In the Eye of the Storm (Storm and Silence 2)
A situation has arisen at factory number 12 in Soho, and requires your immediate attention.
Yours truly
Dennis Bradley
Factory Manager
Not far underneath that was scribbled in a rather hastier script:
P.S.: I resign.
‘A situation?’ My head snapped up to stare at Mr Ambrose. ‘What kind of situation?’
‘It doesn’t say.’
‘I know it doesn’t say! That’s why I’m asking you!’
‘I regret to inform you, Mr Linton, that I am not omniscient.’ His face stone-hard, he gave the cudgel another experimental swing. ‘But I think it’s best to go prepared for anything.’
Realization settled in.
‘You… you don’t mean that you are going to go there by yourself?’
‘No.’
‘Thank God!’ I let out a breath of relief. ‘I thought for a moment-’
‘I won’t be by myself. You shall accompany me.’
‘What?’
His gaze was a lance of ice, pinning me where I stood. ‘You heard me.’
‘But… but… there will be dozens of men there!’
‘No. Hundreds. Two hundred and thirty-seven, to be exact, not counting any females and juveniles.’
‘So don’t you think any trouble there will be dangerous? Whatever the trouble is, they’ll probably be angry!’ Because you have a talent for making people heat to boiling point.
‘I expect so,’ he told me, as cold as a cucumber in a barrel of ice at the North Pole. ‘I am certainly angry. They are lazing about while I pay them to work. And I intend to put a stop to that.’
‘But… bloody hell, this will be dangerous!’
He raised the cudgel in his hand. ‘Did you think I took this for decoration?’ He took a step closer to me, cudgel still raised.
‘Well…’ Desperately, I floundered for something to say. On one level, I was excited. On another, I was something I would never admit being, even to myself. It started with a T, and continued with E, R, R, I, F, I, E, and D. ‘Don’t you have anything I could use as a weapon?’
‘I have an African hunting bow. But I imagine that’s not what you’re looking for.’
‘Not really, no.’
He shrugged. But… was that a satisfied glint I saw in his dark eyes? ‘You’ll just have to rely on your fists, if it comes to a fight, Mr Linton. After all, you are as tough as any man, aren’t you?’
The bloody son of a…!
I opened my mouth to say something, but he was faster. He had crossed the distance between us with two long strides, and was suddenly towering in front of me, a column of iron encased in black cloth. His dark, sea-coloured eyes held mine captive.
‘Did you think working for me would be easy, Mr Linton? Did you think I didn’t mean what I said? This work is not for you! Or did you think being my secretary would mean sitting nice and snug in your warm office all day?’