by Robert Thier
‘Venez!’
The door swung opened, revealing the foreign minister behind a desk on which high stacks of paper were arranged in meticulously precise order. Every other surface seemed to be filled as well, with documents and memorandums, pens and pencils, maps and notes, and any other weapon a bureaucrat and diplomat could think of. Careful not to nudge anything over, he rose and bowed in greeting.
‘Monsieur Ambrose. What a pleasure to see you again. Please excuse the clutter. I am trying to convince ‘is Majesty to provide us with new premises, but as yet ‘e ‘as not seen fit to agree.’[36]
Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod-shrug, a reply that at the same time signified ‘What a waste of money!’ and ‘Why the heck should I care?’
‘My secretary, Mr Victor Linton,’ he said, gesturing to yours truly. ‘You met his sister last night at the opera.’
Guizot’s aquiline eyebrows lifted for a moment. ‘Sister? Oh, yes, I remember. Good morning, Mister Linton. I hope you won’t take this amiss but I ‘ave to enquire: ‘ow much of Mr Ambrose’s dealings are you privy to? That goes for the bearded gentlemen as well.’
We both understood the true meaning of the question all too well.
‘Karim,’ Mr Ambrose said slowly and distinctly, icicles growing on his voice, ‘is completely trustworthy. I trust him with my life.’
‘And your secretary? You’d trust ‘im with your life as well?’
‘Better. I trust him with my money.’
Deep inside, I felt a surge of warmth at his words. We really were going to make it. This had to be true love, right?
Apparently, Monsieur Guizot had done his research on my dear employer. He understood the gravity of Mr Ambrose’s words and didn’t question my presence further. Instead, he reached for a folder on his desk and let it fall open.
‘The officer in charge of the investigation into last night’s incident has presented me with ‘is findings.’
‘Indeed?’
‘He concluded that it was the work of a lone gunman. A revolutionary or anarchist.’
‘You don’t say.’
‘’owever, he does not preclude the possibility that there is a larger movement, and that the assassin was just the tip of the iceberg.’ Closing the folder, Guizot met Mr Ambrose’s expressionless eyes. ‘It seems my best course of action would be to reinforce my policy of stronger amiable connections with ‘er Majesty’s Government in the United Kingdom.’
Mr Ambrose gave a small nod. An important nod. ‘Taking into account Lord Dalgliesh, Minister, that would indeed be the wisest course of action. I would pursue it with the greatest possible speed.’
Guizot’s eyes narrowed.
‘What, pray, does ‘is Lordship ‘ave to do with the matter?’
‘Things tend to…happen where Lord Dalgliesh is involved.’
‘Hm.’ The minister considered for a moment—then nodded. ‘The king’s guard will be reinforced.’
‘A wise measure.’
‘And also—not that I am under any obligation to tell you this, mind you—I shall send a special envoy directly to my colleague in London and see what we can do about deepening relations. As for appearances of His Majesty in public…does your generous offer regarding free tickets to your opera still stand?’
If Mr Rikkard Ambrose had had facial muscles in that stone mask he called a face, they would have contorted in pain. ‘Yes, Minister.’
‘Excellent.’ The minister smiled, in a way that told me he enjoyed that moment a little bit too much. ‘Then His Majesty and I will be paying your establishment a visit soon. And you may expect some other dignitaries to join us there in the near future. I must say, I am particularly glad this whole business happened before the big visit.’
Mr Ambrose froze. Until a moment ago, he had been a stone statue. Now he was a stone statue with a coating of ice. Only his eyes were flickering with fire.
‘What visit?’ he demanded.
‘Why, the visit of the Earl of Auckland, of course.’
Mr Ambrose didn’t relax. If anything, he became even tenser, and the temperature in the room plummeted.
‘Would that be the same Earl of Auckland who is currently Governor-General of India, Minister?’
‘Yes. Why—’
‘The governor-general of the company in which Lord Dalgliesh is the majority shareholder?’
There was a momentary pause. We all exchanged dark glances. Was this part of Dalgliesh’s real plan? Was this what we had been missing? Why he wanted us gone?
‘Yes.’
Mr Ambrose took a step forward. ‘And did you plan to show him around the city? Show him the sights? Maybe invited him to social events with yourself and His Majesty, such as…the opera?’
Shadows fell across the minister’s countenance.
‘Yes. I did.’
Behind me, Karim uttered a low oath and slammed his fist against the wall.
A Special ‘Arse Connection
‘I don’t understand.’ Uncertainly, I glanced from Mr Ambrose, over Karim, to the minister. ‘Auckland is in Dalgliesh’s pay, isn’t he? Dalgliesh is going to have him assassinated? And, more importantly, why the heck should we care?’
Karim’s only reaction was to smash his fist into the wall again.
The minister winced. ‘Please, Monsieur, would you be so kind as to desist? I ‘ave asked the king for a new Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but I would rather that this building not topple around my ears before the other is finished.’
Giving a grunt, Karim clenched his fists and crossed his arms in front of his chest, glaring at the rest of the room as if he expected the piles of documents to charge him any minute, intent on delivering deadly papercuts.
‘I don’t understand,’ I repeated. ‘Auckland is one of Dalgliesh’s minions, right?’
My dear employer and the minister exchanged another dark look.
‘What? What is it?’
‘The problem, Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose started to explain, ‘is that this governor-general has actually been something of a thorn in Lord Dalgliesh’s side. He was a member of the reform party during his time in parliament. His tendencies were less evident as he rose through the ranks, but when he became governor-general, he began implementing reforms in India. Building up industry, opening schools, that sort of thing.’
I blinked. ‘And? Wouldn’t Dalgliesh want that?’
Mr Ambrose gave me a long look. ‘Would Dalgliesh want his subjects to learn how to read and write western languages, understand the works of people writing about democracy and the rights of people to govern themselves, and work in factories that make trains, cannons and guns? What do you think?’
‘Oh.’
‘Indeed.’
‘Quite a vexing situation for ‘is Lordship, I imagine.’ Guizot’s thin lips twitched. ‘’is company’s PR department has done such a wonderful job convincing everyone that the true reason why the British reign over a gigantic empire that sucks the life out of the world is to educate and help the poor natives, that some of his own employees and recruits ‘ave actually started to believe the lie. How annoying it must be that some of your own people are spreading dangerous ideas, when all they’re really supposed to do is increase the opium production.’[37]
Karim looked as if he’d like to punch the wall again. Instead, he just muttered something in Punjabi. If I got it right, he told the East India Company to go and do something which I wasn’t sure was anatomically possible for a company to do.
‘I still don’t quite get it,’ I told Mr Ambrose, shaking my head. ‘So, Lord Dalgliesh wasn’t planning to kill Monsieur Guizot?’
Mr Ambrose speared me with an icy glare. Why was he looking at me like this? Why—
Oh crap.
I had completely forgotten that we hadn’t shared the little detail of Dalgliesh plotting to assassinate him with the minister yet. Quickly, I threw a glance in his direction. But, to judge by the dark look on Guizot’s face, my mention of his demise hadn’t come
as a great surprise to him. Mr Ambrose must have noticed, too, because he didn’t try to evade my question.
‘You don’t see it, Mr Linton, do you? You don’t think like Dalgliesh. For a moment, do not consider the matter to be one-dimensional. Think of a plan as a labyrinth with many facets and many possible outcomes. Who says he is only after war with France?’
It took a moment for his words to really sink in. But finally they did, and something went click in my head.
‘Holy….no! He couldn’t, could he?’
‘What do you think? He’s Dalgliesh.’
Thoughts raced through my head. Wild thoughts. Impossible thoughts. The governor-general, who was a thorn in Dalgliesh’s side and yet had to obey his commands, coming to Paris at a time when the foreign minister, who was also a thorn in Dalgliesh’s side, would be returning to Paris from a visit to Versailles. The governor-general had no choice but to come to Paris if Dalgliesh ordered him to. He was a state official. The foreign minister had no choice but to play nice and invite him out for some public event. And it just so happened that Lord Dalgliesh had presented the French king with free opera tickets. And his opera was swarming with soldiers loyal to Dalgliesh, and two men he wanted to get rid of were nicely tied down in one place…
‘He couldn’t! Not both of them at once!’
‘Why not?’ Minister Guizot sounded astonishingly calm for a man discussing his own demise. ‘He could put the assassin in a British Army uniform, and then have some French soldiers spot him before he escaped. Then, when the French government sent outraged envoys to the British to demand an investigation, he could tell his fellow lords and queen that it was all a pack of lies, and that the true assassin had been an Indian rebel in cahoots with the French. Who do you think they would believe?’
Suddenly, I could understand Karim’s desire to punch walls with his bare hands all too well. Too bad my hands weren’t made of iron. I would have loved to slam a hole into a wall right now. But even more than that, I’d have loved to wrap them around Dalgliesh’s lordly neck.
‘He’d be killing two birds with one stone,’ Mr Ambrose picked up the tale in a tone so cool and detached I wondered how he could keep it up. ‘Or, to be precise, several million. Not only would war break out between Great Britain and France, but Dalgliesh would be granted a free hand in India to deal with dissenters as he sees fit. Britain would probably be strong enough to win the war alone, but it wouldn’t even have to. Taking into account the Napoleonic wars, most European powers would likely pick any side that isn’t France, just for fear of another Napoleon. And as for India, well…’
Mr Ambrose glanced at Karim and fell silent. That scared me more than anything he’d said so far.
‘But we’ve stopped him, right?’ I demanded. ‘We’ve acted before he could even start to put his plan into action.’
‘We’ve stopped the war with France, yes. As long as that is not an option you are considering?’ One eyebrow raised infinitesimally, Mr Ambrose turned to Monsieur Guizot.
‘I might be tempted.’ The foreign minister’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘That a member of the British House of Lords planned my assassination is not something I hear on a daily basis. But I am no fool. I won’t give that man what he wants, and I most certainly won’t plunge the world into war just to satisfy my ego.’
‘Adequate. But that still leaves one problem. The question of India.’ Once again, Mr Ambrose’s eyes flitted to Karim, and, just for a moment, they didn’t seem to radiate quite as much cold as usual. But when he returned them to the minister, the ice in his gaze was back in full force. ‘I’m telling you this in confidence. If you betray my confidence, you will not like the consequences.’
‘Understood.’
‘My agents in India report that Dalgliesh is facing problems. Discontent in the population is mounting. A sense of cohesion, of unity is growing among the various peoples of the different princely states, as well as the areas under British control. Soldiers in the Indian army are less and less certain why they should uphold what begins to seem like a tyranny over their own people. Trouble is brewing for Dalgliesh—but so far he hasn’t had an excuse to act. He’s chomping at the bit to squash the dissenting voices in the country.’
Guizot nodded. ‘That matches with my information on the subject.’
Not with mine, but that might be because I didn’t have any. It really was a hardship sometimes to not be an insanely powerful megalomaniac with spies on every continent.
‘And what makes the situation worse,’ Mr Ambrose continued darkly, ‘is that we’ve played right into his hands—or at least I have.’
Guizot frowned, and I didn’t feel any less confused.
‘How so?’
‘Let’s call a spade a spade, Minister. I faked last night’s assassination attempt.’
Silence.
Except for the echo of the words I’d never expected to be spoken aloud. Neither, apparently had the minister, to judge by the look on his face. Still, he managed a suitable ministerial nod.
‘I surmised as much.’
‘I thought I was preventing war between Britain and France. But now, with a British representative arriving, the situation changes completely. Because of my actions, there has already been one supposed “assassination attempt” in the name of French revolutionaries. What do you think Britain would do if those same revolutionaries were to kill, say, the governor-general of India?’
Guizot’s face hardened. He didn’t even hesitate with his response. ‘There would be war.’[38]
‘Correct.’
Silence descended over the room. This time, it held, and held, and held. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
‘So what are we going to do?’
The only answer was more silence.
*~*~**~*~*
The door of the foreign ministry closed behind us. Karim didn’t stop, but marched until he reached the nearest pillar supporting the front porch and delivered a blow to it that made me very glad indeed that I wasn’t a pillar.
‘Careful. Remember, the minister said he’d like the building to remain standing for now.’
He ignored me. Breathing heavily, he stared off into the distance and muttered Punjabi under his breath. Finally, he whirled around to face us. I took a step back. I had never seen him like this.
‘Things are bad enough in my homeland as they are! But if the so-called “governor” were to be killed…’ His paws clenched into fists. ‘Oh, if only I were alone with that piece of human filth that calls himself a lord!’
Mr Ambrose put a hand on Karim’s shoulder. ‘Calm yourself, Karim. You and I both know that this problem is bigger than Dalgliesh. You don’t kill the hydra by cutting off its head.’
The Mohammedan took a deep breath, his eyes glittering darkly. ‘True, Sahib. We need to light a fire for that.’
Turning away from the ministry, we started on our way home—or what we considered to be ‘home’ in this city that suddenly didn’t seem quite as hospitable and romantic as before. We were silent all the way, while around us the people of Paris chatted merrily. When we finally arrived in front of the palatial façade of the opera house and stopped in our tracks, I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose.
‘We can’t return home yet, can we?’
‘No. Not until the matter of the governor-general is resolved and the man is safely out of Paris.’
One corner of my mouth curled up in a half-hearted smile. ‘Dang! And I was so looking forward to getting back home in time to ruin Aunt Brank’s birthday.’
‘Perhaps I can offer you something equally satisfactory.’
One of my eyebrows rose. Mr Rikkard Ambrose offering something? On his own accord? ‘I’m intrigued. Pray, tell me more.’
‘Not today, Mr Linton. Not today. You’ll find out in good time.’
‘What? And that from you, Mr Knowledge-is-power-is-time-is-money?’
He gave me a look that made me shiver all over—in a good way. ‘Some thing
s take time, Mr Linton. Some things are worth the wait.’
And with that, he turned and marched up the steps of the opera.
‘Hey, wait! I want to know more! I want to—’
But he had already disappeared through the door. Muttering a curse, I hurried after him. He wasn’t going to get away this easily! Pushing open the door—which didn’t have a doorman anymore, I noticed—I ran through the entrance hall, towards a door at the other end that was just closing behind Mr Ambrose. I wouldn’t let him get away! He would have to talk to me and—
‘Mr Linton! There you are. Oh, I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’
Oh no.
Oh God, please no. Saboteurs and assassinations, wars and devastations I could handle, but this…
Slowly, I turned, dread rising in my stomach, only to come face to face with my worst fear.
‘Mr Linton. Oh, how I’ve longed to see you.’
I managed a weak smile. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Harse. So nice to see you.’
Emilia beamed from ear to ear.
‘Did you hear the news?’ she gushed.
‘What news?’ I dared to sound hopeful. ‘Are you getting married to some nice French gentleman?’
‘Oh no, nothing like that!’ She gave a dismissive wave. ‘It’s my first performance. Did you hear who is coming to my first performance?’
‘The King,’ I guessed.
She covered her mouth with both hands. ‘Gosh! How could you possibly know? I only heard a few minutes ago!’
‘Let’s call it fem– um, male intuition.’
Emilia’s eyes started to gleam. ‘That is almost uncanny. It’s like we have this special connection between us that links us no matter how far away we are.’
‘Oh, err…yes. Really interesting. How about we test it by getting really, really far away from each other?’
‘Pardon?’
‘You think it’s a great idea, too? Spiffing! See you later!’
And I fled. I only stopped when I was up in my room, with the door safely barred behind me.
Even under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have been too keen on Emilia’s company. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Mr Ambrose was plotting something. And worse—much, much worse—so was Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.
