Disclaimer: I dont own LXG

"I'm a little unsure about this," said Mina as we prepared to leave the Nautilus. She cast a fugitive look at Dorian. "Personally I would feel better knowing that he was on board where we could keep an eye on him."

"I will not have him on board my ship," responded Nemo. "We will hand him over to the police and let them deal with him."

"Couldn't we seal 'im up in a pyramid?" Skinner asked, I couldn't tell if he was joking.

"Don't tempt me," said Quartermain, glaring at Dorian.

A decision had been made the night Dorian had returned. As soon as we got to Cairo he would be handed over to the proper authorities. He had committed enough crimes in his lifetime that he could be handed over without worry of that many questions being asked. I watched him for any trace of emotion in his aura. He kept up the same sense of calmness he had from the moment he had appeared, I was a bit unnerved.

We walked into the police station, it was small and cramped; the entire League was barely able to fit inside. It was similar to an office only a few barred cells showed that it was anything else. The man behind the desk stood and greeted us. "What can we do to help you?" he asked.

"This is Dorian Grey," Quartermain said and the man seemed surprised. "I trust you have the rescores available to hold him?"

"Of course, of course," he smiled delighted that his small and insignificant jail was to hold a real convict. "We've been looking for this one for quite a while."

After we got rid of Dorian the mood of the group seemed much improved. We walked along the bustling market looking for anyplace who might be able to translate hieroglyphics. The scents of spices and good foods wafted over us people called out to us in strange languages entreating us to buy their wares.

I ran into Skinner once. "No, thank you I'm fine," he kept repeating trying to push something away from himself.

"What's going on," I asked.

"Someone wants me to buy a dead chicken," he answered. "Nemo, a bit 'o help would be greatly 'preciated."

Nemo laughed, "I don't know, this is highly amusing." I smiled in spite of my self and tapped Angie on the shoulder. "Do you think we should help him?"

Angie sighed, "If we have to." She turned to the shopkeeper and in perfect Arabic said, "No thank you we don't want a chicken." She grabbed Skinner by the arm and began pulling him away.

Nemo turned to me, "Where did you two learn Arabic?"

"You learn lots of things growing up in the Sherlock house hold."

"This looks like the spot," announced Quartermain guiding us in to a small shop. He approached the man behind the counter. "Can you translate this for us," he asked holding out the tablet.

"Takes about an hour," said the man in broken English. "Costs twenty five."

"Hear that," said Quartermain. "Everyone should be back here in about an hour, enjoy yourselves till then."

"I'll wait here," I told Angie. "Go have fun."

"Thanks," she said and dashed out the door.

"I'll stay with you," offered Skinner from behind me.

"I'm perfectly capable of staying here and not making any trouble."

"I know but I'd still kind of like it if I was sure of not 'aveing a chicken waved in my face."

I laughed, "I guess that could be considered a legitimate fear." I sat on the bench just inside the door. I was kind of embarrassed about just sitting there, conversation was one thing, but just sitting was awkward. "Thank you."

Skinner seemed confused, "What for?"

"For pulling me away from the portrait, it was very brave of you."

"Forget it," he said. "Anyone else would have done the same I just got there first."

"I suppose, but a thank you is polite."

"Then your welcome." He paused, "Here give me your hands."

"Why?"

"We're going to play a game," he laughed. "Here hold your hands out." I put my hands out and felt him place his underneath palms touching mine. Then he pulled them away and slapped the backs of my hands.

"Oww!" I protested.

"Jerk your hands away so they don't get whapped."

"Alright let's try again," I laughed. This time I pulled my hands away in time.

"Now you try," he held his hands out. I tried to smack him but I missed, twelve times in a row. Finally I hit him. "Good job."

We spent nearly 45 minutes playing the game. Suddenly the old man behind the counter jumped up. "All finished," he announced proudly. "Here, paper says what rock says." He held it out to us.

Machine gun fire and shouts echoed from the street. I pulled out my purse and pushed the money at the man. "Thank you," I smiled remembering my manners.

"Didn't we just get rid of these guys," Skinner asked pulling me from the shop. A bullet hit the wall inches from my head.

"Obviously not."

AN: Ok Quartermain plushies to all my reviewers.