A/N: Helloooo! Sorry its been a while, but I've just got back from holiday
in sunny Corfu!! It was soooo hot, and I drank soooo many cocktails...
feeling a little bit delicate these days. Anyway, I wrote some of this
before I left, and then added what I wrote on holiday, so it's a bit longer
than usual. But we're not going to find out what Evy says quite yet-
Jonathan hasn't finished getting into trouble yet!
If this chapter seems a little random, its because Jonathan is in my head doing random stuff, and I cant control him! He just comes out with the funniest things sometimes.
To my Reviewers: a collective thank you to all, and much appreciation for your appreciation. I will try not to disappoint you by keeping the humour turned up, but forgive me if I ever go astray; tis but my inadequacy to convey his hilarious antics, and no fault of Jonathan's own!
***************************************
Chapter 4
***************************************
"Jesus Johnny," Stephen panted, slowing to a quick walk when they had come a safe distance through the labyrinthine backstreets of the city, "You just assaulted a police officer!"
"I wouldn't say assaulted, exactly-" Jonathan began with an airily dismissive gesticulation.
"You thumped him on the nose!"
"I tapped him, playfully."
"Well, if that's 'Playful Johnny', I don't think I want to see what 'Mean Johnny' looks like-"
"Ah yes, MEAN JOHNNY..." Jonathan said with a slow nod of wary acknowledgement. "Don't mess with him, I hear he's an absolute brute!"
And with that he suddenly turned on his friend with a look of murderous intent, blocking his way, transformed into his Dr Jekyll like alter ego; Mean Johnny had come out to play. Jaw set, shoulders squared, fists up, Jonathan glowered at his fellow reprobate, daring him to take him on.
Stephen stared back, open mouthed and furrow browed, not sure whether to take him seriously or not. He looked so menacing, so angry, so thoroughly un-Jonathan-like. What on earth had happened to the mild mannered English fop everyone knew and loved? He gaped at him in shock and bewilderment, struggling to form some sort of sentence, his slack lips mouthing silent syllables in the manner of a particularly imbecilic goldfish.
Jonathan was so amused by the look on his face he nearly wet his pants (it wouldn't be the first time he'd done so when drunk) and cracked up. Dropping his hands to his sides he scrunched up his nose, threw back his head and gave a great silent laugh that hurt all the way to his diaphragm.
Stephen shot him a bitter look as if to say 'ha ha, you got me, very bloody funny', before immediately giggling at himself too. With a cheerfully vengeful smile he whacked Jonathan on the back of the head.
"That's for making me look like a dope!"
"You do that by yourself anyway!" Jonathan lashed out an arm at him, taking the tall, well built soldier by surprise to put him in a headlock. Stephen wriggled out of it before Jonathan could apply his knuckles to his scalp, instead grabbing Jonathan's hand and pinning his arm behind his back in a painful half nelson.
Jonathan yelped like a scalded puppy, flailing with his free hand as he arched his back trying to alleviate the excruciating angle of his shoulder.
"Mercy! Mercy!"
"You beg for clemency?"
"Yes, yes, oh for pity's sake, let up!" Jonathan whinged feebly, his face contorted into a mask of torture. Stephen chuckled with glee and loosened his grip, which gave Jonathan the freedom of movement he needed to wheel round and make a charge at his stomach. Stephen sidestepped and counter rushed, and the two drunken gents zigzagged across the alleyway like a couple of school boys in the yard.
Laughing and horsing around, not a care in the world, they took no notice of random items sent flying, the rubbish bins kicked over, or the fluttering, bat-like objects strung across the passageway. Veering blindly from one wall to another, Stephen suddenly found himself with a faceful of something soft and billowy. He had snagged an object on one of the washing lines criss-crossing the alley, and like a wild bull suddenly hooded, it stopped him in his tracks.
Jonathan straightened up to see what had so startled his friend, and was confronted with the sight of Stephen standing in the dark with a pair of enormous lady's bloomers on his head. The lady they belonged to must indeed have been enormous, for they covered Stephens entire face and reached all the way down to his shoulders. Each of the pink frilly leg holes was big enough for both he and Stephen to climb into at once.
And then they were laughing like idiots again, for the millionth time that night. Amid the gasps and guffaws Stephen managed to squeak out
"I'm going to get court martialled you know!" pushing the frilly folds of underwear back over his head, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes, face a disturbing shade of vermillion.
Jonathan's immediately became serious.
"Christ, you are aren't you?" A pang of guilt began to gnaw at his numbed wits, realising his friend's dishonourable conduct was mostly through his own bad influence. Violation of military orders would certainly earn him a dishonourable discharge; he should have been back at the fort hours ago, but instead he was getting drunk and acting like a loon with his old pal Johnny. Then there was that little tussle with the local authorities...
"Hey, don't worry Stevie, I'll stick up for you my friend! Just show me to the Sergeant Major or whoever you blokes answer to, and I'll straighten everything out." He leaned in and tapped his nose conspiratorially "corroborating witness", he said, pointing at himself and winking. "Denial will get you out of anything."
"It's the fastest way to Luxor!" Stephen blarted out with a snort.
"What?"
"You know- De Nile?" he said, braying idiotically and slapping his thigh as if he had just made the wittiest joke in the history of witty jokes.
Jonathan groaned.
"Ah, yes, 'the pun'. Such a sage form of wit. If only wit were shit you'd be full of it!"
"You're a poet and you didn't know it!"
"Shut up, fool." Jonathan chided with an arch expression, but he couldn't help smiling.
The smile faltered as a light came on somewhere above his head. A pale yellow glow suddenly lit up the alley, illuminating the two drunken carousers; one wearing a linen suit that used to be white, the other with a big pink pair of bloomers perched atop his head like a serving wench's cloth cap.
A window shutter banged violently open, and an irritable voice exclaimed
"Maaza qult? Man hunaak?!" in the very familiar tone of a very familiar irascible Arab.
"Oh hell's bells." Jonathan whispered, "Khalid!"
Above and to their left the diminutive gambler's dark form was silhouetted against the bright oblong of light of a first floor window. Soon his very large wife appeared beside him, and the two Englishmen were once again plunged into darkness, as she completely filled the frame.
"You!" Khalid boomed disbelievingly as his eyes adjusted to behold the face of the man who had cheated him earlier that night. His lips twisted into a snarl and his black, bird like eyes twinkled dangerously. Then his mouth dropped open as his gazed fell upon Stephen.
"And YOU!!" he bellowed in outraged realisation. He had guessed their scam.
His face was hidden by the colossal shadow of his wife, but both Jonathan and Stephen noted the high pitched disbelief in his voice as he shrieked
"Get my wife's knickers off your head!!"
Turning to his wife contritely he garbled something apologetic in Arabic. She didn't look happy at all. As Khalid turned his face away from the alley, presenting a view of his right cheek, Jonathan thought he could see the deep, purpling bruise of a fresh black eye.
Poor bugger, he thought to himself, I hope that wasn't any of my doing.
Actually it was Khalid's wife's doing, having occurred during the course of a conversation about their new enforced state of poverty, thanks to her husband's lamentable ineptitude as a gambler. Now she elbowed him painfully in the ribs, motioning towards the street and shouting something abusive, at which Khalid disappeared.
Only to re-emerge at the street level door right next to Jonathan.
"I'm going to kill you this time, you thieving English son of a whore!" he hissed venomously, clutching an even bigger knife this time. More of a machete, really.
Stephen was still drunk, but he at least had the tiniest vestige of sense still in his head to remember his revolver. He reached his hand to the back of his trousers and groped for the handle.
Oh hell. It wasn't there. With a sinking sensation Stephen realised it must have fallen out somewhere between their mad dash from the officer and their drunken brawling in the alley just now. Khalid was now bearing down on them, brandishing the dull silver blade murderously, and Jonathan was absolutely no help. He was quivering like a jellyfish beside him, eyes as big as saucers, whimpering quietly.
"Er, Stevie? Now might be an opportune moment to come to my aid...IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE!!!" he screamed.
"Not this time, Johnny," Stephen said with resignation and no small amount of fear, "I'm all out of ideas," he sighed, bringing up his empty hands.
Jonathan's expression was one of dismay, followed by a momentary flash of annoyance, which was immediately replaced by terror. He had only one option left open to him, but fortunately it was one he was very good at. With a last backward glance at the advancing attacker, he turned on his heels and fled back up the alley the way he had come.
Stephen quickly got the idea, and took off after him.
As they ran- Jonathan pumping his arms manically and screeching like a banshee- a faint, tinny blast shrilled out of the darkness ahead of them, accompanied by the rapid thud of approaching footsteps. It was just audible above the noise of their own fearful retreat. Then again the whistling shriek sounded, louder, nearer, longer, more insistent. Feet pounding dusty stone- two sets of feet.
When the whistle blast came again it was so strident it seemed to pierce the hollow of Jonathan's ear, and as he careened around a corner, as fast as his agile legs could carry him, he came face to face with the originator of that cacophony of sound and fury; one bloody nosed Cairo police officer. Evidently he was still doggedly pursuing the offenders, only this time he was accompanied by his partner.
Jonathan barely avoided knocking him down for the second time that evening, then himself nearly went flying as Stephen barrelled into the back of him.
"Detour! DETOUR!!" Jonathan bellowed, finding his balance and starting up his legs again, desperately lunging in whatever direction presented some escape. But there was no way out except through one or other of their pursuers.
Stephen shook his head despondently, steeling himself to accept their fate. An officer always took it on the chin, no matter what the consequence.
"Johnny, we're surrounded. It's time to make your choice and take your chances." He reached out a big, calloused hand and caught Jonathan by the lapel as he was running in little circles, still looking for some kind of loop hole in their situation.
Jonathan jumped about three feet in the air, and gave a little shriek like a mouse caught by the tail. As he looked back over at Stephen his eyes went even wider, if that were possible, so that now they resembled dinner plates rather than just saucers. He had spotted Khalid behind them, hatred contorting his features, eyes blazing fire, machete twisting in his hands as he made cruel, gutting motions. He was still to reach the corner, so that he had not yet seen the two police officers in the next alley.
Jonathan began to see how this might be to their advantage, and with a bit of cunning turn three groups into two.
"Hold on Stevie, I've got an idea."
If this chapter seems a little random, its because Jonathan is in my head doing random stuff, and I cant control him! He just comes out with the funniest things sometimes.
To my Reviewers: a collective thank you to all, and much appreciation for your appreciation. I will try not to disappoint you by keeping the humour turned up, but forgive me if I ever go astray; tis but my inadequacy to convey his hilarious antics, and no fault of Jonathan's own!
***************************************
Chapter 4
***************************************
"Jesus Johnny," Stephen panted, slowing to a quick walk when they had come a safe distance through the labyrinthine backstreets of the city, "You just assaulted a police officer!"
"I wouldn't say assaulted, exactly-" Jonathan began with an airily dismissive gesticulation.
"You thumped him on the nose!"
"I tapped him, playfully."
"Well, if that's 'Playful Johnny', I don't think I want to see what 'Mean Johnny' looks like-"
"Ah yes, MEAN JOHNNY..." Jonathan said with a slow nod of wary acknowledgement. "Don't mess with him, I hear he's an absolute brute!"
And with that he suddenly turned on his friend with a look of murderous intent, blocking his way, transformed into his Dr Jekyll like alter ego; Mean Johnny had come out to play. Jaw set, shoulders squared, fists up, Jonathan glowered at his fellow reprobate, daring him to take him on.
Stephen stared back, open mouthed and furrow browed, not sure whether to take him seriously or not. He looked so menacing, so angry, so thoroughly un-Jonathan-like. What on earth had happened to the mild mannered English fop everyone knew and loved? He gaped at him in shock and bewilderment, struggling to form some sort of sentence, his slack lips mouthing silent syllables in the manner of a particularly imbecilic goldfish.
Jonathan was so amused by the look on his face he nearly wet his pants (it wouldn't be the first time he'd done so when drunk) and cracked up. Dropping his hands to his sides he scrunched up his nose, threw back his head and gave a great silent laugh that hurt all the way to his diaphragm.
Stephen shot him a bitter look as if to say 'ha ha, you got me, very bloody funny', before immediately giggling at himself too. With a cheerfully vengeful smile he whacked Jonathan on the back of the head.
"That's for making me look like a dope!"
"You do that by yourself anyway!" Jonathan lashed out an arm at him, taking the tall, well built soldier by surprise to put him in a headlock. Stephen wriggled out of it before Jonathan could apply his knuckles to his scalp, instead grabbing Jonathan's hand and pinning his arm behind his back in a painful half nelson.
Jonathan yelped like a scalded puppy, flailing with his free hand as he arched his back trying to alleviate the excruciating angle of his shoulder.
"Mercy! Mercy!"
"You beg for clemency?"
"Yes, yes, oh for pity's sake, let up!" Jonathan whinged feebly, his face contorted into a mask of torture. Stephen chuckled with glee and loosened his grip, which gave Jonathan the freedom of movement he needed to wheel round and make a charge at his stomach. Stephen sidestepped and counter rushed, and the two drunken gents zigzagged across the alleyway like a couple of school boys in the yard.
Laughing and horsing around, not a care in the world, they took no notice of random items sent flying, the rubbish bins kicked over, or the fluttering, bat-like objects strung across the passageway. Veering blindly from one wall to another, Stephen suddenly found himself with a faceful of something soft and billowy. He had snagged an object on one of the washing lines criss-crossing the alley, and like a wild bull suddenly hooded, it stopped him in his tracks.
Jonathan straightened up to see what had so startled his friend, and was confronted with the sight of Stephen standing in the dark with a pair of enormous lady's bloomers on his head. The lady they belonged to must indeed have been enormous, for they covered Stephens entire face and reached all the way down to his shoulders. Each of the pink frilly leg holes was big enough for both he and Stephen to climb into at once.
And then they were laughing like idiots again, for the millionth time that night. Amid the gasps and guffaws Stephen managed to squeak out
"I'm going to get court martialled you know!" pushing the frilly folds of underwear back over his head, tears squeezing out of the corners of his eyes, face a disturbing shade of vermillion.
Jonathan's immediately became serious.
"Christ, you are aren't you?" A pang of guilt began to gnaw at his numbed wits, realising his friend's dishonourable conduct was mostly through his own bad influence. Violation of military orders would certainly earn him a dishonourable discharge; he should have been back at the fort hours ago, but instead he was getting drunk and acting like a loon with his old pal Johnny. Then there was that little tussle with the local authorities...
"Hey, don't worry Stevie, I'll stick up for you my friend! Just show me to the Sergeant Major or whoever you blokes answer to, and I'll straighten everything out." He leaned in and tapped his nose conspiratorially "corroborating witness", he said, pointing at himself and winking. "Denial will get you out of anything."
"It's the fastest way to Luxor!" Stephen blarted out with a snort.
"What?"
"You know- De Nile?" he said, braying idiotically and slapping his thigh as if he had just made the wittiest joke in the history of witty jokes.
Jonathan groaned.
"Ah, yes, 'the pun'. Such a sage form of wit. If only wit were shit you'd be full of it!"
"You're a poet and you didn't know it!"
"Shut up, fool." Jonathan chided with an arch expression, but he couldn't help smiling.
The smile faltered as a light came on somewhere above his head. A pale yellow glow suddenly lit up the alley, illuminating the two drunken carousers; one wearing a linen suit that used to be white, the other with a big pink pair of bloomers perched atop his head like a serving wench's cloth cap.
A window shutter banged violently open, and an irritable voice exclaimed
"Maaza qult? Man hunaak?!" in the very familiar tone of a very familiar irascible Arab.
"Oh hell's bells." Jonathan whispered, "Khalid!"
Above and to their left the diminutive gambler's dark form was silhouetted against the bright oblong of light of a first floor window. Soon his very large wife appeared beside him, and the two Englishmen were once again plunged into darkness, as she completely filled the frame.
"You!" Khalid boomed disbelievingly as his eyes adjusted to behold the face of the man who had cheated him earlier that night. His lips twisted into a snarl and his black, bird like eyes twinkled dangerously. Then his mouth dropped open as his gazed fell upon Stephen.
"And YOU!!" he bellowed in outraged realisation. He had guessed their scam.
His face was hidden by the colossal shadow of his wife, but both Jonathan and Stephen noted the high pitched disbelief in his voice as he shrieked
"Get my wife's knickers off your head!!"
Turning to his wife contritely he garbled something apologetic in Arabic. She didn't look happy at all. As Khalid turned his face away from the alley, presenting a view of his right cheek, Jonathan thought he could see the deep, purpling bruise of a fresh black eye.
Poor bugger, he thought to himself, I hope that wasn't any of my doing.
Actually it was Khalid's wife's doing, having occurred during the course of a conversation about their new enforced state of poverty, thanks to her husband's lamentable ineptitude as a gambler. Now she elbowed him painfully in the ribs, motioning towards the street and shouting something abusive, at which Khalid disappeared.
Only to re-emerge at the street level door right next to Jonathan.
"I'm going to kill you this time, you thieving English son of a whore!" he hissed venomously, clutching an even bigger knife this time. More of a machete, really.
Stephen was still drunk, but he at least had the tiniest vestige of sense still in his head to remember his revolver. He reached his hand to the back of his trousers and groped for the handle.
Oh hell. It wasn't there. With a sinking sensation Stephen realised it must have fallen out somewhere between their mad dash from the officer and their drunken brawling in the alley just now. Khalid was now bearing down on them, brandishing the dull silver blade murderously, and Jonathan was absolutely no help. He was quivering like a jellyfish beside him, eyes as big as saucers, whimpering quietly.
"Er, Stevie? Now might be an opportune moment to come to my aid...IF IT'S NOT TOO MUCH TROUBLE!!!" he screamed.
"Not this time, Johnny," Stephen said with resignation and no small amount of fear, "I'm all out of ideas," he sighed, bringing up his empty hands.
Jonathan's expression was one of dismay, followed by a momentary flash of annoyance, which was immediately replaced by terror. He had only one option left open to him, but fortunately it was one he was very good at. With a last backward glance at the advancing attacker, he turned on his heels and fled back up the alley the way he had come.
Stephen quickly got the idea, and took off after him.
As they ran- Jonathan pumping his arms manically and screeching like a banshee- a faint, tinny blast shrilled out of the darkness ahead of them, accompanied by the rapid thud of approaching footsteps. It was just audible above the noise of their own fearful retreat. Then again the whistling shriek sounded, louder, nearer, longer, more insistent. Feet pounding dusty stone- two sets of feet.
When the whistle blast came again it was so strident it seemed to pierce the hollow of Jonathan's ear, and as he careened around a corner, as fast as his agile legs could carry him, he came face to face with the originator of that cacophony of sound and fury; one bloody nosed Cairo police officer. Evidently he was still doggedly pursuing the offenders, only this time he was accompanied by his partner.
Jonathan barely avoided knocking him down for the second time that evening, then himself nearly went flying as Stephen barrelled into the back of him.
"Detour! DETOUR!!" Jonathan bellowed, finding his balance and starting up his legs again, desperately lunging in whatever direction presented some escape. But there was no way out except through one or other of their pursuers.
Stephen shook his head despondently, steeling himself to accept their fate. An officer always took it on the chin, no matter what the consequence.
"Johnny, we're surrounded. It's time to make your choice and take your chances." He reached out a big, calloused hand and caught Jonathan by the lapel as he was running in little circles, still looking for some kind of loop hole in their situation.
Jonathan jumped about three feet in the air, and gave a little shriek like a mouse caught by the tail. As he looked back over at Stephen his eyes went even wider, if that were possible, so that now they resembled dinner plates rather than just saucers. He had spotted Khalid behind them, hatred contorting his features, eyes blazing fire, machete twisting in his hands as he made cruel, gutting motions. He was still to reach the corner, so that he had not yet seen the two police officers in the next alley.
Jonathan began to see how this might be to their advantage, and with a bit of cunning turn three groups into two.
"Hold on Stevie, I've got an idea."