Farther down the street, a figure was being dragged down the front steps of a polling station by two police officers. A figure I knew. I stared. Was it really…? Yes. My future secretary.
No. Oh no, this would not do. Not at all. If the police had caught that foolish youth breaking the law, they would just have to forget about it, until I had found someone cheaper and more law-abiding.
‘Officer!’ In three long strides I was in front of them. I was damn well going to get to the bottom of this! ‘Officer, what are you doing with this young man, may I ask?’
The sergeant turned and, when he caught sight of me, paled. Unlike the bank clerk, he clearly knew with whom he was dealing. If his facial expression wasn’t enough proof, his hurried salute definitely was.
‘Good morning, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’ he mumbled, trying his best to keep hold of my prospective secretary, who was wriggling like a rattlesnake in an attempt to get free. ‘Um… Sir, if I may ask, what young man are you speaking of?’
My eyes slid from the policeman to the young man in his clutches and back again. Was he daft? Who else would I be talking about?
‘That one, of course. Are you blind? What are you doing with him?’
‘Not him, Sir.’ Reaching up, the sergeant gripped the young man’s top hat and pulled. It was like that silly trick magicians did when they pulled a rabbit out of the hat - only in this case, I would have actually preferred it if a curious bunny poked its nose out of the hat. Instead, masses of wild chestnut hair tumbled out. I felt a cold hand clench hard around my vital organs. ‘Her. That's a girl, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
Impossible.
Silence.
I stared.
More silence. And for the first time in my life, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to say something. It was because I did absolutely not know what to say. Or to yell. Or to bellow.
No. No, this is impossible.
‘Something wrong, Sir?’ the sergeant inquired dutifully. He got no answer from me. I didn’t have one. After a long moment of waiting, he cleared his throat. ‘Well, if you'd excuse us, Sir, we have to take this one away to where she belongs. Maybe a night in the cells will teach her not to do what's only for men.’
‘Aye,’ one of the constables chuckled. ‘Women voting? Who ever heard of something like that? Next thing we know they'll want decent jobs!’
Jobs.
Women.
Jobs for women.
A job for a woman.
No. No. No. No. No. No!
I only distantly heard the laughter of the policemen. Most of my attention was focused on the seething volcano of ice-cold rage that was rising inside me. Taking a deep breath, I met the girl’s eyes. She met my gaze head-on, not looking away, not even blinking. Other people had died at my hand for the kind of defiance I saw in her eyes right then.
A woman.
A job for a woman.
But she wouldn’t really…!
Paralyzed, I watched the policemen drag her away. Just before they pulled her around the corner, she turned her head back towards me and, grinning in a way that made me want to strangle someone, shouted:
‘Looking forward to seeing you at work on Monday, Sir!’
She wouldn’t! Would she?
THE BEGINNING…
###
Dedication
This story is dedicated to all my awesome fans and fiery little Ifrits without whom the book would never have been possible. All of you have been an inspiration!
Firstly, I would like to thank the
contributors to the publishing campaign who have opened their hearts (and their wallets!) to get this book into print. The most generous contributions came from (**taking a deep breath**): Alexis Rose Stinson, Ammarah Maryam Abbasi, Bianca van den Berg, Cailin Ingram, Cindy Susana Orozco-Cazapa, compulsiveeater, Daisy Orozco, Dakota Trauth, Deb Caputo, Dominique C. Mohler, Elisabeth Nettesheim, Faryal Motiwala, Filipa Silva, Gabriela Grant, Jodie Perry, Julia Davis, Julia Hazima, Katrin St?rmer, Kuini Erika, Laura F. Carlson, Laurianne Wohlscheid, Leisa Zaharis, Madeline Bunde, Marcia Robichaud, Marnurwani Bte Mohd Noordin, Michele Marquez, Mohsanh Omar, Natalie Y. Young, Nicole Strong, Nina Lawrence Akpovi, Noelia Wehrhahn, Reman Jawar, Romina Avaness, Shelby Nunn, Sonali Chander, Tahani H. and Tasneem Hiba. Thank you!
Without your generosity, this book would never have made it into print.
Additional thanks is due to Deb Caputo, who indicated a number of points that helped me significantly in fine-tuning historical accuracy. And a big cartload of thanks goes to Iris Chacon, the wonderful editor who volunteered her time to edit this opus from front to back.
Last, but certainly not least, I want to thank all those fiery fans and Ifrits who might not have had the means to contribute funds to the publication campaign, but who inspired me with their encouragements, during a mighty Twitter battle helped this book win the People’s Choice Award in the Wattys, drew wonderful portraits of Lilly and Mr Ambrose or scattered glowing reviews of this book all over the web. I truly have the most amazing fandom south of the North Pole! Three cheers for you all! Lilly would be proud of you, and even Mr Ambrose would be mildly impressed. I look forward to scribbling many more stories for your enjoyment, knowing that you shall be with me every step of the way.
About the Author
Robert Thier is a German historian and writer of historical fiction. His particular mix of history, romance, and adventure, always with a good deal of humor thrown in, has gained him a diverse readership ranging from teenagers to retired
grandmothers. For the way he manages to make history come alive, as if he himself lived as a medieval knight, his fans all over the world have given him the nickname “Sir Rob.”
For Robert, becoming a writer followed
naturally from his interest in history. “In Germany,” he says, “we use the same word for story and history. And I've always loved the one as much as the other. Becoming a storyteller, a writer, is what I've always wanted.”
Besides writing and researching in dusty old archives, on the lookout for a mystery to put into his next story, Robert enjoys classical music and long walks in the country. The helmet you see in the picture he does not wear because he is a cycling enthusiast, but to protect his literary skull in which a bone has been missing from birth. Robert lives in the south of Germany in a small village between the three Emperor Mountains.