Elisabeth shrugged, squinting across the bright blue ocean, a hand over her eyes against the glare, towards a small dark smudge on the horizon. She’d turned just then and looked out and there it was, as though it had called to her. ‘Is that a ship?’ she said.

THE GUILLOTINE

The Anne-Laure was brought in under escort and dropped anchor about a mile out from the settlement. Everybody then waited onboard for what seemed an excessively long time before they were allowed to disembark. Even the Portuguese lieutenant began to pace the deck and grumble at his men.

‘Signal them again!’ he said.

‘Yes, sir!’

Bureaucratic matters were eventually resolved and a launch sailed Elisabeth and Christophe into the Cayenne docks. (Captain Mènard had kissed her vigorously. ‘My best sailor! Goodbye!’) The water was choppy and splashed over the bow, drenching Elisabeth’s dress down her left side. Ahead of them, Cayenne was cut into dense green forest that stretched out endlessly around it. Already, its humid, heavy presence could be felt, even inside the cool threading of sea breezes.

A man by the name of Dr Antoine Girodet was waiting for them. He introduced himself and apologised for the lack-lustre welcome.

‘We have been defeated and occupied,’ he said, ‘and our administration has succumbed to its habitual indifference, only more so. It’s the weather, you see.’ He turned to Elisabeth. ‘I’m sorry for the loss of your général, Mademoiselle.’

‘Do you know where they’ve taken him?’

‘Where? No.’

Elisabeth narrowed her eyes at Girodet. He was olive-skinned, with dark unruly hair, young and handsome (she admitted it, though there was something about him that she immediately didn’t like). ‘No,’ she said, echoing him softly.

‘Wait!’ Girodet suddenly said, calling out over her shoulder and making Elisabeth jump. ‘Is that the blade?’

Behind Elisabeth, sailors were unloading crates from another launch that had come from the Anne-Laure. Girodet walked quickly towards them. He spoke with the sailors and then pointed to a nearby cart. Elisabeth saw two Indians (she thought they must be) standing in front of it, shoulders harnessed like horses and naked except for barely covered loins. Their flat, red-brown faces were blank, inscrutable. She thought they looked like children.

Girodet directed the sailors among the items unloaded from the launch. They eventually carried over a large flat crate and two smaller ones, as well as a few long lengths of dark timber. They stacked everything into the cart and then the doctor slipped them a bottle of rum.

‘Who is this Dr Girodet?’ Elisabeth said.

Christophe had sat down on one of their trunks (the heat was unbelievable) and removed his coat. ‘We’ll find out, I suppose.’

Dr Girodet came back to them, his sweaty face bright with excitement. ‘We can walk,’ he said. ‘It’s not far. You can put your luggage in the cart.’

‘Walk where?’ Elisabeth said.