by Shana Galen
Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought the pain and exhaustion. She could not give up. If she failed, the mission failed. She would not have the king’s death on her conscience. Alex began to climb again, gritting her teeth and closing her eyes against the sting of tears and sweat burning her eyes.
Pull. Slide. Pull. Slide.
She concentrated on the rhythm, ignoring everything else.
Pull. Slide. Pu—
Her hand slid back down the drainpipe, and she fought to prevent her body from sliding down as well. She clenched the pipe tightly with her knees, then pulled her hand back to wipe away the slick wetness on her coat. The scent of blood was tangy in her nostrils. The skin of her palms had split and the blood mixed with the dirt she’d used to keep her flesh dry. She replaced the bloody palm and began to climb again. But this time the other slipped and she lost her grip, arching back into the cool air of the night.
Alex made the mistake of looking down. It was a long, long fall.
“VERY WELL,” TRISTAN said, turning away from the captain of the guard. The man had made his decision, and Tristan could not force his way in. There were a dozen guards around him. He would lose.
But one thing was clear. The captain of the guard had not yet been told that Tristan was a traitor. Perhaps Robespierre wasn’t yet certain of that. But if the guard had been told of the republic’s suspicions, he would have tried to keep Tristan there rather than send him away.
“I shall fetch Robespierre and return as soon as possible,” Tristan said as he walked away, speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry back to the captain. “He will not be pleased to be taken away from his dinner, but when I explain his written orders are no longer good enough—”
Tristan could hear the murmur of voices behind him. The men clearly did not relish a meeting with Robespierre. Tristan could hardly fault them. When Robespierre was present, heads tended to roll.
“Citoyen,” the captain called.
Tristan stopped.
“I did not say Citoyen Robespierre’s orders were not sufficient. I merely said that Citoyen Simon does not allow the boy visitors without his presence.”
Tristan did not turn around. “And so I take it Citoyen Simon’s wishes trump Citoyen Robespierre’s.”
“No, of course not.” The captain was before Tristan now, his expression all amicability. “There is no need to interrupt Robespierre. If you are willing to wait for just a little while, Citoyen Simon will return—”
“No.” Tristan gestured to the darkening sky. “The curfew will be in effect soon. If I wait, I will be breaking it. I don’t have to tell you, Captain, the importance of following the rules of our new republic. They are intended for the safety of every citizen.” He sincerely hoped the captain didn’t point out that if Tristan fetched Robespierre and returned, then he’d still be breaking the curfew.
The captain glanced at his men and lowered his voice. “I would only ask you keep this to yourself. If Citoyen Simon discovers what I have done, he will be most displeased.”
“I have no reason to speak to Antoine Simon of this.” He’d done it. He would be escorted inside. The mission was far from complete, but at least now it was underway. Tristan had to work to appear calm and to keep the smile from his face.
“You will be quick, citoyen?”
“Of course. As I said, I would like to be home long before the curfew.”
The captain blew out a breath. “Then follow me.”
Tristan entered the Temple through the same door he had before. The guards stationed throughout were alert and attentive. It would not be easy to slip the boy past them. Fortunately, that was not his task. As he climbed higher and deeper into the Temple, he thought of Alexandra scaling the outside wall and hoped she had already made it to the top. He could only stall the captain so long before the man would be suspicious.
Finally, the captain reached the level where the boy was imprisoned. As before two guards stood outside the boy’s door.
“How is he?” the captain asked.
“Quiet, sir,” one of the men replied.
“Would you like to see him?” the captain asked.
“I would.”
The captain gestured and one of the guards slid back the rectangular viewing plate. Tristan stepped forward and removed his notebook with the worn blue cover. “If you do not mind, I would like a few moments of privacy to make my notes.” Because he expected a protest, he said, “Captain, you may stay, but I would ask you to stand over there so as not to distract me.”
The guards looked at each other and then the captain, who nodded. “Take a short break.”
“Yes, sir.” The two men departed, and the captain leaned against the wall at the far end of the corridor.
Tristan peered through the opening in the door. The small, thin form of the boy lay on the pallet on the floor. He faced away from the door.
Tristan’s gaze slid to the padlock on the door. It would probably pose no real difficulty for Leroy, but Leroy needed to get inside.
Hurry, Alexandra, he thought as the moments flew by.
ALEX SHIFTED HER WEIGHT until she landed with a hard thud against the stone of the building, the drainpipe still clenched between her knees. Her head swam, and her heart pounded. That had been far closer than she would have liked. She didn’t know how long she had been at this, but she knew time was of the essence. She could afford no more close calls, no more errors. Taking the time to wipe the blood from her hands again, she grasped the drainpipe and began to climb.
Pull. Slide. Pull. Slide.
She muffled a cry of pain as a rough piece of metal stabbed at her skin, but she ignored it and continued to climb. She could see the wall of the walkway around the Temple roof now. Five feet, then four. Her arms shook and her muscles threatened to give in to fatigue. She fought the impulse and put every last ounce of strength into pulling herself up one more time. Then one more.
Her shaking hand grasped the stone wall. She had intended to use the drainpipe to climb over it and drop down, but she hadn’t counted on how hard the climb up would be. She feared if she didn’t take hold of the wall, she might never make it. She placed both hands on the edge of the wall and used her legs to push off the drainpipe and lever her body up. Her legs, though tired, were not as spent as her arms. She was able to hook her elbow over the wall, climb over, and tumble down onto her back.
The rampart was narrow, but she could lie on her side. She closed her eyes and took several breaths, then she climbed awkwardly to her feet. She didn’t want to use her aching hands. Keeping low, she began to run the length of the walkway, in the direction of the park, where Leroy and Montagne hid among the trees. By now, they would be in position and waiting for her to admit them. The barbican to the Temple was the opposite direction, and she hoped Tristan had made it inside.
Montagne had told her each turret had a door that opened onto the rampart. Then spiral stairs led down to landings where doors opened to the various levels. The turret stairs were old and dilapidated. It was more likely those inside the Temple would use the internal stairs between levels. Still, there was the chance she might come face-to-face with a guard coming up the stairs as she ran down. Alex removed the dagger from the sheath she’d tied to her belt and held it at the ready.
Ffoulkes wanted no interaction with any of the guards. He did not want them to know the boy was gone until morning, if at all possible. Once the boy’s escape was known, he would be pursued, and the gates to the city closed. It was imperative that the league was out of Paris before then.
Alex rushed down the stairs, narrowly avoiding rotting floorboards and scurrying mice. Fortunately, it did appear the stairs were rarely used. At the lowest level, she paused at the exit door. This door opened into a room used to store dry goods, like flour and potatoes. The cooks and maids should be gone for the day, but there was always a chance one had stayed a bit late to clean up or prepare for the following day.
Alex listened at the door for what
felt like an hour, but was probably only three or four minutes.
All was silent.
She sheathed her dagger again, lifted the latch, and pushed at the door. Montagne had warned her the door might squeal when opened or stick, as it was so rarely used. But when she pushed against it, nothing at all happened. The door would not move. Alex stepped back, but the only light she had filtered in from the arrow loops a few feet back and up.
She couldn’t tell if the door was locked or if she had not lifted the latch high enough. She tried again, and again the door did not budge. Montagne and Leroy were definitely in place now. Tristan was most likely inside. Everyone was waiting on her, and she couldn’t get the damn door open.
Throwing caution to the wind, Alex lifted the latch as high as she could and shoved her shoulder against the wooden door.
Nothing happened.
“HAVE YOU SEEN ALL YOU need to see?” the captain asked after Tristan had stood pretending to look through the viewing hole for several minutes. In reality, he was listening for any sound to indicate that Alex and Montagne had managed to move Leroy into position.
Not that the three of them in position would matter if the captain continued to stand guard over him. He needed Dewhurst.
“Another moment or two,” Tristan said, stalling. He put a hand to his chin and stroked it thoughtfully. He heard nothing in the turret that would indicate Montagne was leading Leroy to him. But then the point was for them to move silently.
“And now?” the captain asked after three or four minutes had passed.
“I...” Tristan didn’t know what to say. How many times could he ask for another moment?
“Sir!” One of the guards tromped up the stairs behind the captain. Merde. If the guards were returning to their posts, the league would have no chance.
“What is it?” the captain asked, turning.
“The wine merchant is here with the delivery.”
Dewhurst. Finally.
“Now?”
“Yes. Should I send him away?” The guard’s eyes flicked to Tristan, and Tristan hastily looked back at the cell door.
“No. Tell him to go around back.”
“He wants to be paid, Captain. He says if he isn’t paid right away, he’ll take it all back to the warehouse.”
The captain made a low noise in the back of his throat. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
The guard nodded and clomped back down the stairs. The captain gave Tristan an impatient look. “Are you quite ready, citoyen?”
“Not quite. If you don’t mind, I need just a few more minutes.”
The captain sighed. Clearly, he did mind. And clearly, he did not want to lose his monthly ration of wine.
“I will return in five minutes. Do not go anywhere else. Stay right here.”
Tristan waved an arm, dismissing the order. “I’ll be here when you return.”
The captain turned on his heel and rushed down the stairs. Immediately, Tristan went to the turret door and yanked it open. But no one waited there.
FIRST HER HANDS, NOW her shoulder. Alex blew out a breath and stepped back as far as she could from the door without losing her hold on the latch. She rammed the door with her shoulder, feeling a shock of pain reverberate through her, but also, thank God, feeling the door move slightly. Just to be certain she was not imagining things, she peered at the casement. Indeed, there was a sliver of space.
She rubbed her shoulder and rammed the door again. Then again. Finally, she was able to stick her head partway through. The room was empty, which was fortunate. Unfortunately, someone had placed a heavy crate in front of the door. She couldn’t tell what was inside, but whatever it held was heavy and solid.
Now that she had the door open slightly, she did not need to hold the latch. She leaned all of her weight on the door and felt the crate move slowly out of the way. Feeling she had lost far too much time, she squeezed out of the narrow opening in the door, banging her nose so that tears welled in her eyes.
She swiped them away and stood surveying the room. An image of Montagne’s map came to her. She faced the rear of the room and raced back to another stack of crates filled with potatoes and apples that would be taken into the cellar and stored. Using her body to push the crates aside, she cleared the edges of the cellar door. Apples fell from one of the crates, and she tried to catch as many as she could so they would not thud loudly on the floor. Then she pulled the cellar door open and Montagne and Leroy blinked up at her.
“About bloody time,” Montagne said.
Alex must have looked how she felt because the marquis held up a hand to ward off a blow. Alex moved back, and the marquis and the locksmith climbed out of the cellar. Montagne surveyed the room. He pointed to the turret door opposite the one she’d forced open. “We’ll take that one. Close the other and let’s go.”
“You close the other,” Alex hissed and moved toward the door opposite. Of course, this one had nothing blocking it and opened easily. She pulled out her dagger again and stepped inside. Montagne and Leroy were right behind her. They raced up the stairs, Alex breathing hard and feeling as though her legs would give way at any moment.
When they reached the top, the door was already open. Alex stopped short, causing Montagne to ram into her from behind. She spilled forward and fell at a pair of booted feet.
“I was worried,” Tristan said, helping her up. “The captain will be back any moment.”
“Then I had better get to work,” Leroy said, taking a roll of linen from his pocket and unfolding it on the floor. Tucked inside were the tools of his trade, assembled from supplies retrieved from the safehouse by Ffoulkes. Montagne lifted one of the torches from the sconces on the wall and shoved it in Alex’s hands.
“Hold this.” He went to the door of the cell and looked through the rectangular viewing window. A moment later he swore quietly.
“What is it?” Alex asked. “Is he not in there?”
Montagne’s face was grim. “He’s in there. Hurry, Leroy.”
Alex looked down at the metal tools Leroy had unrolled. He lifted a long straight object with a flat end and inserted it into the padlock. “A little more light, s’il vous plaît.”
Alex lowered the torch. Her gaze darted between Leroy’s efforts and Tristan, who stood in the shadows near the stairwell. “How long do we have?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. Dewhurst’s distraction worked, but the captain didn’t like leaving me.”
“I almost have it,” Leroy said. “Ce fils de salope is old and a bit rusty. But...”
Alex heard the snick as one of the pins gave way.
Montagne was pacing back and forth, which Alex wanted to point out was not at all helpful. If she hadn’t had to hold the torch, she probably would have been pacing as well.
“Leroy...” Montagne’s voice had an edge of warning in it. “If we’re caught, I doubt the mob will wait for the guillotine. We’ll be torn apart in the streets.”
“Shh!” Alex glared at him. But now that he’d seen the boy, Montagne was more agitated than ever. She supposed it was like a starving man who spots ripe fruit that’s hanging on a vine just out of reach. Still, every second felt like hours. She exchanged a look with Tristan, and though his eyes were wide with concern, his jaw was set. They would not leave Louis Charles behind. They would die first.
And the latter possibility was looking more and more likely as Leroy continued to wrestle with the padlock.
Then, to her surprise, the padlock snapped open, clanging loudly on the door. Leroy pulled it aside, and Montagne shoved the locksmith out of the way. They’d already decided Montagne would be the one to take the child out of his cell, but the marquis wasn’t waiting. He yanked the door open and went inside. Alex returned the torch to the wall and ran to Tristan. “Leave as soon as the captain returns. I hate that you must stay behind.”
“If I’m not here, the captain will be suspicious. The longer we keep the boy’s release a secret, the better.”
“I’m fine.” She clenched her hands into fists. “I just...I don’t know how...”
“Then don’t say adieu. We’ll meet again.”
“How? When?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t think that now I’ve found you, I’ll let you go.”
She stared at him. What was he saying? “Do you mean that—” She pressed her lips together as the sound of voices came from below stairs. “He’s returning?”
“Yes. Get Montagne and go.”
Alex hesitated only a second, trying to fix Tristan’s face in her memory. Then she ran to the cell and hissed, “Laurent! Now!”
The smell in the cell sent her reeling backward, which was for the best because the marquis emerged just then carrying a small bundle she knew must be the king, but that seemed far too small for a boy of eight. He had his head buried against Montagne’s shoulder and Montagne was murmuring to him in a reassuring tone. He went straight to the open door in the turret and started down the stairs.
Alex peered into the cell once again. Montagne was supposed to have made a bundle under the bedsheets to make it appear as though the king was sleeping. He’d either forgotten or couldn’t find any materials.
“He’s coming!” Tristan hissed.
“Leroy, your coat,” Alex ordered. Montagne and the king were away. If she was caught it would make it that much more difficult to take the king out of the country, but Montagne would not wait for her. Leroy pulled off his coat and handed it to her.
“I still have to replace the padlock!”
