Silence is Golden: Volume 3 (Storm and Silence Saga)

by Robert Thier

  ‘Am I too rich for you? Too powerful? Too strong?’

  ‘N-no…I…’

  Underneath the chemise, his fingers found their way to my back, stroking down my spine from the top to the literal bottom. I almost bit my tongue off trying not to moan.

  ‘Am I too beautiful? Too hard? Too perfect?’

  With all my might, I tried to gather my scattered wits.

  ‘You’re a ch-chauvi…’ I muttered, ‘chauvinist…’

  He just laughed a deep, masculine arrogant laugh that only made me crave him more. Damn him!

  ‘True,’ his lips whispered against my skin. ‘I do believe that men are stronger than women.’ In a lightning-fast move, his hands shot out, capturing my arms at either side of me by the wrists. In just an instant he had them pinned to the ground so I was spread out underneath him, helpless and trembling with need. ‘Can you honestly disagree?’

  Oh yes, I could! Of course I could! And I would, as soon as I could remember the appropriate arguments and convince my tongue to speak. At the moment, the stubborn thing seemed to be interested in doing one thing, and one thing only.

  *~*~**~*~*

  It took me till next morning to remember my feminist principles. But when I saw Mr Ambrose checking and cleaning his gun, a familiar spark of rebellion lit up inside me.

  ‘Why don’t I have one of those?’ I demanded.

  He looked up, his hands freezing.

  ‘Because you are a girl, Mr Linton,’ he said and continued with his inspection.

  ‘You know, for saying a sentence like that you should really have your head examined!’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed! And not just because you used the words “girl” and “mister” to refer to the same person. We are only three out here in the jungle, and the rebels and imperials might very well still be on our trail! Don’t you think it might be better if we had three people with guns instead of just two?’

  This time he didn’t even bother to look up. ‘No. Not if the third doesn’t know how to shoot.’

  ‘Then teach me how to shoot!’

  The sentence hung in the air, heavy with promise.

  Teach me how to shoot.

  Guns equalled power. A man’s power. Men could carry guns with them wherever they pleased, could demand satisfaction from anybody and shoot them down in a duel. A lady would fall into disgrace if she even so much as held a pistol. Images I had often dreamt of, but never really dared hope for, suddenly flared in front of my inner eye: me, riding on horseback in a hunting party, a rifle slung across my shoulder. Me, standing across from a man who had dared to threaten my family, raising my pistol. Me, in glorious triumph, standing over-

  ‘No.’

  That one word cruelly shattered my nicely bloody dreams. I glared at the stone statue still checking his gun with precision.

  ‘Why not?’ I demanded - although I knew the answer before the question was out of my mouth.

  ‘Because you are a girl.’

  ‘And you are a stubborn, chauvinistic son of a bachelor!’

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Mr Linton.’

  He snapped the gun shut with a sharp click and put it away.

  ‘Come on!’ I pleaded, knowing that I sounded like I was whining, and not caring. ‘It’s not as if we’re hard pressed for ammunition, is it? We took the Brazilians’ weapons, packhorses and bullets. We could shoot down every monkey in this jungle and still have enough bullets left to stage a coup in Rio de Janeiro!’

  ‘Which we are not going to do, Mr Linton.’

  Placing one hand over my heart, I raised the other in the air. ‘If you teach me to shoot, I swear I will abandon all revolutionary ambitions. I’ll also promise to never use my newly acquired skills to try and shoot you.’

  He cocked his head, giving me a long, long look. ‘The fact that you would have to promise that does not exactly raise my confidence in you, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘No. It’s a no.’

  ‘But-’

  He raised a warning finger, cutting me off in mid-protest. ‘No argument, Mr Linton!’

  And I didn’t argue.

  Instead, I practised patience until we camped that night and the sun had set, snuck up to the packhorses and pinched a gun. It was a bloody big thing, and heavy. It didn’t have that nice revolving cylinder with the seven bullets that was the prime feature of Mr Ambrose’s guns. But it was a gun. I took it off into the jungle until I found a nasty-looking yellow-orange plant that seemed shootworthy and took aim.

  Now…breathe deeply. Raise your arm and keep it steady. You’ve seen men do this, right? So it can’t be that difficult.

  My eyes zeroed in over the barrel on a poisonous-looking bloom. Holding my breath, I took aim, crooked my finger around the trigger and…

  Click.

  Hey…Wait just a moment! Click? That wasn’t right! It was supposed to go kaboom!

  I shook the gun. Maybe it was a bit stubborn? Well, there was nothing for it but trying again.

  Click. Click. Cli-

  ‘I took out the bullets, Mr Linton.’

  The voice from behind me came so suddenly, I whirled around instinctively, raised the gun, and-

  Click!

  ‘And well I did,’ Mr Ambrose said with dangerous calm, ‘or my head would be a collection of bloody splatters on the tree behind me right now.’

  ‘Oh. Um…oops. Sorry about that.’ My ears started to burn. But then his first words registered. ‘Wait a minute - you did what?’

  ‘I took the bullets out of all the guns we acquired. Or, to be more precise, I had Karim do it. I knew that sooner or later you would try to sneak off to blow up some innocent tree. I know you.’

  ‘If you know me,’ I said sweetly, stepping towards him, clutching the gun like a cudgel, ‘do you know what I would like to do to you right now?’

  ‘If I would hazard a guess, I would say it involves inappropriate violence.’

  ‘Violence? Oh yes, it does! But inappropriate? I beg to differ!’

  My fist lunged forward, still clutching the gun. Before it even got near that too-damn-perfect face of his and had a chance of leaving a nice scar, his hand shot up and closed around my wrist. I might as well have been clapped in irons.

  ‘Why do you insist on this?’ His voice was fierce, his eyes glinting in the dark. ‘Don’t you think I’ll keep you safe?’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ I growled, punching his chest with my free hand. It was like punching a rock. He didn’t even flinch. ‘I have to be able to defend myself!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why? What sort of question is that?’

  ‘The kind I would appreciate an answer to.’

  ‘Because…because I want to be independent! I have to be able to stand on my own two feet!’

  ‘And what,’ he growled, leaning down towards me, his hard chest pressing deliciously into me, ‘if I don’t want you to stand on your feet?’ His foot shot forward, and in one swift move he had tugged my legs out from under me. I fell back with a yelp and landed in his arms. They held me. Hard. Hot. Close. ‘What if I want you like this?’

  ‘Too bad! Then you’re out of luck, Sir!’

  ‘Really?’ He lowered his face until I could feel his breath on my face, caressing my skin. And my heart, the traitorous bloody organ, nearly jumped out of my chest with joy at the proximity! ‘I’m feeling lucky tonight.’

  And his lips came crashing down on mine.

  I didn’t think about guns again that night - but there definitely were a lot of explosions going off, trust me.

  Sneaky Studies

  For the next few days, Mr Ambrose kept me much too busy to think of a new plan. He used me as his personal monkey, sending me up jungle trees at regular intervals to check our course and see if we were being followed. But, after a few days, he seemed content that I had given up, and let up on me a little.

  Big mistake.

  I had thought l
ong and hard about how to achieve my goal, and finally had come up with a plan that I knew could not fail. I broached the topic one morning while we sat in a circle, consuming our meagre breakfast.

  ‘Mr Ambrose?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Linton?’

  ‘I was thinking…’

  ‘How unfortunate.’

  ‘I was thinking that maybe now would be a good time to start teaching me how to shoot. Have you changed your mind?’

  That was about as sensible a question as asking a warthog if it planned on becoming a fairy in its future career, and the answer came quickly, as expected.

  ‘No. Be silent.’

  But that was only the first part of my plan. The real fun was just about to start. Ignoring Mr Ambrose, I conjured up a smile on my face and turned to the only other person in the camp.

  ‘Karim?’

  Startled, the bodyguard glanced up at me, the look on his face supremely disdainful with a hint of surprise mixed in, like a vestal virgin propositioned by a common plebeian. (Except for the gigantic beard and sabre, of course.)

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Will you teach me how to shoot?’

  Karim raised his chin. ‘I walk on the path of righteousness! Nothing you can say could induce me to teach anything to a creature like you.’

  ‘Is that so? Well, in that case…’ Hopping to my feet, I skipped over to him, and before he could draw away, whispered something in his ear. Under his tan and beard, the Mohammedan went pale.

  ‘You wouldn’t! Not even a creature such as you…’

  I gave him a charming smile. ‘Worse than an ifrit, remember? So, what do you say?’

  For a moment, just a moment, a titanic struggle took place on the poor man’s face - then his shoulders sagged.

  ‘I shall teach you.’

  ‘What?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was as sharp as a razor. ‘You most certainly shall not!’

  The bodyguard half-turned towards Mr Ambrose and bowed, his expression mournful. ‘Pardon me, Sahib. But in this case, I will have to follow this creature’s orders over yours.’

  For one instant, one brief moment of bliss, I actually saw the expression of surprise cross Mr Ambrose’s face. ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘It is so, Sahib. The intrigues of this evil creature are too powerful for me to resist. I pray you excuse me now, Sahib. I have to go contemplate my future sins.’

  And he marched off into the jungle with a mournful expression on his face.

  Slowly, Mr Ambrose turned to me, his eyes flashing. ‘What did you say to him?’

  ‘I threatened to take the rest of my clothes off if he didn’t comply,’ I told him, grinning from ear to ear. ‘Spiffing idea, don’t you think?’

  From the non-expression on his face, I gathered he didn’t share my opinion in that regard.

  ‘Well…’ Sighing, I got to my feet. ‘I suppose I’d better go after him and start my lesson. Will you let me have a loaded gun, or will I have to threaten poor Karim further to get one out of him?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘All right, if that’s how you want it…’

  Shrugging, I started to move away - and jerked to a sudden stop when his hand shot out, closing around my wrist like an iron vice.

  ‘I will teach you.’

  I tried to tug free - then the words he had just spoken arrived in my brain.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  Slowly, he raised his gaze to mine, spearing me with two sharp, dark icicles. ‘I said I will teach you.’

  I blinked at him, confused.

  ‘But a moment ago…’

  ‘That was then. Now is now.’

  ‘But Karim-’

  ‘Forget about Karim!’ Coming to his feet, he tightened his grip and towed me away into the jungle. ‘Your lesson is about to start. Come along, before you strip naked and start swinging from tree to tree with the monkeys!’

  *~*~**~*~*

  Bam!

  ‘No, no, no! You have to hold your arms like this, and stand like this.’

  ‘I’ll look bloody ridiculous!’

  ‘You will also be able to shoot straighter. And in any case, with your current attire, it will be extremely hard to look any more ridiculous than you already do.’

  My eyes narrowed, but I didn’t turn around to give him a good kick. Instead, I kept my target in my sights - a slim tree, a dozen or so yards away.

  ‘Oh, so you think I look ridiculous, Sir, do you?’

  ‘Your attire is certainly not suitable for polite company.’

  Stepping back without looking, I brushed up against him. ‘And what about not-so-polite company?’

  There was a strangled noise from behind me. Smiling, I took aim at the tree.

  Bang!

  Splinters and wet bits of leaves erupted from a bush to its left.

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘You still don’t have the right stance, Mr Linton. Here, let me show you.’

  I felt him step closer, and his arms came up around me from behind.

  Oh dear God…! That feeling! Hard muscles pressing into me, pulling me where they wanted me to go…

  ‘Now concentrate. Hold your breath.’

  His pectorals pressing against my back, flexing tantalisingly with every minute shift…

  My breathing sped up.

  ‘I said hold your breath, not hyperventilate!’

  ‘Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir!’

  Gathering all my willpower, I clamped my mouth shut tightly.

  ‘Now, concentrate! Hold steady, and think only of your target. Think only of what you want!’

  Oh, I know exactly what I want right now…

  Bam!

  ‘Missed again!’ He sounded exceedingly displeased. ‘What is the matter with you, Mr Linton?’

  *~*~**~*~*

  Lessons with Mr Ambrose didn’t go well. Whenever he got near me to show me things, my hands seemed to get shaky and I started to miss targets a lot. It was probably my instinctive urge to turn around and shoot him in the backside, I assumed. Hopefully, it would lessen with time.

  Oh really? You think that’s what it is? So, it has nothing to do with the fact that your heart starts racing every time he gets close to you? Nothing to do with the fact that every time he touches you, you crave not his death, but the little death?[16]

  Well, yes, there might be a tiny little bit of truth to that. Blast!

  And the worst thing was that Mr Ambrose was infuriatingly, masculinely smug about it all. Every time I missed he gave me a cool, superior look that, while perfectly unemotional, somehow managed to purvey his belief of the utter and unchallengeable superiority of the male gender over the female one in general, and of him over me in particular.

  Finally, I decided I’d had enough! If my silly little heart was going to start acting up every time I was in his vicinity, I would just have to train alone! That very night (making sure that this time, nobody followed me) I pinched a gun from our considerable supply and snuck off into the jungle. Ha! I couldn’t wait to see Mr Ambrose’s face when I suddenly turned out to be a master marksman!

  On my regular nocturnal trips, I had to walk quite a way into the jungle to prevent the shots from being heard back in the camp. Luckily, the racket of the jungle drowned out any other sounds, and the thick trees kept anyone from seeing the light of my little lamp. Mr Ambrose tersely remarked on my tired eyes and slow pace during the day, but that was all anybody noticed.

  Thus we moved on, farther and farther westwards. We were almost certain by now that the Brazilians had decided to turn around and leave us alone. I was getting a bit annoyed that Mr Ambrose was still making me shimmy up tropical trees on a regular basis, since it clearly wasn’t necessary anymore.

  Or at least that’s what I thought until that day.

  It was a routine climb like any other day. (Which goes to show how far Mr Ambrose had knocked me off course. For goodness’ sake, I thought of climbing up a tree in the middle of the jungle dressed only in my und
erwear as ‘normal’!) Almost bored, I let my eyes drift over the steaming landscape beneath me, wisps of hot fog drifting past me. I was just about to give it up and slide down the tree again when I saw something glint in the distance.

  I froze.

  ‘And?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice called from below.

  ‘Wait just a second!’

  Narrowing my eyes, I searched the area where I thought I had seen something reflect the dim half-light. There! Movement, on the bank of that little stream! There were shapes shifting around under the branches of the trees there. Something with two legs that wasn’t your friendly neighbourhood gorilla. I caught that glint again, and this time I was certain. Metal.

  ‘Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose, Sir!’

  I had never climbed down a tree so fast in my life. By the time I reached the bottom, Mr Ambrose was awaiting me, revolver drawn, eyes sharp, scanning the jungle for any danger. As for Karim - well, he was probably out there in the jungle, being the danger (for everybody else).

  ‘Men!’ I panted, as soon as my feet touched the ground. ‘Armed! Coming this way!’

  ‘Who? Rebels or imperials?’

  ‘Didn’t see! No flags. Could be either.’

  Mr Ambrose’s left little finger twitched. For him, that was as bad as a barrage of curses. ‘And you’re sure they were armed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They must have had an arsenal hidden somewhere in the jungle. One? Ha! The rebels probably have several.’ His jaw tightened. ‘I should have thought of that.’

  ‘There’s no sense in torturing yourself,’ I told him. ‘I’d be more than happy to do it for you.’

  ‘Mr Linton! Now is not the time for jokes!’

  ‘I know.’ Before he could pull away or shoot a freezing glare at me, I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. ‘Who says I was joking?’

  He stiffened under the touch of my lips, so surprised that I had time to slip my arms around him and hold him close.

  ‘I don’t know who they are,’ I whispered, pressing my face into his chest. ‘I don’t know where they got their weapons from. All I know is that they’re after us again, and they don’t look happy. So…what do you think we should do now, Sir?’

  Straightening, he snatched up his backpack and slung it over one shoulder.