"You," Mr Ambrose stated, his cold voice carrying all over the silent square, "are late."
"My apologies." From between two lines of houses, out of the darkness of an alleyway, stepped a shadowy figure, revolver raised and pointed straight at De Ravera. "I had not really wanted to believe things were this bad in this town...but you were right. You were right about all of it."
"Who's there?" Revolver flying to his hand, Gallagher leapt towards the newcomer. "I'm William Gallagher, US Sherriff! Step out with your hands over your—"
Bam! Bam!
One moment, Gallagher was raising taking aim—the next, he was clutching his hand, staring at the gun lying on the ground, his hat blown off his head, fluttering away.
"One more word out of you," said the newcomer, voice filled with steel, "and the next bullet goes through your brain."
Then the shadowy figure of our rescuer moved forward, and out of the alley stepped...
My mouth dropped open.
What?
How?
And most of all, why?
Completely and utterly flabbergasted, I stared at the man who stood there, aiming a revolver at a US sheriff, as if it were the most natural thing to do.
Angus Angleton?
Although...the figure in front of me bore little resemblance to the overenthusiastic travelling salesman with the ever-present sample case under his arm. His eyes were sharp, his revolver hand steady, and the case was nowhere to be found. Instead, a gun belt was slung around his waist, and pinned to his chest was a gleaming emblem.
A very particular emblem, in the shape of a star.
"A sheriff?" Gallagher snorted, eyes narrowed. "I'm the sheriff in this town!"
"Look again," Angleton advised.
Gallagher did. And so did I, for that matter. At second glance, there was indeed some difference between this star and Gallagher's. There was a circle surrounding this star, and on the lower part of the circle letters were etched, proclaiming...
All colour drained from Gallagher's face.
"U...US Marshal?"
"Smart boy. Now, hands above your head! I won't ask a third time!"
Slowly, Gallagher raised his hands.
"Good. Now get down on the ground, and—Don't even think about it!"
In a flash, Angleton's other hand flew out, holding a second revolver that pointed straight at De La Fuente's forehead. The Spaniard, who had been just about to pull a derringer from his sleeve, froze in mid-motion.
"On the ground! Now!"
The nobleman hesitated—that was until a bullet ripped a piece out of the wall right beside his ear.
Bam!
De La Fuente was on the floor so fast he nearly left his moustache behind.
"Good boy. And thanks for the confession, by the way."
"C-confession?"
"Indeed."
That cold, domineering voice...that was not Angus Angleton speaking. All eyes, mine very much included, were drawn to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who had somehow divested himself of his bonds, cut the rope and slipped out of the noose.
Reaching out, he handed it to the hangman. "Here. Hold this."
"Y-yes."
Mr Ambrose took a step forward, all eyes still glued to him in shock. That moment of shock was all he needed. Raising his hand, he snapped his fingers.
Clack!
Clack!
Thud!
Windows all around the square flew open. Doors were kicked outward, and armed figures appeared everywhere, aiming straight at the Spaniards and their thugs. Half a dozen armed men had appeared right behind De Ravera and De La Fuente, the muzzles of their guns pressed to the noblemen's heads.
Arms clasped behind his back, Mr Ambrose turned his gaze upon them. In their shoes, I would have preferred to have a couple more guns aimed at my nose.
"Truly, I must thank you for being so cooperative. Not just anyone would have been so helpfully stupid as to confess to corruption, attempted murder and espionage in the presence of a US Marshal and half a town full of eyewitnesses. You have made my work considerably easier."
It was then that it hit me.
"Everything is proceeding according to my plan."
The son of a...!
...very smart lady.
He hadn't been lying. And he hadn't just been talking out of his backside, either.
This entire time...
Everything...
Everything had been under his control.
From the moment he had arrived, he'd confronted the Spaniards again and again—yet never had it actually been about winning. Scene after Scene had been arranged, helpfully allowing the two Spaniards to incriminate themselves to the maximum extent possible without actually signing a confession in their own blood. And always, Angleton had been there, observing in silence. Witnessing.
This had been his plan. It had been his plan this entire time.
And he didn't tell me!
"My darling husband," I let my dulcet tones drift over towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose's ear. "Would you mind untying me?"
He glanced over at me, scrutinizing me—in particular the expression on my face.
Then he turned back around again.
"Yes."
"You...! What do you mean, yes? I've got a noose around my neck!"
"And it looks very fetching on you. How do you manage it that, no matter what you wear, you always look so beautiful?"
"You...you won't get out of this with compliments!"
He glanced at my bonds again as I started to struggle against the ropes. "Neither will you, fortunately."
"You...just wait till I get my hands on you!"
"Denied."
"Untie me so I can rip your bloody head off!"
"I'm afraid I will have to refrain. I cannot waste time at the moment. I have important business to take care of. Bringing vile criminals to justice and things like that."
"Stop right there, Rikkard Ambrose! Stop there before I—"
But before I could explain to him exactly what I was going to do to him and all of his intestines, he disappeared down the stairs. In a blink, he was in the middle of the square, commanding his men, ordering them to go this way and that, disarming and restraining all the thugs. It wasn't long before all of them were divested of their guns and tied up tightly.
Which didn't exactly make me feel better about still being a member of the bondage club! Growling under my breath, I tried to twist out of the rope that held my hands together—all in vain. It didn't budge an inch.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar figure. Well, well...Karim, who had mysteriously been absent when his employer had been "captured" and brought to the gallows, had suddenly reappeared. I wanted to bang my head against the nearest wall. How could I not have spotted this earlier? Karim would not leave his employer's side for anything, be it a war, an apocalypse, or even a visit to my best friends. How come he had suddenly disappeared for a little thing like a Wild West lynching?
There was only one possible answer: he had been ordered to! Again, without me knowing!
Oh, Mr Ambrose, as soon as I get out of this rope, the two of us will have a really long talk in private...!
Banishing all traces of killing intent from my eyes, I sent Karim a charming smile.
"Hey there!" I called out. "Would you mind?"
I tried to gesture to my bonds—but stuff like that tends to be difficult with your hands tied behind your back.
Karim considered for a moment, gazing at my charming smile—then nodded. "Yes, I would."
My smile froze. "Pardon?"
"Yes, I would mind. I'm afraid, Sahiba, that I am honour-bound to protect Ambrose Sahib from all deadly dangers."
"Why you little...! Just wait till I get my hands on you!"
"No, thank you." He took a cautious step back, putting one hand on his sabre. "In regard to that, I'm afraid I shall have to emulate the Sahib's policies."
"You...desodorante del escarabajo de estiércol! Vous êtes con comme une valise sans poignée!"
Continuing to hurl insults at him in various languages, I tried to murder him with my gaze. When that proved ineffective, I ceased my torrent of invectives and took a deep breath.
"Could you at least get my neck out of the noose?"
He hesitated.
"Karim!"
"Ehem, well...I suppose that would be acceptable."
"Thank you so very much."
By the time Karim had cut me down and led me down the steps, things down in the square were already over. Mr Ambrose's guards, having miraculously multiplied from several dozen to several hundred, had made quick work of the Spaniards' thugs. De Ravera, De La Fuente, Navarro and Mayor Alvarez had all been hauled down from the balcony and forced to their knees, half a dozen guards around them. Their men were being herded towards the very institution in which my dear husband and I had spent the last night. How very fortunate it had been renovated and expanded so recently. They would have more than enough room. Although I doubted their stay would be quite as enjoyable as ours had been.
The townspeople were watching in awe as the very enemies who had terrorized them and turned their existence into a living hell for the last few months were dragged off to jail. Everything had changed within an instant. And above all, standing on a high porch like a king surveying his newest domain, towered Mr Rikkard Ambrose, his face immovable, as if he had expected this whole scene all along.
Which he probably had, dang him!
And that wasn't even the worst thing! No...the worst thing was how incredibly, mind-numbingly hot he looked up there! Spine straight as a steel rod, hands behind his back, broad shoulders clad in well-worn black, and his face...my God, his face. The mere sight of it as he stood there, overseeing his complete and utter victory, made me salivate and want to jump him!
And it has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that my hands are still tied behind my back! Amy shall not seduce me to the kinky side! Amy shall not seduce me to the kinky side!
"Sahiba? Is everything all right?"
"F-fine. I'm perfectly fine!"
Except that I was suddenly craving ice cream and mustard on toast. Again.
Pushing aside the strange urge, along with a mental image of Rikkard Ambrose covered in nothing but ice cream, I slipped away from Karim and made my way across the square, in search of a fellow female with a pair of nail scissors.
It turns out that when you've just helped save an entire town from a greedy horde of foreigners, you suddenly become incredibly popular. Never mind little details, such as that you're married to an even greedier foreigner, people will suddenly be very eager to share their nail scissors or anything else that you might fancy.
"Thank you, Miss!" Nelly flung her arms around me, squeezing me, tears in her eyes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! How can we ever repay you?"
"Err...you can cut the ropes?"
"Ropes? What ropes are you talking abou—oh dear."
"Yes."
"And so far no one has...?"
"No."
"Not even...?"
"No. He's 'busy'."
"Oh. Um...let me get my steak knife. I think the scissors won't be enough for that."
"Thanks."
Soon enough she was back, sawing away at the rope. A moment later, it fell to the ground, and I took a deep breath, rubbing my wrists. Eyes sparkling dangerously, I turned my gaze towards the door that led outside. Where Mr Ambrose was.
"Here." With a smile, Nelly held out her rusty steak knife. "You might need this."
"Why, thank you!"
"Do you want a rolling pin as well?"
"That would be wonderful! Thanks!"
Camaraderie between women was such a wonderful thing.
And now...
A bloodthirsty grin spread across my face. With a last grateful nod I turned away from Nelly towards the door.
Mr Ambrose, here I come!
It's quite amazing how fast men will get out of the way for a woman with a large steak knife in one hand and a rolling pin in the other. I made a mental note to mention it to Patsy once I got back to London. Those might be quite useful as standard equipment for suffragist rallies in the future.
Just then, the hurriedly parting crowd opened up in front of me, revealing the figure of Karim standing guard in front of the door of the town hall, which apparently had been temporarily appropriated by the marshal and a certain British business mogul as their headquarters. Marching up to him, I raised an eyebrow. Along with a rolling pin.
"Out of my way."
Karim looked severely uncomfortable. "The Sahib ordered me to let you in once you arrived."
"He did? Feeling brave, is he?"
"He stated you would not hurt him."
"Amazing, the kind of delusions men can come up with."
Karim swallowed.
"Now..." I lifted the rolling pin a little higher. "Step aside."
The bodyguard hesitated, then complied.
Eyes sparkling with murderous intent, I stalked up the front stairs and into the entrance hall. Not hurt him? Ha! That son of a bachelor had some self-confidence! What reason could I possibly have to not dent his top hat with my rolling pin after the stuff he'd pulled?
No, he would get his comeuppance! And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do to change my mind!
Crossing the hall, I stepped up to the front desk which, to my amusement, was still staffed by the same young fellow.
"Hello there." I lifted the steak knife in greeting. "I'm looking for my husband. Have you seen him?"
Eyes fixated on the rusty knife, the young man lifted an arm to point at a particular door. What a nice, accommodating fellow.
Behind the door in question, there was a corridor. At the end of the corridor, there stood some guards. When they recognized me, they let me through without hesitation. My, my. Mr Rikkard Ambrose must really be feeling brave. Or really foolish. Nothing could save him from my wrath!
Finally, I came to a halt in front of the last door. Taking a deep breath, I reached out—and flung it open!
There he was!
I stalked inside, my incendiary gaze fixed intently on Mr Rikkard Ambrose, who was, of all things, sitting behind a desk and reading papers! As if this were just another day at the office and he could still make me do anything he wanted!
With a crash, I slammed the door shut behind me.
Mr Ambrose didn't even look up from his piles of papers. I felt my left eyelid twitch.
"You...! I've got some things to 'discuss' with you, darling."
"Indeed?"
"Oh yes, indeed!"
"I see." He looked up, his cold gaze sweeping over me. "But before you do that, there is something you might want to take into account."
"There is?" I snorted. Did he really think there was anything he could say, anything he could do, anything he could come up with that would possibly save him from my righteous wrath?
"Indeed," Mr Rikkard Ambrose said.
And then he reached under his desk, and pulled out an ice cream and mustard toast.
-----------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Mwhahaha! Did any of you expect that? Virtual hands up if anyone guessed this was coming. Personally, I'm quite proud of myself for this devious plan.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
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GLOSSARY:
Derringer—a small pistol with only one bullet.
Desodorante del escarabajo de estiércol—Dung beetle's deodorant.
Vous êtes con comme une valise sans poignée.—You are as stupid as a suitcase without a handle.