I rolled my eyes. Oh, please.
Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘Yes, go, Karim. I need Warren here as soon as possible.’
‘As you wish, Sahib.’ But Karim still looked doubtful under his beard as he unlocked the door and left the room.
When the door closed behind him, I stepped up to Mr Ambrose until only a few inches separated us. There was no point in beating about the bush further.
‘Why won’t you let me do my job? What exactly is your problem?’
His eyes, seeming darker than usual, almost black, bored into me like a steam-engine-driven drill. ‘You know.’
Angrily, I put my fists on my hips. ‘You mean the fact that I’m a girl?’
He didn’t say anything, but from his look I knew that was it. What was the matter? This was going beyond chauvinism. Wasn't he even able to say the word ‘girl’ aloud? Did he have such a strong distaste for it? For me?
‘Do you behave like this to all females?’ I demanded.
A faint noise escaped him. It might have been a snort.
‘Hardly. All females don't put on trousers and trick me into giving them jobs!’
‘I did not trick you!’
‘Maybe. Get to the point.’
‘I already have. Why won’t you let me help you, let me work for you properly?’
He shook his head in exasperation. ‘You don't understand. Where I am going, what I will be doing… It will be dangerous. Very dangerous. I cannot let you accompany me.’
‘Why not?’ I asked, heatedly. ‘Simply because I am a girl?’
He stared at me for a second, seemingly lost for words. For this one moment I saw something flicker in his eyes, something different from the iron determination that was usually there. He looked almost… frightened? Longing?
Then the shutters came done again, and he nodded. ‘Yes, that’s exactly the reason. I am a gentleman. As such I cannot allow any lad-person of female gender to be in danger.’
It did not pass my notice how he had avoided using the term 'lady'.
‘Oh really?’ Sarcasm was dripping from my voice. ‘If I may remind you, you were threatening to do away with me yourself not ten minutes ago.’
‘That,’ he answered in a chilling voice, ‘was when I thought you had betrayed me. I do not take kindly to traitors, Mr Linton.’
The sarcasm drained from my voice and face.
‘I am not a traitor,’ I said, my voice full of hurt.
For one instant, I thought his granite face softened a bit. ‘I know. You have done an acceptable job so far - for an Ifrit.’
My eyes flew wide open. Had my ears betrayed me, or had Mr Ambrose, Mr Silent and Sullen Granite Face Ambrose, just made a joke?
‘But your capabilities as an office worker don’t have anything to do with this. You simply can’t get involved in this matter! You see that, don't you?’ he continued so quickly that I immediately forgot about the maybe-joke and my hackles rose.
‘No! I most certainly do not see. You have taken me on to work for you!’ I folded my arms in front of my chest. ‘I demand work! I demand to work bloody hard for every penny you will pay me, just like Karim and this Warren fellow and every other man you employ, do you understand? I want to earn my own money, and I will, whether you want me to or not.’
Once again, he studied me with his dark, sea-coloured eyes. There was something growing there - slowly, very slowly. Acceptance? More likely it was resignation.
He took a step towards me. Whereas before our faces had been inches apart, now it was only a fraction of an inch.
‘I will not be able to change your mind, will I?’ he asked. His voice was arctic. But for some reason I didn’t feel cold. Instead I felt heat rush over my body. Where his face and mine almost touched, my skin began to tingle. The tension between us was burning.
‘No.’ I grinned. ‘And you don't have the time anyway. You have to catch a thief.’
‘Good point.’ Again, he studied me. ‘You really wish to help?’
‘Yes!’
‘Very well then. Follow me.’
He whirled, and before I knew what was happening he was striding away. I followed instinctively, only now realizing how my breath had sped up during our little standoff.
Strange. Why had I reacted like this? It must have been the exhilaration of finally triumphing over him. Yes, that had to be it.
He led me back towards the entrance of the safe. There, he stopped and turned to me. I had to work hard to keep a triumphant smile off my face. This was it. He was finally going to accept me and give me responsibility.
‘I have a very important assignment for you,’ he said, looking me directly in the eyes. ‘One of vital significance, which I expect to be finished by the time I return.’
‘What is it?’ I asked, breathless.
He pushed open the door to the safe, which had fallen closed behind us. Then he pointed to the chaos of files on the floor. ‘Clean up that mess.’
Little Ifrit
All right, so I did it. So what? He was my employer, after all, and he could order me to do anything he wanted. The fact that I was fuming and fantasizing about choking him didn’t really count as an excuse to shirk my duties.
By the light of the small gas lamp Mr Ambrose had given me, I started to sort files.
Soon I found that, while the work itself was deathly boring, being positioned in the safe room had unexpected advantages. Once I had pushed open the door, which Mr Ambrose had shut, I could hear everything that was going on in my office - which was quite a lot, let me tell you.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Enter,’ Mr Ambrose’s curt voice called.
‘Mr Ambrose? Good morning, Sir,’ a quiet, respectful voice said in answer. Several pairs of feet shuffled into my office. Apparently it had been selected as official HQ for the thief hunt. ‘I came as soon as you called. What is the matter? Karim didn’t say.’
‘Warren.’ No ‘good morning’ from Mr Stoneface Ambrose of course, and certainly no ‘How nice to see you.’ He got right to the point. ‘Have you seen Simmons?’
‘Simmons, Sir? I thought you gave me to understand that he suddenly gave up his post.’
‘He did. And he took something of mine along with him, it appears.’
There was a short, heavy silence. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine the merciless ice in Mr Ambrose’s eyes right then. Just from the feel of the air I got the impression that the people in my office experienced a twinge of pity for Simmons.
‘I see. What can we do, Sir?’
‘First answer my question, Warren. Have you seen him since he left?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Has he come back to pick up his belongings?’
‘I can send someone and check, Sir.’
‘Do that. Now.’
Footsteps hurried off. There were a few more minutes of silence, which nobody made even the slightest attempt to fill. Apparently Mr Ambrose didn’t think much of small talk. What a surprise.
The moment the footsteps returned he asked: ‘And?’
‘His things are gone,’ said a third voice. ‘I asked Mr Garfield down at the lockers, and he said that Simmons took them with him on the same day he disappeared.’
‘That settles it,’ declared Mr Ambrose. ‘He’s the thief. He has been planning this.’
‘It appears so, Sir,’ agreed the man called Warren. ‘May I ask what was stolen?’
‘No.’
What was this? No? Just like that? No? Mr Ambrose didn’t even trust his own people? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that I was stuck in here sorting files then, instead of being out there where the real work was being done.
‘You are looking for a folder with the inscription “S39XX300”,’ Mr Ambrose told them, icily. ‘That is all you need to know.’
‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’
‘First you will search this office. I have some urgent business and will leave you to it. If you have any questions, ask Karim.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
His footsteps receded, and the noises from the other room indicated that Mr Warren and his cronies had begun their search. I returned my attention to my work.