Really Hot Jungle Heat

Tell me, what do you think the jungle is like? Do you imagine monkeys swinging cheerfully from branch to branch, bananas and pineapples hanging plentifully from every branch that happens not to be occupied by swinging monkeys, and the majestic ruins of ancient heathen civilisations rising out of the misty tangle of trees?

Well, if you think that, you're completely barmy.

The jungle is dirty. The jungle is moist. But there's one thing the jungle is most of all. This aspect of the jungle is so absolutely jungle-ish that all experienced junglers will confirm its essential jungleness. Above all else, the jungle is utterly, completely and totally hot.

I mean really hot.

Put-the-pot-on-Lucifer,-I-want-to-boil-some-souls-in-hell hot.

Don't get me wrong. It had been hot out on the river, and during our first day of travel through the jungle. Besides, I had travelled through the deserts of Egypt, so I was by no means unused to hot temperatures.

However, I was unused to being boiled alive.

‘Bloody hell!' panting heavily, I raised my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead - only to have more pour down out of the wild tangle that had once been my hair. ‘And I mean that literally! How can it be this hot in here? I thought the desert was supposed to be hot!'

‘High humidity,' Mr Ambrose's curt voice explained. He was marching in front, and Karim behind. I would have objected to being squashed in the middle like a little girl between her guardians, if I had any energy left to argue with. ‘The higher the humidity, the hotter human senses perceive it to be.'

‘Perceive it to be? You mean it's not really this hot?'

‘Exactly. Your body is a fallible animal. Simply ignore its false information.'

‘Oh, thanks so much! That's a great help!'

‘You are welcome, Mr Linton.'

I managed to go on for about a dozen yards more before I collapsed. Through the haze that lay over my vision, I saw Mr Ambrose stop and turn.

‘In case there was a miscommunication, Mr Linton,' a voice informed me which, even in this climate, somehow, miraculously managed to be cold as ice, ‘we are not stopping for the night yet. Because, as you might have noticed, it isn't night yet. Get up!'

‘Pfft…!' I said.

‘Mr Linton!'

‘Ffff…fff…Pfft…!'

‘Am I to infer from your excessive panting that you do not have the wherewithal to continue?'

‘Pff…pff…'

Cold eyes swept over me, sending a much-needed chill down my back. Oooh….. wonderful! Bloody wonderful! Mr Ambrose was better than an ice pack! Somehow, I found the strength to raise my head and look at him, standing above me in all his perfect, untouchable glory. There was hardly a hint of sweat on his face, damn him! There was probably enough ice in his heart to keep him nice and cool.

‘I'm not weak, darn you! This is inhuman! Nobody can manage this!'

‘Indeed?' He cocked his head, the hard planes of his chiselled face casting shadows in the twilight. ‘I seem to be managing. And so, believe me, do the numerous native tribes living in this jungle.'

‘There are people living in this hell? Of their own free will?'

‘Indeed there are.'

‘How do they stand it?'

He shrugged, and turned away. ‘Unlike you, they are resilient. And I believe they wear somewhat less clothing than you or I. Now, are you going to get up, or will I have to drag you up?'

I opened my mouth to throw an expletive at him - but before I could, it came.

The idea.

The inspiration.

I had no clue where it had come from. This certainly wasn't the best climate for creative thought. But it had come, and it was a whopper. Without doubt the best, most brilliant idea I had ever had in my entire life. Better than painting a smiley on the butt of my uncle's trousers. Better than fighting for women's rights. Better even than trying solid chocolate.

I smiled.

‘All right. I'll get up.'

And I'll get you for this! Drag me up indeed! Ha! You just wait! Revenge is on its way…!

Grabbing a nearby sapling, I managed to haul myself to my own two feet. They didn't really feel like my own anymore, rather like random appendages some not-particularly-talented craftsman had stuck to my legs. Every muscle in my body was aching now, even those I should, technically, not be using for walking. But somehow, I got myself vertical again and, calling on all my feminist fortitude, started setting one foot before the other.

You can do this! You can show him - in the literal sense of the word!

And so I trudged along, biding my time. I waited until Karim had stopped grumbling. I waited until Mr Ambrose was fully concentrated on the path ahead again. For almost half an hour I walked and waited - then I put my plan into action!

The first sign the two of them got that something was out of the ordinary, was the subtle noise of cloth sliding over cloth. Mr Ambrose didn't bother to look around. But Karim, ever the attentive watchdog, looked up sharply and-

He made a strangled noise in his throat.

I smiled.

Mr Ambrose must have either heard the noise or sensed my smile, because he turned around and, when his gaze fell on me, stiffened like a rod of iron.

‘What do you think you are doing, Mr Linton?'

‘Why, removing some unnecessary clothing, of course, Sir.' Smiling, I slid the rest of the way out of my tailcoat and let it hang loosely from one hand, swinging back and forth. ‘Thanks so much for giving me the idea, by the way.'

‘I? I did nothing of the sort!'

‘Of course you did. Don't you remember?.' Stowing the tailcoat away in my backpack, I drew in a deep breath of air. Ah! Much better! Now, the only thing I was wearing over my clingy, sweat-soaked linen shirt was my peacock vest - a fact that Mr Ambrose seemed to be noticing, too. ‘You said the natives do it, didn't you?'

‘True.' Cold and hard as opals, Mr Ambrose's eyes slowly rose where they had been lingering on the shirt clinging to my body. ‘But there are two important differences between you and a native of South America, Mr Linton.'

‘Indeed, Sir?'

He took a step towards me. ‘Yes, indeed, Mr Linton! Firstly: you are English!'

‘You don't say.'

Another step. His dark eyes bored into mine - and then flicked, so fast I almost didn't catch it, to the rest of me, taking everything in. ‘And secondly: they don't work for me.'

‘How disappointing for you. Haven't you opened a branch down here yet?'

A noise erupted from his throat, somewhere between a growl and the grinding of stone on stone. He looked at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally - then whirled around, and gave a curt shrug. ‘Fine! If you wish to run around the jungle without your tailcoat, Mr Linton, be my guest. But be warned that such improper attire will not be tolerated in my office.'

‘Of course not, Sir.' I purred.

We continued on. I gave him a little time to recuperate, to lull him into a false sense of security. It wasn't until noon that day that I put the next part of my plan into action. Again, there was the sound of rustling cloth. Approximately two point five seconds later, Karim cleared his throat.

‘Um…Sahib? Sahib!'

‘What is it, Karim? Is there a problem? Did you see something suspicious?'

‘Err…in a manner of speaking, Sahib, yes! Sahib, she-'

Mr Ambrose turned, just in time to witness my trousers slipping to the ground.

‘Aahh!' Pulling in another deep, luxurious breath, I stretched my thighs. ‘Much more refreshing like this, don't you think?'

‘I…cannot…agree,' Karim managed to get out between clenched teeth. I glanced over. The poor man managed to be red in the face, even under a tan as brown as mahogany. He was holding one hand clamped over his eyes, and the other outstretched towards me, as if to ward off evil. ‘Put those back on now!'

‘Oh, I don't know.' Making a little pirouette, I surveyed my new attire. ‘I like it like this. Nice and breezy.'

‘You…you…ifrit! Temptress! Demon in human form!'

‘How would you know? You haven't taken a good look at my form yet.'

In answer to this, Karim only muttered a string of highly incomprehensible, and highly impressive, curses. Choosing to ignore him for now, I turned to Mr Ambrose with a sweet smile on my face.

‘And you, Sir? What do you think?'

Silence.

A very, very silent silence.

Yet was it a pregnant one?

Well, to judge by the way Mr Ambrose was looking at my legs, it very soon would be.

Slowly, very slowly, he raised his eyes to meet mine.

‘What in the name of all that is properly attired do you think you are doing, Mr Linton?'

I gave him a smile, as sweet as solid chocolate. ‘Why, simply adjusting to the climate, Sir, as you suggested.'

‘I didn't suggest for you to run around displaying your unmentionables to the world!'

‘The world?' I raised an innocent eyebrow. ‘But it's the middle of the jungle. There's no one here except Karim-' A groan came from behind me. I ignored it. ‘-me, and of course…. you, Sir.' I gave him another sweet smile.

‘You can't have anything against seeing my legs, now, can you? After all…' I stepped towards him until our bodies were nearly touching. Leaning closer to his perfectly still, chiselled face, I whispered: ‘It wouldn't be the first time, would it?'

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw his left little finger twitch.

Yay!

‘Are you going to continue with this lunacy?' he growled. ‘Or are you going to remember what behoves a decent young English lady and give up now?'

‘I don't really think wearing these-' I pointed out, holding up my trousers ‘-is what most people think behoves a decent young English lady, Sir - but I'm doing it anyway. Besides…' A wide grin stretched my face. ‘Have you ever known me to give up?'

His little finger twitched again.

‘Karim!' he barked.

‘Yes, Sahib?'

The bodyguard snapped to attention, his hand still firmly clamped over his eyes.

‘Take your paw away from your face, man, and get to the front! I'll be guarding the back from now on.'

‘Oh Sahib! A thousand blessings upon you! Thank you! May your soul be saved and find its way to the Garden of Eternal-'

‘Yes, yes! Move!'

Thumping against a few trees in the process, Karim made his way around me. Only when he was certain he was well ahead and out of the femininity danger zone did he lower his hand.

‘Well, now I know what to do if I ever want to get the better of you.' I grinned at the Mohammedan's broad back. ‘I'll just have to drop my trousers, and that'll be it.'

A growl from behind me suggested that Mr Rikkard Ambrose did not think very much of this idea.

‘Very well.' I bent to retrieve my knapsack from where I had dropped it on the ground, taking care to waggle my behind, only covered by the end of a shirt and a thin chemise, at Mr Ambrose in the process. Although I had been wearing men's clothing for a long time, I had never really been interested in wearing men's underwear - a fact that was coming in very handy right now. ‘Shall we go? Or were you two planning on lazing around here all day?'

Whistling, I set out northeastwards, Karim fleeing before me like Napoleon before Wellington at Waterloo. And Mr Ambrose - he followed me like…

Like Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

There simply was no comparison to describe him. Especially not the way his gaze drilled from behind into my neck and, well, other parts of me. As hard as I tried (and it wasn't very hard, if I was being honest) I couldn't keep an impish smile from my face.

Hm…how many more pieces of clothing did I have left?

I decided I had better start and find out soon.