Hunting for Silence by Robert Thier

Memorable Moments

‘I have to admit, his opera looks better than yours. Did you skimp on decorations?’

Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look, then turned back to the massive building in front of us. I had spoken the truth. It did look better than Mr Ambrose’s opera house—if you measured beauty in pomp and luxury. But at a second glance, you could see where Dalgliesh’s architect had used just a little bit too much decoration, just a little bit too much gilding and glitter. There might be less pomp at Mr Ambrose’s building, but there also was a lot more style.

And fewer murderous plots, probably, as well.

‘Well?’ I asked, slipping my arm into Mr Ambrose’s and smiling up at him. ‘Shall we go give His Lordship a nice surprise?’

‘We shall. Let’s go.’

‘Yes, let’s!’ came an excited voice from behind us. ‘Oh, sis is going to fun!’

Followed by Claudette, Mr Ambrose and I climbed the front steps to the arched entryway. The doorman at this place looked a whole lot bigger and more intimidating than the one Mr Ambrose had had the misfortune to employ.

‘Des billets, s’il vous plait?’

‘Do you speak English?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Read this.’

Mr Ambrose held out the king’s note.

‘Sat is not a ticket, Monsieur.’

‘Read it.’

Frowning, the doorman unfolded the note and started to skim it—when his face suddenly paled.

‘Mon dieu!Monsieur, you are truly here—’

‘—on the personal invitation of His Majesty King Louis Philippe? Yes. I am afraid his invitation arrived at too short a notice to procure tickets for ourselves. We can, of course, come back another time, if you would be so kind as to give His Majesty our apologies and explain to him why we could not—’

‘Oh, no! No, Monsieur! I wouldn’t dream of it. Please, come in. Guests of ‘is Majesty the king are always welcome. He ‘as the best box to himself, after all, and can do with it as he sees fit.’

‘Adequate.’ Tugging the royal note from the doorman’s motionless hands, Mr Ambrose pocketed it and strode inside. ‘We’ll find our own way.’

When we were inside and out of hearing distance, I squeezed his arm and beamed up at him.

‘I’m proud of you.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes. Even on a deadly mission with the fate of the entire world at stake, you still find time to cheat your enemies out of the price of three tickets. That’s what I call staying true to yourself.’

Claudette gave the two of us a look and shook her head. ‘One sing is for sure. Nobody will ever write an opera about se two of you. Nobody in the audience would be able to figure out when you’re flirting and when you’re insulting each other.’

‘We do both at the same time,’ I told her, grinning up at Mr Ambrose. ‘Knowledge is power is time is money, right?’

I felt his fingers give my arms a gentle squeeze.

‘Indeed.’

The entrance hall was brightly lit and filled with excited chatter—about tonight’s performance, and much more besides. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones to know that His Royal Majesty the King would be present tonight. Gentlemen were walking extra stiffly and correctly, and ladies were checking and re-checking their hair and clothes in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors

The three of us proceeded in a tight group towards the grand stairs that obviously led to the upper levels and the best boxes in the opera, our heads lowered. It wouldn’t be smart to be recognized too soon, in case any of Dalgliesh’s goons were here. Once we reached the top of the stairs, Mr Ambrose nodded to Claudette in her male costume.

‘You’ll find the items you need in the third bin down the hall in the west corridor. If that little snake of a saboteur didn’t do as told and they aren’t there, signal us by coming to the royal box and knocking on the door three times short, one time long. Understood?’

‘Oui, Monsieur!’ Grinning, Claudette gave a mock salute. She was obviously having the time of her life. ‘Do I get a bonus for this?’

‘Yes. A bonus of one tailcoat and one pair of trousers from Paris’s foremost fashion designer, completely free of charge.’

‘Sacre bleu! How generous. You take my breath away.’

‘I’m in a generous mood, so you can keep it. Get to work.’

Hand in hand, we stood there and watched Claudette bustle away.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t have involved her in this,’ I murmured.

‘Why not, pray, Mr Linton?’

‘Because she could get shot or arrested!’

‘Do you know another Parisian with sufficient acting skills we can trust to keep their mouth shut afterwards?’

‘Well, I don’t think we can trust her to keep her mouth shut entirely—’

‘Except for when she’s singing.’

‘Oh. Well, in that case, no I can’t think of anybody else. But still—’

‘Adequate. Then that is settled.’

Taking a tighter hold of my arm, he started to steer me down the corridor, and I let him, because, honestly, I had no bloody clue where we were supposed to be going. We took a turn, and then another one, climbing another set of stairs. The farther we went, the more luxurious our surroundings became, and the more guards were everywhere. I had to keep myself from jerking back the first time I saw a soldier in the uniform of the presidency armies.[34] Lord Dalgliesh’s personal lackeys were everywhere, and they made my skin crawl. Another one was just coming around the corner, and I felt my mouth twist in disgust—until I saw his face.

‘Crap!’ The word escaped me as a hiss.

Mr Ambrose froze. ‘What is it, Mr Linton?’

‘I’ve met him! He knows my face!’

Mr Ambrose froze. ‘Are you certain he will remember?’

‘The way I smashed the butt of my gun into his ugly mug was pretty memorable!’

‘I see.’

He was on me before I could even blink. Grabbing my shoulders, he whirled me around into an alcove, blocking out the light from the corridor.

‘What the heck are you doing?’ I hissed. ‘Don’t you realize we’ll only attract more attention if we try to hide and—mmmmph…’

My words were abruptly cut off when his hands slid up to take hold of my face, and his mouth came down on mine.

Holy…

Thank God for violent criminal kidnapping thugs in the service of megalomaniacal evil masterminds! You are fabulous! The world needs more of you!

‘Are you satisfied with my deception techniques?’ he murmured against my lips. ‘Or do I need to get more inventive?’

No! No, please, or I’ll have a heart attack.

‘Yes!’ I breathed. ‘Do! Now!’

What do you know? My mouth was getting emancipated.

‘Indeed?’

That was all he said. Just that one word. His one hand tightened its grip on my face, while his others moved down over my cheek, splayed fingers caressing my face, my neck, my…

Oh my.

Somewhere very, very far away, footsteps passed by. I didn’t really pay any attention.

Mr Ambrose renewed his attack on my mouth. He was merciless. Without the slightest hint of pity. My knees started to tremble below me, and one strong arm came around my waist to pull me against him, so close the heat of his skin almost burned me and—

And then he let go.

‘Wbldb?’

I blinked in the sudden light. Mr Ambrose had stepped out of the alcove and was peering around the corner.

‘He is gone,’ he announced coolly. ‘We can proceed.’

Proceed? Hell yes, I wanted to proceed! I wanted to proceed all night and into the small hours of the morning, preferably on a comfortable bed!

‘Miss Linton?’ He snapped his fingers in front of my face. ‘King? Minister? Assassination, remember?’

Lifting my nose into the air, I slapped his fingers away. ‘Of course I remember! I was just considering our strategy.’

‘Of course.’

In a very gentle and loving way, I stomped on his foot.

‘Drop that smug tone, mister!’

‘I have not the slightest clue what you could possibly mean, Miss Linton.’

‘Of course you don’t.’

He offered me his arm, and I took it as the peace offering it was. Arm in arm, we continued down the corridor.

‘So, Miss Linton—what exactly in regard to our strategy was it that you were considering?’

I thought quickly—or as quickly as I was capable of at the moment, with my mind still fogged. What to say? Well…there was actually one point I had meant to ask about, a daunting possibility that had preyed on my mind for some time.

‘What if the assassination is already planned for tonight?’ I whispered.

‘Assassinating the King of the French on the very first night after inviting him to his private opera house? I don’t think even Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh would be so bold. If there is anything that man prizes more than power, it is his public image. He would not risk suspicion falling on him for such an inane reason as haste.’

I smirked up at him. ‘You would. You’d want to get it over with as quickly as possible.’

‘True.’ He looked over at me, and his eyes were so cold it sent a delicious shiver down my back. ‘But if I wanted to start a war between two countries, I wouldn’t have to kill to do it.’

I wasn’t quite sure which was worse—the fact that I believed him, or the fact that his words, horrifying though they might be, made me want to grab him and kiss him senseless.

‘Monsieur? Madame?’At the sound of the strange voice, I glanced up and saw a man in uniform. My heart filled with ice-cold fear—until I realized it wasn’t a uniform of the presidency armies. It was a French uniform. Sagging against the wall, I gave a sigh of relief, probably the first any English man or woman had uttered at the sight of a French soldier since that little matter with Napoleon.

‘Yes?’ Mr Ambrose cocked his head at the soldier.

‘Oh. Vous etes…English? Anglais, oui? I am sorry, Monsieur. But I cannot let you pass ‘ere. This ‘allway leads to se royal box of ‘is Majesty. I cannot let anyone srough.’

‘Maybe you’ll make an exception for us,’ Mr Ambrose told him, handing him the note. The soldier’s eyes flicked over it, and quickly, he bowed. ‘Yes of course. Pardon me, Monsieur. I was unaware you had been invited. Jaques!’

He snapped his fingers and another soldier appeared around the corner, this one with fewer stripes on his uniform and more pimples on his face.

‘Jaques, conduct sis lady and gentleman to ‘is Majesty se king immediately, please.’

The young man saluted. ‘Immediatement, mon colonel!’

‘My thanks, colonel.’ Mr Ambrose nodded at the officer. ‘A young associate of mine may drop by to deliver an important memo sometime during the evening. Monsieur Claude is his name. Would you mind letting him through?’

‘Well…’ The Frenchmen hesitated. ‘Is sis memorandum of interest to the king? Otherwise, I would not very much like to disturb him unnecessarily.’

‘Trust me,’ Mr Ambrose said, his face as deadpan as a whole collection of suicidal cooking pots. ‘My business here tonight is of great interest to His Majesty.’

‘Very well, sen. I shall send him srough se minute he arrives.’

The colonel stepped aside and we proceeded farther down the corridor, past several more soldiers, until we finally reached an ornate door. The soldier beside it snapped his heels together.

‘Names, please?’

Mr Ambrose pulled out a card and silently extended it.

‘Very well, Sir. And your companion?’

‘Miss Lillian Linton.’

The soldier knocked against the door. ‘Monsieur Rikkard Ambrose and Mademoiselle Lillian Linton to see ‘is Majesty se King.’

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.’