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‘Oh.’ I cleared my throat. ‘That.’
‘Yes. That.’
I considered for a moment how best to answer—then smiled, batted my lashes like a prima donna and sidled closer. ‘Do you like my new perfume? It’s called aux du cheval-merde.’
Mr Ambrose gave me one of those looks. The looks that said ‘you are an insignificant worm’ to anybody else. The looks that said ‘I love you’ to me.
‘I sincerely hope you did not pay very much for it.’
From outside, another gunshot sounded. We exchanged glances—and then started moving as one man.
God! Did I really just think that? I had to get back into a skirt pronto!
Outside, there was utter carnage and utter Karim. Three bodies of soldiers were already lying on the ground, with the two remaining ones cowering behind trees, trying to hold off the big Mohammedan and his fellow fighters.
Wait a minute…fellow fighters?
Yes, there were other people there. And they were on our side? Were they crazy, or had they just not met Mr Ambrose yet?
But then I caught sight of a big black hat, topped with red, white and blue, and I knew those weren’t just passing strangers willing to help. Not at all. A grin spread across my face, and I turned to Mr Ambrose.
‘You don’t happen to have another horse trough, do you?’
‘Pardon, Mr Linton?’
‘A horse trough. Preferably one with water in it, this time? I have a feeling I should make myself a little more presentable.’
Mr Ambrose glanced over at the battlefield in front of the inn—then nodded, and led me behind the stables, where another horse trough stood next to a big puddle and wild clusters of hoof marks.
I threw him a censorious look. ‘You know, you really shouldn’t have pulled that foolish stunt with the horse trough. You could have been killed!’
He raised one eyebrow about half a millimeter. ‘It’s not the
first time I risked my life for something I wanted.’
I froze. My gaze found his face. Suddenly, the distance between us seemed far too great.
‘Mr Ambrose…I…’
‘Don’t.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t look at me like that. Not while you’re covered in horse manure.’
I cocked my head, batting my lashes. ‘Oh? Why not?’
‘Because the cleaning bill for my clothes will come out of your pocket.’
Right then and there, I almost considered it worth it. But then I heard shouts from around the corner of the house, and I realized the fighting was coming to an end. We didn’t have time for this. Plenty of horse shit, but no time. Quickly, I ducked and stuck my face into the horse trough.
‘Phhrrtt! Phhrz! Grgl!’
Holy Moly! How did horses manage to drink this stuff? It was ice cold, and the smell was hardly better than the stuff it was meant to remove. Well, at least it got me marginally cleaner. By the time the last shot had fallen, I was clean as a whistle. Maybe only by the standards of whistling sewer cockroaches, but none of us are perfect, are we?
‘Sahib!’
I turned at the sound of the familiar voice. And there he was: at the head of a line of French soldiers I wouldn’t be calling frogs while they had rifles and I only had a half-loaded revolver, Karim strode towards us, the fierce gleam of victory in his eyes. He came to a halt in front of Mr Ambrose, opened his mouth—and coughed.
