by Robert Thier
‘Where in God’s name do you have the keys for this place from?’ I hissed.
‘I don't,’ was his calm reply. ‘These are no keys. They are lock picks.’
‘Lock picks? What does a respectable gentleman want with lock picks?’
‘Nothing, probably.’ He threw me a cool glance. His fingers didn’t stop. They moved in an intricate dance, producing clicking noises from the lock. ‘But then, I never claimed to be respectable.’
He turned his eyes towards the lock again.
‘Listen closely now, Mr Linton. We have exactly twenty-six minutes and thirty-one seconds until the next shift of guards arrives - less even, if those two who just left should happen to meet Colonel Townsend and discuss with him our appearance here. I will need approximately another three minutes to open this lock, and there might be other, more complicated locks between us and the file inside the hut, so we will have to move fast. As soon as the file is in our possession, we will move to the tunnel at the end of the cave…’
‘What tunnel, Sir?’
‘Didn’t you see the tunnel at the other side of the cave as we came in?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Well, I did. As I passed it, I felt a breeze come up the tunnel. It smelled of sea air. There’s a direct connection to the coast through that tunnel. Judging from the general direction of the passage, it should come out somewhere near the harbour you told me about. If we go by that route, we might be able to make our escape before the soldiers realize they’ve been hoodwinked.’
‘And we might end up at a dead end and be trapped.’
‘We might. But better a risk in life than certain death, Mr Linton.’
I couldn’t argue with that.
‘What should I do?’ I ask him. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘Be quiet.’
I bit back a sharp reply. This time, his terseness might actually be more than simply annoyance at my presence and general feminine existence. I had no idea if one needed quiet to pick a lock; it might very well be.
‘And you can keep an eye on the stairs,’ he added in a voice that wasn’t quite as granite-hard as usual - rather more akin to slate, or sandstone. ‘Tell me immediately when somebody approaches, understood?’
For some reason, a smile appeared on my face. ‘Yes, Sir.’
I had been staring at the empty stairs for a few minutes when from behind me, I heard a click.
‘Done! Let’s go, Mr Linton.’
When I turned my head, I saw that the door was indeed standing open a crack.
‘What now?’ I whispered. ‘Should I stand guard outside while you go in and get the file?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don't want you to stay out here alone.’
He gave no more explanation, but silently beckoned me to follow him inside. I did so, feeling confused. What was that supposed to mean? That had sounded almost as if he wanted to keep me at his side because he cared more about my safety than about securing his precious secret file, the key to all his greatest dreams of wealth and power. But that couldn’t be the case, surely.
Compared to the distant, echoing hum of voices and clatter of cargo out in the cave, it was almost eerily quiet inside the hut. It was only a small, one-room building, made of wood, but still I felt as though I had entered a church, or a throne-room, or another place of majesty. And at the other end of the little room, only a few yards away from Mr Ambrose and me, stood the throne, the Holy Grail of this palace: a small, black safe, with a lock on its door that looked considerably more complicated than the one on the door outside.
Mr Ambrose took two quick steps towards the safe and bent forward to examine the lock. His eyes narrowed the faction of an inch.
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes?’
‘We might have a slight problem.’
‘Indeed, Sir?’
‘Yes. I calculate I will need about twenty minutes to open this lock.’
‘And how many minutes do we still have left until the guards appear, Sir?’
‘Twenty.’
‘Oh. That might be a problem Sir.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
Without another word, he shoved his lock picks into the lock and started fiddling. The sound of metal clinking and scraping was nerve-wracking, and after only a short time, I was hardly able to stay still. I started to walk up and down the hut, trying not to think of what would happen if the real guards walked in on us now. They probably wouldn’t look kindly on two of their supposed colleagues trying to crack Lord Dalgliesh’s safe.
‘Mr Linton?’ came a terse voice from floor level, in the direction of the safe.
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Stop walking about. You are distracting me.’
I forced myself to stop, and instead leaned against the wall and started to nervously flex my fingers. I wouldn’t have thought anything could distract Mr Ambrose. But then, the prospect of being shot would probably even faze a stone statue such as he.
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Stop flexing your fingers. I can hear your knuckles cracking from over here.’
‘Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir.’
I clenched my hands into fists and folded my arms in front of my chest, just in case. I even tried to breathe more evenly so as not to disturb him. Please let him be quick, I prayed. Please!
Click.
‘Done!’ he exclaimed. Was that a tiny hint of excitement I heard in his voice? Whatever it was, it was gone immediately. He gripped the handle of the safe, and I launched myself forward, eagerly gazing over his shoulder. After weeks of searching, weeks of wondering what the bloody hell we were after, I was finally going to see the mysterious file. What would it look like? I imagined a black steel case, with the letters ‘top secret’ printed in dark red on the top, and a padlock on the side. Or maybe…
The door of the safe swung open. Inside lay a thin, beige envelope, about the size of a standard letter.
‘Yes!’ Mr Ambrose reached inside, grasped the envelope and flipped it open. Quickly, he skimmed through the contents. I saw dozens of sheets, covered with column upon column of numbers, and a few pieces of paper covered in a squiggly, foreign script I could not decipher.
‘That’s it?’ I demanded.
‘Yes. Everything is here!’ He didn’t notice the dire disappointment in my voice. Or if he did, he chose to completely ignore it. His dark eyes were glittering with an inner frost, as if he had just been given an award by the International Miser Society.
With silent reverence, he held up the envelope for a moment, as if it indeed were the Holy Grail to him. Maybe it was. Then he slipped it into his pocket, and from his other one withdrew a similar-looking envelope, which he placed inside the safe before closing and locking it.
What was that about? Why not just take the envelope? Why leave one behind? Was it an apology letter? Sir, I am deeply regretful to have had to disturb your criminal operation, but it was necessary to retrieve an item which you stole from me. My sincerest apologies, Rikkard Ambrose.
I glanced at Mr Ambrose’s chiselled face and shook my head. No. He wouldn’t write anything remotely like an apology, or write or say anything at all for that matter. He would just stay silent, in the knowledge that he had given his opponent a solid figurative kick in the bollocks. So what was the envelope for?
I burned to ask, but this was neither the time nor place. We had to-
‘We have to get out of here,’ Mr Ambrose cut short the very same words in my mind. He sprang to his feet and strode over to the door. Carefully, he peeked outside. ‘The guards are still nowhere in sight. If we hurry, we can reach the tunnel before they arrive and the alarm is raised.’
He was already about to open the door when, suddenly, an idea struck me and I grabbed his arm.
‘But why leave at all?’ I demanded.
Turning, he threw me a look that could have frozen lava. ‘Would you prefer to stay and
ask for hospitality? I imagine Lord Dalgliesh would be delighted to receive you for tea and biscuits. Especially when you will have such interesting topics of conversation as where the most precious document on this entire island has disappeared to.’
‘I meant,’ I said, trying to be patient, ‘why should we run now, before the guards arrive? We could shut the door of the hut and stand outside like real guards until the next shift arrives. They will think we are the real guards, the ones they’re supposed to be relieving, and we'll saunter off without anybody ever being the wiser.’
It may have been only a trick of the torchlight, but I thought I saw Mr Ambrose’s mouth drop open slightly. He was quiet for one or two moments. Then he said:
‘This… actually sounds as if it were a reasonably feasible plan.’
‘Blimey! Don’t be all over with me with your compliments!’
‘Don’t worry. I won’t.’
‘So we’re going to do it?’
He hesitated. I could see the struggle in his eyes - the same struggle as on the day I had asked for a dress and a bag of onions. He hated to adopt any plan of mine, probably because it meant admitting I actually was of some use. But he was nothing if not practical, and - I could see the thought enter his mind as clearly as if it were painted on his forehead - at least this plan wouldn’t be expensive.
‘All right,’ he conceded. ‘We will.’ And he stepped outside to take up his position beside the door.
*~*~**~*~*
To my own great surprise, my plan actually worked perfectly. The two guards showed up only two minutes after we had left the hut, greeted us in a quite friendly manner and sent us off downstairs. I followed Mr Ambrose down at a steady pace, although what I actually wanted to do was run.
Stay calm, I told myself. There is no need to run. Nobody knows the file is missing. You can walk out of here slowly and nobody will ever know. Everything is going great.
Yes, everything was going great - until, as we passed under a shadowy arch of stone, I saw, a few dozen yards away, the two guards we had relieved of their duty half an hour ago. They were engaged in an energetic discussion with Colonel Townsend.
‘I? Send them up there?’ the colonel was saying. ‘No, why in God’s name should I do something like that. I thought they were the regular shift that…’
Mr Ambrose had seen them, too. He stiffened.
‘Seems like not attracting attention is no longer an option,’ he stated icily. ‘Move. Now!’
Grasping my hand, he tugged me away from the colonel, towards the entrance of the tunnel he had pointed out earlier. He didn’t have to tug hard. I hurried after him, trying my best to keep up with his long strides. He was right. We had to get out of here right now, or we were as good as dead. Quickly, we neared the entrance to the tunnel. There was a soldier standing beside it. A guard?
‘Do you think he’ll try and stop us from entering the tunnel?’ I asked out of the corner of my mouth, nodding towards the soldier.
‘It is interesting how you always seem to assume that I know everything about this place, when, in fact, I haven’t been aware of its existence any longer than you have, Mr Linton. I have no idea.’
‘Well, what if he does?’
No answer.
‘Sir?’
Silence. So I just continued on, trying to ignore the rising feeling of panic in my stomach. The guard definitely looked alert and suspicious enough to justify my fears. He had a narrow rat’s face, with a long, twitching nose. I had never trusted people with long noses.
‘Sir?’ My voice was a harsh whisper. ‘Mr Ambrose, Sir, what will we do if he doesn't let us pass? Sir?’
More silence. I looked up at his face and saw that, although it was cool and serene as ever, his eyes were totally focused on the guard, burning with cold ice. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t know what to do yet, either.
We were only ten yards or so away from the tunnel entrance now. I tried to look as innocent as possible.
If you think about it, we are innocent, right? After all, we’re just stealing back something that had been previously purloined.
One hundred per cent correct. My ears, though, didn’t seem to agree: they were red hot with guilt. Never before had I been so thankful for my tanned skin, which would at least hide the blush on my cheeks.
Five yards.
Four.
The guard didn’t move.
Three yards.
Without warning, the guard stepped sideways, blocking our way. My hands clenched into fists, and it took a conscious effort to relax them, and to look the man straight into his little rat’s eyes.
‘Hey, you there! You know nobody is allowed in the tunnel without permission from the colonel.’
‘But we ‘ave permission,’ Mr Ambrose said, his voice absolutely credible, almost affronted at being questioned like this. ‘We’re to stand guard at the other end. New safety measures.’
‘Oh? Let’s see your permission slip, then.’
‘Certainly.’
Reaching into his pocket, Mr Ambrose withdrew a slip of paper. What was this? Had he somehow managed to magically forge Colonel Townsend’s signature? I was beginning to think that nothing about him would ever surprise me again.
I was wrong.
‘Here.’ He held out the paper to the guard, who leant his rifle against the wall and took it.
‘Hey, wait just a minute! This isn’t-’
Mr Ambrose’s fist moved so fast I didn’t even see it coming. Neither did the guard. He flew backward and crashed against the stone wall beside the tunnel, sliding to the ground, unconscious.
‘Run,’ Mr Ambrose said. He didn’t yell. He didn’t shout. He just said it.
‘Y-you knocked him unconscious!’
‘Yes, Mr Linton. Now move.’ And then he was running, pulling me after him. I stumbled, still staring at the prone figure at the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the shocked faces of hundreds of soldiers all over the cave, staring down at us, and then I was inside the tunnel, being dragged along the rails towards the foremost of the mining carts.
‘Get in!’ he commanded.
I looked from him to the cart and back again. ‘Into that? But why-’
‘Get in, I said!’ His tone was so deadly cold that my legs moved without consulting my mind on the matter. With a painful thud, I landed on my knees inside the iron cart. I had hardly had time to grab the wall to steady myself, when I felt it: the cart started to move.
Bloody hell! What…?
I raised my head and stared at Mr Ambrose, who was grinding his teeth, both of his hands clasped around the back wall of the cart, pushing it forward. My head snapped around to look in the other direction, where the rails led down a steep decline, then it whirled back to face Mr Ambrose. Suddenly, I realized what he was planning to do.
‘Are you crazy?’ I yelled over the creak of the metal wheels.
‘Not that I’m aware off, Mr Linton.’ How he managed to sound cool and distant while his muscles bunched with the effort of pushing the cart forward was a mystery to me - but not one I cared to solve right now. I had more pressing matters on my mind. Such as…
‘Are there even any brakes on this thing?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, Mr Linton.’
‘Well, are you aware of what’ll happen if we run into a dead end?’
‘Have you ever tried making meat-and-bone pancakes, Mr Linton?’
‘Stop this at once!’ I started to rise. ‘I’m getting out of this thing right now. I won’t-’
There was an ear-splitting boom that echoed all around the cave. Something ripped my ridiculous blue hat from my head, and it smashed against the wall. I had just enough time to see the large hole in the middle before it rolled out of my field of vision. My incredulous eyes flicked from the place where my mutilated hat had lain, to the entrance of the tunnel where, in a patch of torchlight, I saw a soldier standing, his rifle raised. Others were appearing around him, shouting and yellin
g curses. Not bothering to consult my mind again, my legs dropped me to the floor.
‘Um… all right. Maybe I’ll stay in here after all.’
‘How gracious of you, Mr Linton.’
The cart was gathering speed now; we were almost at the slope that would carry us away. Mr Ambrose shoved harder and harder, scarcely breathing heavily at the effort. I would never have thought that there was this much raw power in that cold, hard body of his. He looked focused and determined, as if he had been pushing mine carts all his life.
‘Hold on, Mr Linton,’ he hissed. He gave a last shove, and then jumped into the cart behind me. The force of his jump carried us forward another few feet, just far enough to reach the edge of the slope. We started to gather more and more speed. Wind rushed against my hair and tugged at my brown locks, making them fly all around me. Behind us, I could hear more shouts, and then there came another shot.
The car reverberated with a sound like a bell, and a scream tore from my throat. They had hit the car!
‘Keep your head down!’ Mr Ambrose hissed.
‘Thank you for the valuable advice, Sir,’ I growled. ‘I’d never have thought of that!’
Another shot, and another. Stone dust rained down on us as it hit the ceiling above. The light around us dwindled fast as we gathered speed. The torches of the cave were only a distant glimmer by now, while the dark before us was a gaping maul waiting for a scrumptious meal of Ambrosia and Lilly. Somewhere out of the half-light behind us, I could hear the creak of more metal wheels, and knew what it meant.
They’re following us!
Then, all thoughts disappeared as we shot around a corner and down, down, away from all light, down into the darkness.
The Tortoise and the other Tortoise and no Hare
Our race into the darkness ended rather abruptly when, after a few dozen yards, the rails levelled out, and our cart rolled to a halt.
Having expected a thrilling race through the dark tunnels of the mine, this was something of an anti-climax. It was also quite worrying, considering a bunch of bloodthirsty soldiers, armed with rifles, sabres and God only knew what else, were not far behind.
‘Now what are we going to do?’ I demanded. ‘Get out and push?’