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Rising to his feet and pulling me up with him, Mr Ambrose led me over to the west side of the valley, all the while keeping a tight hold on me. Bandits rode around us and all the others in circles, herding everybody off to the west, shouting ‘Move! Do as we tell you, and you won’t get hurt!’. Nobody was fooled by the show they were putting on. I could see it in my companions’ faces: they knew what awaited them. All the previous caravans had been massacred. This one would be, too. The bandits were just dangling the possibility of life in front of us so we wouldn’t resist. And so far, it seemed to be working.
Or was it?
I caught a glimpse of the cold, calculating look in Mr Ambrose’s dark eyes, and suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore. But then the look was gone again, replaced by abject terror and whining submission.
‘Please!’ he begged the bandits. ‘Please don’t take everything! I invested all my whole fortune into this caravan! If you take everything, you’ll leave me a beggar! Please!’
The bandits roared with laughter. Not content with that, one of them stepped up behind my dear employer and booted him soundly in the behind. Flying forward, he landed face-first in the dirt.
My lips twitched. Well, now, even if I was going to die today, maybe it was worth it just for having seen this.
‘Please!’ Getting up again, he slipped through the row of bandits and hurried to one of the camels they had herded together. ‘Please, don’t take this one! Take all the others, but not this one!’
The laughter subsided. Suddenly, anticipation crackled in the air. All eyes flew to the camel beside Mr Ambrose.
‘Why?’ Brows furrowed, the bandit leader drove his mount towards my employer, stopping only a yard or two away. ‘What’s so special about this particular camel?’
‘I… I… I don’t know! Just please! Leave me just this one. You can have all the others, but please…’
‘Is there a treasure in the saddlebags? Gold? Silver?’
Fear flickered over Mr Ambrose’s face. ‘No! No, nothing at all! The saddlebags are empty! Please, don’t take it! Please, you can take all the others, but please…’
‘Out of my way, you snivelling worm!’ Sliding down from his camel, the bandit leader marched towards Mr Ambrose and shoved him out of the way. He was so intent on the saddlebags that he didn’t notice Mr Ambrose crawling away rather fast for someone who, just a moment ago, seemed to have been determined to protect this parti
cular camel. ‘Now, let’s see what’s in here.’
Unfastening the buckles, the bandit leader opened the first saddlebag - and the camel exploded.
*~*~**~*~*
I must admit, it took me quite by surprise. I’m from Westminster. We don’t often meet exploding camels in our neighbourhood. But, here in this place, things seemed to be different. Apparently, one exploding camel wasn’t enough. The others wanted to join the fun, and the moment the fire of the first explosion reached the next bleating furry molehill on legs, it blew up too. In a few fiery seconds of chaos, the entire east side of the valley was blown to bits, including every bandit and camel in it.
A moment later someone shoved me from behind, and I fell to the ground. Looking up, I saw Youssef standing protectively over me, a rifle suddenly in his hand. Where the hell had he gotten that? Other men of our party were pulling out rifles, too, and aiming. Had they had hidden weapons all along?
‘Attack!’ His ice-cold command drew my eyes back to Mr Ambrose. He was rolling over and pulling out a revolver from his tailcoat pocket.
Bam!
The first bullet caught the nearest bandit in the head and hurled him off his camel. ‘Attack! Get them, men! Kill them all!’
Hs men seemed more than glad to follow that order. Bullets whizzed over my head like a swarm of deadly bees. Screams rang out, and moments later, the half dozen bandits that had been surrounding us fell dead to the ground. Taking up a formation like a professional regiment, our caravan started firing at the rest.
Not that there were many left. Most of them, gathered around the camels when they blew up, had been ripped apart by the explosions. The few who were left didn’t run, though.
‘A trap!’ shouted someone over the racket of the gunfire. ‘It’s a trap! Kill the English pigs, or Radi will have your head!’
I spat out sand and raised my head. ‘Radi? Who the hell is Radi?’
Youssef grabbed me, shoved me down again and fired another shot at the bandits. ‘How should I know? The chief leader of the bandits, maybe! Stay down!’
‘Give me a gun, and I won’t have to stay down!’
‘The Effendi gave strict orders that you were not to be given a weapon under any circumstances.’
‘Oh, he did, did he?’
Sooner or later, we were going to have a chat about that.
