Silence is Golden

31. Something goes 'Bang' in the Night

We didn't try the river-trick again. With it not having worked twice in a row now, it was clear that the Brazilians, imperialists and rebels both, had excellent trackers among them. Instead, we marched as hard and fast as we could, and hoped that Mr Ambrose's threats were enough to deter them. They certainly would have been if I'd been the one following.

Still...I did wonder why Mr Ambrose hadn't employed a simpler method of preventing trouble. A method that, usually, he didn't seem averse to using.

'Why didn't you do it?' I demanded, once we were well out of hearing range of our enemies.

'Do what, Mr Linton?'

'Kill them, of course! You could have, after all, easily. They were bound and at your mercy, which we both know is not very considerable. So why did you spare them? You didn't have any qualms about disposing of the pirates.'

'I have business interests in Brazil. I didn't think the Brazilian government would look kindly on my shooting one of its officers, even if that officer is a worthless, greedy worm.'

'And the rebels? You could have shot the rebels.'

'I could have.' He gave me a look. The kind of look that Julius Caesar probably gave his slow-witted little centurions before he explained why he wanted to invade Gaul. 'But if I leave them both alive, maybe we'll be lucky and they'll kill each other.'

I remembered the gleaming blade Mr Ambrose had left behind at our former campsite, and the greedy gazes of the tied-up soldiers. If they did indeed kill each other, it would have little or nothing to do with luck.

We continued through the jungle, keeping up not quite as gruelling a pace as before, but still, it was pure torture for my poor legs. For hours upon hours filled with ceaseless marching, I craved nothing so much as a soft bed to lie on, and three pounds of solid chocolate to forget my aches – at least at first. After a few days, very slowly, a change set in. My legs ached less and less. My behind, which had felt like the dead weight of a mammoth dragging behind me, somehow got...lighter. My steps grew steadier. Only my craving for solid chocolate stayed. But it wasn't nearly as bad as another craving.

'Come here!'

'You are my subordinate, Mr Linton! You cannot give orders to– mmmmph!'

'In case you hadn't noticed before,' I whispered against his smooth lips, 'I like breaking rules.'

'You don't say.'

'Oh yes, indeed, Sir! Now shut up and kiss me!'

We were camping next to a big tree that bore some kind of big, reddish fruit. It smelled invitingly tasty, but Karim had strongly advised against trying it. That wouldn't have stopped me – I wasn't big on following men's advice – but I had my very own forbidden fruit lying right here on the ground beside me, and it was a lot tastier.

'Mr Ambrose, Sir?' Running my nose along the line of his jaw, I breathed in his scent of man, money and power, and felt his hard body quiver beneath me.

'Yes, Mr Linton?'

'Why don't you relax a bit? It's hot here in the jungle. Why don't you take off a few of those stuffy clothes?'

He met my gaze with a cool one of his own. 'Because I'm English.'

'I'm English, too,' I pointed out.

Slowly and lingeringly, Mr Ambrose let his gaze rake over me, from my messy hair down over my torn, threadbare chemise and bare legs to my feet, encased in massive boots. 'Yes, and I'm sure that Nelson and Wellington are turning over in their graves at the fact.'