Storm and Silence

Little Ifrit

All right, so I did it. So what? He was my employer, after all, and he could order me to do anything he wanted. The fact that I was fuming and fantasizing about choking him didn’t really count as an excuse to shirk my duties.

By the light of the small gas lamp Mr Ambrose had given me, I started to sort files.

Soon I found that, while the work itself was deathly boring, being positioned in the safe room had unexpected advantages. Once I had pushed open the door, which Mr Ambrose had shut, I could hear everything that was going on in my office - which was quite a lot, let me tell you.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Enter,’ Mr Ambrose’s curt voice called.

‘Mr Ambrose? Good morning, Sir,’ a quiet, respectful voice said in answer. Several pairs of feet shuffled into my office. Apparently it had been selected as official HQ for the thief hunt. ‘I came as soon as you called. What is the matter? Karim didn’t say.’

‘Warren.’ No ‘good morning’ from Mr Stoneface Ambrose of course, and certainly no ‘How nice to see you.’ He got right to the point. ‘Have you seen Simmons?’

‘Simmons, Sir? I thought you gave me to understand that he suddenly gave up his post.’

‘He did. And he took something of mine along with him, it appears.’

There was a short, heavy silence. It wasn’t hard for me to imagine the merciless ice in Mr Ambrose’s eyes right then. Just from the feel of the air I got the impression that the people in my office experienced a twinge of pity for Simmons.

‘I see. What can we do, Sir?’

‘First answer my question, Warren. Have you seen him since he left?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Has he come back to pick up his belongings?’

‘I can send someone and check, Sir.’

‘Do that. Now.’

Footsteps hurried off. There were a few more minutes of silence, which nobody made even the slightest attempt to fill. Apparently Mr Ambrose didn’t think much of small talk. What a surprise.

The moment the footsteps returned he asked: ‘And?’

‘His things are gone,’ said a third voice. ‘I asked Mr Garfield down at the lockers, and he said that Simmons took them with him on the same day he disappeared.’

‘That settles it,’ declared Mr Ambrose. ‘He’s the thief. He has been planning this.’

‘It appears so, Sir,’ agreed the man called Warren. ‘May I ask what was stolen?’

‘No.’

What was this? No? Just like that? No? Mr Ambrose didn’t even trust his own people? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised that I was stuck in here sorting files then, instead of being out there where the real work was being done.

‘You are looking for a folder with the inscription “S39XX300”,’ Mr Ambrose told them, icily. ‘That is all you need to know.’

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.’

‘First you will search this office. I have some urgent business and will leave you to it. If you have any questions, ask Karim.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

His footsteps receded, and the noises from the other room indicated that Mr Warren and his cronies had begun their search. I returned my attention to my work.

Quite a good idea, it appeared: I had been so distracted that I hadn’t noticed I had tried to stuff a bunch of files into the open mouth of some wooden African totem. Hurriedly I removed them and started looking for their proper container.

For the next few minutes I busied with the files. Then I suddenly heard footsteps approaching the door of the safe. Yet before I could panic and begin to wonder what they wanted with me, I heard Karim’s voice.

‘Not in there, Warren.’

‘But Mr Ambrose said to search everywhere.’

‘Everywhere in this office. Not in the safe. There is…’ Karim’s voice dropped to a whisper as he explained something to Warren. I didn’t exactly hear everything, but I thought I caught the word ‘Ifrit’.

‘Really?’ Warren whispered. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I saw it with my own eyes,’ Karim assured him.

‘Right in there? In the safe room?’

‘Indeed. So you see you had better not…’

‘Of course! I’ll steer clear of it, don't you worry.’

For the following few minutes my fantasies changed from strangling Mr Ambrose to braining Karim with a wooden African totem. In the end I suppose the difference didn’t much matter. Men! They were all the same.

During the following hours I worked ceaselessly, clearing up the mess my dear master had left behind. He wouldn’t have an excuse to accuse me of slacking, oh no! The task actually wasn’t as hard as I had feared. All the folders strewn over the floor were numbered. Since I had already fully grasped the sorting system, and the one here in the safe was simply an extension of that in my office, I got on quickly, and orderly rows of boxes grew on the shelves.

Finally, the door to my office opened and I heard his unmistakable voice.

‘Are you done, Warren?’

‘Nearly, Mr Ambrose.’

‘As soon as you’re done here, prepare your men for a little trip, by which I do not mean a stroll in the park. Do we understand each other?’

‘Yes, Mr Ambrose.’

‘Very well. I shall join you in a minute, as soon as I’ve seen how my little Ifrit is doing.’

‘Your what, Sir?’

‘Forget what I said, Warren.’

‘Yessir!’

His little Ifrit? I supposed I should have been outraged, him calling me names and all, but for some strange reason I felt warm inside. Maybe because of my flaming wings, who knew?

Mr Ambrose had obviously not intended for me to hear his words. Quickly and quietly I closed the door to the safe room, just as he had left it, and retreated to a corner, a demure little smile on my face as I looked around the room. All right, maybe the smile wasn’t totally demure. Maybe it was even a little bit self-satisfied. So what?

The door was pushed open and Mr Ambrose entered. ‘I will be leaving on the search soon,’ he began. ‘So sorry that you are occupied and can’t come with us. How many hours do you think you will still need to finish your…’

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the safe-room, his voice trailed off.

‘You were saying?’ I inquired sweetly.