Page 89 of Storm over the Caribbean
He considered this for a moment—then inclined his head in silent recognition of my negotiation skills and handed me a fish.
Mental note: being greedy pays!
Thus, over the next few days, our peaceful island life went on. Waking. Fishing. Lazing around. Breakfast. Lazing around. Fishing. Lazing around. Lunch. Lazing around. Fishing. Lazing around. Dinner. Lazing around. And, just to annoy Mr Rikkard Ambrose, a bit more lazing around. Ah, Caribbean holidays! Wasn’t life spiffing?
I was perfectly aware that the fish in the pond weren’t going to last forever. But that, luckily, wasn’t as much of a problem as it once might have been. Or at least so Mr Rikkard Ambrose informed me.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I hissed, peeking through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing.
“Are you sure you wish to eat Fruit Surprise tomorrow?”
I winced. “Good point. But if you knew this would work, why didn’t we do this before?”
“Because,” he explained in the long-suffering tone of a businessman explaining to his accountant that one plus one makes two, “before, we were just wandering aimlessly throughthe forest. Just wandering through an unfamiliar forest looking for animals is a fool’s errand. But this…” Pushing a branch aside, he pointed towards the familiar pond ahead. “This is far more efficient.”
I opened my mouth to protest—just when a medium-sized, furry creature slipped out of the jungle on the opposite side of the clearing and headed straight towards the pond.
Dammit! Why does he always have to be right?”
“You see?” Mr Ambrose’s voice was no more than whisper. “All living things need to drink. A simple and efficient plan.”
“Yes.”
So simple I probably should have bloody thought of it myself! Especially considering I found this place by following a god darn dog in the first place! Did my brain rot in the damp climate, or what?
Before I could say or do anything, though, I felt Mr Rikkard Ambrose stiffen beside me.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Shh!” He raised a finger to his lips. “Quiet!”
Then he pointed ahead, to where, I now noticed, two more unidentified furry beasts had stepped out into the clearing. With one arm, Mr Rikkard Ambrose lifted a hand-made wooden spear, the tip of which had been hardened in fire. Because, apparently, that was a thing. I made a mental note to remember that for the bedroom, in case he would ever have problems hardening his personal “spear”.
“Mrs Ambrose?”
“Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir?”
“What are you grinning for?”
“Nothing, Sir. Nothing at all.”
He eyed me suspiciously for a moment—then nodded. “Adequate.” Reaching down, he handed her his second spear. “Then make yourself useful.”
“Oh, you need a new stick up your arse?”
The icy look he sent me made me quickly shut my mouth and redirected my attention towards the animals who, by now, were sipping water from the pool. Slowly, very slowly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose rose from behind the bush he was using as cover. Sidling around the edge of the clearing till he was right behind the three furry beasts, he stalked forward without making a single sound until he was only a few feet behind them, and then…
He struck!
The spear flew, hitting one of the animals with unerring accuracy and skewering it from one end to another.
“Squeaaaaah!”
The ear-piercing screech that rose into the air sent the other animals dashing away. No loyalty among medium-sized mammals, eh? They sped around the pond and dashed in the opposite direction from Mr Rikkard Ambrose—straight towards me.
My chance!
Leaping forward, I raised my spear, aimed, and in one swift move, threw it!
