The Brazilian troops raised their weapons, bellowed a battle cry and charged onto the bridge. Lieutenant de Alvarez, who was not about to be outdone by an imperialist pig, shouted: ‘Kill the royalist scum! Charge!’
Both groups rushed onto the bridge, bayonets, raised, ready for the kill. They had apparently forgotten that sweet little me and company still stood in the middle of the bridge, right in their way. Or maybe, they just didn’t care.
I looked at Mr Ambrose. Mr Ambrose looked at me. We both looked at the bloodthirsty hordes of charging soldiers. I saw the resolution form in his eyes a moment before his fingers squeezed the trigger. A shot rang out, rope tore, and then we were falling, falling, falling, and I was thinking: Bloody stinking hell! I’ll never read adventure novels again!
*~*~**~*~*
Did you know that Brazil is one of the largest countries on the planet, and most of its provinces are landlocked, far away from large bodies of water? I had never paid much attention to this fact before, but when I came up sputtering on the shore of whatever river I had plunged into, I had reason to be thankful for it. I was sopping wet, and aching and dirty, but - Yay! - I had managed to hit a river and not be smashed to death on the rocks.
No welcome party of Brazilian soldiers awaited me, rifles raised. No rebel placed his knife at my neck, ready to slit my throat at the first sign of trouble. The only Brazilians who greeted me were a few blueish corpses, strewn across the bank.
‘Hello, fellows,’ I rasped. ‘Had a nice swim, did you?’
Unsurprisingly, none of them replied.
‘Well, it was really nice seeing you. But I’m afraid I’ll have to go now. Just in case any of you are still alive, you know.’
I tried to push myself up - and promptly landed on my face. If I had expected someone to rush to my aid, I was sorely disappointed. No Mr Ambrose came dashing towards me, eager to help me up. Ha! Who needed him anyway? I was not a helpless damsel in some cheap novel! I was a strong woman and could stand on my own two feet. At least after a couple of tries.
When I finally managed to stagger to my feet, every bone in my body was aching from the effort. I hobbled along the bank in a meandering path, avoiding dead Brazilians left and right. A bit farther downstream, I came upon Mr Ambrose, who was glaring at a few mud stains on his ten-year-old mint-condition tailcoat, and Karim, who was wringing water out of his beard.
‘Hello there,’ I croaked.
Mr Ambrose looked up. ‘Ah. You are alive.’
‘Don’t overdo it with the joyous shouts of welcome and happy dancing. I know you’re delighted to see me.’
‘Indeed I am. You have the manuscript.’
‘Ah, yes. A woman’s greatest worth lies not in her looks, but in the contents of her pockets.’ Reaching into my backpack, which I had somehow managed to cling onto, I pulled out the sodden bundle of pages. Incredibly, most were still legible. ‘I am happy to be of service.’
Mr Ambrose gave me a curt nod. Karim gave me a look which said clearly that he could have done without the manuscript, if he could have got rid of me.
Ah, friends! Aren’t they wonderful?
‘We will move into the jungle and rest,’ Mr Ambrose ordered. ‘It’s almost sunset, and we can’t climb up into the mountains at night.’
‘Not to mention the fact that I’m wet as a drowned weasel and aching all over,’ I pointed out, politely. ‘Thanks to the brilliant plan of a certain someone, which got us all dunked into the river.’ He ignored me.
‘Let’s go. We haven’t got all day.’
Turning, he started to walk away - but I made a grab for his arm.
‘You don’t think you’re going to get off as easily as that, do you?’ I hissed into his ear. ‘Shooting through the rope of the bridge while we were standing on it? What kind of insane idea is that! Did you lose your mind?’
He cocked his head, coolly. ‘Do my ears deceive me, or do I detect a certain amount of criticism in your voice, Mr Linton?’
‘You bet you do! We could have been killed!’
‘But we were not.’
‘Pure luck!’
‘I prefer to call it a calculated risk.’
‘A calculated risk, eh?’ My grip tightening, I stepped closer. My eyes burned into him, screaming the words that my lips were too afraid to say: You could have died! I could have lost you! ‘Well, tonight, when the two of us are alone, I’m going to show you exactly what I think of your calculated risks!’
And I did show him. All night long. The problem was: he didn’t seem properly chastened. Not at all. On the contrary, he only wanted more.