Page 132 of Storm of Bells
‘Aargh!’
‘Whoops. So sorry about that.’ Slipping outof his range, I moved away from the church wall into the light. ‘Ornot.’
‘You…you miserable little…’
Lord Dalgliesh’s hand shot beneath his coat.Mine wasn’t any slower. We froze like this, staring at each other,waiting. For a move. For a twitch. For the slightest sign ofattack.
Just then, I heard a sharp noise from aroundthe corner. It almost sounded like…
‘Dogs?’ Dalgliesh hissed, and we both turnedjust in time to see Barb and Wire shoot around the corner, talesbristling, ears thrust forward.
‘Ha! Good boy!’ Beaming, I reached out toBarb. ‘You know just when to show up—hey!’
Hurriedly, I pulled my hand back as the dogsnarled at me. I thought over my words, and then tried again.
‘Err…adequate boy?’
Instantly, a happy yip came from theferocious beast’s throat and it wagged its tail. Wire, meanwhile,stalked towards Dalgliesh.
‘Stay back, you beast! Stay back, or…’
Wire lunged forward, snapping at the HisLordship’s noble bollocks.
‘Adequate boy!’ I clapped. ‘You two arestarting to become my favourite animals.’
Clenching his teeth, Dalgliesh reached underhis coat again and half pulled out a pistol. ‘Get that beast offme, or you know the consequences, you silly tart! Are you toostupid to even know when you’re beaten?’
I considered several answers to this.
A) Look in the mirror, mister.
B) Oh yes, I’m totally beaten. You can tell by theway I can hardly keep from breaking out laughing.
Or
C), my absolute favourite:
Eat lead, skanky tosser!
‘Would you like me to shoot this bag of fleasand go to the mansion right now?’ he hissed, leaning forward.‘Would you like me to tell Mr Rikkard Ambrose everything about thelittle game you’ve been playing?’
Oh yes, please go. Please go to Mr Ambroseand explain how he must learn the insidious secret I’ve been hidingbeneath my male clothing. He’ll be so shocked! After all, he’s onlyseen me strip it off two or three dozen times on a steamy marchthrough the South American jungle. Who would remember a littlething like that?
However, then I considered what might happenif Lord Dalgliesh marched into Mr Ambrose’s home and started topostulate about what was or wasn’t hidden beneath my clothing,after having shot his trusted guard dogs. Quickly, I changed mymind. I preferred my wedding to happen without a prenuptialmassacre.
Time to be victimized!
‘Y-you are t-too clever for me,’ I whispered,cowering away from him. ‘Too powerful. I can’t best you. T-tell me.What do you w-w-w-w-ant me to do?’
Crap! Want, not ant! Successful stutteringwas hard!
It seemed, however, that Lord Dalglieshdidn’t require particularly high standards in his victims’terrified stuttering. Lowering his injured foot to the ground, heonce again fixed me with his venomous stare.
I’m going to make you pay for this,the stare said.Dearly.
The poor man had no idea. If there was onelesson I had learned from Mr Rikkard Ambrose: never pay foranything you don’t want.
‘What do I want you to do?’ He took amenacing step forward. ‘Oh, I’ll tell you what I want you to do.You will return to your fiancé’s house. You will not waste anytime. You will go straight to his desk. Next to his desk, you willfind a small black briefcase. You will unlock the briefcase—’
