I might have been a little hasty in my judgement. The mountain paths we started to climb were steep, and the rope did come in handy. More than once I stumbled, and it was the only thing that prevented me from sliding back down the gravelly path, towards a fate that included a cracked skull and several broken bones. The one time that was really dangerous, however, was not when I slipped and fell, but Karim. The sudden, violent tug on the rope nearly ripped me off my feet, and only by combining all our strength did Mr Ambrose and I prevent our favourite turbaned giant from plummeting down the mountain.

Mr Ambrose never slipped. Mr Ambrose never fell. It was as if the mountain’s rocks, knowing that it was just another rock walking around on them, extended him special privileges. He never even teetered or showed the slightest hesitation in his movement. Briskly he strode up the path, his eyes cold, his face set in stone.

We took a brief break around noon, and then started up again, up, up and farther up. The path grew even steeper. Often now, we were more climbing than we were walking, pulling ourselves from rock to rock. Sweat was streaming down my back in rivers, every drop caused by exertion, and not one by heat. The stifling hot jungle was long behind us. Up here, the air was starting to become bitterly cold. Of course, the only one who didn’t seem to notice the temperature was Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

It was probably about 1 pm, just as the sun was starting to sink towards the horizon after reaching its zenith, that we came to the wall.

Not a man-made wall. Oh no, that would have been manageable. We did have rope after all, and two tall men who, if one stood on the other’s shoulders, could probably have topped most walls that weren’t built to deter hordes of barbarian invaders. But this wall was another matter entirely. From top to bottom, it was made out of solid, rough, unbreakable rock, with scarcely a handhold in sight anywhere. Somewhere deep down I knew it was simply a natural rock formation, but it looked as if it had been placed here by some ancient race of giants to block anyone from going farther. Our path ended at the bottom of the wall. There was no other way in sight.

‘What do we do now?’ I demanded. This couldn’t be it! We couldn’t be forced to give up now, after all we had been through!

‘Climb,’ was Mr Ambrose’s cool reply.

I stared at him, then let my eyes wander to the wall and finally back to him.

‘Have you lost your marbles, Sir?’ I enquired, politely.

‘I have never been in the habit of collecting marbles to begin with, Mr Linton. Look.’ And, raising his arm, he pointed up the wall to a spot I could hardly make out from down here. I squinted.

‘Something is up there.’

‘What impressive cognitive capabilities, Mr Linton. Yes, there is something up there. A ledge.’

‘A ledge?’

‘To which we are going to climb up.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘It is a mystery to me why you insist on accusing me of such a useless habit. Well, Mr Linton?’

‘We are seriously going up there?’

‘Indeed we are. Unless your manuscript can point us a different way?’

I scowled. ‘No. This is where it said to go.’

‘Then what are you waiting for?’

My eyes went wide. ‘What? You’re not expecting me to go first!’

‘Certainly, Mr Linton. When climbing a mountain, the least experienced climber always goes first. That way, the experienced climbers can catch them if they fall.’ His eyes slid over me, assessing, lingering particularly long on my generous derriere. ‘Don’t worry. It won’t be easy, but I’m strong. I’m ninety-nine per cent sure I’ll be able to manage.’

I stabbed him with a dagger-like gaze. Unfortunately, it didn’t leave any flesh wounds. ‘Thanks so much!’

‘You are welcome. Now move!’

I moved.

Don’t ask me how I managed it - because I couldn’t tell you. Afterwards, I spent considerable time and effort expunging every single little horrifying detail of that climb from my memory. I’m good at expunging, it turns out.

All I know is that after endless millennia of terrifying torture (which, in reality, probably lasted about thirty minutes) I lay on top of the ledge above the precipice, panting like a panther, clutching a large boulder next to me as if it were my dear sweet mother.

Karim stuck his bearded head above the edge of the ledge. ‘Why are you lying on the ground, woman-who-is-worse-than-ifrit?’

‘Bite me!’

‘I would rather bite a donkey’s arse.’

‘Be my guest.’

‘If you two do not stop wasting time and move,’ came a noise from below, out of the precipice, ‘I will employ you both as donkeys. You can carry the treasure to England on your backs!’

That got Karim moving. Even I, tortured wreck that I was, somehow managed to pull myself to my feet. A few moments later, the top of a top hat appeared above the edge of the abyss, followed by the hard head of Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

‘How in God’s name did you manage to keep that thing on while climbing up there?’ I demanded.

All I got in answer was a cool look and silence. Mr Ambrose pulled himself up the rest of the way and, unlike me, didn’t seem to feel the need to collapse on the spot. Instead, he surveyed the ledge, which led up the steep mountainside, forming a path about two feet wide.

‘This is…inconvenient,’ he stated.

‘Inconvenient?’ That was not the word I would have chosen for this harrowing ordeal of a hellish climb.

‘Indeed. It will be difficult to transport all the gold back down there.’

‘Oh yes, indeed, Sir. It will also be difficult to transport ourselves back down there. Especially without cracking our heads open.’

‘Well, no sense in wasting time. Let’s move!’

He started forward, and I, forgetting I still had the rope around my waist, was nearly tugged off my feet, stumbling after him.

‘Keep up, Mr Linton!’

‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’

‘I have no idea what you mean, Mr Linton.’

*~*~**~*~*

We climbed for hours upon hours. When the sun was setting and the whole mountain was being flooded in red-golden light, we finally approached the top. My heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, and not just from the exertion. This was it. The venture I had, to some extent, staked my fortunes on was reaching its climax. I had talked Mr Ambrose into this expedition. If we were not going to find gold at the top of this mountain, he would be, to put it mildly, displeased.

I did not want to see Mr Rikkard Ambrose displeased. Not at all.

But when we climbed the last stack of rocks and finally had our first view of the mountaintop, all thoughts of treasure and gold, yes even all thoughts of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, flew out of my head, because there, right in front of me, stretched a sight the like of which I had never seen before. For a moment I thought we had been magically transported to Egypt, to the great pyramids of Giza. But no, the stone here was grey, not the colour of sand. And besides, even though I had been to Egypt, I had never got to see the pyramids of Giza. But I could see this one. Oh yes, I definitely could.

Like a crown atop the head of an ancient king, a majestic stone pyramid rose on the highest point of the mountaintop. Around it stood various smaller buildings, impressive monuments in their own right. They stood atop a broad grassy stretch of land that once had been tamed by rows upon rows of stone terraces, but was now slowly being reclaimed by the wild. Mist drifted between the ancient monuments. The sun sparkled on dew.

I was awestruck.

‘Why are you standing there with your mouth open, Mr Linton?’ enquired a cool voice from beside me.

Ah. Apparently Mr Rikkard Ambrose was not quite as awestruck.

‘I was inhaling the fresh mountain air, Sir.’

‘Stop inhaling and start moving. We have work to do.’

He strode past me, off towards the largest of the pyramids. Under a wide stone lintel, there gaped an opening. I hesitated to call it a door, because for that, in my humble British opinion, you usually need a slab of wood with a knob attached to it. But it definitely was an entrance. Mr Ambrose stopped a few feet in front of it and pulled something out of his backpack that looked like a stick of wood. Only when I saw sparks fly from the flint in his hand did I realise it was a torch.

A flame flared up and, in its light, the entryway suddenly glowed, bright and red like the gates to hell. All that was missing were the words ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here’ over the doorway. But if there had been treasure in hell, I doubt even that would have deterred Mr Rikkard Ambrose. He strode forward with confident steps. Karim and I threw each other a look - and then hurried after him, each determined to be the first to follow.

Inside, it was dark. No matter that a torch was burning - the room we were standing in was so vast that its light was simply swallowed up by the darkness. Somewhere, high in the shadows above me, I could guess at a stone ceiling, but other than that, there was only blackness.

Or was there?

Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught a glint in the shadows. The eye of an animal? No. It was too cold for that. Too…metallic.

‘Karim? Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose’s voice echoed in the great darkness. ‘You have torches in your knapsacks, too. Light them.’

‘But…’

‘Light them now, Mr Linton.’

Without further argument, I pulled the torch out of my knapsack and, after several failed attempts, managed to light it. Slowly, I raised it over my head - and my eyes went wide.

Gold.

In the light of three torches, there was no doubt anymore. Gold and gold and more gold. It glinted on the walls, was heaped on the floor, yes, even hung from the ceiling. There were heaps of coins, mountains of jewellery, great statues of ancient heathen gods in jewels and precious metals - more than the eye could see. And trust me, my eyes were capable of seeing pretty damn much!

‘Bloody hell…!’ I murmured.

No answer. I glanced sideways at Mr Ambrose. This time, even he seemed to be somewhat awestruck. I could practically see the pound symbols blinking in his eyes. His gaze was fastened to the gold and precious jewels with a look I recognised. It was the same one he sometimes got when I started to take my clothes off. I wasn’t entirely sure whether I should be offended or flattered by this.

‘How are we ever going to get all that down the mountain, Sahib?’ Karim murmured.

Mr Ambrose’s face hardened in an instant. ‘We are. Somehow, we are going to. We have to.’

He left unsaid what would happen to any employees who didn’t come up with ingenious ideas towards that end.

‘Let us go outside,’ Karim suggested. ‘Maybe, among the ruins, we will find something that we can use to transport all this.’

He didn’t sound too hopeful. I had to admit, I shared his pessimism. What could we possibly find to help us carry several hundred pounds - no, probably several tons! - of gold and jewels? We had no packs, no saddlebags, no horses, and even if we had, how would horses ever be able to get down that steep cliff that was the only way up to the mountain. No, unless a miracle occurred, we were stuck up here. Because one thing I was certain of: Mr Ambrose would rather tear out his heart with hot irons than leave one single little coin of this treasure behind.

Well, look on the bright side: you won’t be returning to England for a good, long time. You can keep frolicking in the jungle as much as you wish.

Strange. For some reason, that didn’t make me as happy as I thought it would. But what could I do? In this ancient, long-lost ruin, there was no one to help us. Not a single soul. Sighing, I turned back towards the entrance and trudged out into the sunset. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost ran head-first into the shepherd.