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‘I shall take matters into my own hands, naturally. As I said before, we will leave the city. It is time to go bandit-hunting.’
‘But… do we have enough information about their location?’
Most of Mr Ambrose’s conversations with his informants had been conducted in foreign languages of which I understood nothing. He never seemed to feel it necessary to share the results with me, one of the reasons why I’d aimed frequent kicks at his feet whenever we had been dancing.
‘Not enough to know where the bandits’ camp is, exactly, no,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘I only know their general area of operation, and that they have slowly been moving westwards, extending their raids farther and farther.’
‘What use is that to us? We still don’t know how to find them!’
So quickly I thought I might have imagined it, one corner of Mr Ambrose’s mouth lifted up into what wasn’t a smile, not even a half-smile, but a quarter-smile, at most. It still was more than you ever got to see from him… unless there was something very special ahead.
‘I have a plan. If it works, we don’t necessarily need
to find them.’
I waited for further explanation - but I had forgotten with whom I was conversing. Turning away, Mr Ambrose gestured to Youssef.
‘Youssef! Alert the men! We’re going!’
My heart made a leap. I had known this was coming, but still… Last night had really driven home what I had gotten myself into. For the first time I had a real inkling of what our trip into the waste would be like. Deadly.
‘We’re going?’ I breathed. ‘Into the desert?’
‘No. To the bazaar, to buy supplies and transport.’
‘Oh.’ I couldn’t suppress my sigh of relief.
‘That, and we’ll make a short stop at the ship to collect something.’ Pulling his pistol out of his tailcoat pocket, Mr Ambrose checked and reloaded the weapon. ‘All in all, it shouldn’t take more than an hour. Then we’re going into the desert.’
Bizarre Bazaar
The bazaar looked nothing like what I had imagined. I had dreamed up palace-like constructions, glittering golden in the sunlight, where sultans and beautiful, veiled (and of course deplorably unfeminist!) women were carried around on litters by hordes of slaves.
The reality seemed to consist more of a labyrinth of small booths constructed from wood and striped cloth. There were no sultans to be seen anywhere. True, there were quite a lot of veiled women, but they weren’t being carried around in litters, and to judge from the volume and vigour with which they argued with the red-faced merchants inside the stalls, they were considerably more forthright than I had expected.
And last, but certainly not least, there were camels. Dozens of them, even hundreds. And they were all extremely large, extremely loud and extremely smelly. I had my issues with animals at the best of times, but at least horses didn’t stink like public privies or try to spit in your eye!
‘Is it quite necessary to utilize these creatures?’ Mr Ambrose asked Youssef, his eyes narrowed at the nearest camel in a derisive stare. The animal managed to return the look without blinking, which increased my already significant respect for the ugly beasts. ‘I have observed their movements, and horses are considerably faster.’
‘But horses wouldn’t make it through the desert, Effendi. Do you see this?’ Yousef pointed to the great hump on the camel’s back. ‘The animals use it to store water.[21] That way they can travel for up to three weeks through the desert without drinking a single drop of water.’
‘Hm.’ Taking a yardstick out of his pocket, Mr Ambrose unfolded it and held it against the camel’s hump. The creature gave him another contemptuous look that clearly said, ‘My hump is bigger than your hump, you hairless monkey!’
Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘I see. An efficient storage method. That is acceptable.’ Snapping the yardstick together, he put it away again. ‘Acquire forty of these creatures for our expedition. Here is the money.’
He handed Youssef a number of bank notes. The Egyptian’s eyes widened. ‘But… Effendi, this is no more than seven hundred pounds! That would make not even eighteen pounds for every camel!’
‘And?’
The Egyptian almost seemed wounded. ‘Effendi, a camel is not a cheap thing to buy. A good camel is a precious and rare creature. One of these prized companions costs at least twenty-five pounds!’
‘Well, we are buying forty of them, aren’t we? They should be easier to produce en masse, so I expect to receive a bulk discount!’
Youssef rung his hands. ‘But… Effendi! These are not shirts or saucepans produced by machine! These are beautiful and gentle creatures, reared in years of care and-’ He suddenly cut off when he saw Mr Ambrose’s expression, or perhaps I should say expressive lack thereof. Hurriedly, he gave a bow. ‘Yes, Effendi. Bulk discount, Effendi. Of course, I shall do my best.’
And he disappeared into the crowd, muttering in Arabic.
With the air of a suffering martyr giving away his life’s blood, Mr Ambrose started distributing more banknotes among some of the other men and instructed them about what to buy and how much to pay for it. The list included everything from water to woollen cloaks.
