Mr Ambrose, Karim and I moved instantly, like parts of a well-oiled machine. We reached the front door nearly simultaneously. His arm jutting out to block my path, Mr Ambrose stepped forward.

"Step back."

"What happened to ladies first?"

"It went out the window the moment guns and explosions began to be involved. Now step back."

The steel in his voice brooked no argument. So I didn't argue. I just waited for him to open the door and then peeked under his arm.

Instantly, another explosion rocked the town. Silhouetted against the sunset, I saw a dark plume of smoke rising into the distant sky.

"What the heck is that?"

"That," Mr Ambrose said, "is the direction of the judge's house."

It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. I swallowed. "Who on earth would have the guts to blow up a judge's house? What the hell is going o—"

Bam!

I was cut off by a bullet slamming through the front door about three inches from my face.

"Whatever is going on, it's coming in this direction." Expression icy, Mr Ambrose drew his revolver, twirling the cylinder to check for bullets. "And it's probably not coming for tea and biscuits. Move!"

Grabbing hold of me before I could move, he dragged me away from the door, Karim shielding the both of us. Several of Mr Ambrose's people who had been standing guard outside rushed into the house behind us, some bleeding, some limping. Still, their faces were expressionless, their steps swift and sure. These were professionals, and every movement showed it.

"Form a line!" Mr Ambrose barked. "Anyone who comes through those doors dies!"

"Yes, Sir!"

That taken care of, he proceeded to cross the hall with long strides. "At least ten men," he muttered as his eyes flicked from left to right, counting the shots still coming from outside out of different directions. "Maybe a dozen. Heavily armed, too. That bullet tore right through the door... Nothing but the latest rifles would have that kind of punch."

"So, Dear..." I enquired sweetly while being dragged along behind my husband like a sack of pig feed. "Who do you think could have suddenly decided it might be a good idea to off you?"

"Don't know. Any one of three dozen candidates."

"What?"

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "You didn't think a man such as I would get to where I am without acquiring a substantial number of enemies, did you?"

"And you didn't think that might be worth mentioning before I married you?"

"I calculated it would have reduced the success chances of my proposal significantly."

"Why you...stop right there and let me kill you!"

Bam! Bam!

"I'm afraid you will have to get in line, Mrs Ambrose."

With three more steps, he had arrived at the dining room door. Slamming it open, he gave the middle-aged brothel madam a curt nod.

"Ma'am. I hope you have a back door?"

"Certainly." Rising perfectly calmly, as if there weren't a bunch of people shooting up her place of business, the madam marched over to a door that, up until now, I'd taken to be a broom cupboard. Instead, it opened into a narrow corridor. "Let's move, all righty?"

"Indeed." Tightening his hold on me, Mr Ambrose rushed me towards the door. "Route?"

"Take a left, then a right, and go through the brown door straight ahead."

We did as ordered, following the escape route. Soon, we reached the aforementioned brown door, Stepping in front of the both of us, Karim cautiously pushed it open.

"Quiet, now," the bodyguard whispered, holding up one hand. "There is a stable full of horses two streets down. All we have to do is to move quietly and quickly through the shadows, and then we can—"

Bam!

Mud and stone sprayed up as a bullet slammed through the door and smashed into the ground two inches from his toes.

"Dhikāra hai!" Karim growled, jumping back. "We're surrounded!"

I cocked an eyebrow. "You don't say. I would never have guessed."

"Back! Back!"

"No, I was going to go forward."

A stone-hard arm slid around my waist, dragging me back.

"Hey!" I protested. "What the heck do you think you're doing?"

"Implementing contingencies," Mr Ambrose answered, his grip tightening. "Just in case you were being serious."

I opened my mouth—then shut it again.

Was this the right time to tell him I had been about to pull open the door and fire back at the sniper?

Probably not.

But then again...that idea wasn't as stupid as it sounded. We were stuck. Hired guns were all around us, waiting to go for the kill. And I would rather rely on my trusty six-shooter than my ability to sneak past a sniper.

Explaining that to Mr Rikkard Ambrose, however, was a whole other matter. To judge by the fierce, icy light shining in his eyes as he dragged me back into the dining room, he was not about to let me get the authentic wild west experience of a midnight shootout.

With a crash, the door to the secret corridor slammed shut behind us. A moment later, Mr Ambrose slid home the bolt and turned the key in the lock.

"What are we going to do?" I demanded, glancing from left to right, looking for any way out.

"We are going to stay calm. Calm and composed. That's the only way we will survive this."

It might have been just my imagination, but he didn't sound calm to me. Not at all.

Just then, a door up on the gallery slammed open, and the figure of a topless Marshal Angus Angleton stumbled out onto the gallery, clutching his half-open trousers, several hickeys spread across his face and neck. "Holy shit! What on earth is going on here?"

I nodded at Mr Ambrose in understanding. "Ah, I see. Calm and composed. Just like that."

Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent the man on the gallery a glare as cold as a grave in winter. If, up until now, I had thought the snipers outside were the most dangerous things around, I now realized I had been mistaken.

"So, you have decided to join us, have you, Marshal? How very kind of you."

"Now, now, Dicky darling." I patted his shoulders. "With him here, that's two more guns on our side. Who knows, we might just survive this."

"Survive?" The marshal stared down at them. "What the heck are you talking abou—"

Bam!

Another gunshot. This one sounded a hell of a lot closer, and a moment later, a window at the front of the house splintered into pieces. Then, something heavy started thudding against the front door.

"That," I informed him, "is what we're talking about. Now, why don't you get your revolvers and, ehem...close your front window? That kind of gun isn't the one we need at the moment."

Face flushing, the marshal disappeared back into his room. Moments later, he reappeared, revolver belt around his hip, and fly mercifully closed.

"Now what?" he demanded.

"Now we have a nasty firefight in front of us," Mr Ambrose answered curtly. To anyone else, he looked like the picture of icy calm and control. Only I, who had been learning to read his non-expressions for years, could have noticed the muscle in his cheek twitching. Eyes narrowing infinitesimally, he turned towards the brothel madam. "Unless you have another back door?"

"Better." Striding over towards a cupboard in the corner, Mama Dumant grabbed hold of one corner and gave the thing a shove. It slid sideways smoothly, as if on wheels, revealing a hole in the floor.

I stared.

"What?" The madam raised an eyebrow. "You think this is the first time people are shooting up my place?"

I inspected the ladder leading down into the tunnel, which seemed to be polished by many a boot.

"Apparently not."

"All right, let's go." Mr Ambrose strode forward, casting a glance at me. "Aren't you glad now that I chose this place to stay the night?"

I stared. "You...you mean you knew about this tunnel? You planned for someone to try and blow us up out of the blue?"

"One, I suspected. And two, it was a distinct possibility." Swinging his legs over the ledge, he glanced up at me. "After all, you are with me."

"Oy! What's that supposed to mean? Anyone who comes by just can't help wanting to blow me up?"

Just then, another explosion rocked the building.

I sent Mr Ambrose, who had a very diplomatic non-expression on his face, a stare.

"That was pure coincidence!"

"I'm sure."

Another explosion rattled the walls. One that, judging from the sound of it, blew the front door of the building right off its hinges.

Seems our visitors have gotten impatient.

"We should leave," Mr Ambrose stated. "Now!"

Never had I agreed with him as much as right then. Well, maybe except for that time at the altar. Dashing towards the hole, I slid after him down the ladder into the darkness, the others following swiftly. Mama Dumant pulled some kind of lever, and the cupboard above slid back in place with a thud.

"Is this a brothel or an evil mastermind's secret lair?" I enquired.

A grin flashed in the darkness. "Why can't it be both, sweety? Follow me!"

"Won't we need to get our two Spanish guests?" I whispered. "Not that I'm complaining or anything. Let them get shot for all I care. It just occurred to me that these people showing up intent on killing us right when we are about to bring those two to justice is a little coincidental."

"Agreed." Mr Ambrose gave a curt nod.

"The two esteemed noblemen might be useful. Especially if placed between us and the gunmen."

"Again, agreed."

"So...are they somewhere around here?"

He threw me a look. "You think I would put them in an establishment where one has to pay for rooms?"

I wanted to cover my eyes with my hands. The only reason I didn't was that, as dark as this place was, it would have made little difference.

Of course he didn't! This is Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

Then something occurred to me.

"But...if you didn't stash them in this place, where exactly did you put them?"

If I hadn't known this was something absolutely impossible for Rikkard Ambrose to do, I would have thought I saw a smile flash in the darkness.

***

"¡Malditos bastardos apestosos! How dare sey lock us in sis hovel? Us? Se noble scions of se Houses De Ravera and De La Fuente?"

"Well, if I remember correctly," De La Fuente groaned, "sey did it by tying our hands behind our backs and tossing us into sis place."

"Shut your mouth! Going to sat execution was your idea in se first place! If we had not gone, if we had stayed safely at home, we might not have ended up in sis mess!"

De La Fuente sniffed, and pulled a face. "And by 'sis mess' I assume you mean..."

"Do not mention it! Do not dare to mention it!"

"Very well." De La Fuente eyed the giant dung heap around three feet away from them and completely impossible to ignore. "I shall not mention it."

A long time passed. A long time of not mentioning shit and trying not to breathe. Finally...

"What was sat?"

"What?" De Ravera hissed.

"I could have sworn I heard somesing?"

"What? A cow dropping some more mierda?"

KA-BOOM!

"No," De La Fuente answered when his ears had stopped ringing. "No, somehow I do not sink so."

When he glanced at his companion, however, he didn't find the expression of disgust on De Ravera's face that he had previously seen there. Instead, a trace of vicious anticipation flickered over the nobleman's features.

"Sey are coming!"

Only then did De La Fuente remember the letter they had sent. The reinforcements they had requested.

"Hahahaha!" De Ravera laughed aloud. "Sey are coming! Sey are coming!"

Only minutes later, he was proven right. Hurried footsteps approached the door of the barn, and it was kicked open, allowing the moonlight to spill inside.

"Finally you are here!" De Ravera exclaimed. "Considering how much I paid you, you should have been here hours ago! Sen maybe we would not have been—"

Only then did he take a close look at the entrance—and cut off abruptly.

***

"Aww, you've been waiting for us?" Stepping into the barn, I gave the Spanish a sweet smile. "I'm touched."

"No, you're not," I heard a cool voice from behind. "Nothing and no one except me is allowed to touch you."

"Ha!" De Ravera spat out. "Your words mean nossing. Nossing! Now that sey are here," he jerked his head towards the door from where the sounds of more gunshots came, "you are as good as dead! You—"

Wham!

"You are right," Mr Ambrose agreed with the unconscious man, pulling back his fist. "Words mean nothing."

"Except for the ones he just let slip." I narrowed my eyes at the so-called nobleman slumped against a wooden beam. "I think we can safely assume now that, whoever is out there, they are on these two bastards' payroll, yes?"

"Indeed. But assumptions are one thing. Certainty is another."

Flicking his gaze towards Karim, Mr Ambrose snapped his fingers.

An instant later, the one still-conscious Spaniard found the gleaming blade of a sabre at his neck.

"Well?" Karim enquired. "Speak."

"Y-yes! P-please do not kill me! I will tell you everything, Just please do not kill me, I—"

The humongous curved sabre pressed into the man's throat a little harder. "Speak of useful things."

"ItwasDeRavera'sidea! Hepayedforsomeviciousbanditsandkillerstogoafteryou! IswearIswear! Ihadnossingtodowithit!"

Well now, that was rather quick and effective. Gazing at the sabre, I decided I would have to have a talk with Karim later. I knew just what he could get me for my next birthday.

"So, it was all De Ravera's fault? You had nothing to do with it?" Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "I see."

"Y-you do?"

"Yes. I have nothing to do with this either."

And he nodded at Karim.

An instant later, the steel pommel of a sabre slammed into the Spaniard's head. He collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

And speaking of cutting...

Pulling a knife from my pocket, I strode towards De Ravera and severed the rope that was keeping him bound to the barn's wooden support beam. Not the one keeping his hands tied, though. That was going to remain just as it was.

"Come on." Grabbing the Spaniard by the scruff of the neck, I started dragging him towards the exit. "We've got to get out of here!"

"Agreed." Snatching my prisoner from my grasp, Mr Ambrose, the greedy son of a bachelor, slung him over his own shoulder and pushed open the door. Karim grabbed the other Spaniard and followed suit. Soon, we were running down the dark street, towards the place where our coaches were parked.

And running. And running. And running.

"You couldn't...huff, huff....have parked...puff, puff, that darn carriage in the stable right next to where we were staying, could you?"

"And pay rent when there is unlimited free parking space outside? Be reasonable, Mrs Ambrose."

"I would like to...huff...be! But being reasonable is far easier when...huff, puff...you aren't being hunted down by bloodthirsty killers like a bloody rabbit!"

"I assure you, your ears are much smaller."

"You...!" I leapt forward, making a grab for him. But even with a bloody dago over his shoulder, the blasted man was still faster than me! Damn him, his long legs and what was dangling between them!

"How much...farther?" I panted as the houses around us became sparser and sparser.

"Only a few hundred yards."

"I...hate...you!"

"I love you, too, Mrs Ambrose."

"Ha! I just hope that darn tunnel was long enough to make sure they lost our trail and aren't still in pursuit, or—"

Bam! Bam!

"Darn!"

I ducked instinctively as bullets started whizzing past me. Bullets that were not coming from behind, but from farther ahead! Coming to an abrupt halt, we threw ourselves to the ground.

"I assume that answers your question, Mrs Ambrose?" Mr Ambrose enquired from the dirt beside me.

"Has anyone ever told you that silence is golden, Sir?"

"I once heard something of the kind, yes."

"How the hell have they gotten ahead of us?" Karim growled.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because they, you know...have bloody horses?"

"You might think so." Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed as he grabbed a nearby barrel, kicking it over for us to take cover behind. "But you'd be wrong. Look!"

Peeking over the top of the barrel, I realized what he meant. Every time the muzzle flashes lit the night, I could see the street for a brief moment. And every time they lit the night, I saw the shots coming not from mounted men, but the windows of a house.

"They didn't overtake us," Mr Ambrose said grimly, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. "They had people stationed around a perimeter from the very beginning. Whoever is in charge is smart."

Far too smart for our good.

The words went unsaid, but I still heard them.

"But then again," my dear husband continued, "sometimes intelligence is overrated."

Then he pulled a stick of dynamite out of his pocket, lit it, and hurled it through the open window of the house.

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My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

I shall have to keep it a bit short today. I'm currently sick and not in a very good condition to write author's notes. On a positive note, it seems to be something ordinary and not covid, so I should be back on my feet in the near future.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob

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GLOSSARY:

Malditos bastardos apestosos—Spanish for "God damned stinking bastards!"

Mierda—Spanish for "shit".