‘Karim? Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice echoed in the great darkness. ‘You have torches in your knapsacks, too. Light them.’
‘But…’
‘Light them now, Mr Linton.’
Without further argument, I pulled the torch out of my knapsack and, after several failed attempts, managed to light it. Slowly, I raised it over my head - and my eyes went wide.
Gold.
In the light of three torches, there was no doubt anymore. Gold and gold and more gold. It glinted on the walls, was heaped on the floor, yes, even hung from the ceiling. There were heaps of coins, mountains of jewellery, great statues of ancient heathen gods in jewels and precious metals - more than the eye could see. And trust me, my eyes were capable of seeing pretty damn much!
‘Bloody hell…!’ I murmured.
No answer. I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose. This time, even he seemed to be somewhat awestruck. I could practically see the pound symbols blinking in his eyes. His gaze was fastened to the gold and precious jewels with a look I recognised. It was the same one he sometimes got when I started to take my clothes off. I wasn’t entirely sure whether I should be offended or flattered by this.
‘How are we ever going to get all that down the mountain, Sahib?’ Karim murmured.
Mr Ambrose’s face hardened in an instant. ‘We are. Somehow, we are going to. We have to.’
He left unsaid what would happen to any employees who didn’t come up with ingenious ideas towards that end.
‘Let us go outside,’ Karim suggested. ‘Maybe, among the ruins, we will find something that we can use to transport all this.’
He didn’t sound too hopeful. I had to admit, I shared his pessimism. What could we possibly find to help us carry several hundred pounds - no, probably several tons! - of gold and jewels? We had no packs, no saddlebags, no horses, and even if we had, how would horses ever be able to get down that steep cliff that was the only way up to the mountain. No, unless a miracle occurred, we were stuck up here. Because one thing I was certain of: Mr Ambrose would rather tear out his heart with hot irons than leave one single little coin of this treasure behind.
Well, look on the bright side: you won’t be returning to England for a good, long time. You can keep frolicking in the jungle as much as you wish.
Strange. For some reason, that didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. But what could I do? In this ancient, long-lost ruin, there was no one to help us. Not a single soul. Sighing, I turned back towards the entrance and trudged out into the sunset. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost ran head-first into the shepherd.
Quaking Foundations
I screamed. The shepherd screamed. His sheep screamed (or rather bleated), and ran away up the hill. The man stumbled back and fell on his butt.
‘What is happening here?’ Mr Ambrose appeared behind me, gun raised, ready to shoot. At the sight of the gun, the shepherd stopped screaming, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers.
‘No, don’t! Don’t shoot!’ I grabbed Mr Ambrose’s arm, pointing it away from the man. Or…no. Not a man. He was really only just a boy, I realised as I studied his face more closely.
Karim appeared beside Mr Ambrose, his gun drawn as well.
‘Put that away, will you?’ I hissed. ‘You’re frightening the poor boy.’
Karim ignored me.
‘What is he doing here, Sahib?’ he demanded, jerking his firearm towards the frozen figure of the shepherd boy. ‘How did he get up here with those beasts?’
‘I have no idea,’ Mr Ambrose said coldly. ‘But I intend to find out!’
He snapped a few brief phrases in Portuguese. The boy stared at him uncomprehendingly. So Mr Ambrose tried again, this time in Spanish. This time, the boy’s eyes lit up and he started to chatter. I was pretty fluent in Portuguese, by now, but my Spanish was still restricted to words like ‘bastard’ and ‘donkey’s arse’. I didn’t understand a word of what was going on. But by the look in Mr Ambrose’s eyes I could tell it wasn’t going the way he expected. Not at all.
Karim didn’t look too pleased, either. ‘What in the name of…’ He uttered a few unpronounceable words in his mother tongue. ‘What is the brat rambling on about, Sahib? I thought…’
‘Yes.’ Mr Ambrose’s voice was hard as steel. ‘So did I.’
‘She said…’
‘Yes. She did.’
Slowly, very slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose turned towards me, the icy cold of the entire arctic wasteland gathered in his deep, dark eyes.