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‘And we wouldn’t want him to die like that, now, would we?’ I muttered, ripping open my first suitcase and starting to throw my clothes over the hooks on the wall. ‘Oh no. That would mean we couldn’t strangle him ourselves!’
A knock sounded from the door.
‘What?’ I snapped.
‘Um… may I come in?’
‘That depends! Who are you, and what the hell do you want?’
‘My name is Coles, Sir. Charlie Coles, seaman apprentice aboard the Mammon. I’m bringing your suitcases, Sir.’
‘I’ve already got them.’
‘Well, apparently there are more, Sir.’
‘More?’ I frowned. Mr Ambrose had mentioned something about baggage…
Apparently, he hadn’t been referring to me after all.
‘Yes, Sir. Um… quite a lot more, in fact. If you could open the door, please, they are not really very light.’
‘All right, all right.’ Sighing, I got up and strode to the door - if you can call taking one and a half steps forward across the miniscule cabin ‘striding’. Pulling open the door, I revealed a scraggly young man with a boyish, freckled face, who was swaying like a landlubber under the weight of at least half a dozen suitcases.
‘Good God in heaven! What’s in there?’
‘Stones?’ the boy suggested. ‘Anvils? Bricks?’ He flushed. ‘Begging your pardon, Sir.’
‘I don’t have any with me, so there’s no need to beg. Come in, come in.’
Stepping aside, I beckoned him inside, and Coles staggered forward, depositing the cases on my bunk with a thud. Taking a deep breath, he straightened.
‘Well, that’s all of them.’ He gave me a salute, in the process nearly banging his head into the low ceiling. ‘If you should need anything else, Sir, please don’t hesitate to send for me. Seamen Wood, Mason and I have been ordered by the captain to look after our passengers’ every need on this trip.’
‘Thank you,’ I told the boy with a smile. He gave a little start, then saluted again and hurried out of the room. I stared after him for a moment, wondering about his odd reaction - then I reme
mbered he worked for Rikkard Ambrose. He was probably not used to people in charge smiling at him.
Oh yes, Rikkard Ambrose…
‘What the heck have you cooked up this time in that stony brain of yours?’ I mumbled, stepping towards the suitcases. Narrowing my eyes, I pushed the lid upward. It didn’t move an inch.
Locked! Blast him!
Well, if he was waiting for me to come running to beg to see inside, he would have to wait until he was blue in the face!
*~*~**~*~*
We were casting off. Sailors were hurrying over the deck, ropes in their hands, and commands were being shouted. Mr Ambrose stood on the quarterdeck, arms folded, face as stony as ever. Beside him stood the captain, and although he was the one shouting commands, there was no doubt who was really in command here.
‘So, are you going to tell me now?’ I demanded, taking my place beside the stony financial magnate.
‘Tell you what, Mr Linton?’
‘Why we are on this blasted cockleshell, of course! Why are we going to travel a thousand miles to Egypt?’
‘Three thousand, six hundred and fifteen point one three seven six miles, actually.’
‘Why the hell would I care how many miles there are? Just tell me!’
