Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

‘Do not give out congratulations, Warren Sahib, before we have proof of the truth. It is easy to say he is there.’ He raised an eyebrow at me. ‘But have you indeed seen the man we seek with your own eyes?’

‘No,’ I had to admit. ‘But he is here.’

‘It is easy for you to say so, but he may be indeed farther than the stars and the sky.’

I turned to Mr Ambrose. ‘Where did you pick this fellow up? Does he always talk like this?’

My employer chose to ignore this. He was examining me carefully without saying a word. Finally he inquired in a low voice:

‘He is really there?’

‘Yes,’ I said firmly. ‘He is.’

‘Then let’s go.’

Mr Ambrose was out of the cab and halfway across the street in a flash. His arms came up, one of them holding a cane I hadn’t noticed before. He gestured, and Warren’s men were suddenly out of the cab, too, spreading out in a loose semi-circle behind him.

Six of them, together with Karim, remained at the entrance to the hotel while the rest, without needing any orders, followed him in. They seemed to be well accustomed to follow his silent commands.

Well, I sure as hell wasn’t! Cursing, I hurried after them.

The doorman of the hotel seemed to be quite surprised at the company in which I was returning. His surprise, however, was nothing to that of the receptionist, whose mouth actually dropped open as we marched into the entrance hall. We passed him before he had a chance to say or do anything and were already up the first flight of stairs when we heard him call out.

‘Where to?’ Mr Ambrose inquired, completely ignoring the shout of the receptionist.

‘Room forty-five on the third floor.’ I called from behind. ‘And slow down, will you? It’s no easy job climbing stairs in this blasted corset!’

Will it surprise you to hear that he didn’t slow down?

Muttering a very unladylike curse, I sped up and managed to catch up with them just as they reached the third floor.

Mr Ambrose stood on the landing like an admiral on the bridge. With his cane, he pointed at a door a little distance down the corridor bearing the large brazen number forty-five. Then he nodded to his men.

Again the men seemed to understand without needing to be given orders. Two of them positioned themselves on either side of the door while another strode up directly to the entrance and knocked on the dark wood barring the way.

There was a short silence. Then:

‘Yes? What do you want?’

The voice was high and slightly arrogant. I could see it fitting perfectly to the man Mr Ambrose had described. Thin, blonde, and a bit vain.

‘Room service, Sir,’ Warren’s associate replied in a perfect I-am-a-well-mannered-servant tone.

‘Room service? I didn’t order anything.’

‘I know, Sir. Compliments of the house, Sir. We always present a bottle of the best wine from our cellars to guests who stay longer than three days.’

‘Oh, if that’s the case…’ The scraping of a chair came from the other side of the door. ‘Would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

Warren’s man sprang to the side, and silent as a shadow Mr Ambrose took his place. I tried to move so that I could get a look at the door when it opened, but Warren held me back.

‘Not yet!’ he hissed. ‘Wait until he opens the door!’

Steps approached from inside the room. I waited, counting my breaths in a futile attempt to calm myself. Suddenly I was wishing that I had changed back into trousers and a shirt before coming up here. Say what you will about the degradation and annoyance involved in pretending to be a man, it certainly gives you more freedom of movement.

The door opened.

Mr Ambrose nodded to whomever was on the other side.