06. Wonderful Tour of Vomit

Pulling open the door, I climbed into the coach and glanced from left to right with a friendly smile. "Hello, everyone."

Five people looked up at me with varying expressions. A small, bald man with tufts of hair above his ears was watching me with such ravenous intensity that I was sure he was either a pervert with a crush on Mr Victor Linton or a travelling salesman.

I was sincerely hoping for the latter.

Next to the salesman (Please let him try and sell me stuff, please!) sat a tall man with a moustache like a crowbar and a broad-brimmed hat casting shadows on his face. On the other bench sat a group of three, two younger women and one older. The younger women's eyes looked at me in a way that told me they most definitely did not want to sell me things.

"Hello! Hello and welcome!" Mr Baldy Eartufts said with a beaming smile. "Angleton is the name. Angus Angleton. Wonderful to have another travelling companion! The road can be so boring, dry and dusty, can't it? Which reminds me..." Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a brightly coloured bottle. "Would you like to give this a try? Fizzlewiz Fizzwater! A marvellously refreshing drink produced exclusively by Fizzlewiz & Co – Making your Day Fabulously Fizzing! I have the honour of being the representative for that esteemed company and would be more than happy to share some of this delicious drink. If you should happen to be interested in purchasing a few crates later..."

Oh, thank God! A salesman! Yay!

"Ehem...thank you very much." I inclined my head. "But I don't think that will be necessary."

Not to mention what Mr Rikkard Ambrose might do if I tried to make his day fabulously fizzing.

"Oh." Mr Angus Angleton's shoulders sank, his hopes squashed. Trying not to feel guilty, my eyes moved on to Mr Crowbar Moustache.

"William Gallagher." Tipping his hat, he pulled aside his dusty overcoat to reveal a shiny metal star pinned on his chest. "Sheriff William Gallagher. I'm travelling west to take my post." From the shadows, his piercing eyes zeroed in on the revolver at my waist. "There are many dubious characters out there, and it's my job to bring them to justice."

What a subtle man.

I turned to the three women on the other bench, hoping for more congenial travelling companions—only to be faced with glares chock full of disdain.

One of the two younger women cocked an eyebrow. "You're not him."

"Huh? Excuse me?"

"Hm. Forget it. Just sit down." She waved me away. "I'm Sophia Grant, and this is my sister Melanie Grant. We're respectable young ladies, so don't get any ideas! Our mother is here to chaperon us and is fiercely protective."

Beside her, the third and older woman gave a snore, her head sagging to the side.

"Yes." I nodded. "I can see that."

"Humph!"

Deciding to erase my insignificant existence from her awareness, the young lady turned her head away, towards her sister.

"So...you're sure that's not him?" Melanie whispered, pointing to me.

"Of course not! Don't be daft!"

The other passengers exchanged confused looks. Well, except for Mrs Grant, who was still blissfully snoring. I had to admit to some confusion as well. What the hell were they talking about?

Mr Angleton, helpful fellow that he was, decided to ask for me. "Um...excuse me, Miss? He who?"

"You don't know?"

Mr Angleton exchanged a look with the sheriff, who, to judge by the way he stared out of the window, was not interested in this particular investigation.

"Well..." A smile spread over the young woman's face, and a sparkle entered her eyes. One with which I, after years in the company of Rikkard Ambrose, was very much familiar.

Oh, bloody hell, no!

"Don't tell anyone else," Sophia whispered at a volume the whole coach could hear, "but I heard there's some extraordinary gentleman who's going to travel with us. I heard he's a very important person over in England, and wealthy beyond your wildest dreams! If I can catch his eye..."

...you are going to find out what it's like to play Russian roulette with six bullets in the chambers! Don't you dare touch what's mine, you bloody little minx!

Sophia's sister giggled. "Not just wealthy! Is that all you know?"

"Why? What else is there?"

"His face. I've seen him!"

Oh, you have, have you, witch?

Sophia's face lit up. "Tell! Tell!"

The look that entered the second sister's eyes made me want to lean forward and strangle the girl.

Bad Lilly! Bad! You can't strangle people in front of law enforcement officers!

I couldn't? Maybe with a bit of bribery...

You just had half your salary deducted, remember?

Crap!

"He's so incredible..." Sister number two whispered, gazing into the distance, most likely at a mental image of a shirtless Rikkard Ambrose. "Tall and broad-shouldered, clad in black from head to toe. A face like a Greek god, and his eyes...oh, those eyes! Like jewels from the bottom of the ocean! I just want him to pull me into his arms and—"

That's it. They were both dead. Definitely dead.

Maybe I could hire a hitman on credit?

Yes, that sounded like a really sensible idea.

From my little corner of the carriage, I sent the two girls a death-glare, which, busy as they were gossiping about how to seduce my husband, they didn't even notice. The sheriff noticed, though. I could see him staring at me, mentally checking his list of wanted posters.

Just then, the sound of crunching dirt approached from outside. Footsteps. The strong, determined footsteps of a man.

"That's him!" dead girl number one squealed. "He's here! He's here!"

"All right, stay calm, stay calm!" dead girl number two urged, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder, lowering her voice to a level that, again, was absolutely audible to the rest of the coach. "Remember, project charm and elegance. We must grab this chance to make a good impression on him!"

"Smile! Smile! One of us must get this beautiful Adonis!"

Outside, the manly footsteps stopped in front of the carriage.

"Now, let's do this!" Sitting up straight, the two sisters preened, and, with beaming smiles, turned towards the carriage door and the man of their dreams. "Good morning, Sir. What a pleasure to meet y—"

The door swung open.

"Gnk."

"Greetings." Giving a solemn nod, the form of a huge man with a turban that almost touched the ceiling climbed inside, the coach groaning under his weight. Bowing to the wide-eyed passengers, he pulled a gigantic sabre and sheath from where it was fastened to his belt and placed it on the luggage rack. Then, stepping next to the two young ladies watching him with mouths agape, he pointed at the seat beside them that they had helpfully cleared for the object of their affection. "May I sit here?"

"Oh, wow." I sent the ladies a broad smile. "I really must admire your taste, ladies. Do send me an invitation for the wedding, will you?"

The looks on their faces as Karim settled into the seat, squashing them into the other corner in the process... It was marvellous. Simply marvellous. Was there anything that could make this situation any better?

"Adequate morning, Mr Linton."

Ah, yes. That would do it.

Sidling sideways on the bench to make room, I beamed up at Mr Rikkard Ambrose. "Better than adequate, sir. Much better than adequate."

"Indeed?" He settled down on the seat beside me, and I, by mere coincidence I assure you, sent a shit-eating grin in the direction of dead girls number one and two. The looks on their faces...

Well, maybe I wouldn't kill them after all. Just being able to watch them stew in misery might be worth it.

"What are you waiting for?" Reaching up, Mr Ambrose pounded his cane against the roof of the carriage. "Get going!"

Outside, a whip cracked, and with a whinny, the coach jerked forward. Smiling, I leaned back into the seat. This journey might actually be fun.

***

"Bleeeergh! Urgh! Agh!"

Of course, it might also not be.

"Um, Mr Linton?"

Retrieving my poor, woozy head from outside the window, I glanced over at Mr Angleton, who was, oh wonder of wonders, holding out a little bottle towards me.

"This," he proudly proclaimed, "is Fizzlewiz Fabulous Fitness Serum. A marvellous medicine! It strengthens your health, improves your complexions, and cures nausea, nasty colds, the smallpox, measles, typhus and yellow fever!"

"Does it, now?"

"Oh yes! Normally, such a precious medicine would be sold for $999.99, but since I can see you are heavily afflicted, sir, and Fizzlewiz & Co has always advocated helping the people for the benefit of humanity, I will give it to you for an astounding, an astonishing $9.99!"

The man was turned towards me, beaming at me, his whole face conveying what a huge favour he was doing for me. He was so busy with his sales pitch he didn't notice Mr Rikkard Ambrose behind his back, his eyes projecting pure deadliness.

"Um...thanks, but no, thanks."

"Oh, you're concerned I would be taking a loss? So very kind of you! But there's no need, really. Fizzlewiz & Co are renowned for their charitable company policies, especially caring for the sick and injured. For you, it'll be only $8.99!"

I clutched my stomach.

"I don't think—"

"All right, I can go a little further. $7.99, my last off—"

"He," Mr Ambrose's cold voice came from behind Angleton's neck, "said no."

Mr Angleton blanched just a little bit—then shook himself, clearly convincing himself that no civilized gentleman would convey murder plans with his gaze.

Poor, deluded fellow.

"Well, then would you be interested, Sir?" He sent Mr Ambrose a blinding smile. Oh dear. I almost felt sorry for him. "You're obviously a gentleman who cares deeply about his health and would not be averse to spending the necessary money. $89.99, just for you!"

Mr Ambrose gazed at the man for a long, long moment. Then...

"What is your company's name again?"

Mr Angleton blinked. "Fizzlewiz & Co, why?"

"No reason."

Then he pulled a little black book out of his pocket, and noted something down.

I got a feeling that the future of Fizzlewiz & Co would be...interesting.

***

About as interesting as our journey was turning out to be.

"Grg! Blaaargh!" Panting, I slumped back into my seat, away from the window. "Just kill me," I requested from any of the other passengers who might be feeling merciful. "Please, just kill me!"

"Request denied."

Ah, I forgot. Merciful? Ha! I was travelling with Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

"I just don't understand why this is happening," I moaned. "I feel dizzy and nauseous, and I get these weird cramps in my abdomen that feel as if there's a chipmunk chewing at my navel! What the heck is the matter with me?"

Mr Ambrose and Karim exchanged a look—then they cast a glance at the other passengers, who were watching the scene with interest.

"I," Mr Ambrose stated, "could not possibly say."

"How much longer till we end up wherever we're going?"

"Five minutes less than when you last asked five minutes ago."

"Oh, how...wonderful."

I dived towards the window again.

Thus, our journey continued. Now, I could spin a marvellous tale, telling you all about the perilous voyage through mountains and valleys, forests and deserts. I could recount how we outran tribes of bloodthirsty Indians, bravely fought off outlaws, had a drunken brawl in a saloon, and duelled a desperado at dusk. I could tell you all about it.

Except I won't. Because it never happened. Or maybe it did? Honestly, I had no bloody clue! It's a little difficult to pay attention to little things like bullets, brawls and bandits when all your focus was on the way the vomit was expelled from your stomach.

But then again...

We had Karim in the coach.

If we really did encounter bandits, all I could say was...RIP.

I only wished I could RIP as well. It would have been preferable to the way I was currently feeling.

At least there was one good thing about all of this, though. At long last, I had realized what was wrong with me! I had realized why I felt so abominably nauseous! Really, I wanted to kick myself for not realizing it earlier. It was so obvious! How could I not have seen it sooner?

I was carriage-sick!

It only made sense, really. If I suddenly had developed a propensity to feel seasick, it would only be logical to also feel carriage-sick. After all, the bumping and swaying of the carriage bore significant resemblance to a dingy dancing on top of the wild ocean waves. This, at least, gave me a glimmer of hope! As soon as we arrived, it would all be over, and I would feel normal again! No more nausea! No more dizziness! No more...ravenous desire to eat ice cream and mustard on toast?

Carriage-sickness was weird.

"Are you all right?" I felt a familiar hand on my shoulder and experienced a rush of gratitude. If only we were alone in this bloody coach. Then he could hold me, and warm me and—

"I think the stupid idiot is falling unconscious from all the vomiting," Mr Ambrose's voice, perfectly cold and uncaring, suddenly came from behind me. "What a useless fool! I'm going to have to grab him, or he'll fall out of the carriage and I shall have to pay for the funeral."

An arm slid around my shoulders and held me tightly.

Was it weird I loved this man for insulting me?

Oh, heck, so what if it was weird? From this moment onward, weird was the new awesome! Now all I had to do was to endure, and soon I would be rid of my carriage-sickness.

After a wonderful journey filled with vomit, I finally felt Mr Ambrose tap on my shoulder. Glancing up from the dusty road whizzing past the window, I saw it. The shadowy forms of houses in the distance were silhouetted against the sunrise. Small, wooden houses, with bushes scattered in between being bent here and there by the wind. Strange...why weren't there any people around? Was this a ghost town?

Just then, I spotted a crooked wooden sign a dozen or so yards ahead.

Tomb Gloom

Welcome to our cheerful little town!

Population:

Above ground – 346

Six feet under – 7477

Ah. So, not a ghost town.

Yet.

But then, where was everyone? Either they had decided to flee town, which, knowing that Mr Rikkard Ambrose was coming, might not be such a far stretch, or...

That was when I saw them. A big crowd, several hundred people, all gathered around a podium set up at the side of the road. There were several dignified-looking men gathered atop the platform, under a big banner that read "Welcome, Guests of Honour".

"So...are they expecting us, Mr Ambrose, Sir?" I enquired.

He didn't say anything in return. But to judge by the cold sparkle in his sea-coloured eyes, I had not guessed correctly. Before I got a chance to ask another question, the coach rolled to a stop in front of the podium, and one of the men, a fancy-dressed Hispanic fellow in his twenties, strode to the front with a swagger in his step.

"Welcome! Welcome, our most noble, royal guests and company! My heart is filled with joy, now sat you have finally graced sis little town wis your presence. Señor Maximo Emilio Reyes Espiridion Victor De La Fuente, Señor Francisco Enrico Ronaldo Damian De Ravera, my honoured friends, I, along with every single citizen of this town, am grateful from se bottom of my heart sat you have come all sis way from distant Spain in order to assist us in our troubles. And se troubles are severe indeed. Our families, who have been rightfully granted sis beautiful piece of country by se government, are slowly but surely being driven out by evil especulators and profiteers. We must estand fast, my friends! Together, we shall join hands and estand as an impenetrable bulwark against se greedy ambitions of the fiend that is Rikkard Ambro—"

Just then, the door of the coach swung open.

The young Hispanic man's words ended in a croak, his jaw hitting the floor.

"You were saying, Señor Navarro?" Mr Rikkard Ambrose enquired.

"You!" Navarro hissed. "What are you doing here?"

I don't know how exactly, but I got a sudden feeling that Señor Claudio Navarro wasn't very fond of my husband. Call it female intuition.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Mr Ambrose enquired, cocking his head.

A wicked grin spread across the young man's face. "You could say sat! If you value your skin, maldito británico, you had better run back to where you came from. Who do you sink we've prepared sis feast for? We're waiting for two most honourable guests. Honourable and powerful. Unless you want to suffer se consequences, slink back to England! The mighty personages sat are set to arrive are not men sat ordinary people can afford to challenge!"

Mr Ambrose raised his eyebrow about half a millimetre. "Indeed?"

Then he simply turned around and walked away.

I had to hand it to him. Mr Rikkard Ambrose knew how to make an exit.

There was just one problem...

"Hey! Wait for me!" I leapt out of the coach, ignoring the stares of the other passengers. Bloody man! Marching away and leaving me behind? "Let me get my luggage and—"

"Karim!" A snap of a finger and a flick of his hand was enough command. Before I could blink, Karim already had both of my big suitcases clutched under one arm.

"Hey! Give me those! I can carry them myself."

Karim glanced at me, his eyes resting on my abdomen for a moment. "I decline. I am a man of valour, but I value my life too much for that."

Then he turned away and marched after his employer.

What the heck was that all about? Grumbling, I leapt out of the carriage and, with a last wave to dead girls one and two, rushed after the two most irritating men in my life. Could they be any more enervating?

Well, look on the bright side, Lilly. At least your carriage-sickness will definitely be going away now.

"Wait up!" Speeding up, I hurried after the two. "Where are you going?"

"Oh, not far." Gesturing with a single finger, Mr Ambrose led us up a hill towards a large house that had seen much better days. In fact, it probably had seen better decades. Still, the place offered a splendid view of the town, as well as a nervous little clerk in a bowler hat on the veranda. He was an almost identical copy of the one we'd met back in New York.

"Mr Ambrose! Oh thank God, you're here! And just in time!" Dashing forward, he bowed to my husband, deeply and repeatedly. "There's terrible news! It's all going downhill for us! That Navarro is bad enough on his own, but now there are two powerful people arriving from Spain, who—"

Mr Ambrose held up a hand, instantly silencing the man. Then, without a word, he settled down at the only table on the veranda, steepled his fingers on the table top, and started watching.

After about three minutes, the clerk dared to clear his throat. "Um...Mr Ambrose, Sir?"

Once again, Mr Ambrose raised a hand, and uttered a word that I would never have expected Mr Rikkard Ambrose to say: "Wait."

And about two seconds later, we all heard it. The rattle of wheels. The pounding of hooves on the ground. The stagecoach had long since moved on to the station house. No, it was a new and much fancier coach that now came racing down the dirt road. Navarro perked up, striding to the front of the podium with renewed vigour. The crowd down there started clapping and cheering. I did not, however, miss the hulking figures armed with whips and revolvers that seemed rather insistent on others clapping and cheering.

"Everyone, please welcome our esteemed guests!" Señor Navarro strode forward with confidence, clearly relieved that the real guests had now arrived. "Three cheers for the great, the honourable, the noble Señor—"

Just then, the door of the carriage flew open, revealing a not quite so great nor so noble servant in livery.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr Rikkard Ambrose lean back in his chair, a very noticeable lack of a smile on his face.

I grinned.

Navarro stepped forward, staring. "What the...! Who are you? Where are Señor De La Fuente and Señor De Ravera?"

Leaping out of the carriage, the pale-faced young lackey rushed up to the podium and whispered into his ear. Navarro's face paled—then his head whipped around to stare straight at Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

My dear husband's only response was to cock his head, ever so slightly.

Then he stood and, dusting off his hat, turned away, striding off around the house. I followed after him, able to contain myself just until we were around the corner and out of sight of our adversaries.

"So, now will you tell me what exactly is actually going on here?"

He stopped and turned to face me, staring at me for a moment. A moment that seemed to stretch on forever. For some strange reason, his eyes seemed not only to be focused on my face, but also on my abdomen.

He nodded. "Very well. Follow me."

-------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

As it turns out, Ice cream and mustard on toast is by no means the strangest pregnancy craving. In my research on the matter, I've come across witness reports of pregnant women wanting to sniff tar, lick concrete, eat cornstarch, dirt, dish soap and many, many more. On principle, I always believed in the equality of the sexes, but during that research I suddenly felt very, very glad that I am a man. My sincerest respects to all the mothers in the world.

Regarding this little town of mine - Tomb Gloom is fictional, but not entirely unrealistic. On a list of the top ten Wild West towns to visit in the United States of America, you can find one called Tombstone and another called Deadwood. Apparently, the people of the old West did not have a penchant for cheerful town names.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob