Splash!
"Wrrg! Gk! What the hell...!"
"Wakey wakey, you sleep-fakey. It's time for breakfast!"
Groaning, Mr Rikkard Ambrose blinked up at me. He looked almost unbelievably scrumptious, staring up at me through half-lidded eyes, his chiselled face spattered with glistening droplets of water, his wet shirt clinging tightly to his pectorals.
But all of these things paled in comparison to the most important, incredibly amusing fact: I had woken him up.
"My, my, Mr Ambrose..." I grinned down at him. "Sleeping in? How scandalous! Don't you know that knowledge is power is time is money?"
"I," he stated, icy eyes boring into me, "was drugged."
"...by drugs you consumed yourself." I shook my head. "How deplorable. I married an addict. I should really have listened to my aunt and married that nice, steady accountant."
The growl that erupted from his throat was very gratifying.
"Which accountant?"
My grin widened. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
He sent me a look that told me, yes, he most definitely wanted to know, and was prepared to go to quite some lengths to find out. His mouth opened, probably to give some order from on high—then he seemed to notice he was still lying flat on his back.
Let's help him out with that, shall we?
I bent forward. Before he got a single word out, I grabbed him by the lapels and pulled him up into a sitting position.
"What the—! Mrs Ambrose, what are you doing?"
Leaning him against the cave wall, I sent him another beaming smile. "Why, helping you sit, of course. It's breakfast time!" And, reaching down, I picked up the previously prepared platter of stone, and held out my lovingly prepared mess of dissected fish bits. "Here you go! Scrambled fish!"
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes, Dicky Darling?"
"There is no such thing as scrambled fish."
I considered that for a moment—then beamed at him again. "There is now! Aren't you glad your wife is such an amazingly inventive cook?"
Cautiously, he reached out, picked up a tiny piece of fish and plopped it into his mouth. To give credit where credit was due: he did not make a face. He did not move so much as a single facial muscle. He chewed. He swallowed. Then he looked up at me.
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes?"
"Once we are home, remind me to never ever order you to cook for me."
If I'd smiled before, my grin now nearly split my face apart. At least getting shipwrecked had been good for something!
"Gladly, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Now, why don't you take another bite? You look really hungry."
"Appearances can be deceptive, Mrs Ambrose."
"You haven't eaten in days."
"Biological facts can be deceptive, too."
I gave him my most endearing, innocent puppy-dog eyes. Oh, and what eyes they were! After all, by now, I'd had plenty of opportunity to study the art of the puppy dog with my great teacher, Professor Fence.
"For me? Please?"
He held my lethal puppy-dog gaze for about three whole seconds—then slowly, inexorably, lowered his hand, picked up another scrap of fish, and plopped it into his mouth.
Yay! Victory!
Being a cave-wife was so much better than being a housewife.
Over the next hour or so, I sat contentedly in a corner and watched Mr Rikkard Ambrose slowly and deliberately consume my marvel of culinary art. He really had to be savouring and enjoying every bite. After all, could there be another reason why he was eating so slowly?
When he was finally done and had successfully suppressed the urge to regurgitate, he took a deep breath and looked over at me.
"Where did you get it from, Mrs Ambrose? And I am not talking about your amazing new recipe."
I told him about the pond and the fish. Then, at his insistence, I gave him a rough summary of what happened during the last few days, including how I confronted the wild beast known as Fence with amazing bravery, and tamed her to be my loyal, face-licking minion.
"I could have done without the last part," Mr Rikkard Ambrose stated coolly.
"I know," I happily agreed. "But I couldn't. By the way, you look a little dry. Would you like your face moisturized?"
"I would like some water. Water, not saliva."
Dang! And I was so close.
"Come, Fence." Scratching my furry friend behind the ears, I turned and marched away, striding out of the cave. "Let's go. No need to stay where we're not wanted."
"Woof!"
"Couldn't have said it better myself."
Over the next few days, our lives continued in a manner that was rather idyllic, if somewhat monotonous. In the morning, I would go to the pond and gather water, at first by hand, later with an improvised cup made from large leaves and some twigs and grass. Next, I would catch some fish and prepare it to the very best of my ability, and have breakfast with my darling husband. After five days or so of this, he almost looked ready to eat poisoned fruit again.
Later in the day, I would take some walks around the island with Fence trotting behind me. It really was quite amazing how nice a little holiday on a Caribbean island could be when you weren't starving or dying of thirst. As the days passed, I grew increasingly fond of the scruffy mutt. Privately, I decided that, when we left the island, I wouldn't be leaving him behind. Ambrose Junior, the camel, was going to get a new neighbour. With a spit-happy camel and a lick-addicted dog, life in London should be a lot more interesting, right? It was going to be such a nice surprise when I told Mr Ambrose.
In the evenings, I would help Mr Ambrose to the exit of the cave and watch the romantic sunsets with him. It truly was an awe-inspiring sight. Almost as beautiful as the look on the face of my dear invalid of a husband as his pregnant wife helped him to stand and walk. The twitch in his cheek as he fiercely tried to banish any facial expression was simply amazing to watch.
Finally, the symptoms of whatever whacky venom my dear husband had decided to ingest began to subside. His tremors vanished, his strength returned, and he very firmly took over the preparation of meals.
Oh, what a travesty! He is encroaching upon my wifely duties! I am outraged!
...not really.
"Hm..." Licking my lips, I took another big bite of the scrumptious roasted fish. "Dish ish Delicious!"
"Compared to the last few days' menu?" he cast a glance into the corner of the cave where he had disposed of my last attempt at cooking. "Indeed, Mrs Ambrose."
"Oy!" Still chewing, I waved my fish at him. "I did my besht!"
"That, Mrs Ambrose, is what concerns me."
Somehow, without even glancing up from his dinner, he managed to duck the fish bone I chucked at his head. Damn him! I couldn't even curse him for his agility. You couldn't really curse something you had to come to appreciate so very much during your wedding night.
"For that," I told him, stabbing a threatening finger at him, "you owe me another roasted fish!"
"A fish in exchange for a fishbone?"
I cocked an eyebrow. "I'm your wife. You didn't think I'd pick up a thing or two?"
He considered this for a moment—then inclined his head in silent recognition of my negotiation skills and handed me a fish.
Mental note: being greedy pays!
Thus, over the next few days, our peaceful island life went on. Waking. Fishing. Lazing around. Breakfast. Lazing around. Fishing. Lazing around. Lunch. Lazing around. Fishing. Lazing around. Dinner. Lazing around. And, just to annoy Mr Rikkard Ambrose, a bit more lazing around. Ah, Caribbean holidays! Wasn't life spiffing?
I was perfectly aware that the fish in the pond weren't going to last forever. But that, luckily, wasn't as much of a problem as it once might have been. Or at least so Mr Rikkard Ambrose informed me.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" I hissed, peeking through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing.
"Are you sure you wish to eat Fruit Surprise tomorrow?"
I winced. "Good point. But if you knew this would work, why didn't we do this before?"
"Because," he explained in the long-suffering tone of a businessman explaining to his accountant that one plus one makes two, "before, we were just wandering aimlessly through the forest. Just wandering through an unfamiliar forest looking for animals is a fool's errand. But this..." Pushing a branch aside, he pointed towards the familiar pond ahead. "This is far more efficient."
I opened my mouth to protest—just when a medium-sized, furry creature slipped out of the jungle on the opposite side of the clearing and headed straight towards the pond.
Dammit! Why does he always have to be right?"
"You see?" Mr Ambrose's voice was no more than whisper. "All living things need to drink. A simple and efficient plan."
"Yes."
So simple I probably should have bloody thought of it myself! Especially considering I found this place by following a god darn dog in the first place! Did my brain rot in the damp climate, or what?
Before I could say or do anything, though, I felt Mr Rikkard Ambrose stiffen beside me.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"Shh!" He raised a finger to his lips. "Quiet!"
Then he pointed ahead, to where, I now noticed, two more unidentified furry beasts had stepped out into the clearing. With one arm, Mr Rikkard Ambrose lifted a hand-made wooden spear, the tip of which had been hardened in fire. Because, apparently, that was a thing. I made a mental note to remember that for the bedroom, in case he would ever have problems hardening his personal "spear".
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?"
"What are you grinning for?"
"Nothing, Sir. Nothing at all."
He eyed me suspiciously for a moment—then nodded. "Adequate." Reaching down, he handed her his second spear. "Then make yourself useful."
"Oh, you need a new stick up your arse?"
The icy look he sent me made me quickly shut my mouth and redirected my attention towards the animals who, by now, were sipping water from the pool. Slowly, very slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rose from behind the bush he was using as cover. Sidling around the edge of the clearing till he was right behind the three furry beasts, he stalked forward without making a single sound until he was only a few feet behind them, and then...
He struck!
The spear flew, hitting one of the animals with unerring accuracy and skewering it from one end to another.
"Squeaaaaah!"
The ear-piercing screech that rose into the air sent the other animals dashing away. No loyalty among medium-sized mammals, eh? They sped around the pond and dashed in the opposite direction from Mr Rikkard Ambrose—straight towards me.
My chance!
Leaping forward, I raised my spear, aimed, and in one swift move, threw it!
Thwack!
Yes! Yes! Bull's eye! I hit...I...um...
Oh.
Very quickly, I lowered my arm and hid it behind my back, doing my best to look innocent. To judge by the cold glitter in Mr Rikkard Ambrose's eyes as he stared at me, it wasn't particularly convincing.
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Um...yes?"
"You will never accompany me to hunt again."
"Why?" My lips twitched. "My spear hit! You could even argue I caught the bigger prey."
"You could." With a tug, pulled out the spear that had nailed his coat tails to a nearby bush. "Yet somehow, I still believe my results are superior."
"You're biased."
"Hardly. Unless you plan on eating me this evening?"
"Nah." Shaking my head, I sent him the most innocent smile I was capable of. "I was thinking of the other way around, actually, Dicky Darling."
His back stiffened.
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes?"
"Silence!"
"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir! Right away, Mr Ambrose, Sir!"
"And..."
"Yes, Sir?"
"When we return home to London, I will give you my tailcoat for some needlework."
I shuddered. Silently, I had to admit: Mr Rikkard Ambrose knew how to wreak vengeance.
We headed back to the cave, and Mr Rikkard Ambrose once more banished me to a corner while he took care of the husbandly duty of cooking. Since said "cooking" included skinning the prey and draining it of blood, I was all too happy not to be involved. I was an independent girl, yes, but an independent city girl, thank you very much.
Soon, Mr Ambrose had gotten a campfire started, and the delicious smell of roasting meat rose into the air. It wasn't long before he stepped into the cave and made a silent gesture for me to follow. Ambling over, I settled on the fallen tree he'd rolled up to the cave entrance and accepted the proffered skewer. Taking another one for himself, Mr Rikkard Ambrose settled down beside me and, for a while, we simply sat there in companionable silence. Birds twittered in the distance and, from even farther away, we could hear cries of gulls.
Sighing contentedly, I snuggled against Mr Rikkard Ambrose and, a moment later, felt a strong arm slide around my shoulders, pulling me close. I concluded I had been right earlier. Life in the Caribbean was spiffing indeed. I wondered...was Karim having as much fun as I was?
***
Far away, somewhere on the open ocean...
The sailor cursed his luck, the fates, Neptune's barnacle beard, and whatever else might be bloody responsible for putting him in this position, in this boat, in this company. Why had he wanted to do this job again?
Oh, sure, Jack, become a sailor! All your mates say it's a great job! Fresh air, lots of exercise and adventure! And you might even meet a pretty mermaid or two!
Well...he had certainly met someone.
Slowly, Jack raised his eyes until they fell on the glowering, bearded giant at the other end of the boat. The small life boat. Which they were currently squeezed into, trying to row across the ocean.
"Why have you stopped rowing?" the giant growled.
Jack jerked. "So sorry, Mr Karim, Sir! I'll start rowing again right away, Sir!"
For a few moments, nothing could be heard but the frantic splashing of water as the oars repeatedly crested the ocean.
"...so much for mermaids."
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, Mr Karim! Nothing at all!"
"Row faster!"
"Yes, Sir! Right away, Sir!"
Jack was just wondering what his odds were of being rescued by a beautiful mermaid if he threw himself overboard, when he heard a distant boom from behind him. Whirling around, he stared into the distance where, on the horizon, a plume of smoke was rising.
"The signal!" he exclaimed. "Do you think they've found something?"
"Let's find out!"
Jack straightened, almost saluting. "Yes, Sir!"
"Turn around! Row back!"
"Um...what? All the way back?" Jack froze—then slumped. "Yes, Sir. Right away, Sir."
Mermaids, mermaids! My kingdom for some pretty mermaids!
***
Days on the island passed in peace and harmony.
I know. It's not very easy to grasp or believe. Peace and harmony? With Mr Rikkard Ambrose there?
Apparently, marriage mellows people out. After a week, he reluctantly removed his top hat. After another week, he seemed to relent and concede the fact that running around in a black tailcoat in a tropical climate might not be the brightest of ideas. At least on deserted islands, where not a single soul was around to witness the shameless spectacle of a relaxed Rikkard Ambrose in a half-open, sweaty shirt.
No soul except for me, that is. Ah...the perks of a wife!
"Say..." Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I sidled up to my dear husband and trailed a single finger down his bare pectorals until I reached a button. Unfortunately, one that was still buttoned. Well...problems exist to be solved. "You wouldn't have any objections to my taking this shirt off, would you? I've heard that, in tropical climates, it's unhealthy to wear too much clothing."
"From whom, pray, did you hear that?"
"From myself. Talking with myself can be most informative."
"Why, Mrs Ambrose, am I not surprised?"
"Because you know me well?" I suggested. Giving his chest a tickle, I leaned forward until our faces were only inches apart. "Now...what about taking that shirt off?"
"Mrs Ambrose! We are out in the open! In plain view!"
"Ah, yes." I leaned forward even farther, until I nearly touched my lips to his. "But that's the amazing thing about being stranded on an uninhabited island. No one can see you."
"Mrs Ambrose...Lillian..."
"Shh." Touching a single finger to his lips, I leaned forward and...
...and had my budding little tryst abruptly interrupted. I would have cursed, I would have railed at whoever dared to bloody disturb us just when we were getting to the good part—except for one thing. The thing that interrupted us was a sound. And not just any sound, either.
Boooom!
The thunderous roar of the explosion, no, the cannon shot, echoed all over the island. Mr Rikkard Ambrose froze, his hand halfway to touching me. His icy eyes found mine, pinning me to the spot.
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?"
"Am I having a relapse into auditory hallucinations from the poison?"
"No." Shaking my head, I rose to my feet. "No, you most definitely are not."
"I thought as much." Pushing himself up in a single, smooth move, he let his eyes sweep over the island. For a moment, we simply stood there, tense and waiting, until...
Booom!
At the second cannon shot, Mr Rikkard Ambrose's head whirled around. His hand shot up, pointing down the hillside and towards the shore.
"Over there!"
"Holy..." Hope rising inside me, I stared in the direction he pointed in—a direction that was completely blocked by jungle. "Do you think it could be Karim trying to get our attention?"
"I don't know." Eyes narrowed infinitesimally, Mr Rikkard Ambrose eyed the distant wisps of smoke rising beyond the trees. "But if it is, I will have a thing or two to say to him about the current market price of gunpowder." Whirling around, he strode off. For a moment, I thought he was heading back into the cave—but no. He was striding along the bottom of the cliff, until he reached a slanting ledge that led up to the top. "Let's get a closer look, shall we?"
In a blink, he was already halfway up the cliff. I hurried after him, huffing and puffing, my heart racing—and not just because I was running faster than I probably should. Could it really be Karim? Could it really be that we would be getting off this island soon?
Not that I'd complain about some more private time with a scantily dressed Mr Rikkard Ambrose. But after several days of unseasoned food and nights spent sleeping on a cave floor, I was starting to realize there were aspects of island life that weren't quite as idyllic as I had imagined. Well...if I wanted some more private time with my all-time favourite skinflint, I could always wait till we're on board a ship, lock him in a cabin with me and throw the key out of a porthole.
I filed that amazing plan away for later and sped up my steps. Soon, I reached the top of the cliff, panting. That had been no more than a few dozen yards, and I was already sweating. Bloody pregnancy!
Exhausted as I was, it took me a moment to realize that Mr Rikkard Ambrose stood frozen at the top of the cliff, staring down at the endless ocean. Staring at something on the horizon. Instantly, my eyes flicked to where he was looking. There, in the distance, where the sky met the sea, I could make out a faint speck of white. Far too close to sea level to be a cloud. No, these were...sails?
"A ship?" I punched the air. "A ship! Yay!"
"Mrs Ambrose? Look closer."
"What do you mean? It's definitely a ship! Karim is coming! Karim is comi—"
"Look. Closer."
I opened my mouth to retort—but instead narrowed my eyes, squinting at the distant vessel. What did he mean? The ship was closer now, but it was still rather difficult to make out. I could only vaguely see the main body, the sails above, and the flag fluttering at the very top.
The black flag.
I swallowed. "That...isn't Karim."
"Indeed."
"Um...do you know any country with black flags?"
"Several. But none like this, Mrs Ambrose."
"L-like that?" I squinted harder. It was still difficult to make out, but...
That white shape almost looked like a skull. A skull and crossbones.
I swallowed once again. "Definitely not Karim."
Booom!
I jumped as another explosion rocked the island. An explosion much, much closer than the ship on the horizon. My eyes flicked down to the shore which, from up here on the cliff, I could finally see. And, down there on the shore, at the opposite end of the island from where we'd been originally shipwrecked, I saw them. People. Dozens, maybe even hundreds. A rag-tag bunch of ruffians dressed in tones of dirt-brown and black, swinging weapons in the air and cheering for the approaching ship. Above their heads fluttered another flag displaying a not-so-jolly roger.
"Mrs Ambrose?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"What, pray, were you saying again about the amazing life on an uninhabited island?"
-------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
Yay! Time for pirate adventures!
By the way, the Jolly Roger is the name for the well-known pirate flag showing a white skull and crossbones on black background. A fact that I would say is rather strange, considering that neither a skull nor crossbones is very jolly.
Yours Truly
Sir Rob