Marius shrugged. ‘There’s a blue cross on the box... that means they are a poison gas ... it makes you choke, sneeze and cough if you haven’t a gas mask on.’

‘Nice.’ Aimee snorted. ‘So we wouldn’t have been blown apart in our sleep, we’d just have been gassed?’

‘They are safe until you pull the pin out,’ the boy said as he took three bombs from the box and stuffed them into his backpack.

‘What are you doing?’ Aimee demanded.

Marius explained. ‘When Sergeant Grimm was chasing us...’

‘What do you mean? When? For all we know he could still be chasing us. He could be waiting outside,’ the girl raged.

Marius smiled quietly. ‘And what will he do?’

‘Take his backpack away then shoot us.’

‘And how will we defend ourselves?’

‘We can’t. We have no weapons and you can’t fire a gun and... Oh, I see,’ Aimee said, her voice falling away as she felt foolish.

Marius nodded. ‘I tell him the plans are in this pack. I reach in and pull the pin. I hand the bag to him... slowly. Five seconds after the pin comes out the gas bursts from the bag. If I time it right it’ll blow just as he opens the bag. He’ll be blinded and choking for days.’

‘And if you time it wrong he shoots us,’ Aimee said bleakly.

‘He’s going to shoot us anyway. At least this way we have a chance.’

Marius fastened the bag and they set off to Madame Clare’s wagon. She was waiting for them and looking as cross as ever. ‘Hitch up Daisy, boy,’ she said to Marius. ‘And you, girl, light the paraffin stove and make me some acorn coffee. It’s awful stuff but better than nothing. I’ve had my breakfast,’ she said. ‘The innkeeper found me some fresh eggs on toasted white bread. It cost me my last penny, of course, but it may get me through till lunchtime.’

‘Don’t worry about us,’ Aimee said sweetly as she lit the small tin stove. ‘We caught a rat and ate it. All except the tail. It should get us through till Christmas.’

‘When we get to Hirson my gardener should have this summer’s crop of vegetables stored safely in the pantry and meat in the ice house. If you work hard for me you’ll eat well.’

‘Oh thank you.’ Aimee sighed. ‘We are like Hansel and Gretel, lost and alone. And you are the owner of the gingerbread house, come to our rescue.’

‘I am,’ Madame Clare said... forgetting that the gingerbread house was owned by a witch.