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‘But not for long.’ Stepping forward, my dear employer grabbed the bolt and rammed it back. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled the door wide open. Karim ducked through, without releasing his grip on the jailor.
‘You’re welcome,’ I told him with a sweet smile, which he returned with a deadly glower. Ah, friendship between colleagues was such a wonderful thing…
‘Should I kill him, Sahib?’ the Mohammedan enquired, shaking his prisoner like a ragdoll.
‘Not quite yet.’ Mr Ambrose stepped in front of the violet-faced jailor. ‘My employee is going to relax his grip on your throat now. If you try to scream, you’ll be dead before you have time to draw a breath. Understood?’
A gurgle came from the jailor’s throat which, with a lot of imagination, could be interpreted as a ‘Yes’.
‘Adequate. Let go, Karim.’
With a grunt, the bodyguard released the man’s throat. Before the choking chap could topple to the floor, however, he caught him around the middle, twisting his arms behind his back in a manner that made me wince just from looking at it.
‘Our horses. Our provisions. Where are they?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was as hard as the stone walls around us, and considerably colder. The jailor recognised the tone of a ruthless man when he heard it.
‘Provisions…three cells down,’ he gasped. ‘Horses…in stables. Outside. I…show you.’
‘Adequate.’
‘Please…no kill me.’
‘Don’t worry. We won’t.’
My eyes darted over to Mr Ambrose, staring. What? We wouldn’t?
Karim seemed just as taken aback.
‘Gag him, Karim, and throw him in the cell.’
‘But, Sahib-’
‘Do as I say! Now!’
Not even Karim had the power to resist Mr Ambrose’s magical word. Ripping two strips of cloth from the jailor’s uniform, he stuffed one into his mouth and tied the second around his head, so his mouth was covered. With the remnants of his own bonds, he tied the man’s hands, and then solicitously placed him right on a stain of smelly mould in the corner of the cell.
‘What now?’ he demanded, stepping out of the cell and bolting the door behind him.
‘Now we get our provisions and our horses. And then we ride northeast, as planned. Let’s go!’
‘Northeast? But I thought-’
‘Silence! Let’s go!’
It took me five minutes, but by the time we had recovered our provisions and were sneaking down the corridor towards the exit, it had clicked.
‘You did that on purpose, didn’t you?’ I whispered, staring at Mr Ambrose’s back in front of me with something I’d never have let him see if we were face to face. Something suspiciously close to admiration. ‘You let that guard live, and fed him false information about the direction we were going. When the others find him, he’ll tell them everything he heard, and they will lead the chase for us into empty jungle.’
‘Quite so, Mr Linton.’
‘You, Sir, are a devious son of a bachelor.’
‘I prefer the term “seasoned tactician”, Mr Linton.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Silence! We’re approaching the gate.’
The front door was standing open about five inches or so. Squinting, I could make out the forms of three men standing outside, their backs to us, chatting and laughing. Clearly, if they expected an attack, it wasn’t from the inside.
