'Your safety, and my country's chances of survival. Without an
engineer to maintain the cars, and a soldier to teach my men to use the
new weapons we will have wasted fifteen thousand sovereigns.'
'I feel very badly for you,' Gareth assured him. 'I'll eat my heart
out for you while I am having dinner at the Cafe Royal, I really will
but truly, Toffee, you should have thought of this long ago.'
'Oh, I did my dear Swales I assure you I gave it much thought.' And
the Prince turned to smile at Gareth. 'I thought that no one would be
foolish enough to take on his person fifteen thousand gold sovereigns
in the middle of Ethiopia and then try and get out of the country
without the Ras's personal approval and protection.' They stared at
him.
'Can you imagine the delight of the shifta, the mountain bandits,
when they learned that such a rich prize was moving unprotected through
their territory?'
'They would know, of course?' murmured Jake.
'I fear that they might be informed.' The Prince turned to him.
'And if we tried to go back the way we came?'
'Through the desert on foot?' the Prince smiled.
'We might use a little of the gold to buy camels,' Jake suggested.
'I fancy you might find camels hard to come by, and somebody might
inform the Italians and the French of your movements to say nothing of
the Danakil tribesmen who would slit the throats of their own mothers
for a single gold sovereign.' They watched the Ras send the great
sword humming six inches over the heads of the bass drummers, and then
turn a grotesque flapping pirouette.
'God!' said Gareth. 'I took you at your word, Toffee. I mean word of
honour, and old school-'
'My dear Swales, these are not the playing fields of Eton, I'm
afraid.'
'Still, I never thought you'd welsh.'
'Oh, dear me, I am not welshing. You can have your money now this very
hour.'
'All right, Prince,' Jake interrupted. 'Tell us what more you want
from us. Tell us, is there any way we get out of here with a safe
conduct, and our money?' The Prince smiled warmly at Jake,
leaning to pat his arm.
'Always the pragmatist. No time wasted in tearing the hair or beating
the breast, Mr. Barton.'
'Shoot,' said Jake.
'My father and I would be very grateful if you would work for us for a
six-month contract.'
'Why six months? 'demanded Gareth.
'By then all will be lost, or won.'
'Go on, 'Jake invited.
'For six months you will exercise your skills for us and teach us how
best to defend ourselves against a modern army. Service,
maintain and command the armoured cars.'
'In return? 'Jake asked.
