Looking away from the mural on the wall, I hurled an insult at Jonathan, “Serves you right, you bloody halftwit!”
Still clutching his nose, blood dripping through his fingers, he countered with, “I would not be in this damnble mess if it were not for your dull sense of direction!”
“Or your hot-blooded nature!”
Jonathan shrugged, as if he could not deny the comment. His gaze broke from my eyes and scanned his surroundings. He furrowed his brows and asked, “Where the devil am I?”
I sighed and recollected my complacent demeanor. Taking charge of the situation, as any natural born leader is destined to do, I instructed, “Look around the pit. That is, if it is a pit. However, I believe we might have discovered a tomb. Perhaps you are not as useless as you appear to be.”
Before Jonathan could spit out an insult of equal measure, I turned my attention to the group behind me. The fat Arab had already guessed my unspoken commands. He waddled over with a rope ladder and a doctor by the name of Hubert scurried after him, carrying bandages and ointments.
The Arab came to my side and lowered the ladder into the hole. Hubert descended into the pit with the agility of a squirrel. In his native tongue, the fat Arab said, “We shall care for the Englishman. The others in the group are too afraid to approach, so they shall remain in the camp. I assume you would like to explore, well, whatever this is.” He motioned towards the entrance of the pit.
“You have assumed correctly. I shall need a candle to test the air. Then, I may use proper lighting if there is nothing dangerous.”
The Arab nodded in agreement. He returned to the camp to fetch all that I had asked for. In the meantime, Jonathan’s protests and yelps of pain rose from the pit. A deliciously evil smile crossed my lips. Allah and the devil might not have delivered Jonathan into what I suspected was a tomb, but God certainly did use him as an instrument for this discovery.