23. Mr Mayor, We Have a Bullet List of Complains...

Striding across the entrance hall, Mr Ambrose stepped up to the desk behind which an unfortunate clerk was sitting, waiting to greet guests. Or rather, to judge by his facial expression, waiting to greet any guest whose name wasn't Rikkard Ambrose.

"Announce us," Mr Ambrose stated, gazing down imperiously at the clerk. "We have come to discuss a serious matter with the mayor,"

"And to see whether we can interest him in some digestive medicine and hair products," Mr Angleton added brightly. "I have the most amazing baldness cure!"

"Um..." The clerk swallowed. "The mayor isn't bald,"

Narrowing his eyes, Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned forward across the desk, until his face was only inches away from the sweating clerk's. "He's about to be. Now. Announce us."

"Err...I fear that the mayor won't be able to receive you. His calendar appears to be completely full." Pulling out a book from a drawer, he hurriedly started leafing through it, nodding as if confirming his words. It was probably just a trick of the light that I thought the title read The Wild Adventures of Buffalo Bill.

"Then," Mr Ambrose suggested, grabbing the book and slamming it shut, "how about we make it a bit fuller?"

"Um...I wouldn't...I couldn't..."

"I see. So that's how it is, is it?"

And without giving the clerk another second of his time, Mr Ambrose breezed past the desk and started up the steps.

"No, wait! You can't just—"

But this was Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He wasn't a man whom you could tell what he could or could not do.

I should know. I'd tried.

And tried. And tried. And...

Well, you get the idea.

Muttering under my breath, I hurried after him, trying not to pay attention to the shouts in Spanish outside of the building.

Having caught up, I glanced sideways at my dear husband. "Are you sure your plan is going the way you want it to?"

"Certainly. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. No reason whatsoever."

It didn't take long for all of us to reach the mayor's office. Judging by the expression on the faces of the townspeople who were still following my husband and me, it could have been a little longer and they wouldn't have minded in the least.

Unlike the last time, Mr Ambrose did knock on the door. With his entire fist, hard enough for the door to slam open.

I'd have to remember that method for later use.

"Wha—Señor Ambrose, what are you doing here?" A Hispanic man with a handlebar moustache you could most likely use to actually break doors open nearly leapt out of his chair. His eyes flickered to the others. "And who are you all?"

Marching forward until he towered over the smaller man, Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent the man his patented arctic gaze, guaranteed to deep-freeze opponents. "We? We are concerned citizens."

"But...you're British!"

"I'm very good at being concerned long-distance."

"Um...is sat so?"

"Indeed." Placing his fists down on the desk, Mr Ambrose leaned forward until he was close enough to cause frostbite to the smaller man by sheer proximity. "However, there are some things that are better taken care of up close and personal."

The mayor swallowed.

"So, what can I do for se, ehem...concerned citizens?"

"It seems that these good people," gesturing to the townspeople—who were giving me serious doubts about whether I hadn't grown fatter by all trying to hide behind me simultaneously—he sent another intense stare at the mayor, "have been terrorized in this beautiful town by a gang of thugs who've decided to make this their home."

"Oh. Um...is sat so? How...horrible."

"It is, Mayor Velazquez, isn't it?" My husband stroked a long, elegant finger along his jaw. "I wonder what kind of despicable, corrupt official was covering up for them, so no word of this reached the people in charge?"

"Ehem...well...I couldn't say..."

"I'm sure you can't. But now that you know about this, as the responsible mayor that you are, you surely wish to do something about this problem, do you not?"

"Err...um..."

"Because if you weren't planning on doing that, I know one group of people who might be rather upset."

"R-really? Who?"

Mr Ambrose's one-word reply was like a sledgehammer, threatening to squash all hopes of a politician.

"Voters."

With a flick of his wrist, a sheet of paper appeared in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's hand. A moment later, it landed on the desk, displaying a list of names. A long one.

"This petition has been signed by over three hundred inhabitants of this community. They request that you put your all into driving that scum out of your beautiful little town and make certain justice is delivered to the ringleaders." His finger moved along the list, tapping the names one by one. "Last time I checked, this country had a quaint little custom called 'democracy'. Maybe things have changed since last I visited, but I wonder what the people who signed this petition will do when the next election comes around..."

Señor Velazquez gulped once more. To judge by the look on his face, he didn't need to wonder. Jack, Nelly and the other townspeople had formed a line behind Mr Ambrose by then, and their expressions didn't promise a more prosperous future for the mayor. And as for my dear husband...

His face was the most handsome ever. In a way that could scare the pants off people. I didn't know how he managed to pull off both of those things at the same time without moving a single muscle on his face, but he did.

"Now, mayor, you have a decision to make. Do you wish to do the popular thing? Follow the will of the people? Or will you go against the very individuals who have power over your future? Will you go..." Leaning forward another inch, he nailed the mayor to his chair with an icy glare. "...against me?"

Mayor Velazquez quivered in his seat. His mouth opened to speak, and—

Bam!

"Bastardo!" Turning around, I caught sight of De Ravera and De La Fuente, standing in the doorway, heaving in fury. The poor door seemed to have had enough of the rough treatment and had disintegrated into splinters. Judging by the expression on the two Spaniards' faces, they were planning on doing the same to the rest of the room, including its occupants. Then he caught sight of my dear hubby. "You! You are still alive?"

Mr Ambrose cocked his head. "Apparently."

De Ravera's face twisted into a sneer. "And after daring to show your face here, you sink you'll remain sat way?"

"That is the plan, yes."

"Well..." Eyes narrowing, the Spanish nobleman raised his hand. "Sen we shall have to change sat plan, won't we?"

And he snapped his finger.

Bam!

The second door, behind the desk, flew open, revealing the figures of three thugs armed with clubs and revolvers. More men, having scaled the side of the building with a knotted rope, climbed onto the balcony, their eyes filled with murderous intent.

Oh yes. I nodded to myself. My dear husband's plan is going off without a hitch. He's truly a genius, isn't he?

"You dare storm the mayor's office with armed men?" Mr Ambrose's eyes narrowed. "You dare threaten innocent citizens of this town?"

Odd.

I frowned. Of course De Ravera was doing it! Weren't my dear husband's eyes working? They were right here in front of us! Why...why did it sound as if he was saying those words merely for the sake of saying them?

My eyes narrowed.

What was going on?

"Dare? Dare? Of course I dare!" De Ravera laughed. "Sis office is ours! Se mayor is ours! Se whole town is ours! And if anyone dares to object to sis, we shall cut sem down where dey stand. We are sis town!"

"Ah." I nodded. "So that's why you're so fat. Enough space for all the houses, eh?"

The Spaniard's face turned an interesting shade of violet. "You...you...bruja maldita! Espawn of hell! You...!"

The rest of his sentence descended into unintelligible profanities, his face turning darker and darker.

"Um..." Mr Angleton cleared his throat. "I suppose this isn't the right time to mention that I have highly effective cures for high blood pressure?"

About a dozen searing hot glares, plus one icy cold one, were levelled his way.

"Um...I thought not. I'll be quiet now."

The Spaniards didn't even bother to glance at the salesman. Instead, De Ravera's and De La Fuente's burning eyes were fixed on a certain someone.

Try and guess who?

"Everyone out!" De Ravera growled, taking a step towards sweet little me. "I'm going to deal with sat impudent wench!"

Yay! You guessed correctly!

Waves of rage were radiating off the noblemen. The salesman used this opportunity to make a strategic retreat, followed by the townspeople.

"You heard the man, dear." I grabbed Mr Ambrose by the arm. "He said 'everyone out', right? We're no longer wanted. Let's go and—"

"Not you two bastardos!"

Crap.

I froze and glanced back, only to see the barrels of several guns pointed straight at me.

I leaned over towards Mr Ambrose. "Somehow, I don't think we'll be leaving."

"Whatever gave you that idea, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Call it female intuition."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed."

The men around us cocked their firearms, ready to shoot.

"So...was this part of your plan?"

"Certainly."

"Great plan. Really great." I mimed applause. "Spiffing!"

"Thank you."

"Grab sem!" De La Fuente ordered, and the thugs approached, grinning broadly.

"You're just going to stand there?" Mr Ambrose gazed intently over at the mayor. "You're an official of the United States, and you're just going to let this happen?"

"Si, Señor Mayor." Smirking, De La Fuente glanced over at the sweating official. "Are you just going to stand sere?"

"I..." The mayor swallowed—then glanced away. "I haven't seen anything. I've got work to do. Please close se door on your way out."

"You see?" De La Fuente sneered, turning back towards us. "You see how sings work here?"

Mr Ambrose didn't even twitch an eyelid. "I think everyone has seen."

That was the last thing either of us managed to say before the thugs leapt forward and grabbed hold of us, dragging us towards the door.

"Bring sem and follow us!" De Ravera barked, then glanced at the other nobleman. "Is it repaired?"

"Si." De La Fuente nodded.

"Very well, sen." De Ravera waved to the guards. "Take sem to se prison!"

"Dear me..." Stumbling and swaying as I was dragged down the stairs and outside, I glanced at Mr Ambrose and lowered my voice. "I really must thank you, dear. Organizing such an amazing honeymoon for me. What other bride can say she got to experience the true Wild West experience? Gunfights, saloon fights, two successive stints in prison, my face on a wanted poster...you really aim to impress, don't you?"

"One does one's best, Mrs Ambrose."

"On the other hand..."

"Yes?"

"Don't take this the wrong way," I told him in a whisper as we were towed towards the prison with armed guards everywhere around us. "I know one shouldn't read too much into things, but..."

"Yes?"

"I think your brilliant plan has failed."

One of the guards chose that moment to shove Mr Ambrose down the last few steps of the staircase.

"Apparently, Mrs Ambrose."

"So...if that's the case..."

"Yes, Mrs Ambrose?"

"Why the heck do you still look so bloody smug?"

"You are under the impression that I show signs of smugness?"

I looked at him. His stony, implacable face. His icy eyes that betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

"Yes," I told him.

"And how, pray, would you be able to tell?"

"Your rightmost eyelash is half a millimetre higher than normal. Plus, I'm your wife."

"Silence!" One of the thugs barked.

Were they secretly in the employ of Mr Rikkard Ambrose? How else could they know his favourite word?

Well, after "money", that is.

I glanced at the thug. He glared back at me, and raised his rifle.

Hm. So, probably not in Mr Ambrose's employ, then.

For now though, I decided to comply anyway. That smug expression on Mr Ambrose's face... There was something more going on here than met the eye.

At least I hoped there was. Really, really hoped.

With more and more guards around us, we were marched out into the street and towards the prison. People peeked out at us from shadowy windows and alleyways, their eyes filled with desperation at the sight of their last hope being marched off to jail. It made me almost feel like Robin Hood with his band of merry men.

I glanced sideways at Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

Except, well...they were merry. And they gave money away.

Finally, we stopped in front of the prison. The prison that now had massive walls, twice as many bars on the windows and a solid steel door. Holes had been dug and the cells had been lowered half into the ground, until only half of the wall peeked out of the ground.

"Oh look," I whispered to my dear husband, giving him a gentle elbow-nudge. "They've renovated, just for us."

"How very kind of them."

"You two! Shut up and get in sere!"

Pulling open the door, one of the guards shoved Mr Ambrose in the back with the butt of his gun. I resisted the urge to deck the fellow. My butt was the only one who was allowed to get anywhere close to my man!

"Move it! Into se cell!

"Why, thank you so much for your invitation," I answered sweetly. "You're being too kind, Si—umph!" My voice abruptly cut off as I got shoved and hit the bunk in the cell with a thud. Groaning, I prodded the smooth slab beneath me. "Is it just my impression or has this thing gotten harder since last time?"

"Silence, I said!" With a clang, the thug slammed the lattice door shut. "You'll be making enough noise soon enough."

"Oh, we will, will we?" Mr Ambrose enquired, eyes narrowed.

"Si." The man smirked. "You'll be singing at se trial tomorrow."

And he left.

Silence descended over the cell.

"So," I said after a while. "I gather this is your idea of a kinky wedding night re-enactment?"

Mr Rikkard Ambrose sent me a look.

"What if it is?"

"W-what?" I stared at him, flabbergasted. My fingers twitched, itching to wrap around his throat. "Are you serious? You've actually gotten us in here for some hanky-panky?"

Silence.

A long, long moment of silence.

"No."

My fingers relaxed.

"At least not entirely."

My fingers tensed again.

Eyes fastened to mine with an intensity that sent butterflies tumbling through my stomach, he grasped my wrist before I could start with the strangling. Taking a step towards me, he gazed down at me where I lay on the bunk.

"That was not the reason for us ending up here. Not at all. Yet since we are already here, and have nothing else to do.... Remind me again, Mr Linton, what is the maxim I live by?"

I swallowed. "Knowledge is Power is time is Money."

"Exactly," he breathed, leaning over me. "So now that we have plenty of time, what should we do?"

My tongue flicked out, wetting my dry lips. "Make good use of it?"

Suddenly, the bunk below me felt a whole lot more comfortable. Suitable for various...interesting activities.

"My, my..." I grinned up at him. "Am I about to be ravished by a ravenous convict?"

"Says the lady with the reward on her head." Reaching out, he stroked a gentle thumb across my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "I believe it's up to fifty thousand now."

"Heavens!" I clutched my chest in my best imitation of a Shakespearean actor. "To be valued so much more by other people than by my own husband! How it pains my heart!"

"It does, does it?" In a blink, he was up on the bunk and on top of me. "Then maybe I should check it? You know...to make certain my dear wife is of good health."

"Y-yes," I squeezed out, my mouth suddenly dry. "M-maybe you should."

"And since you'll kindly let yourself be examined..." Reaching for his tailcoat, he shrugged out of it, then started on the first button of his shirt. "Perhaps I should reciprocate."

"P-perhaps," I agreed.

Then he pulled his shirt off.

"Scratch that," I corrected myself. "Definitely."

"Very well, then." Taking hold of my hand, he bent down and placed it onto his finely chiselled chest, right above his heart. "Examine to your heart's content."

Smooth skin. Strong, hard muscles, flexing underneath my fingers...

Bad Lilly! Bad! This isn't one of Amy's elicit romance books you borrowed for a nice little private time! You can't actually be thinking of doing it in a prison?

With a soft sound, my dress landed on the floor. The dress Mr Rikkard Ambrose had just divested me of.

No...I wasn't thinking about it. We had long since started the doing.

"R-Rikkard...I..."

"Yes?"

I swallowed, glancing at the barred window. "What if...if someone sees?"

"I'll eliminate them." He spoke without the least bit of hesitation. Bending down, he placed a gentle kiss upon my forehead, then cupped my face in his hand. "For my eyes only."

We were locked in a prison cell. We were alone and helpless, at the mercy of our enemies. And yet...

I had no problems believing him. Not while looking into his eyes. He was in charge. He had the power. Whatever or whoever dared to stand in his way, he would eradicate it.

Warmth rose in my chest, spreading throughout my body. Particularly downwards, to a certain spot.

I licked my lips, once again glancing towards the window to where, in the distance, the sound of hoofbeats could be heard. "How long do you think before they'll come for us?"

"Long enough, my wife." Mr Ambrose answered, closing what little distance was between us. "Long enough."

***

"News! The hottest news! Trial to happen! Brit and his broad about to be sentenced to death—"

"Oy!" The paperboy stopped abruptly as he felt something tug on his trouser leg. Confused he glanced down and—

"Eeep!" Yelping he leapt back.

"Hey, no need to be a scaredy-cat." A hand emerged from between the window-bars at the kid's knee-level. Dang those buggers for building the new prison half underground. Just because someone—cough, cough, don't look at me, cough, cough—had ripped their wall apart previously, was that any reason to make things so inconvenient for new inmates? "I want one of those. Here are fifty cents."

"Err...ehem..." Bending down, the boy took the coin and handed me a paper. "Here you go. Thanks."

"Welcome. And..."

"Yes?"

Slap!

"Ow!" The brat clutched his stinging butt.

"That was for calling me a broad! I'll have you know I'm very slender and elegant."

"Err, sure." The boy moved out of reach. "In the dark, anyway. Seen in a distorting mirror."

"What? You...come back here, you brat!"

"The hottest news! Trial to happen! Brit and his broad about to be sentenced to death! Hottest news..."

The boy's voice faded into the distance. I was, however, fairly certain that I knew what he was still shouting a few streets away.

A moment of silence passed.

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes?"

"Am I fat?"

Silence.

A very, very long silence. A little bit too long.

-------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

Mwahahaha! The dreaded question! Any ideas how Mr Rikkard Ambrose is going to get out of this one?

By the way, I'm slowly but surely recuperating. Thank you for your well-wishes!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob