Storm and Silence (Storm and Silence #1) - Robert Thier Page 0,315

a remote chance that not too many men will be present when they open the crate. I will engage them, and it will be your job to-’

‘No.’

I think my abrupt interruption caught him off guard. He said nothing for a moment, then demanded: ‘No? What do you mean, no?’

‘I mean no, there still is a chance to get the file back. Think, Sir. Nobody knows we are here. If we could somehow manage to get out of this crate unseen…’

‘Which is extremely unlikely.’

‘If we could manage it, we could get to the file…’

‘How, without being discovered?’

‘We still have our disguises. They got us into one of Dalgliesh’s buildings - why not another?’

‘There still remains the little matter of getting out of there alive.’

I smirked in the dark. ‘Since when have I become the one suggesting dangerous schemes and you the pessimist to reject them? Are you frightened of a little adventure?’

‘Mr Linton?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I had enough room to move my arm properly, I would take you by the scruff of the neck and…’

‘Yes, Sir?’

Silence.

‘Nothing, Mr Linton.’

‘Just as you say, Sir.’

Another spell of silence. When he spoke again, his voice was a curious, cold mix of tones I couldn’t decipher.

‘You are seriously suggesting that on reaching our destination, I get out of this crate unseen, manage to sneak into Lord Dalgliesh’s secret hideout, steal the file, and then manage to flee, and that all on my own?’

‘No. Not on your own, Sir. After all, I am here.’

‘That makes me feel so much better.’

*~*~**~*~*

The sudden silence was as loud as thunder in our ears. The deep thumping noise that had been our constant companion for the last few hours had suddenly ceased. The vibrations of the ship had stilled. The sudden change woke me from the half-sleep into which I had fallen after hours and hours of waiting in the dark.

‘The engine has been stopped,’ I whispered drowsily. ‘We… we must have arrived.’

‘What a brilliant deduction, Mr Linton.’

Instead of making a snappish reply to his sarcastic remark, I asked. ‘Do you think we are in the harbour of this place Dalgliesh mentioned? This “Ill Marbow”?’

‘?le Marbeau, Mr Linton,’ he corrected.

‘That’s what I said, Sir.’

‘No, Mr Linton. You pronounced it like grotesque, half-English gibberish. But I am quite certain the name is French. “?le” is French for “island”.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, Mr Linton. An island. Do you see now how getting away with the file might be a bit difficult?’

‘Well… we could steal a ship.’

‘And man it ourselves?’ The cold, disparaging tone of his voice told me that this was not in the realm of possibility. And I believed him. Unlike me, he had been on many ships, most of which he probably owned himself. He knew what he was talking about.

?le Marbeau… The strange-sounding name reverberated in my head and made my breathing quicken. With my mind’s eye, I saw a desolate, dark rock rising out of the sea towards a night sky black and grey with storm clouds. On the very top rose the ruins of an old castle, in which the infamous Lord Dalgliesh ruled like the king he saw himself to be.

I cleared my throat.

‘We are really and truly outside England now?’

‘Yes, Mr Linton.’

‘Really? Truly outside England?’

‘I believe I have already told you so. Yes, we are. Why?’

I didn’t know what to say. All my life I had dreamed of adventure, of leaving England to journey to faraway lands and see the marvels of the world. None of my dreams had included being stuck in a wooden crate with somebody like Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Still, I found myself glad that he was here. With a queasy feeling in my stomach, I thought back to the fight in the alley, to my fear of being shot down by sharpshooters at number 97. Adventures were neither as easy nor as glorious as I had imagined, and it was good to have somebody I trusted with me.

Wait just a minute! Trust? Are you nuts?

But I did trust him. When had that happened? When I had first met him, I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. In fact, I was deeply suspicious of his dark business dealings and chauvinistic ways. Some part of me still was. But another part of me wanted him to put his arms around me again.

Suddenly, I heard a dull thump from outside. It was repeated, and repeated again, and again, getting louder as it drew nearer.

‘What is that?’ I asked.

‘Marching feet on the metal floor,’ Mr Ambrose breathed.