Page 195 of Storm over the Caribbean
On second thought, better not ask. I might not like the answer.
Maybe you should ask him to go a little slower?
Just then, a panicked squeal came from within the carriage, followed by a painful-sounding thump.
Nah.I shook my head.Fast is good.
Besides…
My eyes landed on the vehicle ahead of us. The one we were chasing. Our prey.
We need to be fast right now. Faster than ever before.
And it was working. We were catching up. I had no ideahowwe were catching up, since a carriage with three people inside should probably not be moving faster than one with just a single passenger, but we were. Most likely it had something to do with our horses being scared shitless of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time his mere presence would make his minions run to work like their life depended on it.
“Yee-ha!” he shouted. “Yee-ha!”
Oh yes, we were definitely catching up! Fast! Something the Frenchman on the distant coach also seemed to have noticed. In a frenzy, he started whipping his horses—to little effect. And now that we were catching up, I realised why exactly that was.
An evil chuckle escaped my mouth as I noticed the large, bold letters on the back of our prey’s carriage.
Humphrey & Sons
Heavy Cargo Transport at Reasonable Prices
“Mr Ambrose?”
“Yes, Mr Linton?”
“In my professional opinion, once we’re back in London, you should invest in cargo companies.”
“Agreed.”
It didn’t take long for the distance between us and our prey to start shrinking dramatically. By the time we reached the edge of town and the cobblestone street turned into a gravel road, there were no more than a dozen yards between us. I saw the Frenchman throw a glance back, and his eyes widened in panic. Even over the clatter of the wheels and pounding of hooves, I heard a low curse in French. It was music to my ears.
“Faster!” I growled. “Faster!”
“Areyoutellingmenot to waste time, Mr Linton?”
“Married couples should share interests.”
That caused another squeal to come from inside our appropriated carriage. “M-married? You’remarried to a fat man?”
We ignored her.
“Ready yourself, Mr Linton. Any moment now.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Why oh why?” a ghostly wail came from within the coach. “Why did my highwayman have to be a queer? We could have been so happy together!”
We ignored her again. Pulling out my gun, I checked to see if it was loaded. It was.
I took aim.
“Remember,” Mr Ambrose told me, “don’t kill him. We need him alive.”
I grinned. “Oh, I know.”
