Page 160 of New Storm Rising
“You see, Mrs Ambrose?” My dear husband shot me a dignified, cool look that in no way conveyed the messageHa! I win.
“Well then…” Eyes narrowing, I turned towards the stable owner. “Show us those marvellous horses that are both cheap and fast.”
“Well…” The man cleared his throat. “About that…they aren’t exactly—”
“Bloooaaaaawwwwk!”
The sound, a mixture between a moo, a bleat and a malfunctioning fog horn, cut through the man’s voice in the middle of the sentence. A moment later, a head that smelled like an old door mat, with the most adorable pouty lips ever, peeked out from its stall and took aim at Mr Ambrose. For a living granite statue, my dear husband moved with astounding alacrity and leapt sideways just in time to avoid the spit projectile.
“What,” Mr Rikkard Ambrose enquired, his voice as icy as the heart of the arctic, “wasthat?”
“Ehem, well…” The stable owner cleared his throat. “Ya remember I was sayin’ the animals in question ain’t exactly horses?”
“Yes?”
“Seems like, some time ago, the US Cavalry did some experiments…”
“I see. How intriguing. I think I should follow their example and have Karim do some experiments on your innards.”
“With camels! They did experiments with camels!” The owner took two hurried steps backward. “They wanted to use ’em since they’re so amazingly tough and fit for the desert climate. But for some reason, the experiment only lasted a week before the animals were sold off real cheap!”[34]
The camel in the background took that opportunity to switch targets, pursed its lips and took a pot shot at me. I only just managed to dodge the spitball.
“Can’t imagine why.” I beamed. “They seem like such sweet things!”
“Indeed,” Mr Ambrose agreed while sending the camel that was eying him a don’t-you-dare kind of look. “Very…sweet.”
“You…you think so?” The stable owner blinked, confused. “Really?”
“How much is a camel, and how much is a horse?”
“A horse is $150 and a camel $70.”
“Then I consider camels the sweetest thing in this world. How many do you have?”
“H-how many do ya need, Sir?”
“Two for each coach and two dozen mounts.”
“Sure, Sir, no problem, Sir!”
“—if I get a bulk discount.”
“Err…sure. I guess I could do that…”
“Of fifty percent.”
“Um…well…”
After ten minutes of intense negotiation, an invigorated Rikkard Ambrose strode out of the stable, leaving behind the broken remnant of a stable owner. Well…perhaps more broke than broken.
“Ah, Mr Ambrose,” the marshal, who just seemed to be finished stabling his exhausted horse, glanced our way as we exited the building. “Found suitable mounts, have you?”
“Oh yes,” my dear hubby agreed. “Very suitable indeed.”
“Bloooaaaaawwwwk!”
The marshal jumped, his hand flying to his revolver. “What was that?”
