New Storm Rising

21. Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the Hero of the People

"You," I congratulated my dear husband, "are a bloody manipulative bastard."

"It was your plan," he retorted. "Not mine."

"My plan—which was supposed to be secret, by the way!—was to open a soup kitchen in town to get a rise out of you. It was not to put up a ginormous banner over the soup kitchen proclaiming 'Ambrose Charity for the Poor and Needy—One Hot Meal for Everyone'!"

"The banner was on sale."

"With the words already on it?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought."

I smirked smugly—until I caught sight of the soup kitchen again. Because no matter how much I'd like to bash Mr Rikkard Ambrose's head with a broomstick, his blasted plan seemed to be working splendidly! There were long lines of villagers in front of the soup kitchen, their eyes filled with desperate hope. And there was an even longer line of people heading away, their faces filled with gratitude and their mouths with piping hot stew. Most of them were chatting about the amazing Mr Ambrose and his cherubic charitableness.

Drat! Note to self: never try to put one over on Mr Rikkard Ambrose again.

Not without sufficient preparation, anyway.

Meanwhile, things proceeded as expected. From our hidden observation point, I could see it didn't take long for the mood in town to change...

***

"You there! Watch yourself!" In the centre of the town, an armed thug came around the corner, nearly running into a small boy. "Get out of my way, runt!"

"S-sorry, mister! I didn't mean to bump into you, I swear! I—"

"I said out of the way, brat!" Reaching out, the man made to slap the boy—until his wrist was grabbed by a hand large enough to snap it.

"Hey! Who the hell do you think you a—"

That was when the thug turned around to see the figure towering above him.

"I...I...I'm sorry."

"Leave," Karim ordered.

"Y-yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!"

Arms flailing, the thug staggered backwards, then turned and ran away down the street, until he disappeared around a corner.

"Ehem." Clearing his throat, Karim forced himself to bend down towards the boy. And down. And down. And down. "There, there. Are you all right, um...little human?"

"Oh, Mister!" Eyes sparkling, the boy flung his arms around Karim's leg. Or at least half the way around. "Mister, that was amazing! How did you do that? That was so cool!"

"Um...there, there." Karim continued patting the boy's head, squirming. "And here, too. And somewhere else, too. Which is where I need to be. So...I'll be going now. Goodbye!"

He dashed off down an alleyway, skidded around the corner, and fled for his life.

"Mister! Hey, Mister, where are you going?"

"Who was that?" Other people cautiously emerged into the open, staring after the vanished figure of the bodyguard. "Where did he come from?"

"Did you see how he stood up to those thugs? That was grand!"

"Who is he? Where did he go?"

"I think I saw him before! He was with that tall man in the tailcoat and top hat with the funny accent."

"You don't mean...him?"

"Him?"

"Mr Ambrose! That rich Englishman who has been setting up soup kitchens and helping the poor all throughout town!"