In the Eye of the Storm

25. Hot and Sweaty

'That's a charmer,' I heard Youssef from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him walk by with a camel saddle under his arm. 'What's his name?'

'He hasn't got one yet, I think.'

'So, what are you going to call him, baaša?'

I turned back to the camel, meeting its cool, derisive eyes. For a moment, I considered – but there really was only one possible choice. 'I think I'll call him Ambrose.'

From behind me, there came the thud of a heavy camel saddle hitting the ground, and a strangled sound from Youssef. I smiled.

'Well?' Leaning forward, I ticked the camel below the chin. 'Do you like your new name, Ambrose?'

The camel spat at me again.

'There, you see? He likes it! He's downright enthusiastic!'

Grabbing the saddle, I tried to swing myself up, like I had seen horse riders do. All I managed, however, was to dangle from the camel's side like an over-ripe plum. No matter how much I pulled, I couldn't get myself up there!

Blast! If you weren't so heavy you could do this! It's all because your derrière is so f–

No! My derrière wasn't fat! Just generous. That was the word. Generous.

Behind me, Youssef cleared his throat 'You have to make the camel kneel down before you can get on, baaša.'

'And how am I supposed to do that?' I growled, pounding on the beast's hairy side. 'Let me up, you smelly monster, you!'

Ignoring me, the camel went back to chewing on its reins.

Youssef regarded the camel cautiously. 'Um... well, actually they should be trained to kneel when someone approaches them.'

'In case you haven't noticed, that hasn't happened yet!'

Spitting out the reins, Ambrose turned his head and began chewing on the sleeve of my thobe instead. Ah! A gourmet camel, eh?

'Um... yes, baaša. Well, in that case, you simply command him to kneel in an authoritative tone of voice. That should be enough.'

I filled my lungs with air. 'Kneel, you bloody flee-ridden beast! And stop chewing on my sleeve!'

Nothing happened. Youssef cleared his throat again. 'Well, you could try to...'

'Kneel!'

The cold, hard voice cut through Youssef's like a knife through butter. The camel's knees buckled and I yelped as my feet suddenly hit the ground. Quickly, I braced myself against it and scrambled up into the saddle. When I turned my head to look, I already knew whom I would see.

There he was: Mr Ambrose – the real one, not the camel – sitting in the saddle of his own mount as if it were the armchair in his very own office, his back ramrod straight, his gaze cool and assessing. Unlike all the others, who were all swathed in white Arabian dress, ready for the desert, he was still wearing his back tailcoat. Even his black top hat was still on his head.

'Thank you.' I gave him a nod.

He returned it, curtly. 'Let's stop wasting time.'

'Agreed.' I urged my camel forward. 'Let's go, Ambrose!'

'Excuse me?' My employer's eyes sparkled dangerously. 'Since when do you give orders to me?'

I gave him a charming smile. 'Oh... I wasn't talking to you.'

*~*~**~*~*

It didn't take Mr Ambrose long to discover the name I had given to my dear, trusted friend, the camel.