Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence 5)

Ha! Not on your sweet wallet!

I only retreated a few steps, until I was just around the corner of the inn, then crouched down, half hidden behind the wall. Once more, I raised my gun.

Bam! Bam!

One more man went down.

Only one? Damn, I have to get more practise!

‘There! That one! Get ‘im!’

The other soldiers apparently didn’t agree. They took aim, seeming quite determined to make sure I never again had the chance to practise shooting people. Spoilsports!

Bam!

‘Again, you miserable louts!’

Bam!

I flattened myself against the wall—just in time. Something stung my arm. When I looked down, I saw a tear in my sleeve, and a small trickle of blood.

‘Hey, you bastards! That was my best tailcoat! It was almost new!’

Really? That was my response? I really had to start spending less time with Rikkard Ambrose.

Be honest, Lilly. That’s not very likely, is it? If you get out of this alive, that is.

Carefully peeking around the corner, I raised my gun again.

Bam!

Another soldier went down—but the others steadily continued to advance. Damn! Once they were around the corner, I’d be a sitting duck. I had to get out of here! I had to find some way to get to Mr Ambrose.

Just then, a door in the inn wall behind me swung open, and a portly Frenchman stuck his head through the crack.

‘Au nom de Dieu, quelle est ce bruit—?’[44]

‘Oh, hello.’ I gave him my best I-love-Frenchmen-and-don’t-mind-you-eat-frogs smile. ‘I wonder…could I come inside?’

A shot whizzed over my head and blew the Frenchman’s hat off.

‘Merde!’

Jumping back inside, he slammed the door in my face, locked and bolted it.

‘Thanks so much!’ I called after him.

Another ‘merde’ came from inside in reply. I couldn’t have said it better myself. I was in deep, deep merde.

Or…maybe not deep enough?

An idea struck. Whirling around, I dashed along the inn wall and into the stables, to the one place I might—just possibly—survive. Merde. Merde, merde, merde, merde!

Only moments after I had settled into my comfortable, wonderfully-smelling hiding place, half a dozen soldiers burst into the stables. I could hear the others outside, taking up positions to guard the entrance.

&nbs

p; ‘Where is the little bastard?’ One soldier asked in a thick cockney accent. If there had been any doubt that these weren’t Frenchmen, it was gone now.