By now, the soldiers were halfway down the road. I saw the foremost rider waving, trying to catch the attention of somebody on the ship, but the crowd was getting in the way. He shouted, but his words were drowned in the babble of the people admiring the sea view. Never had I been this grateful for the thriving French tourism industry.
‘What will they do if they catch us?’ My mouth felt dry. For some reason, my hand snaked along the railing, towards that of Mr Ambrose.
‘The French? Or Dalgliesh?’
‘I don't know. Which is worse?’
‘Both.’
‘Oh.’
My fingers found his. He twitched, and I was about to draw back, but then his fingers closed around mine like a vice, and held them tightly in place. I was so surprised that I almost didn’t hear the shout from directly beneath us.
‘Larguez les amarres!’
‘W-what does that mean?’ I whispered. ‘'Seize the spies'?’
‘No.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was just as cold as ever, but underneath the ice, there was triumph, waiting to break through. ‘It means “Cast off”!’
Before I could even process what that meant, I felt a shudder underneath us and saw the gangway retract. Helpless, the faint cries of the French officers rose over the babble of the crowd as the ship detached itself from the jetty and lurched forward, its steam engine roaring to life like some giant, ancient beast. But unlike the Nemesis, this was a friendly beast. It had come to take us to safety.
With a dizzying mix of relief and disbelief, I watched as the harbour moved away from us, slowly at first, then faster and faster, as the ship gathered speed and moved away from the island into the channel. The French and British Indian soldiers shouted in vain, their voices drowned out by the engine that carried us farther and farther away from the danger.
Mr Ambrose’s hand didn’t loosen its grip on mine.
‘We made it!’ I whispered. ‘We actually made it!’
He turned towards me. There was something in his dark gaze - not cold, this time. Something else. Something indefinable. He opened his mouth. But before he could speak, we heard a gentle cough from behind us.
Letting go of his hand as if it were a block of ice, I whipped my head around and stared up into the concerned face of a member of the ship’s wait staff, looking down at the two of us crouching on the floor with concern.
‘Um… we do have seats on this ship, Messieurs. It is not necessary to sit on the floor. Would you like me to show you?’
*~*~**~*~*
The helpful young member of the wait staff guided us to our cabins. I didn’t know what Mr Ambrose did after disappearing into his. Stand in a corner and calmly calculate how much money he was going to make out of his new canal, maybe? I, for my part, slumped onto the thing that vaguely resembled a bed nailed to the wall. Bunk, dunk, shwunk - I couldn’t care less what it was called or what it was for. It was relatively soft. That was all I needed to know.
The knock that woke me from my sleep was tentative but resolute. I blinked and yawned. How long had I been out? I didn’t really care. My clothes had dried, so it had to have been some time.
Again, there came a knock from the door. Drowsily, I lifted my head. This didn’t look like my room at my uncle’s house. What was this? Oh yes, the ship! It all came back to me then: The island, the mine, the race, getting on the ship…
What was its name again? Urania. Yes. Had we really managed to escape, or had it all been just a dream? Was I still dreaming?
A third knock came from the door. I could tell from the sound alone that it wasn’t Mr Ambrose on the other side.
‘Yes?’
‘Monsieur? Diner is ready in the dining hall.’
That decided it. I had managed to have some pretty strange dreams in my lifetime, but never could I dream up a French waiter calling me ‘Monsieur’. Crazy things like that were reserved for reality - my reality with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.
Groaning, I pushed myself up from the bunk bed and stumbled towards the door. ‘I’m coming,’ I called. ‘I’m coming.’
‘Very well, Monsieur. You are, um, well? You seemed a little pale, earlier.’
Well, what do I say? Getting shot at does that to me.
‘No, no. Everything is fine. Thank you.’