AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Or at least that’s what I thought until that day.
It was a routine climb like any other day. (Which goes to show how far Mr Ambrose had knocked me off course. For goodness’ sake, I thought of climbing up a tree in the middle of the jungle dressed only in my underwear as ‘normal’!) Almost bored, I let my eyes drift over the steami
ng landscape beneath me, wisps of hot fog drifting past me. I was just about to give it up and slide down the tree again when I saw something glint in the distance.
I froze.
‘And?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice called from below.
‘Wait just a second!’
Narrowing my eyes, I searched the area where I thought I had seen something reflect the dim half-light. There! Movement, on the bank of that little stream! There were shapes shifting around under the branches of the trees there. Something with two legs that wasn’t your friendly neighbourhood gorilla. I caught that glint again, and this time I was certain. Metal.
‘Mr Ambrose! Mr Ambrose, Sir!’
I had never climbed down a tree so fast in my life. By the time I reached the bottom, Mr Ambrose was awaiting me, revolver drawn, eyes sharp, scanning the jungle for any danger. As for Karim - well, he was probably out there in the jungle, being the danger (for everybody else).
‘Men!’ I panted, as soon as my feet touched the ground. ‘Armed! Coming this way!’
‘Who? Rebels or imperials?’
‘Didn’t see! No flags. Could be either.’
Mr Ambrose’s left little finger twitched. For him, that was as bad as a barrage of curses. ‘And you’re sure they were armed?’
‘Yes.’
‘They must have had an arsenal hidden somewhere in the jungle. One? Ha! The rebels probably have several.’ His jaw tightened. ‘I should have thought of that.’
‘There’s no sense in torturing yourself,’ I told him. ‘I’d be more than happy to do it for you.’
‘Mr Linton! Now is not the time for jokes!’
‘I know.’ Before he could pull away or shoot a freezing glare at me, I stood up on my tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. ‘Who says I was joking?’
He stiffened under the touch of my lips, so surprised that I had time to slip my arms around him and hold him close.
‘I don’t know who they are,’ I whispered, pressing my face into his chest. ‘I don’t know where they got their weapons from. All I know is that they’re after us again, and they don’t look happy. So…what do you think we should do now, Sir?’
Straightening, he snatched up his backpack and slung it over one shoulder.
‘Karim? Grab your things! We’re leaving!’
After that day, we resumed the same gruelling pace as before. Only - it didn’t feel quite as torturous as before. My legs didn’t tremble with every step, and didn’t have half as much to carry as they had a week or two ago. My strides became longer and steadier, and if I was not very much mistaken, Mr Ambrose now and again sent me looks of what bordered very nearly on reluctant approval.
Only…approval of what? The pace with which I moved, or the way in which? He was still marching behind me, guarding my rear, and he took his duty very seriously. I could feel his gaze on my derrière day in and day out. Only in the night did he take his eyes off me - which was just as well, because you can’t sneak off into the jungle for secret shooting practice with the eyes of your employer fastened on your behind.
It had occurred to me that, maybe, it wouldn’t be particularly safe to sneak out of the camp with soldiers roaming the jungle looking for us. But then, if I’d wanted a safe life, I probably shouldn’t have marched into a warzone to begin with. I needed to be able to defend myself. And I needed to be able to shoot Mr Ambrose’s top hat off his head in a fabulously impressive manner. So, as a precaution, I took along a blanket to wrap around the barrel and muffle the noise. It made aiming a little more difficult, but I could use an extra challenge. By now, I had gotten pretty handy with a gun. All right, I probably wouldn’t be able to compete with trained soldiers any time soon, but at least I could hit a standing target over a dozen paces away without the recoil knocking the gun out of my hand.
‘Die! Die, you ugly orange flower-cabbage-thingy!’
Bam!
‘Die, you odd-looking tropical plant of unknown origin!’
Bam! Bam!
The plant exploded as the bullet hit home. Grinning, I whirled the weapon on one finger (which I managed to do about fifty per cent of the time without dropping it) and blew the smoke away. It would have been great to have a scuffed leather gun belt at my hips into which I could casually slip the still-smoking gun, but a girl couldn’t have everything, right?
