He was standing near the water at St Katherine's Docks, looking out over the River Thames. The wind that was blowing grey, stormy clouds across the sky also gripped his black tailcoat and made it flutter around him like bat's wings. With his arms folded, glaring at the wide water as if he meant to conquer the river and all the oceans beyond, he looked like a darker version of Admiral Nelson, just before his triumph at Trafalgar.

It almost seemed a shame to ruin such a pretty pose. Almost.

I tapped him on the shoulder.

'Good afternoon, Sir.'

Mr Ambrose whirled around so fast he nearly knocked me over. His dark eyes were wide and, for once, I had the sublime satisfaction of seeing his mouth open with surprise. He had pretty nice teeth, incidentally. He should open his mouth more often.

'You... you...'

'Me.' I nodded and gave my best imitation of a salute. 'Mr Linton reporting for duty, Sir! Packed and ready to depart!'

'You can't be here!'

'Actually, I can. As far as I know, my presence at this particular spot does not violate any laws of physics or any moral standards. Besides, you told me to be here, didn't you?'

Slowly, his mouth slid shut until his teeth were hidden again, and his lips pressed into the usual thin line. To judge from the noises he was making, those nice teeth were being gritted. Poor darlings.

'Yes,' he informed me, keeping a tight leash on his voice. 'That does not mean, however, that I actually expected you to make an appearance.'

One of my eyebrows rose. 'What? You expected me to disobey you? Whyever would you think I would do something like that?'

More grinding noises. Dear, dear, those poor teeth...

'I thought, Mr Linton, that you mentioned there would be some slight difficulties regarding your accompanying me on this trip. Difficulties in respect to your family, if I remember correctly.'

'Oh, you mean my aunt?' I waved a dismissive hand. 'That was easy to take care of, once I gave it a little thought. I just told her that I would be visiting my grandmother in Northumberland to go man-hunting among the Northerners. The prospect of having me more than a hundred miles away combined with the possibility of my coming back with a husband or not coming back at all, soon won her over to the idea.'

His dark eyes sparkled, raking over me, then sweeping from left to right – looking for a solution, no doubt. A way out of this.

'And what will your grandmother in Northumberland say when you do not arrive?'

'Nothing. She doesn't know I'm supposed to visit her.'

'Indeed? That should cause something of a sensation when your aunt and grandmother next communicate with each other.'

I smiled. 'Not really. They don't communicate. They can't stand each other.'

'I see.' His eyes stopped roaming and focused on me again. 'I can empathize with the feeling. It seems you have everything quite neatly planned.'

'I have, haven't I?' Part of me had to resist the temptation to purr and stretch like a cat. This was as close to a compliment as Rikkard Ambrose had ever gotten.

'Sahib?' came a voice from behind a stack of crates and suitcases on the dock. 'Sahib, I think we–'

A massive figure stepped around the pile of luggage and froze in mid-step, staring at me. I stared back. The last time I had seen Karim, he, Mr Ambrose and I had parted ways in the lair of the evil Lord Dalgliesh. True, I had known he was alive, since Mr Ambrose had said as much, but seeing him again in the flesh (and in a large amount of muscle and beard) was a relief.

'Karim!' I stepped forward, not knowing exactly why. Maybe to give the big brute a hug? 'So you got out of there alive, did you? Wonderful!'

The little black beetle eyes of the huge Mohammedan bored into me. 'This creature! It is still alive? Why did you not warn me that it would be coming with us, Sahib?'

Oh. That's right. In my joy at seeing him alive again, I had completely forgotten for a moment that Karim and I detested each other.

'Excuse me?' My eyes narrowed. 'Did you just call me "it"? I do still have a gender, even if it's not entirely clear from my clothes which one, at the moment.'

'I didn't know he was coming,' Mr Ambrose told Karim. Both completely ignored me. I felt the strong urge to hit them over the head with a crowbar. What a pity there weren't any crowbars handy.

'My apologies, Sahib.' Karim bowed to his master. 'And my condolences for your continued misfortune.'

'Hello? Hello, you two, I'm standing right here!'

'You came to tell me something, Karim?'

'Yes, Sahib. The ship captain sent me to tell you we can start loading the luggage aboard.'

'Hello? Can one of you hear me?'

'I see. How long will that take?'

'No more than twenty minutes, Sahib.'

'Hello!' Stepping forward, I waved my hand in front of Mr Ambrose's face. 'I'm talking to you, with the stone face and the stuffed ears!'

'Adequate.' Ignoring me, he took his pocket watch out and let it snap open. 'Then we should be able to depart by seven thirty.' He wanted to put his watch away again, but hesitated. A muscle in the side of his face twitched. 'Or maybe it'll take a little bit longer than that.' With a cool glance at me, he added: 'It appears we have additional baggage to take aboard. We will be travelling with company. Bring the special suitcases out of my carriage.'

Baggage? I hoped very much, for his sake, that he was talking about suitcases, and not about me! I glared up at him.

'I have my own luggage, Sir, thank you very much!'

'Not the kind you'll be needing,' he told me darkly. 'Trust me.'

Turning without another word, he marched off down the dock.

'What do you mean?' I called after him.

No answer.

'Hey! What the heck do you–?'

My voice broke off, and I forgot what I had been going to say. Eyes wide, jaw agape, I took in the vessel towards which Mr Ambrose was striding.

'That?' Panting in outrage, I ran to catch up with him. 'That's what we're supposed to be travelling on?'

'Indeed it is, Mr Linton.'

'Are you mad?'

'I suffer from no mental malady, Mr Linton.'

Well, if he thought that thing in front of us was going to make it through the Strait of Gibraltar and the entire Mediterranean all the way to Egypt, I wasn't so sure about that.

The ship – if you could call it that – was large and sleek, granted, but it had ridiculously few masts. We would hardly be able to sail out of the harbour with those. In addition, the entire hull was a gleaming blackish-grey. I was no expert in nautical matters, but to me it looked as if the wood was covered with mould and rotting away.

'It'll break apart as soon as we leave the harbour!' I protested.

If we ever get that far...

'Hardly.' Marching up the gangway, Mr Ambrose stretched out an arm and knocked against the side of the ship. Instead of the wet thud I had expected, there came a hard, hollow clank that spoke of anything but rot.

'Iron?' I stared at the vessel. 'The whole ship is coated in iron?'

'Not coated in iron. Built from iron. Every last part of the hull.'

'In God's name, why?' I laughed. 'Are you expecting to sail into a war zone?'

'Yes.'

And with that, he left me standing and strode aboard.

'You might have mentioned that before baiting me into coming along,' I informed the empty air where he had been, then grabbed my suitcases and marched up the gangway. Not one of the sailors on deck jumped forward to help me carry them – one disadvantage of wearing trousers.

It's not a disadvantage! You're a feminist! You're supposed to love to carry your own luggage, and laugh haughtily at men who dare to offer to carry it for you!

All true. But that didn't change the fact that those suitcases really were bloody heavy!

Halfway up the gangway, I stopped and sat them down for a breather. My eyes fell for the first time on the name engraved on the prow of the ship.

Mammon

'The demon of greed.' One corner of my mouth twitched. 'How quaint.'

Rikkard Ambrose was standing at the railing, staring at the water again as if he had a personal grudge against it for being so wet. I marched up to him and prodded him in the ribs.

'Where is my cabin?'

He threw me a cool look. I sighed.

'Where is my cabin, Sir?'

If I have one, that is. If he doesn't expect me to sleep in the sailors' quarters.

He jutted his thumb towards the door leading down into the belly of the ship. 'Third door on the left.'

He really had a place for me? I was slightly taken aback. So instead of just going, I, like the dunderhead I am, asked the first question that popped into my mind.

'If you didn't think I was coming, why do you have a cabin for me?'

'I make it a point to always be prepared for the worst.'

Gah! Was it legal to try to strangle a man on a ship? After all, I wasn't technically on British soil anymore, so the Crown could hardly arrest me for murder!

The ship's captain, on the other hand, could, and probably would if I assassinated his employer. Besides, if I killed him, how would I get enough money to buy more solid chocolate?

Turning demonstratively to give him a good look at my new peacock waistcoat, I tightened my grip on my cases and marched off towards the ship's superstructure. Inside, I found my cabin without difficulty, and was actually surprised at how exorbitantly luxuriant it was – for Mr Ambrose's standards. True, the space was miniscule, there was no furniture to speak of, and to fit into the bunk I had to bend myself like a banana, but there weren't any holes in the floor, and the walls looked freshly painted. I suppose even a man of Mr Ambrose's frugality realized that shoddy workmanship could lead to a watery grave at sea.

'And we wouldn't want him to die like that, now, would we?' I muttered, ripping open my first suitcase and starting to throw my clothes over the hooks on the wall. 'Oh no. That would mean we couldn't strangle him ourselves!'

A knock sounded from the door.

'What?' I snapped.

'Um... may I come in?'

'That depends! Who are you, and what the hell do you want?'

'My name is Coles, Sir. Charlie Coles, seaman apprentice aboard the Mammon. I'm bringing your suitcases, Sir.'

'I've already got them.'

'Well, apparently there are more, Sir.'

'More?' I frowned. Mr Ambrose had mentioned something about baggage...

Apparently, he hadn't been referring to me after all.

'Yes, Sir. Um... quite a lot more, in fact. If you could open the door, please, they are not really very light.'

'All right, all right.' Sighing, I got up and strode to the door – if you can call taking one and a half steps forward across the miniscule cabin 'striding'. Pulling open the door, I revealed a scraggly young man with a boyish, freckled face, who was swaying like a landlubber under the weight of at least half a dozen suitcases.

'Good God in heaven! What's in there?'

'Stones?' the boy suggested. 'Anvils? Bricks?' He flushed. 'Begging your pardon, Sir.'

'I don't have any with me, so there's no need to beg. Come in, come in.'

Stepping aside, I beckoned him inside, and Coles staggered forward, depositing the cases on my bunk with a thud. Taking a deep breath, he straightened.

'Well, that's all of them.' He gave me a salute, in the process nearly banging his head into the low ceiling. 'If you should need anything else, Sir, please don't hesitate to send for me. Seamen Wood, Mason and I have been ordered by the captain to look after our passengers' every need on this trip.'

'Thank you,' I told the boy with a smile. He gave a little start, then saluted again and hurried out of the room. I stared after him for a moment, wondering about his odd reaction – then I remembered he worked for Rikkard Ambrose. He was probably not used to people in charge smiling at him.

Oh yes, Rikkard Ambrose...

'What the heck have you cooked up this time in that stony brain of yours?' I mumbled, stepping towards the suitcases. Narrowing my eyes, I pushed the lid upward. It didn't move an inch.

Locked! Blast him!

Well, if he was waiting for me to come running to beg to see inside, he would have to wait until he was blue in the face!

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Well, my dear Lords, Ladies & Gentlemen? What kind of dastardly, devilish plan do you think Mr Rikkard Ambrose has hidden in those secret suitcases? ;-) I'll give you a little  clue: inside those cases is what all of you have been waiting for!

Now, on a different topic **clearing throat**... Today, I, Sir Rob, have three big proclamations to make! ;-) Here we go:

TO MY RADISH READERS:

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all from the bottom of my ink-filled writer's heart for signing up on the Radish Fiction App and spending your hard-earned cents on my first-ever chapter posted there! You've made it possible for me to take the first step on my way to becoming a professional author. Thanks so much for your fabulous encouragement and support! 

TO MY WATTPAD FANS IN GENERAL:

Do not think for an instant that I've forgotten you, my dear watpadders! ;-) Just in case you might be concerned regarding whether or not I'm going to stop posting installments of the Storm and Silence series here on Wattpad now that I've begun to post the story on Radish Fiction, you can cease worrying right away!  I'd never do anything as cruel as starting a story and then stop right in the middle of it, knowing that lots and lots of fans out there cannot afford or might not be able to  access the Radish Fiction App or my published books, even though they are still awesomely supportive fans! So, my weekly updates on Wattpad shall continue just the same as usual. **Gentlemanly bow**

TO ALL ANDROID USERS PINING FOR RADISH:

The Radish team has asked me to let you know that they're working hard on the Android app! They are just a small team, which is the reason for their not being able to develop both apps at the same time, but now that the Apple app is out there, they will be able to 100% concentrate on Android, and as soon as it is out they'll stage another coin giveaway to celebrate! :-) I will let you know the instant there's news!  

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Mohammedan: Just in case some of my dear readers didn't seen the background info regarding this term in 'Storm and Silence', I'd like to emphasize once more that "Mohammedan" is not in any way a derogatory term, as some people appear to think. It is simply a 19th-century term for Muslims, probably widely used because Christians were used to calling people after the founder of their religion. I use it only for purposes of historical accuracy. You can look this term up up in original Victorian novels such as Rudyard Kipling's Kim, it is definitely widely used. Also, just to make sure, I had an acquaintance of mine make inqiuries with a professor of Islamic studies, and she let me know that the term can't possibly be offensive since it is derived from the name of the Prophet Mohammed. 

Strait of Gibraltar: The Strait of Gibraltar is the name of the narrows that connects the Atlantic Ocean with the Mediterranean.

Superstructure: The part of a ship that is built on top of the deck.