Storm and Silence

Storm and Silence Page 143

I didn’t really. But I would never have admitted that.

‘When I tell you to run,’ Mr Ambrose hissed, ‘you run.’ His eyes roamed the darkness as if they could pierce it by sheer force of will. ‘Three… two… one… Run!’

We darted from behind the lamp post, racing across the street towards the dark silhouette of the chaise. The beast of a grey horse was still standing where we had left it, apparently completely unconcerned by the fact that bullets were flying around its ears.

Around us, men were fighting and dying. The chaise came nearer and nearer. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten…

Another man appeared in front of us, and I sprang forward immediately. I wasn’t about to be outdone by Mr Ambrose! Quickly, I raised my foot and kicked out.

The figure ducked away, and I heard Karim’s deep voice, cursing. ‘Kī naraka! What are you doing, Ifrit?’

‘Oh. It’s you. I’m s-’

Before I could finish, he pushed me aside and reached for the sabre at his belt. I saw a glint of metal and heard a scream out of the darkness. Something wet sprayed my face.

Strange, I mused. It isn’t raining, is it?

Then another flash of gunfire illuminated the alley and I saw that it was raining. It was raining red stuff. How funny. That meant the yellow piggies would have red spots at the end of the evening. That would look really spiffing!

‘Quickly, Sahib!’ Karim had drawn his own gun now - a longish thing of glinting metal and dark wood, and he was firing quickly and precisely. ‘Go! There are more coming!’

‘Then let us face them!’ I yelled, waving a fist in the air. ‘My strength is as the strength of ten because my heart is pure!’

Somebody grabbed me again and dragged me away.

‘Let go of me!’ I yelled and struggled.

‘Have you gone completely insane?’ I heard Mr Ambrose’s burning cold voice in my ear. ‘Be quiet, and we may get out of this alive!’

Ignoring my protest, he dragged me farther towards the coach. Behind me, I heard Karim shouting war cries in a language I didn’t know. Well, at least he would stay behind to protect the piggies. That might be enough.

We had almost reached the chaise when the gang leader jumped out from behind the horse and raised his gun to point directly at Mr Ambrose’s chest.

‘Who the 'ell are you?’ He snarled. ‘Where did these buggers come from?’ There was fear flickering in his wild eyes, and they didn’t stay trained on his target like they should have. His men were more numerous, but Warren’s so-called ‘associates’ were fighting like trained soldiers. Maybe that’s what they were. A private army trained for the defence of dancing animals! I was so proud of them.

‘I see your employer failed to inform you who you are dealing with.’ The cold in Mr Ambrose voice was so intense that I was surprised not to see the gang leader freeze on the spot.

The leader cocked his gun. ‘Tell your men to stop fighting, or I’ll put a bullet through your chest!’ He snarled. ‘Now!’

Mr Ambrose shrugged. ‘Very well. I’ll give the signal.’

He raised a hand and gave a short, sharp wave. The gang leader smiled.

Suddenly, the giant grey horse behind him reared up on its hind legs, kicking out wildly. With a strangled scream, the gang leader was thrown forward onto the cobblestones. A red puddle formed around his head.

‘Just not the signal you want,’ Mr Ambrose told the corpse.

In a flash, he had dragged me past the dead man and to the chaise and pushed me inside. ‘Good boy.’ He patted the horse on the neck, and for a moment I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face. But no… that couldn’t be.

‘You there!’ He yelled. ‘On the box! Now!’

One of Warren’s men, who had just finished off another of the thugs, rushed to do his master’s bidding and swung himself onto the box. Quickly, he grabbed the whip and cracked it over the horse’s head.

‘Gee up!’

Mr Ambrose managed to jump into the chaise just in time. It took off down the street at an alarming speed. Dark houses rushed past us, and the screams behind us grew fainter and fainter. Slowly, I sank back into the old upholstery. Through the dreamy haze that surrounded my brain, I began to realize something.

‘I’ve just been in a gunfight,’ I said lazily. It was getting really hard to keep my eyes open.

‘You certainly have,’ a cool voice said next to me. There was a short silence. Then the cool voice continued: ‘I suppose you now understand what kind of situation you signed up for. I shall of course understand that you wish to leave your post. I shall have all the necessary resignation papers prepared for you in the morning. You will have to come to sign…’

‘I’ve just been in a gunfight,’ I repeated, not really listening to whoever was speaking. Listening was so difficult.

‘Yes, you said that already. About the resignation papers…’

‘A gunfight! That’s… That’s spiffing!’ I giggled.

Another pause.

Then, the cool voice said, not quite so cool anymore: ‘It is what?’

‘Spiffing. Top-hole. You might even say… ticketyboo.’ I giggled again. ‘I just wish I’d had a gun, too! That would have been even more top-hole. I could have put some holes into other people. Top-hole holes! The little piggies would have been proud!’

I nudged the fellow with the cool voice in the ribs. What was his name again? I couldn’t remember right now.

There was a stifled groan from the dark. Hm… Wasn't I supposed to know this groaner with the cool voice? If only I could remember his name… his name…

Of course! Mr Ambrose! He had dragged me through the gunfight! Mr Ambrose, who had fought in defence of the little yellow piggies! How romantic…

I giggled again.

‘My hero,’ I drawled, leaning against him. ‘You rescued me.’ A frown spread over my face. ‘Although, now that I think about it, I actually didn’t want to be rescued. I wanted to stay there and join the fight.’

‘Exactly why you needed rescuing,’ he responded drily. Suddenly, I noticed that his arm, which had been around my shoulders the whole time he dragged me towards the chaise, was around my shoulders still. Why? And why was it suddenly gripping me so tightly?

‘You are incorrigible, Mr Linton,’ he told me, his voice low, tight, controlled. ‘Why didn’t you do as I told you to? Why, once in your life, didn’t you do the sensible thing and run?’