Page 94 of New Storm Rising
“Yeah!” The redhead stomped his foot. “Who do they think they are? They just come to our town and think they can take over? We’ve got to do something! We’ve got to—”
“Are you mad?” Jostling the redhead aside, a broad, big-nosed woman made her way to the front of the crowd. “Don’t you remember what they did to old Joe when he tried to speak up? They’re a bunch of ruthless killers! We can’t go up against them!”
“No, we can’t. At least…” All eyes turned towards the shy little wife beside Jack. She ducked her head for a moment—but then looked up again, determination shining in her eyes. “At least not alone.”
“What are you thinking about, Nelly darling?” Jack asked.
“Not what. Who.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Raising her chin, the small woman looked around. “There are powerful men behind those goons. If we wanna win against them, we’ve gotta find someone who’s just as powerful!”
“Hell, woman, and where do you think we’re supposed to find someone like that?” The redhead gestured at the miserable little town. Or what was left of it. “Especially in a place like this?”
“Well…” Nelly bit her lip. “There’s one man.” She looked around. “Don’t you remember? The owner of the mine! He gave all of us jobs, even when those thugs were knocking down doors and threatening anyone who got in in their way. Now he’s come to town, I heard! And what’s more, just yesterday, there were people sent into town who said they were sent by him, and they distributed potato and onion stew to everyone in town, feeding the poor and needy.”
“Truly?” Awe filled the surrounding audience’s face. “What an amazing man!”
“I heard he’s even helping slaves,” whispered someone else.
“Amazing!” Jack beamed, his eyes shining. Overcome by joy, he hugged his genius wife. “What a saint of charity! Tomorrow, we’ll go and see him. Surely, he’ll help us out of the goodness of his heart!”
Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the Hero of the People
“You,” I congratulated my dear husband, “are a bloody manipulative bastard.”
“It was your plan,” he retorted. “Not mine.”
“My plan—which was supposed to be secret, by the way!—was to open a soup kitchen in town to get a rise out of you. It wasnotto put up a ginormous banner over the soup kitchen proclaiming ‘Ambrose Charity for the Poor and Needy—One Hot Meal for Everyone’!”
“The banner was on sale.”
“With the words already on it?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.”
I smirked smugly—until I caught sight of the soup kitchen again. Because no matter how much I’d like to bash Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s head with a broomstick, his blasted plan seemed to be working splendidly! There were long lines of villagers in front of the soup kitchen, their eyes filled with desperate hope. And there was an even longer line of people heading away, their faces filled with gratitude and their mouths with piping hot stew. Most of them were chatting about the amazing Mr Ambrose and his cherubic charitableness.
Drat! Note to self: never try to put one over on Mr Rikkard Ambrose again.
Not without sufficient preparation, anyway.
Meanwhile, things proceeded as expected. From our hidden observation point, I could see it didn’t take long for the mood in town to change…
***
“You there! Watch yourself!” In the centre of the town, an armed thug came around the corner, nearly running into a small boy. “Get out of my way, runt!”
“S-sorry, mister! I didn’t mean to bump into you, I swear! I—”
“I said out of the way, brat!” Reaching out, the man made to slap the boy—until his wrist was grabbed by a hand large enough to snap it.
“Hey! Who the hell do you think you a—”
That was when the thug turned around to see the figure towering above him.
