In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)

Finally, a cautious hand rose from the back. One of the prettier men in the company apparently did carry a hand mirror around with him wherever he went. So much for gender roles.

‘Hand it over.’ Mr Ambrose held out his hand. Taking the mirror from the reluctant dandy, he cautiously slid it around the corner of the tunnel. It barely protruded a few inches past the stone, but suddenly there was a shout, and shots rang out.

‘Idiots!’ Mr Ambrose hissed, and pulled back the mirror with a jerk. We heard a strange, harsh ping sound, followed by a scream, and curses.

‘Listen up.’ Turning towards us, Mr Ambrose fixed us with those dark eyes of his that seemed even darker and more threatening in the gloom. ‘I got a glimpse around the bend. There’s a cave there, fairly round, with all sorts of crates and bags, probably the bandits’ plunder. The bandits are scattered throughout the cave. Once we go around the bend, we can’t use guns anymore. Not the prototype, not rifles, not even revolvers. The cave is too small. The bullets will ricochet off the walls, and they might be as likely to hit any of us as our enemies.’ He jerked a thumb towards the cave, from which we still heard curses in Arabic. ‘I think the bandits found that out just now, too. So it’ll be one on one in there, close combat. Does everyone still have their blade?’

Shouldering their rifles, the men pulled scimitars, daggers and sabres. Suddenly, the light of the lamps was illuminating a forest of wickedly sharp steel.

‘Good. That’s everyone.’

I cleared my throat, meaningfully.

‘Everyone but one,’ he amended, and with a glare handed me a small knife from his belt.

‘Is that a joke?’ I looked at the tiny thing with distaste. ‘That’s not big enough to cut my toenails with!’

‘Then you must have impressive toenails. Forward!’

And he charged into the cave. Not waiting to be outdone by one of the men this time, I dashed after him. I skidded around the corner, my dagger half-raised - and ran straight into one of the bandits. And by ‘ran into him’ I don’t just mean we knocked heads. I really mean ‘ran into him’. The tip of my dagger was just about belly-high. We collided, and there was strange, wet thud, like a blade being slammed into a soft sheath.

Only - the sheath was a man’s belly.

‘Mmpf!’

‘Arg!’

We both toppled over, rolling across the floor, blood streaming over us. For a moment, I didn’t know whether it was mine or his, then I felt him twitch under me, caught in his death throes. Above me, I heard yells and the trampling of feet, and I pulled in my head just in time. A boot stomped down where it had been a moment ago. Man after man jumped over me in the rush to storm the cave. I growled. I didn’t like men going over my head, whether metaphorically or literally.

‘Ouff!’ A boot hit me in the side, and all the air went out of me. Another boot hit. And other. ‘Ouch! Careful! Live one down here!’

Another boot hit.

‘This is all your fault!’ I growled at the man beneath me. ‘Couldn’t you have gotten out of my way in time?’

The corpse stared up at me with glassy eyes, not appearing in the mood to reply. Another boot hit me in the side, this time so hard that I rolled over and came to a stop with the dead bandit on top of me.

‘Yuck! Get off me!’

I pushed, but nothing happened. The corpse only lifted a few inches, then smacked back down on top of me. That made me angry. Really angry. I pushed again, with all my might, and the corpse slid off me and onto the floor, leaving me panting, with a bloodstained dagger clutched in my hands.

If only Aunt Brank could see me now…

Not too far way, a scream sounded. It tore me from my paralysis. Bloody hell! I had to get off this floor, or I would soon join my friend, the disgusting corpse, in the underworld!

Rolling around, I pushed myself to my feet and steadied myself against the cave wall. Quickly, I looked around the cave to see what was happening.

It was mayhem. Utter and complete mayhem. Throughout the cave, bandits and Mr Ambrose’s men were duelling with daggers, scimitars and sabres. Every now and again, a small explosion would light up the cave, and I knew that someone had thrown an explosive or dropped a lamp. The smells of sweat, blood and burning oil filled the room.

‘Him! Over there! Get him!’

My eyes flicked to the origin of Mr Ambrose’s voice. There he was, pointing to a big, bearded man, who, standing atop a ledge, seemed to be commanding the bandits. He was all the way across the cave, too far for Mr Ambrose or me to reach - but not for someone else.

‘Jita la'i!’

With a bestial war cry, a huge figure darted out of a second cave entrance halfway across. I needed only a glance to recognize that massive mountain of a man, even without the beard. If his stature had left any doubt, the turban would have clinched it.

‘Karim!’ Mr Ambrose bellowed. ‘Get him! Get that man!’