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Tristan took the papers back from the soldier holding the locksmith. “You are”—he glanced at the papers—“Citoyen Leroy?”
“I am,” the man said, his voice low.
“Locksmith by trade?” Tristan’s voice was neutral, but his heart began to pound. If the man was not a locksmith, the entire charade would be for nothing.
“I was,” the man said, looking at his bare feet.
“Good.” Tristan tucked the papers into his coat and took possession of Leroy. Dewhurst had left the dice game and joined him. “Citoyen.” Tristan saluted.
The man saluted back and Tristan and Dewhurst led Leroy away.
“Don’t look back,” Dewhurst said, sounding as though his jaw were clenched. “It looks guilty. Head high. Eyes forward.”
Leroy lifted his head, looking from Dewhurst to Tristan. “Who are you?”
“Shut up,” Dewhurst told him. “Or we’ll rob Madame Guillotine of her chance with you and kill you ourselves.”
When they were out of sight of La Force, Dewhurst cut down a narrow alley, leading Tristan and Leroy through a series of winding paths that kept them off the main streets and led gradually back toward the Boulevard du Temple. Keeping Leroy between them, Dewhurst reached the end of a side street and motioned for Leroy and Tristan to wait. Tristan kept a hand on Leroy’s bindings as Dewhurst edged out, checking to make sure the street was safe. Then they’d cut down another alley and enter the safe house from a hidden door in the cellar.
But as soon as Dewhurst peered out, he stepped back again, cursing.
“What is it?” Tristan asked.
“See for yourself.” Dewhurst held out his hand to take Leroy’s bindings. Leroy was not actively watching the two of them, clearly curious and frightened, but keeping quiet.
Tristan inched forward and peered around the corner of the building and out onto the street. Half a dozen soldiers surrounded the safe house, and Tristan recognized the carriage out front.
Robespierre.
No!
Alexandra’s face flashed in his mind, and Tristan had to check the urge to rush forward to see if she’d been taken. If Robespierre’s men had so much as touched her...
But to act so rashly would not save her and would ensure all of them were killed. Tristan clenched his fists and ducked back.
No sooner had he taken a backward step than Dewhurst grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against the building wall. Leroy started to run, but Dewhurst stuck out a foot, tripping him. With his hands bound, the man would have difficulty rising on his own.
“What game are you playing now,rosbif?” Tristan wheezed.
“That’s the question I have for you, traitor.”
“Traitor? You think I sent Robespierre here?”
“Who else? Convenient for him and his men to arrive when you’re not there.”
“And how did you think I planned to explain him?” Tristan pointed to Leroy. “You think Robespierre doesn’t care that his own secretary is taking prisoners out of La Force for royalists?”
“Then how did he know?” Dewhurst demanded, squeezing Tristan’s throat.
“I don’t know!” Tristan squeaked. “I’ve heard nothing of this.”
“If you’re lying to me...” Slowly Dewhurst released Tristan’s throat.
“We can stand here arguing until Robespierre drives by and spots us or we can hide. Once they’re gone, we’ll go in and see if the attic was discovered.” Please, God let her be hiding there. Safe and unhurt. If she’d been taken...but he couldn’t think of that. The pain was too crushing, the panic too near the surface.
“No.” Dewhurst picked Leroy up and prodded him forward. “If they weren’t caught, they won’t be there, and they won’t go back unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Where will they be?”
