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Back Dangerous Remedy
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

‘No promises.’ She smiled, then disappeared down the stairs and out into the city.

8

An Abbey in the Faubourg Saint Martin

The knife jimmied through the crack in the window frame, catching the latch and jerking it round until it popped free. A hand levered the blade, edging the sash up until there was a gap wide enough for fingers. In a flurry of dust and peeling paint, the window was yanked open and Ada toppled through.

‘Ow.’ She picked herself up off the floor where she’d barely avoided sticking herself with the knife and failed to miss landing on a broken chair. Leaning out of the window she called down to the rest of the battalion. ‘It’s clear.’

One by one, Camille, Guil and Olympe hauled themselves through the window into the attic room. Al was absent. He hadn’t been back by the time they needed to leave. Camille had frowned, tapping her forefinger against the barrel of her pistol, but ordered them to go on without him.

They’d followed Léon’s directions to an abandoned abbey outside the Porte Saint Martin. Only deserted a few years earlier when the Church had been stripped of its status, weeds were already proliferating, tiles were slipping off the roof and the ranks of empty windows were grimy. A handful of buildings lined the road out of Paris through the Faubourg Saint Martin, and opposite lay the empty market ground of the closed St Laurent Fair. Fields planted with stunted wheat and market gardens of cress and cabbage spread behind the abbey grounds. Not a soul was in sight, save the silhouette of a carriage retreating in the distance. A short but awkward climb had brought them to the eaves, where they found their way inside.

‘They cleaned this place out before they left,’ said Ada, stepping over the wrecked chair that was the only thing in the dusty room.

‘All church assets were sold to support the war,’ replied Guil. ‘Even the chamber pots.’

A door led to a landing and a flight of rickety stairs.

Silent, dim, musty.

‘What are you hoping to find?’ asked Olympe, bringing up the rear.

‘Leverage. Blackmail material. A weak spot. Anything that puts us in control. The duc is as vulnerable as us in this mess. He’s more frightened of the Revolutionaries than we are – how can he be sure we won’t betray him to the National Guard? He can’t. Maybe that’ll make him more willing to negotiate and sod off and leave us alone.’

‘Are you quite sure this is the correct place?’ Guil peered over the bannister.

Cam slid her pistol from her belt. ‘Let’s find out.’