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‘Have I ever given an order that I have not meant?’
‘No, Sahib, but…’
‘Have I ever fallen into the habit of joking or making other kinds of remarks that were not of a serious and literal nature?’
‘I must admit, Sahib, no, but in this case…’
‘Tell he- I mean, tell him!’
Karim lowered his head.
‘As you wis
h, Sahib.’
With a few longer strides of his massive legs he had caught up to me and was marching next to me. I looked sideways. His face was trying for impassivity, but I could see the wrath of seven hells burning under the surface.
‘After I failed in my attempt with the Chinese water torture,’ he said in a voice that was supposed to be detached, ‘it came to me in a divine stroke of inspiration that a less classical approach might be more effective. So I stripped Simmons of all his clothes, including his undergarments, and threatened that if he would not divulge his information, I would drug him, dress him in a pink French ballet dancer’s costume, and tie him to the fountain in Trafalgar Square for the crowd to discover in the morning.’
There were a few seconds of silence.
‘He didn’t seem to believe me at first. That’s when I went out and bought a costume. I brought it back and showed it to him… and that broke him.’
There were a few more seconds of silence.
‘A… ballet costume?’ I finally asked.
‘Yes. Pink, with a short silk skirt and golden lace trimmings.’
‘I see.’
Cautiously, I looked sideways again and could see Karim’s hand at his belt, gripping the hilt of his scimitar. His eyes found mine. ‘Come on,’ they seemed to say. ‘Laugh. Come on. I’m the one with the huge sabre. Laugh, and we'll see if you’re still laughing when I have separated your head from your body.’
‘Um… a very interesting method indeed,’ I managed. I was fighting an epic battle to keep a straight face. Let me tell you, Waterloo was nothing to it. I might have lost it after all, just like Napoleon, the poor chap, if a more serious thought had not invaded my mind, providing much needed reinforcements.
‘You distracted me!’ I exclaimed. ‘Again!’
‘I?’ Karim’s stare changed from threatening abrupt death to confusion. ‘I didn’t…’
‘Not you! You!’ I pointed at Mr Ambrose. He couldn’t see it though, because he was still walking briskly ahead of us, his back to me.
‘You’ve done it twice now! I want my first question answered! I want to know that name! Who was spying on you, damn you?’
He didn’t stop, didn’t answer. Just held up one admonishing finger in an abrupt movement. What the blooming hell… Oh, right. Be courteous. Be respectful.
‘Who was spying on you, Sir?’ I asked, my voice sweeter than a pot full of honey.
He didn’t even glance around.
‘Can’t tell you that.’
‘Why the dickens not? Um… Sir?’
‘It is for your own good, believe me.’
Oh, of course I believe you. Why would I ever doubt a word that comes out of your mouth?
‘Who is he? Who is this chap who’s hiring people to spy on you?’
