by Robert Thier
I stared at him.
‘Are you serious?’
He turned the full force of his cold, sea-coloured eyes on me. ‘Do I look like I am joking?’
‘That’s splitting hairs!’
‘Very profitable hairs. They are well worth splitting.’
‘And the Argentinians? Do you think they agree with your creative ideas on the legality of free trade?’
Mr Ambrose considered for a moment, gazing at the ships and smoking cannons in the distance, tapping his lip. A thunderclap ripped apart the air as a third, and probably final, warning shot sounded.
‘Probably not,’ he conceded.
I used a very colourful expression I had learned from Patsy, who, in turn, had gotten it from her father’s drunken old coach driver.
‘Language, Mr Linton!’
‘I’ll use any damn language I damn well want! We’re being shot at!’
‘I am aware of that fact, Mr Linton.’
‘Well, don’t you think we should bloody do something about that?’
‘Yes. It is time now.’
I sighed. Well, thank heavens! Finally, he had seen sense! We were going to stop and pay our taxes, and then we could go on our way like good little sailors.
‘Sahib!’ Karim came striding over to us, his beard flying like a flag in the sea breeze. ‘The Argentinians are signalling us! They want us to take in our sails and prepare to be boarded. What do you wish us to send in reply?’
Mr Ambrose took a step forward, clasping the railing with both hands. If possible, his face became even harder. Hard as bedrock.
‘A broadside.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
For a few moments, I wasn’t sure I had heard correctly. Then, commands were being shouted across the deck, and the ship began to turn. I stared at Mr Rikkard Ambrose, wide-eyed.
‘You can’t mean to…Oh God! You’re going to attack the Navy of Argentina?’
‘No. I am not going to attack. They were the ones to fire the first shots.’
‘They were warning shots! You said so yourself! They were just threatening us!’
‘Indeed.’ For a moment, Mr Ambrose took his eyes off the sea, and met mine, sending an ice-cold shiver down my back. ‘I don’t take kindly to being threatened, Mr Linton.’
Oh dear…we were in trouble. Big trouble.
But not as big as the Argentinians were in.
The ship was nearly turned by now. Mr Ambrose marched along the deck, taking up a position at the centre of the ship, facing the Argentinians. They had slowed down. They obviously thought we were stopping to be boarded.
‘Ready?’ Mr Ambrose asked.
Karim glanced at the first mate, who nodded.
‘Ready, Sahib.’
Holy Mother of…! This can’t be happening! It simply can’t!
‘Fire!’
It can’t be happening! It can’t be happening! It ca-
BOOM!
Burning Waters
BOOM! Bo-boom! Boom!
The cacophony of explosions nearly threw me off my feet. Fire spewed from the side of the ship. Smoke billowed out, and the water below was driven away from the ship in a mighty wave. For a moment, it looked as though the jaws of the ocean had opened beneath us. Then, the jaws suddenly clamped shut again. The ship rocked back into the opposite direction, and I stumbled forward, nearly flying over the side.
A strong pair of hands gripped me around the waist and pulled me back.
‘Where do you think you are going, Mr Linton?’
‘I’m perfectly fine! Let go of me. There’s no need to shout man overboard.’
Mr Ambrose pulled me back against him. I realised how very closely he was holding me. I also realised that we were both still thoroughly wet. Through the sodden fabric, I could feel hard muscle press into my much, much softer flesh.
‘Under the circumstances,’ Mr Ambrose’s cool voice caressed my ear, leaving frostbite in its wake, ‘the expression “man overboard” would not be entirely appropriate. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr Linton?’
I swallowed hard. ‘Let go of me.’
Yes, please let go before I turn around and pull you closer, and start to…
‘Are you sure you can stand on your own? I won’t waste my time jumping in after you. I have a battle to fight.’
Images flashed through my mind of the battles we fought during our time in Egypt: hot battles under the desert sun that, more often than not, ended with both of us losing - losing most of our clothing.
Damn! Get a grip, Lilly!
‘I said let go!’
Silently, he released me and stepped back. I felt the sudden urge to whirl around and throw myself into his arms. But a moment later, I heard his cold, calculated voice right behind me.
‘Ready, Karim?’
Those two little words brought me right back to reality. Bloody hell! We were in the middle of our own little war!
‘Yes, Sahib.’
‘Adequate. Let us proceed.’
Mr Ambrose’s eyes focused on the distant Argentinian ships. Smoke was rising from one of the ships, and I could hear confused shouts over the waves.
‘Um, Mr Ambrose,’ I began, ‘are you sure it’s a wise decision to-’
‘Silence! Prepare the guns!’
All right, I guess that was an answer.
‘Load cartridge!"
All over the ship, powder boys lifted gunpowder cartridges and shoved them into cannons. It was a perfectly synchronised movement of deadly precision. Almost unwillingly, I smiled to myself. Of course it was! This was Mr Ambrose’s ship.
‘Ram cartridge!’
The powder boys jumped aside, and the rammers shoved the powder charge all the way back to the breech end of the barrel.
‘Load round!"
Cannonballs were lifted to the mouth of the cannons. On the Argentinian ships, a flurry of movement ensued as the crews tried to turn in time to evade the shot. But they had no chance. Mr Ambrose’s commands fell from his granite lips in a fast, merciless staccato.
‘Ram round!’
The cannonballs were shoved into the barrel.
‘Run out!’
Dozens of cannons rolled forward as one, pointing their deadly mouths out of the side of the ship.
‘Fire!’[8]
I grabbed the railing, just in time to keep myself from being thrown overboard by the force of the recoil. The deafening roar of cannons slammed into my ears and the bright fire burned my eyes, but at least I remained on my feet. That was more than you could say for most of the crew of the biggest Argentinian ship.
Even over all the distance, I thought I could hear shouts and bellowed, panicked orders - then the cannonballs slammed into the ship’s hull, tearing through wood, tar and metal as if it were crepe paper. One cannonball ripped through a sail, and the mast it was attached to groaned in agony.
But the other two ships had caught on to what was happening by now. They were turning fast, their crews bustling over the decks like ants. Cannons appeared out of the side of one of the ships.
‘Err…Mr Ambrose?’ I began. ‘I think they are going to-’
Before I could finish, Mr Ambrose was beside me, and suddenly, my body was encased in an iron grip, shoving me to the planks.
‘Down!’
Boom!
Even lessened by the distance, the explosion was still ear-splitting. The wind screamed as missiles ripped through the air, and next I was expecting to hear the crunch of wood being crushed under the weight of cannonballs. But instead, I heard a strange ripping noise. Above me, Mr Ambrose snorted.
‘I don’t see anything remotely amusing about this situation!’ I hissed.
‘I am not amused, Mr Linton. On the contrary.’ He pushed himself to his feet, pulling me up behind him as if I weighed no more than a feather, which, let me assure you, was not the case. ‘If anything, I am contemptuous. They’re using chain shots. They’re destroying our rigging.’
‘Rigg- What? My knots? They�
�re shooting at my knots?’
‘Indeed they are.’
Frantically, I whipped my head up to the sails - or rather, to where the sails had once hung. All that was left now were stained rags.
‘Bloody hell!’
‘Don’t excite yourself, Mr Linton.’
‘Don’t excite myself? We’re never going to escape now!’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Striding to the railing, Mr Ambrose raised one arm. An officer at the other side of the ship snapped to attention. Mr Ambrose’s arm came down, in a signal. ‘Full steam ahead!’
The officer turned to a trap door in the deck of the ship, and repeated the shout: ‘Full steam ahead!’
Only moments later, the ship rumbled to life like a volcano before a big eruption. It shot forward, against the wind, out of the firing range of the enemy ships. Watching, awestruck, my heart hammering in my chest, I saw the Midas and the Croesus follow suit. Clouds of steam rose from amidst their masts.
‘They’re steamships,’ I breathed. ‘They’re all steamships!’
‘Of course they are.’ Mr Ambrose was still standing at the railing, arms crossed, his back to me. ‘Did you think I would go into battle unprepared, Mr Linton?’
My eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t even know we were going into battle, Sir! I thought this was a trading expedition!’
‘You should know me better than that by now, Mr Linton. Wherever I go, I go into battle.’
He raised his hand again in another signal, a silent one this time. The ship swerved. Looking around, I noticed that we were not moving away from the enemy ships. On the contrary. We were moving around and towards them.
‘Err…Mr Ambrose?’
He didn’t pay any attention to me.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
He motioned to the men again, and everyone who had been taking cover because of the enemy fire re-emerged, returning to their positions at the cannons.
‘Mr Ambrose? We are going to escape, aren’t we, Sir? We are going to sail away? After all, with the steam engines, we are bound to be faster than they are!’
Instead of answering, he parted his marble lips and called out. The shout rang out over the entire ship: ‘Prepare the guns!’
Oh-oh…
‘Load cartridge! Ram cartridge!’
‘Mr Ambrose, you can’t seriously be planning to go after them! Those are government troops!’
‘Not my government, Mr Linton. Load round! Ram round!’
With a resounding thunk the cannonballs hit the back of the barrels.
‘Run out!’
The cannons rolled forward again. On the Argentinian flagship, which was now pointed completely the wrong way to even get one shot in, panicked activity broke out - but too late.
‘Fire!’
The next round of cannonballs erupted into the sky. We weren’t the only ones who had fired this time: the Midas and the Croesus had followed suit. The barrage of cannonballs hit one enemy ship so hard it nearly capsized. Splinters of wood flew in all directions, water gushed into the ships, and it seemed a miracle to me that, somehow, both managed to stay above water.
‘Why don’t they sink?’
‘Watertight bulkheads,’ Mr Ambrose said, without taking his eyes off the distant ships. ‘Vertical walls separate the ship into compartments and keep the water from spreading, even if the hull is breached. But we’ll soon smash those into splinters.’
‘Oh, um…good.’
Though not so good for the Argentinians, maybe.
Mr Ambrose raised his hand. ‘Prepare the guns!’
As if they had heard him over the distance, the Argeninians fell into frantic motion. Someone on their ship shouted a command, and slowly, it began to turn. Not towards us, though - no. Away.
‘They’re running away!’ I watched, in horrified fascination. ‘You’re chasing away the navy of a sovereign nation!’
‘Yes. And?’
He sounded as if he did things like this every other day.
But then, maybe he did. What did I know? I hadn’t been in his service that long. Yet, already the things I had seen were enough to send shivers down my back - both the pleasant and the unpleasant kind.
‘Load cartridge!’ Mr Ambrose’s command rang out over the deck of the Mammon. ‘Ram cartridge!’
The enemy was definitely running now. Their sails were flapping helplessly, only half-filled with wind. I almost pitied them. Almost. After all, they had shot at my knots.
‘Run out, and…fire!’
The cannonballs flew higher, this time. I thought for a moment that Mr Ambrose had made some kind of navigation mistake - but I should have known better. He was Mr Rikkard Ambrose, after all. The crack of the mast told me that he hadn’t made a mistake. Not at all.
My eyes focused on the leftmost of the ships just in time to see the huge mast splinter and break off near the deck. Slowly, it began to keel over, gathering speed - and then suddenly everything went very quickly. Screams rose up from the Argentinian vessel, and the mast smashed not just into the deck of this ship, but into the rigging of the one beside it. Both vessels shuddered, nearly capsizing. They clung to each other, connected by the mast, swaying through the waves like drunken lovers.
Well, maybe not exactly like drunken lovers. They didn’t try to snog each other or recite A Red, Red Rose by Robert Burns, for example.
Karim stepped up beside Mr Ambrose. The wind grabbed his beard, flinging it up into his face, and he snatched it, holding it in one hand with a growl.
‘Shall we pursue them, Sahib?’ he enquired. ‘Do you wish us to continue to fire?’
‘Are you mad, Karim? Do you know how much one round of cannon ammunition costs?’
‘No, Sahib.’
‘Too much to be shot after fleeing fools, that’s how much! Give the order to turn about, back to our original route. We’re heading for Argentina.’
‘As you wish, Sahib.’
‘And if we do not arrive before those three bad excuses for battleships, I shall be very displeased.’
‘Of course, Sahib.’
Slowly, the Mammon, Midas and Croesus turned around and headed away from the smoking semi-wreckage that had once been three vessels of the Argentinian Navy. I glanced back, nervously.
‘So…what now?’ I wanted to know. ‘Have we just started a war between the British Empire and Argentina?’
‘Nonsense, Mr Linton! I may have the British Empire’s support behind me, but I am not the British Empire. I am a private individual.’
One corner of my mouth quirked up. ‘So, what have we started? A war between Argentina and the Ambrosian Empire?’
‘I doubt it. States don’t declare wars on private individuals. For some unfathomable reason, they consider it beneath their dignity.’
I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘And if they should happen to make an exception in this case?’
He met my eyes. A shiver ran down my back at the expression in those sea-coloured orbs. ‘Then I pity Argentina. I would not wish to be in the shoes of anyone who has to fight a war against me.’
Without another word, he turned, and walked away.
He was serious. Perfectly serious.
This was going to be an interesting journey.
A Friendly Message from Home
We anchored in a picturesque Argentinian harbour that would have made a wonderful motif for any postcard. It was attached to a small town with little stone houses overgrown by ivy - the sort of place that didn’t look as if it got visitors often. The people cheered and greeted us with warm smiles when we went ashore, and they eagerly perused the list of goods Mr Ambrose had brought from faraway England. Their smiles quickly disappeared, however, when they heard the prices Mr Ambrose was asking.
Fortunately, I didn’t speak a single word of Spanish and didn’t have to participate in the haggling. Instead, I could lie in the sun and watch as Mr Ambrose waged a fierce battle around every single peso.[9] Of course, he won most of them.
‘If you keep this up all the way, we’re not going to be very popular in Argentina by the time we leave the country.’
He sent me a cool look, which was actually quite welcome in the blistering heat. I would have to get him to give me cool looks more often. ‘What gave you the notion that I desire to be popular, Mr Linton?’
A smile quirked up one corner of my mouth. ‘No idea. Forget I said anything.’
We didn’t stay long in the harbour. When we left again, the townspeople clearly expected us to take the route down the coast. It was quite a lot of fun to watch their flabbergasted faces when we fired up the steam engine and, with steam puffing out of the Mammon’s steel smokestack, started up the nearby river into the interior of the country.
Even more amusing to see were the faces of the crews of the boats we passed on our way upriver. With the river overflowing with water, and the current too strong to fight with oars or sails, every single vessel, except ours, was sailing with the current, down the river. I soon started to make a hobby out of sitting on deck and waving to the startled captains as we puffed our way past them, towards the jungle and the mountains. Unfortunately, I could never engage in this amusing pastime for long: every time Mr Ambrose caught me at it, he chased me back to work.
Finally, we arrived at a large city situated at the junction of two rivers. I was a city girl at heart, and breathed easier at the sight of tall, elegant stone houses and paved streets.
‘At last! I was getting really tired of those endless hours spent below deck trying to decipher that bloody manuscript!’
‘It is your job. It doesn’t matter if you get tired of it.’
‘You can’t make me work all the time, you know! A person could get daft from trying to work all day.’
‘Which would differ from your current level of intelligence how, exactly?’
I threw him a dark look, which he completely ignored.
We were standing at the pointy end of the ship, which by now I had learned was called ‘prow’. I was gazing admiringly at the beautiful city that stretched out in front of us. Mr Ambrose was staring coldly at his crew, directing our landing with curt gestures of his hands. A small crowd was already gathering at the docks.
‘What is this place called?’ I wanted to know.