by Robert Thier
Karim gave me a look that could have scared the feathers off a chicken. ‘I do not take orders from you, woman-that-is-worse-than-ifrit! Why should I listen to an old fool’s prattle?’
‘Anybody who’s brave enough to approach Mr Ambrose of his own free will deserves a chance to speak, in my opinion.’
Karim grumbled, but had to finally admit a certain truth in that statement. We let the man pass, and he continued on to where Mr Ambrose was overseeing the loading of the ship with new supplies. We watched him stop next to the tall, dark figure of our employer and start to talk. From where we stood, we couldn’t hear what was being said, and reading something from Mr Ambrose’s expression (or lack thereof) was a skill beyond my meagre abilities. But the old man left soon, and Mr Ambrose came over, his fingers tapping a staccato on the head of his cane.
‘What is it, Sahib?’ Karim wanted to know, just as I opened my mouth to ask the very same question. ‘What did the old man have to say?’
Mr Ambrose’s gaze slid over to us. ‘He says that there is fighting upriver. I thought the Brazilian Empire had squashed the rebellion by now, but apparently they’re still trying to stamp out the farrapos.’
‘Ah.’ Karim nodded, grimly.
I nodded grimly, too, and tried my best not to let show I had no idea what the heck farrapos were. Still…they didn’t sound particularly nice.
‘Do you think we should take another route?’ I suggested. ‘Try and circumvent the trouble?’
He met my eyes, coolly. ‘Circumvent? That would take weeks! Who do you take me for, Mr Linton? We have work to do, and I’ll be damned if I let myself be put off by a couple of peasants complaining about high taxes on their salted beef.’
That didn’t sound like very dangerous rebels. So I shrugged it off and thought no more of it. At least until the next morning, when, stepping out onto the deck, I saw smoke rising in the distance.
‘What’s that?’ I demanded. ‘Another town?’
Mr Ambrose glanced in the direction. ‘No. Too much smoke. Probably the remnants of one.’
It took a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. And even then I didn’t really understand until, a couple of hours later, we rounded a bend in the river and in front of us appeared the smoking ruins of what must once have been a peaceful settlement.
I stared. Then my eyes slowly slid to Mr Ambrose.
‘A couple of peasants complaining about high taxes on salted beef?’
He shrugged. ‘Peasants can get quite unnecessarily emotional about salted beef.’
The governor of the town himself came down to the docks to greet us and gawk at the stupid Englishmen who wanted to sail right into a warzone.
‘I cannot allow you to go,’ he told us firmly, standing on the dock, a dozen of his guards behind him, several wearing bloody bandages. Mr Ambrose watched from the railing, no emotion on his face. ‘No, no, I simply cannot. It would be suicide! Besides, General Lima e Silva himself has declared the country beyond this town a forbidden zone! No one may enter without risk to their lives. I cannot allow you to proceed!’
‘You make fair points, Governor,’ Mr Ambrose told him. ‘There’s only one thing you forgot.’
‘Indeed? And that is?’
‘I did not ask for your permission. Karim - full steam ahead!’
Soon, the yells and protests of the governor and his escort had dwindled into nothing behind us. I stood beside Mr Ambrose at the railing, watching as the smoking ruins of the town slowly disappeared beyond the horizon.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
‘Yes, Mr Linton?’
‘You are very brave.’
‘I know.’
‘And you never let anyone stand in your way.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘And you’re tenacious, and determined, and…well, altogether the toughest man I have ever met.’
‘I know, Mr Linton.’
‘And I really admire all those qualities.’
‘Indeed, Mr Linton?’
‘But…’
‘But?’
‘But sometimes I really think you need to have your head examined.’
*~*~**~*~*
Mr Ambrose wasn’t quite as reckless as I had at first assumed. From that day onward, we didn’t travel by day anymore, but anchored at the shore during daylight hours and went on the move when the sun went down. Also, we travelled on half steam, reducing the noise of the engine to a level where, over the constant din of the jungle around us, it could hardly be heard. Lights were strictly forbidden, and all conversations had to be kept to whispers. To my surprise, the tactic actually worked. Now and again, we heard distant explosions and screams, or saw smoke rising over the trees. But, apart from that, we saw nothing of the two armies wrestling for control over the land. I almost felt safe - until we reached a narrow bend in the river, with rocks jutting out from the bottom. It was clear for anyone to see that from here on out, the river was too shallow for us to continue by boat.
‘What now?’ I wanted to know, my gaze drifting anxiously between the river and the shore.
Mr Ambrose gave a shrug. ‘We knew from the beginning that we could only travel part of the way by boat. We’ll have to continue on foot from here on out.’
My gaze became glued to the shore. Just at that moment, a distant explosion echoed across the water.
‘Through…through the jungle?’
‘Naturally, Mr Linton. Unless you see a convenient road anywhere near.’
‘No, Sir! Of course not, Sir!’
‘What about the manuscript? Have you concluded your efforts to decipher it?’
I opened my mouth to say ‘I think so’ - then remembered that this wasn’t the kind of answer Mr Ambrose would appreciate. ‘Yes, Sir! I have, Sir.’
‘Adequate. Let’s get a move on, then.’
Everything was well-prepared. It didn’t take long for our supplies to be unloaded and the ship to be ready for departure. I was somewhat surprised, however, when I realised that, apart from me and the packhorses, only Karim would accompany Mr Ambrose into the jungle.
‘Why not take a few more people along?’ I wanted to know. ‘If we truly find gold-’
‘If we find gold,’ Mr Ambrose cut me off, ‘I only want people along with me whom I can trust.’
He marched off to oversee the ship’s departure, leaving me behind, slightly stunned at the magnitude of what he had just implied. Without knowing exactly why, I suddenly felt a lump in my throat.
The ship sailed off only a few minutes later, now without smoke curling from its funnels, carried swiftly downriver by the current. I stood, gazing after it, until a sharp command from Mr Ambrose made me turn.
‘No sense in wasting our time here! Mr Linton, you have our directions?’
‘Yes, Sir. We are to head northwest, until we come to another river. According to the manuscript’s directions, that will be our next point of reference.’
‘Very well. Lead on.’
I turned away from the water to gaze up at the wall of tangled green that was the jungle. Funny - from the boat it had seemed much smaller. Now, standing on the bank, and without the reassuring puffing of the steam engine that was a comfortable link to civilisation, it dawned on me for the first time how very, very big those trees were, and how very small I was in comparison.
‘What are you waiting for, Mr Linton? Knowledge is-’
‘-power is time is money.’ I raised my chin, and stood straighter, facing the forest head-on. ‘Yes, I know.’
‘You actually listened to me.’ He sounded slightly surprised. I glanced over at him.
‘You speak little enough. When you do, it’s usually worth listening to.’
And with that, I started forward and let myself be swallowed up by the jungle.
The heat was like a fist, hitting me in the face the moment I stepped into the shadows of the trees. Don’t get me wrong, it had been hot out on the river, too. But there had been a bit of a breeze blowin
g there, especially when we had still been on the fast-moving ship. Now, however, we were about to enter a gigantic green beast that seemed to feast only on the heat that it stored in its big, moist belly. The first trickles of sweat started running down my forehead, tickling all the way. With every step further into the gloom, the heat intensified.
Next came the noise. It wasn’t actually that loud - but it was always there, echoing in strange, archaic tones that seemed not of this world. A bizarre cacophony of screeches, chattering and catcalls surrounded us, most so far above my head that I couldn’t hope to make out their origin. Looking up, I saw only slivers of light through a shadowy canopy of leaves. A shiver went down my back.
This was another world we were entering. A strange and dangerous one.
Mr Ambrose marched past me, his face stoic, his strides determined.
‘Stop dawdling!’ he called, not bothering to turn his head. ‘What are you afraid of? Trees?’
Afraid? Me?
I had caught up with him in three seconds and was sprinting ahead, panting hard. To hell with the strange and dangerous world! I was an independent woman! I could do anything!
The trees enveloped me and with Mr Ambrose and Karim close behind, I delved into the depths of the jungle.
*~*~**~*~*
We did a good bit of delving that day. Mr Ambrose had no intention of adjusting his pace to the gruelling surroundings. We marched through the Brazilian jungle as if it were St. James's Square, the only difference being the sweat that poured from every pore in copious amounts. Sometimes, we heard gunfire in the distance, but it never came close to us, and I was beginning to believe we had successfully avoided drawing attention to ourselves. However, we all were aware of the lingering danger. Nobody spoke a word, and no matter how hard it might be, we kept our footfalls light and silent.
Hours passed in mute marching. Night was beginning to fall, and I was more than ready to fall along with it, and never get up again. Every muscle in my body ached, except for those in my mouth and stomach, and they were the ones that actually could do with a bit of exercise. We had only stopped once for a quick break, and what we’d had to eat then might be considered a decent meal according to rabbits’ standards, but not to mine.
Blinking sweat out of my eyes, I stared up ahead, at the silent figure of Mr Ambrose. He had long ago taken the lead and was still marching with the same long, determined strides as he had when we had set out, not even slowing to take out his compass and check our direction. Some part of me ached to catch up and kick him in the backside for being so insufferably tough, but that part of me didn’t ache half as much as the rest of my body. I was ready to collapse.
However, I’d die before I admitted that out loud!
I’m a strong, independent woman! I can do this!
True, I was. However, I much preferred being a strong, independent woman in London without a twenty-pound knapsack on my back. Clenching my teeth, I got a firmer grip on the leather straps of my burden and continued on, setting one foot in front of the other.
Only when the shadows of the trees had almost completely swallowed us up and we could hardly see our own feet anymore did Mr Ambrose decide it was time to make camp.
‘Stop!’
Unfortunately, the command came a little too late for me. Not being able to see my feet, I was most certainly not able to see his, or the hand he was probably holding up to indicate it was time for us to halt.
‘Ouch!’
‘Oomph!’
‘Watch where you are going, Mr Linton!’
‘Same to you, Sir! And remove your hand from there, pronto!’
Mr Ambrose cleared his throat. ‘Pardon, Mr Linton. In the dark, I didn’t see-’
‘But you most certainly felt! Fingers off, got it?’
‘Watch your tone, Mr Linton!’
‘I can’t watch anything right now. It’s too bloody dark! Can’t we light a fire?’
There was a motion in the gloom right in front of me. It might have been a headshake. ‘No, Mr Linton. It would draw too much attention.’
‘Without a fire, how will we keep predators away?’
‘Karim will keep watch.’
‘Keep watch?’ I looked around, seeing only vague shapes and shadows. ‘How, exactly?’
‘I am well accustomed to conditions like these,’ the Mohammedan’s gruff voice came out of the darkness. ‘We have jungle in the country of my birth, very much like this, and I have the ears of a bat and the eyes of a panther. I will know if someone approaches well before they come close enough to do harm, and we will be able to- Wait! What was that?’
There was a noise, as if from a twig snapping. It was followed instantly by a silken noise that I knew all too well by now - Karim, drawing his sabre out of its sheath.
‘We have to move! There is someone-’
‘Don’t move!’
The voice cut through the hot night air like a whiplash. A voice of command. A stranger’s voice. Lights flared up all around us, sending a flash of fear through me. Blinking, I shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness. When, after a few seconds, I had grown a little more accustomed to the light and lowered my hands, I saw that from the trees all around us, men were emerging. Men in brightly coloured uniforms, similar to those of the governor’s guard at the last town we had passed.
There was one man in particular I noticed. He was tall and gaunt, with high, aristocratic cheekbones and a curl to his lips that made me think he didn’t just have power, but enjoyed using it, too. He had a high forehead, intense yellowish brown eyes and a rifle levelled at Mr Ambrose.
‘Well, well…’ he drawled, in nearly perfect, only slightly accented English. ‘Who have we here? Two Englishmen, and an Indian, if I am not mistaken. What are you doing so far from home? Speak, and speak quickly if you want to have a chance at surviving this unscathed!’
Speak?
He wanted Mr Ambrose to speak? Under threat?
Oh dear. Whoever this was, he was in for a disappointment.
‘Well? Open your mouth!’ The officer - for officer he was, no doubt - jabbed Mr Ambrose in the chest with his bayonet. Mr Ambrose didn’t even flinch. ‘Get on with it! I have a war to fight!’
Mr Ambrose wasn’t impressed. He stared down the length of the rifle, his eyes glinting ten times as cold as any steel could. He said not a word.
‘A stubborn one, eh? Very well. Barros! Costa! Bind them, take five other men and get them back to headquarters! The general will decide their fate.’
I am Horrifically Tortured
‘I am well accustomed to conditions like these,’ I mimicked as we were marched along, pulling a wooden face reminiscent of a certain inept bodyguard. ‘We have jungle in the country of my birth, very much like this, and I have the ears of a bat and the eyes of a panther.’
‘Be quiet!’ Karim growled from behind me.
‘I will know if someone approaches well before they come close enough to do harm.’
‘I said-’
‘Silence, both of you!’ Mr Ambrose’s hissed command was enough to make us shut up. ‘This is no time for senseless bickering!’
Well, he was right about that. Our situation was about as dire as it could be. Despite having discovered Mr Ambrose’s papers in his knapsack, the mysterious commander into whose hands we had fallen seemed disinclined to believe that we were simply harmless subjects of the British Empire, in the wrong place at the wrong time. To judge by the cold, calculating glances he sent our way, he was imagining a far more sinister explanation. Thanks to Mr Ambrose, I was an expert at deciphering cold, calculating glances. And these, trust me, were not boding well.
Tied together by thick, unyielding rope, we were being led off through the jungle towards the soldiers’ headquarters and this mysterious general who would decide our fate. I didn’t like the idea of having my fate decided by any man, let alone a general. In my experience, they were more used to aiming cannons at other people than trying to understand their point of v
iew.
‘What are we going to do?’ I whispered, shuffling a bit closer to Mr Ambrose, just as much as the rope allowed.
‘We are going to behave like model prisoners, Mr Linton. We will be quiet and well-behaved. Do you understand? Quiet.’
Oh, I understood all right. He didn’t want these military types to know about the treasure. I quite agreed. Whether rebel or government officer - the man in charge of these soldiers had a cold sparkle in his eyes that made me think not much was beyond him, theft and murder included.
‘And then?’ I asked, lowering my voice even further.
‘Then, if fate is on our side, we will find a chance to continue on our way.’
Translation: I will mud-wrestle fate until she is agreeable.
I smiled. Sometimes, it really was a pleasure to work for Rikkard Ambrose.
Storm lanterns lighting up the way ahead, we continued our march through the jungle. There was no path visible anywhere, and without a compass, there was no way of telling which way we were going. Even had I had the skill to read the direction from the stars, the thick tangle of branches overhead prevented anyone from getting their bearings.
Anyone except our captors, that is. They obviously knew where they were going. After only ten minutes march or so, the thick jumble of vines and leaves around us thinned, the trees began to stand farther and farther apart, and finally, the jungle receded and we marched out into the open.
In the dark, I couldn’t see much of what lay ahead. But there was a feeling of freedom, of clear space and skies above, that made me think we were not just in a clearing, but a much wider open space. I felt a faint breeze rustle my hair and breathed in, feeling like I had real air in my lungs for the first time all day.
‘Alto! Quem vem aí?’[10]
Men stepped out of the darkness, armed with sabres and rifles. They had their hands on the hilts of their weapons, but the moment they recognised the soldiers ushering us forward, they relaxed.
‘Olá, Costa! O que você tem aí?’[11]
‘Prisioneiros. O Coronel quer levá-los para a cela.’[12]