‘What?’
‘It’s my fault you can’t think about other important things.’
‘Stop it. Blaming yourself isn’t going to help. If anything, I think you were really brave yesterday.’
Olympe’s eyes widened. ‘Brave?’
‘Yes. You think the rest of us aren’t scared when we go out on a job? That we don’t make mistakes or act on impulse? Of course we do. Things didn’t go as planned, but you saved us at the abbey, and you saved us in the theatre.’
‘I didn’t save anyone in the theatre. I lost control and—’
‘I know what happened, but you did save me. Quite literally, you pulled me out of that place before it fell down. And you were fighting back against someone who hurt you, so I don’t blame you for a moment for what happened.’
Olympe looked away. ‘You remind me of my mother. You’re not frightened of me. Everyone has always been frightened of me, even if they were also curious. Except her. She was never frightened.’
‘People are idiots.’
Olympe snorted. ‘She says that too.’
‘Then your mother has a good brain in her head.’
The conversation was making something twist in her chest. Her mother had always been the one who told her that even the cleverest of people could do rash things in certain circumstances. Her father had always thought the opposite: the worst of times was when your true nature showed through. She wished she could ask her mother for help. She would have sat her down and talked through the problem. Her father would have dismissed her until she came up with three different solutions, then made her argue the case for each. Every time she faltered she knew she was letting them down. It was as if she was standing on the edge of a vast ocean and whatever step she took would end with cold water closing over her head.
How were they were going to throw the Revolutionaries and the Royalists off Olympe’s scent? Either side was so paranoid it shouldn’t be impossible to persuade them that the other camp had claimed Olympe first. But how to fake the drop?
Her father had always said people were fools. So eager to believe the worst, fixated on scandal and gossip, ready to believe anything if it was dressed up in the right way. They let one tyrant replace another because he wore the right costume, the right attitude. A little pomp and circumstance and the grossest of injustices could be sold easily.
The image of the automaton in the theatre came to her mind. Its gears and cogs, nothing more than a clock. And yet people were so ready to believe it could write and read minds and do all manner of miraculous things. All it took was showmanship, and a little stage dressing. A little misdirection.
A germ of an idea was beginning to suggest itself.
‘I almost ran away last night, when everyone was sleeping,’ Olympe said, glancing at Camille out of the corner of her eye.
‘What stopped you?’
‘Fear. I’m not brave. You can tell me it’s not my fault, but it is. By helping me you’re putting yourselves in danger and it’s not fair of me to ask. I want to be brave and leave and handle this myself, but I don’t know how.’
Camille pulled her round by the shoulder, so they were looking eye to starry eye. Lined up hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, the same height sitting on the step.
‘Do you remember what I told you on the roof before we jumped into the river? No fate. No destiny. Everything is a choice. That goes for me too. This is my choice.’
‘But—’
‘Don’t you dare run. I promised to help you. To fight for what’s right, even when everything around us is falling apart. That’s what we do. Okay?’
Olympe’s eyes searched hers.
‘Okay. Whatever your plan is, whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.’
Camille felt her breath tighten in her chest.
Everyone trusted her to make this right. To make the right choice.
What if she didn’t know how?
What if there was no way to save Olympe?
7
