In the Eye of the Storm

  ‘I didn’t know he was coming,’ Mr Ambrose told Karim. Both completely ignored me. I felt the strong urge to hit them over the head with a crowbar. What a pity there weren’t any crowbars handy.

  ‘My apologies, Sahib.’ Karim bowed to his master. ‘And my condolences for your continued misfortune.’

  ‘Hello? Hello, you two, I’m standing right here!’

  ‘You came to tell me something, Karim?’

  ‘Yes, Sahib. The ship captain sent me to tell you we can start loading the luggage aboard.’

  ‘Hello? Can one of you hear me?’

  ‘I see. How long will that take?’

  ‘No more than twenty minutes, Sahib.’

  ‘Hello!’ Stepping forward, I waved my hand in front of Mr Ambrose’s face. ‘I’m talking to you, with the stone face and the stuffed ears!’

  ‘Adequate.’ Ignoring me, he took his pocket watch out and let it snap open. ‘Then we should be able to depart by seven thirty.’ He wanted to put his watch away again, but hesitated. A muscle in the side of his face twitched. ‘Or maybe it’ll take a little bit longer than that.’ With a cool glance at me, he added: ‘It appears we have additional baggage to take aboard. We will be travelling with company. Bring the special suitcases out of my carriage.’

  Baggage? I hoped very much, for his sake, that he was talking about suitcases, and not about me! I glared up at him.

  ‘I have my own luggage, Sir, thank you very much!’

  ‘Not the kind you’ll be needing,’ he told me darkly. ‘Trust me.’

  Turning without another word, he marched off down the dock.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I called after him.

  No answer.

  ‘Hey! What the heck do you-?’

  My voice broke off, and I forgot what I had been going to say. Eyes wide, jaw agape, I took in the vessel towards which Mr Ambrose was striding.

  ‘That?’ Panting in outrage, I ran to catch up with him. ‘That’s what we’re supposed to be travelling on?’

  ‘Indeed it is, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Are you mad?’

  ‘I suffer from no mental malady, Mr Linton.’

  Well, if he thought that thing in front of us was going to make it through the Strait of Gibraltar[12] and the entire Mediterranean all the way to Egypt, I wasn’t so sure about that.

  The ship - if you could call it that - was large and sleek, granted, but it had ridiculously few masts. We would hardly be able to sail out of the harbour with those. In addition, the entire hull was a gleaming blackish-grey. I was no expert in nautical matters, but to me it looked as if the wood was covered with mould and rotting away.

  ‘It’ll break apart as soon as we leave the harbour!’ I protested.

  If we ever get that far…

  ‘Hardly.’ Marching up the gangway, Mr Ambrose stretched out an arm and knocked against the side of the ship. Instead of the wet thud I had expected, there came a hard, hollow clank that spoke of anything but rot.

  ‘Iron?’ I stared at the vessel. ‘The whole ship is coated in iron?’

  ‘Not coated in iron. Built from iron. Every last part of the hull.’

  ‘In God’s name, why?’ I laughed. ‘Are you expecting to sail into a war zone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  And with that, he left me standing and strode aboard.

  ‘You might have mentioned that before baiting me into coming along,’ I informed the empty air where he had been, then grabbed my suitcases and marched up the gangway. Not one of the sailors on deck jumped forward to help me carry them - one disadvantage of wearing trousers.

  It’s not a disadvantage! You’re a feminist! You’re supposed to love to carry your own luggage, and laugh haughtily at men who dare to offer to carry it for you!

  All true. But that didn’t change the fact that those suitcases really were bloody heavy!

  Halfway up the gangway, I stopped and sat them down for a breather. My eyes fell for the first time on the name engraved on the prow of the ship.

  Mammon

  ‘The demon of greed.’ One corner of my mouth twitched. ‘How quaint.’

  Rikkard Ambrose was standing at the railing, staring at the water again as if he had a personal grudge against it for being so wet. I marched up to him and prodded him in the ribs.

  ‘Where is my cabin?’

  He threw me a cool look. I sighed.

  ‘Where is my cabin, Sir?’

  If I have one, that is. If he doesn’t expect me to sleep in the sailors’ quarters.

  He jutted his thumb towards the door leading down into the belly of the ship. ‘Third door on the left.’

  He really had a place for me? I was slightly taken aback. So instead of just going, I, like the dunderhead I am, asked the first question that popped into my mind.

  ‘If you didn’t think I was coming, why do you have a cabin for me?’

  ‘I make it a point to always be prepared for the worst.’

  Gah! Was it legal to try to strangle a man on a ship? After all, I wasn’t technically on British soil anymore, so the Crown could hardly arrest me for murder!

  The ship’s captain, on the other hand, could, and probably would if I assassinated his employer. Besides, if I killed him, how would I get enough money to buy more solid chocolate?

  Turning demonstratively to give him a good look at my new peacock waistcoat, I tightened my grip on my cases and marched off towards the ship’s superstructure.[13] Inside, I found my cabin without difficulty, and was actually surprised at how exorbitantly luxuriant it was - for Mr Ambrose’s standards. True, the space was miniscule, there was no furniture to speak of, and to fit into the bunk I had to bend myself like a banana, but there weren’t any holes in the floor, and the walls looked freshly painted. I suppose even a man of Mr Ambrose’s frugality realized that shoddy workmanship could lead to a watery grave at sea.

  ‘And we wouldn’t want him to die like that, now, would we?’ I muttered, ripping open my first suitcase and starting to throw my clothes over the hooks on the wall. ‘Oh no. That would mean we couldn’t strangle him ourselves!’

  A knock sounded from the door.

  ‘What?’ I snapped.

  ‘Um… may I come in?’

  ‘That depends! Who are you, and what the hell do you want?’

  ‘My name is Coles, Sir. Charlie Coles, seaman apprentice aboard the Mammon. I’m bringing your suitcases, Sir.’

  ‘I’ve already got them.’

  ‘Well, apparently there are more, Sir.’

  ‘More?’ I frowned. Mr Ambrose had mentioned something about baggage…

  Apparently, he hadn’t been referring to me after all.

  ‘Yes, Sir. Um… quite a lot more, in fact. If you could open the door, please, they are not really very light.’

  ‘All right, all right.’ Sighing, I got up and strode to the door - if you can call taking one and a half steps forward across the miniscule cabin ‘striding’. Pulling open the door, I revealed a scraggly young man with a boyish, freckled face, who was swaying like a landlubber under the weight of at least half a dozen suitcases.

  ‘Good God in heaven! What’s in there?’

  ‘Stones?’ the boy suggested. ‘Anvils? Bricks?’ He flushed. ‘Begging your pardon, Sir.’

  ‘I don’t have any with me, so there’s no need to beg. Come in, come in.’

  Stepping aside, I beckoned him inside, and Coles staggered forward, depositing the cases on my bunk with a thud. Taking a deep breath, he straightened.

  ‘Well, that’s all of them.’ He gave me a salute, in the process nearly banging his head into the low ceiling. ‘If you should need anything else, Sir, please don’t hesitate to send for me. Seamen Wood, Mason and I have been ordered by the captain to look after our passengers’ every need on this trip.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I told the boy with a smile. He gave a little start, then saluted again and hurried out of the room. I stared after him for a moment, wondering about his odd reaction - then I reme
mbered he worked for Rikkard Ambrose. He was probably not used to people in charge smiling at him.

  Oh yes, Rikkard Ambrose…

  ‘What the heck have you cooked up this time in that stony brain of yours?’ I mumbled, stepping towards the suitcases. Narrowing my eyes, I pushed the lid upward. It didn’t move an inch.

  Locked! Blast him!

  Well, if he was waiting for me to come running to beg to see inside, he would have to wait until he was blue in the face!

  *~*~**~*~*

  We were casting off. Sailors were hurrying over the deck, ropes in their hands, and commands were being shouted. Mr Ambrose stood on the quarterdeck, arms folded, face as stony as ever. Beside him stood the captain, and although he was the one shouting commands, there was no doubt who was really in command here.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me now?’ I demanded, taking my place beside the stony financial magnate.

  ‘Tell you what, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Why we are on this blasted cockleshell, of course! Why are we going to travel a thousand miles to Egypt?’

  ‘Three thousand, six hundred and fifteen point one three seven six miles, actually.’

  ‘Why the hell would I care how many miles there are? Just tell me!’

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘Anchors aweigh!’

  That didn’t come from Mr Ambrose, but from the captain. I was still waiting for my answer. Finally, he unclenched his teeth.

  ‘Fine!’

  With a masterly flick of his hand, he motioned for the captain to move. With a prompt salute, the man stepped out of hearing range.

  ‘You remember the plans that were stolen from my office?’

  I cocked my head thoughtfully. ‘The plans for that canal between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean that was supposed to give you control over most of the world’s trade? The plans we risked our lives to retrieve? The plans that sank with that bloody ship that almost drowned us, too? Yes, I think I remember those.’

  He threw me a dark look.

  ‘The planning of that canal isn’t my first attempt at establishing trade between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. Years ago, I already established a caravan route across the Sinai Peninsula.’

  I frowned. ‘Then why build a canal at all?’

  He threw another look my way. This was the arrogant look of a man who makes millions as easily as other people make breakfast, and expects everyone to have the same ability. ‘Are you sure you have your brain switched on, Mr Linton? At the moment, my goods have to be unloaded from one ship in the Mediterranean, then packed onto camels and carried at a painstakingly slow pace all the way through the desert, only to be loaded onto ships again when they reach the Red Sea. The same goes for transporting things in the other direction. Something like that is only profitable or feasible for small, light luxury goods, not for heavy industrial goods, let alone raw materials.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you mean, “Yes”?’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘I mean yes, I do have my brain switched on, Sir.’

  ‘Then use it!’

  ‘I intend to. If your caravan route is already up and running, why are we going to Egypt?’

  ‘That’s just it.’ Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr Ambrose’s hands curl into fists. ‘It is not running. At least it does not seem to be at the moment. While we were away, trying to retrieve the plans for the canal from Lord Dalgliesh, this arrived at my office.’

  Pulling an envelope out of his pocket, he held it up for me to see. The sharp wind blowing around us tugged at it, trying to pull it out of his hand. In spite of the paper’s bending and fluttering, I could make out a strange, curly script all over it, and on the sheets of paper peeking out.

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘A letter from my agent in Alexandria[14], Mr Linton, telling me that my caravans across the Sinai Peninsula have recently been subject to raids.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Indeed it is. And not just normal raids, where the bandits grab everything they can and run. No, these were planned, coordinated and vicious attacks. Entire caravans were slaughtered - even the camels. And camels are expensive animals.’

  I was gazing out over the ship at the bustling seamen. But I wasn’t really seeing them. My brain was definitely switched on now, and the gears were whirring.

  ‘Let me guess… your greatest competitor in the trade is Lord Daniel Eugene Dalgliesh.’

  ‘Quite so. He transports the same goods I do, only he ships them around the Cape of Good Hope. A simpler process, but lengthier and more expensive.’

  ‘What wonderful luck for Lord Dalgliesh that those bandits suddenly decided to have a go at your caravans, Sir.’

  ‘Do you really believe in luck, Mr Linton?’

  My lips twitched. ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘So, what is the plan? We are going over there to make sure the authorities look into the matter?’

  ‘No. We are going over there, and I am going to make myself the authority who looks into the matter.’

  I turned to stare at him. It shouldn’t have surprised me, I suppose. Rikkard Ambrose wasn’t one to leave his dirty work to others. But still…

  ‘We are going to hunt bandits?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Just out of interest… How many of these bandits do you think there are?’

  He gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his broad, hard shoulders. ‘In each caravan, there were at least twenty men, quite used to fighting in the desert. They were slaughtered to a man, so I estimate that there must be at least forty raiders, maybe more.’

  ‘Ah.’ I tried to swallow. It didn’t really work. A stubborn lump had suddenly appeared in my throat.

  ‘We will be joined in Alexandria by a group of men who will assist us in our efforts. And several of the well-trained fighters I took on board in London will be accompanying us into the desert to lend us their weapons expertise.’

  This made me feel a little better. I managed to get the lump out of my throat and speak again.

  ‘So, once we have captured those bandits, what are we going to do with them?’

  ‘Capture?’ It would be too much to say that one of his eyebrows actually rose, but a sense of raised eyebrows definitely emanated from his unmoving features. ‘What makes you think we are going to capture them?’

  ‘Well, what else could you d-’

  I broke off, as the answer abruptly occurred to me. Suddenly, the lump in my throat was back. It had gotten bigger on its short holiday.

  ‘I don’t have any use for bandits,’ Mr Ambrose told me in that cold voice of his. Then he turned away, and marched towards the captain.

  ‘What are your men waiting for, Captain? Tell them to get this ship out of the harbour! Now!’

  Now? Most of me was still a bit numb from Mr Ambrose’s casual revelation of our murderous plans. But another part of me couldn’t help thinking: How are we supposed to leave now? The wind is blowing in the wrong direction!

  The captain didn’t seem to have noticed that, though. He saluted. ‘Yes, Sir, Mr Ambrose, Sir!’

  I expected him to cry out ‘Set the sails’ or something equally nice and nautical. But instead, he merely gestured to the nearest seaman, who opened a hatch in the deck and whistled, twice.

  A shudder went through the entire ship, and suddenly I noticed black smoke rising out of one the things I had taken for masts.

  ‘I’ll be jiggered!’ My eyes flitted to Mr Ambrose. ‘That conniving son of a…!’

  *~*~**~*~*

  Over the next days, the constant thump, thump of the ship’s steam engine became my constant companion. It was helpful in a way, distracting me from my own thoughts, except at night, when the bloody noise also distracted me from sleep. But even the Mammon’s steam engine with its monumental powers of distraction could not pull my thoughts away from one thing:

  The cases.

  The suitcases which Mr A
mbrose had had deposited in my miniscule cabin - without the slightest explanation! After three days of endless churning engines and watery waves, he still hadn’t said a word about what was in them, the bastard! And I most certainly had not deigned to ask. Ha!

  Of course, I had rigorously interrogated Seaman Charlie Coles. But even under the threat of keelhauling, he stuck to his story that he had only carried the cases, and never looked inside. Finally, I had pity on the young man and sent him off without any major mental scars from the inquisition.

  What could I do? The days and weeks of the sea voyage stretched endlessly in front of me, with nothing to hold my thoughts but the contents of these suitcases. What the bloody hell could I do?

  You can ask him, said a nasty little voice inside me.

  No, no, no! I would not succumb to that! I would not be one of those spineless females driven out of her mind by curiosity! Not when he already thought the worst of women.

  The only problem was: I was being driven out of my mind by curiosity. Blast!

  Finally, I made a compromise with myself. I wouldn’t ask. No, I definitely wouldn’t. But I could mention it to him, and if per chance he happened to tell me something of his own accord - well, then everybody would be happy, wouldn’t they? And I would keep my sanity!

  So the next morning, when Mr Ambrose had taken up his usual position on the command deck, glaring at sailors in a way that made them work very, very efficiently, I carefully sneaked up behind him and insinuated myself beside his hard, unmoving figure, appearing calm and natural. Or at least I hoped so.

  ‘Nice weather today, don’t you think so?’ I observed.

  ‘No.’

  Oh… well, to each their own opinion.

  ‘But the sea looks nice in the sunlight, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  All right, the conversation was started. It wasn’t the most promising start, true, but you couldn’t have everything. I cleared my throat.

  ‘By the way… do you per chance happen to have the key to those suitcases in my cabin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I waited for more. Maybe for an offer to give me the key. It didn’t come.

  ‘Well… maybe we could have a look inside, some day.’