Page 15 of New Storm Rising
“Really.” Mr Ambrose nodded solemnly. “You all go with him. He will take care of you and your friends. Once you have won your freedom, he will find work for you, for very reasonable wages.”
Tears of joy shone in the ex-slave’s eyes. Bowing deeply, he jabbered half-English, half-incomprehensible thanks. Soon, the whole group had been rounded up by Mr Fox, and had been led off down the street. I, for my part, gazed after them for a moment, then turned around to cock an eyebrow at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. “Reasonable wages?”
“Indeed. Wages unnecessary to be paid unless I have a special reason.”
Reaching into my pocket I touched my rather slim wallet. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“I couldn’t say.” Gesturing for me to follow, Mr Rikkard Ambrose strode off down the street. “Let’s go!”
“Our luggage?” I asked, hurrying after him.
“Karim will take care of it. Come! We have an appointment.”
“Let me guess…you’re taking me to a luxury hotel for a romantic dinner and a tantalizing night in the honeymoon suite?”
“No. I’m taking you to a luxury hotel for a romantic business discussion in a meeting room.”
Grinning, I slid my arm around his waist, feeling him stiffen beneath me. “Ah! That’s the man I know and love!”
We reached the hotel roughly a quarter of an hour later. He hadn’t been lying when he said it was a luxurious one. The palatial six-story building, decorated with Corinthian columns and colourful flowers and flags, had a long red carpet spread out at the entrance, welcoming anyone willing to spend huge amounts of money.
So what the heck was Mr Rikkard Ambrose doing here?
“Mr Ambrose, Sir!” The concierge came rushing forward as soon as we stepped into the entrance hall, his face pale, his upper body repeatedly bowing like a woodpecker. “What an honour to have you here! Please, rest assured that I have managed this place well for you in your absence.”
Ah. So that’s it.
“Can I offer you anything? A drink? A meal? We have just hired a new chef from Paris that is famed for hisbœuf bourguignon, and the wine from the Rhone Valley that we’ve acquired fits excellently with—”
“Silence.”
Instantly, the man snapped his mouth shut.
Mr Ambrose pointed at the board full of hanging keys behind the man. “The keys to meeting room five. Now. I have a meeting with my agent, and I do not intend to be late.”
“R-right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir! As you command, Mr Ambrose, Sir!”
An instant later, a key landed in Mr Ambrose’s open hand, and he marched off towards a certain door. I followed, intently inspecting his face.
“So…agent? Are you thinking about becoming a professional singer, my dear husband?”
A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Not that kind of agent.”
“Hm.”
I thought about using my prerogative as boss to demand to know what was going on from my underling—but, on the whole, I decided it might not be wise.
“Mr Ambrose!”
The moment we entered the meeting room, a small man with a bowler hat leapt up from where he had been squirming on a chair and rushed towards the both of us. I probably would have paid a little more attention to him if, through the window behind him, I hadn’t been able to see the two struggling Spaniards being dragged ashore.
It’s true what they say. New York truly provides a beautiful view.
Unaware of my enjoyment of the local vista, Mr Ambrose gestured towards the man I presumed was his agent. “Tell me the situation.”
“It’s horrible, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Completely horrible!” The poor man wrung his hands. “I’ve just received a telegram from your overseer. The situation over there in the west is out of control. The local authorities are slowly bending under the pressure. It seems that the opposition has invited in some very powerful and influential people straight from Spain, and the moment they arrive, all our support will crumble!”
“Is that so?” Mr Ambrose enquired. By now, I wasn’t the only one watching the two Spaniards in the distance being dragged into a police carriage. Their oily beards were twisted this way and that, and their fancy silk clothes were in tatters.
