The morning after James’s arrival, the battalion had ventured out to the Théâtre Patriotique, where they were scheduled to meet one of Al’s contacts. They had three days to come up with a plan. Olympe had taken some persuading to leave the safety of the rooms over the Au Petit Suisse and Ada had agreed it was better for them to stay behind rather than run the risk of another encounter with the Royalists or Revolutionaries. But Guil had pointed out that even the best-run army needed some occasional rest and relaxation to keep morale up and now the gang was squished in to watch the matinee variety performance, carefully hidden from sight of the rest of the audience.

Camille had had little patience when Olympe resisted.

‘I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for this. If we’re going to have any chance of getting you out of here, you need to get used to the world again, and quickly. I understand it’s a big risk, but it’s a bigger risk to be unprepared.’ She had held Olympe’s gaze. ‘You’ve survived far worse than this.’

‘But if Docteur Comtois sees us…’

‘Don’t make yourself a new prison. You can’t spend your life hiding.’

‘No. But—’

‘If we see any sign of him – or the Royalists – we’ll go. Okay?’

Olympe had reluctantly agreed and sat deep in thought while Ada painted her in a thick layer of powder, and dressed her in gloves, a stiff, washed-out pink caraco jacket with long sleeves, and a shawl to cover her neck. She’d finished the outfit with a broad-brimmed hat and lace veil to hide Olympe’s eyes. The outing would serve as a trial run to see if they could smuggle her through the city unnoticed. So far, the disguise was just about holding.

Only James had volunteered to stay behind after Camille had shot him a particularly vicious look. Ada couldn’t deny she was pleased. She wanted James to know he wasn’t welcome. To keep her family to herself.

The automaton was being wheeled off to be replaced by a dancing dog who spoke French, Latin and German.

Guil frowned at the playbill. ‘I am quite sure I saw the exact same line up at the Gaîeté last month.’

Beside him, Al yawned and popped a segment of orange into his mouth. ‘Populist tosh. Far more entertaining if he got some of the schoolboy aristos from Louis-le-Grand to try to wash their own socks.’

‘The audience seems to enjoy it,’ said Guil.

‘People will watch anything. They turned out in their hundreds to watch the Opera burn. And the riot at the Théâtre de la Nation last week, most popular event since the king had his head lopped off.’