lip and studyingthe collection of gadgets hanging on the walls and piled high on tables and counters.
She cleared her throat. "Of course you've supplied us with the necessary foodstuffs."
No reply.
"And guns—" She stubbed her toe on a crate labeled "Ammunition" and frowned. Only then did she spy the proprietor of the store where he leaned on the counter at the back of the room, watching her through the smoke of his burning cigar. "We'll need a compass," she told him politely.
"Got it already," he replied condescendingly.
"Maps?"
The man smiled and shook his head.
"No maps?" She lifted her eyebrows and looked back at Kane. "No maps? Why, surely, Mr. Kane, you didn't overlook something so crucial as maps?"
"There are none," he said.
"Then, by all means, get some, sir."
"There are none," he repeated in the same blunt tone.
"Such an oversight is—"
"I said..." He moved toward her again, and as inconspicuously as possible Sarah backed away, until she was pressed against the counter and unable to move. She snapped open her parasol and positioned it like a shield between them, pointing the tip like a dagger toward his chest, and peering at him over the upper edge of lacy frill and ribbons.
"I said," he continued, "there are no maps. Not where we're going. They don't exist, Miss St. James, because no one has ever ventured into Japurie by land and returned."
"Am contraire" she replied, lifting one delicate eye- brow. "You have, sir."
Silence prevailed as Morgan looked from her to Henry, who pursed his lips in a soundless whistle and turned for the door.
"I have every faith that you'll manage to retrace your journey," Sarah said, inching away from the counter and Morgan until she could walk without further threat about the room. She pointed to such articles as ropes, winches, machetes, and axes, only to be told time and again that they had already been purchased and were being loaded on the steamer, Santos, in preparation for their departure tomorrow afternoon.
At last she stood staring out the door, her face burning in frustration and anger. As usual, Morgan Kane had succeeded in making her appear the fool.
"Hey, boss lady," he called. "You forgot something."
She looked back just as he tossed a pile of clothing at her. She'd barely caught the items when a helmet came sailing through the air, which she had to scramble to catch. She regarded the coarse, drab-colored material of the breeches and shirt in her arms for a long moment before asking, "What, pray tell, are these?"
"Your clothes, of course. The proper attire for trudging through the Japura jungle." Smiling, Morgan plunked a pair of knee-high leather boots atop the clothing. "I'm certain you'll look smashing in them." Then he dropped a large bottle into the pith helmet she gripped to her chest. "One dose every night before you go to bed or you'll die of malaria. You do know what malaria is, don't you?"
"Yes," she said through her teeth.
He winked. "Just checking, chere."
She spun on her heels and, with her parasol dragging, stormed from the shop in a flurry of petticoats and bouncing hair. Standing in the doorway and holding a match to the cigarette in his lips, Morgan watched Sarah go while Henry stood at his side and shook his head.
"You really should try harder to get along," he said.
Morgan exhaled smoke through his nose. ' 'Right.''
"I shudder to think what will happen when she learns that the story of your escaping through Japurie is all a fabrication."
"We'll be long separated before that happens, my friend."
"I feel terrible about ditching her somewhere along the way, Morgan. I like her, you know. She's been very nice to me. I think, if you tried harder to get along, she would be a very pleasant companion for you."
"For me?" Morgan laughed softly. "Not for me, Henry. I'm not clean enough to wipe the lady's shoes."
Henry regarded him with sad eyes.
More quietly, and to himself, Morgan said, "She wouldn't want me within a mile of her if she
She cleared her throat. "Of course you've supplied us with the necessary foodstuffs."
No reply.
"And guns—" She stubbed her toe on a crate labeled "Ammunition" and frowned. Only then did she spy the proprietor of the store where he leaned on the counter at the back of the room, watching her through the smoke of his burning cigar. "We'll need a compass," she told him politely.
"Got it already," he replied condescendingly.
"Maps?"
The man smiled and shook his head.
"No maps?" She lifted her eyebrows and looked back at Kane. "No maps? Why, surely, Mr. Kane, you didn't overlook something so crucial as maps?"
"There are none," he said.
"Then, by all means, get some, sir."
"There are none," he repeated in the same blunt tone.
"Such an oversight is—"
"I said..." He moved toward her again, and as inconspicuously as possible Sarah backed away, until she was pressed against the counter and unable to move. She snapped open her parasol and positioned it like a shield between them, pointing the tip like a dagger toward his chest, and peering at him over the upper edge of lacy frill and ribbons.
"I said," he continued, "there are no maps. Not where we're going. They don't exist, Miss St. James, because no one has ever ventured into Japurie by land and returned."
"Am contraire" she replied, lifting one delicate eye- brow. "You have, sir."
Silence prevailed as Morgan looked from her to Henry, who pursed his lips in a soundless whistle and turned for the door.
"I have every faith that you'll manage to retrace your journey," Sarah said, inching away from the counter and Morgan until she could walk without further threat about the room. She pointed to such articles as ropes, winches, machetes, and axes, only to be told time and again that they had already been purchased and were being loaded on the steamer, Santos, in preparation for their departure tomorrow afternoon.
At last she stood staring out the door, her face burning in frustration and anger. As usual, Morgan Kane had succeeded in making her appear the fool.
"Hey, boss lady," he called. "You forgot something."
She looked back just as he tossed a pile of clothing at her. She'd barely caught the items when a helmet came sailing through the air, which she had to scramble to catch. She regarded the coarse, drab-colored material of the breeches and shirt in her arms for a long moment before asking, "What, pray tell, are these?"
"Your clothes, of course. The proper attire for trudging through the Japura jungle." Smiling, Morgan plunked a pair of knee-high leather boots atop the clothing. "I'm certain you'll look smashing in them." Then he dropped a large bottle into the pith helmet she gripped to her chest. "One dose every night before you go to bed or you'll die of malaria. You do know what malaria is, don't you?"
"Yes," she said through her teeth.
He winked. "Just checking, chere."
She spun on her heels and, with her parasol dragging, stormed from the shop in a flurry of petticoats and bouncing hair. Standing in the doorway and holding a match to the cigarette in his lips, Morgan watched Sarah go while Henry stood at his side and shook his head.
"You really should try harder to get along," he said.
Morgan exhaled smoke through his nose. ' 'Right.''
"I shudder to think what will happen when she learns that the story of your escaping through Japurie is all a fabrication."
"We'll be long separated before that happens, my friend."
"I feel terrible about ditching her somewhere along the way, Morgan. I like her, you know. She's been very nice to me. I think, if you tried harder to get along, she would be a very pleasant companion for you."
"For me?" Morgan laughed softly. "Not for me, Henry. I'm not clean enough to wipe the lady's shoes."
Henry regarded him with sad eyes.
More quietly, and to himself, Morgan said, "She wouldn't want me within a mile of her if she
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