We left about five minutes later. The priest seemed very eager to show us the path to wherever the heck it was we were going, whether righteous or not.
Not that there were any paths that I could see. No, where we were going now the jungle became denser and more difficult with every yard. It wasn't just that the trees were closer together and underbrush thicker. The heat shot up like bullets in a funeral salute, and I felt about ready to be stuffed in a coffin. At least it would have kept the mosquitos away. Oh yes...the mosquitos. Apparently, I had only become acquainted with the more civilised members of that particular species up to this point. Now, however, their cousins were introducing themselves to me, and they weren't being shy about it.
'Ouch!'
'Silence, Mr Linton.'
'You try being silent when some bloody great beast bites you in the kettledrums!'
There was a moment of silence.
'That, I believe, would be anatomically impossible, Mr Linton.'
No need to tell me that. However brief my looks at Mr Ambrose's bare chest had been so far, they had been thorough enough to make clear to me he was all man, with an extra-dose of alpha male. If only I could take a closer look! But my seductive skills were slightly squashed by the fact that we had a priest with us. Plus, there were the–
'Ouch!'
Slap!
'Ha! Take that, you bloody beast!'
–mosquitos.
After a few days of this, I was ready to scream! How were you supposed to tempt a man into sin with a priest looking over your shoulder, and mosquitos biting your behind? And the worst thing was: Mr Ambrose didn't seem to be bothered by either. He marched along as if the mosquitos around him didn't exist, and the only time he acknowledged Father Marcos' existence was when he glared at the priest to keep him on track.
Father Marcos, for his part, followed Karim's example and did his very best not to look at me. In fact, he did his very best not to look at any of us, or exist at all. If he could have vanished into empty air, I was sure he would have jumped at the chance. He didn't actually try to preach morals to me, or to lead me to the path of righteousness, but I only had to take one look at his poor little face to know I couldn't throw myself at Mr Ambrose in front of him. It would scar the poor man for life. Damn!
But apart from the fact that he thought I was a succubus from hell and that he was inhibiting my insidious attempts at seduction, Father Marcos was actually a pretty decent fellow. He was polite, obliging, and not once did he mention anything about women having to keep their mouth shut, which the vicar back home was prone to do every other Sunday.
'Why did you tell me he was crazy?' I whispered to Mr Ambrose, after we'd been marching a few days, and a particularly nasty mosquito had just bitten me on the nose, leaving me with an urgent need to distract myself. 'I mean...He's a bit shy, and apt to see satanic temptations where there aren't any, but crazy?'
Mr Ambrose gave me a level look. 'He lives alone out here in the jungle to teach a useless doctrine to a couple of half-naked primitives. Of course he is crazy. But that does not mean he cannot still be useful to us.'
I couldn't help but agree. Living out here wouldn't be my idea of a sane, healthy life. If I tried to imagine living without my friends, my sister, my whole world back home in London – I couldn't even finish the thought! There was no one else out here in the jungle to distract you from the heat and the rain and the ravenous mosquitos. Not a single soul you could ask for shelter or help. Except, maybe...
Oh no.
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 inquired, 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 love-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.
No. That couldn't be. I could feel them. I knew I could.
Snap!
I whirled around. 'What was that? Did you hear that? What was it?'
'A snapping branch,' Mr Ambrose answered without bothering to stop or turn around. 'Calm down, Mr Linton.'
'Calm down? You want me to calm down? We're stuck in the middle of the Amazonian jungle, with no help for miles around, surrounded by God only knows who and you want me to calm down?'
'Yes.'
'We could be killed!'
'They won't kill us.'
'How do you know?'
'Because they're too curious to know what we want. They won't kill us until they've found out.'
'Oh, thank you, Sir! That makes me feel so much better!'
'You're welcome.'
Gah! I would really have loved to strangle him right then and there. Only I knew if I got that close to him, even with mosquito bites all over me and anger boiling up inside, I would go for his mouth instead of his throat.
'I am gratified to hear that you have such a high opinion of our survival chances,' I said in the sweetest voice I could manage. 'Who are these mysterious 'they' you are taking us to?'
No answer.
'Tell me! Now!'
No answer.
I was just about to reach for my gun, when my question was suddenly answered for me – but not by Mr Ambrose. It was answered by a man dropping out of a tree only a few yards ahead, blocking our path. More men followed, dropping from trees and appearing from behind bushes all around, their eyes narrowed, and as sharp as the spears in their hands. All the men were dark-skinned, with strange, flat faces and slitted eyes. And, oh yes, one tiny little detail...They were all stark-naked.
'Mr Linton,' Mr Ambrose said, raising his hand, 'let me introduce you to 'they'. 'They', meet Mr Victor Linton.'
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,
In case you haven't heard yet, here is the big reveal: the new project I recently hinted at will be a SECOND VOLUME OF FAIRY TALES!
The response to the first volume has been so magnificently positive that I soon made up my my mind to write a second one. Plus, you've been sending me such fantabulous suggestions for possible fairy tales to rewrite from all over the world, I just couldn't resist. Would you like to find out whether your suggestion made it into the book? Keep an eye on my social media pages, where I'll be posting news, hints and teasers! You'll find the links to my social media pages on my wattpad profile! :-)
While most of the stories will eventually be on wattpad, this second volume of fairy tales will first be posted on a pay-to-read app called Tapas. Why not Radish, you may justly ask?
For one simple reason: most of the stories on Radish are for an adult audience, whereas Tapas focuses on young adult fantasy, and would thus be the more appropriate place for fairy tales. Plus, it will give us a chance to test an alternative service, so you can give me feedback on the pros and cons of both! What do you think?
I look forward to hearing your opinion! :)
On another note: regarding the historical background of the above Storm and Silence chapter - In case you were wondering why Victorian vicars and priests would tell women to keep silent, this attitude (prevelant in many churches throughout much of history) is based on verses like Corinthians 14:34-35.
In the King James Version, it says:
'Let your women keep silence in the churches: for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience as also saith the law. And if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands at home: for it is a shame for women to speak in the church.'
Let's hope that nobody ever tries to use that line on Lilly ;-)
Yours Truly
Sir Rob
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
GLOSSARY:
Kettledrums: A Victorian Word for a lady's breasts.