Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

He took another large swallow from his cup, and gave a big, big sigh.

‘The world really ain’t what it used to be. I wouldn’t never have expected that of 'im. Not of old Tom Gurney.’

I nodded philosophically. Only a few seconds later did the name register in my befuddled brain.

I choked on my next mouthful of the burning drink.

‘W-what did you say his name was?’ I gasped, coughing.

‘Tom. Thomas Gurney, the little weasel. Can’t imagine he did that, and to me, who looked after him ever since his mum died. Aye, the world ain’t what it used to be no longer…’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure it aintn't… um… isn’t. Tell me… where exactly was this house where your partner met this “posh geezer”?’

*~*~**~*~*

I had a nice, long talk with my friend, the old sailor, and afterwards sat and watched the amazing visions produced by the burning drink. The dancing piggies at the back of the room had performed about half of a Russian ballet when I heard a familiar arctic voice from the main room.

‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton!’

‘Ah.’ I sighed and nodded to my drinking companion. ‘Duty calls.’

He grinned at me.

‘Don’t be too hard on him, lad.’

‘I?’ I demanded, outraged. ‘Hard on him? He’s my superior, not the other way around.’

‘Exactly.’

Shaking my head, I stumbled towards the door. The old fellow was nice enough, but strange.

Out in the main room, Mr Ambrose awaited me, displeasure evident in every unmoving line of his face.

‘We’re getting out of here,’ he stated. ‘The lips of that man Gurney are sown shut! I cannot get a single word out of him. This was a waste of time. We'll have to try something else.’

I raised an eyebrow. Or maybe both. Control over my facial muscles was rather difficult to maintain at the moment.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, of course!’

‘You got nothing at all, did you?’

‘No.’

‘Not the tiniest-winiest tiddly bittly bit of information?’

‘I am not in the habit of repeating myself, Mr Linton. No, I got nothing. Now let’s go.’

‘Tut-tut…’ I smirked at him. Or maybe I drooled at him a little. What did it matter? This was great! The little yellow piggies were doing pirouettes, just for the special occasion of my triumph. ‘N-not so fast, Sir. I think I have some interesting news for you…’

*~*~**~*~*

‘…there was this drunk old fellow, you know, really drunk, you could really, really tell from the way he spockle- spak- spoke…’

Mr Ambrose listened to my account with his usual facial expression - or lack thereof. In fact, both Mr Ambroses did. There seemed to be two of him at the moment. Sometimes there were even three, but most of the time there were only two. They were swaying slightly and going in and out of focus.

‘…and I totally conned him! Just like that! And he started bubbleabable…babbling…and… what was I talking about again? Barman? Another round of pig’s snouts… no… eyes…? Oh, to hell with it! So I got him talking and…’