The trail led steeply uphill, and a quarter of a mile on the good King Wenceslas wheezed his last. It reminded her that she wasn't thirty or even sixty anymore.
"Chin up, duckie," she panted.
At last the trail levelled out onto a small clearing around a few rocks and a well. Through the break in the treetops one could glimpse a patch of starry sky, and the well was the kind of idyll to which Greek mythology habitually ascribed at least one nymph. Water pearled over rock and minute fronds of moss and tinkled into a shallow basin, its sound cool and tempting. Kelly bent down and scooped a handful, drinking thirstily.
Halfway through the second scoop, a large, strong hand snapped over her mouth and a corresponding arm whipped across her midriff, clamping her into near immobility. She swallowed the wrong way, snorted water through her nose. The stick proved useless, so she dropped it, coughed, spluttered, and wiggled in her attacker's grasp, trying to bite that hand or place a kick. Not a chance. She went limp. She'd read that somewhere. It worked.
A startled gasp, and the vise grip eased almost immediately. Enough for her teeth to find purchase and bite down hard on the hand. The grunt of pain was satisfying, but instead of releasing her, he tightened his hold again.
"For cryin' out loud! Stop it!" he hissed, pulling her to the ground and into cover by the rocks around the well. "I'm gonna let go now. Don't even think of making any noise!"
Of all the confounded nuisances, it had to be Colonel O'Neill! He did as promised, but the Professor had no intention of not making a noise. The man was a Neanderthal! A bloody Irish Neanderthal! She exploded.
"Are you insane?"
"Try pissed off! Keep your voice down, dammit! I could hear you from a mile off. Like a moose in heat!"
A what? Just how rude could you get? However, considering the relative proximity of the temple, Kelly did as he'd asked.
"You could have killed me!" she snarled back. "What if I had a heart condition? Hm?"
"I should be so lucky! What the hell are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing!"
"I asked first!"
The pale starlight lit up a face tight with anger. Well, he wasn't the only one annoyed. Now she'd have to get rid of the fool, which would cost valuable time.
"I am doing my job. Something you clearly are incapable of appreciating. I suggest you just wend your merry way, and I'll continue with my research."
The attempt to push herself up was defeated when he yanked her back. "Stay down! Am I correct in assuming that Major Carter hasn't been consulted on your little fieldtrip?"
"Yes."
"Is that `Yes, I'm correct' or `Yes, she knows about this'?"
"Yes, you're correct. And I was doing perfectly fine until you jumped me."
"Ow!" He gave a surly sneer. "I bet that hurt."
"What? Being attacked by a six-foot lummox?"
"Admitting that I'm right. I'm six foot two, by the way." He lowered his voice even further and seemed to listen for something. "Look, Professor, much as I'd like to tie you to a tree and leave you there till morning, I don't want to scare the other guys. We've got company. So -"
"Company?"
"Will you shut up for once in your life? There are men out here. I've counted fifteen so far, but at a guess there's at least twice as many, probably more. Up until you came bumbling through the bushes, they had no idea that anyone else was enjoying the fresh air and scenery. Chances are they're looking for us right now. So you will pack that bag and that swagger stick of yours and stay glued to my tail. Is that clear?"
Men in the forest?
Unfortunately he didn't sound like he was joking. As a matter of fact, he didn't even sound angry anymore. He sounded coldly professional. As though he actually knew what he was doing, God help her. Slowly, Dr. Kelly nodded, gathered her belongings, and rose.
Once they'd entered the forest, he began to trace a wide circle in northerly direction, moving with surprising stealth. No wonder she hadn't heard him in the clearing. Kelly imagined a grimace each time the hinges on the handle of her bag creaked or the cap of her boot kicked at a branch. Every now and again he'd stop dead, listen and watch for a minute or so, and either adjust their course or carry on. The theatrics were sublime.
After a lifetime of creeping through brambles, he belly-flopped behind a fallen tree and motioned her to do the same. Some hundred yards ahead reared a huge, dark obstacle; the outer wall of the temple. To the right along the wall the faint, unsteady glow of light spilled onto white flagstones, probably from the archway through which they'd entered the precinct yesterday.
"Oh crap..." whispered O'Neill.
Charming language.
He'd taken out a toy-sized spyglass and was giving himself a crick in the neck, scanning the roof of the temple. If he had any manners at all he'd offer the glass to her so she could have a peek as well, but apparently that was too much to ask. She'd just have to see for herself, wouldn't she? Squinting hard, she gazed at the upper expanse of the wall, capped by a dark velvet sky and a myriad stars. Suddenly something black and shadowy blotted out a small segment of what passed for the Milky Way in these parts. It disappeared again, but several feet to the left of it wafted a similar shadow. Then that vanished, too.
"Move!" O'Neill rasped. "Go, go, go!"
"What?'
"Not now!" He roughly hauled her up by one arm and over the bole. "Move!"
Never letting go of her, he broke into a run, dragging her along whether she liked it or not. Moments later they broke from the forest and onto the stone path. The going was easier, but that didn't make much of a difference, because he'd picked up speed. Shouts and metal clanking, neighing of horses and a dozen rushed footfalls behind them explained what had imbued him with this unexpected sense of urgency. It seemed the temple was under attack.
Not thirty anymore, not even sixty... Stitches stabbing her side, breath coming in rapid oxygen-depleted yelps, feet turning to lead, perspiration running from her scalp and down her face, her neck, her back, the shouts growing louder. That inviting gap in the wall just ahead now, not far, not far at all, you can make it, duckie, like cross-country back at Rodean, you can... Blinking through a vinegary trickle of sweat that had seeped into her eyes, she saw the bright gap shrink to a narrow rectangle.
Commotion there, too; frightened faces and flying purple, fear turning to doubt to outrage to hate. Those morons thought they were with the attackers.
"Wait!" yelled O'Neill. "They're on the roof, dammit! Watch your heads! Don't... Wait!"
The light winked out amid the dull rattle of bars being slid across the inside of the gate.
Without losing his stride, O'Neill darted left among the trees, wrenching her sideways at the same insane pace. A bit further in Kelly slipped in a patch of mud and fell hard, almost taking him down with her, skinning her knees and spraining her wrist.
"Stay put!"
His shout was followed by the bellow of a gun. A scream, and their pursuers, mere yards away, skidded to a temporary stop. One of the men had dropped, clutching a shoulder. O'Neill stood braced against a tree, aiming at the next target. With a handgun! How many bullets did these things have? Six? The modem ones had more, hadn't they? One handgun against God knew how many alien savages. Why hadn't he brought that great big cannon of his? Pathetic planning!
Huffing with frustration, she groped for her stick and scrambled towards a nearby cedar. Stay put, indeed! They weren't going to take her without a fight!
Albeit savage, the savages weren't stupid. They spread out, offering less of a cohesive target, and the front men carried shields. O'Neill was firing again, several times, rounds pinging on metal plating, probably piercing whatever armour those people had, but they still kept coming. She heard the crack of a breaking branch behind her, wheeled around and lashed out wildly. She must have connected, too, for her attacker howled in pain or fury and raised a stubby sword.
A gladius. Here? How did they come by those? While some d
istant corner of her mind still puzzled over the incongruity, another shot rang out and the Roman sword sunk limply, followed by its owner in whose forehead gaped a small round hole.
Covering her had been a mistake. With O'Neill's attention diverted, five men had made a dash for him. The flat of a blade crashed down on his arm, sent the gun flying. He ducked, rolled out from under them. When he rose again, he was hefting a knife.
Well, that was no good, was it?
Wishing she' d joined the fencing club instead of the debate team when she'd first enrolled at Oxford, Professor Kelly grabbed the hunting stool with both hands and charged. The spiky end impaled itself in the posterior of one of O'Neill's attackers, and the man leaped forward with a roar, his knees sagging, dragging down her makeshift weapon. She wrested it free and hit him over the head with it.
For a second or two there was a dumbfounded lull, then four more men launched themselves into the fray. O'Neill disarmed one and wounded another, just as a third snuck up behind him. The pommel of a sword struck his temple, vicious enough to split skin, and he crumpled. The attacker snatched him as he fell and held him propped up like a puppet, fist locked in his hair, edge of the sword across his throat.
"Remitte!" the savage shouted at Kelly.
Give up? Not on your life, duckie! In response she swung the hunting stool at the nearest victim.
"Remitte!" This time the blade had drawn blood.
Obviously that pillock meant it, and O'Neill was unlikely to be any more pleasant with his head cut off. She supposed she owed him one. If he'd taken to his heels and left her there - which anybody with half a brain would have done, by the way - he could have outrun them.
"Oh alright, then!" Grudgingly Kelly dropped the stool and raised her hands.
"Nolite occidere!" the man barked at his compatriots and almost gently lowered O'Neill to the ground.
Don't kill them? Well, that just wasn't cricket! If she'd known Some broken-nosed oaf cautiously approached her, and suddenly his eyes went wide.
"Quam avia mea videtur!" he hollered, and a few of the men started laughing.
"So I look like your grandmother, do I? I'll give you your grandmother!"
A huge, beefy hand snapped around her wrist and blocked the blow. Simultaneously something very hard impacted with her skull. Kelly's last conscious sensation was a teeth-rattling thud, then she blacked out.
Teal'c had escorted Ayzebel into the house, and Daniel had posted himself by the open front door waiting for his team mates and the Professor. On the streets some kind of carnival was in full swing. After the darkness and quiet of the hillside, the city seemed garish and noisy. Torches stuck in iron brackets at every house and flickered over a scene that had mutated from worshipful elation to Bacchanalia. The good burghers of Tyros had raided their wine cellars, pitchers and amphorae were passed to family and strangers regardless, with everyone vying to achieve maximum inebriation in minimum time. A delicate, dark-eyed girl caught his eye, smiled, and glided towards him.
"Please, friend, drink." Small brown hands held up an amphora.
Her smile, shy and placid, reminded him of Sha're, and he grinned back. "No, thank you. I... uh... get sick..."
"Please, friend. Just one sip," she insisted and gave a conspiratorial wink that contradicted the shyness. "My girlfriends are watching. They said I would not have the courage to ask."
Across the street hovered three other girls, giggling and blushing.
Daniel chuckled. "A dare, eh?"
"Do not be angry, please." It was her turn to blush. "You and your friends are the talk of the town. Is it true that you came through the Chappa'ai?"
"Yes." He took the amphora, had a token sip of wine, and handed it back. The threesome across the street hid their faces in a shivering flurry of veils. "What do you know about the Chappa'ai?"
"What everybody knows. It is the Gate of Paradise, the entrance to Lord Meleq's realm."
"Does the Lord Meleq ever come here?"
"Not to the city!" She laughed. "Sometimes, when he is pleased with us, he visits the temple. He has not visited in a long time."
"Yeah, I heard about that." Daniel's arm described a generous circle, encompassing her, her friends, and the streetful of revelers. "So why are you celebrating?"
"Because the Lord Meleq's servants have entered the temple at last, and he will be pleased with us again. Also, we have a new High Priest."
"The king is dead, long live the king, huh?"
The girl's forehead creased in bafflement, but she still smiled. "Excuse me?"
"Never mind. It's just... it's something we say."
"Oh."
A homespun band had formed a little further down the street. A couple of drums, three string instruments that looked like bouzoukis and a singer with laudable enthusiasm and a foghorn voice. To top it, he was either tone-deaf or too drunk to stay on key. The local party animals didn't mind much. Throwing arms over each others' shoulders, they linked into a stumbling line of dancers. Hava Nagila gone pear-shaped. The line proceeded on the Conga principle, picking up passengers as it went along. Somebody reached for the girl, snatched her robe. She grabbed Daniel's hand.
"Join us! It is fun!"
He freed himself and jumped back a step, smiling. "Thanks. I'd rather watch."
For a second her eyes clouded in disappointment, then she was swept away. As the line staggered past, a scuffle erupted near its end. In fact, it looked more like a wrestling match than a dance, steps hopelessly mixed up and shouts rising over the bawl of the singer. Suddenly the line broke and spat out a hulky man who landed flat on his face. Sam Carter stepped over him, dodged groping hands, and skipped from reach. When she saw Daniel, she waved and came loping up the steps, torn between amusement and irritation.
He laughed. "Natives getting frisky?"
"You have no idea! I was trying to get out of it without causing a diplomatic incident. What on earth are they on, anyway?"
"A prototype of Cabernet Sauvignon, by the taste of it."
"Daniel?"
"I only had one sip. Courtesy of an admirer."
"Yeah. Right." The Conga line was wobbling into a U-tum at the end of the street, and Sam made for the door. "Let's go inside before they come back."
"Speaking of diplomatic incidents, what happened to Jack?"
"The Colonel... uh... went for a stroll."
She disappeared inside looking decidedly shifty, which suggested that the itinerary for Jack's nocturnal sightseeing tour included the temple.
"A stroll, huh?" he called after her. "With the Professor?"
Sam's head popped back through the door like some toy on a spring. "What did you say?"
"Where's Kelly?"
"Not funny, Daniel."
"I'm not kidding. Where is she?"
"Kelly was with you."
"We got separated. I figured she'd joined you and Jack." Which was about as lame as it got. Daniel suppressed an urge to cringe. He should have known. "You think she "
A frightening leap in noise levels announced The Return of the Conga, and Sam pulled him into the courtyard and closed the door.
"Do I think she suckered you and went straight up to the temple? As a matter of fact, yes."
"What do you want to do?"
"Remind Colonel O'Neill to harm her severely in case he finds her, which he probably will," she replied grimly, keying her radio. "Colonel? This is Carter. Come in, sir... Colonel?"
The radio burped copious amounts of static, but there was no reply from Jack.
"Damn," she muttered softly.
"Yeah."
"Major Carter. You have returned."
Hands clasped behind his back, Teal'c strode across the atrium, torchlight tinting his skin bronze. His measured, powerful grace fit the place completely and lent him the air of an Oriental potentate visiting his seraglio. You practically expected him to start salaaming. He didn't go quite as far. He merely inclined his head. Next, that eyebrow ratcheted up. Colloquia
l Jaffa for What's with the numbers?
"Colonel O'Neill hasn't come back yet, but Kelly's made up for it by giving Daniel the slip," Sam informed the eyebrow.
It was joined by its counterpart in a rare display of surprise. "I see. Do you wish to search for Professor Kelly?"
"No." She sighed. "I'm pretty sure the Professor's gone to the temple, and you heard what Ayzebel said about that. If we turn up as well, it'll only make matters worse. We wait. The Colonel should be back in less than an hour, and if she hasn't shown up by then we'll reassess our options."
Teal'c studied her thoughtfully. "I believe you are correct, Major Carter. It will be wiser to wait."
Which was exactly what they did. Daniel stretched out on the rim of the pool, staring up at a square of stars. A little further along sat Sam and Teal'c, talking quietly. The whoops and howls of the revelers in the street drifted in only faintly, and the patio still smelled of the flowers Ayzebel had strewn earlier in the day. He could get used to this, if it weren't for the fact that things were off somehow. Like one of those pictures by M C Escher, showing what seemed like a perfectly good staircase until you looked closely and realized that the stairs led both up and down at the same time. The staircase grew larger and three-dimensional, and General Hammond got really annoyed because he met Dr. Kelly who argued that she'd been excavating staircases since before George was an itch in his daddy's trousers, and he couldn't possibly be going up the stairs if he was coming towards her. Kandaulo skipped downup the opposite side, chasing Hamilqart and Ayzebel who backed up-down hopping like Easter bunnies into Teal'c and the Conga Line who were singing Ay Bouzouki to Baal, but hopscotch wasn't allowed on the stairs, so Sam was frantically typing on a computer to figure it all out, because Jack lay upright, crushed against a metal spider web, hurting and terrified, and he fell and fell and fell, up and down, into a silent ocher downside-up-upside-down abyss, and everything he always locked down floated up, inside out, carved in his face, terrified and hurting.
Stargate SG-1: Trial by Fire: SG1-1 Page 6