Silence Is Golden (Storm and Silence 3)

That couldn’t be, could it? Surely, not even my granite-head of an employer would risk going to them for help, would he? No, surely not!

Really?

It wasn’t long before I got an answer to my question. Only a few hours later, Father Marcos stopped next to a small tree. With a small shiver I noticed that it had a tiny, red feather attached to it.

‘Here we are.’ He glanced around nervously. ‘This is how far I dare to go. I’ve tried to talk to them in the past, but they, um…don’t seem very interested in hearing the Lord’s word.’

‘I can’t imagine why,’ Karim growled.

‘Just continue in that direction,’ the priest continued, pointing, ‘and you’ll find them sooner or later. Or rather, they’ll find you.’

Mr Ambrose gave the priest a cool look and a nod - his version of a ‘Thank you’.

‘Adequate, priest. You can leave now.’

‘I can’t persuade you to turn around?’ the priest enquired, tentatively. ‘They’re not fond of visitors in general, and a group like yours might-’

‘No.’

‘Please, Sir, reconsider! For the young lady’s sake if not for your own. These are dangerous people you are getting mixed up with and-’

‘No.’

The priest blinked. ‘No? You don’t think that they are dangerous?’

Mr Ambrose slid his hand along his belt until it came to rest at the holster of his gun. ‘Not in comparison.’

The priest swallowed. ‘Ah. Um…I see. Well, in that case…’ Hurriedly, he took a few steps away from Mr Ambrose and then turned to me. His eyes flicked timidly along the edges of my figure, finally landing on my face as the only part of me that was moderately decent. ‘And you, Senhora, can I not persuade you to turn back?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Well, then, for pity’s sake, will you at least put on some more, um…covering garment before I leave you? A gentle lady such as you should not…I mean I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you…’

He broke off, hopelessly, and just held out his cloak to me.

I shook my head, trying to suppress a smile. ‘Thank you very much, father, but I like myself just the way I am.’

As if he hadn’t expected any other answer, Father Marcos’s shoulders slumped. ‘Oh, well.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe it’s just as well. You won’t need many clothes where you are going.’

And with that encouraging comment, he turned away and hurried off into the forest, back towards his little cabin.

I stared after him.

‘You won’t need many clothes where you are going? What’s that supposed to mean?’

Mr Ambrose gave me a calculating look. ‘You’ll understand soon enough.’

And with that, he turned away and marched off into the direction the priest had pointed out. I followed, walking more cautiously than before. I didn’t know why, exactly, but I felt…nervous. When I reached the tree with the feather, I hesitated for some reason.

‘Come on, Mr Linton!’ Mr Ambrose’s voice came from farther ahead. ‘We haven’t got all day!’

With a shrug, I shook off the strange feeling and stepped past the tree. Bah! What was a measly little feather? I wasn’t going to let myself be intimidated by that! It probably had no significance anyway.

Or that, at least, was what I thought for the first five minutes of marching. Then, I began to feel them: the eyes on me. And I don’t mean the eyes of Mr Ambrose or some lo

ve-struck little monkey. Oh no. These eyes were far more secretive. I never actually saw them. I heard a rustling here, saw a branch twitch there - but no glimpse of any curious eyes. They stayed out of sight, hidden in the shadows of the trees. But they were there. They were.

Are they? Or are you just hallucinating, Lilly? It wouldn’t be the first time, after all.