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The guard behind the tumbrel squeezed his mount past the stalled cart just as a commotion erupted behind them. With a gasp, Gabrielle swung around, expecting to see the angry mob coming for them. Instead, the crowds lining the blocked alleyway parted. A horse and rider galloped recklessly through the clogged passage.
Gabrielle released the wooden sides of the tumbrel and all but fell backward. She recognized him.
On top of the sun-dappled chestnut horse, racing toward her as men and women scrambled out of his path, was Ramsey.
The crowd was too stunned and disorganized to do much more than watch his progress with interest and keep out of his way. He reached the tumbrel quickly. The guard who was now stationed inconveniently between the tumbrel and the cart blocking its path tried to turn his mount. “Halt, in the name of the republic.”
Ramsey ignored him, reaching the back of the tumbrel and holding out his hand. Four or five men and women stood between them, but Ramsey’s gaze locked firmly on hers, and they all moved aside and turned to look at her.
She wanted to take his hand. She wanted more than anything to grasp that hand and escape from the death surely waiting for her. Her feet did not move. “How do I know this isn’t another trick?”
His gaze never wavered. “You don’t. But either you trust me now, or we both die.” He nodded in the direction of the guard, who she imagined had turned his horse and was coming for them. “If we are to die,” Ramsey said calmly, “I prefer to do it fighting.”
He stretched his hand out again, and this time she stumbled forward and took it. The others in the cart pushed her forward, lifting her until she could climb behind Ramsey’s saddle. Gabrielle clutched his waist tightly as he spurred the horse forward.
But the crowds had closed in now, and they would not allow even one aristocrat to escape the blade of their National Razor. They began to close in, and Ramsey had to kick out to shove them away.
Too many hands, Gabrielle thought as the grasping fingers pulled at her skirts. She kicked as well, but when one fell back, another took his place. She was almost unseated, but she screamed and clawed at Ramsey’s coat. He kicked the man pulling her. “Hold on!”
“I am!”
And then he swiveled and she almost lost her grip. “Citoyens!” he called. “This is your chance. Fight. Run. Do not go meekly to slaughter!”
Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder at the other prisoners. For a moment their gaunt faces stared uncomprehendingly at Ramsey, and then in a swarm they jumped from the tumbrel. The guard who had been coming for her was yanked from his horse by two men. The horse screamed and went down, but Gabrielle knew the animal would be back on its feet in a moment, the condemned riding it to freedom.
The others rushed the crowd. Not used to nobility who fought back, some of the crowd ran away. Others crashed into the prisoners with barely concealed glee. No one could hold Ramsey’s mount any longer, and he spurred the animal forward, following the route the tumbrels had taken just a few minutes before.
Most of the onlookers had dispersed, but the few remaining watched them ride by with open-mouthed shock. Gabrielle could not see where Ramsey led them, but even if she had, she would have been lost as he turned down narrow alleys, retraced his path, then darted down another street in a dizzying attempt to conceal the route to their ultimate destination.
Finally, Ramsey reined in the horse and lowered Gabrielle to the ground before jumping off himself. A boy in ragged clothing ran out from a dark doorway and led the horse away.
“Where is he taking the horse?” she cried.
“No time for explanations.” Ramsey took her hand and pulled her into the cool shadows of a shop. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she realized she was not in a shop but a museum. A wax museum.
All around her masks and figures so lifelike they looked as though they might speak at any moment stood in gloomy silence. With dawning horror, she flicked her gaze from one face to the next.
They were all dead.
Every one of these wax replicas was a death mask.
She took a step back, bumping into the door. “I can’t stay here.” All those dead mouths gaping at her, those lifeless eyes. She couldn’t breathe.
“Gabrielle.” He caught her before she could bolt, and held her arm firmly. “You must do exactly as I say. We’re not out of danger yet.”
And well she knew it. All of Paris would be searching for them. There was nowhere to hide. The Pimpernel had returned to England with his men. There was no escape.
“Why should I trust you?”
“I took you this far.”
She looked about the room of death masks again. “And this is an improvement?”
“I’ll explain everything later. Right now we have to go.” He gestured toward a door at the back of the shop and tried to tug her toward it.
“I won’t go anywhere with you!”
“You will, or you’ll die.” He grabbed her by both shoulders. “I won’t let you die, Gabrielle. Either you walk through that door and go down into the sewers or I carry you.”
