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‘Hey!’ Old Ben rose from his sitting position, waving his sausage around threateningly. ‘Now, look here young fellow, you can’t just…’
I didn’t hear any more. Mr Ambrose came running towards me. He jumped onto our draisine and uttered a single, decisive word: ‘Move!’
Knowing all too well what he meant, I jumped on, gripped one end of the see-saw, and pushed. We shot forward, past old Ben and his bloody sausage, towards… towards what? Freedom? Escape?
‘Get them! Get them!’
A shot whistled over my head, and I ducked, my heart hammering faster.
Well, at least we were rushing away from the heavily armed hunting party, that much was sure. The draisine tilted, and off we went down another decline.
‘Hands off the see-saw!’ Mr Ambrose commanded. ‘Get down and stay out of sight!’
He didn’t follow his own advice. Instead, he knelt down right behind the mine cart container and laid the barrel of his gun on top of the metal, narrowing his eyes. I was beside him in a flash.
‘What are you doing, Sir?’ I demanded.
‘I thought I told you to stay out of sight, Mr Linton.’
I cupped one hand behind an ear in a mock gesture. ‘Excuse me? The wind is so loud I hardly understand what you are saying. You want me to stay by your side?’
‘Out of sight, Mr Linton. Out - of - sight!’
‘By your side it is, then, Sir.’
Another shot whistled over our heads. Mr Ambrose didn’t move an inch. Only the barrel of his gun made a minuscule movement, going half an inch upwards. He didn’t look at me.
‘You, Mr Linton, are the most irritating personage I have ever encountered in my life. If you must risk getting shot, do it quietly. I am trying to concentrate.’
‘What are you doing, Sir?’
‘I mentioned quietude just now.’
‘I’ll be quiet if you tell me what you are doing.’
‘I am trying to shoot those inconsiderate gentlemen behind us.’
‘But I thought you said they were too far away to be hit with a revolver.’
Suddenly, an ear-splitting explosion jarred my skull. It threw me backwards so hard I smashed painfully into the wood of the draisine’s floor. If the other gunshots had been loud, this was beyond loud - because it came from right beside me. A flash of light flared up at the mouth of Mr Ambrose’s revolver, and from somewhere up the tunnel I heard a roar, mingled with curses.
Mr Ambrose turned to me, his sea-coloured eyes glinting in the gloom.
‘They were before,’ he said. ‘No longer. They’re catching up. Stay down!’
For once, I could find no words to reply. I didn’t know much about shooting, but I knew enough to guess that this had been one hell of a shot. A much better one than any city financier should be capable of. But then, I had already known that Mr Ambrose was more than that. Much more.
Two gunshots answered him out of the darkness. They slammed into the tunnel wall not far above our heads, and at the same moment, I saw grim satisfaction flashing in Mr Ambrose’s eyes.
‘Why do you look so content?’ I groaned. ‘They nearly hit us!’
‘Yes.’ With a soft click, he rotated the cylinder of his revolver. The next bullet was in place. ‘But only twice. The third man wasn’t shooting.’
The meaning of his words came to me in a rush - the man had to be gravely wounded - or dead. For a long moment, I wondered if that should bother me. It probably should. I knew that Ella would be weeping or screaming in terror in my place. But all I felt was… excitement.
‘Can you teach me to shoot like that?’
Mr Ambrose’s hand, resting on the wall of the metal container again, jerked, and his next shot flew wide of the mark.
