“I don’t like corpses,” says Grantaire with a hiccup.

“It is certain that the water is contaminated,” Feuilly cautions. “We are now trying to isolate the sickness, discover its origin, so that we can work toward a cure. One need only look where the death toll is the highest to know that the contaminants are isolated to the water systems in the poorest parts of the city.”

“While the fountains of the nobility run pure,” St. Juste says in a flinty voice.

My insides freeze. I think of what Loup said about the plague doctors, and of the piles of bodies near the Fontaine du Diable; of the poor and the servants alike, lining up to draw water from the well.

I look at Ettie, who was snatched by the shadow before she was able to take a sip from the water pouch. But how many others have drunk of this water? How many of the ten dead Ghosts?

St. Juste leans over one of the smallest corpses. He gently takes the mottled blue hand and places it on the boy’s chest, closes his staring eyes. Then he turns.

“This is the world we live in, my friends,” he says, his voice hard. “How much longer shall we sit by and let this continue? How many more citizens shall we watch them cut down?”

His hands ball into fists at his side, and his words are greeted with subdued nods from his friends. As if noticing my complete lack of response to his speech, he turns blazing eyes toward me.

“The last time I saw you, you had me arrested by the gendarmes.”

“It is good to see you too, St. Juste.”

He frowns darkly at me, and taking my arm, he drags me down the street by my elbow. Ettie watches me from a distance with a look that says, Are you in danger, or is he getting romantic? The glint in her eye shows that she thinks it’s the latter. I sigh. Ettie is hopeless.

“Now, now, St. Juste,” I say, “there’s no need to get intimate—or do me grievous bodily harm.”

He ignores my quips and holds me pinned tight by both arms.

“And after they arrested me, I was questioned for hours. It was three days before they finally released me.”

I wince. I’d hoped they wouldn’t keep him quite so long.

“You said you were in my debt, but you stole my pistol the first time I met you and had me arrested the second.”

I loosen one of my arms from his grip and reach into my skirts. Reluctantly I pull out his pistol; it’s one of my favorite things, covered in intricate gold scrollwork. “I’m sorry?” I offer as I hand it to him.

His eyes burn into me as he takes it. “The only reason I’m speaking to you now is that I recognize that you are a young woman of considerable enterprise and skill.”

I frown, unused to his flattery.

“Do you know what I thought about for those three interminable days when I was stuck in the Châtelet? Aside from wondering if they were going to execute me for my name?”