Hunting for Silence (Storm and Silence Book 5)

by Robert Thier

  There was a momentary pause. Then…

  ‘Entrer!’

  Holding my breath, I watched as the door started to swing open. We had discussed all sorts of scenarios before coming here. There was a distinct possibility that Dalgliesh would be waiting in that box. I perfectly remembered the last time we had met. It was difficult to forget being kidnapped and held hostage in a lonely cabin in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea how he was going to react if he was there. More importantly…I had no idea how I was going to keep myself from scratching his face off.

  Calm down, Lilly! I told myself. Calm down. You’ve got a mission. And it’s not killing Dalgliesh. At least not tonight.

  The door opened, and…

  Dalgliesh was nowhere to be seen.

  But there were a few other mildly interesting people.

  Louis Philippe, King of the French, was sitting in a luxurious blue and gold armchair near the railing. He looked a bit like your favourite friendly shopkeeper, who had been down on his luck recently, but didn’t let it get to him too much. His round face was pretty unremarkable, except for the ginormous nose that hung like a zucchini in the middle of his royal visage. Worry lines were carved into his face, especially at the corners of his mouth, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that told everyone this old royal horse had still plenty of life left in him.

  Minister Guizot, on the other hand, looked like he had still plenty of death in him. If the man beside the king was, in fact, Minister Guizot, and not an undertaker here to take the king’s measurements before the assassination. The tall man was dressed from head to toe in black, with a high collar and beak-shaped nose that gave him the appearance of a hungry bird circling above his favourite corpse. Add to that his pale face and sharp, intelligent eyes, and he didn’t exactly look like the broker of international peace Mr Ambrose had described.

  I leaned over towards Mr Ambrose. ‘Are you sure that saving him will help world peace?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Oh dear. Poor world.’

  At the sound of our approach, the king turned around and, suddenly, his lined, heavy face was lit with a broad smile designed to put everyone at ease. Meanwhile, the foreign minister lurked behind his monarch, making sure everyone stayed uneasy.

  ‘Monsieur Ambrose! What a pleasure to see you here. When I sent my invitation I didn’t know you were going to answer it so promptly.’

  ‘It was a spontaneous decision, Your Majesty. I hear tonight’s performance is going to be something special.’

  ‘You did, did you?’ From behind his king, Minister Guizot’s eyes bored into Mr Ambrose. I had to give the man credit. His stare was almost as intimidating as that of my dear employer. No wonder he was able to keep several nations dancing to his tune.

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose met the minister’s gaze unblinking. ‘It might be a little shocking, but very beneficial in the long run. An operatic catharsis, you might say.’

  ‘Like in ancient Greek tragedy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But didn’t everyone die in ancient Greek tragedy?’

  There was a long moment of silence, as the two powerful men stared at each other.

  ‘Only on the stage,’ Mr Ambrose told him.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Where are my manners? I’m so forgetful tonight.’ The king clapped his hands. He seemed to have noticed nothing of the tension in the air. ‘Please, sit down, Monsieur, Madame. You, Monsieur Ambrose, take the seat of honour on my right, and you, my dear Madame…?’

  I dipped into a perfect curtsy. Aunt Brank would have been proud of me. ‘Miss Lillian Linton, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Charmed. Please, take a seat, Mademoiselle Linton.’

  We sank into our seats, Mr Ambrose and Minister Guizot still eyeing each other intently without the king noticing a thing. Down in the orchestra pit, the musicians began tuning their instruments.

  ‘So, what brings you to our beautiful capital city?’ the king enquired.

  ‘Yes.’ The minister’s eyes switched from Mr Ambrose to me, on the search for a weaker target. ‘I would very much like to know that, too.’

  ‘Well, originally I only came here for business reasons, Minister, Your Majesty. But then I happened to meet Miss Linton, and well…’

  His hand landed on mine, taking hold of it. A distinctly possessive hold. It took a moment or two for me to realize that he had just as good as announced his intentions. Announced his intentions to the king of bloody France! My eyes flew to his, and he gazed back, completely implacable.

  ‘Oh, that’s how it is, oui?’ The king chuckled. ‘Yes, Paris can have that effect on people.’

  ‘So that is why you still are in Paris?’ The minister’s eyes were narrowed. ‘For the romantic atmosphere?’

  ‘Indeed.’ Mr Ambrose nodded, looking about as romantic as a constipated rock. ‘That and…’

  The door opened.

  ‘My apologies, Your Majesty,’ came a voice from behind us that I knew all too well. A voice that made my spine stiffen and my skin crawl. ‘I was somewhat delayed, because I was engaged in planning a little surprise for you later in the evening.’

  ‘What a coincidence!’ Half-turning, the king beamed across his whole face. ‘We have a surprise for you as well, Your Lordship.’

  ‘You have?’ Lord Dalgliesh asked, striding around to towards the seat right next to the king.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Ambrose told him as he rose from that very seat, cold eyes sparkling. ‘He has. Good evening, Your Lordship.’

  Thinking Inside the Box

  Lord Dalgliesh froze.

  ‘You two know each other?’ The king seemed delighted. ‘What a happy coincidence!’

  ‘Yes.’ The foreign minister’s eyes were darting between Mr Ambrose and His Lordship. ‘What a coincidence, vraiment.’

  Slowly, Dalgliesh came out of his paralysis. Somehow he managed to force a smile onto his face. ‘Mr Ambrose. I was not aware you were in Paris.’

  Mr Ambrose cocked his head. ‘Sometimes fate just puts one in the right spot at the right time.’

  He extended his hand. Looking as if he was being forced to swallow an adder whole, Lord Dalgliesh reached out and shook it. It was obvious that, whatever he had planned for tonight, meeting Mr Rikkard Ambrose was not high on the list. I couldn’t help it. I grinned from ear to ear. Apparently broadly enough for Dalgliesh to notice me.

  ‘Miss Linton. What an…unexpected pleasure.’ His eyes glittered. ‘You left so suddenly last time we met.’

  My smile didn’t even flicker. ‘I found the surroundings somewhat constricting.’ Particularly the locked door and armed guard in front of my cell. ‘But I hope that sometime soon, I’ll be able to repay your hospitality in kind.’

  One of Dalgliesh’s eyebrows rose. ‘Is that so, Miss Linton?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Ambrose said from right beside me, his voice as cold as the frost on an polar bear’s bottom. ‘Now sit down, will you? The show is about to begin. And what a show it’ll be…’

  ‘So you’ve seen this opera before, Mr Ambrose?’ the king asked, intrigued.

  ‘No, Your Majesty. But I have a feeling it will be a life-changing experience.’

  As Lord Dalglesh slowly sank into his seat behind Mr Ambrose, I caught another glimpse at the foreign minister. He was scrutinizing everyone intently, his sharp eyes focusing particularly on Mr Ambrose and His Lordship. When his gaze strayed to me, I winked at him.

  He blinked.

  By the looks of him, I had been the first one to ever do that. Poor man. I waved at him, just for the fun of it.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a motion. Lord Dalgliesh was leaning forward, towards Mr Ambrose.

  ‘What,’ he hissed, too low for anyone else to hear, ‘are you planning?’

  ‘Shh.’ Mr Ambrose raised one long finger to his lips. ‘Can’t you hear? The performance is about to begin.’

  ‘Tell me now! Or I’ll…I’ll…’

  ‘I’d be very
cautious with what you say.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was low, cool and controlled, but no tiger’s roar could have been more threatening. ‘Remember where you are, Dalgliesh, and in whose company.’

  ‘The king can’t—’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about the king.’

  Dalgliesh shut his mouth. He was seething, but he was silent. He had no idea whether Mr Ambrose had come alone or brought a battalion of men with him. No one knew. Not even I. Just as Mr Ambrose wanted it.

  ‘Relax. Be patient. You’ll soon find out what I have planned for tonight.’

  Never in my life would I have thought I’d hear Mr Rikkard Ambrose tell someone to be patient. And never in my life would I have thought I’d enjoy the experience so much. The look on Dalgliesh’s face was priceless.

  ‘Your Majesty.’ He leaned forward abruptly. ‘I just recollected some urgent business I have to take care of. Would you excuse me, please, to—’

  ‘Psht! Not now, Dalgliesh. The performance is starting.’

  Gritting his teeth, the mighty Lord Dalgliesh sank back into his chair, in his box, in his opera house, unable to move an inch from the spot. God, this was good! Who knew opera could be this much fun?

  Down on the stage, things seemed to be getting started. A bunch of people in oriental costumes were singing in a choir and brandishing cardboard sabres. My grin widened. Oh, if only Karim were here to see this. Or better yet, if only he were here to be seen. I had a feeling that after taking one good look at him, the actors would work to make their performance feel a whole lot more authentic.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a movement. Glancing up, I saw that, to the left, all the way across the room, the heretofore closed curtains of another box had shifted. A figure was moving behind them. Touching Mr Ambrose’s arm, I got his attention, and he followed my gaze to where I was looking – just in time to see a hand reach out between the curtains, giving us a thumbs up.

  ‘What was that?’ Lord Dalgliesh demanded, craning his head to see past us.

  ‘What?’ I enquired, innocently.

  ‘That over there! I saw a movement.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything,’ Mr Ambrose lied with a more convincing poker face than a marble bust.

  ‘Psht!’ The king raised a finger to his lips. ‘It’s getting interesting!’

  And it was—though not on the stage, where an unhappy man was just singing about how some villainous sultan had kidnapped and enslaved his beloved, while the bodyguards of the aforementioned villainous sultan danced happily in the background. I was far more interested in the subtle movements across the room. The thumbs up had been the signal. Our friend had found the necessary equipment. Tonight’s opera wouldn’t be in three acts. The climax would come a whole lot sooner than anyone suspected.

  ‘Your Majesty…’ The minister leaned forward, squinting. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who had noticed something was going on. ‘I think—’

  ‘No interruptions, Guizot! This part is brilliant.’

  ‘But Your Majesty, I think we should call some soldiers in here right now. There, on the other side of the room is—’

  Bam!

  The explosion tore straight through the music. Everything went silent. The orchestra. The audience. The singers. Everything. It took people one or two seconds of shock to realize that the shot hadn’t come from the stage, from the cannon of some fictional sultan. This was very real. Slowly, they raised their eyes to where, far to our left, from behind the curtains of a certain box, the smoke of gunpowder rose towards the ceiling.

  ‘Down!’ Guizot yelled, throwing himself against the king’s chair. With a surprised yelp, the king toppled to the floor and said hello to the carpet in typical French fashion.

  ‘Grgs! Blg!’

  Bam! Bam!

  Chaos erupted below us. People jumped up from their seats, rushing towards the exits, climbing over the backs of chairs and each other to be faster, to get out, to get as far away from this place as they possibly could.

  ‘Where are they coming from?’ the minister yelled over the racket. ‘The shots?’

  ‘Box!’ I called back. ‘Other side of the room.’

  ‘We have to—’

  Mr Ambrose was already up on his feet and moving to the door. ‘Consider it handled. Stay here. Guard the king.’

  ‘Yes, Sir!’ I said and planted my behind next to the King’s nose, smiling down at him. ‘Comfortable down there, Your Majesty? Don’t worry, Mr Ambrose will handle everything.’

  The king’s only answer was a confused little noise from the back of his throat. Outside, Mr Ambrose’s commanding voice rang out over the din.

  ‘You, you and you! Stay behind, guard the king! You there and you, come with me! We’ve got a gunman to catch. Suivez-moi!’

  The sound of trampling footsteps headed away. A moment later, two soldiers appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Good evening, Gentlemen.’ I smiled up at them. ‘I’d suggest that you—’

  Bam! Bam

  ‘—duck.’

  Yelping, they threw themselves to the ground and landed right next to me.

  ‘Well, well, isn’t this a nice get-together,’ I mused, then glanced over to Lord Dalgliesh who was cowering against the wall, a little paler around the nose than usual for a megalomaniacal tyrant. ‘Want to come and join the group hug, Your Lordship?’

  ‘No, thank you!’ he hissed, his eyes promising fiery retribution. I didn’t give a crap. Tonight, he wasn’t in charge. This was our show.

  Dalgliesh, however, didn’t seem to agree with that. His face suddenly set in determination, he half-rose, carefully keeping his head below the top of the balustrade.

  ‘I’m going to see what is going on out there. Maybe I can find some reinforcements to help protect the king.’

  My spine stiffened. Any ‘reinforcements’ he would find would be his own men. And I could imagine only too well what kind of protection they would offer. I could still remember the horrible first seconds of awakening in Dalgliesh’s captivity.

  Instinctively, I moved to stop him, but he already was on his way to the door, and—

  —and froze in his tracks when he heard heavy footsteps from outside. A moment later, the door swung open, and Rikkard Ambrose, followed by a single soldier, marched into the box.

  ‘Mr Ambrose!’ Minister Guizot almost jumped to his feet before remembering that could get his head blown off. ‘What is happening out there? Was it truly an assassin?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Mr Ambrose’s face was set in a grim mask. So, basically, it looked just the same as any other time. ‘We saw him with our own eyes. We chased him through the opera house.’

  Guizot’s eyes flicked to the soldier, who nodded, quickly. ‘Oui, oui! C’est vrais!’

  ‘Who was he? Did he bear any insignia?’

  ‘No.’ Mr Ambrose shook his head darkly. ‘But he didn’t really need to. His allegiance was quite clear from the way he shouted “Vive la Revolution!”’

  The soldier nodded and, forgetting for a moment where he was, spat on the ground. ‘Sans-culotte!’

  Over in the corner, Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh had suddenly become very quiet and very pale.

  ‘A revolutionary agitator?’ the king demanded, half-sitting up. ‘Did you catch him?’

  ‘I regret to have to answer in the negative, Your Majesty.’ Mr Ambrose bowed his head. ‘We chased him down three corridors and into a powder room, but the only thing we found in there was a terrified lady and an open window. He must have jumped. There are bushes below that could have cushioned his fall.’

  ‘Mon Dieu!’ the king exclaimed. ‘Poor lady. ‘ow terrible it must have been for her, to have her privacy invaded by such a monster. Was she much disturbed by the event?

  ‘Madame Chantagnier is somewhat in shock, but recovering. I left one of the soldiers with her, and sent another to alert the gendarmes.’

  ‘Thank you, Monsieur Ambrose. If that scoundrel can still be caught, it will be tha
nks to your quick and decisive actions. We owe you a great debt.’

  Mr Ambrose bowed more deeply than I had ever seen him do before. It was amazing what feats that stiff stone spine of his was capable of. ‘It was my pleasure, Your Majesty.’

  What, not ‘Then pay it back right!’? You’re slacking, Mr Ambrose.

  It was hard to keep a grin from spreading all over my face. Our plan was working perfectly. Now all that remained was for the king to take the bait…

  ‘Do you realize what that means, Guizot?’ the king demanded, turning to his foreign minister.

  The minister was eying Mr Ambrose and Lord Dalgliesh, his eyes wandering between the two. ‘To be honest, not quite yet, Your Majesty. But I will soon.’

  ‘Alors! It is not so difficult to understand, n’est-ce pas? The revolutionists are stirring again! We must send envoys to Britain and ensure ourselves of their good will and support in case of another revolt. If ever we’ve needed good relations with our neighbours, it is now.’ His head whipped back towards my dear employer. ‘What do you think, Mr Ambrose? You are an influential person in your ‘omeland. Do you believe the Queen would be amenable to deepening relations?’

  ‘I’m quite sure Her Majesty would be delighted.’

  ‘Excellent! Excellent! And you, Lord Dalgliesh, would you be inclined to facilitate such an improvement of our diplomatic relationship?’

  You could almost hear Dalgliesh’s teeth grinding. ‘Certainly, Your Majesty. I shall do all that is within my power.’

  ‘That is a relief.’ Rising to his feet, the king went over to Mr Ambrose. ‘Thank you for being here tonight, and for acting so quickly. You shall always be welcome at my court.’ Then he turned to Dalgliesh. ‘And thank you, too. If you hadn’t invited me to the opera, the assassin might ‘ave struck at a less opportune time, and I might not have survived.’

  Not bursting into laughter is a true art. And sometimes, that art is really difficult. With relish, I watched the changing expressions on Dalgliesh’s face.

  ‘You’re welcome, Your Majesty. I am delighted that I was able to serve you in some small manner.’

  Heavy footsteps sounded outside again, and more soldiers started to file through the door, mixed with gendarmes. They surrounded their king, some cheering, some shaking Mr Ambrose’s hand, but all keeping a vigilant eye on what was going on in the rest of the opera house.