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‘…come with me without making any trouble.’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’
With a swift kick, he swept my feet out from under me. Giving a startled cry, I fell back, and he caught me, lifting me into the air.
‘You bloody bastard! Let me down!’
‘No.’
He started forward.
‘Let me down, now! I will not be carried out of here like a damn parcel!’
‘No, not like a parcel,’ he agreed, his eyes burning with cold fire. ‘Not at all.’ And, bending down, he pressed a passionate kiss on my lips. By the time he released my mouth and I could remember how to breathe, we were already out in the hallway - over the threshold.
Only he didn’t carry you into your new home, clad in a white dress. He carried you out of a recently exploded hotel suite with a dress that is practically ripped in half!
Well, a girl can’t have everything.
‘Let me down!’ I commanded once more. ‘I can walk perfectly well on my own, do you hear me? Let me down!’
Ignoring me, he started marching down the corridor, his eyes flicking from right to left.
‘I said let me dow-’
A man with dagger in his hand sprang from a doorway to our left. Mr Ambrose’s hands darted with admirable speed into his tailcoat and drew forth a pistol, which he cocked and aimed. There was only one problem. To use his hand to hold the pistol, those hands did first have to let go of me.
‘-ooouuch!’
Bang!
The lifeless form of the attacker dropped to the ground beside me, a big hole in his blue shirt that was suddenly rimmed by red. Above me, Mr Ambrose checked to see if any more men were coming, then calmly started reloading his gun.
‘You know,’ I moaned from floor-level, rubbing my aching derrière, ‘when I said “let me down”, I meant slowly.’
‘Indeed?’ Pressing himself against the wall, Mr Ambrose spied around the corner, his dark eyes sharp and searching. ‘I’ll remember that for the next time we’re bombed and shot at. Now, stay down and be silent!’
I didn’t particularly care for his tone. But seeing as he was the one with the gun in his hand, I thought it for once wise not to argue. Crawling towards the wall and pressing myself as flat against it as humanly possible, I tried to slow my ragged breathing and listen. Out of the distance came the sound of men’s shouts and ladies’ screams. From a few rooms down the corridor we could hear the sound of something big snarling. That was probably Karim at work. I pitied the poor fools who got in his way.
Then, from around the corner, the sound of footsteps came. Hasty footsteps, hurrying this way. Taking a deep breath, Mr Ambrose shifted his gun until it was pointing straight forward, ready to shoot anyone who would come around the corner. I caught myself hoping that it would be Mademoiselle Bertrand.
Be reasonable! It was just a kiss! No, not even that much! You don’t want the girl to die for that, do you?
No, that was right, I didn’t. I wanted her to be poked with hot irons, subjected to Chinese water torture and forced to beg on her knees for my forgiveness. Then I wanted her to die.
Someone ran around the corner, and proved that there was no justice in the world: it wasn’t Mademoiselle Bertrand. It wasn’t even some equally shootworthy skunk, but a perfect stranger. A lanky man in Egyptian dress, who stopped dead when Mr Ambrose’s revolver came to rest against his temple. Slowly, the man’s eyes wandered to his right, trying to see, without moving, the barrel of the weapon that was threatening to blow his brains out. Instead, he caught an eyeful of Mr Ambrose.
‘E-effendi?’
‘Ah, Youssef. It’s you.’ Mr Ambrose lowered his gun. ‘An explanation! How could this have happened? I hired you to guard us!’
The man winced. ‘I’m sorry, Effendi! They tricked us! The men with the bomb, they did not try to sneak in, but came into the hotel as regular guests, and booked the room next to yours. They looked perfectly harmless! They…’
Another explosion went off somewhere. The ringing silence that followed was broken only by a gurgling sound that didn’t sound very healthy.
‘I think we should leave this place, Effendi,’ the newcomer suggested.
