Ada and Al pelted hand in hand across the courtyard, sending a brood of hens flapping out of their way. The balloon crash had taken the guards by such surprise they’d had a clear minute after tumbling the last few metres from the basket to pick themselves out of the wreckage and make a dash for it. Beyond that, Ada didn’t have much of a plan. She could just about picture the map of the prison they’d studied, but breaking out was a hell of a lot harder than breaking in. They doubled back through a span of vaulted archways into a courtyard by the Tour de l’Horloge. The prison encircled them in stone and gothic spires. Behind them, a clutch of soldiers was gaining ground, brandishing muskets and yelling. The wreckage of their balloon was strewn across the cobbles, the smashed remnants of the basket hanging by its ropes from the rooftop. There should be a gate here somewhere, if Ada hadn’t mixed things up completely. Then in front of them, another troop emerged, blocking their way.
Without thinking, Ada flung herself right through a door into a cramped corridor, dragging Al with her. They raced down it, but there was only a spiral staircase at the end. They couldn’t go back – the soldiers would be following. They had to go down.
She took the steps two at a time and crashed straight into a soldier on his way up. They both lost their footing and fell, landing in a bruised and tangled heap.
Slowly, the soldier stirred. Ada swallowed against the ball of panic in her throat – then frowned.
‘Guil?’
Al joined them at the bottom of the stairs, staring at them in confusion.
‘You were supposed to cause a diversion, not crash the balloon,’ said Guil, extracting himself and standing up.
Al grinned. ‘And you were supposed to stick with Cam and get our damsel in distress out safely. Looks like we’re all bad at our jobs.’
Ada pulled herself to her feet. A sheen of sweat coated Guil’s face and his fingers were flexing by his side.
‘How are you here?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on? Where’s Cam?’
‘With Olympe. The plan is still the plan.’ He looked down his nose at Al. ‘I came to help you two idiots.’
‘Cam’s okay?’ Ada asked again.
Guil nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Al cut in.
‘Not to be that person, but we’ve got company.’ He jerked his head at the shadows curling round the stairs.
‘We have to lead them away,’ said Guil. ‘Camille’s down here breaking into Olympe’s cell. We need to go.’
Ada thought for a moment.
The corridor branched left and right. The cellars spread across most of the building, from the oubliettes where the poorest prisoners were dumped, to the old Merovingian palace and the catacombs of the Sainte-Chapelle. That was north from where they’d crashed. They could get out through the chapel. Probably.
‘This way!’
She pulled the boys left.
‘So what do we do now?’ asked Al as they dashed through passageways.
‘Cam knows what she’s doing,’ replied Ada. It made her feel sick to think of leaving without her, but she knew it would be what Camille wanted. ‘We need to get out. Not a bad thing if we cause a scene doing it.’
They turned down the last twist of corridor – into a dead end.
There was a locked door in front of them. Behind, the footsteps of the soldiers drew closer.
‘Somehow,’ said Al, ‘I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.’
Ada pulled a pin from her hair and kneeled to work on the lock.
‘Do you still remember how to do that?’ asked Al.
‘I’ve done it before when I’ve had to,’ replied Ada through gritted teeth. ‘I can do it again.’
‘What’s through there?’
‘I don’t know. Prisoners, probably.’
‘Well, that’s good. Let them all out and swamp the soldiers. That should be enough of a scene.’
