‘It’s not only nation states that seek to discover each other’s secrets. Secrets mean faster development and more money. Always remember: Knowledge is power is time is money!’
I frowned. Something seemed to be wrong with that sentence. ‘I thought it’s “knowledge is power” and “time is money”.’
‘I combined the two to save time.’
‘Oh.’
I lapsed into silence again for a moment. But then I remembered.
‘Wait! That wasn’t my only question. I had others! You were trying to distract me.’
‘Oh yes. Karim’s innovative torture methods.’
That hadn’t been the question at the top of my list, and I was about to tell him that actually I was more interested in the name of his mysterious enemy, but then… this was something I was pretty interested to hear, too.
‘Tell her, Karim,’ Mr Ambrose commanded.
Good God! Did he just use a feminine pronoun to refer to me? Whoever is behind all this, hearing their name must really have gotten to him!
‘Tell her?’ The bearded mountain’s eyes bugged. ‘Sahib! You do not mean that!’
‘Have I ever given an order that I have not meant?’
‘No, Sahib, but…’
‘Have I ever fallen into the habit of joking or making other kinds of remarks that were not of a serious and literal nature?’
‘I must admit, Sahib, no, but in this case…’
‘Tell he-I mean, tell him!’
Karim lowered his head.
‘As you wish, Sahib.’
With a few longer strides of his massive legs he had caught up to me and was marching next to me. I looked sideways. His face was trying for impassivity, but I could see the wrath of seven hells burning under the surface.
‘After I failed in my attempt with the Chinese water torture,’ he said in a voice that was supposed to be detached, ‘it came to me in a divine stroke of inspiration that a less classical approach might be more effective. So I stripped Simmons of all his clothes, including his undergarments, and threatened that if he would not divulge his information, I would drug him, dress him in a pink French ballet dancer’s costume, and tie him to the fountain in Trafalgar Square for the crowd to discover in the morning.’
There were a few seconds of silence.
‘He didn’t seem to believe me at first. That’s when I went out and bought a costume. I brought it back and showed it to him… and that broke him.’
There were a few more seconds of silence.
‘A… ballet costume?’ I finally asked.
‘Yes. Pink, with a short silk skirt and golden lace trimmings.’
‘I see.’
Cautiously, I looked sideways again and could see Karim’s hand at his belt, gripping the hilt of his scimitar. His eyes found mine. ‘Come on,’ they seemed to say. ‘Laugh. Come on. I’m the one with the huge sabre. Laugh, and we'll see if you’re still laughing when I have separated your head from your body.’
‘Um… a very interesting method indeed,’ I managed. I was fighting an epic battle to keep a straight face. Let me tell you, Waterloo was nothing to it. I might have lost it after all, just like Napoleon, the poor chap, if a more serious thought had not invaded my mind, providing much needed reinforcements.
‘You distracted me!’ I exclaimed. ‘Again!’
‘I?’ Karim’s stare changed from threatening abrupt death to confusion. ‘I didn’t…’
‘Not you! You!’ I pointed at Mr Ambrose. He couldn’t see it though, because he was still walking briskly ahead of us, his back to me.
‘You’ve done it twice now! I want my first question answered! I want to know that name! Who was spying on you, damn you?’
He didn’t stop, didn’t answer. Just held up one admonishing finger in an abrupt movement. What the blooming hell… Oh, right. Be courteous. Be respectful.
‘Who was spying on you, Sir?’ I asked, my voice sweeter than a pot full of honey.
He didn’t even glance around.
‘Can’t tell you that.’
‘Why the dickens not? Um… Sir?’
‘It is for your own good, believe me.’
Oh, of course I believe you. Why would I ever doubt a word that comes out of your mouth?
‘Who is he? Who is this chap who’s hiring people to spy on you?’
Mr Ambrose gave a snort. ‘I’m not sure that “chap” would be the right noun to describe him.’
‘Well, what would describe him, then?’
He didn’t fall for the trap.
‘Adequate try, Mr Linton.’
Not even good try?
‘Why won’t you tell me?’
I looked sideways at Karim again, but although he tried not to let it show, he was just as nonplussed as I was. He didn’t know who this mystery man was either. And if Mr Ambrose’s motivations of not telling for our own good also applied to Karim…
Eyeing the large sabre at the Mohammedan’s belt, I shuddered. Who in the world could be a threat to Karim? Who could be more dangerous than a sabre-wielding bearded giant? Maybe I really shouldn’t delve too deeply into this. Maybe it would be wise just to let it go.
But then again, when had I ever been wise? If I were, life would be so very dull.
‘We could better guard against him if we knew who he was,’ I pointed out.
I could see he’d rather have bitten his tongue off, but Karim opened his mouth.
‘She does,’ he said in a slow tone of voice as if he had to drag every word forcibly from the pit of his stomach, ‘actually have a point, Sahib.’
‘No, he doesn't.’ Mr Ambrose shook his head.
We turned a corner and suddenly stood before the door into the main hall again. There Mr Ambrose waited till we had caught up with him. He stood, silent and still as a statue, facing the door as if he could see images there that were invisible to anybody else. We stepped up beside him, but still he didn’t move. Karim, who obviously - unlike me - didn’t have the intention of arguing with his master any more, felt the need to change the subject. He cleared his throat and asked: ‘Should I buy a ticket for Mr Simmons, Sahib?’
Mr Ambrose twitched, seeming to awake from a trance.
‘What did you say?’
‘The ticket for Mr Simmons. The train ticket out of London. Should I buy it and give it to him when he leaves the building?’
There was one more moment of silence. Then Mr Ambrose shook his head. ‘He will be dead within a day of leaving this building,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘Corpses need no tickets.’
I paled and stared at him, wide-eyed.
‘D-dead?’ I stuttered. ‘But you said…’
‘Oh, I won’t kill him.’ He turned to look at me. There was a slightly different set to his mouth. If I didn’t know that he didn’t have such a thing as facial expressions, I would almost have said he looked… grim. ‘I won’t need to. He told me the name of his employer.’
‘And?’
‘And I know the man. Once he leaves this building, Simmons has only hours to live.’ He turned again and opened the door. ‘So you see, there’s no reason to waste perfectly good money.’
Dysfunctional Dismissal
Hours to live. He has only hours to live.
The sentence, so calmly spoken, was still echoing through my mind while I followed Mr Ambrose up the stairs and through the hallway. I barely noticed Mr Stone’s greeting in time to return it.
Hours to live. Only hours.
Should somebody warn Simmons? Shouldn’t Mr Ambrose? But I saw that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going to kill Simmons for what the man had done, but neither was he going to lift a finger to preserve his life. I knew that from looking at his face alone.
‘Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s calm and cool voice startled me from my thoughts. ‘Step into my office for a minute. There is a business matter I wish to discuss with you.’
A business matter? Now? What about the fellow you’re setting up to have his throat slit?
‘Of course, Sir.’ Rolling my eyes, I followed him into his office. I should have guessed this was going to happen, of course.
Knowledge is power is time is money, right?