Hunting for Silence by Robert Thier

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 thanks 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.

‘Well, My Lord, Messieurs, Mademoiselle…’ The king gave us all a nod and a smile. ‘I won’t go so far as to say it’s been a pleasure, but it has definitely been an interesting evening. I think I shall turn in for the night. Tomorrow is likely to be a busy day.’

There were bows from all around, except from me, because (A) I was a woman and (B) I was still sitting on the floor. This carpet was really quite comfortable. Nobody really seemed to mind my taking it easy. With a last smile at Mr Ambrose and me, the king left the box.

‘I shall be retiring as well,’ Lord Dalgliesh informed us. He did not smile. ‘His Majesty is right. Tomorrow will be a busy day.’

And with that ominous statement, he stepped into the corridor. His footsteps receded, which left Mr Ambrose and me in the company of the Minister Guizot.

‘Mademoiselle?’ Stepping forward, the thin Frenchman offered his hand to me.

‘I’m quite comfortable down here, thank you.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Well, I deserve a little break after all this excitement, don’t you?’ And I leaned back against the balustrade, crossing my arms behind my head.

‘Assuredly, Mademoiselle.’ The minister’s thin lips twitched in a humourless smile. ‘Unfortunately, I ‘ave a feeling that I myself will not be getting one in the near future.’

Stepping up to the balustrade, he peered over to the other side of the room, to the box from where the shot had come.

‘It is not so far away.’

Mr Ambrose and I exchanged looks.

‘Interesting, n’est-ce pas, that an assassin, whom you would presume to be an expert marksman, missed from such a close distance.’ He whirled around and strode over to the wall. Eyes narrowed and nose flaring like bloodhound on a scent, he began to examine the walls, the columns, any and all surfaces he could get his hands on.

‘Très interresant…’

‘Minister?’

‘Monsieur Ambrose, you are a man of the world, are you not? An experienced man, who has ‘andled firearms? I even believe you own a company that produces them?’

‘More than one, Minister.’

‘Excellent. Then perhaps you can help me understand.’ Turning towards us, the minister sent Mr Ambrose a penetrating stare over his hawk-beak nose. ‘Can you explain to me how an assassin could fire several bullets from a vantage point that is quite close to ‘is target, and yet not only miss, but, even more astonishingly, fail to leave leave a single bullet ‘ole be’ind?’

Silence.

A long, long empty silence.

Finally, Mr Ambrose lifted one shoulder high enough for a shrug of a corpse in rigor mortis. ‘Perhaps he was a very bad assassin.’

‘Per’aps.’ The minister’s stare became even more intense. ‘Or perhaps he was a very smart assassin, sent ‘ere by an even smarter man.’

‘Or woman,’ I piped up from the floor.

They both ignored me.

‘Perhaps,’ Mr Ambrose allowed.

‘It seems,’ the minister mused, ‘that, miraculously, the political situation has shifted to my advantage. The attack of a revolutionary will silence my critics. All those who ‘ave been railing against an alliance with England will be eager to support my efforts now, or will at least be too cautious to speak up against it.’

‘Indeed.’

A smile tugged at one corner of Guizot’s thin mouth.

‘It occurs to me that maybe I should thank you, Monsieur Ambrose.’

‘Maybe you should.’

‘It also occurs to me that maybe I should ‘ave you arrested for meddling in state affairs.’

The room temperature sank several degrees. ‘Indeed?’

‘Unfortunately, I do not ‘ave sufficient evidence for the latter.’

Mr Ambrose’s right hand shifted slightly, coming to rest over the place where I knew, beneath his tailcoat, he kept his trusted revolver. ‘Or fortunately, depending on how you look at it.’

‘Quite so.’

The two men stared at each other. On the one hand, the French Foreign Minister, a man of power, experience, and with eyes as sharp as his mind—on the other, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, cold, implacable, as immovable as the Colossus of Rhodes. Silence expanded between the two as they measured each other. Long moments passed. And some more of them. And more.

I cleared my throat. ‘Are you quite finished?’

Mr Ambrose’s little finger twitched. I got the feeling he would have dearly liked to give me a cool look, but he couldn’t very well do that without being the first to end the staring contest.

‘I believe the lady has a point,’ Monsieur Guizot said.

Well, well, look at that. A sensible man. And I only had to travel a few hundred miles from home to find him.

‘I myself shall retire for the evening. I would appreciate, Monsieur Ambrose, if you were to call on me at the ministry tomorrow. I would like to discuss this matter further with you.’

Mr Ambrose gave a curt not. ‘So would I. There are things you need to know, Minister.’

‘I shall look forward to hearing them. Au revoir, Monsieur Ambrose. Au revoir, Mademoiselle Linton.’

The minister turned and walked towards the door. He was just stepping outside, when…

‘Monsieur Guizot?’

At the sound of Mr Ambrose’s voice, the minister froze. ‘Yes?’

‘Be cautious of Dalgliesh. He is not all that he seems.’

The minister gave a dry laugh. ‘Personne n’est, Monsieur!’ Then, with a final nod he strode out of the box.

‘What did he say?’

Silence.

‘Mr Ambrose?’

‘He said: nobody is.’

‘Oh.’

Smart man.

Turning, Mr Ambrose gazed over at me.

‘I believe our business is finished here, Miss Linton. Agreed?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Striding over to me, he held out a hand. Without even thinking about it, I took it, and he pulled me up with an ease that might be due to the strength in his arms, but was still very good for my ego. Those strong arms of his slid around me, pulling me close.

‘My, my, Sir,’ I whispered, batting my eyelashes up at him. ‘Aren’t you brazen! I will have you know that I am a decent young lady who is not in the habit of compromising her reputation.’

Dark, sea-coloured eyes glittered down at me, their depths swirling, drawing me in. ‘You’re a bad liar, Miss Linton.’

‘No I’m not!’

‘To me you are,’ he told me, one hand taking hold of my jaw, drawing me up towards him. ‘I see you. I know you. All of you.’

Fierce heat rose inside me. Sliding my arms around his neck, I pulled him close and crushed him against me for one hard, sweet second.

‘Me too,’ I whispered. ‘And I’ll never look away.’

My arms loosened at the same instant his did, but we never let go. Holding on to each other, we stepped out into the corridor. No one was left out there. The soldiers had escorted their king and minister back to the palace, and the audience had long since made themselves scarce. In silence, we descended the stairs, heading towards the exit.

‘Where’s Claudette?’ I asked Mr Ambrose when we reached the bottom.

‘Probably at home locked in a room with thick walls, laughing intensely. For some mysterious reason, she seemed to find it quite amusing to play the revolutionary assassin.’

I grinned up at him. ‘I can imagine.’

‘What perturbs me, Miss Linton, is that yes, you probably can. Remind me to take your gun away before we return to England, will you?’

‘Ha! You just try that and see what happens.’

We had reached the entrance by now, and I pulled open the door, giving a slight curtsy. ‘Gentlemen first.’

He gave me a stern look, but he did step out first. Which meant that when Lord Dalgiesh’s arm lashed out of the darkness, it was not me he grabbed.