83

Rue Saint Jacques de la Boucherie

March 21, 1355

Just as Nicolas Flamel was venturing outside, he heard an uproar in the street. He opened the door wider to the sight of shopkeepers and residents closing their shutters and running every which way. Some were crying out. Others were shouting to their neighbors.

“What’s happening, Feublas?” Rhenac yelled. “Your men should be blocking the street.”

A guard grabbed Flamel and pushed him back.

“The British have attacked Paris. They’re pillaging and killing people on the other side of the Seine. We need to leave.”

“No! I need to get the book. Quick, Feublas, get us across the street to the scribe’s house.”

Feublas gathered some men in black to surround Flamel and Rhenac, and they forced their way into the street, injuring a man and two women in the process. All around him Flamel saw faces full of fear and heard the young and old screaming in terror. Halfway across, a shockwave ran through the crowd.

“The British!”

At the end of the street, Flamel recognized a British helmet. Rhenac’s men were pushed aside by the terrorized Parisians. In the panic, Flamel punched the closest guard in the kidney and dove into the crowd. He heard Rhenac cry out, but the crowd had already carried him away.

He reached his shop as one of his assistants was boarding up the large wooden door. He had just enough time to slip in. He found his wife trembling in the corner. Next to her was the sire of Tuz.

“Nicolas, your wife told me what’s going on. You’re in a bad spot. If your shop doesn’t have another way out, we’ll be sliced up by the British, or worse, by Rhenac’s horde.”

Flamel rushed to his wife. “Don’t be afraid. I just need to get something from the cellar, and we can flee.”

She leaped up, her face red with anger. “I found that cursed book!”

Flamel stepped back. “What did you do with it?”

“You’re more concerned about the Devil’s books than about your wife.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Flamel shouted.

Tuz stepped between the two spouses. “We don’t have time for a scene. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Someone was pounding on the door. An apprentice scribe shot Flamel a terrified look. The tip of a sword poked through the wood.

Lady Perenelle threw herself into her husband’s arms, screaming.

“The roof,” he shouted.