark, lit only by window slits near the ceiling that cast a dim light on the moss-covered flags and empty alcoves in the walls where once femurs and ribs and skulls had been piled. They had bundles of supplies stashed between the broken flagstones, Ada’s crossbow wrapped in oilcloth, old clothes and masks for disguises, and a few medical odds and ends from patching each other up.

James fed the fabric around the top of Guil’s thigh, using the bone to twist the cloth tighter and tighter until Ada felt the flow of blood stem. But they couldn’t fit a tourniquet around the injury to his side. She stuffed the wound with rags, pressing both hands down in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

‘Don’t let go.’ James pushed a hand through his hair, leaving a red smear across his forehead.

‘We need a doctor,’ said Ada.

‘No,’ said Camille. ‘No one can know where we are. It’s not safe.’

‘And letting Guil bleed to death is?’

Camille stared her down.

Ada felt his blood, hot and slippery on her fingers. ‘There’s been enough death already today—’

‘It’s not safe—’

‘I’m a doctor,’ cut in James. ‘I mean, I’m training to be one. Let me help.’

Camille nodded.

James’s eyes were too wide, too wild, as he cast around the room. ‘I need a needle and thread. Something to sew up the wound.’

Al and James went digging and Ada found herself alone with Guil, looking at the mess that used to be his thigh and side.

Camille had sunk to the floor wheezing, eyes closed. Olympe was pacing the crypt, the dirt and ash on her cheeks stained with tears.

‘Found something.’ James reappeared with a slender needle and spool of white cotton thread. His hands shook as he threaded the needle. ‘It’s supposed to be a curved needle but it’ll have to do.’

Al held up a flickering candle stub to light him as he worked.

‘Show me.’

Carefully Ada lifted her hands, feeling the torn flesh move unnaturally. James cursed under his breath.

A muscle twitched in James’s jaw as he made the first stitch.

As Al held the light steady, Ada pressed the two lips of the cut together so James could stitch a neat line, first along Guil’s thigh, then more sloppily snagging together the edges of the tear in his side. For a moment she felt as if she was lighter than air, floating in the hot air balloon again up, up, up out of the coppery smell of blood and panic.

A blue spark caught her eye.