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Mr Ambrose advanced towards him. His camel was slightly bigger than the other man’s, not to speak of himself. He towered over the man in the burnous.
‘Tell me,’ Mr Ambrose asked, his voice deceptively low and smooth, ‘what exactly were my orders?’
‘To, um, get them all? All the bandits, Sir?’
‘No. If you think back closely, you will remember that was what you men shouted. I want to know what my orders were.’
‘Oh… um… well, Sir, I…’
‘Since you are having difficulties with your memory, I’ll tell you. My orders were, verbatim, “Don’t lose sight of them! We have to know where they’re going!”.’
For a moment, heavy silence descended over the landscape again. Then, Mr Ambrose leaned forward until only a few inches separated his cold, hard face from that of his employee. ‘Tell me: how exactly are we going to “not lose sight of them”, how are we going to find out “where they are going”, when they are all dead?’
‘Um… well… I…’
‘Do not be shy. I would be most interested to hear your opinion.’
‘Well… I…I don’t know, Sir.’
Shooting up, Mr Ambrose’s fist clamped around the smaller man’s throat and lifted him clean off the saddle. He dangled in the air, a few inches above the leather, fighting for breath.
‘Neither do I!’ Mr Ambrose hissed. ‘Congratulations! I have crossed two oceans, survived explosions, assassins and the desert - not one of those things has been able to stop me from getting my revenge! And you have succeeded where all those things failed. Just a stupid little man who couldn’t follow orders! What do you have to say for yourself?’
‘Grrk! Grak! Rrrm!’
It seemed to me that with Mr Ambrose’s hand clamped around his throat, the man didn’t have much to say for himself, nor was it likely he would ever speak again if Mr Ambrose didn’t let go. My dear employer didn’t appear to have noticed that fact, though.
I cleared my throat. He didn’t notice that, either. He was far too focused on the object of his ice-cold rage.
‘Do you realize we will never find the rest of them, now?’ he demanded, his voice like shards of ice piercing the skin.
‘The rest of them?’ The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. He turned just slightly to look at me. ‘You think there are more bandits than the ones we killed, Sir?’
‘Of course! The number of attacks on my caravans and the size of the raiding parties leave no other possibility. This was just one of three or four groups! The rest of them are still safe back in the bandits’ hideout, wherever that is! And thanks to this gentleman-’ He shook his victim like a ragdoll, eliciting more gagging noises, ‘we will never find its location!’
Eyes glittering icily, Mr Ambrose glared up at the man. ‘I wonder what would be a fitting punishment for you…’
‘Rrrg! Mm Nnmh!’
‘Silence! You have lost the right to speak!’
‘Nhh Rmmgk!’
‘Silence, I said! You will be sacked, of course… Maybe I should abandon you here. Or maybe I’ll drag you before a magistrate, and have you held responsible for ruining this expedition. You can work off the cost in the next thirty years in some dusty coal mine. How would you like that?’
‘Nnnmm!’
The man’s face was turning blue now. I looked away, not particularly charmed by the sight. My eyes happened to stray into the direction where the camels of the bandits had stopped to rest.
They were no longer there.
Frowning, I looked around and spotted them a few dozen yards away. They weren’t resting anymore. True, they were moving slowly, but they were moving. And what’s more, they all seemed to be headed in more or less the same general direction.
‘Or a quarry!’ I heard Mr Ambrose from behind me. ‘How would you like to slave in a quarry for the rest of your life?’
‘Nmm! Nmm, pllsss!’
I cleared my throat again. ‘Um… Rick?’
