Silence is Golden

33. Heroic Rescue a la Ambrose

A general piece of advice to tourists and other travellers to the beautiful country of Brazil: avoid getting tied to poles. It's very uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, Colonel Silveira and his merry men had not been so courteous as to give me a choice in the matter when they had dragged me into this tent and twisted my arms behind my back. There had been a definite aura of hostility in the air, unbecoming of an officer welcoming visitors from a foreign country. Really, the way I was accommodated right now, with the ropes cutting into my wrists, the gag in my mouth and the bruise developing on my cheek where a fat sergeant had punched me after I tried to bite off his finger, you might almost think I was a prisoner and not an honoured guest.

'Bloody Brazilians and their bloody civil war!' I growled. Or at least I tried to growl. With the gag in my mouth it sounded more like 'Blwd Brzllns nd dr bdy ceel or!' How very dignified.

And do you know what the best news was?

Not that I had been captured, no. Not even that Colonel Silveira had promised to 'personally attend' to my questioning. No. The best thing was unquestionably, without the smallest doubt, that I'd had the manuscript with me when I went into their nets. Fool that I was, I'd actually thought it would be safest to keep the thing with me at all times! Now it didn't look as if that would turn out to be so safe after all.

And all this had happened because I wanted to learn how to defend myself. How to take care of myself. Now, here I was, tied to a pole in nothing but a glorified nightshirt, a gag in my mouth. Good job, Lilly!

Tentatively, I tugged at the bindings keeping me chained to the pole. It was no use. The ropes cut into my skin and didn't give a fraction of an inch. Bloody Brazilians! Why a pole, anyway? Did they intend to roast me over an open fire? I thought only natives did that kind of thing. And even they should have better sense than to try and roast me. After all, as experienced cannibals they'd have to see at a glance I would make for very chewy, fatty steaks. Now, Mr Ambrose...that was another matter. Once unfrozen, he might actually be rather tasty...

Suddenly, the soft squishing of boots in wet mud came from the entrance of the tent. My head snapped up, just in time to see a dark figure crouching in the entrance, a knife in its hand.

My heart jumped a mile high. Did the sergeant and his cronies come back to have a little fun with the captive?

The dark figure moved forward, blocking out the moonlight completely. 'Mr Linton? Mr Linton, you're alive!'

I breathed in a glorious sigh of relief. That was not the sergeant. There was only one man in the world who could pack that much annoyance into a statement of relief.

'Mmph! Mmmp!'

'My God, did they gag you?'

'Ymm!'

'Smart people.'

'Mmmmp! Nmnnn! Mmm!'

I was seriously considering strangling him for that little remark – but a moment later, I decided to forgive him. He was reaching out, his hands wandering searchingly over me, looking for the rope. He was going to untie me.

'Behind my back,' I tried to say. 'Behind my back, at the pole!'

But all that came out was, 'Bnnd ma bbck, t pl!'

His hands slowly wandered over my hips, then my waist. They slid over the belt I usually carried there, with a pouch or two hanging from it, along with a water bottle.

No! No, not there! The ropes are further back!

His hands slid into the first pouch.

Wait just a minute...!