Silence Is Golden

by Robert Thier

  Unanimous shouts of agreement went off from all around. Shots rang out as bullets pierced the sky.

  ‘Then it is decided! They will set off immediately, guided by the very best of our people. Chandresh, step forward!’

  The big Indian we had met on our first day in the village stepped towards the old lady, his chest proudly puffed out.

  ‘Chandresh, my grandson, you will guide our friends on their journey. Do not lead them astray. Their lives are in your hands.’

  I had expected him to bow, or clap his fist to his heart, or do something equally dramatic. But all he did was nod and gesture to his men. Immediately, five Indians ran off into the jungle, scouting ahead.

  ‘As for you,’ the old lady continued, turning back to Mr Ambrose, ‘I leave you in good hands. You will reach your goal safely. Whether or not you find everything there that you are looking for - that is your business. However, before we part, I have one more thing to say to you.’

  Standing up on her tiptoes, she leaned towards Mr Ambrose and whispered something to him in Portuguese, too fast and low for me to understand. Whatever it was - it made his eyes flicker to me, just for a split second. He said something back to her, sharply, and the old lady shook her bony finger under his nose.

  Bloody hell! What on earth was that about?

  I didn’t get a chance to wonder about it for long. Mr Ambrose nodded to Chandresh, the big Indian barked a command and we were off, marching between the village huts towards the jungle. The remaining tribe cleared a path for us, waving their bows and guns in the air and shouting encouragement. We passed the last hut. The line of trees loomed ahead, beckoning to us. Slowly, the shouts of encouragement from behind us grew dimmer and dimmer, until finally, they faded into the distance. The first trees began to rise up on either side of us, their tops towering above our heads. Following Chandresh’s lead, we marched deeper into the shadow, until mist and hot, green shadows surrounded us.

  The jungle had swallowed us again.

  *~*~**~*~*

  In a lot of ways, our journey through the jungle was a good bit nicer than it had been before. For instance, I was by no means so worried about the Brazilians finding us, with dozens of Indian guards around us, leading us by safe paths and obscuring our tracks. Then, there was the fact that my days as a tree-climbing monkey were over. The Indians were perfectly able to find their way through the jungle without clambering up trees. And when it did prove necessary once in a while, Amana pushed me aside with a gentle smile. She was the fastest tree-climber and best jungle-sneaker in the whole tribe. A spider monkey couldn’t hold a candle to her (even if spider monkey were in the habit of using candles).

  But there were still some aspects of the journey that were as bad as ever. In fact, they grew worse. Foremost among those were the heat and the mosquitos. We had to be getting closer and closer to the equator. With every step, it seemed, the jungle seemed to be more determined to cook me alive and suck my blood. I even briefly wondered whether these mosquitos here in the Amazonian jungle were distantly related to the vampires that had become so popular in penny dreadfuls[29] back home recently. They definitely seemed pretty determined to suck an innocent, helpless virgin dry!

  Maybe you should just do something about that virgin thing, then…

  That method of insect protection was very tempting, admittedly. But there were a few too many people around to implement it speedily. Besides, there were still those pesky little issues attached to losing your virginity - like pregnancy or becoming a social pariah. So I marched on and bore the mosquitos as patiently as a martyr. Except for the complaining. Lots and lots of complaining.

  ‘Damn blasted blood-sucking beasts! Blast, blast, blast you all the way to hell!’

  ‘Um…Lillian.’ Amana glanced at me nervously, not sure what my one-hundred-per-cent English cursing was all about. She was marching beside me, appearing miraculously serene, although mosquitos were crawling all over her. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘You bet something is the matter!’ I repeated my curses in Portuguese forthwith, and did a pretty good job of translating, if I do say so myself. Boy, I was turning into a bloody good linguist! ‘I’m being eaten alive!’

  ‘The mosquitos? They are bothering you?’

  ‘They are sucking me dry!’

  ‘Why don’t you keep them away?’

  ‘Keep them away? Ha! That’s easier said than done. How am I supposed to keep a whole swarm of those blood-thirsty little suckers at a distance?’

  ‘There is a way.’

  Amana’s voice was so quiet and matter-of-fact that it took a moment or two for the meaning of her words to sink in. When it did, I froze in my tracks. The man behind me bumped into me, cursing in the Indian’s native language, and I hurried forward to catch up with Amana.

  ‘Are you serious? Please tell me you’re not joking!’

  She smiled at me shyly. ‘No, no. I’m not joking. Haven’t you wondered why the mosquitos don’t bother me?’

  I hadn’t, actually. I was far too busy cursing and aching all over. But now that she mentioned it, I did wonder. I wondered a hell of a lot!

  ‘What?’ I demanded ‘What is your secret? Please! Please, tell me! I’ll do anything! I’ll pay you a million pounds! I’ll kill somebody for you! I’ll give you my firstborn! Just please, please tell me! How do you do it?’

  ‘It’s not difficult. You just have to…’

  Sidling closer, she whispered into my ear.

  My jaw dropped open.

  ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh my holy…! And that works?’

  ‘Yes.’

  My eyes flickered to Mr Ambrose. Slowly, a smile started to spread over my face. This method had…possibilities.

  *~*~**~*~*

  The next morning, I rose before anybody else and made my way into the jungle until I found a nice bit of ground, moist enough for my purposes, but not swampy enough to sink in. Following Amana’s advice, it only took a couple of minutes to complete my business.

  And you know what?

  She had been right!

  It was an instant relief. Sighing at the pleasurable feeling of peace all around me, I gathered up my things and started back towards the campsite. Karim and a few of the Indians were sitting around a map, their backs to me, talking in low murmurs. My dear employer was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Where is Mr Ambrose?’ I asked.

  Karim jabbed his thumb westwards. ‘Gone to the stream to take a drink.’ He half turned to look at me. ‘Why, what do you want from hi-’

  His voice died in his throat. His eyes, almost hidden under his huge eyebrows a moment before, turned as wide as saucers.

  ‘Is something the matter, Karim?’ I asked, sweetly.

  ‘Grk. Ng. Err…um…’

  The Indians turned to look at me too, to see what all the fuss was about. None of them seemed to be particularly shocked by what they saw. A few nodded at me. One smiled. Amana winked. I winked back, then turned another beaming smile on Karim.

  ‘Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be going now, all right? I have a sudden inexplicable desire to see Mr Ambrose.’

  ‘Ng!’

  ‘Toodle-pip!’[30]

  I slipped away, off into the jungle, before Karim could blow the alarm, or do something else to derail my devious plans. Sneakily, like a slithery snake, I made my way down to the little stream that wound through the jungle not far away from our camp. Mr Ambrose was kneeling at the bank, refilling his water bottle.

  Stepping out of the underbrush, I cleared my throat.

  ‘I’m busy!’ he snapped, not bothering to turn around to see who it was.

  I cleared my throat again.

  ‘Yes?’ This time he did turn. ‘What is the ma-’

  His voice died on a strangled choke in mid-sentence. His eyes didn’t turn as big as saucers - that would have required too much facial movement - but they did widen at least 0.00451 inches. For Mr Ambrose
, that was quite something.

  I smiled at him.

  ‘Good God!’ Springing to his feet, he stumbled back, almost falling into the stream. ‘Who…what…?’

  My smile grew wider. This was going better than I had expected.

  ‘Good morning, Sir.’

  The Lusty Golem

  ‘Mr Linton?’

  ‘You didn’t recognise me?’ I took a step forward. ‘Well, I suppose I do look a bit different from before.’

  He tried to take a step back. But taking a step back is difficult with a stream behind you. ‘You could say that!’

  ‘It’s the hair, isn’t it? It’s the hair that makes me look so different.’

  ‘Not particularly. I’d have said it was the fact that you are covered from head to toe in mud!’

  ‘Ah. Yes, that, too.’

  ‘What in God’s name happened to you? You look like an Indian coming back from a ten-day hunt in the jungle!’

  ‘Funny you should mention that, because, you know, that’s actually where I got the idea from.’

  ‘What idea?’

  I shrugged. ‘It’s those bloody mosquitos. I was pretty desperate for a way to make them a little less bloody - at least as long as my veins were their favourite diet. I could have put on more clothes, of course, as a protection - but it’s already more than hot enough in this green pot of hellstew. Then Amana mentioned this trick the Indians have: they don’t wear any clothes either, of course, so they roll around in the mud until they’re covered by a nice, thick, protective crust. That not only keeps the mosquitos away, but also has a nice cooling effect as it hardens. Then it just falls off.’

  I smiled, proudly, hoping for a compliment on my acclimatisation skills or something like that. But Mr Ambrose, like always, had right away picked up the essential part of the conversation.

  ‘They don’t wear any clothes either?’ His voice was as cold as midnight in the middle of an arctic winter. ‘Mr Linton, do you mean to tell me that underneath that layer of mud, you are…you are…?’

  He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. His eyes did all the talking for him. They swept over me, taking me in this time not just as the friendly neighbourhood mud-monster, but as the woman beneath. The moment he realised what he was seeing, his gaze whipped away, and a muscle tightened in his jaw. Desperately, he rolled his eyes from left to right, trying to find anything for them to land on that wasn’t me.

  ‘You are naked!’

  ‘Yep,’ I confirmed cheerily. ‘It’s really comfy. You should try it.’

  ‘Comfy? Comfy?’

  ‘Why do you think the Indians do it?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know! I, Mr Linton, am not an Indian! I am an English gentleman of good breeding.’

  ‘What a shame.’

  ‘Put something on immediately! That is an order!’

  I put a finger to my arm. It came away sticky, covered with a nice, brownish extra layer. ‘I have plenty on.’

  ‘I meant clothing, not half-dried mud!’

  ‘Doesn’t that count?’

  ‘No!’

  I smiled at him innocently. ‘Oh dear. I’m so sorry, I’m a bit behind on Brazilian fashion.’

  ‘I’m serious, Mr Linton!’

  ‘So am I.’ I took a step forward, still smiling. ‘You had better get used to seeing me like this. After all, we still have a long way ahead of us.’

  ‘What?’ He tried to glare at me without looking at me, which even for a glarer as experienced as Rikkard Ambrose is something of an impossible feat. ‘You are not travelling the rest of the way like a…like…like this!’

  ‘I most certainly am.’ I took another step forward, my smile slowly morphing from amused to flirtatious. ‘Don’t you like me like this, Sir?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Liar.’

  He said nothing in answer. Silence reigned in the jungle, loud and clear. I saw his throat move as he swallowed hard.

  ‘Why won’t you look at me, Sir?’

  ‘You know perfectly well why!’ Was it just my imagination, or was his voice the slightest bit hoarse? ‘Put some clothes on, right now!’

  ‘Actually, I don’t think I will.’ I took another step forward.

  ‘Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you!’

  ‘Why?’

  He took a quick step back, right into the stream. Water splashed around his black shoes that, somehow, even here in the jungle were still shiny. ‘Because…because…’

  ‘No need to be afraid.’ I placed a hand on my chest, right over my heart. When I pulled it away, it left a very strategically placed bare patch. ‘It’s just me.’

  ‘Yes. Just you. Nothing else. That’s the problem!’ He took another step back into the stream, his eyes focused firmly on the treetops above my head. ‘And I am not afraid of a girl!’

  ‘Indeed?’ Another step forward. ‘Then why don’t you stop?’

  ‘Because…because…’

  His teeth ground together in the fruitless search for an answer. He shifted, torn between the instinct to run, the instinct to fight, and the instinct to peek. I took another step forward, quite curious to see which instinct would win.

  He took another step back, but only a small one. He was knee-deep in water now, and I was only a few yards away from him. It was becoming quite difficult for him to not look at me. Tension sparked through the air.

  ‘Mr Ambrose?’

  My voice was soft. Breathy. I had come here with the intention of having a bit of fun at his expense - but now that didn’t seem so important anymore. I suddenly realised that we were alone, far away from the others, and the protective covering of mud on my skin wasn’t at all as thick as I had thought. When I had been with the others, it had almost felt like clothing. But in the presence of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, it felt like nothing more than the shell of an egg - easily shattered.

  ‘Mr Linton?’ His voice was cold and raw and sharp-edged, like the cliffs of a freshly calved iceberg.

  ‘Look at me!’

  The strength of my voice took even me by surprise. Had I ever dared give Mr Rikkard Ambrose an order before? But if I was surprised at my own words, it was nothing compared to the surprise of seeing them obeyed.

  Slowly, torturously slowly, his eyes came down from the roof of leaves above and settled on me. And all of a sudden it didn’t matter that, technically, there was a layer of protection between him and me. It didn’t matter that it was only his eyes caressing me, not his hands. I could feel him. Could feel his gaze slide over my tangled, mud-capped hair, down my throat, over my chest and farther down, until…

  Under the mud, I felt my skin heat.

  My legs moved, as if of their own account, carrying me forward.

  ‘Do you like what you see, Sir?’

  ‘No!’

  But his eyes kept devouring me, as if I were the key to the vaults of the Bank of England.

  I smiled, continuing to advance. My gait had somehow become lithe and predatory, like that of a jungle cat. ‘Liar!’

  He took another step backwards. Soon, he’d almost be waist-deep in the water. ‘I’m not lying, Miss- I mean, Mr Linton! I find you repugnant!’

  I took another step forward, still smiling.

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, indeed I do! I also find you grisly, grotesque, hideous, horrid, unsightly, appalling, and, and…’

  Never before in my life had I seen Mr Rikkard Ambrose struggle for words. Usually, he didn’t need them - especially to insult. Just his icy glare was enough. But the look in his eyes right now was anything but insulting. Any woman who felt this gaze on her could only feel heat and need inside.

  ‘Beastly?’ I suggested. ‘Foul?’

  ‘Yes! Exactly!’

  I took another step forward. He was almost in reach now. But instead of reaching out for him, I reached out for myself. I ran a hand down my throat and towards an area of my upper body that seemed to hold particular interest for him. His left little finger twitched.<
br />
  ‘And tell me, Sir…why is it that you find me so repugnant? Which part of me-,’ using my other hand, I traced the curve of my hips, ‘-repels you so?’

  He cleared his throat.

  ‘You…you are dirty!’

  From underneath, I smirked up at him. ‘I bet you like it dirty.’

  ‘Mr Linton!’

  My hand slid away from my chest, pointing further down. ‘Miss,’ I corrected him. ‘The proof’s right there.’

  ‘Mr Linton!’

  ‘Miss. You really are a stubborn man.’

  Another step forward brought me within reaching distance. I lifted my hand from where it had been resting and raised it towards Mr Ambrose. He twitched back as if it were an adder. ‘Stop! You, um…you can’t touch this suit! It’s still in mint condition. I won’t have it ruined.’

  ‘So take it off,’ I purred.

  ‘I, um…I…’

  Bloody hell! Being the seductive siren was fun. Why didn’t more women do this? Seeing Mr Ambrose squirm was just about the most delicious sight of my life. Now, if he would only take off his shirt…

  My hand reached for his top button, and he ducked out of the way, stumbling back farther into the stream.

  ‘No!’ he ground out between clenched teeth. ‘Impossible! What if somebody came…if somebody saw us…saw you, like this!’

  ‘Oh, yes, that would be a real tragedy.’ I followed him, my eyes sparkling. ‘Those poor natives have probably never seen anybody naked before. I bet it would scar them for life.’

  ‘What about Karim? If he came-’

  ‘He already saw me.’

  ‘What?’

  For one moment, Mr Ambrose wasn’t flustered. For one moment, his eyes flashed with cold, ruthless fire.

  ‘Don’t worry. I packed the mud on thick.’ Stretching on my toes, I whispered in his ear: ‘But I’ll let you wash it off, if you want. Everywhere.’

  The promise of vengeance vanished from his eyes, and instead, another cold fire started to burn there. One that lit me up inside, drawing me closer.

  ‘What do you want to start with?’ Reaching out, I took his unresisting hand. It was unnaturally still. I could feel the power in it, barely contained under a shell of cold stone. Slowly, I raised it until it hovered just over my belly.