Summertide Excursion : A 'Storm and Silence' Fan-fiction

Some Very Inconspicuous Inconspicuousness

After many minutes of navigating the corridors of the Inn, reaching the front desk, and convincing my stubborn employer that perhaps we should ask for directions rather than running around like chickens with their heads cut off, Mr Ambrose and I finally opened the mahogany doors of the pub to the serene sounds of rural nightlife. 

'Oi, you there, boy! Another round for the lads, an' quick-like, or I'll bash yer head in!' 

This was only one of various gruff shouts which came from the many, many blatantly drunk men who crowded the pub.  

Ah yes, there's simply nothing like the peace and tranquility of country folk to set a poor city girl's mind at ease. 

Gas lamps lined the dark walls, which were covered in suspicious and equally dark stains, washing the room in a murky yellow glow. As I surveyed the dank surroundings, my eyes were drawn to the far lefthand side of the room where the bar stood. In the flickering light the glasses stacked behind the bartender seemed to sparkle and wink, beckoning me towards them. Coincidentally, my feet, quite without my permission, seemed to have gotten a mind of their own and I took an involuntary step towards the bar. 

'Do not even think about it, Mr Linton,' said Mr Ambrose from beside me, stepping through the entryway and removing his top hat. With the yellow light reflecting off his pale face, he looked more like a wax figure than his usual granite self. 

I turned to face him, hands on my hips, in battle stance. 

'We just got here!' I grumbled. 'How have I already done something wrong? What is it? Should I have stepped into the room with my left foot rather than my right? Humour me, Sir, I beg you.' 

I quirked an eyebrow up at him as I waited for his typical response, silence. However, Mr Ambrose seemed to feel particularly chatty that evening. 

He shot me a look, one of those looks, out of the corner of his eye. 

'What have I told you about the use of sarcasm, Mr Linton?' 

Thinking that it probably wasn't a particularly wise idea to make an assassination attempt in public, I clenched my teeth and turned away from him, arms crossed.

'That it's a waste of time, Sir.' 

He gave me the most imperceptible of nods. 

'I see that your memory is still functioning with average capability. In which case, it should not be difficult to remember what happened the last time you entered an establishment like this,' he gestured to where I had been looking. 

Without warning, memories of that night, so long ago, flashed across my eyes.

Gunshots, bullets flying through the air, men dying, fleeing wildly through the streets in, arriving at the office, one shaky step too many, falling in Mr Ambrose's tight embrace, the heavenly feeling of his lips colliding with mine- 

I shiver slithered down my spine as I shook those thoughts from my head. It was nothing more than an alcohol induced dream, a freakish fantasy! Never in my life would I dream of kissing my employer, much less enjoying it! Even so, my attention couldn't help but wander back to Mr Ambrose, who was still rambling on, unaware of my internal strife. 

'You are under no circumstances permitted to go anywhere near that bar, understood? We are only here to gain substantial nourishment. We will depart early tomorrow morning, therefore we will need to turn in early tonight. That means no fraternizing with the locals, and no alcohol, Mr Linton.' 

Glancing around at the crowded tables and what sort of food lay on them, I very much doubted that any meal we would receive here could be called 'substantial'. On the other hand, if eating here meant I got a break from the potatoes, cold porridge, and cheap fish that I was accustomed to back home, I'd be more than willing to wolf down whatever grub the server here put on my plate. I let out a grudging 'Yes, Sir' and followed Mr Ambrose's example, removing my top hat.