“Then pull out this knob here …” He put a finger on the knob beside the wheel. “… and the machine will be set.”

“And what does it do, Hammond, when you set the time?” René asked.

Spear pulled out the knob instead of answering, the iron arm of the apparatus on top of the box moving upward on its own. They waited, listening to the rhythmic ticks, like a fingernail on glass, or sharp-heeled shoes clacking across the Bellamy ballroom tiles. Then there was a sudden bang and flash of fire. Sophia jumped, caught her breath, and smiled.

“Oh, Spear, that’s really very good.”

Spear grinned back at her. He looked just like he had when he was thirteen and her father had given him a colt for his birthday. “I put a little bit of the black powder from the sanctuary in it,” he said, holding up a small bottle from the sacking. “It’s loud, but it works much better that way.”

René had recovered from any surprise and was on his knees at the table, peering at the mechanism closely in the sunlight. “And where did you put the powder, Hammond?” When Spear pointed, he said, “May I?”

Spear reluctantly handed over the bottle and René sprinkled just a little where Spear had shown him. He checked the time, turned the wheel in the back to only a little past where Spear had set it, and pulled out the knob. They waited. A whir, a snap from the iron arm, another startling bang as the flame flared.

“This is to light the Bellamy fire?” René asked, gaze still on the machine. He hadn’t moved, even when it flashed.

“Yes, that’s right,” Sophia said when Spear didn’t answer. The smell in the air was sharp in her nose. “It will catch the greased fuse on fire, so the tubes can explode while we’re well away.”

René straightened, sitting back on his boot heels. “I see.”

Sophia tucked her feet beneath her, watching her hands. That story had sounded feeble even to her. The firelighter was going deep into the Tombs, where the barrels of Bellamy fire she’d been having delivered were disguised and stored. But she would not set it until the mob had cleared from the prison yard, and that could take a long time if they were expecting an execution, especially the Red Rook’s execution. Especially an execution that wouldn’t happen because the Red Rook was not there. She might spend all night playing hide-and-seek with LeBlanc. And the Tombs would be swarming with gendarmes after the prisoners were gone. An anthill stirred with a stick.

Spear leaned into the couch beside her and threw an arm along the back of it, as if they were sitting there … together. Sophia closed her eyes, absorbing her frustration.

“You should think about how the firelighter will be packed,” René was saying. “They may be searching at the gates, and they will not let this through, I think.”

He was right. The firelighter had to be breaking at least ten anti-technology laws at once.

“And there is another thing we should discuss.”

Sophia opened her eyes. Everything about him was fiery where the sunlight hit, but his tone had gone cold. He dropped into the chair again.

“You may remember that in the Upper City I am known as something of a … pleasure seeker. And Miss Bellamy will be coming as my fiancée, to an engagement party which my cousin must attend. It is essential that this part of our ruse is successful, yes? Or the plan will not work at all.”

Sophia got up from the couch and went to the window, where she could see the vague forms of trees. “What are you getting at, Hasard?” Spear asked.

“I am saying that when LeBlanc hears my marriage to the sister of the Red Rook goes forward, he will be filled with suspicion. But when he hears that it is a match of love, he will be curious. And it is this curiosity that will bring the guests, and LeBlanc, to the door of my flat. Our upcoming marriage must be the talk of the Upper City. It must be in the newspapers. That should not be so difficult. Most of the reporters who write these things are … friends …”

Sophia wondered what Madame Hasard paid them.

“They know what to print and what to not. But they must have something to write about, yes? And we must give it to them. So I am saying that starting at dawn, at the dock, Miss Bellamy and I will have to behave in a way that is … very engaged. Can we do this?”

An uncomfortable silence spread. Sophia hadn’t considered this part of their plan, especially in light of that magnetic force that she was currently trying to resist by standing at the window. René would go back to being the man of the Parisian magazine, and with a bride-to-be to show off. Should she pretend to like it, when she really did, all while pretending that she didn’t? She fiddled with a shirt button. What a strange torture.

“But it is not only the papers that should concern us. We must assume we are being watched,” René continued. “LeBlanc will be watching. On the ferry, on the road, every step we take in the city. No one must doubt my relationship with Miss Bellamy, not until the fight we have planned. To do otherwise would endanger the Rook and those that wait for her in the Tombs. So I cannot afford to have my behavior questioned.”

“You are not to kiss her,” Spear said. Sophia’s head whipped around.

René was slouched into the chair now, his grin a little wicked. “As chaperone, you must feel it your proper duty to make such rules. But I wonder, Hammond, just how good you will be at enforcing them?”

Spear and René glared at each other like two boys with one cake between them. It woke her temper. Sophia left the window, snatching up her fluffy white underskirt from the laundry basket on the way, and sat herself down before the low table in a cloud of white cloth.

“I’ll be the one making my own rules, thank you,” she said, pulling out a knife. “And I think you both know I’m perfectly capable of enforcing them.” What was wrong with them? What was wrong with her? Since when had she ever wanted to marry anybody? “Spear, I’ll die happy if I never hear your opinion on this again,” she said, mentally gauging the size of the firelighter. “And as for you, Monsieur …” The cloth of the underskirt made a soft ripping sound as she slid the knife through the seam. “Tomorrow we will be exactly as engaged as I say we are.”

LeBlanc set down a goblet of wine and cut a slit beneath the seal of a small invitation. His desk was littered with reports of insurrection and red feathers, but his interview with the Upper City commandant had left him in a good mood. He read the invitation’s neat Parisian, drumming his fingers on the top of the plain, polished desk.

“Well, Renaud. It appears the marriage with Miss Bellamy goes forward. Isn’t that charming?”

Renaud was on his knees on the other side of the desk, scouring blood from the floor.

LeBlanc read through the invitation again, drumming harder on the desk. “They are to give an engagement party, on the eve of Tom Bellamy’s execution, and we are invited. How kind of them.” He chuckled. “I don’t think we need to attend such a farce, do you? And what funds does my young cousin think to use for this marriage?” His pale eyes became slits. “Exactly whose side is he playing on, Renaud?”

Renaud always kept his opinions to himself. It’s why he was alive.

After a time LeBlanc sighed. “It is unwise to tempt Fate, and I admit I am curious. We will have the landover road to the city watched, and a personal search at each gate, I think. The Goddess may have declared life for the Rook for three more nights, but there is no need to make that time easy for her, Renaud. And perhaps it is also time to have another talk with Madame Hasard. She may be very interested to hear this happy news about her son.” LeBlanc’s smile curled as he looked at René’s looping script. “The love of a parent often affects good judgment.”