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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

‘He tried to create somethi— Someone like you before and failed. Every time. Until you came along. Maybe what you can do isn’t down to him. Maybe it’s down to you.’

Olympe was on edge with tension, but before she could speak, something clattered outside in the courtyard.

Ada froze.

The noise came again, someone stumbling over the cobbles and crashing into the crates.

Silently, she laid a hand on Olympe’s arm and drew her into the shadows. Her heart was too loud in her ears. She scanned the room for another exit – there was a door at the back of the chapel. A set of shelves had been stacked in front of it.

The person was at the door now, struggling with the stiff latch. Ada pushed Olympe behind her. She had put down her knife when they’d started digging through the room, and now several metres separated her from it. She was an idiot.

Shaking, she picked up the forceps that had been used as a paperweight. A poor weapon, but better than nothing.

With a curse, the door was shoved open.

Ada raised the forceps.

Al stepped inside, blinking against the gloom.

‘Jesus Christ, I’ve walked into a Hieronymus Bosch painting.’ He stared aghast at the two bodies splayed open.

‘Who?’ asked Olympe.

‘An odd man with a penchant for painting – oh, never mind.’

Ada sagged.

‘Al, don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’

‘Sneak up on people in the middle of a…’ She looked around at the pickled organs and rotting corpses. ‘Well, this.’

‘I didn’t know you were in here, did I?’

‘That’s a good point, where were you?’

‘Busy. Thought I’d catch you up and see if you needed the services of a handsome young rake.’

‘But how did you get in? That climb was hard enough with help.’

‘Climb? Front door, dear girl. Big thing with hinges. Walked right through it. You should try next time.’

Ada rubbed her eyes. She didn’t know what was going to get her first, death by misadventure or nervous collapse.

Al sidled between the dissection benches, wrinkling his nose.

‘Where’s our glorious leader?’

‘Investigating the rest of the place with Guil. But I think I’ve found everything we need here. We should go.’

She slid her notes out of the papers and into her pocket.

With the smell of death lingering in their clothes, the three of them left the chapel – and ran headlong into Camille barrelling out of another door, Guil close behind.

‘Cam! What’s going on?’

Her hair was flying loose around her face, cheeks pink with exertion and eyes glassy bright.

‘Abort mission – we’re not alone.’

‘What?’

‘No time – for god’s sake, run!’

But it was too late.

11

The Chapel