Page 92 of Storm of Bells
Stepping forward, shook my head. ‘I don’treally think the dogs will be a problem.’ Cracking my knuckles, Iwalked past her, outside, towards where Mr Ambrose was. Time to getsome answers. ‘But I have a feeling someone will soon be ravaged bya beast.’
‘Oh dear! You think?’
‘Yes.’
‘What can we do?’
‘Nothing. This beast has an irondetermination.’ My eyes found Mr Rikkard Ambrose and narrowed. ‘Thevictim is already as good as dead.’
‘Goodness gracious!’
‘Why don’t you go fetch a few bandages,Ella?’
‘Yes, of course! I’ll go and ask the butlerright away.’
She dashed off, eager to help. And as forme…
I marched towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose. A fewfeet away from him, I came to a stop and raised a threateningfinger straight at his chest. ‘You…you…!’
To his left and right, two low growls beganto rise. I looked down at the two beasties standing on either sideof him, like a pair of very furry, very long-teethed guardiandevils. My eyes narrowed even further.
‘Shoo!’
The growling cut off instantly. The two dogsexchanged a look. Then, tucking their tails between their legs,they scampered off after Ella.
Wise decision. I took another step towards MrAmbrose and, hastily, Karim stepped in my way.
‘Sahiba, I don’t know what has upsetyou so, but I am sure the problem can be resolved amicably, withoutresorting to—’
I cut him off with a look. Yet still, hestood in my way, blocking my path to Mr Ambrose.
Hm…how to get past him?
Oh well, it couldn’t hurt to try, couldit?
‘Shoo?’ I said, experimentally.
An indistinct noise came from the back ofKarim’s throat. His face darkened, and his eyes almost bugged outof his sockets. To judge by his expression, yes, itcouldhurt to try. It could hurt a bloody lot once he got over his shockand ripped his sabre from its sheath to extract revenge.
Well, I’d best not stand around and wait,then. Using his distraction, I reached past him and grabbed MrRikkard Ambrose by the arm.
‘You!’ I hissed. ‘You’re coming with me! Anddon’t even think of resisting!’
I tugged and, amazingly, he followed withouta word of protest. I dragged him into the front hall and slammedthe front door shut behind us. Gesturing all around at thesplendour-filled gigantic home, I pinned him to the spot with adeath-glare.
‘What is this place?’
He gazed back at me, as innocent as aniceberg about to crash into a passenger ship. And in that regard, Iwas speaking from experience.
‘Pardon me, Miss Linton? What do you mean?This is my home, and soon, I hope it shall be yours forever, so wecan lead a happy and peaceful life—’
Just then, a door to the back of the hallopened with a bang and three removal men marched out, carrying agiant box marked ‘Chippendale Commode, Mrs Valeria Gastrell,Northumberland Avenue 17, London.’
I followed them with my eyes until they hadvanished through the front door, then re-focused my gaze on MrAmbrose.
‘Try again.’
Silence.
