Storm of Bells

06. The Attack of the Metal Monster

The very next morning I got a taste of what Mr Ambrose meant by 'game on'. The first hint I received that things might not be going as usual was when I entered my office and nearly ran face-first into a giant wooden crate blocking the entryway.

'Gah! What in God's name is that thing doing in my office?'

'Guv?' A bristly, bearded man in grey-brown work clothes popped his head around the corner of the massive crate. 'We was told to put this 'ere.'

'I see. So if I tell you to put it somewhere else—'

'No can do, guv. We've got orders from the top.'

'You don't perchance mean the top of Mount Vesuvius, do you?' Because that's where I wished both Mr Ambrose and his bloody crate were right now. Just before a nice, juicy explosion.

'Err...guv? Vesuwhat?'

'Forget it, forget it.' I waved to the man, trying to dispel his confused expression. 'Put it over there in the corner, will you?'

The bearded man scratched the back of his neck. 'Err...can't do that either, guv. Was told to put it on yer desk.'

'On my desk? Then how am I supposed to work?'

'Um...on the floor?'

'You can't work on the floor!'

'Sure ye can. I put stuff I work with on the floor all the time. Beds, commodes, cupboards...'

'You are a removal man! I'm a secretary!'

'Err...yes, guv?'

I decided that Bristly-Beard was probably not the right person to have this argument with. Whirling around, I marched towards the connecting door and slammed my fist against the wood.

'Mr Ambrose!'

No answer.

'Mr Ambrose? Open!'

Still no answer—except for a soft plink. My head whirled to stare down at the small capsule lying next to me on the desk. Quickly, I snatched it up, tore it open and unfolded the paper.

Mr Linton,

What?

Rikkard Ambrose

Short and precise. Just as I hoved and lated him.

Taking up my quill, I penned a love letter to my fiancé.

My dear Mr Ambrose,

Get that bloody crate out of my office!

Yours sincerely,

Miss Lillian Linton

P.S. I love you

Wasn't I a romantic?

Stuffing the missive into the tube, I pulled the lever. It whizzed off towards Mr Ambrose, and I leaned back against my desk, taking a deep breath.

'Careful, guv!'

I jerked away—just in time to not get my fingers squashed by a heavy wooden crate. It slammed down onto the desktop, completely covering about three quarters of the surface.

'Well, that's it then, guv.' The delivery man tipped his hat. 'I'll be going.'

'What? Wait! You can't leave me like this!'

'Sorry, guv. I got a dozen more deliveries to make today. See ye.'

And he was out the door.

From behind me came a soft plink, as another metal capsule bounced off the wooden crate and landed on what little of the desk was still accessible. Grabbing the thing, I tore it open.