Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

The ride to the ministry didn’t take long. I diplomatically refrained from pointing out that, under normal circumstances, Mr Ambrose would have eaten rusty nails rather than paying money for a cab. I even pretended to let him help me out of the coach, while I actually steadied him. What the heck was happening to me? Why was I suddenly being so nice to him?

It had to be this marriage-thing. It was messing with my head. I had to make a point of being nasty to him at least once a week, or all the fun would go out of life.

Minister Guizot awaited us in his cluttered office. I stood next to Mr Ambrose, inconspicuously supporting him, while Karim took up his post next to the door.

‘Bonjour, Monsieur Ambrose. Bonjour, Monsieur Linton, and Monsieur…what was your name again?’

He gave Karim a questioning look.

Unfortunately, Karim was immune to questioning looks.

‘Um. Alors…Monsieur Ambrose, my lieutenant already reported back to me and told me of the little altercation in front of the Sainte Catherine inn. Would you be so kind as to elaborate?’

Mr Ambrose looked as though he had to seriously consider the question. Understandable, in a way. He was neither elaborate, nor particularly kind. But finally he nodded and started recounting the events of a few nights ago. There were a lot fewer words, bullets and blood splatters than I would have used, but he got the gist across. When he reached the part where Karim put on the uniform and knelt to the governor-general, I saw the bodyguard stiffen.

‘So that was it,’ Mr Ambrose concluded. ‘The governor-general left, and we simply returned to Paris.’

Yes, with you slung over the back of my horse like a pair of rock-filled saddlebags. Very simple indeed.

‘You are sure he left?’ the minister enquired, his forehead furrowed. ‘He didn’t see through your ruse and turn back at some point?’

For the first time since we entered, Karim spoke.

‘He left. I made sure my description of the rebellion was quite…convincing.’

His voice sent a shiver down my back. And to judge by the look of the minister, I wasn’t the only one.

‘Très bien. Then I think our business is concluded, non? It ‘as been a pleasure, gentlemen.’

The invitation to leave was quite evident. The minister’s smile said, ‘Thank you so much for helping. Now could you please get out of my country before you cause a miniature war with your nemesis?’

Giving a curt nod, Mr Ambrose turned towards the door. ‘I shall send you my bill.’

The minister blinked. ‘Bill? For what?’

‘For keeping your country out of a war. You didn’t think that would be for free, did you? Au revoir.’

And he marched out of the room.

The minister blinked—then glanced at me. ‘’e…’e cannot be serious, non?’

I gave the poor man a pitying look and patted his shoulder. ‘Just pay. It’ll be easier that way, trust me.’

‘Stop dawdling, Mr Linton!’

‘Oops. Duty calls. Excuse me.’

And I scurried out into the hall.

The three of us marched in silence until we reached the entrance hall. The sun was just rising as we stepped

into the big empty space. Neither inside nor outside on the street many people were about. At the sight of the sun through the big windows, Karim stopped and gazed out, eastwards, towards the burning orb.

‘One day, I’ll bring news of rebellion in my homeland,’ he told the sun. ‘And it won’t be fake.’

Mr Ambrose gazed at his loyal bodyguard for a moment. Then, stepping forward, he placed a hand on Karim’s shoulder.

‘The East India Company will be dealt with in time, Karim—as will Dalgliesh. You have my word.’ Lowering his hand, he turned back towards the exit. ‘But for now, I have other things to take care of.’