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I stared at him for a few moments - but then, when the full feeling in my lower regions started to call attention to itself, I got it.
‘Oh! Oh, I see.’
‘Indeed.’
I stared at him. ‘You have to pee?’ I asked, morbidly fascinated. I had always assumed he lived on the smell of money alone and had no digestive organs.
He gave me a cool look. ‘I have to fulfil the same bodily functions as any other adult male.’
‘And you’re planning to do it here?’ I glanced out of the window again. Outside, it was snowing heavily, and the wind was howling. ‘Bloody hell! You’ll be lucky if you don’t freeze off your-’
‘Finish that sentence the wrong way, Mr Linton, and it will cost you a week’s wages.’
‘ - fingers.’ I threw him a grin. ‘Well then, good luck.’
‘Good luck yourself, Mr Linton. You’re going first.’
I blinked at him. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘When and how exactly have I given you the impression that I tend to joke?’
‘But…aren’t we stopping at an inn, later?’
‘No. It’s a ten- to twelve-hour drive up to the North, well manageable within one day. Why waste money on an inn if we don’t have to?’
‘Because…how to put this delicately…no matter how often you call me “Mister”, there are still a few anatomical differences between me and the average man, differences which make relieving myself while standing rather difficult. So if you don’t want me to greet your mother in wet and smelly trousers, we should definitely stop at an inn.’
‘Oh.’
The expression on his face was priceless. I tried my best to disguise my grin - but failed. He couldn’t get out of the coach fast enough. As soon as he’d left, I fell over, collapsing in hopeless giggles. Minutes later, when Mr Ambrose returned to the coach and ordered Karim to start driving, I was still smiling. God bless the female bladder! I had no intention of driving all the way through to the North in one go. Oh no. I had plans that involved me, Mr Ambrose and a cosy little room at an inn somewhere, where we could huddle together and….
Well, you get the picture.
*~*~**~*~*
‘There! There, do you see? I see lights right up ahead. That has to be an inn.’
‘I suppose so.’ Mr Ambrose gave me a cool look. ‘And you really can’t manage the last twenty miles or so?’
‘You don’t want to see - or smell - what happens if I try.’
‘Indeed.’ Mr Ambrose slammed his cane against the roof. ‘Karim? Stop at that inn!’
It was early evening and the sun had just begun to set as we drove into the inn’s courtyard. Through curtains of falling snow, I saw the landlord and a maid standing at a window, their noses pressed against the glass, staring out at us with eyes as big as saucers. They probably didn’t get many visitors up here this time of year, and even fewer who were being driven around by a big Indian with a turban on his head.
‘Karim?’
At Mr Ambrose’s call, the big Mohammedan slid off the box, landing in the snow with a dull thud. A moment later, he appeared beside the blind-covered window. ‘Yes, Sahib?’
‘Go ahead and see if they have a room free, and if everything is secure.’
‘Yes, Sahib.’
And he was gone. A moment later, I heard the front door of the inn squeak, and all chatter inside ceased immediately as the huge sabre-bearing bodyguard stepped inside. There was a moment of silence during which you could have heard a pin drop, then Karim’s gravelly thunder of a voice proclaimed: ‘My master has arrived. You there, fat man - you have a free room for him. If not, make one free now.’
You had to love Karim. He was simply so nice and sociable.
‘I shall search this building now. Anyone harbouring malicious intent against the Sahib, make your peace with your God!’
