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Now I bloody couldn’t stop imagining!
Sixth landing… just one more… seventh! Panting, I stumbled into the narrow hallway with doors leading off to either side that was the gateway to Mr Ambrose’s inner sanctum. At the end of the hallway, Mr Stone, an astonishingly nice and unassuming man for someone working so closely with Mr Ambrose, sat at his desk, guarding the entrance like a timid Cerberus.
And behind Mr Stone… a door.
The door.
I started forward. The only sensible thing to do. But why the heck was I moving on tiptoes?
‘Hello, Mr Stone.’
And now why are you whispering?
He smiled up at me. ‘Welcome back, Mr Linton.’
I threw another glance at the door. ‘How is he?’
Mr Stone cleared his throat. ‘Um… not in a particularly good mood, I’m afraid. Here’s his correspondence for the day. But if I were you, I’d avoid him until he has relaxed a bit.’
Mr Ambrose? Relax? Do you want me to wait a million years, or just ten thousand?
‘Well, thanks for the advice,’ I told him. ‘I’ll just go into my own office, then, and-’
‘Mr Linton!’ The cold voice from inside the head office cut through mine like a razor through rice paper. It sent a shiver down my back and made Mr Stone sit up straight in his chair. Then it came again. ‘I know you’re out there, Mr Linton. Come in here! We have work to do!’
Oh, bloody hell…!
To Watch for Fat and Gold
When I opened the door to his office, Mr Ambrose was sitting in his chair, glaring at a piece of paper on his desk as if he wanted to freeze it solid with his gaze. He didn’t look up when I stepped in, but still managed to make me feel that the icy look was not for the paper alone.
‘You are two and a half seconds late, Mr Linton!’
‘Good morning, Sir. It’s very nice to see you again, too.’
‘Send a message through the tubes! I want to know if my new cane has arrived yet.’
‘Your new what, Sir?’
‘My cane! I tried to hold on to my old one, but it slipped out of my fingers while swimming ashore.’ He sounded as if having survived the sinking of the ship was an insignificant event that could in no way outweigh the horrendous loss of his invaluable walking stick. ‘I have to buy a new one. If things continue at this rate, I’ll be reduced to beggary soon.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘And it’s going to be infernally expensive! I have to have it custom-made, of all things! They don’t sell them like I want them.’
‘Really, Sir? I can’t imagine why shops don’t usually sell walking sticks with hidden swords inside. They’re such a handy, everyday item.’
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Get a move on and get me my cane!’
‘Yes, Sir!’
While Mr Ambrose continued to shoot death-stares at the paper in front of him, I went into the office next door, to a spot where there was a hole in the wall, and beside the hole a number of levers and buttons. They gave me access to the system of pneumatic tubes that ran through the entire building. Shove a small cylinder with a message into one of the tubes and push the right buttons, and it would pop out at almost any place in the building, saving Mr Ambrose a lot of valuable time and my leg muscles from eternal cramp.
Dear Sallow-face…
