“Dubois?” Joe’s voice was broken. They walked down the hall, but he had to lean on Crawford for strength. “Tell me, Cooke.”
“He’s in his cell.” Cooke unlocked a gate and they kept walking, then mounted those stairs Joe hated. “Sleeping, I suppose.” Cooke shot him a kind look. “He’s fine, Joseph. He got out of the steam room, the little snake, and warned Gauthier. Gauthier told me everything. All right?”
Hot tears blinded Joe, but he cleared his throat, holding the sob down. He wouldn’t break down now. Dubois had slipped away. They hadn’t hurt him.
Joe’s chest filled with fire and pride. Dubois was smart and strong.
They climbed the rest of the stone steps in silence.
When they’d reached the infirmary, Cooke asked Crawford for his keys. “Let me unshackle you,” he said, slipping the cha
