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‘I have a very important order for you.’
‘Yes, Sir! I will obey your every wish, as is my duty as your… what am I currently? Wife? Secretary? Dogsbody?’
‘The order is,’ Mr Ambrose said, ignoring me completely, ‘Be silent!’
‘Yes, Sir! Immediately, Sir!’
*~*~**~*~*
Did you ever hear the saying ‘Be careful what you ask for, you might just get it?’
Well, I didn’t. I had never heard of the damn saying in my whole life, but that didn’t stop me from inventing it for myself the moment the sun began to sink behind the horizon.
The whole blasted day I had done nothing but pray for cold, cold, cold, cold… and now the desert was giving me exactly what I asked for, in concentrated form. The moment the sun’s last, warming rays vanished below the earth, the warmth seemed to be sucked out of the barren landscape like the juice from an orange. My skin, heated just a moment ago, became cold and clammy. I started to shiver.
‘W-what’s this?’ I demanded, wrapping my thobe more closely around me. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘The matter?’ Mr Ambrose cocked his head. ‘Whatever can you mean?’
‘The cold, of course! Why is it suddenly so bloody cold?’
‘Why shouldn’t it be? There’s no vegetation to hold the heat. It just evaporates when the sun sinks.’
‘And that doesn’t bother you at all, does it?’ I demanded, glaring at him. His Serene Mightiness, Mr Ambrose, still sat in the saddle like a stone idol of the God of Commerce, not even showing the slightest sign of discomfort.
‘Certainly not. Why should it?’
But about ten minutes later, when he thought I wasn’t looking, I saw him rub his hands together. Ha! He was mortal, after all!
‘We’ll make camp here!’ came his order about half an hour later. I nearly dropped from my saddle in relief. For a moment I considered cuddling up to the warm form of the camel, but the stink of the creature would keep me at bay till I was at death’s door from freezing. Anyway, there was work to be done.
‘Pitch the tents! Cook food! Set guards!’ Mr Ambrose’s pelted us with orders, and we hurried to obey. Luckily, Youssef, and not I, got the task of collecting the camel shit to light a fire with.
‘You there! Scout ahead as long as the moon is still up! I want to know what’s out there! Be back in half an hour! And you, get my maps and instruments! I have to determine where exactly we are!’
Soon we were all huddled around a campfire that, while smelling rather peculiar, at least prevented our blood from freezing in our veins. There was warm food, companionship and even the occasional laughter. I didn’t understand any of the jokes, since they were all in Arabic, but I laughed along anyway. Mr Ambrose, to nobody’s surprise, did no
t laugh.
Finally, though, our evening’s kettle full of warm stew ran out. Not long after, the day’s camel shit ran out as well, and the fire began to die down. The men started to disperse, some gathering in groups around the warm, if stinking, forms of the snoring camels. Others with more sensitive noses just moved closer to the glowing remains of the fire and huddled together there.
This left only few solitary people: the guards surrounding the camp in a circle, and Mr Ambrose, and me, lying on the ground alone, separated by several feet of cold desert air. Shivering, I drew my thobe closer around me. Blast! I should have bought a woollen cloak, too!
I glanced over at Mr Ambrose. He was lying, stiff as a board, his arms folded in front of his chest as if daring the night to freeze him to death. I couldn’t see his eyes - but I’d bet a month’s wages on the fact that they were colder than the dark night around us.
Yes, his eyes might be cold. But the rest of him… Bloody hell, he has to be warm! Warmer than you, anyway!
I cleared my throat.
‘Dick?’
No answer.
I sighed. ‘Rick?’
Still no answer.
‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?’
