Ada shook her head. ‘In a room full of gunpowder? We can’t risk a bullet hitting one of the barrels. It would take out a whole wall.’
Al shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Blaze of glory, and all that. Worse ways to go, these days.’
But Ada wasn’t paying attention. Something had caught hold in her mind.Take out a wholewall– yes, it could. They would have to be extremely careful. Try and isolate one area as much as they could. Find some sort of shelter.
It would have to be perfect. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake – not when her friends’ lives were at stake.
‘I might have another plan. It’s a really, really bad plan.’
‘There are no bad plans,’ said Guil. ‘Only badly implemented ones.’
Al gave them both a dark look. ‘We’re living in a city that cut off its king’s head. I think anything goes at this point.’
Ada reached into her pocket and pulled out the flint and tinderbox she’d used to light the brazier in the balloon.
‘If we can’t go out of the door, we could always make another one.’
Guil and Al looked at her for a moment, silently.
‘I thought you were the one against going out in a blaze of glory?’ said Al.
‘It does seem … risky,’ offered Guil.
‘Don’t get me wrong.’ Al tapped the barrel he was leaning against. ‘It sounds like a suitably ridiculous way to die memorably, which I’m all for. But do you really think it can work?’
‘Possibly.’ She looked to Guil. ‘No bad plans, right?’
He hesitated, then nodded.
‘We should only risk lighting one barrel. We can move the rest as far away as possible.’ He gestured to the remains of the dividing wall. ‘That might give us some shelter.’
Ada glanced at the light wells that clustered on the far side of the room and pointed. ‘Put the barrel there. That looks like an outside wall.’
The three of them worked to reposition the barrels of powder, piling them in the corner until only one barrel was left. Ada ripped off a strip from the hem of her petticoat to serve as a fuse, draped one end over the edge of the open barrel and took out her tinderbox.
Guil and Al had already taken cover behind the wall. All she had to do was set the flame to the fabric and run like hell to join them. Her fingers were shaking as she struck the flint. This was it, success and freedom, or another mistake, and blood on her hands. She knew what Camille said – everything was a choice – but what good was that, when every choice she made seemed to end in disaster?
It took a couple of goes, and then a bright nest of embers caught in the tinder. She nurtured them, blowing gently until a flame licked up to greet her. The memory of the balloon being swallowed by fire passed through her mind, but she pushed it away. Carefully, she dipped the end of the rag in the flame. It caught, and she slammed the lid of the tinderbox, and leaped over the wall to huddle with the boys.
Nothing happened.
She peeped up over the edge of the wall. The strip of fabric had burned up one side and reached the cracked lid of the barrel in nothing more than a smoulder of ashes. Maybe she should try and light the fuse again. She started to stand, but Al’s hand snatched her back down as the glowing remnants of the cloth fell into the barrel.
A wall of noise hit her at the same moment that a blinding flash of light had her burying her head in her arms. It was so loud it was barely a sound she could process, more like a physical blow punching into her chest. Debris showered onto her hunched back, burning through her dress like red-hot fingertips.
Ears ringing, she fumbled for the wall, raising herself up to look at the damage.
And saw a flood of dark water rushing towards them.
6
The Prison Forge
Camille levelled the pistol at the blacksmith.
‘Can you get it off or not?’
The blacksmith regarded her, unimpressed, before turning his attention to the welded clasp.
