Page 79 of Storm of Bells
Rikkard Ambrose
My brow furrowed, I tipped my pen against my lowerlip. Hm…how best to reply?
Oh yes. Excellent idea.
Leaning forward, I scribbled
Dear Sir,
Burn? Crease? You must think quite a lotabout a lady’s housewifely duties. Are you sure you aren’t a girlin disguise? If so, you can trust me. I won’t tell.
Your (somewhat concerned) fiancée,
Lillian Linton
This time, his response only took him seven pointthree seconds to respond.
Mr Linton,
You of all people ought to know better. But,if your memories of our night together have faded so quickly, Ishall have to remind you. Soon.
Rikkard Ambrose
A delicious shiver went down my back. There reallywas only one possible reply to that.
Dear (and hypothetically male) Mr Ambrose,
Soon. Knowledge is power is time is money,after all.
Yours impatiently,
Lillian Linton
Not long after, I was just sitting at the front deskeating another piece of cake (Mr Stone really was a talentedfellow) and sipping a cup of hot chocolate when, from thepaternoster, emerged a mountain of laundry.
‘Halt!’ I proclaimed. ‘Art thou friend, foeor smelly underpants?’
A familiar, and not very amused, bearded faceemerged from behind the giant pile.
‘Where,’ Karim enquired with as much dignityas a man from whose turban dangled an embroidered handkerchief canmanage, ‘should I put this?’
‘Err…in my office,’ I told him hesitantly. Ihad just realized that maybe it had not been the best idea to lethim see me sipping chocolate out here when I was supposed to be inmy office, sweating my lungs out. Before I could think any furtheron the subject, he stomped past me and into the office. A momentlater he was back, heading straight past me and Mr Ambrose’s officedoor, towards the paternoster.
‘You’re not going to rat me out?’ Idemanded.
He stopped. Slowly, he turned. What littlewas visible of his face behind the huge beard was unreadable.
‘I do not like rats.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Hm.’ Tapping the pommel of his sabre, heregarded me critically for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. Iwill not.’
I frowned. ‘Why not?’
The poor dear looked as if he had justswallowed an especially sour lemon. Glaring at me haughtily, hetold me:
‘I donot have to explain my reasons to you. Suffice it to say that mypeople have an old saying.Naraka! Usa ne tuhanulo?a hai, isekarake.’[22]
