Author's note: [chapter revised in 2019] Hi! I've made it, despite a very reluctant computer. After a few shady manoeuvres, I give you this chapter! So, this quieter 7th chapter was nice to write after the rush of the previous one, but I hope you like it as much as you liked the previous one. "In the Dark" is a Nina Simone song, by the way.
Disclaimer: Stephen Sommers owns and developed The Mummy and The Mummy Returns; the characters, places, some situations are his creation. Some things I did make up, but every character here is fictitious, and doesn't have anything to do with any person, living, dead, or in-between. Who knows.
FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM
Chapter 7: In The Dark
Evelyn was surprised to find the door of their house locked when she returned from the Museum of Antiquities with Alex. Surprised, but not worried. Jonathan had told her about his appointment earlier in the afternoon with Tom Ferguson's superior, and as for Rick… Her husband must have got bored and decided to take a stroll down in old Cairo. That would be very much like him. She imagined him roaming the streets, blue eyes alert and light-brown hair ruffled by the slight breeze, and smiled at the mental picture.
"Mum? Where's Dad gone to?" Alex came in right behind her, carelessly dropping his jacket on a little piece of furniture near the door.
"Hang up your jacket, sweetheart. You know your father, he's probably going about the old city. Maybe he's helping your uncle with my birthday present, like you did yesterday."
Alex stared at her, mouth slightly open. "How d'you know that?"
"I'm your mum, Alex. A mum knows everything." That, plus the experience of many occasions when Jonathan had asked his brother-in-law or nephew for help at the very last minute. The nature and quality of the presents was often telling. She smiled shrewdly for effect, and her son's startled expression turned into a suspicious look.
"Then why did you ask me what I'd done when we got back?"
"I didn't want to spoil your enthusiasm, dear," she answered easily, still smiling. Alex thought it over for a second, and then nodded quite seriously.
"Right."
"Good." She put a hand on the wall for support as she took off her shoes and put on her slippers. "Now, how did you like the Museum?"
"It's great, obviously," said Alex with a shrug, following his mother to the kitchen for tea. "They've got some really interesting stuff in here, and there's so many rooms!"
Evelyn put the kettle on and sat at the table near her son, who had put two teacups in front of them. She knew that tone of voice. It always announced a 'but'.
"But… It's not quite as interesting as the British Museum. They have all the neat treasures, and the famous mummies too."
"The Cairo Museum has been asking for recovery of Egyptian treasure for some time now, you know," said Evelyn softly. "They claim that the British Museum has no right to keep Egypt's legacy so far from its land of origin. What do you think of that?"
Alex wrinkled his small, round nose. "Guess they have a point… But then, if they got everything back, the people in London couldn't see anything anymore – the Rosetta Stone, the mummies, all the sculptures…" Evelyn hid a smile. Alex could spend entire days in the Egyptian wing of the British Museum, and its gigantic library. "But then the people here can't see them either… It's a little complicated."
"Most important things are." Evelyn got up to fetch the kettle, leaving Alex in deep thought. Just as she turned off the gas, she heard the doorbell ring, Alex's shout of "Must be Dad! I'm getting the door!" and his hurried footsteps thumping down the hall. She shook her head with a smile. Whatever she did or said about the rule of not running inside the house, Alex had always run to the door when he expected someone, in particular when his father was due home anytime.
However, as she didn't hear Rick's voice, she put the kettle away and left the kitchen to join Alex at the door.
"It's a girl, Mum – she says she wants to talk to you," came Alex's voice just as she turned round the corner to the hall.
There was indeed a girl standing in the doorway, a skinny Egyptian girl who appeared to be only a few years older than Alex, looking shy and unsure. Evelyn smiled at her. "Can I help you?"
The girl twiddled her fingers, and put her hand in her pocket. "I think not, but maybe I can help." She spoke in a fluty, accented voice. "Do you know this man?" And she handed her a leather-bound wallet.
Evelyn took it and frowned. It was unmistakably Jonathan's. Inside were his identity papers, which had a small photograph and two addresses on it, his London flat and their house in Cairo. When she checked the money, she found its contents intact.
"This wallet belongs to my brother," she said, mistrust rising. "How did it fall into your hands?"
"Please do not think I stole it!" the girl said earnestly, and Evelyn saw her son's blue eyes narrow towards her. "But it's a rather long story. I think the owner of this wallet might be in danger just now."
Evelyn peered at the girl, trying to decide whether she was speaking the truth or not. At least, she had returned the wallet, and nothing seemed to be missing. This fact spoke in her favour.
What had Jonathan got himself into this time?
"Come in," she said, still suspicious, stepping aside to let the girl in. Alex stared up at her as she slipped past him like a shadow. "Alex, dear, would you get the tea, please?"
While Alex grumbled his way to the kitchen, Evelyn offered the girl a chair and sat down herself. The child sat there, her hands still twiddling in her lap, stealing glances around her.
"I'm sorry, I forgot my manners. I'm Mrs O'Connell."
"My name is Satiah," said the girl, who stopped glancing around to look her in the eye. Evelyn appreciated that. She liked good, frank eye contact in a conversation.
"So," she said more kindly, as Alex brought the tea tray and came to sit on another chair a few feet away. "How did you find yourself in possession of my brother's wallet?"
"Well, my father has three camels, one called Djem, and he is my favourite. I often take care of him, and my father had entrusted me today with him to bring some baskets to his cousin in Kerdasa."
Sensing that Satiah was less afraid than she had been on entering, Evelyn let her talk, interrupting her only to offer her a cup of tea, which she accepted gladly. She sat straight in her chair and spoke very politely.
"Djem is very sweet, but he can be silly sometimes, like a very young camel – he will push a person until they fall, and keep them on the ground for a long time. He only means to play, but this habit of his has already caused us trouble, because people usually do not like camels, even less when they humiliate them."
A smile begun to pull at the corner of Evelyn's mouth, in spite of her puzzlement over the whole thing. She could more or less see where this was going.
"Today was no exception: Djem annoyed a man, and I feared that he would be furious, but he was very kind. He even joked about it." Alex was grinning, the mental picture of his uncle being attacked by a playful camel probably vivid in his mind, and Evelyn gave a warm smile. Her brother could be a scoundrel and a ne'er-do-well, but his heart was still in the right place.
"Later, when I was returning from my father's cousin, I saw him again from afar. He was talking with two men – one taller, with light-brown hair, and the other broader, with blond hair."
Probably Rick and Mr Ferguson, Evelyn thought, wondering where Satiah's story was heading.
"While they were talking, a large black car stopped near them, and three men dressed in black suits got out and spoke to them. They looked odd. And after a few seconds, three other men got out of the car. Then they took out weapons – guns – and pointed them at your brother and his friends."
Evelyn's blood ran cold. "Who were those men?" she asked anxiously. Alex's eyes had widened in apprehension, and she was sorely tempted to send him away to his room – she realised that she ought to have done it much earlier, but she had not taken young Satiah and her news seriously at first. It was too late now, Alex had heard both too much and too little. Besides, Evelyn was fully aware that he would do anything to hear anyway. She'd caught him eavesdropping quite a number of times.
Satiah shook her dark head. "I do not know. They were all European, and wore dark suits and hats, a little like this one." She was pointing at Rick's trilby, which he had left on the chest of drawers. Evelyn felt a slight pang of anguish, but she fought it down, focusing on the present.
"What happened next?"
"Well, I was afraid, but I thought I ought to do something, because your brother had been kind to me earlier, and that does not happen very often. So I set Djem on the men with a slap on the backside, and your brother and his friends took the opportunity to run."
Evelyn let out the breath she'd been holding. "That was very kind of you, Satiah, but it doesn't tell me how Jonathan's wallet landed up in your pocket. Did he drop it?"
The girl shook her head again. "No. He ran past me to get into a car, and when he saw me he threw me this thing, saying, 'Please give that to my sister. Tell her we're in trouble'. He got the car running, the other two got in, and they drove away with the black car behind them. So after returning Djem to my father, I came to your house. The address was on the papers, but I was afraid I wouldn't be able to find you."
There was a silence, and Satiah looked down, her face hidden by her hair. Evelyn tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Something must have happened; otherwise Rick and Jonathan would have got home earlier than Alex and her.
Alex… She looked over to her boy, sitting stiffly on his chair. His little mouth was set, and he was frowning.
"When did that happen?" he asked, his young voice so serious. His mother's heart melted. Then she shook herself mentally, because this was really not the moment.
"About two hours ago, I think," replied Satiah uncomfortably. Another silence followed, heavier than the previous one. This definitely settled the fact that something had gone wrong. Evelyn could not help glancing at the hall, straining her ears in the wild hope of hearing the door open and her two favourite men walk in, busy with the usual friendly bickering she was accustomed to.
"Thank you, Satiah," she said in a slightly strained voice, "for both the wallet and the news. We're very grateful."
"It is nothing," Satiah answered, resting her hands on her knees after having kept her fingers intertwined in her lap for a long time. "I am glad I could help, if I did."
"You did. I thank you for being so thoughtful – many people would have kept the money in that wallet." Despite Satiah's seemingly good intentions, Evelyn was still a little bit suspicious. But there was not a trace of guilt in the girl's response.
"As I said, it is nothing," she said simply. "There is no need to thank me, I have hardly done anything."
Evelyn shook her head with a smile, and stood up to walk Satiah to the door. After having closed the door, she waited a few seconds, her hand on the wall; then she slowly walked back to the kitchen, leaned against the doorframe, and looked at Alex who was still sitting on his chair, his eyes down.
He looked up, and their eyes met. Two chips of bright blue in a still childlike round face, with soft, rosy cheeks, baby fat, and blond hair that was getting a little too long for his mother's liking. He was so beautiful, so sweet, so brave, so bright – the best child in the world, her little boy was.
Two years ago, her heart had shattered in her chest when she had seen him being taken. She'd distinctly felt it break, an overwhelming pang reverberating throughout her body, and the pain had almost caused her to double up. She had barely felt Rick's embrace at first, her mind in a whirl over three terrible little words. My baby's gone. Her own blood, her very flesh. Eight years, three months and sixteen days of love, joy, wonder, anger, 'Don't pick your nose', playing on the carpet of the living room, afternoon naps, tears, 'I don't wanna go to school!', hugs, kisses, pride, 'What does that symbol mean, Mum?'…
And now he was sitting there, his eyes silently pleading – no, not pleading. Demanding explanations, answers. Her little boy had toughened up; he was less innocent, more aware of the dangers of this world – and others. He'd had to grow up fast while Evelyn and Rick were out exploring the bowels of pyramids too dangerous for Alex to try his luck inside.
Evelyn did not know how he had reacted to being kidnapped, taken brutally from the people who loved him most, and thrown in a train with strange, scary men in red and a living mummy with otherworldly powers. When she had gone with Imhotep to save her friends, what seemed like a very long time ago now, she had been mortally afraid. Even if she had tried to keep on a brave, undaunted façade for the sake of her dignity, she had never felt more scared in her whole life. At that time, she had been almost certain that Jonathan, O'Connell, the curator and the strange tattooed man had fallen at the hands of Imhotep's minions, and she had given up on hope. It was only when the motor of the biplane had roared above her that hope had flared up inside her again. Rick O'Connell had not abandoned her.
Yes, for as long as she could remember, Rick had always been the rescuer, her knight without shining armour, and although he had never asked for the part and would have gladly turned it down in other circumstances, it was perfectly fitting. He was her fearless hero with a heart of gold, even with his doubts, his fears, and his grumpy mornings.
She loved him, and if it was her turn to save him from danger, then she was going to do it, no matter her own fears and doubts.
She answered Alex's serious, inquisitive stare with a smile, a slow, rueful one.
"Mum? Dad's in serious trouble, isn't he?"
"It would seem so," she replied softly, her head still resting against the frame. "But I can tell you one thing. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get him back."
Alex nodded, his mother's own newfound determination reflected in his eyes. "Don't worry, Mum," he said with a confidence she wished she had too. "Dad's tough. He can take care of himself, and keep an eye on Uncle Jon, too."
She gave a smile, and Alex's face shone from the pleasure of making his mum smile as he continued, "Though it'd be good if we got them out of there quick, before they're in more trouble."
This time, she crossed the room and enveloped her son in a fierce hug, her heart swelling. Her darling boy made her proud ten times a day, as much as he drove her mad, but in those particular circumstances she felt even prouder of him.
This lasted until she felt Alex tap her shoulder. "Mum, lemme go – I can't breathe –" It was untrue, of course, but Evelyn let go of her son, who sat back and straightened his shirt with a dignified air.
When he looked up at her again, she stood up and said, in a firmer voice, "Get your jacket, Alex. We're going out."
She went to pick up her own, and marched down into the hall to put on her shoes again, followed by her son who had positively jumped off his chair. "Where're we going, Mum? Are we gonna help Dad and Uncle Jon?"
"Yes, as soon as we can. For the moment," Evelyn said, her voice now perfectly steady as she opened the door and stepped outside, "we're taking a little trip to the Consulate. It's the last place your uncle went to, after all."
Who knows… Maybe they'd be able to get a few answers there.
Alex trotted past her, and slipped his little hand in hers without a word. She clung to it tightly as they walked.
"Jonathan? Hey, Jonathan, wake up, nap's over…"
Someone was poking his shoulder, and he hated that. This was the first thing Jonathan was aware of, and his first conscious act was to will it to stop. His body felt like lead, his head like living hell, and there was nothing he wanted more than to sink back into oblivion.
"C'mon, Jonathan, much as I'd like to throw water at ya, I can't, so you'll have to wake up by yourself."
A hand or two were shaking him now. Would you please be so kind as to bugger off, whoever you are! his hazy mind yelled, but this, unsurprisingly, had absolutely no effect.
Despite his efforts to let go of his grasp on reality, he was slowly emerging, growing more conscious of things surrounding him. For starters, it was cold. Not actually very cold, and certainly not freezing, but the contrast was stark in comparison with the heavy heat of the outside. Jonathan found himself shivering in spite of himself. Great. I'm in one of the hottest countries in the world, and I manage to get myself a cold. Just bloody perfect.
"Hey, buddy, I refuse to let you scare me – now wake up. Please don't make me slap you, okay? I'd really prefer to leave that to Evy."
Rick. That low baritone tinged with an unmistakable American drawl could only belong to his brother-in-law. Deciding that perhaps this was worth the effort of opening his eyes, Jonathan proceeded to work on that, all the while trying to gather his fractured memories. What the hell had happened?
When he finally managed to lift his eyelids – they seemed to weigh a metric ton, with a headache in proportion – he could more or less make out Rick's silhouette, his face a light blur in the dark. He was bent down over him, still gripping him by the shoulders, and Jonathan could see that he was frowning. Looking worried, even.
"Well, never thought I'd think this one day, let alone say it, but it's good to have you back," he said, and what was more surprising was that he did seem to mean it. Jonathan's left shoulder gave a painful twinge, and he winced. Rick automatically let go, although his other hand remained on his other shoulder, the one a scarab hadn't burrowed its way out of a decade ago. "Dunno what I would've told Evy if… Well. Must have been a helluva blow you took, I came round a while ago."
A blow? Jonathan could remember somebody striking him from behind a few days ago, but it couldn't be the same occasion now… Besides, he'd been with Tommy when—
Tommy.
The memory of the previous hours came back to him with such force that it felt like a punch in the stomach. The shock of seeing Tom Ferguson aiming a gun at him, after all these years, after all they'd been through in the previous days, after all the laughs and the memories, had been such that it had left him completely winded, his mind blank, unable to move, unable to think. Absolute terror had sometimes seemed to numb him utterly; he had come to get used to it during the war. This particular sensation, though – or lack thereof – was hardly something he'd felt before.
To be honest, it was the closest thing to what he had felt after reading the letter about the death of his parents. Shocked into total blank.
The world should definitely not be turning so fast. This must have shown on his face, because Rick's eyes narrowed in his direction. "Hey – you okay?"
"Think I'm going to be sick," muttered Jonathan, propping himself up on his elbows and turning his head away. Beside the fact that this gave him a good excuse for avoiding Rick looking at him, he was feeling queasy.
"Whoa, easy there. Don't get sick on me just now, I like this suit."
Jonathan snorted despite the nausea. If the way Alex reminded people of Rick was unsettling, the opposite was just as true.
As usual, Rick's actions conveyed more than his words. His hand remained on Jonathan's shoulder, like an anchor, until the room stopped spinning.
"Better now?"
"Yes, thanks." Jonathan sat up slowly and gazed around. The cell they were in didn't look like the average literature dungeon cell with damp stone walls, stone floor, straw mattress thrown in the corner, and rats to gnaw at your feet. The walls were made of whitewashed stone, the floor was quite dry, and even with the massive, daunting door, it looked more like somebody's cellar than a prison for two people. "What on earth is this?"
"Our brand new apartment for the while, it seems," deadpanned Rick, following his gaze across the room. Jonathan shook his head, a slight smirk lifting a corner of his mouth in spite of himself.
"Why can't you bloody Americans say 'flat', like everybody else?"
"No way I'm letting myself get colonised," retorted Rick, his grin flashing white teeth in the dark. There was a short silence, made a little more comfortable by the return of their usual banter. It was familiar, at least, and for a second Jonathan half-expected Evy to tut-tut at them and tell them to behave.
But that was simply not happening. Evy must now be home, with Alex, probably wondering what was taking Rick and him so long, while the two of them were kept in an empty cellar which didn't even have wine in it. On second thought, though, Jonathan did not really feel like drinking just now. Blood was throbbing against his ears, and he had a feeling the nausea had just gone for tea and might return anytime. Not to mention that his whole head felt rather like a gong.
"Bloody hell. When we get out of here, I'm not drinking for a week. Not risking a hangover after this."
Rick stared at him, one light-brown eyebrow raised. "Never thought I'd live long enough to hear that from you." Jonathan gingerly rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes with a slight smile of his own.
"Things do change, my good son."
"Certainly looks so. If they didn't, Evy or Alex would have been kidnapped, stuff would have happened with a random object linked with some Ancient Egyptian legend, Ardeth would've turned up, and we'd be on our way to save them."
"That's summing it up nicely." Something crossed Jonathan's mind. "Ardeth did turn up, by the way. We bumped into him yesterday, at the bazaar. Didn't Alex tell you?"
"Now that you mention it, yeah, he did." Rick frowned, then nodded with a grin. "He told me that he'd scared the hell out of you."
"Slander and calumny. I was only a tad startled. So, Ardeth turning up, the diamond stolen… Two down on your list already. If you're not careful, I'm afraid that you're going to have to save the world again, my dear brother-in-law."
"Yeah," Rick said with a chuckle that shook his broad shoulders slightly, "right." He looked down for a second, then fixed his eyes on Jonathan curiously. "You know, when I said I never thought that someday I'd say it's good to have you back, I meant it. And don't make me repeat that."
Jonathan gave a tired blink.
"Rick, if you're going to get sentimental on me, only talk in long, complicated sentences I have absolutely no hope of understanding right now."
The American let out something that sounded halfway between a snort and an annoyed sigh. "Wiseass."
There was a silence, then he turned his head to Jonathan and blurted out, "I'm glad you're not dead, you idiot. You're family."
This surprised Jonathan. A lot. Not only what Rick had just said, but also the very fact that he'd actually said it.
It reminded him of something, a conversation with Evy a few months after Ahm Shere. He'd caught a pretty nasty bug at the time that had forced him to stay in bed for a few days, and Evy had been lovely with him, putting him up in his old room at the house and bringing him steaming toddies. So when she'd pestered him about personal stuff, he'd finally answered for once. But as his sister had a knack for prodding where she ought not to prod, especially at barriers a fellow had painstakingly erected around complicated matters, he had tried to keep it as simple as possible.
"Now that you're cornered, maybe you'll tell me why you've been looking a bit off-colour recently."
"Mmh. May I remind you why I'm stuck here instead of –"
"Don't take me for an idiot, Jonathan, I wasn't talking about your flu. You've been looking a bit odd, at times, since we returned from Egypt." She had frowned. He had repressed a laugh. She always wrinkled her nose when she frowned.
"Is that a sister's prerogative to persecute a poor chap on his sickbed?" His attempt at a joke failed miserably. Being sick tended to make his standards drop. Evy had shaken her head, completely hermetic to the charms of alliterations, looking almost as determined as she did when about to decipher some complex hieroglyphs.
"No, but it's a sister's prerogative to worry about her brother sometimes. So, what's bugging you?"
"'Bugging'? This is hardly a choice of words I'd expect from my sweet, innocent baby sister."
"Knock it off, Jonathan." That had made him raise his eyebrows. It was rather refreshing, and sounded really funny coming from her. "Is it something I've said or done? Or something Rick –"
"No, Rick's got nothing to do with it. For heaven's sake, Evy, you've no idea how stubborn you can be –" He'd stopped suddenly to sneeze, and then blinked, rubbed his nose, and looked at his sister to finish his sentence, "– and how infuriating it can be sometimes. Well, it's nothing, really… Only that the three of you do have a knack for making me feel like the fourth side of the pyramid, sometimes."
Evy had stared at him for a few seconds. The surprised look in her bright eyes softened. He could still remember the smile that had dawned on her face as she said, "Jonathan… There are four sides to a pyramid. It simply could not stand without a fourth."
He'd just stared at her without a word, rather poleaxed.
Just like he was staring now at his brother-in-law. However, he knew better than to press the matter further.
"Well, thanks, old boy – I'm awfully glad they didn't do your head in, too," he said rather uncertainly, risking a small lopsided grin.
And this settled the subject. The two men went back to staring at the door opposite.
Then Rick let out a small laugh. "This just ain't right. I'm supposed to be the rescue party, not the rescued."
It sounded so absurd – and Rick was probably quite aware of it – that Jonathan couldn't help a little sarcasm.
"Who says we'll need to be rescued? Maybe the creep in chief will simply open the door, tell us 'Oh, it's all been a big mistake, I'm terribly sorry' and kick us out."
"As I said before," said the American in a deliberately drawling tone of voice, "yeah. Right."
His brother-in-law chuckled. Then, without a warning, Rick got up and walked a few steps towards the door.
"You know," he said, looking thoughtful, "once I read some freaky book about a guy who wakes up one morning, and the police come to his house, and he never finds out why…"
"Kafka? The Trial?"
"Yeah, that's it, that's the one. He constantly asks why they've arrested him, what he's done wrong, but nobody will give him a straight answer. The officers are always very polite and everything, but in the end they stab him to death, like, you know, an execution, and he never knows why he's dead."
"I've read that one, too." Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. "Not the nicest bedtime story." Trust Rick to lighten the atmosphere. Now he was getting just a little afraid that their fate might be similar to that poor fellow from Kafka's book.
Thanks for nothing, old boy.
"What's that you've said, just now?" asked Rick, apparently not noticing Jonathan's growing unease. "About those guys saying 'It's all a big mistake, now get out of here'?"
"What about it?"
"Well, either it's true, or they've finally decided what to do with us. I hear footsteps coming."
Jonathan stood up as well, and leaned against the wall, holding his breath, while Rick stood near the door, cracking his knuckles.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?"
"Gettin' ready. If there're not too many of them, we can get away by knocking a guy out and using him as a shield. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
"Are you utterly and completely mad?! They've got guns, for cripes' sake! We, on the other hand, do not!"
"Yeah?" Rick gave a shrug, not moving from his spot. "Not really a problem." So very Rick – an explosive mix of sheer heroism and sheer imbecility.
"Rick, you can't just –"
They heard the sound of a key turning in its lock, and the door opened – just a tiny bit. Just enough to let in the barrel of a long gun. Which was pointed right towards Rick's stomach.
Jonathan's blood turned to ice. I was right. Of course I was right. Bloody hell, why does nobody ever listen to me when I'm right!?
Fury burning in his bright blue eyes, Rick slowly took a few steps back. The door opened, and the man behind the gun walked in, followed by… Tommy.
Something rose from the pit of Jonathan's stomach, quite distinct from the all-encompassing numbing shock from earlier. It felt like pins and needles increased tenfold, making his hands itch and clench into fists. His head was spinning again, but for an entirely different reason.
Tommy went over to him, avoiding looking at Rick, and stood in front of him, his face pale and sad. "Jon… I'm – I'm so sorry, mate, I'm really sorry… But I didn't have a choice. I thought –"
"Obviously you thought wrong," muttered Jonathan through his teeth. For once, only a small part of him was shaking with mind-freezing panic. The rest was entirely taken up by a hot fury such as he'd never felt before. It was a wholly novel sensation.
Tommy shook his head, and took another step forward, his voice pleading. "Please, Jon, you don't understand… You must let me explain –"
Wham!
Before Jonathan could realise what he'd done, Tommy was sprawled on the ground, dazed, his hair all over the place, and Rick stared at him in a way that was all at once disbelieving, impressed, and amused. Then he felt the cold metal of a gun's barrel pressed against his temple.
Terror immediately supplanted anger. He squeezed his eyes shut with a grimace, and wished that it'd be quick.
If anything, it was indeed quick. One split second later, he heard someone shout "No!" and the barrel was removed from his head. Feeling that it should be safe now to open his eyes, Jonathan did just that, and saw with a certain amazement that Tommy had sprung back on his feet in a flash and pinned the gunman's arm to the wall.
There was something he must have missed. Gingerly massaging his knuckles, he stared at Tommy who released the man, looking both shaken and angry.
"Never do that again!" Tommy yelled at the underling in black, who didn't so much as flinch.
"Sir, he'd just –"
"Never mind that! No harm comes to them, hear me? You know your orders!"
The man looked annoyed. "I just thought that –"
Tommy cut him off with an angry gesture. "Do you really think you're getting paid for thinking?"
Now the black-clad fellow looked beyond annoyance. In fact, as Rick would undoubtedly have put it, he just looked pissed.
But Tommy didn't appear to care much. He turned to Jonathan, seemed about to say something, then looked away, rubbing his jaw. The underling, still holding his gun, walked to the door and opened it, a clear signal that they should be going.
Before Tom crossed the threshold, he raised his eyes for a moment to stare at his former friend straight in the face.
"Jon…"
Jonathan just glared back. His eyes were burning and his jaw was clenched so tight that it hurt. Tommy held his gaze for a few seconds, then shook his head and turned away, closing the door behind him without another word.
The silence that followed was thicker than lead. Every muscle in Jonathan's face relaxed as one, and he looked down, his hands in his pockets and his heart in his throat.
Then there was the sound of footfall, and he found himself looking down no longer at the floor, but at a pair of thick dark brown shoes.
"Well. Uh. That was impressive," came Rick's low voice, tinged with something unusual and complicated that he failed to decipher, "for a Brit. Especially a Brit like you. Didn't think you went in for the old fisticuffs."
Jonathan didn't trust himself to speak. He kept his face downcast and didn't take the bait. Rick's shoes moved to his left, and his baritone came again, quieter and somewhat warmer than usual. "I mean, there's some potential in your right, but it could get much better. C'mon, look – hey, look up – yeah, that's it. I'll show ya."
Intrigued in spite of himself, Jonathan lifted his gaze from Rick's shoes to his face. The latter had raised one fist and now proceeded to demonstrate the mechanics of a haymaker. "Close your fist tightly, thumb over knuckles, otherwise you're gonna break a couple of fingers and I don't think you want that. Right," he said as Jonathan stared at him curiously, "now you got this circular movement from behind to your left. Use your shoulders and punch from your hip. And ya gotta reach really far behind – your hit'll be more powerful. In the end you aim for a point behind the guy a little bit, and, uh… pray to God you don't miss."
Rick finished on a slight grin, and Jonathan nodded again, a small smile pulling reluctantly at one corner of his mouth. It was not necessarily in the middle of a fight that he definitely did not regret having Rick O'Connell as a brother-in-law. The man was truly a decent bloke. That was growing rarer and rarer these days.
"Thanks, Rick. I'll keep this lesson in mind. It was very, er. Helpful."
"'Helpful'?" A light-brown eyebrow shot up.
Jonathan put on his best innocent face. "Yes… 'helpful'." There was a rather long silence, then he looked down with a wince. "It hurts, though."
Rick's face darkened. "Dunno what to say, buddy. What that bastard did –"
"No, I mean my hand. Hurts like hell."
"Oh." An awkward pause. "That's just 'cause you're not used to it. It'll wear off in time."
"I suppose so." Rick was right, of course. But Jonathan had a hunch that it would take a little while to wear off. Whatever he was alluding to.
The two men sat on the ground again, backs against the wall, and silence fell for a long while. Despite the grim situation, the atmosphere was relatively comfortable, and Jonathan had to admit that Rick's silent presence had a great deal to do with it. He wasn't sure how, or even why, but his little demonstration had helped lift his spirits somewhat, absurd as it might sound. As he stared at the door opposite, he realised that he was glad not to be alone in this bloody mess. Whatever was in store for them, they would face it together, and he clung to this thought, deliberately ignoring the dull apprehension that gnawed at his stomach.
All the while trying not to think about Evy's reaction when she found out what had happened.
"You don't understand – I absolutely must see someone!"
The guard shook his head wearily. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but there's nothing I can do – there's nobody 'ere but me and the caretaker. Everybody's gone earlier, it's Saturday, y'know."
Evelyn bit her lip. "Look, my husband and my brother have disappeared, and I have reasons to think they might be in danger as we speak. Is there really nothing you can do?"
"No, Ma'am, 's much as I'd like to," sighed the old guard. "I've not seen your brother. I take my shift at half past seven anyway. Who was he s'pposed to see today?"
"A man called Hamilton," Alex cut in with his firm little voice. "And he's friends with Tom Ferguson, he works here."
"Hamilton and Ferguson, you said? Sorry, lad, I've never heard of 'em."
Evelyn opened her mouth, floored, but she pulled herself together swiftly. "Are you quite sure? Thomas Ferguson, broad-shouldered, average height, with blond hair and brown eyes?"
The guard thought for a few seconds, then his eyes widened slightly in recognition. "Oh, I think I see – the day guard, Harry, he told me about a couple of odd things going on 'ere lately. Helped move in boxes an' stuff into empty offices, and there was some fellers he didn' know walkin' down the corridors. Your Ferguson mus' be one o'them."
Odd things going on… Unused offices suddenly filled with boxes… Evelyn just didn't understand. Who could be influential enough to take all these pains and use the British Consulate that way, just for what appeared to be a front?
"That's all I know, Mrs O'Connell, 'm sorry I can' tell you more about it," said the old guard sadly. "All I can suggest, if you'll allow me, is that you get back home with the young lad 'ere, and wait 'til morning. At least you won't be in the dark anymore."
"Yes," said Evelyn thoughtfully, more to herself than to the guard, "I suppose I won't." She gave him a goodbye smile, and walked off, holding Alex by the hand.
Alex, who still trotted beside her, looked flabbergasted. "C'mon, Mum, we can't just go home like that! What about Dad and Uncle Jon? There must be something we –"
"Indeed, there must, and I'm sure there is," replied his mother firmly. "But we're going home first. You've got to get some sleep."
"'You'? What d'you mean? What about you?"
"I'm going over to Dr Hakim's. Something tells me that Rick, Jonathan and Mr Ferguson being taken three days after the theft of the Diamond of Ahm Shere is not quite innocent."
Alex stopped, and stared at his mother, his mouth slightly open. "Are you sure?"
"No." Evelyn gazed into space, her anxiousness taking over for a short while. "But I do think it's worth asking."
"Yeah, I suppose." Alex nodded, then pouted. "Mum, I'm not sleepy at all. It's not fair to send me to bed like a kid."
"Alex, much as I resent colloquialisms, you are a 'kid'. And I am your mum."
"Mum, please, I'm worried too! Come on! I can't just stay in bed while my dad's been kidnapped by bad guys! D'you think he would?"
Despite everything her motherly instinct was screaming at her, Evelyn had to admit that her boy had a point. His father would never, ever stay put had a member of the family been taken. She just knew that, if Rick had not been the one in danger, he would have done anything to save them. Just what she had vowed to do, and Alex seemed to take after his father in many ways.
As Alex stared at her intently, Evelyn sighed. This was not going to be easy.
Notes/Translations:
Alex is Evy's and Rick's kid – one tough cookie, like my first beta said, and of course he's stubborn :3 And Rick is much, much more than "an explosive mix of sheer heroism and sheer imbecility". He's not a Gryffindor at all, he's a Hufflepuff. Which is endlessly funny to me, because IMO Evy is a Gryffindor/Ravenclaw hatstall absolutely surrounded by Puffs – Rick, Jon, Ardeth (although a case could be made for Slytherin in his case), and even Imhotep are all different facets of the same house, with loyalty being one of their main defining traits. Alex is defo a Gryffindor, though, and Anck-Su-Namun/Meela is a Slytherin through and through.