THE NIGHT OF THE LOST WORLD
By Andamogirl
Author's notes : WWW season 4.
Reference to "The Night of the Spanish Curse". Tag to that episode. Reference to "The Night of Montezuma's Hordes".
Reference to my stories "The Night of The First Mission", "The Night of the Deadly Love Potion" and "The Night of the Outlaw."
Aztec names are real ones and their translation is accurate. But I'm taking a few liberties with the Aztec civilization, gods and human sacrifice.
Inspired by seeing how Ross Martin looked tired during the "TNOT Spanish Curse."
Proprietor: You wish something, senor?
Jim: I'd like some food.
Proprietor: It is siesta. No one eats during siesta in Mexico.
Jim: My stomach has insomnia.
Artie: Those are just some diversionary bombs I set off all over the place.
Jim: Artie, some day they're going to dedicate a statue to you.
The Night of the Spanish Curse
Warning: Some blood. Bad intentioned people using a knife. Serpent-dragons with slimy saliva. Nudity (Artie takes showers).
Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.
WWW
TEASER
The Wanderer,
Enroute to Phoenix, Arizona
Born-curious and playful, AG the black fluffy cat, sniffed at the Mexican round hat, placed upside down on the armchair and pawed it, bringing down the false moustache that was inside. Once it was on the floor, he immediately pounced on the strange furry thing, starting to play with it.
Sitting on the couch with Marmalade curled on his lap, purring, Artemus Gordon yawned widely and pinched the bridge of his nose feeling fatigue in his every muscle and bone. "God, I'm tired," he said, looking at his companion with dazed and fatigue-fogged eyes. Blinking rapidly, trying to stay awake, he rubbed his hand through his messy hair graying at his temples (makeup), trying to discipline it, in vain. "That last mission drained my last remaining strength."
Sitting at the table, James West folded the newspaper he was reading that had arrived with the last mail bag and looked at his partner's worn face, fighting to stay awake, frowning in worry. Artie was bone tired. No, it was more than that, it was pure, total and utter exhaustion, he mused warily.
He nodded and said, "The last assignment was grueling and you were already tired before we started it. We have three days of 'nothing-to-do' before we reach Phoenix. You should enjoy sleeping as much as possible. I'm proposing that you hibernate in your bed, under piled blankets – Strong Bear."
Artemus ran a hand across his face and suddenly remembered that he still had a faux-grayish-beard glued to his chin and jawline and that he was still wearing his Mexican disguise. "Good idea, I need to sleep. For a long, long time," he said, pulling on his false beard, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
He noticed AG playing with his false moustache and smiled. Cats can play with anything. He remembered Jim's cat chasing a paper pellet for hours throughout the train.
He scooped up Marmie from his lap, eliciting a disgruntled meow and settled her on a pillow. "I'm sorry, Marmie, but I need to go to bed." Then he stood and he felt his legs tremble. He was lightheaded and his heart was beating far too loudly in his chest and pounding in his ears. His vision blurred and the room started tilting as nausea and vertigo crashed over him in relentless waves. "Oh God," he croaked, taking in deep, heavy breaths. His entire body shaking, he took a step forward and stumbled.
He swayed in place and he dropped down onto his hands and knees and gritted his teeth as spots danced in his vision. "Jim…" he rasped. He finally blacked out and sprawled face down on the carpeted floor.
In a flash Jim crouched beside his unconscious best friend and took the other man's pulse, finding it rapid and irregular.
His face was pale, was almost gray and still, contrasting with his labored breathing.
He maneuvered Artemus into a sitting position, leaning him against the sofa and gently tapped his cheeks. "Wake up buddy; you need to sleep in your bed, not on the floor."
Slowly, Artie opened his bloodshot eyes and blinked them into focus. "Wha… h'ned?" He slurred, staring up in confusion, fighting back the bile rising in his throat.
Furrowing his brow again in worry, Jim said, "You passed out from exhaustion, Artie. Once in Phoenix you'll need to consult a doctor. I'm very worried about you."
Blinking blearily at Jim, looking somewhat disoriented for a few seconds, Artie waved a weak hand in dismissal and said, "Don't be, I'm fine, please don't worry about me. I just need to sleep…" He trailed off. He gave his best friend a weak – but reassuring - smile. "Ya know me, I'm indestructible." And he closed his eyes, his head slumping forward, drifting off to sleep.
Reaching out, Jim shook Artie's shoulder and said, "Wake up Artie, and take my hand," and Artie, docile, did it, in slow-motion. "Up you get, buddy." Then he managed to pull his partner upright in a strong grip, but Artemus staggered. "Can you walk Artie?"
Artie waited for his brain to process the words, and shook his head. "Don't know… 'M gonna try." He took a step forward surprised to find his legs cooperating and almost collapsed again as his knees started to tremble. "I need some help."
Holding Artie against him, an arm wrapped around his waist, Jim said, "Come on, old timer. Time for bed." Then he steered his best friend, stumbling, for the door, feeling the older man sink more heavily against him with every step.
Dozing off Artie rested his head on Jim's shoulder.
Once in Artemus's sleeping compartment, Jim sat his companion on the edge of the bed. He knelt down and began to remove Artie's shoes and socks. He stood, unknotted Artie's purple bandanna and then commanded, "Up!" and the older man raised his arms, slowly.
Jim then pulled up the black and beige stripped poncho, and after that unbuttoned his partner's white crumpled shirt. "Up!" he repeated.
Eyes closing, feeling heavy, as if he weighed a ton, Artemus lifted one arm and he slipped it out of his large shirt, then Jim pulled it off the other arm. "Thanks," he breathed out.
Leaning toward Artie Jim put one hand to Artemus's chest, the other to his back, and gently levered him down onto the bed.
Offering Jim a weary smile, Artie whispered, "Thank you." Then he crawled under the covers, letting out a sigh of pleasure, gratefully letting Jim tuck him between the sheets. "Night, mom."
Grinning, amused, Jim leaned down and squeezed his partner's shoulder softly. "Good night Artemus my boy, sleep tight. Pleasant dreams," He said, dimming the light as he left the room.
Replying with something unintelligible, Artemus let his eyes fall shut as he succumbed entirely to sleep, mouth opened and body lax.
Marmalade leaped onto her owner's bed and rolled in a ball at his feet, and, imitating Artemus, she closed her amber eyes.
WWW
24 hours later
Slowly, Artemus woke up, muzzy from sleep and no more rested than when he had fallen asleep. Disoriented for a few seconds, he glanced around him and recognized his sleeping compartment.
He grunted as the yellow glow of morning light that streamed through the window hit his eyes, and he turned over to face the wall, covering his face with his arm. "Who the hell forgot to lower the damn blind?" he groaned groggily his cheek sinking into the pillow beneath his head. Then he remembered that no one – not Jim nor he – had thought about that when he went to bed. His partner had just dimmed the light.
Surprised, he lifted his head from the pillow and quirked an eyebrow as his eyes adjusted to the light in the small room. "What?"
He could hear the sound of heavy, pouring, rain hitting the roof and the window and strong and angry winds howl outside.
He frowned then, confused. "Pouring rain? In Phoenix?"
It was impossible. Phoenix was located in the middle of the arid Sonoran desert. Rain was nonexistent there. Only the implacable sun ruled there, he thought.
Besides, it was very hot in his room – like in an oven, he added in his mind. He stretched out to the tips of his fingers and toes, like a very big cat, rolled over in his small bed and yawned loudly as he tried to get used to daylight.
He sat on the mattress and scrubbed the back of his hand over his tired eyes. Then he rubbed his temples, his skin damp with the heat in an attempt to ease the light headache he was feeling then he ran a weak hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
He stood, lifted the curtain and looked through the window… seeing nothing but a kind a yellow fog made of… sand and dust.
Rain wasn't hitting and beating mercilessly the Wanderer, but sand and dust, he realized. Outside, a sand storm was raging, blocking the sun.
He realized another thing too: the Wanderer wasn't moving. The fine pounding grit and the dust had filled the steam engine everywhere. The sand tempest had stuck the train in the middle of the desert. That explained why the Wanderer was immobile and the blazing heat too.
He sighed. "I hate heat… If only I could find a way to cool the air… " And looked up at the ceiling. He could install a steam powered fan here. "Why didn't you think of it earlier?" he asked himself.
Hearing a loud meow, he lowered his eyes and spotted Marmalade rolled up on the chair, looking at him with big inquisitive eyes. "I'm okay, Marmie," he said, his mouth cottony.
Needing to pee, and it was urgent, he wrapped himself in his bathrobe without closing it and stumbled out of his sleeping compartment and headed toward the bathroom.
Marmie sat in the narrow walkway, waiting.
WWW
Later
Showered (cold water), shaved, wearing his light-cotton white striped pajamas and his slippers – feeling much better - Artemus made a beeline toward the galley, his stomach rumbling with hunger. He was closely followed by his tawny cat trotting silently behind him.
He found Jim sitting at the table, he too was wearing his pajamas, navy, bottoms only, 'scalping' potatoes over the cutting board. "Hey, Jim," he said, while Marmie curled herself around his ankle.
Jim smiled. "Good morning, Artie. Feeling better?"
Marmalade looked up at her owner and let out a loud demanding meow.
But Artemus ignored his cat and went on, "Yes, a little, thank you. But this heat is terrible, and I don't like heat. The Wanderer is just like a very big oven."
Pausing, Jim nodded. "I know. Because of the sandstorm outside, the steam engine has sand and dust everywhere, in each tiny recess and it doesn't work anymore. It is completely clogged. Alan the new driver and Peter the new fireman are safe in the baggage car – playing cards, waiting for the sandstorm to stop. We're stuck somewhere in the middle of the Sonoran desert."
Looking again at Jim's hands, Artie said, "I gathered that myself. Be careful with that knife, don't hurt yourself, Jim, you could cut yourself." Then he gave Jim a mocking smile.
Looking at Artemus, Jim smiled. "I just found out that you can do something else with a knife other than throw it at something or someone… " His smile vanished, replaced by a concerned face. Artie was looking better but still tired, he thought. "How are you, Artie?"
The older man didn't respond right away. Marmalade was hungry. He took the bottle of milk which was on the galley worktop and poured some into a bowl. He lowered it to the floor and was rewarded by a purr as the cat immediately started lapping at the white creamy liquid.
Immediately after that there was a second meow and AG left his basket settled next to the stove to pad toward his adoptive mother.
He lowered his head toward the milk and lapped it in his turn.
Sitting on the other chair, Artemus reached out, palm uppermost, offered. "Give me that knife, before you hurt yourself with it," and while Jim complied chuckling softly and then pushed the still intact potatoes toward him, he added, "I feel fine, but still a bit groggy though." He started peeling a potato and added, "I'll feel better after a copious breakfast – which I'm going to prepare for myself, because I don't like to eat my food carbonized." He paused, hearing the wind howl outside and the sand pelting the car. "It's the first time such a thing has happened to us. We have been caught and stuck in snow tempest, in an avalanche… even in a mud landslide once, but never in a sandstorm. It's a first."
Pouring coffee into a cup Jim nodded. "It's going to take days to remove it. And sandstorms can last a long time, days sometimes." Offering the cup of coffee to Artie, Jim nodded. "I managed somehow to send a telegram to the Phoenix bureau, explaining the situation. They will contact Washington and our new assignment – whatever it is – will be postponed until we arrive in Phoenix." He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. "It's so hot in here…"
Artie placed the slices of potatoes in a large bowl filled with water to prevent them from turning black, then he took the cup of coffee, looking suspiciously at the thick dark liquid. "You know, people usually use more water than coffee when they make coffee…" He took a sip, grimaced, coughed and swallowed hard. "That stuff is just abo-mi-nable!" He commented and saw Jim pout. He creased his brow, realizing that he didn't know how long he had slept and asked, "What day is today? And what time is it?"
Placing a box of chocolate chips cookies on the table, Jim replied, "It's Thursday morning. You slept 24 hours in a row Artie. You nearly hibernated."
Feeling his stomach rumble again, he fished a chocolate chip cookie out of the tin box. "24 hours? Boy! That explains why I'm so hungry. At least the cookies are delicious – because I made them. No offense but yours are like mini rocks which break teeth and weight the stomach." He noticed too that his light headache was gone and he smiled, relieved. 'Good, it's gone,' he thought.
Both Marmalade and AG went back to their own basket, settled in and began cleaning their whiskers. Then they started licking each other.
Pouring himself another cup of thick coffee, Jim said, "No offense taken. You're absolutely right." He listened to the strong, howling winds whirling around the train with waves of sand coming from the desert. "I'm sorry. I didn't know when you would wake up, so I was preparing breakfast for me…" He chuckled when Artie glared at him. "I mean, you are now. I mean you are making breakfast for two now…"
Suddenly.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunshots.
Tbc.