‘Even if it puts us all in danger.’
‘Yes.’
‘Even if it’s stupid and risky and we’re wildly outgunned.’
‘Aren’t we always?’
The corner of her mouth twitched. ‘I suppose that is half the fun.’
‘We have things going for us. This duc has already underestimated us once. He believes we couldn’t possibly be cleverer than him. It is not a hopeless case.’
Her eyebrows furrowed. ‘Then why do I feel as if I’m inviting you all to climb into a pit of snakes.’
‘I like snakes.’
She laughed and Guil tipped her a wink as they started on the short walk back to the Au Petit Suisse.
Camille allowed herself one last stroke of the smooth wood of the pistol’s handle, before rolling her shoulders back and shaking off her funk.
If they were going to pull this off, she had no time for doubt.
4
The Parlour, Au Petit Suisse
Ada set to work cutting Olympe out of her dress. It was stiff with sweat and filth and she threw it straight on the fire. She’d left Al downstairs to wait for Camille and Guil’s return. Olympe was shivering, her shift still damp with muddy river water. Ada went through her dresses to find one she could lend to Olympe. She settled on an eggshell blue cotton morning dress that had seen better days. She didn’t want to insult Olympe, but also she couldn’t spare her finer gowns. Al called it vanity, but she knew clothes meant something. It was why anyone who wanted to avoid trouble wore a tricolore pinned to their hat; why peasant’s trousers were more popular than aristocratic breeches; why the silk trade was crumbling as the Revolution killed off extravagance. The right outfit was a ticket in when her face made people want to shut her out. It was a cover story that told itself, a weapon as potent as Camille’s pistol. A game that Ada intended to play well.
Olympe seemed happy enough with Ada’s choice. Anything must be better after being sewn into the same clothes for god knows how long. Ada had seen a ring of mottled bruises, like a chain, around the girl’s neck, and more on her bare arms, snaking under her chemise. However unnatural or dangerous she might seem, she was still a half-drowned girl rescued from a prison. Ada couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
She put water over the fire to boil and used scissors to cut the worst of the tangles out of Olympe’s hair. At first Olympe had baulked at the sight of the scissors, going terribly still until Ada had shown her that all she wanted to do was cut her hair. Then she’d demanded to do it herself, until she couldn’t reach the back of her head safely. It was clearly a struggle to hand the scissors back to Ada. With Olympe slowly more trusting of her, Ada took a cloth to bathe her face, neck, hands, trimmed her nails and washed the blood from her scabs. Smoke-like clouds bloomed across her exposed skin. It was hard to tell what were bruises and what were her odd markings. Ada had a thousand questions but swallowed them down, because Olympe’s eyes had glossed over with tears.
‘Are you crying?’
Olympe hid her face, rubbing her eyes with the sleeve of her shift. ‘No.’ She straightened. ‘I need gloves. I’m not … safe.’
Ada’s eyes flicked to Olympe’s hands, remembering what Camille had told them about their escape. ‘I can lend you a pair.’
After putting on the gloves, Olympe retreated to the side of the room, back against the wall, positioning herself so she could see both the door and the windows at once. Scrubbed and fresh, Ada could begin to see the girl she’d once been. A girl with a mother who might have cared for her like this, brushed her hair and sung her to sleep. Ada couldn’t fight the urge to examine Olympe again, to look for some explanation for the mottling of her skin or the pinpricks of light in her eyes. Even if her rational mind could put together a reason, it was another challenge to believe what she was seeing was possible.
‘I am not a scientific exhibition,’ said Olympe sharply.
Ada blushed. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.’
Olympe opened her mouth to speak, then hesitated. ‘I have … grown unaccustomed to people with good intentions.’
‘You think we have good intentions?’
‘Yes. Though I suppose I do not have much of a choice. As your blond friend said, where could I run to that’s safe? As much as I do not like to think of myself as weak, I am … unequipped for survival on my own in a place such as this.’
‘I don’t think that’s weakness. There are hundreds of situations you could put me in and I would have no idea what to do with myself.’
Olympe’s mouth twitched in the hint of a smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know. You and your friends seem rather capable to me.’
‘We’ve had some practice.’ Ada stoked the fire, hiding her face. Cursing, she kneeled to add more kindling.
A rustle of skirts announced Olympe kneeling beside her, peeling off her gloves. A ring of scars circled each wrist like a delicate bracelet scorched into her skin.
‘Stay back,’ she warned. Then she held her hand out to the kindling and sent a ripple of sparks over the twists of paper and splinters of wood. They caught with a pop and the smell of ozone. Within a few seconds, the fire was glowing.
