Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

‘Sir… I… I’m afraid I cannot in good conscience be a part of an illegal activity.’

Mr Ambrose now had exchanged the list of guard changes for a ground plan he had taken out of his leather bag. He still didn’t look up.

‘Then do it in bad conscience, Mr Warren. I don't care, either way.’

‘Mr Ambrose…’

‘You didn’t seem to care about bending the law when we laid our hands on that snake Simmons.’

Warren bit his lip. ‘That was different.’

‘Because,’ Mr Ambrose concisely stated, ‘he was a private secretary, not a Peer of the Realm, like the owner of that building over there, correct?’

To this, Warren didn’t seem to have anything to say.

‘Don’t worry.’ Mr Ambrose exchanged one set of plans for another. ‘What you have done is quite enough. I won’t require your services further tonight.’

‘You won’t?’

Mr Ambrose gave a derisive jerk of his head. ‘You don't think I would entrust you with a task as important as this? No. One thing I learned early in life is: If you want something done well, do it yourself.’

If possible, Warren paled even more.

‘Mr Ambrose, you cannot mean… You are a gentleman, not a criminal! You cannot mean that you are planning to break into…’

At that, Mr Ambrose looked up, his eyes flashing icily.

‘Dalgliesh took something that belongs to me, Mr Warren. If that happened in the colonies, and if he were any other man, I wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his head. Here, business practices are slightly different. But I will get back what is mine, and you’d rather not stand in my way.’

Warren swallowed again. He retreated a step, and bowed. ‘No, Sir. Of course not, Sir. Your word is my command, Sir.’

‘Indeed it is.’ Mr Ambrose stuck the ground plan back into the bag, slung it over his shoulder and took out of the coach another one, which he handed to Karim. ‘Stay here, Mr Warren. Guard the coach, and wait until at least one of us returns.’ He turned away from Warren, towards the entrance of the alley and number 97. ‘Karim, we’re going in. Stay behind me and watch my back.’

‘Yes, Sahib!’

I thought it was about time to make my presence known.

With a little smile, I stepped forward, out of the shadows, and raised a hand. ‘And where do you want me, Sir?’

A Man’s Work

To see actual surprise on the rock-hard face of Mr Rikkard Ambrose would have been too much to hope for. But I had the satisfaction of seeing one of his eyelids twitch about half a millimetre when he caught sight of me.

‘Mr Linton…!’ he breathed.

Karim jumped back, uttering another incomprehensible curse.

‘She really is Ifrit, Sahib! She can walk through walls and appear out of thin air!’

‘Actually,’ I remarked, smiling at him, ‘I drove here in a cab. Sorry to disappoint you.’ My eyes flicked from Karim to Warren. Apparently, he was too startled to have noticed Karim’s slip of referring to yours truly as ‘she.’ But really, it was not Warren’s reaction to my appearance, or Karim's, that I was interested in. Slowly, my eyes drifted back to Mr Ambrose.

His face was still devoid of anything akin to emotion. But there was a muscle twitching in his chiselled jaw.

‘A cab?’ he said, as if it were the dirtiest of words.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘And this cab, I suppose, is not in the vicinity any more to take you right back to where you came from?’