Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

‘In the dark it didn’t matter. But here, with the lights still on? If they see you with those bloodstains on your shirt, they’ll raise such a hue and cry we’ll never get to do our job.’

He considered for about a quarter of a second—then nodded.

‘Go.’

I turned my horse.

‘And Mr Linton?’

I stopped.

‘Yes?’

‘Be careful.’

I smiled.

‘Yes, Sir.’

And I cantered off in the direction of the inn. Hardly had I rounded the corner of the building, though, when I realized that it had been the wrong move to make. Firstly, because there was not a single carriage in sight, let alone one with the earl’s crest. And secondly, because the moment I came around the bend, I heard a sound from behind me. A sound that after all this time with Mr Ambrose, I was disturbingly used to.

Bam!

I whirled around—but there was no gunman to be seen. Then I realized—the shot had come from around the corner.

Where Mr Ambrose was.

No!

A Crappy Fighter

Mr Ambrose would really have been proud of my time-saving skills. I had my gun out and my horse at a gallop in about half a second. Still, I hadn’t even come around the inn before I heard the second shot—and a cry of pain.

Don’t let it be him. Please, don’t let it be him!

I dashed around the corner—and froze at the sight that met my eyes.

Mr Ambrose was on the ground, kneeling behind his horse. Shot?

No, thank god! He’s taking cover.

But a moment later, another shot rang out, and his horse balked, and raced off into the night, taking away with it any cover it had provided. And cover was urgently needed. Riders were streaming down the road, rifles raised, ready to fire. They weren’t wearing uniforms, but with the way they were moving—swift, orderly, precise—they didn’t need to.

Soldiers.

And I could guess from whose army.

The first man took aim.

My hand moved before I was even consciously aware of it. In the blink of an eye, my pistol was level with my eye.

Bam!

The man went down.

Unfortunately, this led to his dozen or so friends noticing me—and so did Mr Ambrose. Cold, sea-coloured eyes bored into me.

‘Mr Linton, get back!’