Silence Breaking

18. 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.