Storm and Silence

by Robert Thier

  ‘They all pertain to my business in a very real way,’ he continued. ‘And you are nothing whatsoever like a circus monkey. A monkey wouldn’t talk back at me.’

  ‘But it might bite!’

  ‘I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer that.’

  ‘Is that so?’ I took an involuntary step towards him. ‘Well, I could try if you wished.’

  His neck muscles tensed. ‘No need to put yourself to trouble. Go home. That is an order.’

  ‘No!’ I stamped my foot. I didn’t care if I made a spectacle of myself. He was going to accept me whether he wanted to or not.

  ‘You cannot refuse to go home if I send you away.’ I wouldn’t have believed his voice could grow colder than it already was. But he was reaching new heights of vocal deep-freezing. ‘You work for me.’

  ‘Exactly.’ I nodded. ‘I work for you. And just as I could protest if you were to keep me at work longer than the normal hours, I have the right to protest if you send me away early. You accepted my work in exchange for a salary, Mr Ambrose, and I intend to earn that salary. I will not accept charity from anyone, and most certainly not from you.’

  He looked up then and met my gaze again. Had something in my little speech actually managed to capture his attention?

  There was something in his eyes as he looked at me… Something different from before. It was intense - but I had no idea what it was.

  ‘You are wasting my time,’ he said. But his voice wasn’t quite as hard and immovable as just a second ago. ‘I need to catch Simmons.’

  ‘Then let me help,’ I pleaded.

  Instead of answering, he returned to rummaging through the last drawer. Slamming it shut, he turned to Karim, who stood waiting at the entrance to the safe.

  ‘Nothing here. Get the men here. The entire team. Tell Warren to go over this place with a fine-tooth comb. Anything he finds, and I mean anything, is to be brought to me immediately, understood?’

  ‘Yes, Sahib.’

  ‘Why not just tell the police about this?’ I dared to interject.

  ‘Because I do not want this business in tomorrow’s newspapers,’ was the curt reply. ‘And because if we find the thief, they will get in my way.’

  I had to swallow. Taking into account his recent threats towards yours truly, I could only imagine too well what he meant by that.

  ‘So what now?’ I asked.

  ‘Now you will go home.’

  ‘No. I will not!’

  Karim, who had been striding towards the door to embark on his errand, hesitated there. ‘Do you truly wish me to leave you alone with her, Sahib?’

  I rolled my eyes. Oh, please.

  Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Yes, go, Karim. I need Warren here as soon as possible.’

  ‘As you wish, Sahib.’ But Karim still looked doubtful under his beard as he unlocked the door and left the room.

  When the door closed behind him, I stepped up to Mr Ambrose until only a few inches separated us. There was no point in beating about the bush further.

  ‘Why won’t you let me do my job? What exactly is your problem?’

  His eyes, seeming darker than usual, almost black, bored into me like a steam-engine-driven drill. ‘You know.’

  Angrily, I put my fists on my hips. ‘You mean the fact that I’m a girl?’

  He didn’t say anything, but from his look I knew that was it. What was the matter? This was going beyond chauvinism. Wasn't he even able to say the word ‘girl’ aloud? Did he have such a strong distaste for it? For me?

  ‘Do you behave like this to all females?’ I demanded.

  A faint noise escaped him. It might have been a snort.

  ‘Hardly. All females don't put on trousers and trick me into giving them jobs!’

  ‘I did not trick you!’

  ‘Maybe. Get to the point.’

  ‘I already have. Why won’t you let me help you, let me work for you properly?’

  He shook his head in exasperation. ‘You don't understand. Where I am going, what I will be doing… It will be dangerous. Very dangerous. I cannot let you accompany me.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked, heatedly. ‘Simply because I am a girl?’

  He stared at me for a second, seemingly lost for words. For this one moment I saw something flicker in his eyes, something different from the iron determination that was usually there. He looked almost… frightened? Longing?

  Then the shutters came done again, and he nodded. ‘Yes, that’s exactly the reason. I am a gentleman. As such I cannot allow any lad- person of female gender to be in danger.’

  It did not pass my notice how he had avoided using the term 'lady'.

  ‘Oh really?’ Sarcasm was dripping from my voice. ‘If I may remind you, you were threatening to do away with me yourself not ten minutes ago.’

  ‘That,’ he answered in a chilling voice, ‘was when I thought you had betrayed me. I do not take kindly to traitors, Mr Linton.’

  The sarcasm drained from my voice and face.

  ‘I am not a traitor,’ I said, my voice full of hurt.

  For one instant, I thought his granite face softened a bit. ‘I know. You have done an acceptable job so far - for an Ifrit.’

  My eyes flew wide open. Had my ears betrayed me, or had Mr Ambrose, Mr Silent and Sullen Granite Face Ambrose, just made a joke?

  ‘But your capabilities as an office worker don’t have anything to do with this. You simply can’t get involved in this matter! You see that, don't you?’ he continued so quickly that I immediately forgot about the maybe-joke and my hackles rose.

  ‘No! I most certainly do not see. You have taken me on to work for you!’ I folded my arms in front of my chest. ‘I demand work! I demand to work bloody hard for every penny you will pay me, just like Karim and this Warren fellow and every other man you employ, do you understand? I want to earn my own money, and I will, whether you want me to or not.’

  Once again, he studied me with his dark, sea-coloured eyes. There was something growing there - slowly, very slowly. Acceptance? More likely it was resignation.

  He took a step towards me. Whereas before our faces had been inches apart, now it was only a fraction of an inch.

  ‘I will not be able to change your mind, will I?’ he asked. His voice was arctic. But for some reason I didn’t feel cold. Instead I felt heat rush over my body. Where his face and mine almost touched, my skin began to tingle. The tension between us was burning.

  ‘No.’ I grinned. ‘And you don't have the time anyway. You have to catch a thief.’

  ‘Good point.’ Again, he studied me. ‘You really wish to help?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Very well then. Follow me.’

  He whirled, and before I knew what was happening he was striding away. I followed instinctively, only now realizing how my breath had sped up during our little standoff.

  Strange. Why had I reacted like this? It must have been the exhilaration of finally triumphing over him. Yes, that had to be it.

  He led me back towards the entrance of the safe. There, he stopped and turned to me. I had to work hard to keep a triumphant smile off my face. This was it. He was finally going to accept me and give me responsibility.

  ‘I have a very important assignment for you,’ he said, looking me directly in the eyes. ‘One of vital significance, which I expect to be finished by the time I return.’

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, breathless.

  He pushed open the door to the safe, which had fallen closed behind us. Then he pointed to the chaos of files on the floor. ‘Clean up that mess.’

  Little Ifrit

  All right, so I did it. So what? He was my employer, after all, and he could order me to do anything he wanted. The fact that I was fuming and fantasizing about choking him didn’t really count as an excuse to shirk my duties.

  By the light of the small gas lamp Mr Ambrose had given me, I started to sort files.

  Soon I found that, while the work itself was deathly boring, being positioned in t
he safe room had unexpected advantages. Once I had pushed open the door, which Mr Ambrose had shut, I could hear everything that was going on in my office - which was quite a lot, let me tell you.

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Enter,’ Mr Ambrose’s curt voice called.

  ‘Mr Ambrose? Good morning, Sir,’ a quiet, respectful voice said in answer. Several pairs of feet shuffled into my office. Apparently it had been selected as official HQ for the thief hunt. ‘I came as soon as you called. What is the matter? Karim didn’t say.’

  ‘Warren.’ No ‘good morning’ from Mr Stoneface Ambrose of course, and certainly no ‘How nice to see you.’ He got right to the point. ‘Have you seen Simmons?’

  ‘Simmons, Sir? I thought you gave me to understand that he suddenly gave up his post.’

  ‘He did. And he took something of mine along with him, it appears.’

  There was a short, heavy silence. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine the merciless ice in Mr Ambrose’s eyes right then. Just from the feel of the air I got the impression that the people in my office experienced a twinge of pity for Simmons.

  ‘I see. What can we do, Sir?’

  ‘First answer my question, Warren. Have you seen him since he left?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  ‘Has he come back to pick up his belongings?’

  ‘I can send someone and check, Sir.’

  ‘Do that. Now.’

  Footsteps hurried off. There were a few more minutes of silence, which nobody made even the slightest attempt to fill. Apparently Mr Ambrose didn’t think much of small talk. What a surprise.

  The moment the footsteps returned he asked: ‘And?’

  ‘His things are gone,’ said a third voice. ‘I asked Mr Garfield down at the lockers, and he said that Simmons took them with him on the same day he disappeared.’

  ‘That settles it,’ declared Mr Ambrose. ‘He’s the thief. He has been planning this.’

  ‘It appears so, Sir,’ agreed the man called Warren. ‘May I ask what was stolen?’

  ‘No.’

  What was this? No? Just like that? No? Mr Ambrose didn’t even trust his own people? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that I was stuck in here sorting files then, instead of being out there where the real work was being done.

  ‘You are looking for a folder with the inscription “S39XX300”,’ Mr Ambrose told them, icily. ‘That is all you need to know.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

  ‘First you will search this office. I have some urgent business and will leave you to it. If you have any questions, ask Karim.’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  His footsteps receded, and the noises from the other room indicated that Mr Warren and his cronies had begun their search. I returned my attention to my work.

  Quite a good idea, it appeared: I had been so distracted that I hadn’t noticed I had tried to stuff a bunch of files into the open mouth of some wooden African totem. Hurriedly I removed them and started looking for their proper container.

  For the next few minutes I busied with the files. Then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching the door of the safe. Yet before I could panic and begin to wonder what they wanted with me, I heard Karim’s voice.

  ‘Not in there, Warren.’

  ‘But Mr Ambrose said to search everywhere.’

  ‘Everywhere in this office. Not in the safe. There is…’ Karim’s voice dropped to a whisper as he explained something to Warren. I didn’t exactly hear everything, but I thought I caught the word ‘Ifrit’.

  ‘Really?’ Warren whispered. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I saw it with my own eyes,’ Karim assured him.

  ‘Right in there? In the safe room?’

  ‘Indeed. So you see you had better not…’

  ‘Of course! I’ll steer clear of it, don't you worry.’

  For the following few minutes my fantasies changed from strangling Mr Ambrose to braining Karim with a wooden African totem. In the end I suppose the difference didn’t much matter. Men! They were all the same.

  During the following hours I worked ceaselessly, clearing up the mess my dear master had left behind. He wouldn’t have an excuse to accuse me of slacking, oh no! The task actually wasn’t as hard as I had feared. All the folders strewn over the floor were numbered. Since I had already fully grasped the sorting system, and the one here in the safe was simply an extension of that in my office, I got on quickly, and orderly rows of boxes grew on the shelves.

  Finally, the door to my office opened and I heard his unmistakable voice.

  ‘Are you done, Warren?’

  ‘Nearly, Mr Ambrose.’

  ‘As soon as you’re done here, prepare your men for a little trip, by which I do not mean a stroll in the park. Do we understand each other?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Ambrose.’

  ‘Very well. I shall join you in a minute, as soon as I’ve seen how my little Ifrit is doing.’

  ‘Your what, Sir?’

  ‘Forget what I said, Warren.’

  ‘Yessir!’

  His little Ifrit? I supposed I should have been outraged, him calling me names and all, but for some strange reason I felt warm inside. Maybe because of my flaming wings, who knew?

  Mr Ambrose had obviously not intended for me to hear his words. Quickly and quietly I closed the door to the safe room, just as he had left it, and retreated to a corner, a demure little smile on my face as I looked around the room. All right, maybe the smile wasn’t totally demure. Maybe it was even a little bit self-satisfied. So what?

  The door was pushed open and Mr Ambrose entered. ‘I will be leaving on the search soon,’ he began. ‘So sorry that you are occupied and can’t come with us. How many hours do you think you will still need to finish your…’

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the safe-room, his voice trailed off.

  ‘You were saying?’ I inquired sweetly.

  Slowly, Mr Ambrose’s gaze wandered over the long rows of impeccably ordered boxes on the shelves of the safe room. He bent to examine the floor, maybe in the hope that he could find a stray piece of paper still lying somewhere, or at least a few flecks of dust.

  When he finally straightened again, his eyes fixed on me.

  ‘You are finished?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’ I fluttered my eyelashes at him. ‘Were you by any chance expecting me to take longer?’

  ‘No,’ he lied smoothly. ‘In fact I was expecting you to be finished long ago. Don’t be so lazy again, or I will have to reduce your wages.’

  ‘Well, well.’ I glared at him, even though for some strange reason, inside I wasn’t feeling angry. Somehow I knew he was only putting on a show, and I was dancing in triumph. ‘You had better stop or you’ll drown me in compliments for my work.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he assured me. ‘That will never, ever happen.’

  I could readily believe it.

  ‘Mr Ambrose?’ The man called Warren appeared at the door to the safe room. He was an average-looking fellow with a thin moustache and a high forehead. Spotting me, he looked at me curiously for a second. Then his gaze returned to our master. ‘We’re ready to go, Sir.’

  ‘I see.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was as cool as could be. ‘Warren, I think you haven’t met before?’ He indicated me. ‘This…’ he swallowed as if he had to get something unpleasant down his throat. ‘This is Mr Linton. My new… private secretary.’

  ‘I see. A pleasure to meet you, Mr Linton.’ Warren extended his hand to me. As if in a dream, I took it and shook it.

  ‘Likewise,’ I heard myself say.

  He has admitted it! He has admitted to another person that I work for him!

  ‘Enough pleasantries,’ Mr Ambrose cut short our pleasantries. Abruptly he whirled to the door. ‘We have a thief to catch.’ With two long strides he was outside and out of sight. ‘Come!’ We heard his commanding voice from outside. ‘Both of you!’

  I was still so thrilled by his admission that it took me a few sec
onds to register his words.

  ‘W-what?’ I managed. ‘Me, too?’

  ‘Are you deaf? Get a move on, Mr Linton!’

  I jumped up so fast you might have thought a scorpion had stung me. Following Mr Ambrose out of the safe, I saw that he had crossed my office and was standing at the connecting door to his own. He thrust it open and we followed him inside the large, bare and empty room.

  A room which was no longer bare and empty. I had been mistaken, thinking that my office was the thief hunter HQ. It had just been a temporary space until things were set up in here.

  People were standing all around: men with nondescript faces, in nondescript clothes. On the desk lay a gigantic map, larger than any I had seen before, even in the British Museum. It detailed not the world, but, to judge from the web of jagged lines, some vast city in fine detail.

  Immediately I knew what it had to be. A map of London. A map for the hunters.

  What in heaven’s name could have been stolen that Mr Ambrose was so desperate to discover? And why wouldn’t he tell anyone what it was? Why wouldn’t he tell me?

  ‘Gather round.’ Mr Ambrose took up his position at the desk and gestured for Karim, Warren and me to do likewise. The two dozen or so men whom Warren had brought with him posted themselves at either entrance to the room.

  Some of the men, including Warren but excluding Mr Ambrose, took out cigars and lit them. Not used to the smell, I wrinkled my nose - but I would have to get used to this if I really intended to work among men.

  ‘We have to come up with a strategy to track Simmons,’ Mr Ambrose said. ‘Suggestions, gentlemen.’

  And ladies, I thought, but didn’t say it. Instead I said: ‘Well… maybe we should start by thinking about motive. Why did he steal the file?’

  ‘Because he wanted it, obviously,’ said Mr Ambrose. ‘I should perhaps have clarified: Intelligent suggestions.’

  ‘That is not what I meant,’ I snapped. ‘I meant… what does the file contain? Why exactly did he want it for himself?’

  ‘None of you are to know what the file contains, Mr Linton. Nor do I see that it is in any way necessary.’

  ‘It is necessary if we want to know where he will go next and what he will do,’ I persisted. God, he really had trust issues. ‘For example - if it simply is a folder containing banknotes, he’ll just flee the city. If it is some important document, he might try to sell it. If it is a letter from one of your secret lady friends, he will try to blackmail you.’