Written for the Tales Big Bang! Writing this was so much fun. Be warned that it does contain torture and ptsd, so please read with caution.

N'oubliez pas

Don't forget

7 February, 1794

Yuri held his breath when the blade dropped. Though he watched from across a crowded square, the thud of it striking the victim's neck made his muscles tense in sympathy. Beside him, Estelle breathed in sharply and looked away. Yuri wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her against his side. "I told you not to come."

"I know." Before them, the crowd roared as a man's head was lifted by the hair and displayed before the masses. "But I have to see for myself."

Yuri nodded in understanding. It was the same reason he came out every few days to witness the new wave of condemned prisoners sent to the guillotine: they were looking for Flynn. Rather, they desperately hoped to not find Flynn, because as long as he hadn't been executed, there was a good chance he was still alive. There was another reason they came out to the executions, though, and that was that it was good to be seen as someone who supported them. At least, it was better than being seen as someone who did not support them, because not properly supporting them could fast track you to a starring role in the next batch.

In the middle of the crowd, the next victim was being led to the guillotine. This time it was a woman, stumbling in fear and pleading with the guards escorting her.

Estelle tugged his arm. "Let's go, Yuri. We've seen enough."

Yuri nodded. He'd scanned the group of condemned prisoners as soon as they arrived and confirmed that Flynn wasn't among them. Yuri hopped off the wall into an inch of snow and then took Estelle's hand to help her down. Yuri tugged the edges of her shawl tighter around her shoulders and tried to smile. The swish and thunk of the guillotine behind him dampened the expression. "Let's head home and get something to eat."

"Leaving early?" The question came from an elderly woman sitting on a stone bench against the wall. Instead of looking at them, she focused on the knitting needles in her hands.

Yuri eyed the red yarn she used to knit a cap, identical to the one on his own head. Yuri hated the hat and already had plans to burn it as soon as it was safe to do so, but he couldn't risk anyone looking at him too closely. Estelle couldn't afford any questions being asked. "Aw, give me a break, Mamie. We haven't eaten all day. My sister is starving."

The old woman tutted, clearly unimpressed that they were leaving the even early but she seemed to accept their excuse. "Very well, then. Just remember who you have to thank that there's even food on your table."

Yuri spread his arm to gesture at the headless woman's body being pulled away from the dripping guillotine. "How could I forget?"

She glared at him suspiciously, but Yuri wrapped an arm around Estelle and led her away before the conversation could go further. He kept his face passive as they skirted the edge of the crowd. This was neither the time nor the place to let it be known how he truly felt about the proceedings. The pair remained silent, trying to ignore the jeers of the crowd as another prisoner was led up the guillotine. Yuri didn't need to watch, having seen a lifetime's worth of beheadings in only a few months.

It wasn't until they'd left the main square and retreated several blocks away down a dingy, deserted street that Estelle cracked. She tore the red, white, and blue cockade from her hat and threw it to the ground. "I hate this." She slumped against a brick wall and buried her face in her hands, her fingertips disappearing under the frill of her hat. "I can't stand watching these things all the time."

"You don't have to." Yuri rested a hand on her shoulder. "I've told you. Stay home and I'll come to look for him." Away from the warmth the throng of people provided in the square, the winter air chilled his bones, but he didn't think that was why Estelle was shaking.

Estelle shook her head and rubbed her tear-filled eyes. "I can't. I've thought of that, but I just know that the one time I don't go is the day that - that he'll be there… and I would miss my last chance to see him."

"Would you want that to be the last image you have of him?" His mind superimposed Flynn's face on any of the numerous decapitated heads he'd seen and he quickly pushed the thought away.

"No… but I know I would always regret it if I didn't get to at least see him one more time." She rubbed her eyes again and Yuri picked up her cockade from the street. When he held it out to her, she pulled her arms around her stomach. "I'd rather not wear it," she mumbled.

"I know, but you'd be better off putting it on. You think I like wearing this dumb hat?" He tugged on the silly red tail of the Phrygian cap on his head. What made it worse was the embarrassment of thinking that only a few months ago, he'd liked it. It was worn by those who supported the revolution, and at the time Yuri had been quite keen on the idea of getting rid of the king and rule by the people. It had never been in his plans to replace a oppressive king with an oppressive commoner who considered it highly suspicious activity to not sing constant praises of the new republic.

"I just can't stand wearing the badge of the people who killed my family. I just can't stand it."

Yuri sighed. "If you don't wear the cockade, people will think you don't support the revolution."

"But I-"

Yuri placed a finger over her lips before she could say 'don't' aloud, in case just saying the phrase was enough to summon informants. "If they think you don't, you'll be questioned. You can't be questioned, Estelle. Your fake backstory won't hold up to any scrutiny and someone could very well recognize your face-" plus she was horrible at lying, but he didn't say that to her, "-and you'll be outed as the king's niece. Do you think the men who cut off people's heads just for saying that maybe they cut off too many heads will have much mercy for a royal who went into hiding?"

"I know that! But - but maybe I don't care."

Yuri rested his hand on his hip. He didn't want to hurt her by using Flynn against her, but it might be the best way to convince her. "Flynn was arrested for helping you, and I'd bet anything the only reason we haven't see him up there on the chopping block is because they're trying to get him to tell them where you are. He's rotting in prison right now to keep you safe, so publicly flaunting your disdain for the revolution seems like a pretty poor way to repay him."

Estelle stared at him with wide, quivering eyes, and then she hung her head. "You're right. Of course you are. I'm sorry." She took the cockade from Yuri and stuck the pin through the ribbon of her mob cap. "Is this what you thought would happen, Yuri? When you stormed into the Bastille a few years ago?"

Yuri closed his eyes for a second and then shook his head. "No. This is not what I fought for at all. At least Louis just ignored our misery; he wasn't actively causing it like Robespierre." Then Yuri checked over his shoulder to make sure the alley was still deserted. If any loyal patriots had heard him say that….

In the distance, they heard the crowd cheer as another unfortunate lost their head. Yuri saw Estelle's eyes drift toward the sound and he took her elbow, tugging her away from the wall. "Come on. I think we might have some bread at home still."

"Good. I'm ravenous."

Yuri smiled down at her as they walked through the midwinter slush. Yuri had never considered himself starving on a day where he'd had at least one meal, and they'd already had a small breakfast this morning. Estelle had been coping admirably well in the sudden and sharp shift in her quality of life. Hungry and cold, they left the din of executions behind to return to the tiny home that had felt miserably empty since they lost Flynn.

10 February, 1794

Estelle daydreamed about summer evenings in the garden of Versailles as she stared out the window at the dingy street covered in slush. The peculiarity of how quickly and radically life could change still amazed her. Only a few years ago, she'd lived in a jewel of a palace and daily wore dresses worth more than this entire house. She'd always been interested in how people in the outside world lived, so at least now she had first hand experience. Her living conditions were certainly different, considering she lived in a cramped room shared with two other girls, in a cheap house off a narrow street. Before, she'd had no idea how much food cost, and the number wouldn't have understood the value of the numbers even if she had.

Her forehead bumped against the chill window. Outside, dirty snow piled up against the buildings and clotheslines criss-crossed a street that was almost narrow enough to be an alley. The houses here were cramped together, their front doors opening directly on the street, and several families shared one to split the rent. They were cold, too. Estelle had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and she was still chilly, because they weren't willing to spend their money on coal to heat the entire house evenly. She missed the comfort of the palace, though she felt guilty for doing so. There was no point complaining about the conditions of life on Rue du Ciel when everyone around her had been putting up with it for their entire lives. At least she'd had twenty-one years of luxury to satisfy her in the past.

The nights had been colder this winter than the last one, though. Last year, when temperatures plummeted and the blankets hardly seemed enough to keep warm, she'd slipped into bed beside Flynn. It was scandalous, she knew, to sleep curled up with a man she wasn't married to, but considering her life as a princess had screeched to a halt and anybody who cared was probably dead, she thought she could get away with it. With Flynn beside her, the nights had been so warm she could have thought she was back home.

But Flynn was gone now. He'd been arrested last November and now, three months later, she still didn't even know which prison he was in. She went to executions whenever they were held just to get a glimpse of the condemned, part of her hoping to see him just so she'd know, while a larger part prayed for him to stay missing so she could at least hope he'd be freed soon. The more days that dragged on, the more she worried that she'd simply missed the execution that had taken Flynn. God knew there were so many in Paris these days, let alone elsewhere in the country.

There was a rap on the door and after she called out, Karol poked his head in. "Hi, Estelle. Raven says you should come downstairs."

"Oh, thank you, Karol." She recalled how awkward Karol had been when she first arrived her, tripping over himself to be properly respectful. Yuri had knocked him on the head and pointed out that she wasn't even technically a princess anymore because the new government had abolished the monarchy, but it had still taken some time for him to stop stumbling whenever talking to her. Estelle kept the blanket wrapped around herself like a cape as she followed him down the creaky stairs to the kitchen.

Rita and Judith were sitting at the wooden table across from Raven, while Yuri leaned against the wall with his arms folded. Estelle wasn't sure she completely understood the relationship between Judith and Yuri, because they didn't act like any couple she'd ever seen before. She hardly ever saw them show each other affection, but they were married. But then, Judith had once said she and Yuri got married only because she was having trouble securing the rights to her father's tavern after he died and having a husband to inherit made things simpler. Estelle had decided to just list them as an oddity of life outside the palace and not worry about it. Rita was easier to understand: she'd been taken in by Judith's family after her parents died when she was very young, and she'd stuck around ever since.

"There's the lovely mademoiselle," Raven said as they entered. There was still snow melting off his leather boots. Raven had a house of his own in a different - and much nicer - part of town, but as the revolution got underway, he'd started associating more and more with his tenants to the point where he was here almost every other night. "Sit down, I have some news."

Estelle slid into a chair beside Rita. "What is it?" Raven's face was calm and serious, and that alone tipped her off that this was serious.

"I'll start with the good news: I know where Flynn is."

Estelle's heart leapt and she sat up straighter. Raven had been her best hope for news of Flynn, since he was a member of the Committee of General Security. If only it had been officers assigned under Raven's division that had arrested Flynn; then he might have had information as soon as it happened.

"But…." Raven folded his arms and looked to Yuri instead of Estelle's earnest eyes. "I'm afraid that's the end of the good news. I know where he is 'cause I saw his name on a list of prisoners ta be executed day after tomorrow."

Estelle covered her mouth and slumped to the table. Rita's arm wrapped around her shoulders, but she barely noticed it. It wasn't… surprising news. By the end of November, she'd known that there was no way Flynn was just waiting to stand before the tribunal and be declared innocent. Intellectually, she had known his imprisonment would end in execution. Actually hearing that it was scheduled, though….

A silence filled the room in the wake of Raven's announcement. Estelle kept her eyes closed and rested her forehead on her arm as Rita rubbed her shoulders.

"We can't just let it happen," Karol said. "I mean… he's our friend! We have to do something."

Karol's words were followed by another silence. Was it possible? Once the Revolutionary Tribunal had condemned someone to death, there was no going back. The guillotine had expedited executions to a gruesome efficiency. But… but Karol was right. If Flynn hadn't helped her escape Tuileries Palace the night Louis and Antoinette were arrested, she'd be in prison right now instead of Flynn - she might even be dead. Flynn was the best thing that had ever happened in her life, and she couldn't bear to sit passively and let some rotten big blade lop his head off. She rubbed her eyes, took a deep breath and pulled her head up. "Karol is right. We have to do something."

"What kind of thing are you suggesting?" Judith asked.

She gave a quick shake of the head. "I don't know exactly yet. But we're going to rescue him!"

"Old man," Yuri said, "which prison is he in?"

Raven was still grim-faced. "The Conciergerie."

Estelle winced as her mind filled in the image of that imposing fortress by the Seine, with its thick stone walls and towers. She felt guilty for thinking she was cold here, considering how frigid a cell must be in a stone dungeon damp from the nearby river.

Yuri whistled. "That's going to be difficult."

"Hm, yes." Judith nodded and put a finger to her chin. "A direct assault would never work, and I don't think we'll be able to tunnel through those walls in twenty-four hours."

Rita looked between Yuri and Judith. "Are you guys really planning to try to break him out of there? I mean…" Her face turned to Estelle, now full of sympathy. "I want to help him too, Estelle, but we have to be realistic. No one has ever escaped from the Conciergerie."

"That just means we'll have to be the first to do it." Estelle looked around her group of friends. "I know it will be dangerous, so I can't ask any of you to help me. But, I can't just sit here and let Flynn die. I'm going to do anything I can to save him."

"I'm in, of course." Yuri left the wall to join the others at the table. "If I help save his life, I'll be able to throw it in his face forever."

"I'll help, too!" Karol said.

Judith leaned forward. "Planning an infiltration of the Conciergerie sounds fun."

Raven smirked. "You kids would never make it without help from Raven the Great."

Rita folded her arms and let out a long breath through her nose. "This is crazy. We're going to get killed."

Yuri slapped her on the back. "Good to see you're as optimistic as always."

"Let's get started," Raven said, intertwining his fingers and cracking his knuckles. "If we're gonna break someone out of the most secure fortress in France, it's gonna take some plannin'."

18 July, 1786

The summer heat held Paris in its muggy embrace, and the temperature inside the tavern wasn't much better with so many people packed in and drinking. Sweat dripped down the back of Yuri's neck as he hustled between the common room and the kitchen in the back, debating if he preferred the stuffy and crowded public area, or the quieter kitchen that was hotter thanks to the ovens. Usually on nights like this, the clientele at La Comète was less rowdy owing to the exhaustion of the heat, but something seemed to have stirred them up today. Many of them were standing and gathering around a table in the corner, their voices raised but jumbled together.

"Hé!" Yuri shouted as he carried a tray with flagons of cheap wine. He set this on the table and pushed his way into the crowd. "All of you need to chill out. What's the problem here?" At the heart of the crowd, he found the source of commotion. Two people were standing, fists clenched, looking about ready to begin a brawl on the tavern floor. The first was a regular costumer Yuri recognized, while the other was a newcomer. The new guy looked young, about Yuri's age, with scruffy blond hair and a tailored blue coat that looked more expensive than all Yuri's clothes combined.

"He's the problem." The regular shoved a beefy finger at the younger man.

"I've done nothing but sit here quietly. You're the one who decided to cause an issue."

Yuri looked between the two and sighed. "What's the problem, Jean?" Food was in the oven back in the kitchen, so this had better not take too long to sort out.

"This bourgeois bastard doesn't belong here. I saw him this afternoon wearing stockings and breeches and heading into the university."

Yuri's eyes flicked back to the blond man. He wore long trousers now, but the cut of the coat betrayed his wealth. "That true?"

The rich boy folded his arms. "So what if it is? I was under the impression this establishment was open to anyone with money to buy food."

Jean glowered at the young man. "Not open to your kind. We have to deal with your lot all day; and now you want to come intrude on our free time, too?"

"I wasn't trying to intrude on anything. I just sat down and ordered a sandwich. Why is that a crime?"

Yuri recalled taking his order earlier, and he had to agree that he hadn't caused any trouble. He'd been quiet and polite, as far as Yuri knew. Still, the crowd was shouting and something had to be done before an actual fight broke out. Hermes, the owner of the tavern, entrusted Yuri with a lot of responsibility to keep things running smoothly, and he wasn't willing to show he couldn't do it. "All right." He pointed at the rich boy. "You, get out."

He scowled at Yuri. "Kicking out a customer who hasn't done anything wrong? It looks like it was a mistake to come to your rotten tavern in the first place."

Yuri grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the crowd and toward the door. It wasn't fair, but it was a matter of kicking out one newcomer versus a whole crowd of regulars who would happily take their business elsewhere in the future if they thought La Comète was now catering to the bourgeois. He opened the door and shoved to the cheers of the other patrons. The young man stumbled onto the street, and then turned around to give Yuri a piece of his mind.

Before he could begin, Yuri held up a finger and spoke, too softly for the crowd to hear. "Go down the alley on the right. There's a back door to the kitchen. Dinner's on me." He shut the door on his startled face. Turning around, he called, "And all of you need to sit back down and stop causing a ruckus! Now, who're these for?" He gestured at the wine he'd set down earlier.

When the common room was settled back into jovial drinking, Yuri returned to the kitchen just as the back door opened and the young man from before stepped in cautiously. Rita jumped at the opening of the door and looked over from the wash basin where she was taking care of the dishes. "Who are-"

"Relax," Yuri said. "I invited him." Yuri pulled open the cast-iron oven and took out a pair of baked potatoes. "Rita, do me a favour and take these to the guys at the back corner table."

Rita, who was around eleven years old, hopped off her stool and took the tray from Yuri. She gave Flynn a suspicious look and then left the kitchen.

"Sorry about earlier." Yuri grabbed a spatula and lifted a piece of pork from the stove. "It's business. I can't kick out a whole group of regulars."

"I understand."

Yuri set the meat on a bun and threw some grilled vegetables on top. "This is what you ordered, right? I hope you don't mind eating in the kitchen."

"It's fine. Thank you."

"So, what's your name?" Yuri set the plate on the table on the middle of the room.

"It's Flynn. Flynn Scifo."

"Yuri Lowell." They shook hands.

Flynn began to eat while standing at the table, and then Yuri asked, "So, what are you doing here? Don't you have some swanky party to attend?"

Flynn smirked and lowered his dinner. "I'm not as rich as they make me out to be. Rather, I was rich, but my mother passed away a few months ago. When I came into control of the family finances, I realized she'd been spending irresponsibly to maintain our lifestyle, even though we haven't had any income since we left Corsica."

"Corsica? Isn't that island Italian?"

Flynn nodded. "We are, but France took it over when I was still an infant. Which makes me a French citizen, despite what certain patriotic Frenchmen in my classes want to believe. Anyway, as I was saying, I have enough to get by until I finish university and can begin earning my own money, but until then I'm a little strapped for cash. I was just looking for a cheap meal."

"I see, I see." Yuri leaned forward on the table. "Forgive me for not having much sympathy that you're forced to slum it with the rest of us."

"I didn't expect you to. I know that I've had an easy life, comparatively. I'm not trying to start anything, I just want to eat and get on with my day."

"Have you considered getting a job?"

"I don't really have time. University is eating up all my hours."

"Well… if you're not opposed to getting your soft hands dirty, we could use some help around the kitchen here. Scrubbing dishes and whatnot." Yuri doubted a pampered rich boy had much experience with cleaning, but he definitely wouldn't have the experience to cook properly. Besides, Rita would be thrilled to have someone else to help with that chore. "No need to set a demanding schedule. Come in when you can, work for a few hours and get a free meal at the end of the night. I'll talk to the owner about it."

"Really? That would be great. Thank you."

"As long as you pull your weight." Yuri wasn't too worried, though. He had a good feeling about Flynn Scifo.

11 February, 1794

Yuri threw his piece of charcoal on the table. It was past midnight and they were still no closer to thinking up a plan. Estelle put her head down and dug her fingers into her hair. Sheets of old, yellowing paper were spread on the table, covered in diagrams and notes. The sun had long set and the little kitchen was lit by a couple of candles and nothing else. Estelle tracked the time by noting how far down the wax had melted, and they seemed to be melting unusually fast as they counted down to Flynn's execution.

"We're getting nowhere," Yuri said.

Everyone had been excited to begin planning the breakout hours ago, but now Karol was practically asleep at the table and Judith and Rita were blinking heavy eyes.

"Let's review," Raven said. "The Conciergerie is on an island in the Seine, so ta escape we'll have ta sneak across a bridge in full view of the guards. It's heavily fortified and was built ta withstand sieges back in the 13th century. It's got armed guards at every exit and he's most likely in the dungeons, beneath even more security."

Rita leaned forward with her fists pressing into her cheeks. "We can't tunnel in on this short notice. We can't blast through a wall. We can't climb the outside and sneak in through a window without being seen. We can't even have the old man use his rank to bluff him out, 'cause his name's on the list now to be executed."

Their glum faces surveyed the diagrams on the table. They had exhausted every possibility and were still left with the sick reality than thirty-six hours from now, Flynn would be dead. Karol was the only one not looking glum, but that was because he'd fallen asleep. Considering it was past midnight by now, Estelle couldn't blame him.

Yuri's chair thumped against the wall when he abruptly stood up. A storm raged behind his carefully blank face, but all he said was, "Karol needs to go to bed." He shook Karol's shoulder and muttered, "Hey, Karol, time to go upstairs."

Karol raised his head, blinking. "I - I wasn't sleeping…. W-what are we d-d-doing-" he covered his mouth to yawn, "-to save Flynn?"

"You can help more tomorrow. Time for bed." Yuri tugged Karol's arm and led him out the room. Estelle heard them going upstairs while the rest of them sat in glum silence.

Judith leaned back and folded her arms. "I suppose it wouldn't work to charge through the front door, guns blazing."

Raven let out a humourless laugh. "We'd all be killed, but I'm almost tempted ta try."

Estelle knew how he felt. She needed to do something or else she'd spend the rest of her life wondering if Flynn could have been saved if only she'd tried. At the same time, she recalled Yuri's words from the other day and knew that the last thing Flynn would want was her to risk her life. He'd put himself at great risk to ensure her safety, so not risking it was the best way to repay his sacrifice.

When Yuri hadn't returned after a few minutes, Estelle left the table to see what was taking him so long. She was about to turn to ascend the stairs when she spotted him standing in the darkness of the front parlour, arms folded and staring out the front window. He looked up when her footsteps approached.

"Can you even see anything?" she asked softly when she drew beside him. Outside, the moonlit street was just barely brighter than the room.

Yuri didn't bother answering her question. "We're not going to break Flynn out of the Conciergerie."

He heart clenched. She'd known it was a long-shot when they first begun planning, and her optimism had gradually dimmed over the evening, but she wasn't ready to give up hope yet. "Don't say that. We'll think of a way."

Yuri shook his head. "They call the Conciergerie the antechamber of the guillotine. Hundreds of people have been locked up in there and then moved on to the guillotine since September alone." Yuri sneered at the window. "Oh, I'm sorry, I mean 'since Vendémiaire.'"

Estelle attempted the tiniest of smiles. The government demanded everyone start using their modern, secular calendar, but Estelle thought the whole thing was rather silly. "It was Fructidor, actually."

"Should have known it was Fructidor when everyone suddenly went bananas. But the point stands: if it was possible to break someone out, it would have been done already. We're not the first people to have a loved one locked up in there. I don't think it can be done."

Estelle closed her eyes briefly. "No, we're not. And Flynn isn't even the first loved one I've had imprisoned there." Her hands bunched into fists and she squeezed her eyes. "My aunt was in there, too."

Yuri glanced down at her. "I'm sorry, Estelle."

"I know you didn't like her. Nobody liked Marie Antoinette… but you never got to meet her." Estelle opened her eyes and stared out the street that was so different from the home she used to know. "She made me feel welcome in France after my father died, and encouraged me to read what I wanted no matter what the court said about propriety. I couldn't help her when Flynn smuggled me out of Tuileries palace, and I couldn't do anything when they cut off her head. I just… just stood there and the crowd cheered, just like they did when my uncle was killed…. Like when they killed Princesse de Lambelle and put her head on a pike, even though she was always kind to me. A-and like when they hacked Mariette to death, even though she was only a maid, and her b-blood got all over my dress." Her breath hitched and she had to take a moment to gain control of her heart as the memories of all that violence flooded over her. "Just like they'll do for Flynn the day after - no, it's after midnight, tomorrow." She shook her head. "I can't do it again, Yuri. I don't want to stand by and do nothing while the revolutionaries systematically behead everyone I ever cared about."

Yuri stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. "Ah, what the hell, I have nothing going for me anyway. I'll sneak into the Conciergerie tomorrow night and do my best."

"What? You can't go alone."

"Of course I can. One guy is less likely to be spotted."

"How are you going to do it?"

"I have no idea. I have the rest of the day to figure it out, but it'll probably involve climbing a wall and going through a window."

"Well, then I'm going with you."

"No. We've talked about this. You need to protect yourself or else Flynn-"

"His sacrifice will be in vain. I know, Yuri. But if you go by yourself, all that will happen is that the next morning, two people I care about will be led out of the prison in chains on their way to the guillotine."

"Don't have so little faith in me. Maybe I'll make it."

Estelle wasn't actually listening, though. She kept repeating her own words in her head, certain that an idea was forming. "Yuri… it's impossible to break into the prison. But what if we let other people take him out? I mean… this would be cutting it really close, but… they'll take him out of the prison that morning to load him onto the cart to take him to the guillotine. The Conciergerie is impenetrable, but what about security on a cart?"

Yuri stared at her. She waited for him to point out the flaw in her plan, or how it still wouldn't rescue Flynn, but the pause dragged on without a counterpoint. Then Yuri grabbed her shoulders. "Estelle, you're brilliant."

12 February, 1794

Pont Neuf, which meant "New Bridge", was the oldest bridge in Paris. It crossed the Seine with a pit-stop on the tip of the Île de la Cité, the island in the river that had been the heart of the city many centuries ago. On the northern bank of this island stood the imposing towers and battlements of what had once been a palace of medieval kings, but had now been converted into a prison for use by the Revolutionary Tribunal. Across the bridge on the north bank of the river was the Quai du Louvre. This was a tree-lined boulevard that led along the river, past the Louvre Palace - although, just like the Conciergerie, the revolution had also transformed that building into a less-royal function - in this case, an art museum.

After passing that former palace, the road led past the expansive and beautiful Tuileries Garden - no, that wasn't right either. Yuri was getting annoyed with all these name changes; he felt like he barely knew the city he'd been born in. They called it the National Garden now, and its beauty had been greatly tarnished when hundreds of guards were chased into and massacred the night Flynn helped Estelle escape the revolution. At the edge of the garden, the road connected with the wide public square which had formerly been known as the Place Louis XV. To Yuri's consternation, it had also been renamed. He was pretty sure they were calling it Place de la Révolution now, but considering how many hundreds of heads had left their bodies at the centre of the square, Yuri thought it ought to have been renamed Place de la Guillotine.

Yuri was not on the Quai du Louvre. In fact, he was about fifteen feet above it - which he thought was about four and half metres, which he had to know now because the goddamn Republic insisted they use this goddamn metric system, even though feet had been serving them perfectly well for hundreds of years. This whole revolution was such a joke. He'd gotten involved at first because the general idea of 'hey, wouldn't it be neat to have a constitution like they have in England? How about if the king had less absolute power?' was appealing. Now, the Jacobins with Robespierre at the head and his Committee of Public Safety (and wasn't that name a joke in itself) had flipped the country on its head, commanding they use a new calendar, clock, and measurements while beheading anyone who offered his regime constructive criticism. Yuri had never felt more unsafe nor oppressed in this country, which he thought was the opposite of what a people's uprising was supposed to end in.

The glorious revolution of the people had flipped Yuri's life upside down, but he was not going to let it take away his best friend, too. So he crouched on the iron railing of a balcony, one hand on the branch of a tree that rose up from the street and would have concealed him better if it still had leaves The other hand gripped a pistol. On the street below, Rita sat next to a flower stand on the low wall above the Seine, while Karol ran up and down the street rolling a hoop with a stick. Disgruntled passersby gave him dirty looks as the boy nearly crashed into them.

Then Yuri saw it: the boxy cart - more like a cage on wheels - trundling over Pont Neuf. Rita noticed it, too, and looked up through the trees to Yuri, then down the block at Karol.

"Karol!" she called. "Stop messing around and bothering people! Get back here, you brat."

Karol paused and looked back, then saw the prison cart crossing the river. "Sorry, sis!" He set his hoop into motion once more and began running back toward Rita, concentrating on keeping the wooden wheel spinning and upright. Yuri glanced from Karol to the cart, which had crossed the bridge and was now moving toward them down the road. Every nerve tensed. The problem with this plan was that there was no time for a margin of error. If they messed up now, the guillotine was only five minutes away.

Karol dashed next to the wall and gave the hoop and big whack. It rolled forward, out of his control, and he sprinted to catch up, his eyes locked on the hoop. Then, the hoop smashed into the side of the flimsy flower stall, shortly followed by the boy. The stall collapsed and flowers went flying, spilling across the dirt street.

The young woman behind it shrieked as her wares covered half the street. "Imbécile!" She whacked Karol's head as he sat on the ground, surrounded by flowers. "You help me pick these up!"

Pedestrians on the street gave Karol a dirty look as they picked their way around the flowers, though a few were kind enough to stop and begin cleaning.

"Sorry, sorry!" Karol gushed, scrambling to begin picking up flowers.

Rita jumped off the wall and stalked over. "I told you to watched where you were going!" She stood in the middle of the road, arms spread.

Behind her, the prison cart reached the commotion. Yuri spied terrified faces through the wooden bars and he scanned them one by one to find Flynn. It was too tightly packed, though. Over a dozen people were squeezed inside; for all his faults, Robespierre was at least efficient.

"Out of the way!" the cart driver called, waving his hand as the horse snorted in displeasure at the commotion.

Rita paid him no head as she berated Karol, while a handful of others were busy picking up the flowers. Yuri suspected some of them were trying to help, while others were planning to simply take the flowers to sell themselves.

The cart driver sighed, picked up the reins, and directed the horse to go around the mess. To avoid all the people and flowers strewn across the road, the cart had to skirt very close to the edge of the road, nearly scraping the tree trunks that lined the boulevard. This brought the cart directly beneath Yuri's hiding spot.

There was no time to second-guess himself when the moment arrived. Yuri leapt from the balcony and landed on the front seat with a crashed. The driver jumped in fright but before Yuri could even process that he'd landed, he shoved the barrel of his gun into the man's ribs and screamed, "Get off the cart or I'll blow you off!" This was accompanied by a shove, and the man scrambled off his seat within ten seconds of Yuri landing. While the onlookers were still frozen in shock at his sudden appearance, Yuri grabbed the reins, picked up the discarded whip, cracked it as loud as he could, and shouted, "Hyah!"

The horse bolted. Yuri directed it around a corner and the cart nearly tipped over. The prisoners shouted in confusion as they bounced an jolted past the Louvre. People shouted and ran after him, so Yuri cracked the whip again and encouraged the horse to go as fast as it could. Yuri had not, in fact, ever driven a horse cart before, but he didn't think it would be too difficult. The street past the Louvre was still a major thoroughfare, so he steered around another corner and once again nearly capsized the entire thing. He felt a little bad about the poor people standing in the back and all the bruises they'd have after this, but if all went according to plan they would still have their heads at the end of the day and he thought that was a fair trade.

People ran screaming out of the way as he took the cart down a street not at all intended for large vehicles. People were also running screaming behind him, but they were growing farther and farther away. Angry prison guards couldn't keep up with a galloping horse, even if it was dragging a load of terrified prisoners behind. They had left the broad streets behind and now he was steering through the twisty warren of roads where the poor lived. Yuri had grown up here and still found it easy to get lost, so he hoped anyone following him would quickly lose his trail.

He finally pulled the cart to a halt in the middle of an alley. There were a few feet of space on either side of the cart before hitting damp brick sides of houses. Just ahead of him sat another cart, this one much smaller and filled with kitchen scraps on their way to the dump. The woman leaning against its side gave Yuri a little wave.

Yuri waved back and then hopped to the ground. He rounded the cart while confused and frightened prisoners stared at him through the bars. At the back, he swung open the door and looked in on their shocked faces. "Bonjour, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you for choosing Le Conciergerie Express for your travel needs today. I'm afraid I'm a little new at this and I seem to have taken a wrong turn. If you could all do me the favour of disembarking and walking to the Place de la Revolution yourselves, I would be much obliged."

There was still no answer as the group gazed at him, though some hung their mouths open.

Yuri stepped aside and held out his arm. "Of course, I'm not going to follow you to make sure you actually head there…. You could hurry back to your families, pack up what you can and then leave the city, making sure to change your names and establish a new life in the countryside… but we're all law-abiding citizens of the Republic, so I'm sure that never crossed your minds."

The first prisoner hesitantly stepped down from the cart, gave Yuri a nervous look, and then started running. Tension released, the rest of them spilled out behind him. Some murmured a quick, "Thank you," as they passed, while others just took of running. Yuri examined every face, holding his breath to see the one they'd done all this for. When the last person stepped off the cart, and she wasn't Flynn, his heart sank. Anger and despair rushed through his head, blurring his vision. They'd messed up. Flynn must have been on a different cart, maybe heading to one of the other execution sites in the city, or maybe they'd take him out in the afternoon. They couldn't get away with this a second time. It was too late. They'd failed.

Then he realized there was still one person in the cart, sitting on the floor and slumped into the corner. Judith was leaving her rubbish cart and approaching him when Yuri jumped into the cage. "Flynn?" There was no movement from the person slumped in corner, and he was so thin and ragged that with his face turned away it was hard to recognize him. All Yuri saw was a mess of blond hair above skin that was sickly pale. "Flynn… you still among the living?" He said it casually, but the worry was real.

There was no answer and Yuri moved toward the lump with dread. Not now, not after everything they'd done, not when they were so close…. When he crouched, he saw the shudder of a rising chest and relief filled Yuri's own. Flynn was passed out, but he was alive. Lanky, unwashed hair hung around his face, and Yuri was certain the bruises and cuts on his cheeks continued beneath his unshaven scruff of a beard.

Carrying Flynn would once have been difficult, but now his clothes hung limp on a frame that was little more than skin and bone. He slipped his arm beneath Flynn's knees and under his back and then lifted. Flynn's gasped he was moved, though his eyes remained shut. Yuri went as quickly as he could to get his suffering over with as soon as possible. Judith met him at the entrance to the cart and took Flynn's legs so they could split his weight. Flynn was breathing heavily as they carried him past the prison cart and to the one Judith had brought. The piles of mouldy cabbage, carrot stems, stale bread, and reeking cheese lay on top of a net. Judith grabbed the edges of this that hung over the back and lifted the entire mass up.

"Sorry, Flynn," Yuri muttered. "This is going to smell really bad."

Flynn made no sound as they slid him onto the small cart beneath the pile of refuse and then lowered the net and pile over him. The cart was just big enough that there was a foot of space between Flynn's feet and the end, which was enough for the net to lay smooth and show no sign that anything was hidden beneath. Yuri hopped onto the driver's seat and changed into a dark blue coat Judith had brought. He tucked his hair beneath a red Phrygian hat and then took up the reins of the old mare.

"Sorry," Yuri called back to the horse he left with the prison cart. "Your owners will be along soon to get you. Thanks for the ride." Then they drove their little cart onto a wider street and blended into the flow of traffic. Nobody gave them a second glance as they snuck their fugitive through the streets.