Montparnasse slides down from the roof, landing on his feet more gracefully than any Cat, and comes to stand in front of the gendarme. He glances at my face, his eyes resting for the merest second on my split lip before they travel back to the man before him. The gendarme pales.

I told him he’d regret it.

“I found Ettie,” I tell Montparnasse. He looks at me. If he suspects it was I who hid her in the first place, I can’t tell.

There’s a clattering of hooves on cold stone, and like a flustered knight arriving too late to rescue me, St. Juste swoops in on horseback.

“Nina!”

“St. Juste!” I cry, rushing to him. “The army—”

“I know,” he says shortly. “I rode through a regiment of them.”

He takes in the scene: me, the Ghosts, Montparnasse, and the empty carriage. “You’re all right? I was worried,” he says as he dismounts.

It is deeply unlike St. Juste to worry. He will brood obsessively, but not worry.

Gavroche reaches for the horse’s bridle, and St. Juste lets him take it. Foolish. That horse will feed the Ghosts’ pot for a month.

“I need to tell you—”

St. Juste takes in my split lip. “You’re hurt.”

I push him away, embarrassed—and conscious of Montparnasse’s gaze.

St. Juste looks around, frowning in confusion. “Weren’t there gendarmes?”

I try to look as blank as I can. St. Juste’s gaze wanders back to me and then settles on Montparnasse.

“You didn’t kill them, did you?”

I don’t have time for this. “St. Juste, I saw the army’s plans at the palace,” I say in a rush. “You must warn the others. You must call off the protests.”

His eyes snap to mine.

“It is as Orso warned,” I continue. “The revolution is compromised. The nobility know where you’ll be, and the army will be waiting to meet you.”

“Are you certain?” St. Juste asks, all his concern for me evaporated.

“I saw it in the palace. There’s a map of the city, just like yours, with marks for the positions of every cell of the Société.”

St. Juste knots his fingers and thinks. “Will you come with me? To explain it all to the others?”

I nod. “We don’t have much time.”

“But what about the gendarmes?” St. Juste asks.

I wink at Montparnasse. “Forget the gendarmes.”

36

A Little Fall of Rain

On the way across the city, Montparnasse leaves us, but Gavroche, my ever-silent shadow, remains. He takes my hand and stretches up to whisper in my ear.

“He has her,” is all he says.

My heart contracts.

Focus, Nina. It’s all part of the plan. Don’t think of Ettie now.

The City knows something is coming and lies silent, waiting. Like a cemetery, the streets are empty, wrapped in thick fog. All around there’s a metallic tenseness to the air, the breath drawn by the crowd before the hanging man steps off the platform.

Those Who Walk by Day cower behind their locked doors.