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“Look at this,” the captain said, gesturing to the open panel in the cell door.
Tristan hesitated.
“Go on. Look.”
Feet heavy, Tristan plodded to the door and looked through the panel.
“Sleeping. That’s all the brat does. And you worry about him breaking bars on windows!”
Tristan scanned the cell. A small lump was under the threadbare blanket. He could just see what appeared to be a dirty tuft of hair poking out.
“I think it is time you returned home.” The captain gestured to the stairs. “Curfew is in less than an hour. Surely, you do not want to break the law.”
“No.” Tristan dared not glance at the turret door. He hoped Alexandra and the rest were out of the Temple by now. He would take his time leaving, hoping his presence would be a distraction that might keep the league from discovery.
***
ALEX COULDN’T BREATHEdeeply. She could barely move, and she imagined the sensation was much worse for Montagne, who was a good deal larger than she.
“I have it. I have it,” a voice said, sounding far away. “You’ve done enough.”
Alex hoped it was Dewhurst. She heard a thud and a noise as presumably a wine barrel with one of the four of them was rolled into the wagon. She said a quick prayer that the king was not too frightened. She didn’t know how Montagne had managed to persuade the boy to climb into the barrel, but he’d done so. The boy had looked terrified, but he did not argue. Perhaps his spirit had been crushed, and he no longer knew how to argue.
Her barrel tipped, and she almost let out a squeak of surprise. She pressed her hand, tucked against her chest, to her lips and remained silent.
“The empty ones are light as a feather,” Dewhurst said. She knew his voice now that he was so near. She began to move, her head spinning as the barrel rolled up the cart. “Go on and enjoy your wine. I won’t say a word.”
She stopped rolling, and Dewhurst set her upright again. The problem was he set her upside down. He was supposed to have paid attention to the direction the barrel was facing when he turned it on its side. Apparently, he’d been so busy trying to make the guard leave, he’d forgotten to look. Alex tried to lift her hands to brace herself so her head didn’t ram against the bottom of the barrel. All of her weight crushed down, making breathing even more difficult. But she dared not make any noise until they were away.
She heard another barrel rolling up the ramp to the back of the cart, but Dewhurst didn’t speak. Hopefully that meant the guard had left him. Had Tristan made it out? Was he safe? Would she even see him again before he took the carriage that would travel to London?
Her head started to pound, and she wrenched her shoulder against the side of the barrel, hoping to better brace herself. Finally, she heard the last barrel roll onto the cart, shaking the wooden slats her barrel sat on as Dewhurst set it down.
It seemed an eternity before the carriage began to move and then Alex wished it hadn’t. Her barrel jiggled and shook, bouncing her head against the bottom. Several times she almost lost her tenuous hold, which would have brought all her weight down on her neck and head, but she managed to hold on.
The cart jounced over the cobblestone streets and finally jolted over the rougher terrain she knew to be the park. Once she was certain they were away from the streets, she began to kick and scream. “Dewhurst! Let me out!”
The cart continued, the noise of the wheels and the horses too loud for Dewhurst to hear her.
Alex’s head thudded against the barrel again. She had to do something. She could barely breathe, and one big bounce might cause her to break her neck. She used the next jolt to lean her weight into the tilt of the barrel. It didn’t tip, but it swayed. At the next opportunity, she pushed as much of her weight against the barrel as she could. This time it leaned, balanced on the rim, and finally tipped over.
The impact pushed all the breath out of her body, and her head hit the side of the barrel hard. For a moment, Alex thought perhaps the cart slowed, but then all she heard was a loud ringing in her ears.
***
“WHERE THE DEVIL AREthey?” Tristan said to himself. He’d left the Temple, every step away from it expecting to be called back as the boy was discovered to be missing. Instead, he walked until the guards could no longer see him and all he could make out of the structure were the towers.
Then Tristan broke into a run. He headed down a side street and back toward the Temple, arrowing for the back, the section bordered by a wooded area.
He was to meet Dewhurst here and the six of them, four of them in wine barrels, would rendezvous with the carriages and go their separate ways. No one had told him where the rendezvous was. Only Dewhurst knew, and this was to make certain no one could give it away if they were captured.
Tristan entered the chilly darkness of the woods, peering through the gloom for any sign of the cart. He saw nothing. Perhaps Dewhurst wanted to be certain they were well hidden, so he walked further into the woods. Still nothing.
He found wheel ruts where Dewhurst and the cart must have been waiting while Alex and the others entered the Temple. But the cart was nowhere to be found now.
A trickle of unease rippled through him. What if Dewhurst had gone straight to the rendezvous? What if that had been the plan all along? Tristan Chevalier was known as Robespierre’s secretary. Wouldn’t it be easier for the league to escape without him? Surely they knew by now that Tristan would be under suspicion of having aided the enemy. But what did that matter to them if they had Capet far away?
Tristan clenched his fists. He couldn’t allow himself to think this way. Alex would never have agreed to that plan. She wouldn’t have left him.
