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He raised a hand and gave a short, sharp wave. The gang leader smiled.
Suddenly, the giant grey horse behind him reared up on its hind legs, kicking out wildly. With a strangled scream, the gang leader was thrown forward onto the cobblestones. A red puddle formed around his head.
‘Just not the signal you want,’ Mr Ambrose told the corpse.
In a flash, he had dragged me past the dead man and to the chaise and pushed me inside. ‘Good boy.’ He patted the horse on the neck, and for a moment I thought I saw the hint of a smile on his face. But no… that couldn’t be.
‘You there!’ He yelled. ‘On the box! Now!’
One of Warren’s men, who had just finished off another of the thugs, rushed to do his master’s bidding and swung himself onto the box. Quickly, he grabbed the whip and cracked it over the horse’s head.
‘Gee up!’
Mr Ambrose managed to jump into the chaise just in time. It took off down the street at an alarming speed. Dark houses rushed past us, and the screams behind us grew fainter and fainter. Slowly, I sank back into the old upholstery. Through the dreamy haze that surrounded my brain, I began to realize something.
‘I’ve just been in a gunfight,’ I said lazily. It was getting really hard to keep my eyes open.
‘You certainly have,’ a cool voice said next to me. There was a short silence. Then the cool voice continued: ‘I suppose you now understand what kind of situation you signed up for. I shall of course understand that you wish to leave your post. I shall have all the necessary resignation papers prepared for you in the morning. You will have to come to sign…’
‘I’ve just been in a gunfight,’ I repeated, not really listening to whoever was speaking. Listening was so difficult.
‘Yes, you said that already. About the resignation papers…’
‘A gunfight! That’s… That’s spiffing!’ I giggled.
Another pause.
Then, the cool voice said, not quite so cool anymore: ‘It is what?’
‘Spiffing. Top-hole. You might even say… ticketyboo.’ I giggled again. ‘I just wish I’d had a gun, too! That would have been even more top-hole. I could have put some holes into other people. Top-hole holes! The little piggies would have been proud!’
I nudged the fellow with the cool voice i
n the ribs. What was his name again? I couldn’t remember right now.
There was a stifled groan from the dark. Hm… Wasn't I supposed to know this groaner with the cool voice? If only I could remember his name… his name…
Of course! Mr Ambrose! He had dragged me through the gunfight! Mr Ambrose, who had fought in defence of the little yellow piggies! How romantic…
I giggled again.
‘My hero,’ I drawled, leaning against him. ‘You rescued me.’ A frown spread over my face. ‘Although, now that I think about it, I actually didn’t want to be rescued. I wanted to stay there and join the fight.’
‘Exactly why you needed rescuing,’ he responded drily. Suddenly, I noticed that his arm, which had been around my shoulders the whole time he dragged me towards the chaise, was around my shoulders still. Why? And why was it suddenly gripping me so tightly?
‘You are incorrigible, Mr Linton,’ he told me, his voice low, tight, controlled. ‘Why didn’t you do as I told you to? Why, once in your life, didn’t you do the sensible thing and run?’
My frown deepened into a scowl. ‘The men didn’t run. They fought.’
‘Because that’s what they’re paid to do! You’re paid to stay alive! To stay safe!’
‘I’m no coward!’ I growled. ‘I’m as good as any man! And the little piggies needed me!’
‘Excuse me… the what? What pigs?’
I rolled my eyes. He was incapable of grasping the simplest, most logical concepts. He didn’t even understand dancing yellow pigs. Typical man!
But for some reason, leaning against this annoying man also felt comforting. Somehow, I had slipped sideways, and my head had come to rest against his chest. It felt firm, and oh so warm. But that couldn’t be, could it? It was Mr Ambrose. Mr Ambrose was as cold as ice. Surely he would feel icy and hard, not so warm and reassuring.
