Page 109 of The Last Library of Paris

‘Stop!’ shouted Marcus. ‘Everyone stop!’

The soldiers all turned to him, their eyes wide with shock under the brim of their caps, and I realised with cold, brutal understanding that he had shouted in English.

Slowly, almost as though he was relishing the moment, the officer – the one whose gun was already trained on Marcus – took a step forward. He put the muzzle against Marcus’s forehead.

Everything went quiet, except for Guy’s unsteady breathing and my own blood pounding in my ears.

And then Sylvie, still crouching down next to Alain, stood up quickly, brandishing a second brandy bottle – the one that was full. I realised that was what she had put down when the Nazi pointed the gun at her; she must have taken it from the office. I watched in astonishment as in one rapid move she threw it, not at the man with the gun, or the others, but towards the door, where there was a smouldering pile of books.

Immediately, there was a strange whooshing sound, as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. The Germans all looked round as behind them the curtain hanging beside the main entrance went up in flames – all at once, like a candle.

The Nazis shouted, panicky now as their way out was blocked. One of them made a run for the main door, which was splintered and standing partly open. He shoved it open, and ducking through the flames, made a run for it. Another followed, then another.

The officer shouted at them, but Marcus took advantage of his enemy being distracted to tackle him to the floor. There was another gunshot that left my ears ringing, and then the Nazis were gone, and Marcus was on the floor with more blood soaking the carpet, and the room was filling with smoke, and I felt panic rising inside me once more.

‘Frances!’ Sylvie was shouting at me. ‘Frances! What should we do?’

For a wild second, I thought about finding a book that would give us instructions on how to react in this situation. But then my mind cleared and I looked down at Guy and Sylvie, who were both waiting for me to speak, and Marcus, whose trouser leg was soaked with blood but who was conscious and looking at me too, and at Alain, who was a horrible grey colour.

‘We need to get out of here,’ I said. ‘As quick as we can.’

Chapter 30

I looked from Marcus, to Alain, to the flames licking the sides of the bookshelves, and I tried to calm my brain and work out which was the most urgent concern.

‘Which crocodile is closest to the canoe?’ I said. It was something my father used to say to me when I was feeling anxious. Which should we deal with first?

Sylvie looked at me in confusion, then her expression cleared as she understood. She looked at Marcus.

‘How bad is your leg?’ she asked.

‘A graze. The bullet went past me.’

‘Take off your shirt.’

Marcus did as she said. He handed it to her and with surprising strength, she began tearing it into strips.

‘Bandages,’ she said, clearly seeing my astonished expression. ‘For Alain, not Marcus. He is fine.’

Understanding, I nodded. ‘Guy,’ I said. He looked up at me from beside Alain, with haunted eyes. ‘Guy, Sylvie is going to help Alain, but you and I need to stop the fire spreading.’

He stayed where he was for a second and I thought he wouldn’t help, but then he got to his feet.

‘There are sand buckets beside the counter,’ I said. ‘Let’s go, quickly.’

Guy glanced at Alain.

‘I’ve got him,’ said Sylvie. ‘Here, take these, put them over your mouth.’

She handed us strips of fabric, and I tied one around my nose and mouth, then helped Guy do the same, because his hands were shaking too much for him to tie a knot.

‘Come,’ I said.

We picked up the heavy buckets of sand and poured them onto the books that were burning beside the entrance. But the curtains were still alight, flames flickering up their length.

‘Pull them down,’ I said. ‘Before more books catch fire.’

Not caring about whether my hands burned I grabbed the curtains and pulled as hard as I could. They came tumbling down straightaway, in a shower of sparks and cinders. Guy and I crouched down, covering our heads with our arms. Then we stood again, coughing and spluttering with ash and dust and threw more sand on the fire, stamping out any embers.