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Chapters (86)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Contents
  7. Paris, June 1794
  8. PART ONE
  9. 1
  10. 2
  11. 3
  12. 4
  13. 5
  14. 6
  15. 7
  16. PART TWO
  17. 1
  18. 2
  19. 3
  20. 4
  21. 5
  22. 6
  23. 7
  24. 8
  25. 9
  26. 10
  27. 11
  28. 12
  29. PART THREE
  30. 1
  31. 2
  32. 3
  33. 4
  34. 5
  35. 6
  36. 7
  37. 8
  38. 9
  39. 10
  40. 11
  41. 12
  42. 13
  43. 14
  44. 15
  45. 16
  46. 17
  47. PART FOUR
  48. 1
  49. 2
  50. 3
  51. 4
  52. 5
  53. 6
  54. 7
  55. 8
  56. 9
  57. 10
  58. 11
  59. PART FIVE
  60. 1
  61. 2
  62. 3
  63. 4
  64. 5
  65. 6
  66. 7
  67. PART SIX
  68. 1
  69. 2
  70. 3
  71. 4
  72. 5
  73. 6
  74. 7
  75. 8
  76. 9
  77. 10
  78. 11
  79. 12
  80. 13
  81. 14
  82. Postscript
  83. A Ship in Le Havre Port
  84. Acknowledgements
  85. About the Author
  86. About Zephyr

They stood back to back, gun and knife poised as more guards advanced – when the horses leading the tumbrils behind them reared with a whinny, iron shoes flashing. The crowd shrieked. The rest of the horses spooked at the noise and the guards grabbed at their reins and fell under kicking hooves. Another shout went up from the crowd and Camille glanced at the tumbrils. For a moment, it looked as if the rearing horses had broken apart the carts as they kicked and bucked in the harness – then she realised what she was seeing. The back of the last tumbril had been unlatched, and the prisoners, unchained, were pouring from the cart. Camille grabbed Al’s arm and pulled him off the scaffold. Prisoners had flooded the square scattering this way and that. Two of the horses had broken free and were bolting through the crowd.

Cam and Al dug their way through the swarm of people, all elbows. But now the vizard marked Camille out. A hand snagged in her collar and she hissed and twisted like a cat. Another hand hooked Al’s arm and he cursed in despair.

‘Say nothing,’ said a familiar voice.

Guil, in his soldier’s uniform, had his hands on them both. Wordlessly, he marched them out of the chaos. Camille’s heart was hammering, willing no one to look at them as they passed between stalls selling nuts and oranges and souvenirs of the executions.

Then Guil was pulling them sideways down a flight of steps to the riverbank. They slithered on slimy steps and ducked under the bridge’s arch.

Al swore a stream.

‘Cutting it a bit bloody fine, don’t you think?’

‘Lovely to see you too,’ snapped Camille, but she was grinning.

‘Be quick,’ said Guil, stripping off his uniform jacket and bicorn hat and handing them to Al. ‘Put those on.’

He complied, still shaking with adrenaline. Camille untied her vizard, tucking it back inside her coat and untying her hair so it fell loose around her face. Once their clothes were swapped, Guil disappeared as quickly as he’d come.

‘Come on.’ She reached for Al’s hands. ‘We’re not safe yet.’

14

The Abandoned Cordeliers Convent

Ada wondered how many times she could throw up from anxiety before her body was done. She’d fired her crossbow bolt as planned, watched Comtois tumble off the scaffold, watched Camille and Al run, seen Guil unlock the tumbrils to release the prisoners. She’d thrown up once before Cam had jumped on the scaffold and once after she’d launched herself back into the crowd. The waiting was the worst. Waiting and not knowing.