by Robert Thier
Sputtering and spraying water in all directions, I resurfaced from the horse trough. ‘Message? What message?’
Glancing over at me without bothering to turn his head, Mr Ambrose raised one eyebrow infinitesimally. ‘While we were at Jacques’ charming establishment, I paid someone to take a message to a certain politician we met yesterday, asking for reinforcements. Didn’t I mention that before?’
‘No. Somehow you neglected to tell me that fact before I risked my neck in a harebrained dash to suicide!’
I glared at him, demanding to see some guilt on his face.
But this Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He didn’t have a face, just a stone bust attached to his torso. Giving up, I plunged my head back into the horse trough. I’d set his ears on fire later!
‘Blldiag blablbdaa lmalablablabldlaa?’
‘Lblablda ddldkd dklal ak abblaoble.’
Who knew? The most incompressible language I had encountered so far on my travels wasn’t French, Spanish, or even Portuguese, but my own, listened to from underwater with my head stuck inside a horse trough. Maybe all English speakers should walk around with horse troughs on their head. It might encourage them to become bilingual.
Before I could come to any deeper underwater philosophical conclusions, however, my air ran out, and I had to resurface. I came up just in time to hear the French gentleman enquire: ‘…correct in the assumption that your mission is of a time-sensitive nature?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Very well. I shall detain you no further, then. Do you need someone to take care of your wound?’
‘Not currently, no. I have a very, very diligent nurse with me.’
‘Nurse?’ The French officer glanced around. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s hiding,’ Mr Ambrose said, his face as deadpan as a recently murdered cooking pot.
‘No wonder. Poor dear, she must ‘ave been frightened to death by this massacre. Such matters are no place for delicate ladies. She’s probably shivering in a corner somewhere.’
I felt a sudden desire to plunge his head into the horse trough. But before I could, the inn door opened and the innkeeper cautiously stuck his head outside. Once he saw that bullets were no longer flying, his caution evaporated instantly, and he burst into the open, gesticulating wildly.
‘C’est un outrage! Les citoyens honnêtes ne peuvent-ils pas aller de leurs affaires quotidiennes en paix en France de nos jours? Je vais me plaindre au maire! Je vais me plaindre au gouverneur! Je vais me plaindre au—’[45]
‘À moins que vous ne souhaitiez vous plaindre à Sa Majesté le roi, vous feriez mieux de fermer la bouche tout de suite!’[46]
The sharp voice of the French officer cut the man off. When he caught sight of the sabers, rifles, and uniforms, his eyes widened, and he retreated.
‘Leave,’ the officer advised Mr Ambrose. ‘We can ‘andle this. You have your own work to do. We’ll take care of the bodies and make sure this little incident will not fall under further scrutiny.’
My dear employer nodded—about as much of a ‘thank you’ as you could expect to get from Mr Rikkard Ambrose. Marching over to the nearest horse, he swung himself onto its back before anyone noticed it wasn’t his, and gave the animal the spurs.
‘Come, Mr Linton!’
‘Coming, Sir. I just—’
‘And leave the horse trough!’
Sighing, I let go. I was just about to get my ears clean!
Grabbing my own horse, which—clever beastie!—had somehow actually managed to stay alive and present, I galloped after Mr Ambrose. Karim was on my heels, luckily for my feet in a metaphoric manner. We rode silently through the night, the rising moon now our only pursuer. Time in this silent, shadowy world seemed like a distant concept. We rode, and rode, and rode.
It came suddenly. One minute, we were riding along, and the next—
‘There!’
Karim’s arm pointed into the darkness. Even squinting, it took me a moment or two to make out what he was seeing—but when I did, there was no doubt we were at the right place. The coach was standing right in front of the inn. It was huge, and even through the shadows I could vaguely see the giant forms of the lions rising on their back paws to form the crest of the East India Company. Right next to it was the crest of the earl.
Reining in my mount, I came to a stop next to Mr Ambrose.
‘What now?’
In the moonlight, his face looked as if chiselled from white marble.
‘Now we do what we came to do.’
‘And if it doesn’t work?’
The only answer was silence.
The Governor-General
‘Karim!’
The Mohammedan appeared beside us out of the shadows. ‘Yes, Sahib?’
Opening his saddlebag with his one good arm, Mr Ambrose reached inside and pulled out the uniform that we had fought so hard to obtain.
‘Here. Put this on.’
Karim looked as if he’d rather have swallowed a bucketful of merde, but he grabbed the uniform and vanished behind the nearest bush.
‘Shy, are we?’ I enquired sweetly.
No answer.
Rustle, rustle…
Scrape, scrape…
‘Sahib?’
‘Get on with it, Karim.’
‘Yes, Sahib. It is only…how big was the soldier we took this from?’
‘I have no idea, Karim. Get a move on!’
‘Yes, Sahib. As you command, Sahib.’
Rrrip!
There was a moment of silence.
‘Um…Sahib?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Karim, what is it now?’
‘Do you perchance have needle and thread?’
‘I think I might have one somewhere,’ I lied. ‘Should I come and see if I can help—’
‘No! No, no everything is perfectly fine! Stay where you are!’
‘Oh, but if you need help I’d be only too happy to—’
‘No help required! I have everything under control!’
Rrrip!
‘Boo da boja Bhander Tutti!’
‘Everything still under control, Karim?’ I enquired solicitously.
‘Yes! Definitely!’
Scrape, Scrape.
Scratch.
‘Ng! Arg!’
Scrape!
Finally, Karim emerged from behind the bush. And when I say ‘emerged’, I mean…well I wasn’t exactly sure what I meant. He was walking rather funny.
‘Feeling a bit tight around the waist?’ I asked. ‘I know the feeling from my corset.’
He threw me a look that promised thunder and vengeance. Then he stepped up to Mr Ambrose, and bowed. Or at least he tried to. He got about halfway down before his face twisted and he grabbed his crotch.
‘Rrg! I’m ready, Sahib.’
‘Good. You know what to do. And…Karim?’
‘Yes, Sahib?’
‘Don’t let your trousers split.’
Muttering something incomprehensible in Punjabi, the Mohammedan swung back onto his horse. He wheeled the animal around and rode off into the forest.
‘What is he doing?’ I demanded. ‘The inn is that way!’
‘True. And what do you think, Mr Linton, would the governor-general think if he saw a messenger who is supposed to be arriving from India arrive from a direction that has no major ports within a hundred miles? Is the messenger supposed to have ridden all the way from India?’
‘Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Indeed.’
Even for one of his indeeds, that was indeed a particularly frosty indeed. Glancing over at him, I saw he was sitting unnaturally stiff in the saddle. Normally, this wouldn’t have worried me, since everything about him from his soul to his handkerchief was unnaturally stiff. But considering the way he was clutching his arm…
‘Are you all right, Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
‘Certainly.’
‘Ah, good. So it won’t hurt if I do this,’ I said and jabbed his arm. He nearl
y toppled off his horse.
‘Nnrrg! Mr Linton!’
‘Yes?’ I blinked up at him, sweet and innocent as the driven snow after a yeti orgy.
‘I’m not a pin cushion! Desist from prodding me this instant.’
‘Oh. So you mean that did hurt after all? Should I take a look at it?’
Silence.
Then…
‘No. No, everything is fine.’
That bloody stubborn son of a bachelor! At this rate, he was going to kill himself! And for what? Pride?
I was about to blister his ears with some choice phrases, when something strange happened. My hand reached out of its own accord and came to rest on his uninjured shoulder.
‘What are you afraid of?’ I asked. Gently. Without even using a single curse word. What was the matter with me? ‘I’m here. I care. Don’t you know that?’
There was another moment of silence, longer this time. Finally, he shifted, his good hand coming to rest on mine.
‘I know. That’s what scares me.’
‘Why?’
He hesitated.
‘You might have noticed that I’m not particularly open-handed, Mr Linton.’
‘You don’t say? I would never have noticed.’
Out of the corner of his eye, he threw me a look. I shut up.
‘I’ve had to learn how to economize. Words. Money. Everything. I keep it all and give nothing away—because anything I give away is a weapon that can be used against me. But when you’re close…I want to have things I never knew I needed. And I want to give parts of myself away I never knew I had.’
His fingers clenched around mine.
‘You’re dangerous, Mr Linton. Deadly dangerous. Especially when I’m vulnerable.’
Gently, I raised my free hand to touch his face. ‘I would never do anything to hurt you, except demand a raise. You know that, don’t you?’
His fingers tightened even more. ‘I know. And you’re not getting a raise.’
‘Not even a shilling per week?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Sixpence?’
‘Can you help me?’
A quip about thruppence was on the tip of my tongue. But when his words reached my ears, my tongue froze, and so did my mind.
Mr Rikkard Ambrose was the hardest, strongest, most stubborn man I had ever met in my life—and for a girl who grew up in the house of Bufford Jefferson Brank, that’s saying something! I couldn’t remember him ever breathing the word ‘help’. But now, here, alone in the darkness with me, he was asking.
‘I’m about to fall off my horse, Mr Linton. Could you make up your mind?’
I squeezed his hand. That was the only answer he needed. Extending his healthy arm, he slipped it around my shoulder, and I felt a surge of warmth inside me. He was trusting me. He hadn’t asked anyone else for this. He hadn’t even asked Karim. He’d asked me. I wouldn’t disappoint him. I would show him that I could—
That was the moment when he put his weight on me.
‘Mmmph! Grrx!’
How shall I put it…Love can be a heavy burden.
‘Lillian? Are you all right?’
‘Oh yes,’ I wheezed. ‘Just peachy.’
Bloody stinking hell! How did he manage to get so heavy? If it had been any other man, I’d have said ‘sweets and meats’, but after several years in his employ, it was my firm belief that Mr Rikkard Ambrose subsisted on water and the smell of bank notes. I was just about to open my mouth and hint that maybe, just maybe, he was a little bit too heavy after all, when Mr Ambrose’s fingers touched my cheek.
‘Thank you, my little ifrit.’
My lips snapped shut. My spine straightened. Heavy? Who had said anything about heavy? I could do this. Ha! I could do this for two hours straight!
Just then, I heard a noise up ahead. Instantly, my eyes snapped to the spot in question and saw a giant figure on horseback break out of the forest and gallop towards the inn. I’d recognize that beard and headgear anywhere.
‘It’s time!’ I whispered.
Mr Ambrose’s arm tightened around my shoulder, and I felt warmth well up inside me once more. Sure, the warmth came from a two-ton furnace squashing me to death, but so what? It was a loving furnace that was relying on me.
A stable hand came out of the inn’s stable as he heard the horse approach. When he saw the figure of Karim ride up at full gallop, he nearly toppled over onto his butt. I had to work hard to suppress a grin.
‘Miss Linton…what’s happening?’
My head snapped to the side. Mr Ambrose was referring to me as ‘Miss’? He really had to be seriously injured! Staring at him, I saw a single drop of sweat run down his forehead. Crap! He never sweated. Never!
‘Miss Linton? I asked you a question.’
Quickly, I glanced back towards the inn. Karim had picked up the stable hand and put him back on his feet. He seemed to be questioning the young man, who was too sensible and scared to object. The stable hand gestured up at the inn. Karim nodded, handed the servant his horse, and strode towards the door.
‘He’s going in. And…he’s inside now. It looks like the governor-general really is here.’
‘Good.’
Good? Not adequate? Holy moly, I had to get him to a doctor straight away! Was the wound infected? Had the infection already reached his brain?
But before I could start to worry too much, my eye was drawn back to the inn. A familiar mountainous figure passed one of the upper windows. And…yes! There was another man. Much slimmer, with the roasted look of a pale aristocrat who had spent a little too much time in the hot sun of India. Even from this distance, I thought I saw a muscle in Karim’s jaw twitch. Then, slowly, as if his back had rusted, he sank into a bow. Extending his hand, he handed the governor-general some slim object.
‘What is that thing Karim is giving him?’
‘A…letter,’ Mr Ambrose wheezed. Wheezed. Mr Ambrose. ‘A letter with…the official seal of the East India Company.’
I stared at him. ‘How on earth did you get your hand on an official seal of the East India Company?’
‘I didn’t. Karim has one.’
The words hung heavy in the air. Karim? But he…he couldn’t have been…He couldn’t…?
No. It was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
‘Don’t.’
‘What?’ Blinking, I looked at Mr Ambrose. He was breathing heavily, but his gaze was steady as he looked at me.
‘I can see the cogs moving in your head, Miss Linton. Don’t ask. Not me, and most especially not Karim.’
‘But—’
‘Just don’t. For me.’
Damn him! Why did he have to put it like that? Why couldn’t he simply have ordered me around like usual? Then I’d have had no problem disobeying!
Sudden movement up in the inn drew my eyes and attention back to the window. The roasted aristocrat was rushing around, throwing things here and there, pulling on clothes and shouting commands I couldn’t hear. Karim was still standing there, massive and threatening as a Himalayan mountain peak. The governor-general must not have suspected a thing, or he wouldn’t be turning his back on the bodyguard like that.
Keep your fingers off your sabre, Karim! Come on. You can do it! Just a few more minutes.
Somewhere in the inn, a door slammed. Moments later, a sleepy fellow in a rumpled coachman’s uniform rushed out of the front door and started dragging a couple of equally sleepy horses out of the stable.
Yes! It’s working! Please, please let it work!
‘Miss…Miss Linton?’
Instantly, my head whirled back to Mr Ambrose. ‘Yes?’
‘I think…I…’
Silence.
And not of the comforting, cold, spine-chilling type.
‘Mr Ambrose?’
No answer.
‘Mr Ambrose, stay awake!’
Silence.
‘Stay awake, damn you! Stay with me.’
Still
no answer.
All right. Maybe I needed a different strategy.
‘Don’t you dare waste time sleeping! There’s work to be done!’
His eyelids fluttered. Yes!
‘The early bird gets the worm! Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise!’
One eyelid rose.
‘Miss Linton?’
‘Yes?’
‘Stop trying to annoy me with silly proverbs.’
Taking hold of his chin, I raised his head until he had no choice but to look straight into my eyes.
‘I’ll annoy you as much as I damn well please if it helps keep you awake! Pull yourself together! You need a doctor, and I can’t drag you back to Paris unconscious.’
‘A doctor? Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how much medical professionals in Paris charge for—’
I kissed him. That shut him up, and probably would have the added benefit of keeping him from falling asleep. If it didn’t, I honestly would have been rather miffed.
‘Listen to me, you stubborn sack of money!’ I growled against his lips. ‘I’m going to get you back to Paris, and then I’m going to get the best, most expensive doctor for you I can get my hands on, and I’m going to pay him out of your pocket! That’s what you get for being stupid enough to let yourself be shot! Understood?’
When he opened his mouth to fire back, I kissed him again—and he was silent.
I should employ this strategy more often.
Finally, I had to break away and gasp for air. Mr Ambrose was breathing heavily as well—but I didn’t really think it was from my marvellous kissing skills. He was swaying back and forth on his horse, and I barely managed to keep him upright.
‘Come on, Karim! Come on! Where are you? Get your butt back here!’
The door of the inn slammed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figure of the governor-general hurrying towards his coach. Moments later, the coach started to roll down the road, back towards the port it had come from. The sight lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders. Unfortunately, there was another, even heavier one, already there.
‘Miss…Miss Linton…I…’
‘Come on, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Hold on! Karim will be here any minute!’
