Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

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.