Nibbling at Pirates’ Bottoms

If anyone was hoping for me to awaken in the arms of a handsome pirate, I have to disappoint them. Instead, I was awakened by gunshots and curses mingled with Spanish battle cries. Most were pretty incomprehensible, but I did catch something about cutting off balls. Apparently, my self-taught Spanish lessons were paying off.

Dragging my behind out of bed, I quickly pulled on the first scraps of clothing I could find, grabbed a knife from the table, and hurried up on deck.

Torches lit the night like angry dragons' eyes. From up the river, another boat was approaching, men with guns and sabres bustling on deck, shouting enchantingly filthy curses. Our men were rushing to the railing, no less armed to the teeth. Their faces were grim, but determined. Seeing a mountainous figure tower up out of all the confusion, I hurried over to him.

‘Karim! What is going on?'

‘A pirate attack,' he told me, his face unmoving as a gnarled old oak.

‘I can see that for myself, blast you! What are we doing about it?'

‘Waiting.'

I was getting fed up with the bodyguard's lack of conversational skills and was about to tell him so, when an iron grip closed around my arm.

‘What,' demanded an ice-cold voice right next to my ear, ‘are you doing up on deck?'

I held up my knife which, this morning, I had used to dismantle a particularly stubborn crust of bread into chewable portions. ‘I came to fight! We're under attack, aren't we?'

‘Yes!' His grip didn't loosen. On the contrary, it tightened. ‘And that means that you have no business being here! Go and-'

‘Sahib!'

Karim's warning shout came not a moment too soon. I could see the flash of gunfire from the enemy ship out of the corner of my eyes, and a moment later I was flying, crashing onto the deck, a heavy weight slamming on top of me.

‘Oomph!'

‘Stay down!' Mr Ambrose hissed into my ear. ‘And don't move!'

I can't say I found my first pirate raid particularly exciting. It is rather hard to see all the exciting stuff that's going on while you're being squashed to the floor with a heavy, hard and determined Rikkard Ambrose on top of you. I pointed this out to him several times, but he must not have heard me over the gunfire, or he would surely have been so considerate as to get off me and help me to my feet, right?

Yes, of course!

The story - as later told by Karim, with an annoyingly self-satisfied smirk on his face - went thus: the pirates had been travelling downriver, probably on the trail of one of the merchant ships we had encountered on our way up. How they must have cheered when - lo and behold - instead of having to chase some vessel miles downriver, they found us anchoring at the shore, practically defenceless. Like all self-respecting pirates would, they of course immediately agreed to rob us, gut us and throw our limp corpses in the river. What a golden opportunity, right?

Wrong.

The pirates were somewhat surprised, to say the least, when, upon opening fire on the defenceless merchant ship, hidden hatches had opened in the side of said merchant ship, revealing a nice collection of pristinely polished cannons, pointed straight at them. Their surprise was still more intense when the defenceless merchant ship opened fire, destroying the rigging of their boat and bringing down both masts with one salvo.

The biggest surprise, however, came when the captain of the helpless merchant ship sent out his men to the wrecked pirate boat, led by a mountain-high, sabre-swinging maniac in a turban, who made short work of the fearsome pirates, shooting most and chaining the rest with their own chains. It wasn't long before the ragged remnants of the brave pirate crew were arrayed on the deck of the Mammon, looking rather dazed.

‘Well?' I demanded, trying to scrape dirt off my beloved peacock vest, which had gotten a bit stained and ruffled on the deck of the ship. I threw a morose look at Mr Ambrose, wondering whether he would foot the cleaner's bill. Probably not. ‘What now? What are we going to do with them?'

Mr Ambrose was walking down the line of stunned pirates, examining each as if he were a bug under a microscope. ‘Well, they meant to rob us. Why don't we return like with like, as the Good Book recommends?'

‘You take advice from the Bible?'

‘From the rare parts of it that are sensible.' Mr Ambrose nodded to Karim. ‘All right. Take everything of value they have, sink their boat and throw them overboard.'

The pirates were still so much in shock that the first one of them landed in the water with a splash before they realized what was happening. My head cocked in contemplation, I watched the protesting pirates being swept away by the current.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir? Aren't there flesh-eating fish in these waters?'

‘They only attack humans when there is blood in the water, Mr Linton.'

‘Um…there is blood in the water, Sir. Quite a lot, in fact.'

‘You don't say.'

*~*~**~*~*

Leaving behind a lot of happy piranhas, we crossed the border into Brazil a few days later. We encountered no more trouble, until we reached a small village on the edge of a cliff jutting out into the river. Mr Ambrose spent a few hours haggling the natives' ears off, selling them a lot of overpriced things they didn't need but suddenly realised they desperately wanted. We were just about to depart again, when an old man approached the ship and called out to us in Portuguese.

Karim started forward to intercept the stranger, but I shook my head. ‘No. Don't. Let him speak.'

Karim gave me a look that could have scared the feathers off a chicken. ‘I do not take orders from you, woman-that-is-worse-than-ifrit! Why should I listen to an old fool's prattle?'

‘Anybody who's brave enough to approach Mr Ambrose of his own free will deserves a chance to speak, in my opinion.'

Karim grumbled, but had to finally admit a certain truth in that statement. We let the man pass, and he continued on to where Mr Ambrose was overseeing the loading of the ship with new supplies. We watched him stop next to the tall, dark figure of our employer and start to talk. From where we stood, we couldn't hear what was being said, and reading something from Mr Ambrose's expression (or lack thereof) was a skill beyond my meagre abilities. But the old man left soon, and Mr Ambrose came over, his fingers tapping a staccato on the head of his cane.

‘What is it, Sahib?' Karim wanted to know, just as I opened my mouth to ask the very same question. ‘What did the old man have to say?'

Mr Ambrose's gaze slid over to us. ‘He says that there is fighting upriver. I thought the Brazilian Empire had squashed the rebellion by now, but apparently they're still trying to stamp out the farrapos.'

‘Ah.' Karim nodded, grimly.

I nodded grimly, too, and tried my best not to let show I had no idea what the heck farrapos were. Still…they didn't sound particularly nice.

‘Do you think we should take another route?' I suggested. ‘Try and circumvent the trouble?'

He met my eyes, coolly. ‘Circumvent? That would take weeks! Who do you take me for, Mr Linton? We have work to do, and I'll be damned if I let myself be put off by a couple of peasants complaining about high taxes on their salted beef.'

That didn't sound like very dangerous rebels. So I shrugged it off and thought no more of it. At least until the next morning, when, stepping out onto the deck, I saw smoke rising in the distance.

‘What's that?' I demanded. ‘Another town?'

Mr Ambrose glanced in the direction. ‘No. Too much smoke. Probably the remnants of one.'

It took a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. And even then I didn't really understand until, a couple of hours later, we rounded a bend in the river and in front of us appeared the smoking ruins of what must once have been a peaceful settlement.

I stared. Then my eyes slowly slid to Mr Ambrose.

‘A couple of peasants complaining about high taxes on salted beef?'

He shrugged. ‘Peasants can get quite unnecessarily emotional about salted beef.'

The governor of the town himself came down to the docks to greet us and gawk at the stupid Englishmen who wanted to sail right into a warzone.

‘I cannot allow you to go,' he told us firmly, standing on the dock, a dozen of his guards behind him, several wearing bloody bandages. Mr Ambrose watched from the railing, no emotion on his face. ‘No, no, I simply cannot. It would be suicide! Besides, General Lima e Silva himself has declared the country beyond this town a forbidden zone! No one may enter without risk to their lives. I cannot allow you to proceed!'

‘You make fair points, Governor,' Mr Ambrose told him. ‘There's only one thing you forgot.'

‘Indeed? And that is?'

‘I did not ask for your permission. Karim - full steam ahead!'

Soon, the yells and protests of the governor and his escort had dwindled into nothing behind us. I stood beside Mr Ambrose at the railing, watching as the smoking ruins of the town slowly disappeared beyond the horizon.

‘Mr Ambrose, Sir?'

‘Yes, Mr Linton?'

‘You are very brave.'

‘I know.'

‘And you never let anyone stand in your way.'

‘No, I don't.'

‘And you're tenacious, and determined, and…well, altogether the toughest man I have ever met.'

‘I know, Mr Linton.'

‘And I really admire all those qualities.'

‘Indeed, Mr Linton?'

‘But…'

‘But?'

‘But sometimes I really think you need to have your head examined.'

*~*~**~*~*

Mr Ambrose wasn't quite as reckless as I had at first assumed. From that day onward, we didn't travel by day anymore, but anchored at the shore during daylight hours and went on the move when the sun went down. Also, we travelled on half steam, reducing the noise of the engine to a level where, over the constant din of the jungle around us, it could hardly be heard. Lights were strictly forbidden, and all conversations had to be kept to whispers. To my surprise, the tactic actually worked. Now and again, we heard distant explosions and screams, or saw smoke rising over the trees. But, apart from that, we saw nothing of the two armies wrestling for control over the land. I almost felt safe - until we reached a narrow bend in the river, with rocks jutting out from the bottom. It was clear for anyone to see that from here on out, the river was too shallow for us to continue by boat.

‘What now?' I wanted to know, my gaze drifting anxiously between the river and the shore.

Mr Ambrose gave a shrug. ‘We knew from the beginning that we could only travel part of the way by boat. We'll have to continue on foot from here on out.'

My gaze became glued to the shore. Just at that moment, a distant explosion echoed across the water.

‘Through…through the jungle?'

‘Naturally, Mr Linton. Unless you see a convenient road anywhere near.'

‘No, Sir! Of course not, Sir!'

‘What about the manuscript? Have you concluded your efforts to decipher it?'

I opened my mouth to say ‘I think so' - then remembered that this wasn't the kind of answer Mr Ambrose would appreciate. ‘Yes, Sir! I have, Sir.'

‘Adequate. Let's get a move on, then.'

Everything was well-prepared. It didn't take long for our supplies to be unloaded and the ship to be ready for departure. I was somewhat surprised, however, when I realised that, apart from me and the packhorses, only Karim would accompany Mr Ambrose into the jungle.

‘Why not take a few more people along?' I wanted to know. ‘If we truly find gold-'

‘If we find gold,' Mr Ambrose cut me off, ‘I only want people along with me whom I can trust.'

He marched off to oversee the ship's departure, leaving me behind, slightly stunned at the magnitude of what he had just implied. Without knowing exactly why, I suddenly felt a lump in my throat.

The ship sailed off only a few minutes later, now without smoke curling from its funnels, carried swiftly downriver by the current. I stood, gazing after it, until a sharp command from Mr Ambrose made me turn.

‘No sense in wasting our time here! Mr Linton, you have our directions?'

‘Yes, Sir. We are to head northwest, until we come to another river. According to the manuscript's directions, that will be our next point of reference.'

‘Very well. Lead on.'

I turned away from the water to gaze up at the wall of tangled green that was the jungle. Funny - from the boat it had seemed much smaller. Now, standing on the bank, and without the reassuring puffing of the steam engine that was a comfortable link to civilisation, it dawned on me for the first time how very, very big those trees were, and how very small I was in comparison.

‘What are you waiting for, Mr Linton? Knowledge is-'

‘-power is time is money.' I raised my chin, and stood straighter, facing the forest head-on. ‘Yes, I know.'

‘You actually listened to me.' He sounded slightly surprised. I glanced over at him.

‘You speak little enough. When you do, it's usually worth listening to.'

And with that, I started forward and let myself be swallowed up by the jungle.

The heat was like a fist, hitting me in the face the moment I stepped into the shadows of the trees. Don't get me wrong, it had been hot out on the river, too. But there had been a bit of a breeze blowing there, especially when we had still been on the fast-moving ship. Now, however, we were about to enter a gigantic green beast that seemed to feast only on the heat that it stored in its big, moist belly. The first trickles of sweat started running down my forehead, tickling all the way. With every step further into the gloom, the heat intensified.

Next came the noise. It wasn't actually that loud - but it was always there, echoing in strange, archaic tones that seemed not of this world. A bizarre cacophony of screeches, chattering and catcalls surrounded us, most so far above my head that I couldn't hope to make out their origin. Looking up, I saw only slivers of light through a shadowy canopy of leaves. A shiver went down my back.

This was another world we were entering. A strange and dangerous one.

Mr Ambrose marched past me, his face stoic, his strides determined.

‘Stop dawdling!' he called, not bothering to turn his head. ‘What are you afraid of? Trees?'

Afraid? Me?

I had caught up with him in three seconds and was sprinting ahead, panting hard. To hell with the strange and dangerous world! I was an independent woman! I could do anything!

The trees enveloped me and with Mr Ambrose and Karim close behind, I delved into the depths of the jungle.

*~*~**~*~*

We did a good bit of delving that day. Mr Ambrose had no intention of adjusting his pace to the gruelling surroundings. We marched through the Brazilian jungle as if it were St. James"s Square, the only difference being the sweat that poured from every pore in copious amounts. Sometimes, we heard gunfire in the distance, but it never came close to us, and I was beginning to believe we had successfully avoided drawing attention to ourselves. However, we all were aware of the lingering danger. Nobody spoke a word, and no matter how hard it might be, we kept our footfalls light and silent.

Hours passed in mute marching. Night was beginning to fall, and I was more than ready to fall along with it, and never get up again. Every muscle in my body ached, except for those in my mouth and stomach, and they were the ones that actually could do with a bit of exercise. We had only stopped once for a quick break, and what we'd had to eat then might be considered a decent meal according to rabbits' standards, but not to mine.

Blinking sweat out of my eyes, I stared up ahead, at the silent figure of Mr Ambrose. He had long ago taken the lead and was still marching with the same long, determined strides as he had when we had set out, not even slowing to take out his compass and check our direction. Some part of me ached to catch up and kick him in the backside for being so insufferably tough, but that part of me didn't ache half as much as the rest of my body. I was ready to collapse.

However, I'd die before I admitted that out loud!

I'm a strong, independent woman! I can do this!

True, I was. However, I much preferred being a strong, independent woman in London without a twenty-pound knapsack on my back. Clenching my teeth, I got a firmer grip on the leather straps of my burden and continued on, setting one foot in front of the other.

Only when the shadows of the trees had almost completely swallowed us up and we could hardly see our own feet anymore did Mr Ambrose decide it was time to make camp.

‘Stop!'

Unfortunately, the command came a little too late for me. Not being able to see my feet, I was most certainly not able to see his, or the hand he was probably holding up to indicate it was time for us to halt.

‘Ouch!'

‘Oomph!'

‘Watch where you are going, Mr Linton!'

‘Same to you, Sir! And remove your hand from there, pronto!'

Mr Ambrose cleared his throat. ‘Pardon, Mr Linton. In the dark, I didn't see-'

‘But you most certainly felt! Fingers off, got it?'

‘Watch your tone, Mr Linton!'

‘I can't watch anything right now. It's too bloody dark! Can't we light a fire?'

There was a motion in the gloom right in front of me. It might have been a headshake. ‘No, Mr Linton. It would draw too much attention.'

‘Without a fire, how will we keep predators away?'

‘Karim will keep watch.'

‘Keep watch?' I looked around, seeing only vague shapes and shadows. ‘How, exactly?'

‘I am well accustomed to conditions like these,' the Mohammedan's gruff voice came out of the darkness. ‘We have jungle in the country of my birth, very much like this, and I have the ears of a bat and the eyes of a panther. I will know if someone approaches well before they come close enough to do harm, and we will be able to- Wait! What was that?'

There was a noise, as if from a twig snapping. It was followed instantly by a silken noise that I knew all too well by now - Karim, drawing his sabre out of its sheath.

‘We have to move! There is someone-'

‘Don't move!'

The voice cut through the hot night air like a whiplash. A voice of command. A stranger's voice. Lights flared up all around us, sending a flash of fear through me. Blinking, I shielded my eyes from the sudden brightness. When, after a few seconds, I had grown a little more accustomed to the light and lowered my hands, I saw that from the trees all around us, men were emerging. Men in brightly coloured uniforms, similar to those of the governor's guard at the last town we had passed.

There was one man in particular I noticed. He was tall and gaunt, with high, aristocratic cheekbones and a curl to his lips that made me think he didn't just have power, but enjoyed using it, too. He had a high forehead, intense yellowish brown eyes and a rifle levelled at Mr Ambrose.

‘Well, well…' he drawled, in nearly perfect, only slightly accented English. ‘Who have we here? Two Englishmen, and an Indian, if I am not mistaken. What are you doing so far from home? Speak, and speak quickly if you want to have a chance at surviving this unscathed!'

Speak?

He wanted Mr Ambrose to speak? Under threat?

Oh dear. Whoever this was, he was in for a disappointment.

‘Well? Open your mouth!' The officer - for officer he was, no doubt - jabbed Mr Ambrose in the chest with his bayonet. Mr Ambrose didn't even flinch. ‘Get on with it! I have a war to fight!'

Mr Ambrose wasn't impressed. He stared down the length of the rifle, his eyes glinting ten times as cold as any steel could. He said not a word.

‘A stubborn one, eh? Very well. Barros! Costa! Bind them, take five other men and get them back to headquarters! The general will decide their fate.'