Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

No. Not everyone. Two men were moving forward, out of the crowd, straight towards us, also pulling guns.

‘Look! There! Get them!’

But my shout went unheard. There was no one to get them. All the sailors were on board the ship and Karim was still wrestling with the first shooter. Mr Ambrose was alone. The first of the two men raised his weapon.

In a move so fast I could hardly follow it, Mr Ambrose gripped the table and pushed. The heavy monstrosity turned over, crashing to the cobblestones with a unhealthy crack. Mr Ambrose flung himself down, and a moment later, a bullet whizzed through the air where he had just stood. The next one thudded into the table with a dull crunch.

Not wasting a moment, Mr Ambrose leapt over the table. He was on the first shooter in the blink of an eye, and in the next blink, his fist made contact with the man’s eye. The bastard went down like a felled tree. But the other one was finished reloading. He raised his gun and-

-and stumbled backwards as I threw my arms around his neck from behind, jumping onto his back.

‘Grrgl!’

‘Take that, you blighter!’

Now, I’d be the first to admit that I wasn’t exactly a wrestling champion, or a professional streetfighter. But I had managed to stay alive in a household with five female siblings and an aunt for over ten years. You can’t do something like that without learning a few tricks.

Grabbing a pencil from my pocket, I jabbed it into the shooter’s midriff. When he opened his mouth to yelp, I stuffed a dirty, ink-stained rag inside and gave him a good whack on the head. He gurgled and collapsed to his knees, which I took as an invitation to tighten my stranglehold.

‘There! How does that feel you bastard?’

He groaned in reply, and I jammed my pencil into his side again.

Hey, nobody said growing up with five sisters is easy.

But apparently, the guy I was clinging onto had had some pretty tough siblings, too. Whirling around with me still clutching his neck, he staggered backwards into a wall. Unfortunately, the wall was not made out of rubber or soft satin cushions. The breath was knocked out of me brutally, and my ribs protested in a flare of pain. My grip loosened, and with a violent jerk, the shooter shook me off, sending me flying. Landing face-first in a puddle of mud-water, I rolled around to come nose to nose with the barrel of a gun.

‘Say goodbye, lad!’ the shooter growled, taking aim.

My eyes widened. I stared at the man - and then my eyes slowly moved further, behind him, to the fast-approaching shadow.

‘Goodbye,’ Mr Ambrose hissed, and whacked the man over the head with his cane so hard that I heard the crunch of bones. He crumpled to the ground in a heap, and then there was silence.

Well, except for the distant cries of Argentinians running from the crazy Englishmen, and the gurgling sound made by the man still in Karim’s clutches. Growling some guttural expletive into his beard, the Mohammedan rose, holding up his prize with one hand by the scruff of the neck.

‘Here, Sahib. I thought maybe you might want him alive.’

Bending to pick up one of the fallen guns, Mr Ambrose checked to see if it was loaded. Then, without even blinking, he raised it to eye level and shot the assassin through the head.

‘You were wrong,’ he informed Karim. ‘Let’s go. I don’t think the people here want to purchase any more of our goods.’

‘As you wish, Sahib.’ With a half-bow, the mountainous bodyguard chucked the corpse into the harbour. It disappeared into the water with an ominous splash. Then he turned, picked up the fallen table and the bag of money as if they weighed no more than a feather, and follo

wed Mr Ambrose aboard the ship.

‘Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice came down from the deck. ‘What are you waiting for? Don’t stand there, gawking! Move!’

I blinked, then stared up at him. ‘Well, excuse me if I’m not used to seeing people get shot in the head!’

‘You are excused,’ Mr Ambrose granted graciously. ‘But only this once. See that you control yourself better in the future.’

And with that, he turned and marched away.

‘You’re welcome!’ I shouted after him. ‘For saving your life, you know! I’m so glad you’re still as alive and chipper as ever!’

‘Get moving, Mr Linton!

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