She saw his foot rise, and remembered how he’d pinned her to the floor like a bug. At the last moment, she rolled sideways, and he lost his balance as his foot came down on thin air.

‘You little bitch,’ he swore. ‘Come here.’

But Camille was up on her knees, crawling into the maze of foundation pillars. Her pulse was hammering in her ears, sounding impossibly loud. The thought kept racing round her mind: he was going to hurt Ada.

She hid behind a broad pillar. She could hear Dorval crunching over the rubble, sniffing her out like a wolf cornering its prey.

Silently, she dodged between the pillars. Ahead she could see the pediment of the church front and the street. There were people there, the sound of hooves and cartwheels. If only she could get that far.

Then, like a cloud passing in front of the sun, Dorval appeared in front of her. She turned to run, but his arms were around her, squeezing the air out of her and making her ribs scream in pain. On instinct, she lifted her legs, throwing his centre of gravity suddenly and wildly off-balance, and the two of them went crashing to the ground. Camille scrabbled away bruised and breathless, but Dorval’s hands closed around her waist. She kicked back, making a satisfying crunch as her heel met his nose, but he doggedly kept his grip, dragging himself slowly up her body. Why had she given away her pistol? It was too stupid.

Blindly, she grasped around and felt her fingers close over a rock. His face reached hers, all hot breath and bloodshot eyes.

‘Fight as much as you want, girlie. Your betters will always win. It’s the way of the world—’ His jaw went slack. Eyes unfocused. A thin, viscous trail of blood seeped down his temple.

Camille drew back her hand, and the rock she had slammed into his head with a sickening crunch.

‘Wha—’ he slurred.

She brought the rock down again.

He grunted, and slumped, his body pinning her to the ground. Motionless.

Trembling, she dropped the rock and drew in desperate gulps of air. She wriggled out from under him. There wasn’t any time to let herself recover. Al needed her. Ada needed her. She had to keep moving.

Then as she drew herself up onto her hands and knees, a clammy hand closed over her wrist.

Dorval lurched up.

No, no – she scrabbled for the rock again. But then his grip released at the same moment as she felt the hum of electricity. She twisted, pulling painfully on her wound, and saw Olympe, bare hand outstretched. She’d electrocuted him.

James stood behind her, pistol drawn.

‘Not that I’m not grateful,’ she said, ‘but what are you doing here? I told you to stay with Guil. To be safe.’