Silence Is Golden

by Robert Thier

  After that day, we resumed the same gruelling pace as before. Only - it didn’t feel quite as torturous as before. My legs didn’t tremble with every step, and didn’t have half as much to carry as they had a week or two ago. My strides became longer and steadier, and if I was not very much mistaken, Mr Ambrose now and again sent me looks of what bordered very nearly on reluctant approval.

  Only…approval of what? The pace with which I moved, or the way in which? He was still marching behind me, guarding my rear, and he took his duty very seriously. I could feel his gaze on my derrière day in and day out. Only in the night did he take his eyes off me - which was just as well, because you can’t sneak off into the jungle for secret shooting practice with the eyes of your employer fastened on your behind.

  It had occurred to me that, maybe, it wouldn’t be particularly safe to sneak out of the camp with soldiers roaming the jungle looking for us. But then, if I’d wanted a safe life, I probably shouldn’t have marched into a warzone to begin with. I needed to be able to defend myself. And I needed to be able to shoot Mr Ambrose’s top hat off his head in a fabulously impressive manner. So, as a precaution, I took along a blanket to wrap around the barrel and muffle the noise. It made aiming a little more difficult, but I could use an extra challenge. By now, I had gotten pretty handy with a gun. All right, I probably wouldn’t be able to compete with trained soldiers any time soon, but at least I could hit a standing target over a dozen paces away without the recoil knocking the gun out of my hand.

  ‘Die! Die, you ugly orange flower-cabbage-thingy!’

  Bam!

  ‘Die, you odd-looking tropical plant of unknown origin!’

  Bam! Bam!

  The plant exploded as the bullet hit home. Grinning, I whirled the weapon on one finger (which I managed to do about fifty per cent of the time without dropping it) and blew the smoke away. It would have been great to have a scuffed leather gun belt at my hips into which I could casually slip the still-smoking gun, but a girl couldn’t have everything, right?

  Well, maybe I could get one once I returned to London.

  ‘Well, well…Who do we have here?’

  Or…maybe not.

  I whirled around and raised my gun - just in time to have it slammed out of my hand by a burly soldier. I threw myself to the side, wanting to lunge for the gun on the ground, but the man grabbed me and held me in place. More soldiers stepped out of the shadows, followed by a tall figure in uniform. Colonel Silveira smiled at me, his white teeth shining in the dark. ‘We meet again Senhora.’

  Heroic Rescue à la Ambrose

  A general piece of advice to tourists and other travellers to the beautiful country of Brazil: avoid getting tied to poles. It’s very uncomfortable.

  Unfortunately, Colonel Silveira and his merry men had not been so courteous as to give me a choice in the matter when they had dragged me into this tent and twisted my arms behind my back. There had been a definite aura of hostility in the air, unbecoming of an officer welcoming visitors from a foreign country. Really, the way I was accommodated right now, with the ropes cutting into my wrists, the gag in my mouth and the bruise developing on my cheek where a fat sergeant had punched me after I tried to bite off his finger, you might almost think I was a prisoner and not an honoured guest.

  ‘Bloody Brazilians and their bloody civil war!’ I growled. Or at least I tried to growl. With the gag in my mouth it sounded more like ‘Blwd Brzllns nd dr bdy ceel or!’ How very dignified.

  And do you know what the best news was?

  Not that I had been captured, no. Not even that Colonel Silveira had promised to ‘personally attend’ to my questioning. No. The best thing was unquestionably, without the smallest doubt, that I’d had the manuscript with me when I went into their nets. Fool that I was, I’d actually thought it would be safest to keep the thing with me at all times! Now it didn’t look as if that would turn out to be so safe after all.

  And all this had happened because I wanted to learn how to defend myself. How to take care of myself. Now, here I was, tied to a pole in nothing but a glorified nightshirt, a gag in my mouth. Good job, Lilly!

  Tentatively, I tugged at the bindings keeping me chained to the pole. It was no use. The ropes cut into my skin and didn’t give a fraction of an inch. Bloody Brazilians! Why a pole, anyway? Did they intend to roast me over an open fire? I thought only natives did that kind of thing. And even they should have better sense than to try and roast me. After all, as experienced cannibals they’d have to see at a glance I would make for very chewy, fatty steaks. Now, Mr Ambrose…that was another matter. Once unfrozen, he might actually be rather tasty…

  Suddenly, the soft squishing of boots in wet mud came from the entrance of the tent. My head snapped up, just in time to see a dark figure crouching in the entrance, a knife in its hand.

  My heart jumped a mile high. Did the sergeant and his cronies come back to have a little fun with the captive?

  The dark figure moved forward, blocking out the moonlight completely. ‘Mr Linton? Mr Linton, you’re alive!’

  I breathed in a glorious sigh of relief. That was not the sergeant. There was only one man in the world who could pack that much annoyance into a statement of relief.

  ‘Mmph! Mmmp!’

  ‘My God, did they gag you?’

  ‘Ymm!’

  ‘Smart people.’

  ‘Mmmmp! Nmnnn! Mmm!’

  I was seriously considering strangling him for that little remark - but a moment later, I decided to forgive him. He was reaching out, his hands wandering searchingly over me, looking for the rope. He was going to untie me.

  ‘Behind my back,’ I tried to say. ‘Behind my back, at the pole!’

  But all that came out was, ‘Bnnd ma bbck, t pl!’

  His hands slowly wandered over my hips, then my waist. They slid over the belt I usually carried there, with a pouch or two hanging from it, along with a water bottle.

  No! No, not there! The ropes are further back!

  His hands slid into the first pouch.

  Wait just a minute…!

  ‘Hm…’ he murmured. ‘Not there. Let’s see…’

  He wasn’t untying me. He was checking my pockets!

  ‘Mmmmmh!’

  Leisurely, his hands slipped into the second pouch. ‘Not there either. Pity.’

  ‘Mmmph! Mp! Pfmmm Mmp!’

  ‘Did you keep the manuscript in there, Mr Linton? Or maybe you kept it somewhere a little more private.’

  My eyes went wide.

  ‘Wtt? Dnn’t drr!’

  ‘Let’s see…’

  ‘Dn’t y drr! Dn’t y drrr! M gna kllya-mmmhhhh…!’

  ‘Hm. No, nothing of interest there, either.’

  I really, really, really was going to kill him.

  He sighed. ‘Well, it wouldn’t have made sense for them to leave it here with you, anyway. The colonel is sure to have taken it with him to his own tent.’

  ‘Ntt nm!’

  ‘I’m going to go get it.’

  ‘Wwtt?’

  ‘It will only take a second. Don’t move.’

  Don’t move? Was he serious?

  Of course he was. He was Rikkard Ambrose.

  ‘Dn’t gg! Nt mm! Nnnmpf!’

  ‘Be quiet! They might hear you.’

  And with that encouraging remark, my would-be saviour vanished into the darkness. I mentally started listing ways in which I could maim, torture and kill him just as soon as I got my hands free.

  *~*~**~*~*

  The wait was not a pleasant one. It hadn’t been before, of course - but back then, the worst thing I could expect was being sadistically tortured for information. Now, I had actually to deal with the possibility of being rescued. By a man. And not by any man, either - by Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

  Please, God, why don’t you kill me now?

  But God was apparently busy tonight. I remained alive, and very much tied to the pole. A hundred horrific scenes played out in my head: Mr Ambrose cutting
my bonds; Mr Ambrose clutching me, the helpless little woman, fervently to his strong, masculine chest; Mr Ambrose whispering ‘There, there! You’re safe now’ into my hair. Ugh! I shuddered. No, I would definitely draw the line there! I might condescend to letting my bonds be cut, but having to be comforted like some dimwitted damsel? No, no, and no again! I would not let myself be rescued in an unfeministic manner!

  I had just come to that conclusion when the tent flap was pulled aside, and Mr Ambrose slid inside. I had to admit, now it was proving advantageous that he had kept his tailcoat and trousers during our jungle journey. All in black, he was hardly more than a shadow in the night.

  A shadow who had come to rescue me. Yuck!

  Oh, well, I was going to be firm. As soon as he removed the gag, I was going to explain to him that he wasn’t actually rescuing me, but only assisting me in rescuing myself. Furthermore, I would demand that he expunge this unfortunate incident from his memory and that he never ever mention the word ‘pole’ in my presence.

  ‘Still here, are you?’ He knelt in front of me.

  ‘Wll cnt g frr! Gtnn wtht!’

  ‘Keep still.’

  A blade flashed in the darkness. A moment later, the ropes that had bound me to the pole fell to the ground and I shuffled away with a sigh of relief. Half-turning, I held out my wrists to him, still tightly bound behind my back, waiting for the knife.

  He put the blade away.

  What the-?

  A moment later that unfinished question was succinctly answered when he grabbed me around the waist, hauled me up and slung me over his shoulder.

  Without removing my bonds.

  Without removing my gag.

  ‘Nnng! Mmp! Mmmmmph!’

  ‘Yes, you are quite heavy, aren’t you?’

  ‘Mmmph? Mmmph mp!’

  ‘But, in spite of that fact, the situation does have a few advantages,’ he remarked, his hands sliding over areas of my body that, in this position, were suddenly very accessible to him. ‘Don’t you agree, Mr Linton?’

  ‘Nnng! Mgmk! Mmph! Rg!’

  Swiftly and powerfully, he rose to his feet. If my weight really bothered him, his movements didn’t betray the fact. He slid out of the tent, where a shadow was waiting, so big it could only be one man.

  ‘Sahib?’

  ‘I have her, Karim.’

  ‘Intact?’

  ‘To judge by the way she’s squirming, in mint condition. And you?’

  ‘The manuscript is back in our possession.’

  ‘Adequate. Let’s move.’

  We slid silently through the night. Even in my current state of blind, disbelieving rage, I was smart enough to realise I had better keep quiet while we were in the enemy camp. If we were captured again, we’d never get out of here. And if we didn’t get out of here, I would never get my chance to murder Mr Ambrose. And I needed to murder him! I wouldn’t even need a weapon! I would simply close my fingers around that velvet throat of his and squeeze hard! And, if my fingers weren’t strong enough, I would bite his throat and gnaw and nibble until I reached his lips and then I would-

  No, no! Bad Lilly! That’s kissing! You wanted to kill, remember? Kill, not kiss! With double-l, not double-s!

  Well, it was an easy mistake to make.

  Kill. That’s what you’re going to do. Kill!

  It wouldn’t be long now until I got my chance. I didn’t see much of what was going on from my position, but I glimpsed the slumped body of a guard on the ground, and felt the lights of the camp receding. As soon as we were safely away, he would cut my bonds and set me down, and the bloody business of the night could finally begin!

  Or that’s what I thought.

  Only…when the camp had completely disappeared in the dark behind us, and we were safe in the depths of the jungle, Mr Ambrose didn’t put me down.

  ‘Mmph! Mmp mph!’

  ‘You know, I could get used to this, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Mmph? Pttt mm dnn!’

  ‘The calm, the incredibly relaxing quiet - yes, this situation really has its advantages.’

  ‘Mmm gna kll y!’

  ‘Pardon, what was that?’

  ‘Rrrrrg!’

  ‘Nothing? Oh, good. I thought you had said something.’

  How do you clobber someone over the head with your hands tied behind your back? Difficult question. I would probably have to settle for an alternative. Pulling back my leg with all the force I could muster, I kicked, aiming for his crotch.

  He caught my foot long before it hit home. Effortlessly restraining me, he ran his fingers along my bare calf and I - Damn me! - felt butterflies flutter in my stomach.

  ‘Hm…’ he murmured. ‘Yes, definite advantages.’

  His hand slid further up my calf.

  Kiss him!

  No, no! Kill, not kiss!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Well…maybe you can do both?

  Yes, but which one first?

  Who cares? As cold and stiff as he is, it’ll hardly matter!

  *~*~**~*~*

  I don’t know how long I hung over his back like this. An hour? Two? Only a few minutes? It felt like the longest time ever to me. But every time his hands skimmed over my bare skin, every time he murmured to me with that cold, commanding voice of his that could reach right into my chest down to my heart, a tiny part of me wished it would never stop.

  Of course, there was also that big part of me that was still dreaming of strangulation!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Finally, we reached a sort of semi-clearing under the branches of a gigantic tree that had frightened away all trees for several yards in every direction. Mr Ambrose stopped under its majestic branches, glancing up at the hidden night sky.

  ‘We’ll make camp here for the night.’ Sliding me off his shoulders, he set me on my feet. Blood rushed down in my body, and I swayed. Mr Ambrose’s hands shot out, catching me, holding me up. ‘Karim?’

  ‘I, um…should scout the area, Sahib. See if everything is safe.’

  Mister Ambrose’s eyes remained focused on me, glittering in the darkness. ‘You do that.’

  Without another word, the Mohammedan disappeared into the underbrush.

  ‘Well, well, now, Mr Linton…’ Raising one hand, Mr Ambrose stroked it down the side of my face, sliding strands of my hair through his fingers. ‘You’ve had quite the adventure. I hope you’ve learned something from it?’

  I tried to spit out the gag and bite him. But the bloody thing stayed firmly lodged in my mouth. ‘Grr! Ng! Mph!’

  ‘Apparently not.’ Stepping around me, Mr Ambrose slid one arm around my waist. Suddenly, he tugged, pulling me hard against him.

  ‘Don’t ever do that again, Mr Linton!’ His voice was a satin-covered ice shard in my ear. ‘Do you hear? Don’t ever leave the camp at night again! Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?’

  ‘Nnng! Mph!’

  His lips moved over my ear, whispering against my skin. ‘Well? Do you?’

  ‘Ng! Wss pffrct ffnn!’

  Something glinted in the traces of moonlight falling through the roof of branches. I tensed.

  ‘Hold still.’

  A moment later, I felt cold steel against my skin. There was tearing noise, and - Yes! - the bonds holding my hands fell away. I didn’t hesitate a second. My legs were weak, my arms were numb and my head felt woozy. But that didn’t stop me from throwing myself at Mr Rikkard Ambrose and punching him in the face.

  However, his hand did stop me.

  It was just suddenly there, closing around my wrist, tight as a torture device and far more dangerous. A torture device would have made me want to scream. His hand made me want to moan and beg for more.

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  ‘Y blldy bstrd!’ />
  Blast! I still had that bloody gag in my mouth! Kicking Mr Ambrose in the shins, I lunged forward. The kick didn’t really hurt him, but it distracted him enough for his grip on the knife to loosen. In a flash, I had twisted it out of his hand and raised it to my face, slipping it under the knot that held the gag in place. There was a ripping sound, and the filthy cloth fluttered to the ground.

  ‘You bloody bastard!’ Ah, the bliss of free speech! ‘Chauvinist pig! Dastardly, ditch-digging deviant!’

  There was so much fire in my belly I didn’t even realise I’d cut myself until I tasted blood. I didn’t care! I aimed another kick at Mr Ambrose, but he caught my leg between his.

  ‘Let me go!’

  ‘Why?’ he breathed, his hot breath tickling my skin. ‘I prefer things like this.’

  Raising his hand, he slid a finger along the corner of my mouth.

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  His finger came away bloody.

  ‘You should be more careful, Mr Linton.’

  ‘To hell with being careful! To hell with you!’

  ‘I told you once already,’ he growled. ‘The road to hell is paved with good intentions. And right now, I don’t have any of those.’

  He tightened his grip and pounced. A moment later, our mouths met and we came together in a hot, irresistible mix of blood, sweat and need. The stuff that sin is made of. My lips fought with his, struggling for dominance, neither of us willing to give up. His tongue entered the battle, sliding to the corner of my mouth, tasting my blood. I felt my knees grow weak.

  Kiss!

  Kill!

  Kiss!

  Ki-

  Oh, to hell with it! You can always do that later!

  Giving up the struggle, I mashed myself up against him, throwing my arms around his neck. Only when the blade thudded against the wood of the tree behind him did I realise I was still holding the knife.

  I grinned against his lips. Pulling back the blade, I slowly slid it down the side of his head until it rested below his chin. Then I broke the kiss.

  ‘Don’t ever do something like this again?’ I whispered. ‘Or next time I’ll take the gag and make you choke on it! Understood?’

  He growled. ‘You’re a dangerous woman.’

  ‘Yes, I am. Don’t you forget it!’