28. Enlightening Darkness

Dark is a strange thing. In the dark things happen that you could never have imagined.

'What's that?' a voice asked. Or shouted. Or whispered. It was difficult to tell in this world of deafening, roaring silence. The voice sounded a little like my own.

'That's me. My neck.' Another voice out of the dark. Another shout. Another whisper. His.

My hands clenched tightly around his neck, pulling him close.

'No, I mean that smell. Has the camel had something bad for breakfast?' Although the odour wasn't actually that bad. It didn't smell of camel at all. A bit harsh, true, but also... interesting.

'I don't think so. That smell might come from the fact that you have your nose buried in my armpit.'

'Oh.'

A pause. The storm roared on.

'Um... It's a nice armpit.'

'Thanks.'

'Feels good.' The voice in the dark that sounded like mine hesitated. Then, lower, so low I almost couldn't hear it myself, it said: 'All of you does.'

Silence. But only for a moment. Then his voice came out of the black nothing.

'So do you.'

Suddenly, the unseen force of the black wind around us slammed a fist of sand into me. The voice that sounded like mine cried out, and strong arms tightened around me. I sagged back, breathing hot air and dust.

'Oh God... I... I'm scared!'

'So am I.'

Mr Ambrose? Scared? That couldn't be! Not to mention sweet little me! I was never scared, out of principle!

I knew there had to be something wrong! I knew it all along: these two voices whispering and crying in the dark – they couldn't belong to us! Not to Mr Ambrose, and certainly not to me! Someone else had to be saying all those strange things.

'Come here,' I heard the him that sounded like Mr Ambrose say. 'Let me hold you.'

Bloody hell! Now I was two hundred and fifty per cent sure someone else had to be talking! That could not, under any circumstances, in this or in any other universe, have been Mr Rikkard Ambrose talking!

'Yes! Please!'

And that most certainly could not have been me answering! And yet, I felt myself being pressed against a lean, hard body in the dark, felt my face glide over cloth and sand, until my cheek was touching another face. An angular face it was, chiselled and hard in some places, soft in others. Like his lips, for example. His lips were soft. Familiar.

But how could they be familiar? After all, this was not Mr Ambrose I was feeling against me, and this was not even me doing the feeling. Those were two phantoms in the dark who dared to say things we could never say, do things we would never do.

'Rick?'

'Yes, Lilly?'

'I'm glad you're here.'

Not me. Not me talking.

'I'm glad you're here, too.'

Not him talking either.

'Really?'

'Well...' A touch of sarcasm entered the voice of the phantom man. 'Not glad that you're here in the sandstorm, in imminent danger of suffocation, obviously. I meant here with me.'

'Yes. I meant that, too.'

'Good.'

'Yes.'

A moment of silence. A moment of roaring storm winds.

'Lilly?'

'Yes?'

'If we don't survive, I want you to know that I...'

And the storm gave another bellow, cutting the phantom short. Maybe it was better that way. It really did sound entirely too much like Mr Ambrose.

*~*~**~*~*

When the darkness began to lighten and, by some strange coincidence, I found my face – not the face of a phantom or doppelganger, but my actual face – tucked against Mr Ambrose's chest, I immediately flinched back from this suspiciously unfeminist position. He hurriedly opened his arms, which somehow had gotten tangled around me, and we slid back over the sand, eyeing each other cautiously, like a kitten and a dog caught in flagrante delicto.

The roaring of the storm subsided somewhat.

He cleared his throat, and sand landed in his open hand.

'Ehem. Are you well?'

'You mean apart from the fact that I'm bruised and parched and almost roasted? Yes, Sir.'

'Adequate.'

Now that was Mr Ambrose talking.

The dark brown haze around us lightened again, and we could see the faint outline of a human-camel hybrid a few dozen yards away.

'Youssef? Is that you?'

The human detached himself from his camel. 'Ambrose Effendi? You are alive?'

'Of course!' Mr Ambrose made a dismissive noise and waved his hand. 'I told you, a little bit of sand couldn't stand in my way.'

Youssef's eyes flicked from Mr Ambrose to me and back again. Underneath the sand-caped cloth covering his face, the Egyptian opened his mouth to say something – then closed it again, and bowed his head. 'Yes, Effendi. As you say, Effendi.'

Behind Mr Ambrose, I got to my feet and, pointing to him, rolled my eyes. Then I made a very expressive gesture involving my forefinger being energetically tapped against the side of my head. Youssef was still wearing a cloth over his face, but underneath, I thought I could see something twitch. The corners of a mouth, maybe.

'Wait until the sandstorm has died down, then send out scouts to find the others.'

'Yes, Effendi. They will not have gone far. They know that during a sandstorm, it is safest to stay put and seek shelter.'

I might have imagined it, but I thought there was just the tiniest bit of emphasis on the 'they' in that sentence. Before Mr Ambrose had a chance to comment on it, Youssef turned and vanished around a dune.

'And find that infernal camel of mine!' Mr Ambrose shouted after him.

It was only a quarter of an hour later that Youssef returned, all the men and camels in tow. They looked a little dusty, but none the worse for wear.

'All present and correct, Effendi,' he said, saluting. 'And there's one thing more.'

Mr Ambrose halted in the process of checking the saddlebags of his errant camel. 'Yes?'

'We spotted a troop of soldiers from afar.'

'Soldiers?'

'Egyptians and English, Effendi. Although there may have been some French, too. It was difficult to make out from a distance.'

English, French, and Egyptians?

I froze. Could it be...? No, it couldn't!

But it has to be! It has to be him!

So Captain Carter had set out into the desert after all. I didn't say anything, and was careful not to make any sudden movements. After all, Mr Ambrose didn't know anything about Captain Carter. And I didn't think right now would be the right time to inform him. Neither would next week be. Or next year. Or ever, to tell the truth.

Slowly, he turned towards Youssef. I only had to take one look at the cold glint in his eyes to know I had been right not to say a word.

'What are they doing here?'

Youssef shrugged. 'I couldn't say, Effendi.'

'How many?'

'At least a hundred, Effendi. Probably more in the surrounding countryside. What I saw looked like one detachment of a larger force.'

Without moving his head, Mr Ambrose threw a sideways look at Karim. 'Your assessment?'

The huge bodyguard reached up to tug thoughtfully at his beard – then grasped only air and scowled. 'They're here to take care of the bandits.'

'Yes... and probably not in the way I wish it to be done. Youssef? How much chance do they have of catching up with us?'

'None.' The Arab smiled a brilliant white smile, sharp and crooked like an ivory sabre. 'Some have camels, but most of the men are either on foot or on horseback, particularly the English. Those riders will soon be on foot, too, when their horses collapse from exhaustion and die.'

Oops...

I cleared my throat. 'But, um... the riders themselves, the soldiers I mean... they won't die, right?'

'Well, probably not.' Youssef shrugged. 'They have a few people who seem to know what they're doing, so some of them are probably going to survive.'

Great. Just great.

'The sun is already setting.' Shielding his eyes with his hands, Mr Ambrose gazed towards the horizon. 'We'll wait until it is dark and the stars are visible, so we can calculate our exact position. Then we'll go on. Hopefully, those soldiers will be roasted alive and won't get in our way.'

*~*~**~*~*

We marched on. When one day, the shadow of a craggy mountain fell on me, I realized the landscape had changed a bit. Why hadn't I noticed before?

Because you've been watching Mr Ambrose instead of hills, dunes and mountains, that's why!

Well, so what if I was watching him and trying to catch every word he said? It wasn't because I was interested in him in any way. Oh no, definitely not! There was a far better reason:

We were coming close to the area where the bandits were operating. He knew that, and so did I. And he knew that I knew that he still hadn't revealed even the hint of a plan of what he was going to do when the bandits attacked. Right from the beginning of our journey I had tried to worm information out of him and failed. That first time hadn't been the last. Here's how one of these conversations usually went.

Me: 'Dick?'

Mr Ambrose: **Cold Silence**

Me: 'All right, all right. Rick!'

Mr Ambrose: 'Yes?'

Me: 'You know how you said you were going to let us be ambushed by the bandits?'

Mr Ambrose: 'Yes.'

Me: 'Well... What about it? I mean... you can't really have meant that, can you?'

Mr Ambrose: 'No.'

Me: 'No as in "No, I can't really have meant that"?'

Mr Ambrose: 'No. No as in "No, I can have meant it, and did mean it".'

Me: 'But... we'll all be slaughtered!'

Mr Ambrose: 'Indeed?'

Me: 'You can't want us all to be slaughtered!'

Mr Ambrose: 'Indeed?'

Me: 'Tell me what your plan is!'

Mr Ambrose: **Cold Silence**

Me: 'You do have a plan, don't you?'

Mr Ambrose: **Cold Silence**

Me: 'Bloody hell, will you open your mouth for once in your lifetime?'

Mr Ambrose: **Even Colder Silence**

Now, taking conversations like that into account, is it surprising that I had a tendency to glare at him, and that I tried to listen in on every single word he spoke? I'm not a very self-centred person as a rule, but I like my neck uncut, thank you very much. And I wasn't about to let Mr Ambrose's stubbornness stop me from keeping it that way.

We were just riding through a shadowed valley between two bare hills when I decided to make another attempt at the fortress. Driving Ambrose closer to Mr Ambrose, I cleared my throat.

Nothing happened.

I cleared my throat again.

'Do you have a cold?' Mr Ambrose asked without looking at me.

If I had, it would be from your voice and not the climate!

'No!' I glared at him. 'I'm not putting up with this any longer! I'm not walking blindly into a trap! If you have got a plan, fine! Share! If you haven't got one, then at least admit it! After what you did back in the sandstorm, I wouldn't be surprised if you thought you could just march right through anything and anyone because you're so high and mighty! But at least admit it! And if you do have a plan after all, I want to bloody know what it is! I want to know what you plan to do when we meet the–'

'Bandits!' Mr Ambrose growled.

'Yes, that's exactly it.' I nodded. 'So are you going to tell me?'

But Mr Ambrose wasn't paying any attention to me. He turned around, signalling to Youssef. 'Bandits! There! Bandits!'

Slowly, the realization sank in: he wasn't talking to me anymore. Mr Ambrose raised his arm, and I followed it with my wide-eyed gaze. There, on top of the nearest hill, stood a figure, its silhouette sharply contrasting against the burning blue sky. My heart picked up the pace. More figures appeared, right and left, mounted and unmounted, until we were surrounded by a virtual forest of men.

'Oh.' I swallowed. 'I guess our talk will have to wait.'

Raising their sabres, the bandits gave a guttural war cry and charged down the hillside.

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My dear Lords, Ladies & Gentlemen,

I have marvelous news! "In the Eye of the Storm", book 2 of the "Storm and Silence" series shall be taking part in the Wattys 2016, the world's largest story competition, and YOUR VOTES will be the only thing that decides who is going to win! The book with the greatest number of votes shall win first prize. You can support Lilly & Mr Ambrose by voting through posting tweets on Twitter.com. The day when the voting will take place is the August the first, 2016! The text of your vote tweet should read:

I choose "In the Eye of the Storm" as #MyWattysChoice!

Most of the text can be altered if you wish, but you must keep the essential parts, or the vote won't count: the title of the book ("In the Eye of the Storm") and the tag #MyWattysChoice! :-) Also, if you follow me on Twitter right away (my username there is @TheSirRob ), you shall always receive the newest news & information about any developments in regard to both the Wattys and anything else in regard to myself and my stories. I'll post a tweet to inform all of you the instant the voting process officially starts! :-)

Thanks so much for your fabulous support!

Yours Truly

Sir Rob