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‘Hell’s whiskers!’ A giggle escaped me. ‘That looks dashed nifty!’
‘Nifty, is it?’ The dark figure of Mr Ambrose took a step towards me. ‘You consider blood spattered all over your clothes nifty? Maybe even chic? You have interesting fashion tastes, Mr Linton.’
‘Why, thank you, Sir.’ I bowed and nearly toppled over. Strong arms caught me and put me upright again.
‘Still,’ his cool voice continued, ‘I doubt your aunt shares your tastes in that direction.’
Thoughtfully, I tugged at my lower lip. He might be right about that. Aunt Brank was often completely unreasonable in regard to modern fashion.
‘Might be interesting to see her reaction, though.’ I giggled again. ‘The look on her face…’
‘…would undoubtedly be a sight to be seen. Still, in the interest of secrecy, I would advise against it.’
‘Oh, all right! Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.’
He turned. ‘I assure you I am not in the habit of sticking sticks into mud, Mr Linton. Follow me.’
Marching up the stairs, he pulled a ring of keys out of his coat pocket. I had never before met anyone who could truly march on stairs, not without breaking their toes, anyway, but he managed it just fine. He reached the door well ahead of me and had unlocked it in a jiffy.
The huge wooden doors squealed like the tortured souls of the undead as they were pushed open. I looked around with interest, just in case some of the tortured souls of the undead happened to be around and wanted to swap recipes, but there was only Alexander the Great, atop his horse, winking at me from the other side of the street.
‘Nighty night, Alexander! Conquer Persia for me!’ I called, waving to him energetically - until Mr Ambrose grabbed me and pushed me towards the door.
‘Hey! There’s no need to be so rough,’ I protested, resisting his grasp. ‘I was only being polite.’
‘To a hallucination. And you were waking the whole street up in the process, which is not a good idea. Or have you forgotten that the headquarters of the East India Company is right across the street?’
I furrowed my brow in concentration. For some reason, I was sure that was important, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember why.
‘Well, no,’ I explained, and started grinning again. It was easy to grin right now, and very difficult to frown. ‘Actually, I hadn’t forgotten. I just don't care. I mean… Alexander the Great conquered parts of India, right? He’s surely not afraid of some stuffy old company board members.’
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yessir?’
‘We need to get you inside.’
‘Yessir! Why, Sir?’
Without answering, he renewed his grip and began to push me forward again. This time, I didn’t react fast enough, and he managed to manoeuvre me through the entrance into the darkness of the hall beyond.
‘Why do we have to go?’ I demanded, trying to push my heels into the ground. But it was no use. My shoes just slipped on the polished stone floor. ‘I was talking to Alexander the Great!’
That didn’t seem to make Mr Ambrose want to let me go, the ill-bred lout! Didn’t he know you couldn’t behave like that to an Emperor?
‘We have go back. I didn’t get to say goodbye properly.’
‘We can’t go back. We have to go upstairs, and you have to sit down.’
‘Why?’
‘Because you are drunk, Mr Lin-’
‘I’m not! Just ask the yellow piggies!’
There was a pause.
‘Well… then let’s just say that I’m not on the best of terms with Alexander the Great. I wish to avoid him, if possible.’
‘Oh.’ Now this was interesting news, and my curiosity spiked immediately. ‘Why’s that?’
There were a few moments of contemplative silence.
‘He kicked my favourite dog once.’
‘Really, Sir?’
We had reached the other end of the hall by now. There, the floor suddenly vanished, and instead there were these angular thingamies… what were they called again?
‘Yes, really, Mr Linton. And a very harsh kick it was.’
Oh yes. Steps! Pride flooded through me! I had actually managed to remember what steps were called! And Mr Ambrose thought I was drunk. Hah! I’d show him.
I took a confident step forward - and a hand shot out to grab me.
‘No, not those stairs, Mr Linton. Those lead to the cellars, that’s why the steps go down. We want to go to my office and need to find some stairs that go up.’
I pondered this. He might actually be right, I finally decided.
‘How clever, Sir! I would never have thought of that.’
‘Indeed.’
Somehow, another staircase appeared in front of me. Had he pushed me around again? I decided, just this once, to let it go without protesting. My mind was engaged on a much more serious and enthralling topic than stairs, anyway.
‘You have a pet dog?’ I asked, the incredulity clear in my voice.
He hesitated. I could feel it: he didn’t like to give anything away, be it money or personal information.
‘Two,’ he finally snapped. From what I could see of his face in the dark it was as impassive as the stone I set my feet on.
‘But… aren’t dogs expensive, Sir?’ I nudged him in the ribs, grinning. ‘Really expensive, from what I heard. Why waste money on pets that don't do anything useful?’
‘They do do something useful. They bite people I don't like.’
‘Oh.’
He gripped my arm again. ‘Stop! Don’t try to go any higher, there are no more steps.’
‘Oh really?’ I blinked into the gloom. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Yes. Now we have to go down the hallway. Here, down this hallway, you see. We’re almost there.’
‘Down? No problem… no problem at all, Sir.’
‘I didn’t mean lie down, I mean walk down! My office is over there. You can rest there.’
He stopped me in time before I could rest my head on the floor of the hallway. Honestly, had I lain down there, I would not have been able to get up again. Despite the fact that I was definitely not drunk, I felt effects which, to the amateur eye, might look considerably like drunkenness.
With unusual gentleness, Mr Ambrose helped me up again and manoeuvred me to his office door. There, he took me by both shoulders and looked sternly down into my eyes.