Suddenly she felt Nathaniel's hand on hers in the darkness. It was a connection that grounded her in the present and she pulled herself back from the abyss with a shudder of horror. His grip tightened, and she knew as clearly as if he'd spoken that he understood what had happened and how close she'd been to losing herself in the nightmare again. She squeezed his hand in gratitude and found that despite perching on the pinnacle of hideous tension, she could now listen intently and without panic for the sounds of pursuit.

They could hear banging from the street, and Gabrielle guessed that Fouche's men were waking the inhabitants of every house, prepared to search the entire street when they found number thirteen empty of spies.

They didn't know, then, about the secret doors connecting the attics of the houses. It was a not-uncommon device in these medieval streets where through the ages the persecuted had fled the oppressor. But Fouche's policemen were not known for the subtlety of their thought process or their knowledge of history, only for their ability to wrest information or commit murder without a qualm.

The banging finally came at the door of the last house on the street. It was almost a relief after the terror of anticipation. Gabrielle bit her lip hard, tasting blood, forcing herself to concentrate on the pain and not on the sounds in the house-the banging and scraping and shouting.

Nathaniel stroked Jake's head, holding him tightly against him, his other hand gripping Gabrielle's firmly. He was, as always at such moments, perfectly calm, reserving his strength and the power of fear-engendered adrenaline for when it would be needed. There was nothing more he could do at the moment except wait and impart what strength and reassurance he could to his companions.

Then the sounds were immediately below them. The door was kicked open, boots scrunched on the wooden floor.

Was there a smudge of plaster dust on the floor from when he'd removed the rafters?

The thought flitted across Nathaniel's brain and he felt his heart begin to speed in preparation for action. They would be looking only for him. If they made any move toward the rafters, he would jump down on them, leaving Gabrielle and Jake still hidden. Gabrielle would have the sense to stay put-for Jake's sake if not her own.

But she was in the gravest danger. She must know that. She'd betrayed her own masters to save an enemy-spy. He hadn't expected her to betray him on this mission, not when Jake was with him, but he certainly hadn't expected her to risk her own life to protect him either.

Someone flung back the shutters over the tiny window with a resounding clatter and the sound of splintering wood. A woman's wail of protest at this wanton destruction was answered with a string of obscenities. Fouche's men were clearly very put out. Rue Bude had yielded only terrified slum dwellers.

The Farmiers, like most of their kind, were expert at producing a cringing idiocy in the ace of violent authority. Once it was clear their lodger and the child had fled, leaving no trace, they had nothing to gain by volunteering information and everything to lose. Ignorance and cupidity were understood by the policemen, who came from their own social ranks and saw nothing out of the ordinary in a man turning a blind eye to the goings-on in his house in exchange for generous payment.

Finally, having vented their frustration by wreaking terror and destruction up and down the street, Fouche's men went on their way to drown their failure in a cask of vin ordinaire in the tavern.

Jake was trembling against Nathaniel as the sounds of booted feet receded on the stairs. Gabrielle became aware of an agonizing pain in her shoulders where the muscles were knotted in a violent cramp. She tried to ease it, wanting to scream with the pain, and instead bit hard on her lip again. Nathaniel drew several long, slow breaths and relaxed his hold on Jake so the child could move his head out of the muffling confines of his father's chest.

They remained huddled in silence for an eternity until Nathaniel deemed it safe to move. He put his mouth against Gabrielle's ear, barely whispering his instructions.

"I'm going down. You're both to stay here."

She nodded. The prospect of being alone in the dark crawl space while Nathaniel exposed himself to whatever uncertainties there were outside filled her with dismay, but she was no stranger to dismay in dangerous situations.

Nathaniel removed the rafters again and swung down into the silent room. He replaced them before crossing to the window, where the shattered shutter swung desolately back and forth. He peered down into the courtyard. It was deserted, the house once again dark and silent.

He crossed to the door, opened it gingerly, and stepped onto the landing, listening. There was total silence.

Returning to the room, he dropped the heavy wooden bar over the door, locking them in, before removing the rafters again.

"Come on, Jake."

The little boy's terrified face appeared in the opening, and he half fell, half jumped into his father's arms.

Gabrielle swung herself down awkwardly because of her cramped muscles and stretched with an almost inaudible moan of pain.

"All right?" Nathaniel asked evenly, still holding the child.

She nodded. "A bit stiff… nothing worse… thank God."

"Let's get out of here," he said in the same even tones.

"Where to?"

"Truly underground," he said with a bleak attempt at a smile. "At least for tonight."

Carrying the child, he led the way back through the houses until they reached number thirteen. They crept downstairs and out through a rear door into the courtyard where the rabbits lay in a somnolent heap in their cage.

"We must hurry," Nathaniel whispered, looking up into the sky where the first faint streaks of gray were showing.

They slipped through a gate into another alley, and Nathaniel strode quickly ahead, his speed unaffected by the child's weight in his arms. Gabrielle half ran to keep up with him.

They came to a small church with cracked, moldering stone walls and slates tumbling from a sagging roof. Its tumbledown air struck Gabrielle as pathetic, like someone whose offers of comfort have been inexplicably spurned. She assumed it had fallen into disrepair during the Revolution, when organised religion was banned and no one had any use for churches.

Nathaniel looked up and down the alley, then walked rapidly around the side of the building. A flight of crumbling stone steps led down into the crypt. Gabrielle followed him down. He felt in a niche in the wall, drew out a key, fitted it into the tarnished brass lock, and the door creaked open, emitting a waft of air, cold as the grave and heavy with the reek of ancient stone and damp earth.

"I don't like it here," Jake whimpered as they entered the dank darkness and Nathaniel pulled the door closed behind them. "I want to go out."

"Hush now, I'm here," Nathaniel soothed. "You're quite safe."

"But it's spooky."

"Yes, it is," Gabrielle agreed, making her voice bright and cheerful. "But I'm sure we can light the candle."

"Can you find it?" Nathaniel asked in the same easy tones, as if this were all quite normal. "There's flint and tinder somewhere in the portmanteau."

Gabrielle felt in the darkness through the small pile of possessions, found the requisite articles, and in aminute the welcoming glow of the candle threw some illumination.

It was not a cheerful place, Gabrielle thought in understatement, looking around at the oozing stone walls, the cracked greenish slabs beneath her feet.

"Is this another safe house?"

"More like sanctuary," Nathaniel said as if it were perfectly ordinary to make witticisms in such circumstances. "The church is disused and the crypt's an emergency shelter to be used only in dire emergency," he added. "We should find some blankets and a lantern somewhere, and some basic supplies."