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

by Robert Thier

  ‘Yes, Sir! Right you are, Sir!’

  His bonds falling to the floor, Mr Ambrose rose to his feet. ‘Do you know where Karim is? And our luggage, and horses?’

  ‘Karim is probably farther down the corridor. If I was the colonel, I’d want him locked up in the safest cell I had, behind three doors.’

  ‘All right. Let’s go.’

  My conjecture proved justified. We found Karim several cells farther down the corridor, behind an additional door, this one with a real lock, which Mr Ambrose opened using some fiddly little metal thing he pulled from his sleeve. When we reached the second door, the one with a bolt, we heard gagging noises from inside.

  ‘Karim?’ Mr Ambrose called. ‘Are you in there?’

  The Mohammedan’s huge beard appeared in front of the opening, replaced by his face a moment later when he bent his knees. ‘Sahib?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I knew you would escape! Nothing is beyond you, Sahib.’

  I cleared my throat, delicately, and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. ‘Actually, it wasn’t he who escaped. It was me.’

  There was a moment of silence in the cell, this one definitely pregnant. With ugly quadruplets.

  ‘Sahib? Is this true?’

  Mr Ambrose didn’t look at me. He stared straight ahead, his expression ten times as unreadable as ever. ‘Unfortunately, it is.’

  Another moment of silence.

  ‘Well,’ Karim’s gruff voice finally came from beyond the door, ‘it can’t have been very difficult. I am sure anyone could manage it.’

  ‘Indeed?’ My voice was as sweet as solid chocolate with honey and nougat inside. ‘I notice that you are still in your cell.’

  The bodyguard muttered an unintelligible curse. I was pretty good at Spanish profanities by now, and I was beginning to understand Portuguese ones, but whatever language Karim cursed in, it was none I had heard of before. It was, however, adoringly abominable.

  ‘I was just in the process of breaking out,’ Karim growled, clearly holding onto his temper by the skin of his teeth.

  ‘Indeed? And how exactly were you planning to do that?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’ There was a thud, and suddenly, a pale, bluish face was thrust against the bars. Not Karim. Most certainly not. This man was a lot smaller, and a lot more being suffocated. The gagging noises I had heard earlier now made sense.

  ‘Just out of curiosity,’ I enquired. ‘Who is the man you’re strangling to death?’

  ‘I would be interested in that information as well,’ came Mr Ambrose’s cool voice from behind me.

  ‘This little haramjada is one of their torturers. The insolent imp came in here with his knives, thinking to deprive me of my manhood!’

  ‘Oh. Did he succeed?’ I asked hopefully. It would be an interesting experience to hear Karim sing soprano.

  ‘Bah! Of course not! I tore my bonds, overpowered him and told him to open the door. But he would not. He said they were bolted from the outside. So I decided to apply a little pressure.’

  The face of the jailor had turned a nice shade of violet by now, and the gagging noises sounded suspiciously like the beginnings of a death rattle.

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘The problem is, he’s telling the truth. There really is a bolt on the door.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But not for long.’ Stepping forward, my dear employer grabbed the bolt and rammed it back. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door wide open. Karim ducked through, without releasing his grip on the jailor.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I told him with a sweet smile, which he returned with a deadly glower. Ah, friendship between colleagues was such a wonderful thing…

  ‘Should I kill him, Sahib?’ the Mohammedan enquired, shaking his prisoner like a ragdoll.

  ‘Not quite yet.’ Mr Ambrose stepped in front of the violet-faced jailor. ‘My employee is going to relax his grip on your throat now. If you try to scream, you’ll be dead before you have time to draw a breath. Understood?’

  A gurgle came from the jailor’s throat which, with a lot of imagination, could be interpreted as a ‘Yes’.

  ‘Adequate. Let go, Karim.’

  With a grunt, the bodyguard released the man’s throat. Before the choking chap could topple to the floor, however, he caught him around the middle, twisting his arms behind his back in a manner that made me wince just from looking at it.

  ‘Our horses. Our provisions. Where are they?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was as hard as the stone walls around us, and considerably colder. The jailor recognised the tone of a ruthless man when he heard it.

  ‘Provisions…three cells down,’ he gasped. ‘Horses…in stables. Outside. I…show you.’

  ‘Adequate.’

  ‘Please…no kill me.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We won’t.’

  My eyes darted over to Mr Ambrose, staring. What? We wouldn’t?

  Karim seemed just as taken aback.

  ‘Gag him, Karim, and throw him in the cell.’

  ‘But, Sahib-’

  ‘Do as I say! Now!’

  Not even Karim had the power to resist Mr Ambrose’s magical word. Ripping two strips of cloth from the jailor’s uniform, he stuffed one into his mouth and tied the second around his head, so his mouth was covered. With the remnants of his own bonds, he tied the man’s hands, and then solicitously placed him right on a stain of smelly mould in the corner of the cell.

  ‘What now?’ he demanded, stepping out of the cell and bolting the door behind him.

  ‘Now we get our provisions and our horses. And then we ride northeast, as planned. Let’s go!’

  ‘Northeast? But I thought-’

  ‘Silence! Let’s go!’

  It took me five minutes, but by the time we had recovered our provisions and were sneaking down the corridor towards the exit, it had clicked.

  ‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’ I whispered, staring at Mr Ambrose’s back in front of me with something I’d never have let him see if we were face to face. Something suspiciously close to admiration. ‘You let that guard live, and fed him false information about the direction we were going. When the others find him, he’ll tell them everything he heard, and they will lead the chase for us into empty jungle.’

  ‘Quite so, Mr Linton.’

  ‘You, Sir, are a devious son of a bachelor.’

  ‘I prefer the term “seasoned tactician”, Mr Linton.’

  ‘Of course you do.’

  ‘Silence! We’re approaching the gate.’

  The front door was standing open about five inches or so. Squinting, I could make out the forms of three men standing outside, their backs to us, chatting and laughing. Clearly, if they expected an attack, it wasn’t from the inside.

  ‘I take the one on the left,’ Mr Ambrose commanded in a whisper. ‘Karim takes the two on the right.’

  ‘And me?’ I demanded.

  ‘You take this.’ And he dumped three knapsacks full of provisions onto me. Staggering under the weight, I barely managed to remain upright. By the time I had gotten enough breath back to curse, Karim and Mr Ambrose were already outside, and I could hear the noises of a struggle. It didn’t last long. When I staggered out of the door, two men were lying limp on the ground, and Mr Ambrose had the third in a headlock, the man’s own knife at his throat.

  ‘You have two choices now,’ Mr Ambrose informed the wide-eyed young soldier coolly. ‘You can show us where the stables are, or you can die with a knife in your throat. Which do you prefer?’

  It didn’t take the young man long to decide. He was a most intelligent fellow and directed us to the stables without once trying to run or even screaming for help. Having reached the stables, Mr Ambrose repeated his ruse from inside the prison, leaving his prisoner bound and gagged, with erroneous directions.

  ‘Time to go.’ Bending over, Mr Ambrose peeked out through a gap between two of the wooden boards of the stable wall. Outside, the sun was just b
eginning to rise, and first spears of light were stabbing through the gaps in the wood. If we hurried, we might still be able to slip away under cover of semi-darkness.

  ‘Anyone out there?’ I demanded.

  ‘A patrol just passed. I listened to the rhythm of patrols from my cell. If they don’t suddenly change the pattern for some reason, we should have five to six minutes to reach the edge of the jungle.’ Pulling his packhorse behind him, Mr Ambrose marched out of the stable with a stride so arrogant you might think he was in charge of this place. ‘Let’s go!’

  We started to cross the open ground in a northeastern direction, in keeping with Mr Ambrose’s ruse. With every step we took, I sent a prayer to heaven. Please, God, ignore the fact that I don’t really believe in you and help us survive this! Please!

  God apparently wasn’t feeling very charitable that day. We had just stepped into the shadow of the trees when we heard a shout behind us.

  ‘Ei! Você aí! Pare!’

  ‘I guess those aren’t wishes for a happy journey in Portuguese?’ I asked, glancing around to see several soldiers come running from the stables.

  ‘No! Run!’

  Revolting Rebels

  We ran straight on into the jungle, the sounds of pursuit on our heels, until we reached a little stream winding between the trees. Then, Mr Ambrose had us turn and follow the stream southwest, concealing our tracks. As soon as we reached a rocky patch of shore where our footprints wouldn’t remain frozen in mud, we left the stream and changed direction again, heading northwest this time.

  ‘That will throw them off our scent for now.’ Mr Ambrose breathed, supporting himself against a nearby tree. We had been running so hard, even he looked a little less than perfectly cool and composed right now.

  ‘For now?’ Slumping onto a big rock, I glanced the way we had come. ‘Why should they bother to follow us at all? Surely they have more important things to do. There’s a war on, after all.’

  ‘Yes. And do you know what both sides in a war always need, desperately?’

  ‘A decent general? Provisions other than dead rats and rotten cabbage?’

  ‘That, too. But most of all, Mr Linton, they need gold. More and more gold with every second of the war that passes. War is a monster that devours gold and shits death at the other end.’

  ‘How poetic, Sir. So what does that have to do with us?’

  Mr Ambrose directed his dark, sea-coloured gaze at me.

  ‘When we picked up our luggage, didn’t you notice anything strange about it?’

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Because it had been tampered with. The drawstring on your knapsack was loose, and the manuscript wasn’t where we stashed it last.’

  ‘Blast! You mean they-’

  ‘Yes. They took a good look at it. Maybe good enough to figure out what it is. I don’t think they believed it was genuine. But that might well change once they learn in what direction we’re going - the same direction in which the manuscript says a great treasure lies waiting.’

  I took a deep breath, trying to slow my still-hammering heart. I hadn’t run that hard in years, not since I was nine and Uncle Bufford had caught me painting a smiley face on the bottom of his freshly washed trousers. Right now, in the gloomy jungle, with the birds overhead calling out ominous warnings, I almost wished myself back there.

  Then I remembered the glorious adventure ahead, and my bottom remembered the spanking I had received for the smiley incident. Swiftly, I changed my opinion.

  ‘So, what should we do now?’

  ‘Continue on, of course!’ Righting himself, Mr Ambrose got a firm hold on the reins of his packhorse. ‘What else can we do?’

  ‘Well,’ said a strange voice from behind me, ‘for a start, you can surrender.’

  ‘What the he-’

  That was all I managed to get out before something very hard and painful hit me in the head, and I felt my knees give way.

  Bloody hell! was my last thought before I plummeted into oblivion. Not again! This is getting embarrassing!

  *~*~**~*~*

  When I woke up, I was tied to a chair in a smelly underground dungeon. Huzzah! It’s always so cheering and comforting to find yourself in familiar circumstances, don’t you think?

  Similarities notwithstanding, however, this was not the same dungeon as the one I had been in before. The mould on the floor was in a different pattern. There were a lot more spiderwebs in the corners, and instead of being infested with rats, this little underground Eden was home to a clan of cockroaches.

  It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps from outside. Two pairs of footsteps. When the door opened, two men in army uniforms stepped in. One was clearly an officer, the other a common soldier who wore - surprise surprise! - bloodstained gloves.

  ‘Finally. I thought you were never going to show up.’

  The officer raised one eyebrow. ‘You’ve been expecting us?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘You seem very calm for a man in your position.’

  I gave him a charming smile. ‘What can I say - practice makes perfect.’

  The officer stepped forward. He was a little man with a sharp nose and quick eyes. Not as intimidating as Silveira, not by any means. But I knew better than to judge people by their appearance. After all, I didn’t look particularly impressive myself, and I was the most incredible person I had ever had the pleasure to meet.

  ‘Let me introduce myself.’ His quick eyes sweeping over me in a flash, the little man stepped forward, bowing. ‘I am Lieutenant Louis de Alvarez of the glorious Army of the Piratini Republic. At your service.’

  ‘Of course you are. Although I probably shouldn’t expect that the services you’re ready to render include letting me go, right?’

  ‘Indeed not. I see we’ve caught ourselves an intelligent man. Very well, then. Let’s cut straight to the chase, shall we?’

  ‘That would be wonderful. For some inexplicable reason, I feel somewhat bored by our conversation.’

  ‘Trust me, you won’t be for long! I’ve had a talk with the-’

  ‘…general?’

  Alvarez’s eyes narrowed. ‘No. The major, actually. The general is away on business. Why?’

  ‘Oh, just a guess. Do go on, please.’

  ‘I have had a talk with the major, and he fully agrees with my assessment of the situation.’ His sharp little eyes bored into me. ‘You three are spies sent by the imperialist oppressors of the central government to discover our troop movements, or possibly even sabotage our efforts.’

  ‘Are we, now?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘How interesting.’

  ‘And you will tell me everything about your mission objectives, what you have learned so far and what kind of sabotage you still have planned, understood? Everything!’

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to point out that we’re just visitors from England?’

  ‘England? Bah! No Englishman would be crazy enough in his head to go into a war zone!’

  ‘Just checking.’

  ‘Trust me - you’re not the first imperial spy I have caught in my net! I know the look! Small, slimy, greasy-looking fellows with shifty eyes and-’

  ‘Hey!’ I had to admit this fellow was getting my dander up. Being called fat was one thing. But this? This was below the belt! ‘No need for that! Why don’t you just start and torture me already?’

  Come to think of it, that would also happen below the belt. But what the heck! I’d better get it over with.

  The officer took a step closer, his eyes burning with patriotic zeal. ‘You won’t feel so cocky once we’re through with you!’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Oh yes, indeed!’ Stepping back again, the colonel beckoned to the man with the bloody gloves, who in turn stepped forward, holding out a - wonder of wonders - knife. The colonel took it, lovingly running his index finger along the blade. ‘Excellent,’ he whispered. Then he turned to me.

  ‘You see, my friend,
there are a myriad of ways of extracting information from prisoners. A thousand refined methods exist to cause the human body a maximum of pain. Dozens of experts have written treatises upon the subject, and infinite variations have been developed to suit any and every situation.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘However, there is one method which, above all others, will ensure that a man spills every last one of his secrets. A method that tortures not only a man’s body, but also his pride, and hope for the future.’

  Lowering the knife, he slid it down over the front of my tailcoat, down over my belt and between my legs, until he reached a certain point between my thighs, where my trousers had already been severely mistreated.

  ‘Try to guess of what I speak,’ he hissed with diabolical menace.

  ‘Oh, I think somehow I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

  ‘Ha! Then cower in fear, for I have no mercy for spies and other vermin!’

  Cocking my head, I looked up at him. ‘You know…you rebel fellows should try working out that little tiff you have with the government. If you’d got to know each other, I think you’d find you are a lot more alike than you probably believe.’

  ‘Ha! I am impervious to your imperialist propaganda!’

  ‘How nice for you.’

  ‘Speak, or suffer the consequences of your actions, royalist scum!’

  He pressed the tip of the knife down.

  ‘Ahrgl arghl argh,’ I said, dutifully.

  ‘Ha! Now that you feel the pain, you’re not so cocky anymore, are you?’

  I smiled up at him. ‘I’m not quite sure. Could you let me feel a little more?’

  The man’s face grew grim, but there was a glint of respect in his eyes. ‘You are a brave man!’

  ‘Dear me. I have no idea why everyone seems to be labouring under this misapprehension.’

  ‘But no matter how brave a man is, he cannot live through this! We will break you yet! Carlos!’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’ The man with the bloody gloves saluted.

  ‘Take over from here! I must go to the refectory and see what the men have found in their baggage. Maybe that will give us a clue as to what these spies are after. I shall expect a full report when I return.’