‘I have to unlock the door now, and for that I have to let go of you, Mr Linton. Do you think you can stand upright on your own long enough for me to do that?’
I blinked up at him, deeply curious. I would never have thought that he cared whether I keeled over or not - except perhaps that he might regard me bashing my head in on the stone floor as a very beneficial occurrence. But here he was, looking down at me with… well, it wasn’t exactly concern. It wasn’t as if he looked at me like I was someone he cared for - instead, he stared at me like I was a priceless object in his possession, and he was expressly forbidding me to damage myself and thus lessen my value.
‘I must admit,’ I muttered, bracing myself against the doorframe, ‘I feel a tiddly little bit unsteady on my feet.’ I looked around for help and smiled. ‘Hey, Napoleon! Come over and help me, your Imperial Menagerie, while he gets the door open!’
For some reason, my application for help to the emperor, who was leaning against the wall next to me, cleaning his nails with a dagger, didn’t seem to alleviate Mr Ambrose’s concerns. He just doubled his efforts to get the door open as quickly as possible. Hmm. Maybe he had a beef with Napoleon, too, not just with Alexander. These powerful tyrants were always at each other’s throats.
‘There!’ The door swung open, and Mr Ambrose grasped my arm again. ‘Get in and sit down, will you?’
‘Why not lie down on the floor out here?’ I asked, blinking back longingly at the hallway. For some reason its stone floor looked a lot more comfortable than stone floors usually did. It felt soft, too, and was wobbling under my feet like a mattress. ‘I could keep the Emperor company.’
‘He’ll manage just fine without you. Come in, please? You need to rest.’
My ears needed cleaning. Did I just hear Mr Ambrose say please? And that in what could almost be described as a gentle tone of voice, compared to the deep-frozen tyrant’s voice he usually employed?
A moment later, he squeezed my shoulder. ‘Please?’
Holy moly! Miracles did happen!
Almost involuntarily, I started forward. Under his firm but gentle guidance, I stumbled into the room. This was becoming a very strange night… Maybe I really had drunk a tiny bit too much of that burning stuff.
Inside, the office was dark. Mr Ambrose reached to his left. There was a soft noise, and the shimmering light of a gas lamp illuminated the room with a warm, golden glow, throwing long shadows against the walls. Suddenly, the office, so stark in daylight, looked totally different.
‘Well, will you look at that?’ A broad smile spread over my face as I spread my arms in an attempt to hug the room. Mr Ambrose ducked just in time to not be cuffed around the ears. ‘It looks almost cosy! Now all you need is a carpet on the floor and a couple of nice pictures on the walls.’
Mr Ambrose rose out of his crouch again. ‘Which, Mr Linton, would be a needless waste of time and money.’
‘Oh, come on! Don’t you ever feel the urge to make this place a little less… cold?’
‘No. I have a very warm cloak, should I need it.’
‘I was speaking metaphorelly… metareferain… metaphorically!’
‘I was aware of that.’ Half-turning to the door, he kicked it shut behind us. ‘Metaphors, Mr Linton, are also a waste of time and money’
‘Bah! With your attitude, I’m surprised you have gas light in the house. It’s supposed to be pretty expensive.’
‘Much less expensive than the hospital bill for running headlong into a stone wall in the dark, I assure you.’
He sounded as if he had made the experiment. We were still standing at the door. Neither of us seemed to know what to do, where to go next, now that we had reached our destination.
Suddenly, the floor gave a lurch and threw me to the side. I knew it! I knew that the floor out in the hallway would have been much nicer to me than the evil floor in here! The floor in here seemed to have it in for me, personally. It didn’t stop, but kept quaking underneath my feet, while Mr Ambrose seemed to have no problems whatsoever remaining upright. Quickly, he was at my side and had an arm around my waist. I could feel his strong muscles brushing against me, pulling me close -
Then he stiffened.
‘Excuse me.’ His voice was oddly strained. ‘I shouldn’t be touching you like this. I only meant to… well, I’ll let go soon. Only let me help you to a chair.’
‘Don’t let go,’ I muttered, groggily. ‘Feels nice…’
And it did feel nice, having his arm around me. It wasn’t like we were the only ones doing it, either. Two yellow piggies on the other side of the room had their arms (or were those legs?) around each other.
‘Mister Linton… I…’
‘You can call me Lilly, if you want,’ I offered, not managing to keep a grin off my face. Funny. I didn’t usually smile this much. ‘But if you did, you’d admit I’m a girl, which you don't want. So maybe Victor? No, I have it!’ A giggle escaped me. ‘Call me Ifrit!’
I heard a strange noise. A noise I would have never expected to hear in this place. Was it really…? Was that a chuckle? From him? Had Mr Ambrose, Mr Rikkard Don’t-waste-time-with-idle-frivolities Ambrose actually laughed? Or had it been one of the yellow piggies?
‘My little Ifrit,’ he murmured almost inaudibly, tightening his grip around me. I could feel the reverberations of the chuckle through my whole body. It felt really nice, being held by him like this. I felt safe and warm and, for once, not at war with the rest of the world.
‘Yes, I’m an Ifrit,’ I confessed to him in a whisper. ‘You were quite right. I didn’t really believe you in the beginning, but now, well… you can see for yourself.’
‘See what?’ For some reason, he sounded confused.
‘Why, my huge fiery wings of course! Aren’t they beautiful? So sparkly and pretty.’
I pointed up to where my wings almost brushed the ceiling. They were a marvel to behold. It was nearly incomprehensible that I hadn’t noticed them before tonight. Maybe it was because I had never much been interested in how I looked before. But tonight, alone in this room with him, I was suddenly glad there was something undeniably beautiful about me, even if I remembered vaguely that a pair of huge fiery wings wasn’t exactly a traditional sign of female beauty.