There was no way to carry the light, so they started up the winding stairs in the darkness, Sophia’s jaw clenched. It had taken time to pick the locks of Jennifer’s shackles, and the need to hurry, to find Tom, was like fire in her limbs. But she could go only so fast without sending them both tumbling backward down the stairs.

“Jen,” she panted, trying to rouse her once again. “Where is Tom? Can you tell me where Tom is?” She pushed her legs, one after the other, climbing by feel in the dark. For the first time Jennifer made an incoherent noise. “Where is Tom?” Sophia insisted.

“Gone,” said Jennifer.

The slamming in Sophia’s chest stopped and became a squeeze. “Gone where? Keep talking, Jen. It’s Sophia. I need to know where Tom is.”

“They … took him,” Jennifer heaved. It almost sounded like crying. The banging in Sophia’s chest started up again.

“Where, Jennifer? Where?”

But there were no more sounds from her, though she could still feel the girl’s breath faint against her back. Taken. Where had LeBlanc taken him? She had no time for this. No time at all.

Sophia’s legs were shaking, and she was covered in filth and sweat, muscles begging to stop, about to stubbornly do so without her permission. Then she heard the squeak of metallic hinges, the whisper and shuffle of feet. She called down an additional thousand curses on LeBlanc’s head, laid Jennifer gently on the ground near the wall, and pulled out her sword from where she’d thrust it through her belt. She started slowly up the steps, legs still shaky, hugging the wall.

Light blossomed from around the bend, and then two gendarmes came down the stairs, swords out, freezing when their lantern found her. One of them was the gendarme she’d seen earlier. And so was the other.

“Wait,” she said, holding out her sword but also her other hand. She let them watch her slowly draw a black-and-red feather from her vest. The two men relaxed, though they did not put away their swords.

The first one said, “You’re …”

“… a girl!” finished the second.

“And I suppose you’re my twins?” Everyone was stating the obvious. “Help me,” she said, hurrying to Jennifer. She heard swords being sheathed, boots on the stairs behind her. One twin got Jennifer’s legs and the other hooked his elbows under her arms.

Then they paused, three sets of eyes darting up to the ceiling of the passage. A faint clanging of bells was coming down the drains and into the tunnels from the prison yard, through the open metal door above them. Harsh, discordant notes that made their way straight into Sophia’s stomach. Not the middlemoon bells. They were the execution bells. Someone was going to die at the next moon. At highmoon.

She looked to the twins, questioning, but they shook their heads in perfect synchronization. This meant the mob would be arriving soon—surely not all of them had gone to pillage the Upper City—and the execution team. Allemande, LeBlanc, the other ministres. One of them was going to realize the guards were gone. And all the prisoners. She gritted her teeth, held the lantern higher, and they moved on, faster, the clanging of the bells echoing in the Tombs. She had to find Tom.

The execution bells rang through the Upper City, echoing against buildings and stone, overcoming the soft hum of idle chat in the Hasard flat. LeBlanc set his wineglass unsteadily on the table. It was only half full now; Émile wished it had been empty. He saw Enzo coming down the stairs from the gallery.

LeBlanc looked at the pendant he wore, frowned, and suddenly it snapped open to show the clock inside. Renaud, who had been hovering, took a step forward, then thought better of it.

“Middle … moon,” said LeBlanc, seeming surprised at the difficulty of saying the word. “And the bells are ringing, just as they should. And the gate … is opening … and they have their list. The leaders … of the mob know where to go. Renaud gave them addresses. I will have to go. Cannot miss … highmoon …”

“What happens at highmoon, Albert?” Émile asked casually.

“The Razor and Tomas … Bellamy. He dies at the Razor, and she will be coming … for him … too late …”

“I see.” Émile smiled, and laid a coin carefully on the table. “Albert, I have a question I would like to ask the Goddess …”

While LeBlanc struggled to focus on the coin, Émile, very low, so LeBlanc could not hear, whispered, “Enzo, tell René that Tom Bellamy dies at highmoon, and tell Andre that I need him to steal LeBlanc’s pendant.”

The execution bells stopped ringing.

The noise of the bells faded, and Madame Hasard lowered her hand. Spear and René were staring at each other from opposing chairs, René’s hair dark with wet, the powder nearly gone, hands on his head as if the noise of the bells had been physically painful. Madame Hasard crossed her legs on the edge of the bed, a sword in her hand. A semicircle of Hasards and Benoit stood in a ring that blocked escape. Benoit was deep in thought, his forehead wrinkled.

“Now, Monsieurs,” said Madame Hasard. “The rules of armistice are as follows. Neither of you shall speak unless spoken to by me. That is the only rule.”

“Maman, those bells were … Ow!”

Madame Hasard resettled the sword in her lap, having whacked René in the leg with the flat of it. “Now that we have an understanding. Monsieur Hammond, are you working for the weasel-ferret creature known as Albert LeBlanc?”

Spear eyed the sword. “No. But he thinks I am.”

She turned to René, who was rubbing his leg and glaring at Spear. “And you, are you working with the weasel-ferret creature known as Albert LeBlanc?”

“No!” Madame gave René a raised brow. “He thought I was, of course, but he does not think so now.”

Spear made his disbelief clear, René leaned forward, and Madame raised the sword. René threw up his hands. “Listen to me, both of you! And do not hit me with that sword, Maman! I am going to talk and you are going to listen because there is no time.”

“Permission to speak is granted,” said Madame.

“I will speak slowly, Hammond, so that my words may penetrate your thick skull. I have never betrayed Sophia Bellamy or her brother to LeBlanc. Someone has. But it is not me. And I am not the one who will get her killed tonight …”

“And you think I will!” Spear yelled, looking at the ring of uncles. “When you’re the ones keeping me here, not letting me get her out of the city as we’d planned!”

“You do not have the first idea what Sophia had planned,” said René. “She was not going to the Tombs only for Jennifer and Tom. She is emptying the prison. All of it.”

“What?” This had come from Andre.

René held up his hand. “LeBlanc was to put two out of three to the Razor at dawn. So she will empty every hole. Then, she is going to set the firelighter you made and use it to ignite the Bellamy fire she has been having delivered and stored in the prison. The Tombs are going to explode.”

Madame sat back, her eyebrow incredulous, and there was some shuffling of feet among the uncles.

“She can do it,” René said, looking at them hard.

“Yes,” said Benoit. “She can.” That made them go quiet.

“Oh, she can do it,” Spear agreed. “Whether she was planning to or not …”

“She was. And she is.”

“René,” said Madame, her painted mouth turning upward in the same half grin as her son’s. “Tell me, did I engage you to the Red Rook?”

René ignored her. “Listen carefully, Hammond. This was going to be a dangerous business. She was going to stay in the Tombs and play cat and mouse with LeBlanc until the mob dispersed and she could set the firelighter. It would have been a miracle if she was not caught. But I convinced her to let me go, to let me set the firelighter once the chase was on in the Upper City, while she was asleep in her bed and with no one aware that she had left the flat at all. But you have just told her I sent the Bonnards to their deaths. That I am the ‘con man’ she once accused me of being. That I have lied and taken advantage of her in every way. And now she has taken the firelighter with her, Hammond. She wants the Tombs destroyed and she wants to take down LeBlanc.”