Page 152 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Yes, quite an…intriguing taste.” Taking a tiny bite of the sauce-covered meat, Mr Ambrose began to chew, his face perfectly impassive. “What, pray, are those herbs you used for seasoning?”
“Oh, just something I found here and there.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed.”
“Would ‘there’ by any chance be at the bottom of a rotting compost heap?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Captain!”
“Ridiculous?”
“Of course!” I beamed. “You can find plenty of rotten herbs in the forest. You don’t need to find a compost heap for that.”
Mr Ambrose’s right hand, along with the piece of meat it was holding, froze half-way to his mouth.
“Mr Linton?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I would be the first to admit that I am no expert in humour. So when I ask you this, I require you to answer clearly and concisely. Are you joking?”
“Naturally!”
“I see.” Mr Ambrose’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and he put the piece of meat into his mouth.
“After all, I wouldn’t want the…‘special taste’ to be diluted by the decomposition process.”
Mr Ambrose stiffened. A muscle in his cheek twitched and, a moment later, twitched again. My oh my! Twice in a row? I was on a roll today!
“So, how is it?” I asked sweetly.
“Amazing!” one of the pirates exclaimed, waving a spoon in the air. “Ain’t ever ate anything like it, Captain?”
“Yes, it is truly…special,” Mr Ambrose agreed, his face murderously expressionless.
I glowed at the compliment. Wasn’t it amazing to have such a kind and polite husband?
“I’m thrilled to hear that!” I exclaimed, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “And since we’re on the subject of my cooking…I’m wondering whether I could go with you on your next raid?” Letting go, I squeezed in between him and the closest pirate and gave him a gentle smile. “If not, I can only stay here and continue cooking wonderful meals for your return. I don't mind.”
I had to give him credit. He didn’t even twitch. “That won’t be necessary, Mr Linton. I shall permit you to accompany us next time.”
I beamed. “Spiffing! Simply spiffing!”
“Indeed.” Fixing me with an arctic gaze, Mr Ambrose fastened his hand on my shoulder with an iron grip, keeping me from escaping. “Now…” He held out his plate to me. “Why don’t you share some of thisdelicious foodwith me?”
Blast!
Well, at least things couldn’t get worse, could they?
***
“Shit, shit, shit! It can’t be! It just can’t!” Low curses could be heard as, at the back of the kitchen tent, a piece of tent cloth was slowly lifted. A moment later, the tiny form of Liam slipped inside and sidled through the shadows towards a chest in the corner, where the old cook had kept his recipes.
“If he’s got evidence anywhere, it’s got to be in there. It’s got to be!”
Throwing the lid up, he dived head first into the chest. Pots, pans and bits of paper flew in all directions. When he had finally gone through everything and had double-checked while putting all of it back into place, the little fellow’s shoulders finally sagged in relief.
