Storm and Silence

by Robert Thier

  We were in Lord Dalgliesh’s lair. There was only one thing it could be: the official coat of arms of the Honourable East India Company.

  Under the farthest of the tapestries, the one directly opposite me, the entrance to a tunnel gaped like an open maul. Tracks ran down into the tunnel, disappearing out of sight to God only knew where.

  One thing was for sure: This was no mere warehouse or office building.

  Slowly, I raised my eyes again to the towering golden lions above the entrance to the tunnel. Come on, they seemed to say. Dare approach. Dare enter into our forbidden realm. We will tear you to shreds before you’ve taken one step.

  Nonsense! Taking a deep breath, I straightened and tried to look unconcerned.

  Get a grip, Lilly! Those lions are just pieces of printed cloth. Do you want Mr Ambrose to think you’re scared of giant coloured bed sheets on a wall?

  No. I did not want that. Particularly after the incident with the wooden dragon.

  I glared at the lions, meeting their bold, glittering gaze head-on. My eyes fell on a blue band that wound like a snake under the lions' paws. There were letters on it. Yet even though they were printed in bright gold, in the semi-darkness of the hall they were nearly impossible to make out. Was this English? No, it looked more like a foreign language…

  Auspicio… Regis… Et Senatus… Angliae…

  What did that mean?

  ‘By the authority of the King and Parliament of England.’

  Startled, my eyes flicked to where Mr Ambrose was standing, the perfect model of the British-Indian soldier.

  ‘That’s what it means,’ he said, again managing to speak in his cool, calm voice without his mouth even twitching. ‘The motto under the coat of arms of the East India Company that you were staring at. “By the authority of the King and Parliament of England”.’

  ‘How did you know that was what I was looking at?’ I hissed.

  ‘Your lips were moving, forming the Latin words. When I say “be silent”, Mr Linton, that also means don’t move your lips.’

  Too preoccupied to argue, I gave a tiny nod and swallowed. My eyes once more took in the soldiers on the gallery, then returned to the roaring lions on the giant tapestries, and to the words they shouted at the world. Auspicio Regis Et Senatus Angliae…

  No wonder Lord Dalgliesh felt justified in doing whatever he wanted. He had the Queen’s Official Seal of Approval.

  Beside me, Mr Ambrose tensed. Tensed more than he was already tensed, I mean - which, considering his normal stance, was an impressive feat.

  ‘Out of the way! Quickly!’ With those words hissed into my ear, he sprang away and pulled me after him in a decidedly unsoldierly manner. We were behind a heap of crates before I could utter a word of protest. And then I heard his voice, and the protest died in my throat.

  ‘…have everything loaded onto the ship immediately, please, Captain. I shall await a full report in half an hour.’

  Ice flooded my heart, and I stumbled after Mr Ambrose, not uttering a single word. Just before he pulled me out of sight, and we disappeared behind the heap of wooden crates, I saw it, out of the corner of my eye. I saw the golden mane and hawk’s beak. I saw the steely glint of piercing blue eyes.

  Lord Dalgliesh was here.

  ‘So it is decided?’

  The voice was rough with a hint of cockney, but many other accents mixed into it. Spying over the top of one of the crates, I saw the burly shape of a ship’s captain next to the aristocratic figure of Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.

  A hand gripped my collar and pulled me down. Suddenly, a hard body was pressing into me from behind.

  ‘If you intend to spy on them over the top of those crates,’ Mr Ambrose hissed into my ear, holding me with a granite grip, ‘then I suggest that you remove that blue hat before you do so. It sticks out over the top.’

  Oh. I hadn’t thought of that. Embarrassed, I snatched the blue hat off my head. He, I noticed, had already removed his. Pity. It really suited him.

  ‘Yes.’ That was the voice of Lord Dalgliesh.

  ‘And what decision have you come to, if I may ask, Your Lordship? I don't want to appear presumptuous, it is simply a matter of planning…’

  ‘The file is leaving this building, Captain. It is going out to Île Marbeau.’

  My head whipped around to look at Mr Ambrose. The file! Had he heard, too? Yes. I could see that he had. His left little finger was twitching.

  ‘If you pardon my asking, Your Lordship…’ The captain’s voice was hesitant. ‘Why did you keep it here at all? Wasn't that a bit… risky?’

  I looked over the wall of crates again just in time to see Lord Dalgliesh direct a friendly smile at his captain. It was the same friendly smile that a shark directs at his prey.

  ‘Risky?’ He enquired, smoothly. ‘Whyever would you think so?’

  ‘Um, well, the means by which you acquired the file were not exactly… you know…’

  ‘No. I do not know. Please, enlighten me.’

  The captain met the gaze of the steel-blue eyes just for an instant.

  ‘Nothing,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I didn’t mean nothing, Your Lordship.’

  Lord Dalgliesh nodded graciously. ‘I’m glad to hear that. I would be very sad to find out that my staff did not think well of me and my methods. You do think well of me, Captain, don't you?’

  ‘Of course, My Lord! I think the world of you, My Lord.’

  ‘How fortunate! Then, I believe, we can continue our working relationship in a manner profitable to us both. Now, where were we…?’

  The captain opened his mouth to remind his master, but then thought better of the risk of talking, and shut his mouth again.

  ‘Ah, yes!’ Lord Dalgliesh raised a finger. ‘You were enquiring why I had not brought the file out of here at once.’ He met the captain’s eyes. ‘Doubtless you were concerned because there are so many thieves and crooks in London, and my rightful property is in danger here, am I correct?’

  ‘Yes, My Lord. Absolutely correct, My Lord.’

  ‘Well, I must admit, it had occurred to me to send the file to a safer location immediately. But, you see, unfortunately, it was in code.’

  Puzzlement spread over the captain’s face. ‘Code? You mean like code of honour and that gentleman stuff?’

  ‘No. I mean a secret language.’ Lord Dalgliesh’s face was still smiling, but his right hand was speaking a different language. It had clenched into a tight fist, the knuckles white. ‘Unfortunately, we have not yet been able to decipher it.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something on Mr Ambrose’s face. His non-existent expression didn’t change, but I thought I saw a dark gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  ‘And even more unfortunately,’ Lord Dalgliesh continued, ‘the fact that the documents are encoded makes it difficult for them to be removed from London. The greatest cryptographers of the world work here at government institutes.’

  ‘But… now you’re taking the file out of here anyway?’ the captain dared to enquire.

  ‘Yes.’ Lord Dalgliesh took something out of his pocket and twirled it between his fingers. The object was shiny and yellowish, and looked like some kind of pelt. It took me a moment to recognize the lock of Simmons' golden hair. The hair of a dead man. With a quick, merciless motion, Dalgliesh crushed it between his fingers and let it fall to the floor. ‘I have received signs that this course of action would be advisable.’

  The captain stared at the remains of the lock in confusion. He didn’t know what I knew.

  ‘But… what about these code experts? If, like you said, they live here in London, My Lord…’

  ‘I think they should be encouraged to move. Sea climate is very beneficial for one’s health at this time of year. I am sure you can explain this to them, very clearly.’

  The captain blanched. ‘Your Lordship, surely you are not suggesting…’

  He trailed off. Lord Dalgliesh waited, watching him quietly. Finally, he enquired:
‘Yes?’

  Once more, there was a friendly smile on his face.

  The captain swallowed. ‘I… My Lord, these are important men. If they should suddenly vanish in a violent manner…’

  ‘Violence? Dear me, who said anything of violence?’ Lord Dalgliesh’s smile widened a fraction. ‘You must have completely misunderstood me, Captain. You will encourage these people to take a holiday, nothing more. I am sure they will see the benefit of it when you have explained everything adequately.’

  The captain’s head slumped down. It was probably pressed down by the weight he knew would come if something went wrong. If something went wrong, everything would be on his head. Lord Dalgliesh’s innocent smile made that clear. Lord Dalgliesh would always be innocent.

  ‘Their disappearance will not go unnoticed,’ he started a last attempt at convincing his master. ‘The press…’

  ‘The press will follow my suggestions and be discrete. I own it, after all.’

  ‘Well… not all of it, My Lord. Some of it belongs to Mr Ambrose.’

  The friendly smile froze on Dalgliesh’s face. Around them, the workers stopped in mid-stride and turned towards the two. Silence fell over the hall, as more and more pairs of eyes fixed on them. Waves of silence spread out in the pond of the hall from the pebble that had been Mr Ambrose’s name.

  It seemed to dawn on the captain that he had made a very serious mistake. The last remnants of colour drained from his face.

  Dalgliesh took a step toward his subordinate.

  ‘What,’ he said very kindly and slowly, in the manner of a patient headmaster talking to a disobedient child, ‘did I tell you about mentioning the name of this man in my presence, Captain?’

  The captain’s mouth opened and closed. No words came out.

  ‘Do I need to remind you again of the consequences if this should occur again, Captain?’

  ‘N-no, My Lord! I remember perfectly, My Lord!’

  ‘Excellent.’ Dalgliesh turned again, and continued on his way. At a flick of his hand, the labourers whirled around and started to work again, twice as fast as before. ‘Kindly have the file brought aboard and stored in the safe, Captain. Make sure it is in a watertight pouch.’

  ‘As you wish, My Lord.’

  The voices receded as the two men walked down the hall. I sank to my knees, so I was completely hidden by the crates, and leaned towards Mr Ambrose, who had assumed the same pose.

  ‘What did he mean “have the file brought aboard”?’ I whispered. ‘Aboard what?’

  ‘Don’t you remember?’ he asked, his eyes looking into the distance. ‘The entrance to that tunnel down in the hall… It must lead to the docks. That must be how he gets things on ships he doesn't want the government to know about. Intriguing.’

  ‘But not in any way helpful,’ I pointed out.

  ‘On the contrary, Mr Linton.’ There was a cold gleam in his eyes. ‘Think about it. They are going to bring the file aboard the ship. Its current location is probably a separate, heavily guarded room. Even people dressed up as soldiers, as we are, would not be let in without a very good reason. But on the ship, things are different. People of all sorts hurry about, loading the vessel, checking security, carrying messages - it will be the ideal environment for us to retrieve the file. We will wait until it has been put aboard, then we will pretend to be part of the ship’s military escort and go through the tunnel. Having acquired the file, we will not return here, but simply leave the ship at the docks, and, discarding our disguise, make our way back to the carriage.’

  ‘What a brilliant plan, Sir. Of course, it all depends on whether this tunnel down in the hall actually leads to the docks, which at present is pure speculation.’

  Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look. ‘I would rather refer to it as a hypothesis based on circumstantial evidence, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Would you indeed, Sir? And, assuming the tunnel really does lead to the docks, we will, of course, also have to worm our way through countless layers of guards and soldiers, and manage not to get caught and shot in the process.’

  ‘Naturally, Mr Linton.’

  The coolness in his gaze intensified. He regarded me like a not particularly interesting bug under a microscope. I knew very well what he was thinking. He was thinking I was afraid.

  Well… he was right about that. But he didn’t need to know that.

  ‘All right.’ Taking a deep breath, I stood up again and placed the blue hat on my head. It didn’t seem quite so ridiculous to me anymore. It and the rest of the uniform were all that stood between me and a fate I didn’t want to imagine. ‘Let’s go.’

  For a single moment, Mr Ambrose looked almost - almost! - taken aback. Then he swiftly rose, too, and re-hatted himself. He was looking at me out of slightly narrowed, immeasurably dark eyes.

  ‘You are really going to come with me?’

  ‘Naturally.’ Those eyes… I could drown in them and never even want to breathe again.

  ‘But you just told me how dangerous it is.’

  ‘Well…’ I did my best to conjure up a brave smile. It wasn’t easy while he was looking at me like this. My knees felt as if they wanted to give way any minute. ‘They say fortune favours the brave, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes!’ Mr Ambrose growled. ‘And they are stupid. In my experience, fortune favours the powerful and ruthless.’

  ‘Well, we should be all right, then, shouldn’t we?’ I grinned up at him. ‘After all, you’ve got me on your side.’

  He took a step towards me. ‘You have a very singular personality, Mr Linton.’

  I couldn’t hide my smile. ‘Singular? You mean special, like Joan of Arc, or Queen Gwendolen[51]?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ His hands came up to clasp my shoulders. ‘I was thinking more like an Ifrit.’

  It took me a moment to realize I wasn’t offended. Why wasn’t I offended? And why the heck was I still smiling? He had just compared me to some kind of demon from hell!

  His grip on my arms tightened. The darkness in his eyes flared.

  ‘Mr Linton, I…’ For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more. But I should have known better. This was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. When did he ever want to say more or, for that matter, anything at all?

  Instead, he suddenly let go, righted himself and stepped past me. ‘We’ve wasted enough time, Mr Linton. Follow me!’ he ordered without turning. ‘And be silent. If we encounter resistance, leave the talking to me.’

  ‘And if we encounter resistance that can’t be solved by talking, Sir?’

  Dumping on the ground the leather bag he had brought with him all the way, he opened it and retrieved an object out of it: a long object made of gleaming wood and silvery metal. I sucked in a breath at the sight of the state-of-the-art rifle. His eyes met mine.

  ‘Leave that to me, too.’

  *~*~**~*~*

  Mr Ambrose’s snappy salute was so convincing that the guard at the entrance to the tunnel let us through without uttering a single word. He just saluted in return. I, too, attempted a salute and somehow managed one without knocking the blue hat off my head.

  We stepped past the guard in silence. Before us loomed the black jaws of the tunnel. I couldn’t help it - a final time, I glanced up at the giant figures of the two roaring, golden lions hanging high above us. Their eyes seemed to be trained directly on me, watching my every move, knowing I did not belong here.

  ‘Eyes front, Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose hissed.

  Hurriedly, I did as ordered and hastened my steps. The menacing glint of the golden-maned wardens above me disappeared, and the darkness swallowed me.

  Or so I thought.

  After a few moments, I could make out a faint glimmer farther down the tunnel. But it was very, very far off.

  ‘Why isn’t the tunnel better lit?’ I whispered.

  ‘Look around you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Do you see any windows or ventilation systems? Both torches and gas lamps produce poisonous fumes that would be hard to get rid of in
such an enclosed space. Also, if I’m right about what kinds of illicit activities Lord Dalgliesh is conducting here, the end of the tunnel will have to be completely dark for the purpose of secrecy. We will have to watch our steps very carefully. And from now on, not one more question out of you, understood? Remember, we are supposed to be familiar with this place.’

  Thank God I did as he told me and kept my mouth shut. Not two minutes later, a dozen soldiers suddenly appeared out of the darkness right in front of us. Light in the tunnel was so scarce that, even in their bright red uniforms, they were hardly more than shadows. Yet these shadows were armed, and looking none too pleased.

  ‘Are the Ching Chongs[52] still at it?’ one growled.

  ‘Ye bet they are!’ another answered. ‘Damned yellow bastards! Not a night when they can’t get to bed like decent folk. And it’s the likes of us that has to…’

  They went past us, and soon their voices vanished into the distance.

  So the Dance of the Dragon was still going on outside, was it? I felt suddenly cold at the thought of what exactly the soldiers had been ordered to do. Why were they marching, as I was sure they were, out into the street to where the Chinese were dancing? I sneaked a sideways glance at Mr Ambrose’s profile in the gloom. It was too dark to really see his face. Was he feeling the chill inside, too?

  Dumb question. He probably was constantly at a core temperature of - 100 degrees Fahrenheit.

  Up ahead, there shimmered a faint light again. Not yellowish light this time, though, but cold, blue light. The light of the moon. As we came closer, I saw that it was falling into the tunnel through tiny cracks in a wooden wall - a wooden wall that ended the tunnel.

  I opened my mouth to ask ‘What now?’ - but Mr Ambrose threw me one of his special looks, and I closed it again. He stepped closer to the wooden wall, which in spite of the few strands of moonlight, was utterly black, and let his hands skim over it. About halfway up the wall his searching hands suddenly stopped. The fingers closed around something, pressed, and pushed.