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time. No, this time is about making sure Papa doesn’t die like Mama. All I have to do is stay with him and keep him safe.
    Up ahead, Papa slowed his furious pace. After crossing an intersection, he approached a shiny black carriage that rested along—I glanced around to find a street sign—St. Catherine’s Lane. Rising above the buildings behind the carriage, I caught a glimpse of the White Tower. Mama and Papa took me there once. I liked the ravens that protected the fortress far more than hearing the tales of torture that had happened inside.
    The carriage door opened and a well-dressed gentleman wearing glasses and carrying a leather bag stepped out. Papa glanced up at the driver and then motioned for the passenger to join him near the back of the carriage.
    I wanted to move closer so I could hear what they were saying, but there was no place for me to hide. Instead, I pressed up against the nearest building, like Papa had taught me, and waited.
    After exchanging a few words, Papa pulled a letter from his coat pocket and handed it to the gentleman, who slipped it inside his own pocket. Papa pointed to the hidden letter and seemed to be giving the gentleman instructions.
    Movement to the left caught my attention. A pretty, dark-haired woman wearing an unusual dress and a large blond-haired man strode down the pavement between the row of buildings and the black carriage. Unlike Mama’s narrow skirts, the woman’s dress stopped several inches above her ankle, allowing her to walk much more freely.
    I stared at the forbidden sight of her skirts bouncing against her tiny boot-clad ankles until she and the gentleman disappeared behind the carriage. Heat rose into my cool cheeks, and I glanced guiltily toward Papa in time to see the well-dressed gentleman giving Papa a string-tied packet.
    What was this secret meeting about?
    The pretty woman and the large man emerged on the opposite side of the carriage. She immediately drew close to the well-dressed gentleman whose back faced her. Suddenly, I could see his eyes open wide, and then his mouth gaped open in an O of shock. He plunged facefirst into Papa, who caught him and lowered him to the ground.
    Confused, I watched the pretty lady step away from the protection of the carriage. She smiled at Papa. Then I noticed the large knife in her hand. It dripped with blood. I shrank back, my heart pounding.
    Someone yanked the driver down and slapped the horses into motion. The carriage bolted down the street, revealing the driver’s crumpled form on the pavement. Thick, dark liquid pooled around his head.
    Papa grabbed for the fallen packet at the same time the knife-wielding lady kicked it away. Focused on the packet, Papa failed to notice the second, larger man coming at him.
    “Papa, behind you!” I called out.
    Papa whirled around, ducking a split second before the man’s massive fist connected with the side of his head. Papa landed a hard punch to the man’s lower back, the impact making his spine arch. The man bellowed with rage. Papa didn’t stop. He thrashed the man until he lay unmoving on the street.
    “My, my,” the lady said in a husky, French-accented voice. “Such vigor, William.” She held up her hand in a staying action when the first big man charged for Papa.
    “Collette.” Papa straightened, pulling a blade from his sleeve. “What are you doing here?” His attention shifted briefly in my direction, long enough for me to see his thunderous expression.
    “Your son?” the lady asked, her smile broadening.
    I glanced around and felt the blood drain from my face. No longer did I stand in the protective shadows of the building. Now, I stood at the edge of the street. Out in the open, vulnerable, and in trouble.
    “Who sent you? Bonaparte?” Papa asked.
    “Seems you’ve been a naughty boy, darling. The emperor is not happy with you. He wanted that list of agents. He wanted it badly.”
    Napoleon Bonaparte? I shuffled closer.
    “I told his first