Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence 1)

‘I must search you, Mr Linton. It is useless to resist.’

The fellow had just intended to undress me and he was still calling me ‘Mister’? This was unbelievable!

‘Why should I steal your stupid file?’ I shouted. ‘I don't even know what’s in it!’

‘You could have been put up to it.’

‘By whom?’

‘By one of the men who want me ruined and dead.’

He said that so coldly, so calmly, that it cut right through my anger. I looked closer and saw that behind his granite façade, emotions were boiling inside him. He was just too stubborn to admit it.

‘What’s so important about that file?’ I asked, softly. Well, relatively softly, anyway.

‘If you took it, you already know,’ was his response. ‘And if you didn’t, I will not tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘I do not have to explain myself to you!’

‘So what now?’ I asked again.

‘I could tie you down to search you,’ he threatened.

‘You could try.’ My hands came up defensively again. Unconsciously, Mr Ambrose’s hand went to his cheek, and I had to grin. Was I crazy? It was still a very real possibility that I would end up face-down in the Thames today, and here I was, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

But I just couldn’t help being excited! This was the first half-way thrilling thing to have happened in my massively mundane life.

Mr Ambrose noticed my grin. Just before he turned to his turban-wearing henchman, I thought I could see a faint scowl on his face. What? I had elicited a facial expression from Mr Granite Face? Surely not!

‘Karim? Would you be so good as to search her?’ Mr Ambrose inquired.

The Mohammedan’s eyes flickered to me for a moment. He stood straighter and gripped the hilt of his sabre.

‘I would fight an Ifrit[23] for you, Sahib… but this creature?’ He gave me a look that reminded me of the way my aunt always looked at me. ‘I must respectfully decline.’

‘I thought so,’ nodded Mr Ambrose.

‘What in God’s name is an Ifrit?’ I demanded.

‘A powerful half-demon from Arabian mythology,’ Mr Ambrose informed me. ‘They are over twelve feet tall, armed with huge swords and have fists and wings that burn with hellfire.’

Dear me. I had no idea Karim thought so highly of me.

Mr Ambrose started pacing up and down with long, measured strides. I watched him carefully, my heartbeat still not returned to its normal rhythm. With his impassive face, fathomless eyes and long black tailcoats fluttering behind him like bat wings, he really looked more than a little intimidating. For a moment, I considered running. Maybe I could make it to the hallway and scream for help. Mr Stone would hear me. Maybe he would run for the police.

Karim met my eyes. His small, beady specimens weren’t quite as impressive as those of his master, but his were full of suspicion and animosity.

‘I sent Stone away,’ he stated. ‘The door to the hallway is locked.’

Mr Ambrose didn’t cease his pacing. I knew it wasn’t him the comment had been meant for, anyway. I gave Karim a curt nod, which he returned. If I had the slightest doubt before that Mr Ambrose could and would kill to protect his interests, it was now gone. With such servants at his command, the deed would be easy to accomplish.

I wondered why I didn’t feel more afraid.

Suddenly, Mr Ambrose stopped in his tracks and whirled around to face me.

‘You,’ he said curtly, ‘have placed me in a difficult position, Mr Linton.’