Ada shook her head. ‘No. We side with the people who never asked for this violence. The innocent people caught in the middle.’

‘I created the battalion to rescue people like my parents,’ explained Camille. ‘Innocent people sentenced to death by an inhuman system. I asked Ada and Guil and Al to help me because I’d known them before – Ada and Guil from the political clubs, and my father had been Al’s family’s lawyer. I knew they were people I could trust, and people who would understand why we needed to do whatever we could to help make things right.’

‘As long as they can pay,’ added Al, taking another sip of his drink. ‘I want it on record that I’m only in it for the money. And spite. Not so easy for all my family’s aristocrat friends to pretend I don’t exist when they have to beg me for help.’ He smiled, cold and cat-like.

‘That’s not true – it’s not about the money.’

‘Oh, really? When’s the last time we did anything free, gratis and for nothing?’

Ada bit her lip. ‘I mean, we do have to eat…’ she started but trailed off. It sounded hollow even to her.

Olympe pushed a lump of stewed liver around her plate, before abandoning it. ‘But I don’t understand. What do the Royalists want with me?’

‘I was hoping you could tell us that,’ replied Camille. ‘Start from the beginning. In your cell you said you had lived in the country before they took you to the prison. With your mother.’

Olympe nodded. ‘Yes, with Maman – and the medical men. They were our only visitors. They…’

She paused, fingers twisting together in her lap. Ada didn’t know how she could look so much like a demon and a nervous child at once. Maybe she was both.

Camille gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Anything you can tell us could help us.’

Olympe took a deep breath and started again. ‘The medical men – they did experiments on me to see what I can do. Often things that hurt. They said they had been studying me since before I was born. Comtois is the one who came the most, in recent years. The others… I’m sorry, I don’t remember them well. The things they did… It is difficult to make myself think about it. Their faces all blur. I think I don’t want to remember them.’

‘What do you mean, what you can do?’ asked Al. ‘Why on earth would someone be studying you?’

Olympe looked at Camille, who nodded.

‘Keep it subtle,’ she said, glancing at the other patrons.

Slowly, Olympe peeled off one glove and held her hand out to the coffee pot. Blue sparks leaped from her fingertips, crackling over the metal surface. Within seconds, steam was whistling from the spout as the water boiled.