The men stepped closer again. The knives glinted.
‘Karim?’
Mr Ambrose’s voice was so low I hardly heard it.
‘Yes, Sahib?’
‘On my command.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
Mr Ambrose concentrated on the leader, wielding his voice like a whip.
‘So… this “rich bloke”, as you choose to call him… did he give you any information about me besides my description? Any indication who he was sending you off to attack?’
The man’s step faltered for a second.
‘No. Why?’ His voice was suspicious.
‘Ah.’ Mr Ambrose nodded curtly. ‘That explains it.’
‘That explains what?’ the leader spat.
‘Why you came with so few men,’ Mr Ambrose told him. ‘Too few.’ He brought his hands up and together, and a sharp clap echoed through the alley. ‘Now!’
More shapes appeared out of the darkness all around us, behind the thugs. At first I thought they might be Napoleon or Alexander the Great, coming to help me conquer the world, but they were men in workmen’s and sailors' gear, with grim, determined looks on their faces and knives in their hands. Several of them held glinting objects that weren’t knives. I didn’t realize what they were until one of the men raised his weapon and a thunderclap tore the air between the dirty East End houses.
Yay! The cavalry of piggy-protectors had arrived!
Light flashed as the gun went off, and I stumbled backwards against Mr Ambrose, startled by the light. Two hard arms gripped me around the waist and swung me around, depositing me behind somebody’s back, as more gunshots went off.
‘Who…?’ I mumbled.
‘Warren’s men!’ A familiar, cold voice hissed next to my ear. ‘Now be quiet! You don't want to draw attention to yourself!’
Mr Ambrose? It was Mr Ambrose who had shoved me behind his back? Was he… protecting me? Surely, that was not an efficient use of his time and resources. After all, a disgustingly rich financier was surely worth more pounds sterling than a rebellious little female such as myself. And anyway, there were others who needed protection more than I! I looked around searchingly for any of the yellow piggies, but they seemed to have gone for now. Very wise.
‘Warren’s men…?’ I mumbled drowsily, trying to make sense of what was going on. I had thought this was the official piggy-protection squad, arrived just in time. ‘But… you sent them away.’
‘I sent Warren away. The men stayed. Standard security procedure. Now belt up!’
He was half-dragging, half-pushing me away from the fight and towards the chaise. I dug my heels into the ground, looking around for my piggy dance troop. Maybe there were some stragglers we had to bring with us.
‘What are you doing? We have to get out of here!’
‘I’m looking for the yellow piggies,’ I explained, my voice a little slurred for some reason. ‘Have you seen the yellow piggies?’
‘What?’
Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of us. I grinned broadly, thinking it was one of my little yellow dancers - but it was just a thug with a revolver in his hand. Dang!
‘Look what we 'ave here,’ he leered. ‘I think-’
Without pausing, Mr Ambrose brought up his knee and drove it between the man’s legs. Gasping, he doubled over and dropped the revolver.
Throwing him aside like a dirty dish rag, Mr Ambrose pulled me behind a dysfunctional lamp post that stood halfway between the entrance to the pub and the waiting chaise, which he seemed to be intent on getting to for some reason. I wondered why. We had to stay here and fight and die bravely in defence of the piggies, didn’t we? That’s what Alexander and Napoleon were doing. And from what I’d just seen, Mr Ambrose could give those two a run for their money.
Interestedly, I looked back and forth between Mr Ambrose, intent on the chaise, and the man who lay a few feet behind us, groaning on the ground.
‘You just kicked those men in the… in the…’ I hesitated. To be honest, I wasn’t absolutely sure what parts of male anatomy lay in this particular spot. I just knew that kicking them was generally a very good idea.
‘Yes, I did.’ Mr Ambrose voice was unconcerned. He didn’t take his eyes off the chaise for a moment, waiting for his opportunity.
‘But… but you’re a gentleman!’
‘Yes. In all parts, Mr Linton.’
‘Um… I see.’
I didn’t really. But I would never have admitted that.
‘When I tell you to run,’ Mr Ambrose hissed, ‘you run.’ His eyes roamed the darkness as if they could pierce it by sheer force of will. ‘Three… two… one… Run!’