Silence Breaking (Storm and Silence Saga Book 4)

by Robert Thier

  And then it was over.

  Panting, I stared up at him, still pinned to the door. He stared back at me, sea-coloured eyes fierce and cold as ice. ‘Stay!’

  My answer was just as determined. ‘No!’

  He was on me again in an instant, his lips reclaiming mine - and mine reclaiming his! The kiss was like an explosion. Fire sizzled through my veins. I could almost feel the ground rocking beneath my feet, so hard did he-

  No, wait.

  That was the ground rocking beneath my feet. Crap!

  ‘Mmmh!’

  I pushed against Mr Ambrose - to no effect whatsoever. There was a rumble, and the earth trembled once again.

  ‘Nnn! Mmmh!’

  My fists thudded into his chest - and still not the slightest reaction. Apparently, an earthquake was not important enough for Mr Rikkard Ambrose to interrupt his kissing schedule. And some part of me had to agree. After all, we were in a pretty important meeting right now, conducting significant business…

  No! Bad Lilly! Bad Lilly! Think ‘Feminist’! Think ‘Strong, independent woman’!

  Crap, crap, crap. Oh well, if I had to…

  How to get Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s attention?

  Well, there was always one way.

  I slipped one hand into his tailcoat. Down it went, and farther down. Beneath my lips, Mr Ambrose uttered a groan. My hand wandered even further down, slipped between two layers of cloth, and -

  He stiffened.

  ‘Mr Linton?’ His whisper against my lips was hardly audible. But it was cold enough to give a polar bear hypothermia.

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘Let go of my wallet.’

  Slipping my hand out of his tailcoat pocket, I held up the slim leather container and gazed innocently up at him from under my lashes. ‘What, this wallet?’

  He made a grab for it. Ducking under his arm, I danced out of the way.

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’

  ‘Give that ba-’

  He was interrupted by the sound of the world exploding outside. Red-gold light illuminated the room in a flare worthy of Armageddon.

  Our eyes met.

  ‘I think, perhaps, we had better leave.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Taking a deep breath, I tossed him his wallet. He nodded.

  ‘Let’s go! Knowledge is power is time is money, Mr Linton.’

  Oh, how wonderful that some things never changed.

  And how wonderful that some other things do, my tingling lips whispered in silence.

  Karim was waiting for us outside. Without a word, we got on our horses and started down the street. Not far ahead, beyond the river, we could see the red glow of the fires. As the darkness of night began to fall around us, it seemed as if we were riding straight into hell.

  ‘Halt! Who goes there?’

  And here was Cerberus.

  This guard dog, however, didn’t have three heads. He had just one, and two arms and legs, and a bright red uniform.

  ‘Sergeant.’ Mr Ambrose nodded to the man. ‘We’ll be crossing the bridge.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir.’ Stepping sideways so he was right in the middle of the street, the sergeant blocked our way. ‘I cannot let ye do that. I’ve got orders from Corporal Hicks to not let nobody through.’

  ‘I suppose it would be superfluous to point out that if you have orders to not let nobody through that would be a double negative, meaning that, in fact, you had orders to let everybody through?’

  The sergeant’s honest forehead furrowed. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Forget it! Step aside, man. Now!’

  ‘Sorry, Sir. Cannot do that. I’ve got orders from Corporal Hicks to not let-’

  ‘-nobody through, yes. I heard you the first time.’

  ‘There’s miners rioting on the other side of the river, Sir,’ the sergeant added, helpfully, clearly hoping that this additional information would finally make the tall gentleman in black see sense.

  Mr Ambrose’s eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘Yes. My miners.’

  The good sergeant needed a moment or two to process this information. When he had fully understood, his face paled. In the red firelight it looked like cream with strawberries, only a lot less appetising.

  ‘You mean…you are…’

  ‘Yes. Now step aside.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Of course, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’

  I raised my eyebrows as we rode past. ‘Pretty impressive.’

  ‘Things can be quite easy when you own half the town, Mr Linton.’

  ‘I’m sure they can, Sir. Just one question…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is it the half that’s burning?’

  ‘Shut up and ride, Mr Linton.’

  It didn’t take long until the stench of smoke invaded my nostrils. The crackle of flames became louder and louder. Not for the first time, I asked myself whether it would be wise to continue. But whether wise or not - Mr Ambrose was not turning back. So I’d be damned if I chickened out!

  Dark shapes shifted in the blackness ahead. Slowly, five men, three armed with pickaxes, the other two with clubs, emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Piss off,’ one of the men growled. ‘We’re on a strike. There ain’t no place for fancy tossers like ye here!’

  Mr Ambrose gazed down at them from his horse like a king at vermin beneath his feet.

  ‘I am Rikkard Ambrose. Take me to the leader of your rabble.’

  The men stiffened. They exchanged long, hard looks - then started towards us, their weapons raised to strike.

  Crap!

  Northern Chivalry

  The men had not even taken half a step when something long and shiny suddenly appeared in Mr Ambrose’s hand. Firelight glinted off the revolver’s barrel.

  ‘This gun,’ Mr Ambrose said in a tone as cool and composed as if he were discussing tomorrow’s weather prospects, ‘can fire seven rounds in quick succession. There are five of you. I am an excellent marksmen, and my associate,’ he nodded at Karim, ‘is also armed. I’ll leave it to you to make the calculations.’

  The men stopped.

  One of the ones in the background frowned. ‘What’s a calcalashion?’

  ‘Maybe leaving the math to them was not such a good idea,’ I whispered.

  But then my eyes landed on the fellow at the head of the little group. He had definitely got the message. His fists clenched around his pickaxe - but he didn’t move an inch.

  ‘Bloody hell! All right, let’s go! But you I’m warning ye, if ye shoot…!’

  Mr Ambrose’s only answer was a silent nod.

  The men turned and started down the street and, at another nod from Mr Ambrose, we gently nudged our horses and followed at a slow trot. As we went, more men appeared out of the darkness, staring at us. Grim, coal-covered faces with hard eyes and even harder pickaxes. As casually as possible, I leaned across to Mr Ambrose.

  ‘Just out of curiosity… What was your plan again?’

  ‘I am going to tell these people to end the strike.’

  ‘Oh, I see. And…then?’

  ‘Then they’ll end the strike. That is the plan.’

  ‘Ah. I see. And, just in case, let’s say, it didn’t work - I mean I’m sure it will. It’s a great plan, just ordering people to do what you want. Really great - but imagine for a moment that, hypothetically, it won’t work. What’s plan B?’

  ‘There isn’t one.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  Why me? Why oh why do I have to be in love with a maniac?

  ‘Brilliant, Sir. Absolutely brilliant.’

  ‘Silence!’ one of the men who led the way shouted.

  He was lucky that this was about the only command in the world that Mr Rikkard Ambrose had no problems complying with.

  Apart from the crackle of flames and the occasional whisper out of the darkness around us, we rode through the gloomy street without hearing a thing. The stench of smoke became more intense with every step our
horses took. So did the red glow in the distance. The houses around us were replaced first by warehouses, then by ramshackle wooden huts. Finally, they disappeared altogether. Red flames enveloped us. But not because we were standing in front of a burning mine. Oh no. That was a long way off yet. I could see the black-red column of flame and smoke rising ahead of us, reaching for the sky. No, we were surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of dirty, dark-faced, angry miners standing in the cold winter night, grouped around dozens of coal fires. As we rode past them, the heat was almost intense enough to scorch my skin.

  ‘Murderer!’

  The shout came from the left. My head whirled around just in time to see the dark object whizz past, and-

  Thud!

  Karim’s hand shot out, catching the thing in mid-air, before it could hit Mr Ambrose in the head. My dear employer hadn’t even flinched. Glancing at Karim, he gave a small nod.

  The mountainous bodyguard clenched his fist. There was a grinding sound, and black coal dust drifted from between his fingers. A moment later, the impromptu projectile had disintegrated into nothingness.

  ‘Anyone tries that again,’ Mr Ambrose said, in a very calm, very controlled voice, ‘and the accusation will become true.’

  Fire glinted off his gun.

  The crowd was silent.

  ‘Very well, then. Now that I have your attention…’ His gaze swept over the assembled miners, fastening on a tall, emaciated man with a scar on his left cheek. ‘You! Yes, you there. You’re the leader.’

  The man exchanged unsettled glances with his compatriots. ‘How did ye-’

  Mr Ambrose didn’t let him finish.

  ‘Tell your men to get out of my way.’

  The man’s jaw tightened. ‘Ye ain’t in no place to give orders! People died! We want justice!’

  ‘Strange.’ Mr Ambrose cocked his head. ‘The widow of the manager said the very same thing to me not half an hour ago.’

  Uncomfortable glances were exchanged.

  ‘I’ve not got nothing to do with that!’ the man growled.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t. But someone here has.’

  ‘The manager died in the explosion!’

  ‘Did he? A manager’s job is to do paperwork. To write reports and sign cheques. You think he was doing that down in the mine shaft before it exploded?’

  The men shifted. Again there was whispering.

  Mr Ambrose fixed his most arctic stare on them. ‘If he was down there, there must have been something wrong. Something happened that shouldn't have happened. Let me pass. Let me find out what was behind that explosion.’

  ‘Why should we believe anything ye say?’ one of the men spat. ‘We don’t mean nothing to ye!’

  Mr Ambrose met the man’s glare with a gaze of frost-coated iron. ‘You’re right. You don’t. But the coal down that mine does. That is a fortune burning down there. My fortune. So if you think that I am stupid enough to let my own mine catch fire and kill several people in the process - then by all means, try and kill me. Get your “justice”. But if you don’t - then you will get out of my way and let me do what I came here to do!’

  The mob hesitated. Our fate hung in the air, suspended by a thread. I had never trusted threads. The darn things always refused to go through the eye of the needle.

  Almost against my will, I glanced at Mr Ambrose.

  Would we die tonight?

  Would the two of us never get a chance to-

  ‘All right!’ Growling, the scarred man stepped aside. ‘Go through! Do whatever it is ye wanna do, and find out who did this. But I’m warning ye: if ye dunno have names for me in half an hour, I’m coming in there after ye!’

  And, with a barked command, the crowd parted, opening the path to the mine’s office building. It was a stark brick structure, one side scorched by the heat of the fire, but as yet completely intact. Nodding to the scarred man, Mr Ambrose nudged his horse forward, and we rode through the gap in the muttering crowd.

  We still weren’t completely through when I leaned over to Mr Ambrose, whispering: ‘How exactly are you going to find out in half an hour how an explosion was caused in a mine that you can’t enter, because it’s still burning?’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Y-you’re not?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you are not even slightly worried about the heavily armed mob who said they’d kill you if you don’t do what you just told me you have no intention of doing?’

  ‘No.’

  I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to grab him by the throat and shake him, and kiss him, and-

  No. No kissing! Forget about the kissing!

  And I had better forget about the yelling, too. At least while we were still in hearing distance of the mob. So I seethed quietly instead, following Mr Ambrose and Karim up to the smoke-blackened office building. Sliding down from his horse, Mr Ambrose strode up to the main door and straight inside. I rushed after him, fire blazing in my eyes.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ I demanded as soon as Karim had closed the door behind us.

  Ignoring me completely, Mr Ambrose grabbed a nearby desk and with an ease that betrayed the hard muscles under that unassuming old black tailcoat, shoved it towards the door.

  ‘I said what are you doing?’

  ‘Barricading the door, Mr Linton.’

  ‘I can see that!’

  ‘Then why ask?’

  ‘Gah! You’re impossible!’

  ‘Karim?’

  That one word was enough. With a muttered ‘As you wish, Sahib,’ the big Mohammedan grabbed a huge shelf full of files and shoved it against the desk.

  ‘Can someone tell me what is going on?’ I demanded. ‘I thought we were supposed to be investigating, not redecorating!’

  Mr Ambrose threw me a look.

  ‘We’re waiting and preparing. We have to hold out until the reinforcements arrive.’

  I blinked. ‘Reinforcements?’

  ‘Well, of course, Mr Linton. You did not think I was insane enough to go into this alone, do you? A squadron of hired men is approaching from the south to disarm the miners and put the fire out. We are merely the distraction.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I knew that if I myself appeared at the miners’ flank, they would focus all of their anger and attention on me and leave the other flank unguarded. Now we only have to wait it out until my men arrive.’

  ‘Your men?’

  ‘Which I sent for from Mrs Gibbons’ house.’

  ‘Ah. Of course. I knew that.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Of course! I’m not stupid! I knew all along that you weren’t just barging into this and leading us all into deadly danger.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  That was the moment when something huge and hard slammed against the door, making it shudder and creak.

  ‘Ambrose, you bloody swine!’ The voice of the scarred men was a roar in the night outside. ‘Ye lied to us! Ye aren’t alone!’

  ‘I never said I was.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was icy calm. How did he do it? ‘Surrender. End this, and nothing will happen to you.’

  ‘Surrender? To ye? You bloody capitalist maggot, we ain’t surrendering to nobody! We want justice!’

  ‘And you’ll have it. My justice.’

  ‘Ye… I’m gonna kill ye! Yer goons might get me, but before they do, I’m gonna get to ye! I’m going to rip your liver out!’

  There was another shuddering crash against the door.

  I swallowed.

  ‘What was that I just said about being safe from deadly danger, Mr Ambrose?’

  My dear employer threw me a cool look. That didn’t worry me half as much, however, as the voices outside the door yelling ‘Get that beam! Battering ram, against the door! Now!’

  ‘I think we had better procure more material for our barricade,’ Karim suggested.

  ‘Oh, you think, do you?’ Repressing my urge to give the man who had probably known about this in
ane plan from the start a good kick in the butt, I grabbed the closest shelf full of files and pulled.

  It didn’t move an inch.

  I pulled again. ‘Nnnnnng!’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Nnn - aah!’

  The shelf made a sudden jolt forward and began to tip, threatening to squash me - then suddenly stopped. Glancing up, I saw Mr Ambrose standing beside me, his hand tightly gripping the shelf. I expected him to make a remark about how weak and helpless we little women were - but he didn’t. Instead, all he did was nod at me. Our eyes met.

  ‘Together?’

  All right. Maybe I wasn’t going to strangle him after all.

  I nodded back. ‘Together.’

  It didn’t take long until we had a solid wall of desks, shelves, and several sacks full of coal piled up against the door. But even so, the wood of the door groaned under the repeated onslaught, and our barrier slowly shifted. From outside, I heard shouts of encouragement mixed with the noise of fighting.

  ‘So,’ I panted, leaning with all my weight against the end of the barrier and for the first time glad about my generous behind, ‘is this an average day in the life of a coal mine manager?’

  ‘Not quite.’ Somehow, Mr Ambrose’s voice was still as calm and collected as ever. He wasn’t even out of breath. ‘This is somewhat extreme.’

  Another strike hit the door, nearly toppling the shelf and squashing me. ‘I’ll say!’

  Another strike. And another. Again, the shelf wobbled dangerously. I pressed myself against it with all my strength.

  ‘Mr Linton, get away from there!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I-’

  Grabbing my wrist, Mr Ambrose yanked me back, just as another hit smashed into the door, and the shelf toppled over. For a moment, I was wrapped in Mr Ambrose’s arms as dust, wood splinters and stray pieces of paper whirled around us in a cloud of debris. For a moment, I felt safe. Then, the door gave a tortured groan, and a crack appeared down the middle.

  ‘Upstairs!’ Mr Ambrose commanded. ‘Now!’

  And for once, I didn’t argue.

  We dashed up the stairs to the upper floor. It was built above only half of the house, with a big landing, almost a platform at the top of the stairs - probably for speaking to miners at meetings. Well - there certainly would be lots of miners in here, soon. But they probably wouldn’t be in the mood to listen.