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‘All clear.’ Suddenly, his perfect granite face appeared above me, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Where were you?’ I hissed.
‘Checking.’
‘Checking for what?’
‘Soldiers, Mr Linton. There are none present, either in here, or out there.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I climbed to one of the windows and looked out. All I saw was the sea, over the tops of trees, and a path leading downhill.’
‘Not even one guard?’
‘I do not like to repeat myself, Mr Linton. No. There were no soldiers.’
‘But that’s strange, don't you think so?’
‘Exceedingly. Which is why I would suggest we leave this place before things change from strange to normal. Come!’
He disappeared from my view, and I gathered that now it was my turn. Slowly, I sat up. Every muscle in my body ached from lying down this long, and with so much weight on top of me. I tried very hard not to think about who that hard, muscled weight had belonged to, and gripped the edges of the hole in the lid above me to pull myself farther up.
With a groan at my protesting muscles, I stuck my head through the opening. Looking around me, I saw a large, bare room, with lots of crates piled in every corner and sacks lying on the floor. Light filtered in through a few unglazed but barred windows high up on the wall. Dust motes danced in the light, and somewhere I heard the little footsteps of a mouse, or some other small animal, hurrying across the stone floor.
‘What is this place?’ I whispered.
‘I do not know, Mr Linton. But at a guess, I would say, a warehouse.’
‘It looks like nobody ever comes here.’
‘Let us hope so, or they will find you still half in the crate when they do come. Now get a move on!’
‘Yes, Sir. Immediately, Sir.’
Pushing my arms through the hole, I hoisted myself further up and, bit by bit, emerged into the outside world. This went fine until my waist had slid outside. Suddenly, I encountered resistance. Gripping the boards to either side of me, I pushed harder.
I didn’t move an inch.
Again, I pushed harder. Nothing.
‘What are you waiting for, Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose was standing a little way away from the crate, his gaze fixed on the door of the warehouse, prepared at any time for an enemy to come through it. ‘We have to go.’
One final time I pushed - to no avail. ‘I can’t,’ I growled. ‘I… don't seem to fit through the hole.’
Certain generously-en
dowed parts of me, anyway.
‘The hole should be big enough for an average person, Mr Linton.’
‘Well, then maybe I’m a special person,’ I hissed. ‘At least that’s what my little sister always says. Will you get rid of another board, already?’
‘Manners, Mr Linton!’
‘Will you get rid of another board, Sir, before somebody comes along and shoots us?’
In two seconds he was on the crate, his cane in hand. Placing it under the nearest board, he pushed down. There was a crack, as if from a pistol shot, and the board flew away. I popped out of the crate like a cork out of a bottle. Hurriedly, I slid down until I stood firm with both feet on the ground, and started to dust off my rumpled uniform.
