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‘No. We had a stroke of really bad luck, recently.’
‘Indeed? How interesting.’
There was something in the tone of his voice…
Ice.
Lots of it. Much more than usual.
Spurring on my horse, I caught up to him. ‘What are you thinking, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
‘I am thinking, Mr Linton, that we should ride faster.’
And he spurred his horse to a brisk canter, almost a gallop.
Soon, we came to the bottom of a hill. Mr Ambrose didn’t slow when we started upwards, and the horses began to pant, sweat running down their flanks even in the bitter cold. He didn’t pay any attention, and didn’t let up even a bit until we reached the crest of the hill and looked down onto the town beyond.
On our way south, we had come past several towns and villages - delightful little places with busy markets, fresh snow sparkling on the rooftops and carol singers going from door to door.
Newcastle was not such a town.
Oh, there was snow - coloured various shades of grey, sometimes leaning towards black. And there were plenty of markets, to judge by the stench of tar and old fish drifting up towards us. There was even singing of a sort - though these singers had probably consumed a little more alcohol than the average caroller. Still, this was no happy little country town.
Cheap brick houses stretched as far as the eye could see. Black smoke rose from nearly every chimney, attesting to the city’s one and only abundance: coal. The spires of several churches rose above the rooftops, competing for dominion over the town with the massive towers of the castle keep. Beyond it stretched the river Tyne, sparkling in the light of the sinking sun. And beyond that…
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed.
Thick columns of smoke were rising from an area beyond the river, more than could ever be produced by any factory. Flames were licking at the sky, mingling with the red glow of the sinking sun. It looked like a scene straight from Dante’s Inferno.
‘The mine is still burning?’ I turned to Baker. ‘I thought you said it was only an explosion.’
‘An explosion in a coal mine.’ He looked gri
m. ‘Coal burns well.’
Between the flames and the smoke, figures were moving. I could hear distant shouts of ‘Get them! Get them,’ punctuated by screams of pain.
‘Looks like we arrived just at the right time,’ Mr Ambrose stated coolly. ‘Let’s go.’ And he spurred his horse into a gallop, down the hillside, straight towards the city.
Pandemonium
Unlike I expected, we didn’t go directly to the mines. I soon realised why. If Mr Ambrose was anything, he was a cool-headed tactician. And appearing amidst a blood-thirsty mob in a rush, alone and on exhausted horses would not be a good move.
Instead, he led the way to a small two-storey town house on the safe side of the river. It was painted a dark brown colour that made soot stains hard to see, and ivy was climbing up one side of it. The door stood half open, and I could hear the voices of people whispering accompanied by soft crying.
‘What is this place?’ I asked.
‘The mine manager’s house,’ came Mr Ambrose’s curt reply. ‘Since he won’t need it anymore, we shall be using is as base of operations while we are in Newcastle.’
‘Um…will his family let us stay?’
‘They don’t have any say in the matter. The house doesn’t belong to them, but is on loan from the mining company.’
I opened my mouth to suggest whether we maybe shouldn’t intrude on them in a time of mourning - but then I remembered whom I was talking to, and shut my mouth again.
Riding up straight to the front porch, Mr Ambrose slid of his stallion.
‘Karim, Mr Linton - with me!’
