“I don’t need apologies,” I say, looking hard at him. “I need you to help me destroy another monster.”

He listens. They all listen. They hang on my every word as if their lives depend on it.

On my way out of the house I find Javert gagged and tied to the banister.

Gavroche is sitting on a step, watching her with satisfaction. Le Maire hovers uneasily nearby.

I give Javert my widest smile.

“Inspector,” I say. “Good news.”

She growls at me through the gag, which is good. I need her to be angry.

“I found Valjean.” I point at le Maire.

She throws him a look of such venom that it makes me pause, and leaning over to him, I whisper, “What exactly happened between the two of you?”

He averts his gaze, a flush rising on his neck.

I shrug and turn my attention back to Javert. Pasting a smirk on my face, I continue. “I’m sure the dauphin will soon be here with his great army, ready to cut down all who stand in their way.” I wave my hands dramatically. “But we’re moving on. If you want to find us, I leave our change of address here in this note.” I pin a piece of paper to her shirt. “We’ll all be there, won’t we, Valjean?”

I nudge him in the ribs and he looks thunderously at me.

I take one last look at Javert, trussed like a roasting chicken, and blow her a kiss.

“Do send my best regards to His Majesty.”

38

The Tiger’s Lair

The Tiger’s lair is a derelict dockmaster’s warehouse. Its windows are mostly broken or boarded up. To unsuspecting passersby, it looks empty.

We watch from across the road, hidden behind a crumbling wall, as a tall, nondescript figure walks straight up to the front door and knocks sharply. There’s no answer. He waits patiently. After some time, he knocks again. This time the door groans, opening with an ominous creak of warped wood. From our shelter we see that the tall man at the door is facing down the barrel of a gun.

He doesn’t move an inch, doesn’t raise his hands. A voice comes rasping from inside the warehouse, demanding to know what he wants.

The tall man’s voice is low but clear. It brooks no question and accepts no challenge.

“Guild of Letters,” he says. “I’m here to do an audit.”

The river is a haze of thick fog. A few grubbers still flit about the docks, searching for nails or other bits of metal to sell.

Two boats are tied up on the riverside by the Guild House. In the dimness, I can just see Loup and his Ghosts slip from a sewer grate. Loup begins to cut through one of the heavy ropes that keep the first vessel moored. Gavroche boards the boat and pours something onto the deck, then sets it aflame. He leaps off, and the Ghosts rush back into their hole.