“Deep enough to feel but not so obvious they’ll be seen,” Fletcher said.

The notches, Gemma had explained, would indicate where the nails holding the lid down were at. Barnabus and Gemma would use jemmy bars to pry the lids open from the inside, but they would do so in utter darkness. They’d not only waste time prying the lids if they didn’t know where they were secured, they also risked cracking the wood. Nothing could look amiss when the coffins were carried from the hearse to the chapel and then to the churchyard, or her family would spot it.

“And the jemmy bars?”

“Will be placed on your right side,” Fletcher said.

Gemma nodded and breathed and gave every indication of reassuring herself. Without every adjustment she had specified, it would be impossible to get out of the coffins without help. Kumar would not be able to stop the hearse to assist them without giving away the entire thing.

“What else?” Fletcher asked.

What else? Barnabus had all but memorized the list himself. So much depended on getting every detail correct.

“The crinoline barriers for placing over us in the casket?” Barnabus asked.

“All right-tight.” Fletcher nodded. “And the blanket to go atop them and the flowers for going atop that.”

Gemma motioned with her chin toward the small posy in a cup of water that Fletcher had brought with him. “We’ll need a far-sight more blooms than that.”

“There’ll be plenty,” Fletcher said. “It’s all arranged.”

Gemma tapped her lead pencil on the table nervously. “When the hearse reaches the church, if all’s not gone to bits, you and the other pallbearers will pull out coffins that look exactly like they did when you slid ’em inside. They’ll feel heavy on account of the sandbags—” Her eyes pulled wide.

“Kumar’ll have them waiting in the hearse for you,” Fletcher assured her.

Gemma checked that off her list. “The coffins’ll feel heavy as you carry them inside the church for the funeral. They’ll be watched; no chance they won’t.” She had attended a lot of funerals, very few of which she had actually been invited to. Some of the stories she’d told Baz of her childhood would haunt him the rest of his days.

“By the time you come back out, we’ll be out of the hearse and slipped off. Once Kumar signals it’s safe to do so, ’course.”

“Do you know where you’ll pike off to?” Fletcher asked.

“The Dread Master suggested we come back here first,” Barnabus said. “That’d give us time to fashion workable disguises and choose a final destination.”

Fletcher gave them a look that could not be interpreted as anything other than grief. “We’ll miss you two when you’ve hopped the twig. But you’ll be safe.”