Silence Is Golden

  His eyes, dark as a thunderstorm on the open sea, bored into me. ‘I wasn’t talking about the knife.’

  His hand, still on my face, gently slid to my mouth, caressing my lips. ‘I was talking about this.’ Moving on, his fingers pointed at my eyes. ‘And those.’ Moving again, he slid down his hand away from my face, until it rested on my chest, just above my heart. ‘And, most of all, this.’

  Oh God…

  Suddenly, the rage, the violence - it was all gone. But the need for him? That was suddenly so intense I couldn’t bear it. I felt a painful tugging in my heart.

  ‘You’re dangerous, too,’ I whispered, before my courage left me. ‘More dangerous than I could ever have imagined.’

  ‘Indeed?’ He cocked his head, and his arrogant eyes glittered in the darkness. ‘Are you afraid, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Ha! Of you? Never!’

  ‘Is that so…?’ Leaning closer, his lips skimmed over mine once more. A ragged sound of need escaped my throat, and the knife slipped from my limp fingers. He gave an arrogant male chuckle that made me instantly wish I was still holding it. ‘You aren’t afraid at all of what will happen if you let yourself fall? If you forget everything else, and let go completely?’

  Mary, mother of God…! What was he talking about?

  Whatever it was - a tiny spark of fear did ignite in me. Just enough to make everything that much more thrilling. Damn him!

  ‘Well? Are you?’

  ‘N-no!’

  He laughed again. It suddenly occurred to me - had I ever heard him laugh before? I didn’t think so. He was Mr Rikkard Ambrose, for crying out loud! The probability of him finding anything funny was about as high as the probability of daisies and rosebushes in the arctic tundra.

  ‘You know,’ his voice tickled my ear, ‘you aren’t the only one who has their moments of…well, I wouldn’t say fear. Let’s say…agitation.’

  ‘Oh?’ I perked up. This was news to me.

  ‘For a moment there,’ he murmured against my skin, ‘when Silveira captured you, you almost had me worried.’

  ‘Did I?’

  ‘You did indeed. When I discovered you were gone, I nearly lost my mind with worry! I thought I would never ever get the manuscript back.’

  I stiffened in his arms.

  The manuscript?

  The bloody manuscript?

  If only I hadn’t let go of the knife.

  ‘If you don’t shut up about that manuscript,’ I growled, grabbing him by the collar, ‘I’m going to throw you down on the ground and torture you all through the night!’

  ‘Indeed?’ His eyes sparked in the darkness. The expression in their swirling depths looked far more like anticipation than fear. He leaned forward and, grasping my chin in one hand, whispered into my ear so low only I could hear: ‘Manuscript!’

  What was a girl to do?

  Love in the Morning

  Even before I woke all the way up next morning, I knew where I was. There was only one way to connect last night to today, to explain the warm body pressed up against me. I smiled, snuggling closer to Mr Ambrose. The hammock was hardly big enough for both of us, but right then and there, I didn’t care. It was enough to feel his warmth beside me, and his strong arms pressing into me. Someone lovingly caressed my cheek, and I felt my body melt. Did he know I could feel it? Did he know I was awake? The same someone bent forward to gently nibble on my ear, and I gave a contented sigh.

  Then someone spit in my ear, stuck his finger into it and turned it this way and that.

  Suffice it to say that this did not draw a contented sigh from my lips.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re-’

  I shot upright, my eyes spitting fire - and came to an abrupt halt as the fellow beside me greeted me with a smile entirely too friendly, long-toothed and yellow for Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

  ‘Oook!’ The monkey said, triumphantly, and proudly held up the finger with which he had kindly cleaned my ear. ‘Oook ooog? Oook!’

  ‘Ya! Argh! Argl!’

  Scrambling backwards, I toppled clean out of the hammock, slamming into the ground with a resounding thud.

  The monkey, looking very puzzled that I was not more interested in his ear-cleaning services, climbed down out of the hammock after me and wobbled over to me.

  ‘Oook?’ he asked, offering me the smeary finger. ‘Oook ok ooog oook!’

  Just then, footsteps approached from behind me, and a cool voice enquired: ‘I hope I’m not interrupting something?’

  Oh God! No, please! Please, let me die now!

  ‘Not at all,’ I said without turning around, keeping my voice steady. ‘This gentleman was just leaving.’

  However, the monkey seemed disinclined to follow my suggestion. It held up its slobbery finger again with a hopeful face. ‘Oook?’

  ‘No, I’m not interested!’ I hissed. ‘Shoo! Piss off, you little furry beast!’

  I swear to you, the little furball actually looked hurt! It held up its finger one last time, a pleading expression on its hairy little face.

  ‘Seems he doesn’t want to take no for an answer,’ came Mr Ambrose’s cool voice from behind me. There was no hint of amusement in it, but with Mr Ambrose, that didn’t mean much.

  ‘He’s probably a male,’ I growled. ‘They all seem to have trouble understanding a certain small two-letter word.

  ‘Or maybe it’s just you.’ He was closer now, slowly approaching. A hand reached out to gently stroke my cheek, and I quickly glanced at it to make sure it was human this time before relaxing into the touch. ‘Maybe you’re irresistible.’

  ‘To monkeys?’

  ‘No.’ His fingers found their way from my cheek to my lips, stroking their soft curves with sensual precision. ‘To males.’

  Oh God…! The way he said that…I felt ready to melt into the ground.

  Luckily, the monkey didn’t seem to appreciate being neglected, and saved me from such an embarrassing display.

  ‘Oook? Ook oook!’

  He was holding up his finger again. I looked at the little fellow’s big, hopeful eyes and sighed. Normally, I had no problems at all with rejecting interested males of any kind. But with this one chap, I was having increasing difficulties saying ‘no’.

  Involuntarily, my eyes were drawn over to Mr Ambrose. Well…actually not just with this one.

  Blast!

  ‘Sorry,’ I told the little fellow. ‘But it’s really for the best, you know? Trust me, we wouldn’t exactly be suited for each other. Find some nice monkey lady with a big, comfy tree of her own. I’m sure she’ll let you clean her ears as much as you want.’

  The little fellow drew himself up. ‘Oook! Oook ook ooog oook.’

  I couldn’t speak monkey, but I had heard this one so often in English, I knew instinctively what it meant: I know you love me deep inside! You’re just too shy to admit it.

  With that, the little fellow turned and scampered off, probably to gather a few flowers and bananas.

  I closed my eyes. ‘God! Why do men have to be the same everywhere?’

  *~*~**~*~*

  ‘So, let’s examine our situation.’

  We were all gathered in our little camp, around a scrap of paper that was supposedly a map of the Amazonian jungle. It bore an astonishing resemblance to a white sheet.

  ‘Not many people have been this way yet, have they?’ I enquired, staring at the map.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Is that good or bad?’

  ‘Both, Mr Linton. It means our options are very limited. We cannot deviate too much from the manuscript’s instructions, or we will certainly lose our way. But it also means that the further we go, the more difficulties the Brazilians will have with following us. Half the country they claim as their own is really unexplored jungle, owned only by the jaguars and natives that roam this labyrinth of trees.’

  ‘And what does that mean for us?’

  ‘It means that we have lots of space, either to lose our enemies in, or to get
lost ourselves. We must use it wisely. And we must, by any means possible, manage to throw the Brazilians off the scent. I think it is clear by now that they won’t give up on their own. We can’t allow them to capture one of us again. Next time we might not be so lucky, and I will not allow them to lay their hands on my treasure!’

  Grim nods from all around. When nobody spoke again, I asked: ‘So, what do we do?’

  Mr Ambrose took a deep breath. ‘There may be a way. A way to throw the Brazilians off our scent for a time, maybe even for good. But it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.’

  His cool gaze swept our little gathering.

  ‘We’ll be going deep into potential enemy territory, giving ourselves into the power of people we don’t know and cannot trust. But, if we can persuade them to help us, the soldiers will have no hope of finding us. If - and that is a big if!’

  ‘What if they decide not to help us? What do we do then?’ I asked.

  Mr Ambrose met my gaze, levelly. ‘Dead people don’t do anything.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I told you it would be dangerous. That’s why I can’t make this decision on my own. Your lives are your own. So…what will we do now? Will we forget about the treasure and turn tail? Or will we gather our courage and move forward?’

  Karim and I exchanged a look. For the first time in days, he didn’t grimace at having to glance at me.

  ‘Forward,’ we said in unison.

  ‘Adequate.’ Clapping his hands, Mr Ambrose rose to his feet. ‘Then let’s go. We have no time to waste. I doubt that the Brazilians are more than a few hours behind us.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell us who these oh-so-dangerous people are to whom you intend to take us?’ I demanded.

  ‘No. Come!’

  Muttering a curse, I snatched up my knapsack and marched after him. He was already heading off into the jungle.

  It didn’t take me long to figure out that we had switched directions. Where before we had been heading west, we were now going northeast. And we weren’t following my directions from the manuscript, either. Instead, Mr Ambrose was leading now, leaving Karim to protect the back and to perfect the art of walking with his eyes closed. My dear employer seemed to know where he was going. The map he used was almost completely blank, but there seemed to be at least one dot on it that was clear and fixed, and whatever it was, we were heading towards it. Towards one deadly danger, to escape from another.

  Oh, the bliss of working for Rikkard Ambrose!

  ‘Sir?’

  Mr Ambrose didn’t turn around.

  ‘Sir? I have a question.’

  ‘Then ask, Mr Linton.’

  Still he didn’t turn.

  ‘Tell me, Sir…if we would have voted against the plan, what would you have done?’

  He didn’t even hesitate. ‘I would have ignored your opinions and ordered you to do what I want.’

  I had suspected something of the sort. ‘Um…Sir? Then why let us vote?’

  ‘To build a sense of community and cooperation among my staff members. It generally is an efficient way of manipulating people into doing what I want while letting them think they do it of their own volition.’

  ‘Ah. Of course. Well done, Sir. I feel very cooperative.’

  We continued to march through the jungle at a pace a Roman regiment could have been proud of. Again and again, Mr Ambrose had Karim make forays to the right and left, or made me climb up trees to look as far as the thick roof of plants would allow. He never told me what exactly I was supposed to be looking for, saying only, ‘You’ll know it when you see it.’

  How wonderfully helpful.

  Only, he turned out to be right.

  The sun was just setting, and I had climbed up one last tree to throw a last look around before turning in when, suddenly, I saw something rising from among the trees that I hadn’t seen in a very, very long time.

  ‘Mr Ambrose!’

  ‘Yes, Mr Linton? What is it?’

  ‘Smoke! There’s smoke ahead, rising from between the trees!’

  ‘I knew it! I knew he would be here.’

  ‘He? Who, Sir?’

  ‘Never mind that now, Mr Linton! What direction is the smoke coming from?’

  Quickly, I pulled the compass from my pouch. ‘Northeast! We’re marching straight towards it!’

  ‘Get down here now! We’re leaving.’

  If I thought we’d been moving fast before, I was mistaken. Now that we knew the exact direction, Mr Ambrose took up his usual position at the rear again - and believe me, there’s nothing that can make you move as fast as Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s ice-cold eyes biting into your behind. Soon I was ready to beg for a break, but I clenched my teeth and carried on, no matter how much my tortured muscles were screaming.

  ‘Stop!’

  It took my exhausted brain a few seconds to register Mr Ambrose’s abrupt command. Wobbling to a stop, I reached out to support myself against a tree. What was the matter? Had Mr Ambrose suddenly developed a shred of mercy?

  Very unlikely.

  ‘Do you smell that? Karim? Mr Linton?’

  Smell? I was panting, dragging in big, hot breaths through my mouth. I hadn’t bothered to try and smell anything in a long while. Now I tried to calm my breathing and sniff the air. At first, I smelled nothing, but then I suddenly detected a faint odour. Smoke?

  ‘We’re getting close,’ Mr Ambrose pronounced. ‘Let’s go! It won’t be long now.’

  Really? I bloody well hoped so, or my dear employer would have to scrape me off the jungle floor!

  Dragging in another breath, I stumbled forward, following Karim’s distant figure. It wasn’t long before we reached the edge of a small clearing. Here, it wasn’t just one big tree keeping the others away. No, a human hand had purposefully cut down a few of the smaller trees, creating a free space in the middle. In the shadow of a bigger tree, someone had built a ramshackle hut. The scrape of metal issued from the sinister interior. Warily, I took a step towards it. Mr Ambrose hadn’t said much about the mysterious ‘he’ we were going to meet here. But, by the sound of it, ‘he’ was already sharpening his knives in preparation of our welcome. How very nice of him.

  Pretty Priestly

  My eyes flicked around the clearing. A saw, hammer, a pair of trousers and a shirt were hanging from a line - whoever was living here, he was clearly not a native. But what would a European, or even a Brazilian, be doing living out here?

  Karim seemed to have similar thoughts. ‘What is this place?’ he rumble-whispered. ‘What kind of man would come to live out here, all alone?’

  ‘A madman,’ Mr Ambrose told us succinctly.

  ‘Mad?’ I stared at him. ‘And you didn’t think to mention this before we came here?’

  ‘No. Let’s see if he is at home.’

  Mr Ambrose marched forward, seeming not the least bit disturbed by the continued metallic noises from inside the cabin.

  ‘Father?’ he called.

  My eyes almost bugged out of my sockets.

  ‘His father lives here?’ I hissed to Karim, who seemed to be having equal difficulties with coming to grips with the situation. ‘And he’s off his rocker?’

  But my theory was crushed a moment later when the curtain in the cabin’s doorway was swept aside and out stepped a man in a black robe, holding a rusty goblet in his hand. The man’s wide, blinking eyes fell on Mr Ambrose.

  ‘Oh meu deus! Visitors? And English ones to boot! Now, this is a surprise. You must excuse me, Senhores, I was scraping the rust off the chalice.’ He raised the goblet. ‘I am afraid I did not hear you approach.’

  I stared at the man. It took a few moments to sink in, but then I finally realised: that black robe he was wearing wasn’t a robe. It was a cassock. The man was a priest. A young, wide-eyed, beardless little scrap of a priest with half a nervous smile on his face and a receding hairline, although he couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. If anyone had wanted to capture the perfect platonic idea of the word ??
?harmless’, the incarnation of harmlessness so to speak, this was what it would look like.

  ‘That is the mysterious “he”?’ I whispered, gesturing at the little bald man. ‘He is supposed to be dangerous? He doesn’t look as if he could squash a mosquito!’

  Karim shrugged. ‘I do not know the Sahib’s business. I do not question the Sahib.’

  ‘No, of course you don’t.’

  But I was going to do a hell of a lot of questioning!

  The priest was smiling at Mr Ambrose now. Somehow, despite being faced by my employer’s cold eyes, he seemed to be labouring under the misapprehension that having visitors was a good thing. But that misapprehension wouldn’t last long. It was time to step in, both to save the poor priest from getting squashed, and to find out what the hell was going on here.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I began, stepping out of the shadow of the trees and curtsying to the priest. ‘I know it is very impolite of us to come unannounced to your, um…home like this, but-’

  I didn’t get any further.

  ‘Santa Maria!’ The priest stumbled back, staring at me, eyes wide. He raised a shaking finger to point. ‘La puta de Babilonia!’

  I leaned over to Mr Ambrose. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  Slowly, his eyes fixing on me one moment, then flickering away the next, the priest sank to his knees.

  ‘Pai nosso, que estais no céu

  Santificado seja o Vosso nome…’

  I leaned closer to Mr Ambrose. ‘Is that how priests normally greet visitors in Brazil?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  The priest let his eyes flicker to me again - then abruptly pressed them shut, and folded his hands in front of his chest.

  ‘…Venha a nós o Vosso reino,

  Seja feita a Vossa vontade,

  Assim na terra como no céu…’

  ‘Is he…praying?’

  ‘I believe so, Mr Linton.’

  One of the priest’s eyes opened a fraction of an inch, caught sight of me, still standing there in my shift - and abruptly snapped shut again!

  ‘…O pão nosso de cada dia nos dai hoje.

  Perdoai as nossas ofensas,

  Assim como nós perdoamos a quem nos tem ofendido…’