We ran straight on into the jungle, the sounds of pursuit on our heels, until we reached a little stream winding between the trees. Then, Mr Ambrose had us turn and follow the stream southwest, concealing our tracks. As soon as we reached a rocky patch of shore where our footprints wouldn’t remain frozen in mud, we left the stream and changed direction again, heading northwest this time.

‘That will throw them off our scent for now.’ Mr Ambrose breathed, supporting himself against a nearby tree. We had been running so hard, even he looked a little less than perfectly cool and composed right now.

‘For now?’ Slumping onto a big rock, I glanced the way we had come. ‘Why should they bother to follow us at all? Surely they have more important things to do. There’s a war on, after all.’

‘Yes. And do you know what both sides in a war always need, desperately?’

‘A decent general? Provisions other than dead rats and rotten cabbage?’

‘That, too. But most of all, Mr Linton, they need gold. More and more gold with every second of the war that passes. War is a monster that devours gold and shits death at the other end.’

‘How poetic, Sir. So what does that have to do with us?’

Mr Ambrose directed his dark, sea-coloured gaze at me.

‘When we picked up our luggage, didn’t you notice anything strange about it?’

‘No. Why?’

‘Because it had been tampered with. The drawstring on your knapsack was loose, and the manuscript wasn’t where we stashed it last.’

‘Blast! You mean they-’

‘Yes. They took a good look at it. Maybe good enough to figure out what it is. I don’t think they believed it was genuine. But that might well change once they learn in what direction we’re going - the same direction in which the manuscript says a great treasure lies waiting.’

I took a deep breath, trying to slow my still-hammering heart. I hadn’t run that hard in years, not since I was nine and Uncle Bufford had caught me painting a smiley face on the bottom of his freshly washed trousers. Right now, in the gloomy jungle, with the birds overhead calling out ominous warnings, I almost wished myself back there.

Then I remembered the glorious adventure ahead, and my bottom remembered the spanking I had received for the smiley incident. Swiftly, I changed my opinion.

‘So, what should we do now?’

‘Continue on, of course!’ Righting himself, Mr Ambrose got a firm hold on the reins of his packhorse. ‘What else can we do?’

‘Well,’ said a strange voice from behind me, ‘for a start, you can surrender.’

‘What the he-’

That was all I managed to get out before something very hard and painful hit me in the head, and I felt my knees give way.

Bloody hell! was my last thought before I plummeted into oblivion. Not again! This is getting embarrassing!

*~*~**~*~*

When I woke up, I was tied to a chair in a smelly underground dungeon. Huzzah! It’s always so cheering and comforting to find yourself in familiar circumstances, don’t you think?

Similarities notwithstanding, however, this was not the same dungeon as the one I had been in before. The mould on the floor was in a different pattern. There were a lot more spiderwebs in the corners, and instead of being infested with rats, this little underground Eden was home to a clan of cockroaches.

It wasn’t long before I heard footsteps from outside. Two pairs of footsteps. When the door opened, two men in army uniforms stepped in. One was clearly an officer, the other a common soldier who wore - surprise surprise! - bloodstained gloves.

‘Finally. I thought you were never going to show up.’

The officer raised one eyebrow. ‘You’ve been expecting us?’

‘Naturally.’

‘You seem very calm for a man in your position.’

I gave him a charming smile. ‘What can I say - practice makes perfect.’

The officer stepped forward. He was a little man with a sharp nose and quick eyes. Not as intimidating as Silveira, not by any means. But I knew better than to judge people by their appearance. After all, I didn’t look particularly impressive myself, and I was the most incredible person I had ever had the pleasure to meet.

‘Let me introduce myself.’ His quick eyes sweeping over me in a flash, the little man stepped forward, bowing. ‘I am Lieutenant Louis de Alvarez of the glorious Army of the Piratini Republic. At your service.’

‘Of course you are. Although I probably shouldn’t expect that the services you’re ready to render include letting me go, right?’

‘Indeed not. I see we’ve caught ourselves an intelligent man. Very well, then. Let’s cut straight to the chase, shall we?’

‘That would be wonderful. For some inexplicable reason, I feel somewhat bored by our conversation.’

‘Trust me, you won’t be for long! I’ve had a talk with the-’

‘…general?’

Alvarez’s eyes narrowed. ‘No. The major, actually. The general is away on business. Why?’

‘Oh, just a guess. Do go on, please.’

‘I have had a talk with the major, and he fully agrees with my assessment of the situation.’ His sharp little eyes bored into me. ‘You three are spies sent by the imperialist oppressors of the central government to discover our troop movements, or possibly even sabotage our efforts.’

‘Are we, now?’

‘Yes!’

‘How interesting.’

‘And you will tell me everything about your mission objectives, what you have learned so far and what kind of sabotage you still have planned, understood? Everything!’

‘I suppose it wouldn’t do any good to point out that we’re just visitors from England?’

‘England? Bah! No Englishman would be crazy enough in his head to go into a war zone!’

‘Just checking.’

‘Trust me - you’re not the first imperial spy I have caught in my net! I know the look! Small, slimy, greasy-looking fellows with shifty eyes and-’

‘Hey!’ I had to admit this fellow was getting my dander up. Being called fat was one thing. But this? This was below the belt! ‘No need for that! Why don’t you just start and torture me already?’

Come to think of it, that would also happen below the belt. But what the heck! I’d better get it over with.

The officer took a step closer, his eyes burning with patriotic zeal. ‘You won’t feel so cocky once we’re through with you!’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Oh yes, indeed!’ Stepping back again, the colonel beckoned to the man with the bloody gloves, who in turn stepped forward, holding out a - wonder of wonders - knife. The colonel took it, lovingly running his index finger along the blade. ‘Excellent,’ he whispered. Then he turned to me.

‘You see, my friend, there are a myriad of ways of extracting information from prisoners. A thousand refined methods exist to cause the human body a maximum of pain. Dozens of experts have written treatises upon the subject, and infinite variations have been developed to suit any and every situation.’

‘You don’t say.’

‘However, there is one method which, above all others, will ensure that a man spills every last one of his secrets. A method that tortures not only a man’s body, but also his pride, and hope for the future.’

Lowering the knife, he slid it down over the front of my tailcoat, down over my belt and between my legs, until he reached a certain point between my thighs, where my trousers had already been severely mistreated.

‘Try to guess of what I speak,’ he hissed with diabolical menace.

‘Oh, I think somehow I’ve got a pretty good idea.’

‘Ha! Then cower in fear, for I have no mercy for spies and other vermin!’

Cocking my head, I looked up at him. ‘You know…you rebel fellows should try working out that little tiff you have with the government. If you’d got to know each other, I think you’d find you are a lot more alike than you probably believe.’

‘Ha! I am impervious to your imperialist propaganda!’

‘How nice for you.’

‘Speak, or suffer the consequences of your actions, royalist scum!’

He pressed the tip of the knife down.

‘Ahrgl arghl argh,’ I said, dutifully.

‘Ha! Now that you feel the pain, you’re not so cocky anymore, are you?’

I smiled up at him. ‘I’m not quite sure. Could you let me feel a little more?’

The man’s face grew grim, but there was a glint of respect in his eyes. ‘You are a brave man!’

‘Dear me. I have no idea why everyone seems to be labouring under this misapprehension.’

‘But no matter how brave a man is, he cannot live through this! We will break you yet! Carlos!’

‘Yes, Sir?’ The man with the bloody gloves saluted.

‘Take over from here! I must go to the refectory and see what the men have found in their baggage. Maybe that will give us a clue as to what these spies are after. I shall expect a full report when I return.’

‘You may rely on me, Sir!’

‘Excellent.’ Hilt first, Alvarez handed the knife back to his underling. Cracking his knuckles menacingly, he turned on his heels and marched towards the door. ‘Until later, my friend. Say goodbye to any dreams you’ve ever had of fathering children.’

The door closed.

‘Oddly enough,’ I remarked to the room at large, ‘fathering children has never really been part of my expectations in life.’

My gaze drifted to the torturer, who was twirling the knife between his fingers, an evil, yellowish grin on his face. I sighed.

‘I suppose we had better get on with it, right?’ I spread my legs as far as my bonds would allow. ‘Stab away!’

*~*~**~*~*

About five minutes later, I stepped out of the cell, whistling and twirling a knife in one hand. This torturer had had an even more interesting reaction than the last one. When he had thoroughly perforated my self-made manhood, getting no more reaction from me than some mild comments about the weather, he had more or less lost it and started digging around with his hands, trying to find out what the hell was the matter with me.

The sight - and smell! - of Uncle Bufford’s old socks must have been too much for him. He had very obligingly stumbled back, slipped, and hit his head on the stone floor. From there, it was a more or less simple matter to overturn the chair, grab the fallen knife and cut myself loose. True, I was a few bruises richer once more, but what was that compared to the knowledge of having done a good job? Nothing!

Plus, I had carried one additional piece of booty off with me.

‘Hello, there, Sir!’ Grinning, I bent to look through the opening in the cell door. ‘How are you?’

‘Mr Linton? Is that you?’

‘In the flesh.’

‘And in a lot more besides! Where did you lay hands on that getup?’

Glancing down at the uniform I was wearing, I flattened a few creases. ‘Oh, this old thing? That’s nothing. I got it from my jailor - along with a knife, and these keys.’ I held up a ring of keys, proudly.

‘Your jailors seem to be uncommonly accommodating, Mr Linton.’

‘What can I say? Charm. It’s all down to charm.’

‘Then why don’t you charm us out of here?’ came Karim’s growl from a few doors down.

‘I suppose if I ask what’s the magic word, I won’t get a “please” out of you, will I?’

‘Get a move on!’

‘Well, since you ask so nicely…’

Two minutes later we were sneaking down the corridor of whatever hellhole we’d been thrown into this time. Mr Ambrose’s face was unreadable as ever, but Karim’s expression was expressive enough for both of them. Having his neck saved by a woman twice in one day was clearly going down like vinegar with pus and snail slime.

‘I heard Lieutenant Alvarez talking,’ I whispered, as we sneaked up the corridor, one ear open for any sudden noises.

‘Who?’

‘The charming gentleman who knocked me over the head and locked us all in here.’

‘Ah. And what did he have to say for himself?’

‘That he wanted to search our belongings, and that they were in the refectory, whatever that means. I have no idea what kind of place this is.’

‘I do.’ Mr Ambrose pointed to a stain on the wall opposite. I squinted trying to make anything out, but…

And suddenly it was clear! That was no stain! The image of the man was faded, and hardly recognisable, but the halo over his head was still pretty clear, and was ample clue to the identity of the individual.

‘A church, maybe,’ Mr Ambrose murmured. ‘Or more likely, an abandoned monastery. You said he used the term “refectory”?’

‘Yes, but I don’t know what that mean-’

‘I do. Come along.’

On our way to our destination, we had some more friendly encounters with rebels. By the time we reached the refectory, both Mr Ambrose and Karim had acquired uniforms of the Piratini Republic, although Karim somewhat spoiled the effect by refusing to take off his turban.

‘It’s not so bad,’ I tried to forestall an argument. ‘Maybe they’ll think he’s part of the Republic’s East Indian detachment.’

Mr Ambrose threw me a dark look, and Karim mumbled something about needing help from a female.

‘Hey, I was only trying to be helpful. I-’

‘Quiet!’

Raising one finger to his lips, Mr Ambrose slowly approached a large door at the end of the corridor. Reaching out, he pushed against the door, gently, almost tenderly. It moved, slowly, opening just a crack.

‘I don’t see him in there,’ Mr Ambrose whispered. ‘But there are three soldiers - and one of them has the manuscript.’ He glanced over at us. ‘We have to get it back. Without it, we might as well turn around and go home.’

His face said clearly that this wasn’t an option.

‘Leave it to me.’ Karim stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. ‘I’ve been ambushed two times too many this day. I have scores to settle!’

Before either of us could move a muscle, he had drawn his sabre and slipped into the room, silent as a gagged shadow that had taken a vow of silence. A moment later, we heard two thuds out of the refectory, followed by an ‘Ouff!’ - and then nothing.

The door swung open, and Karim stepped out, carrying the manuscript in one big hand, and all our three backpacks in the other.

‘Do you have everything?’ Mr Ambrose demanded.

‘Yes, Sahib.’

‘Then let’s get out of here,’ I hissed. ‘Before they-’ I jutted my finger towards the refectory door, ‘-wake up!’

The Mohammedan gave me a level look. ‘They won’t.’

‘Oh. You mean you, um…’

‘Yes.’

‘In that case, I think we should get out of here even faster. I haven’t gotten to know the dear Lieutenant Alvarez very well, but he doesn’t seem to me like a man who appreciates having his soldiers’ throats cut.’

‘For once Mr Linton,’ Mr Ambrose said, grabbing his knapsack, ‘I am in agreement. Let’s go!’

Apparently, the glorious Army of the Piratini Republic wasn’t quite as well-staffed as the forces of imperialist oppression. They had only one guard outside the prison, and he was snoring, with a pipe hanging out the side of his mouth. Mr Ambrose didn’t even bother to knock him over the head.

‘Why waste time knocking him out and tying him up?’ Kicking open the stable door, he grabbed his packhorse by the bridle and pulled. ‘Now, if anyone comes along, he’ll report that he was watchful as an eagle the entire time, and didn’t see a single soul leave. Much more convenient for our purposes.’

He dragged his horse to the stable door, then returned and gazed through a crack in the wall out over the open land.

‘Hm. There is a guard right between us and the jungle. Maybe, we could just get past him. We have their uniforms. Karim, if you were to take off your turban…?’

‘No, Sahib.’

There was a moment of silence - this one so pregnant it would probably end in a disastrous miscarriage. ‘No’ was not a word in Mr Ambrose’s vocabulary. The moment stretched…and stretched…and maybe we would need a C-section after all.

‘I see.’ Mr Ambrose straightened. ‘Then keep behind us as much as possible. And…’

‘Yes?’

‘Try to appear small.’

I looked at the enormous, muscle-bound Mohammedan. If Mr Ambrose had asked he appear as a purple goblin with adorable little horns, that would have been more likely to succeed.

‘Yes, Sahib.’

Leaving the stables, we began to move around the outbuildings, towards the jungle. Karim kept low, behind one of the horses, and for a giant mountain of muscle did a pretty good job of appearing not to exist. Only the occasional glimpse of the top of his turban over the packs on the horse’s back gave away his presence.

We approached the guard with measured steps. He didn’t seem particularly suspicious. But then, I probably didn’t seem particularly nervous. But I was! Like hell I was! The sweat trickling down my forehead didn’t just come from the heat.

‘When we reach him, let me do the talking,’ Mr Ambrose whispered.

‘Why? Because you’re the man in charge?’

‘No! Because I know more Portuguese than the words for “stinking bastard” and “son of a goat”!’

Undeniably true. But it still chafed, being told to keep my mouth shut.

As we came closer, the guard’s brow furrowed, and he shouted something, pointing to the horses. Damn! Had he recognised them? If we had stumbled across one of the party who had taken us, we were finished.

‘Sim, são os cavalos dos presos. Você pensou que eles iam ficar por aí parados? Disseram-nos para levá-los para o batalhão do leste.’

The soldier’s frown deepened.

‘Mas não há batalhão para o les-’

Mr Ambrose struck. He leapt forward so suddenly I didn’t even manage to blink before he had his knife at the guard’s throat.

‘Silêncio!’ he hissed.

All right, even I understood that.

The guard’s eyes were as wide as saucers. ‘Imperialistas!’

Hey - another word I’d understood! I was getting really good at Portuguese.

Roughly, Mr Ambrose pulled the guard towards him, the dagger digging into the man’s skin. ‘Não é bem assim. Mas se você mover um músculo ou dizer uma única palavra, você é um homem morto!’

All right…maybe I still had a little bit to learn before I mastered the language.

‘What did you just say to him?’ I hissed.

‘I told him to shut his face! And I’d advise you to do the same, if you want us to stay alive. Hand me that rope!’

We made quick work of binding and gagging the man, leaving him among the tall grass, out of sight. Mr Ambrose made a point of mentioning to Karim, in distinctly audible Portuguese, that we were going east. Hopefully, this time, the ploy would work. We could only hope that there wasn’t a third or a fourth warring faction in this crazy jungle into whose hands we could fall.

‘Let’s go!’ Taking hold of his horse’s reins again, Mr Ambrose dashed forward. ‘We’ve wasted enough time!’

As fast as we could without actually running, we made our way towards the trees. I was convinced I could feel the eyes of patrols digging into my neck. If they spotted Karim between the horses, our disguise wouldn’t be worth a farthing! At every moment, I expected shouts to echo over the open space behind us, expected shots to ring out - but nothing came.

When the shadow of the forest swallowed us, I could hardly believe it. Could it really be true? Could we actually have made it?

Slipping into a gap between two giants of trees, I felt the imaginary eyes of the patrols behind us leave my neck. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

Yes! Huzzah! We’re safe!

Or at least that’s what I thought at the time.

I hadn’t really factored in that the ‘safe place’ we were running into was the deepest darkest heart of the Amazonian Jungle.