Page 212 of Storm over the Caribbean
“Mr Ambrose!”
A pause. Until…
“Two thousand nine hundred and fifty-seven nautical miles.”
“Mr Ambrose?”
“Yes?”
“I hate you.”
“I love you too, Mrs Ambrose.”
“Are we sailing at full speed? Can you tell Karim to go faster?”
Just then, a tiny blur whizzed past behind us, followed by a panting, bearded behemoth.
“Nooo! I don’t want to eat pickled vegetables! Don’t wanna! Don’t wanna!”
“Come back here you littleafát!41 You shall do as theSahibcommands, or suffer my wrath!”
“Noo! I’m gonna go back to the pirates!”
“Foolish child! How could you possibly go back to—hey! Don’t you dare touch that lifeboat! I forbid it! Do you hear? I forbid it!”
“I believe,” Mr Ambrose stated, “Karim is otherwise occupied.”
“Apparently.”
“Get off!” a roar came from the other end of the ship. “Get off that lifeboat and let me strangle you, you demon in human shape!”
There was a moment of silence.
“Mr Ambrose?”
“Yes, Mrs Ambrose?”
“Let’s have a long talk with Karim before ever allowing to babysit our future children, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
The following few weeks passed by in something of a blur. Unfortunately, said blur was mostly vomit-coloured. The only good thing about this was that Mr Ambrose had absolutely forbidden me from even entering the galley, let alone touching any cooking implements. Hm…maybe puking all the time has its benefits?
“Bluuurgh!”
On second thoughts, maybe not.
“H-how much farther?” I wheezed.
“One thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine nautical miles, Mrs Ambrose.”
Sometimes, Mr Rikkard Ambrose’s penchant for accuracy really made me want to strangle him.
“Ghk! Bleeargh!”
More days passed. More puke was regurgitated. Finally, after an interminably long time, the incessant sound of the waves was interrupted by the distant mewing of gulls. Even in my current condition, I still knew what that meant.
Looking up, I caught sight of a stretch of white over the blue-grey ocean.
