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If you think about it, we are innocent, right? After all, we’re just stealing back something that had been previously purloined.
One hundred per cent correct. My ears, though, didn’t seem to agree: they were red hot with guilt. Never before had I been so thankful for my tanned skin, which would at least hide the blush on my cheeks.
Five yards.
Four.
The guard didn’t move.
Three yards.
Without warning, the guard stepped sideways, blocking our way. My hands clenched into fists, and it took a conscious effort to relax them, and to look the man straight into his little rat’s eyes.
‘Hey, you there! You know nobody is allowed in the tunnel without permission from the colonel.’
‘But we ‘ave permission,’ Mr Ambrose said, his voice absolutely credible, almost affronted at being questioned like this. ‘We’re to stand guard at the other end. New safety measures.’
‘Oh? Let’s see your permission slip, then.’
‘Certainly.’
Reaching into his pocket, Mr Ambrose withdrew a slip of paper. What was this? Had he somehow managed to magically forge Colonel Townsend’s signature? I was beginning to think that nothing about him would ever surprise me again.
I was wrong.
‘Here.’ He held out the paper to the guard, who leant his rifle against the wall and took it.
‘Hey, wait just a minute! This isn’t-’
Mr Ambrose’s fist moved so fast I didn’t even see it coming. Neither did the guard. He flew backward and crashed against the stone wall beside the tunnel, sliding to the ground, unconscious.
‘Run,’ Mr Ambrose said. He didn’t yell. He didn’t shout. He just said it.
‘Y-you knocked him unconscious!’
‘Yes, Mr Linton. Now move.’ And then he was running, pulling me after him. I stumbled, still staring at the prone figure at the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the shocked faces of hundreds of soldiers all over the cave, staring down at us, and then I was inside the tunnel, being dragged along the rails towards the foremost of the mining carts.
‘Get in!’ he commanded.
I looked from him to the cart and back again. ‘Into that? But why-’
‘Get in, I said!’ His tone was so deadly cold that my legs moved without consulting my mind on the matter. With a painful thud, I landed on my knees inside the iron cart. I had hardly had time to grab the wall to steady myself, when I felt it: the cart started to move.
Bloody hell! What…?
I raised my head and stared at Mr Ambrose, who was grinding his teeth, both of his hands clasped around the back wall of the cart, pushing it forward. My head snapped around to look in the other direction, where the rails led down a steep decline, then it whirled back to face Mr Ambrose. Suddenly, I realized what he was planning to do.
‘Are you crazy?’ I yelled over the creak of the metal wheels.
‘Not that I’m aware off, Mr Linton.’ How he managed to sound cool and distant while his muscles bunched with the effort of pushing the cart forward was a mystery to me - but not one I cared to solve right now. I had more pressing matters on my mind. Such as…
‘Are there even any brakes on this thing?’
‘Not that I’m aware of, Mr Linton.’
‘Well, are you aware of what’ll happen if we run into a dead end?’
‘Have you ever tried making meat-and-bone pancakes, Mr Linton?’
