Page 40 of The Tides of Time (Storm Tide #1)

P retending that he belonged was proving a challenge for Armitage. Not only was he surrounded by voices speaking in swift French, but he was also standing in la Place de la Révolution, a horrifying guillotine at its center, as onlookers cheered the arrival of the condemned. How anyone could reach the point where cruel death was celebrated, he didn’t know. But he had to pretend he did.

Lili was in the cart of prisoners that had just stopped near the foot of the guillotine platform. Armitage wasn’t quite close enough to spot her, but he knew she was there. The day was December the 12th. This was their one chance.

The people gathered at Théodore Michaud’s home had proved shockingly brave. Armitage, who they were told was “Monsieur Romilly’s” brother, had heard tales of courage and ingenuity that boggled the mind. And most of them had involved Lili.

A person who had done all she had would be expected to move about with a hardened expression and a posture that spoke of impenetrable pride and unflinching confidence. There was something even more impressive in the fact that she had at times been afraid and overwhelmed and that she had allowed herself to care so much for the people of Loftstone that she’d taken so much simple pleasure in sorting out the unfamiliar objects and events she’d faced in 1873.

Lili’s web of connections hadn’t hesitated to take on this dangerous task. She had risked her life for so many, and they meant to return the favor. A complicated plan had been refined in the short time they’d had. It could work. It would work. He refused to believe anything else.

The prisoners were being led from the wagon and placed in an orderly queue at the base of the platform. Armitage inched closer to the wagon; his first task would occur there.

In the crowd, a tussle began. Pierre Tremblay had been tasked with beginning that. Chaos around the guillotine would work as a momentary distraction. Elsewhere in the crowd, angry shouts added to the disruption.

Armitage slipped up next to the wagon and held his breath. He watched the platform for his signal. None of the prisoners had been marched up the steps. He could see only the back of them. Everyone’s hair had been clumsily cut, making them look very alike. But he knew which of the women was his Lili. She was wearing the dress he’d bought her.

I’m here, Lili. She would have no way of knowing that. And with her name in the book she’d read, she would have every reason to believe that her march to the guillotine would not be interrupted.

A shower of rotted fruits and vegetables flew at the executioner and the guards standing at the front of the group of prisoners.

It had begun.

Armitage pulled his crowbar from the pocket of his borrowed coat and, as swift as he could, broke the spokes of the wheels on the far side of the cart. They needed to eliminate a speedy pursuit.

The attack on those in authority at this place was ongoing. The crowd pushed and pulled in confusion. The already-frenzied gathering took on a note of utter chaos.

Armitage looked over at the line of prisoners. Did they realize this was their final chance to live? Lili was eagerly waving them all away. Of course she was. Even facing her own death, she was looking after others.

You have to run, too, Lili.

A parting in the crowd gave Armitage a momentarily better view, and he understood why she hadn’t flown like the others. A guard, the rotted interior of what looked like a tomato clinging to the side of his face, had an ironclad grip on her arm. Armitage pushed into the mayhem around him, desperate to reach her.

A tidal wave of people pushed him farther away still. Blast it. She would be dragged up to the platform if she weren’t freed. The other prisoners were being pursued, but surely some would escape. She needed to as well.

Théodore was on the other side of the knot of people holding Armitage back.

“ Prends ca .” Armitage stretched as far as he could, holding the crowbar out. “ Aide Lili. ”

The Frenchman barely managed to grab hold of it, but he did. And he rushed at the guard. He swung the iron bar, hitting the man once on the back, then again.

Movement in the crowd obstructed Armitage’s view. Was Lili free? Did she run? He couldn’t see her.

A hand took hold of his arm. Armitage spun, ready to fight.

But it was Dad. “ Accompli. ”

That was the word they’d agreed to use when this portion of the rescue was either over or needed to be abandoned. But which was it?

“ Pas sans elle. ” He couldn’t leave without Lili.

“ Elle est avec ta mère .” Dad pushed him toward the edge of the gathering. “ Accompli. ”

His mind took a moment to translate, even though the French was simple. She is with your mother.

Lili was with Mum.

“ Accompli ,” Armitage whispered, allowing himself to begin the second half of the day’s mission: getting to Captain Travert’s ship.

Knowing the likelihood that any of them could be followed, this part of the plan had involved everyone making the journey to the Seine over different routes. Armitage did not know Paris, so he had been assigned a direct route. The Tribunal also didn’t know him, nor was he wanted or at risk of arrest, so of those making this final trip together, he was the safest out in the open.

He had memorized his route; it wasn’t complicated. He moved swiftly but without appearing panicked or worried. Pretend you belong. Doing so gave him a sort of anonymity. Even in a city as large as Paris, he was unnoticed, unheeded, and alone. It was precisely what he needed.

“Armitage Pierce.” His name, heavily accented with French, shattered his feeling of solitude. “The tides clearly brought you here with fewer attempts than were required of me.”

Géraud Gagnon, but a noticeably older version of him. Older and somehow angrier.

Armitage didn’t answer, neither did he slow his steps.

“A foreigner in France. I can have you arrested.”

That was most certainly true, but Armitage wouldn’t be cowed. He continued onward. His only focus was getting to the ship.

But he couldn’t bring Géraud there. How could he shake the man from his trail without detouring onto streets he didn’t know?

“The criminals who fled from the guillotine will be recaptured,” Géraud said. “Elisabeth among them. Your mischief here will have accomplished nothing.”

In a voice easily loud enough to be overheard, and with his best French pronunciation, he demanded in French, “Why are you speaking English? This is France!”

That drew notice from people passing nearby. Géraud allowed the tiniest bit of uncertainty to show, a revealed vulnerability that Armitage could seize on. Even those connected to the powerful had been turned on during the Reign of Terror.

“ Tra?tre !” Armitage called out. “ Tra?tre à la France !”

A few around him echoed the declaration. Géraud said something, no doubt in his own defense and to the detriment of Armitage, but fervor was seldom calmed with logic.

“ Tra?tre !” Armitage declared again.

Géraud grabbed at him, but Armitage darted out of reach. A vegetable seller placed his cart in Géraud’s path.

Armitage paused only long enough to point at Géraud and say yet again, “ Tra?tre à la France !”

A younger Géraud might have climbed over the cart or tussled with the man standing in his way. But time had not been kind to him. He shouted after Armitage, “ Je la retrouverai! Elle ne m’échappera pas. Je la poursuivrai pour toujours. ”

“I will find—” something. “She won’t—” something else. “Forever.”

He didn’t know exactly what Géraud had said, but Armitage had understood enough. She—Lili—wouldn’t escape him. He intended to keep chasing her. Forever.

Lili didn’t dare believe that she had actually escaped la Place de la Révolution. But she’d been freed from the guard’s grasp and rushed away. A cap had been placed on her head and a shawl dropped around her shoulders. And she’d been moved with force away from the execution site.

“Don’t slow your step or draw attention,” she was told in tensely whispered French. “You’re simply out for a walk.”

A basket was hung over her arm, another arm hooked through the handle as well. She didn’t dare turn her head to see who was walking with her. The voice was a woman’s, so it wasn’t Géraud deciding he would rather kill her himself.

Only upon reaching a narrow and empty backstreet did she so much as glance at the unidentified woman.

“Mme Romilly.” The name spilled from her in a whisper. “You were supposed to leave Paris.”

“And we are going to.” She offered a fleeting smile before returning to her focused and misleadingly casual walk through Paris.

They continued onward, likely unnoticed by the few people they passed, until they reached the Seine. Hope began to creep over Lili, but she didn’t allow it to remain. Acknowledging it felt far too risky. She needed her wits about her. Letting her guard down could be deadly for more than just herself.

They crossed to the ?le de la Cité and continued onward to the other side, where the Seine met the island once more. Mme Romilly led her with quick steps down from the street to the river level. And still they walked, silent and deceptively calm.

Tied to a metal ring in the wall, down near the Pont Neuf , was a small sailing ship. A man stood next to the large ring, one hand on the rope.

Lili held her breath, unsure who he was. Had they been found out? Was this man part of a plan or a hitch in one?

But upon approaching the ship, Lili realized she knew him. “Captain Travert.”

He dipped his head. “With haste, Mademoiselle Minet. We sail immediately.”

How was he there? She had known him in 1873. He had made the journey over the tides as well, but when? And reading the name Le Charon painted on the side of his ship, her mind demanded to know how . This ship had also been with him eighty years from then. Yet here it was. Here he was.

Mme Romilly pulled her aboard, then ushered her immediately belowdecks. The door above was closed with a snap, and the entire space was thrust into blackness.

A cabin lantern was lit. Then another. And another. There was light enough to see Mme Romilly but little else. The door overhead opened, and M. Romilly climbed down, the door closing behind him. The ship was not large. Few others, if any, were likely to come aboard.

“Once we are far from Paris, we can go above deck,” he said. “It will be too dangerous until then.”

“We’re leaving Paris.” Lili had assumed, but it was good to know for certain.

“We are.” Mme Romilly motioned her to a door. “Change from your clothes and rest. There’s a new set of clothes inside; everything you could need. And there’s a bag for putting your current clothes in until we have a chance to wash them in the hottest water we can manage.”

That was wise. Despite having worn a prison dress during the majority of her time in le Conciergerie, this dress smelled of the squalid interior of that place of misery. She smelled like it.

Lili stepped through the door.

Mme Romilly lit a candle in a lantern anchored to a sturdy dressing table, then slipped back to the doorway. Before she closed the door, she said, “There is also a basin of water, a cake of soap, and a small towel for you. Take all the time you need.”

Lili wanted to thank her, to ask endless questions. But she couldn’t produce a single word. All she managed was a nod.

A well-anchored basin sat in the middle ablutions table. A metal pitcher in a perfectly fitted box nailed to the floor held a generous amount of water. And as promised, a cake of soap lay in an indent on the table. It was perfectly designed for use on a moving boat.

For reasons she couldn’t explain, the sight of washing implements and the folded pile of clean clothes on the bed caused an ever-expanding lump to form in her throat. She was fighting her emotions, a battle she’d not lost in a very long time. She had sat through seemingly endless days in the misery of le Conciergerie without growing emotional. She had stood through her trial and sentencing without lowering her chin from its steady angle. She refused to fall to pieces now.

She set her mind to the task at hand, grateful for the distraction. She stripped off everything she was wearing and put it in the heavy canvas bag she’d been provided. The water in the pitcher was cold, but she didn’t mind. The soap smelled clean and fresh, and she was determined to feel that way herself.

She scrubbed every bit of herself, from the tips of her toes to the remnants of her hair. Then she scrubbed everything again.

Lili dressed in her new set of clothes. They were plain and serviceable and wonderfully clean. And she kept her equanimity right until the moment she spotted the shawl she had been provided.

It was the one Armitage had bought for her. The one she had left behind in 1873. Her darling Armitage.

She took the shawl and wrapped it around herself. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she sobbed.