Hunting for Silence

24. A Crappy Fighter

Mr Ambrose would really have been proud of my time-saving skills. I had my gun out and my horse at a gallop in about half a second. Still, I hadn't even come around the inn before I heard the second shot—and a cry of pain.

Don't let it be him. Please, don't let it be him!

I dashed around the corner—and froze at the sight that met my eyes.

Mr Ambrose was on the ground, kneeling behind his horse. Shot?

No, thank god! He's taking cover.

But a moment later, another shot rang out, and his horse balked, and raced off into the night, taking away with it any cover it had provided. And cover was urgently needed. Riders were streaming down the road, rifles raised, ready to fire. They weren't wearing uniforms, but with the way they were moving—swift, orderly, precise—they didn't need to.

Soldiers.

And I could guess from whose army.

The first man took aim.

My hand moved before I was even consciously aware of it. In the blink of an eye, my pistol was level with my eye.

Bam!

The man went down.

Unfortunately, this led to his dozen or so friends noticing me—and so did Mr Ambrose. Cold, sea-coloured eyes bored into me.

'Mr Linton, get back!'

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—?'

'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.