Disclaimers: Don't own R.H.

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1875: S.S. Euripides, somewhere off the western coast of Africa.

In the hours following the 'mah-jongg incident,' all Nigel could sense were flickering lights, the violent undulation of the waves, and the painful, thudding and faltering beat of his heart.

He saw faces - mainly angry, frighteningly unfamiliar - but he couldn't speak to them, he could hardly breathe. As his vision faded, a notion seeped into his fevered consciousness that the ship had sunk and he was falling to the bottom of the sea: down, down, down. He thrashed his arms hopelessly, trying to swim, striving for sweet air, yet hands that seized him, didn't save him. They just pushed him further away, deeper into the suffocating ocean.

One horrific concept began swirling in his mind: 'hell…this is hell… I'm dead, and this is hell… all pain… no air… no comfort…hell.'

Eventually, the lights faded and the wrenching thrust of the movements became a gentle rocking, and then merciful, peaceful sleep.

When Nigel awoke, all was black. His first thought was a panic: 'I'm dead…I'm dead…' Then he realised he still felt the incessant swelling of the waves, that he was small, sick and weak, but alive. Death couldn't be so wretched.

'Hey…Nigel? You with me?'

The voice was deep and close, hovering just inches above him. He felt a warm hand take his wrist, and feel his pulse.

'Captain Lloyd?'

'Yes, my friend, I'm afraid it is. It's not your Mama, or Sydney, or any of the other half dozen names you've been calling for!'

It occurred to Nigel that he wasn't in his bunk, and that part of his general discomfort was owing to the fact he was lying on floorboards, although he had a nasty suspicion that his upper body was rested in the Captain's arms. He felt slightly awkward, and wondered why on earth he wasn't in his bed.

'Umm… where are we? Why is it so dark?'

'Ah. I'm afraid I've got some bad news, matey. We're in the brig. There are not too many windows down here.'

'Oh,' was all Nigel could manage. His memory was too lost in a fevered hinterland between sleep and consciousness for him to remember exactly what he had done wrong.

'It's probably the best place for us,' said Dirk, matter-of-factly. 'Well, it would have been, if you hadn't nearly died on me last night. Has that happened before?'

'What happened?'

'First up, you and I - mainly me, seeing as you were not exactly 'with us' at the time - were accused of cheating at mah-jongg. Then we got hauled off here. They were going to take you to sickbay, but I couldn't think of a way to take the Ruby back off you without it being noticed. I decided it would be better to say you were drunk and have you dumped in here with me, so there would be no chance it would be stolen again. But I didn't realise how sick you were.'

Nigel recalled the mah-jongg incident and felt into the top pocket of his jacket, where he vaguely remembered slipping the Ruby as the world fell apart. It was still there, safe.

'I'm not ill,' he murmured , exerting himself considerably to sit up. Dirk let him go, but unusually heavy gravity pulled Nigel back down onto the hard floorboards. 'I just get these 'turns' sometime.'

'That's what you call it, is it? One moment your heart was pounding like the Queen's artillery regiment…then I thought it was stopping altogether. How the hell did you get through the Army medical?'

'I haven't a clue,' replied Nigel vacantly. 'It was a while back, I suppose, just after I came back from Oxford. Life was a little less… exciting then.'

'Well, they missed something. When we get to India, I'm going to recommend to your commanding officer that he sends you straight back home.'

'What? You can't do that…Anyway, I have no intention of joining my regiment before I return this ruby to its rightful protectors.'

'You're a determined little sod, aren't you?'

'Yes… I suppose I am.' He squirmed uncomfortably. 'It's very hot in here… maybe I have a fever or something.'

'No, that's one thing you don't seem to have wrong with you. It's simply hot. We're approaching the equator, I should think. I'll start shouting and yelling in a minute, make sure they bring us more water.'

'Aren't they going to let us out of here?'

Dirk sniggered. 'Actually, I'd rather they didn't. The moment we get out, the Chinese traders and every passenger on board is going to be on our backs, after that ruby. I slipped the Captain a couple of gold sovereigns, and he promised to send along some supplies to make the voyage more comfortable. Not that the service has been first-class so far. They promised me a mattress for you a couple of hours ago … it never came. I'd better shout louder this time.'

'So we're stuck here?' Nigel was desolate. It was bad enough when he had access to a moderately comfortable bunk and the fresh air of the deck, but stuck in this hot prison, the waves seemed to rise and fall all the more steeply. Moreover, he realised they were heading fast towards the notoriously choppy Cape of Good Hope. 'Oh hell,' he groaned and raised his hands to cover his face.

'Sorry, my friend,' said Dirk, 'maybe I could stay in here with the ruby, and you could go to sickbay?'

'No… I couldn't ask you to do that. If you stay, I stay.' Besides, he thought himself: 'I don't fancy my chances out there anyway, without my only friend.'

Nigel sighed, and rolled onto his side, trying in vain to make himself comfortable. The warmth and humidity were becoming insufferable, and even his ever-increasing nausea could not blot out the dull, persistent tightness in his chest. 'This is hell,' he breathed, so quietly he knew his companion couldn't hear. 'Hell.'

……………………………………

21st century: Flight 107 - London Heathrow to Calcutta.

After their eventful day, Nigel and Sydney both fell asleep quickly after the flight took off. Nigel, particularly, discovered he was far more weary than usual on a plane, and that the lights and sounds barely distracted him as he drifted off.

Preston, far less used to travel, didn't feel tired at all. He became particularly resolved to stay awake once he realised the in-flight movie featured Kate Winslet, and had not yet come out in UK cinemas. There was no point sleeping when he could be drinking in the sights and sounds of the lovely Kate!

He was about halfway through the movie when he sensed that Nigel, although he appeared to be asleep, was restless. Indeed, his brother was shifting about in his seat so much that the whole row of three shook. Preston could barely focus on his favourite bits of Kate, displayed in front of him on the little movie screen.

The final straw came when Nigel began muttering under his breath.

Preston, now thoroughly irritated, took off his headphones.

'Nigel, for God's sake, stop it!' he hissed. 'You're embarrassing me, just like that time…'

He broke off, as he absorbed the condition of his brother. 'Help!' he thought. 'That must be one hell of a bad dream.'

Nigel's face was flushed, and his forehead beaded with sweat, as he shifted, distractedly, from side to side. His hand was clutched to his chest, his fist clenched as if he was holding something. His breath was fast and shallow. 'Miss Carraway,' he whispered, 'I wanted to keep it safe… but I'm drowning….drowning…. this is hell…hell…'

Preston had heard enough. 'Nigel!' He patted his brother lightly on the cheek. 'Come on mate, wake up,' he said softly. 'It's just a dream…'

'Derek?' Nigel's eyes flew open, and he grabbed a long, ragged intake of air, as if he'd been struggling underwater and had surfaced in the nick of time.

'Who the hell's Derek? It's me, Preston.'

Registering this, Nigel flung his arms around his brother's neck and buried his face in his shoulder. Preston instinctively hugged Nigel tightly. He felt the pounding, yet strong and steady, beat of his brother's heart.

Preston, somewhat taken aback, smiled apologetically at a woman in a seat in front, who peeked backwards to see what all the fuss was about. 'He's my brother,' he explained, in case of any misunderstanding. 'He's a bit unstable,' he mouthed.

The commotion also stirred Sydney, who opened her eyes to greet the unlikely vista of the Bailey brothers engaged in an affectionate embrace.

She gawped for a second, convinced she was dreaming, and then realised it was, indeed, reality. Preston gazed at her over Nigel's head with bewildered blue eyes.

'What the heck's wrong? Nigel?'

Her voice dragged her assistant back from the twilight world between wakefulness and the abyss of nightmares. He pulled away from Preston, decidedly embarrassed.

'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'I had a bad dream. Terribly bad manners… how humiliating.'

'Hey, it's okay.' Sydney slipped an arm around his shoulder. 'It's nothing to be ashamed about. Was it very real?'

'No… quite the opposite, just images, feelings… I felt like I was drowning… and a strange, stomach-churning motion. Did the plane hit any turbulence?'

Sydney shrugged. 'I've no idea. I was out for the count.' She looked quizzically at Preston, who was now regarding Nigel, nonplussed.

'There certainly wasn't any turbulence before he started thrashing around. Why do you always have to make a scene, Nigel? And who, may I ask, is Derek?'

'Derek Lloyd?' Sydney raised her eyebrows.

'Oh God,' Nigel covered his face with both his hands. 'I don't normally dream about Derek Lloyd, okay?' He caught a glimpse of Kate Winslet, jiggling about in period costume on Preston's cinema screen. 'If I had a choice, people in my dreams would look more like that, okay? Don't be getting any wrong ideas.' A thought hit him and he added quickly: 'Although I like brunettes as well, you know?'

'I know,' said Sydney, with a laugh. She rubbed his arm, returning to the serious point: 'Do you think the nightmare had anything to do with your past life, and the Ruby.'

'I'm not sure,' said Nigel slowly. He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'Maybe it will make more sense later… I know this sounds crazy, but it definitely felt like I was at sea.'

'Nigel Finchley must have sailed to India,' said Syd. 'I'm just wondering how the hell Derek Lloyd got mixed up in all of this.'

Nigel looked up and cringed. 'My mind could have just been playing tricks on me... can we forget about that particular detail for now, please? God, I am seriously starting to think that we've stirred up things that are best left forgotten.'

Sydney smiled sympathetically. 'I'm sorry it's upsetting you. But we've come so far… and aren't you just a little curious about what happened to Nigel Finchley? I'm dying to find out more about Sydney Carraway. I think she's started…getting into my head. When Deviega left us, I shouted after him something about 'taking a pound of flesh' off him. I know my Shakespeare, but I've never quoted it at bad guys before! It strikes me as something that Sydney Carraway might say, though! Amazing, huh?'

'Amazing,' echoed Nigel, sounding tired. 'I get bad dream's, you get Shakespearean one-liners.'

Sydney grimaced. 'I'm sorry, Nigel. That nightmare didn't sound fun. But I'm sure there was more to Miss Carraway than historical quotes…' She shut her eyes and inhaled contentedly. 'Every time I think of her, I detect an irrepressible energy, but also…something else, something deeper.' Her mood darkened. 'Maybe it was her need for vengeance…'

'On whom?' asked Nigel.

'Who do you think,' growled Sydney,

Nigel stared at her blankly: 'I really need a drink '

'Me too,' said Preston, and summoned over the hostess who conjured up some little bottles of red wine. 'Want a glass, Sydney?'

'No, I'm fine,' she replied, settling back in her seat as the men proceeded to drown their sorrows in the pleasant befuddlement of alcohol. She needed to keep her mind clear: there was now more than just a relic to seek in India. She deeply desired to know the secrets of her past, and of her hated nemesis. The prospect that Derek Lloyd could also be embroiled intrigued her ever more.

…………………….

1875: S.S. Euripides, Indian Ocean.

For Nigel Finchley, the remaining minutes, hours and days of the voyage to India merged into an indeterminate purgatory, lying on a threadbare blanket on the wooden floorboards. His will to live was maintained, however, by Dirk's exciting stories of hairbreadth escapes in the midst of battle, encounters with marauding lions and tigers, and of uneasy entanglements with beautiful maidens, from one side of the Empire to the other. Nigel couldn't help enjoying himself a little: the stories transported him to a dream world of adventure and romance – in which loomed ever-present imaginings of Sydney Carraway, always ready to spiral into a swift, high-kick against a villain's head. It was a lifetime away from his present bodily strife.

'Do you ever do anything that doesn't involve shooting Russians, hijacking elephants and scaring native ladies?' asked Nigel one day, after a lengthy account of an adventure that Dirk had enjoyed when barely seventeen years old, in the Baltic Far East.

'Of course I do!' retorted Dirk, slightly indignant. 'I have hobbies! I collect coins.'

'Coins? Really? Do you have any ancient ones?'

'I expect so,' said Dirk. 'I picked up some interesting pieces on the Ionian Islands once. Maybe you could look at them for me, one day. I have difficulty dating them.'

'I'd like that,' replied Nigel. His mind floated back to Dirk's more 'exciting' pass-times.

'You should write a book about your life,' he suggested. 'Although it might be a little shocking…'

'Do I shock you? That was the tame version. But I'm not going to be writing any books. Whatever would I do that for?'

'For history,' suggested Nigel. 'In a hundred years from now, all that will be left is boring army records written by stuffed-shirt generals and admirals. I bet what people will really want to know is the life and times of Yorkshire's own Captain Dirk Lloyd of the 45th Regiment of foot.'

'Do you think they'll want to know what I got up to in that Inn in Jamaica?'

If the light hadn't been so dim, Dirk would have seen Nigel blush. 'Err, maybe. Perhaps you should keep back a few of the details…'

'I did, my friend!' Dirk was pleased. Nigel seemed more coherent than he had been for several days. He decided that his young friend was up to answering a burning question.

'A while back – I think maybe in your sleep – you mentioned the name De Veleye? Is he a friend of yours?'

Nigel nearly choked on the concept. 'A friend? Good God, no! That villain is the main reason I'm here. He's the one who took the Ruby in the first place: I'm returning it before he can steal it back.' He reached across to where his jacket lay, the ruby still tucked in its inside pocket. He let the reassuringly cool and solid stone slip into his hand.

'He isn't a friend of yours is he?'

'Nah. Quite the opposite.'

Nigel sighed with relief. 'My brother owes De Veleye money. Once Preston knew about the Ruby, I was sure I couldn't keep it safe in England. He's a bit…umm, weak willed, you see? If De Veleye bullied him, he'd give in… so I had to leave. How do you know De Veleye? '

'A couple of years ago, everyone in my regiment knew De Veleye. We were barracked near a small town named Meerutan. He brought wine, women, song… and gambling. Then he made every young soldier pay, by taking their last shilling and, sometimes, even their blood… he ruined many and nobody cared.' Dirk glowered in the dark. 'Then he drove the General's son to take his own life in sheer desperation. Finally the powers-that-be took note of his crimes. De Veleye fled an arrest warrant, before the General locked him up for good.'

'All this happened in Meerutan? That's where I'm heading! I believe he took the Ruby from a young Indian man there, driving him to desperation like the soldiers. Meena – the young lady I am returning the Ruby to - is his sister.'

There was a suggestive silence.

'Meena from Meerutan, eh? Sounds like a pretty wench.' Dirk smiled, and then continued in a businesslike fashion: 'If De Veleye puts one foot in India with the knowledge of the military police, they would lock him up for the rest of his days. Is there any chance he followed you?'

'I hope not. Unless Preston couldn't keep quiet about Ruby...'

'Your brother might have talked? I think I'd best tell the authorities in Calcutta to be on the lookout.'

The boat hit a particularly steep swell of waves, and the boat pitched swiftly from one side to the other. Nigel groaned piteously and rolled onto his side.

Dirk shifted closer and patted his back, a chummy gesture of encouragement: 'when did you last eat, my friend?'

'I can't face it,' wailed Nigel, 'I'll be sick! But I had some biscuits yesterday when we hit that calm…'

Dirk sighed. 'You can't make the journey to Meerutan in this state. It's a long trek, you know? The train doesn't go all the way. You'll have to ride across deserts and plains, maybe travel by elephant. '

'Elephant? I've always wanted to see a real elephant! I saw one at an exhibition when I was young, but that didn't count because it was stuffed… but anyway, I have to go to Meerutan.'

'It's a good job my leave is not up until next month, eh?'

'Why?' Nigel shifted slightly to face his friend in the dim light. 'Where are you going?'

'Nowhere at first. We'll take rooms in Calcutta, until you're well, but then… I believe I've got a pressing appointment in Meerutan.'

'Meerutan?' Nigel managed a cheeky smile. 'Thank you. For an uncouth blockhead, you're awfully congenial. You're surprisingly helpful and almost well mannered.'

'Nah, I'm not,' sniggered Dirk. 'And don't be imagining I'm going the best part of 1000 miles out of my way just for an irritating, milk-sop puppy who, may I add, can't take his liquor. You've reminded me that I've got my own, unfinished business there.'

………………………………………

Present-day: Calcutta.

It was 2am local time when Sydney and Nigel arrived at the airport in Calcutta. Sydney was keen to get straight on with the hunt, but they were delayed by the strange disappearance of Preston's new tartan travel bag.

'Could it have been lost at Heathrow?' suggested Nigel.

'I think it's been stolen!' shouted Preston, accusingly. 'I should have known this would happen. You attract crime and danger these days, Nigel, and I always seem to have to pay!'

'I didn't ask you to come, Preston. In fact, I didn't even want you to come…'

At this moment they were joined by Sydney, who had been speaking to Saritha on her mobile phone as the men waited about for the luggage.

'Preston's bag has been lost,' said Nigel promptly.

'Stolen!' interjected Preston.

Sydney frowned. 'Stolen, huh? Did anybody else on the flight get their luggage stolen?'

'I asked the security staff, and they said it was just mine. It's most mysterious!'

Sydney's expression sharpened. 'I wonder…if Deviega knows we've escaped, he'll be trying to delay us, maybe even trailing us. We'd better get moving.'

'I told you so!' said Preston to Nigel haughtily. 'I knew it was to do with your entourage of hardened criminals!' Nigel just scowled at him.

Just then, a flustered airport security guard dashed up. He was carrying a tartan travelling bag. 'Mr Bailey?' he puffed. 'Is this your luggage?'

'It is!' Preston grabbed the bag and rummaged through the contents. 'Nothing seems to be missing.' He looked up at the breathless airport worker. 'Thank you. Where did you find it?'

'It just turned up on the conveyer belt. Maybe somebody picked it up accidentally, thinking it was theirs, then guiltily sneaked it back when they realised it wasn't. It happens, you know?'

'Does it? Oh well.' Preston was just pleased to have his stuff back.

'That's that sorted,' snapped Nigel. 'I knew you were whining about nothing.' He turned to Sydney, who was still eyeing the bag suspiciously. 'I guess we'd better check into a hotel before it's too late. I'm starving. I hope somewhere's still serving meals.'

'Nope,' said Sydney, her mind snapping back to the issue in hand. 'We won't need a hotel tonight. Saritha's been doing a bit of digging and has located several unopened boxes of Sydney Carraway's papers. She's waiting for us at the Museum. What's more, she says Meerutan is only about fifteen miles from the cave where we sought the jewel originally – but in the opposite direction from the hotel we stayed at then. Everything is coming together just great.'

'Lovely,' said Nigel, doing his best to muster enthusiasm. 'I've gone off sleep for now anyway.'

He followed Sydney from the arrivals lounge, with Preston grumbling several metres behind.

………………………..

Calcutta Museum was an enormous white, stone monument. Domes and pillars soared many storeys up, towards the starry sky. It was reminiscent of the Taj Mahal.

'This place is amazing!' exclaimed Preston. 'It's twice the size of the British Museum.'

'It's wonderful isn't it?' gushed Sydney, who been there before several times to lead seminars. 'The museum is the oldest in the Asia-Pacific region. The collections are just wonderful.' Striding straight past the visitor entrance, she began to make her way along its impressive façade, looking for a way around the back. 'Saritha said a concierge at the staff entrance would let us in. It's not unusual for the academics who research here to work very late.'

'Funny lot!' chuckled Preston, who usually departed his desk dead on five.

Sydney located the staff entrance and knocked. No answer. She tried again. Nothing.

'That's odd,' observed Nigel.

'Yeah… I don't like it,' husked Sydney. 'Something's 'off".

She put her shoulder against the apparently locked and alarmed door, and gave it a shove. It opened instantly: the lock had been broken.

'Something is definitely 'off,'' she whispered. She raised a finger to her lips, and motioned that the others should follow her with a tip of her head. Reaching into her boot, she drew out her knife.

Preston's eyes bulged at the sight, but he skulked into the building behind her, keeping close to Nigel.

Immediately beyond the empty concierge's office, they encountered one of the main galleries of the museum. Even Sydney gasped as she shone her torch directly at two pointed white spears, looming at her from an enormous skeleton, partially cloaked in the gloom.

'My God, what is it?' hissed Nigel, seeing nothing but the vicious looking tusks and backing rapidly behind Sydney. 'It doesn't look very pleased to see us!'

'Don't worry - it's quite dead. I remember it from last time: it's the skeleton of a prehistoric woolly mammoth…. He looked a bit friendlier in the light!'

'I find that hard to believe,' moaned Preston. 'What are we doing breaking and entering again? I bet this woman has gone home to bed like the concierge, and I suggest we all go and find a nice hotel!'

Sydney shook her head rapidly. 'No. Saritha is a dedicated historian.' She glanced around them, all her senses on edge. 'If she's gone, there's real trouble… come on. '

She headed on into the next gallery, which was full of Egyptian mummies, leering at them in the gloom out of vertically displayed coffins.

'I hate it when they do that!' said Nigel, recalling his many bad experiences with skeletons and mummies. Nevertheless, his attention was caught by a beautiful bust of the Egyptian Queen, Nefertiti, which flashed into his torchlight at the end of the room. He couldn't help but trot over for a look, despite the fact that it was near the hated corpses.

'Amazing,' he muttered. 'It's made of limestone – it must date from at least the13th century BC.' He reached into his jacket to bring out his glasses for a closer examination. As he did so, he warily noticed the nasty, bandaged face of one of the mummies was leering distortedly at him, its loose teeth and flaking jaw forming a lopsided, gurning grin.

'Ugly!' thought Nigel, edgily shuffling a few inches sideways. A hand touched lightly on his shoulder.

'Aaaaaargh'

Nigel screamed incriminatingly loudly, forcing a second hand to land itself over his mouth.

'Nigel, it's me!' Sydney removed her hand. 'Stop lagging behind! I think we're being followed… and if we weren't, everybody in the museum is going to know where we are now.' She led her still nervy assistant away. 'Come on, quickly. Saritha's office is this way.'

In the corner of the next gallery, which contained decorated Buddha's and fascinating, carved wooden monuments that, in shape and scale, resembled Stonehenge, was a small door.

'This is it.'

Sydney eased the unlocked door open, and ventured to turn on a light. The room was full of papers: they were scattered all over the desk and floor in disarray, as if the whole place had been turned upside down. There was no sign of Sydney's friend.

'Damn,' cursed Sydney. 'Deviega's beaten us to it. I just hope he hasn't hurt her.'

'Deviega?' whined Nigel in despair. 'Didn't we tell Interpol he might be coming here? They're all bloody useless!'

'For once,' added Preston, 'I agree.'

A small noise, no louder than the squeak of a shoe sole, echoed around in the large gallery behind them. Sydney heard it instantly.

'Stay here,' she hissed.

Brandishing her knife ahead of her, she took cautious steps forward into the darkness.

Nigel shone his torch into the cavernous display room from the doorway of the office, frantically trying to locate the origin of the sound for her.

'Who's there?' snarled Syd. 'Show yourself!'

A shadowy figure - stocky but sturdy - leapt out from behind one of the wooden monoliths, proficiently grabbed Sydney's arms and pinned them roughly behind her. With an expert thrust, she wrenched herself free, flipping her assailant to the ground.

This guy was good: he kicked the knife from her hand and threw himself bodily at her, wrestling her to the floor, seizing both her wrists and pinning her.

Sydney, never defeated, was about to knee her male opponent where it hurt the most, when a ray of torchlight - now directed by Preston - shone across their faces. They both froze in instant recognition.

'Professor Fox! I should've known.'

'You again!'

Nigel, two inches from bashing the attacker over the head with a large, wooden Buddha, recognised the man's voice.

'Derek Lloyd?' he squeaked.

'It most certainly is' said Derek, his grin spreading from ear to ear at the knowledge of who he was lying on top off: 'Pleased to see me, Sydney?'

………………

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