Disclaimers: as ever.

Thanks for the reviews. Yup, I was looking forward to working out those 'equally interested issues' too, but it seems that I'm going to have to reunite Syd and Nige first. Sorry! I always have way too much silly plot…

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CHAPTER FIVE: DUNGEONS AND PONIES

'Nigel! No!!!'

Sydney sprinted around the front of the pub, frantically pursuing the lights of the van. Regardless of her cries, the vehicle soared off up the high-hedged lane and disappeared around the corner.

The pub customers and staff were huddled in a little group outside the front door, and observed the irate American woman with alarm.

Syd's demand was breathless: 'Does anybody know who owns that van?'

She was greeted with blank expressions. The landlord, who was starting to think she was mad, said he didn't believe it belonged to a regular punter.

'Yeah? How about that barmaid of yours, Tess? She doesn't seem to be anywhere around here. It wasn't her, by any chance, who started the fire, was it?'

'Well… actually, yes it was!' admitted the landlord. He scanned the perturbed faces of the little group around him. 'Tess? Has anybody seen Tess? Where is she, the little vixen?'

'I've got pretty good idea that she was in that van,' growled Sydney. 'She spiked my assistants drink and staged the whole fire in order to kidnap him.'

'Kidnap! That's quite an accusation!' The siren of the approaching fire engine could now be heard. 'If you're serious, we'd better tell the police…'

'Pssst! No!'

A meaty hand tentatively gripped Sydney's arm. She ripped herself away, and twisted to face Giles.

'You mustn't call the police,' he entreated, his voice tremulous. 'Please, Professor Fox! I have to speak to you.' His wide eyes conveyed a desperate sincerity.

'Don't call anybody yet,' growled Syd to the landlord. She followed Giles as he shuffled off to hide behind the bins.

'Okay, Giles,' said Sydney, not concealing her violent emotion. 'You're going to tell me what's going on.'

'They've got your friend. And they've got Henchard.'

'They've got Nigel? Who?'

Giles, goggling like a frightened panda, handed her his mobile phone.

Sydney, suspecting the worst, lifted it to her ear. 'Hello?'

'Professor Fox?' The female voice on the other end betrayed West Country origins with its soft lilting accent. Its high, smooth pitch wasn't Tess's, but clearly belonged to a woman of similar youth.

'Yeah. Who is this?'

'That doesn't matter. You know your mission. You must uncover the staff in its resting place for us at dawn on the first day of spring. As a token of good faith, and to preserve the good health of your friend, you must bring us the key by first light tomorrow. You will leave it under the old gallows at Hangman's Hill. You will not call the police, or it will be very bad for Nigel indeed.'

'Now, you listen to me…'

Before Sydney could even articulate her own threats, the line went dead.

'Damn!'

'What did they say?' inquired Giles, all aquiver.

Sydney shot him a look of anger that bordered on the feral. 'They said we need to give them the key.'

'You still have it?'

Sydney stared at Giles as the whole awful truth dawned upon her: as far as she knew, the key was still 'in' Stewie. Moreover, the GPS tracker, which told her where the pony was currently mooching around, was in Nigel's pocket…

She could contain her frustration no longer. 'We'll worry about that in the minute,' she hissed, and grabbed him by the collar: 'Now you're going to tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING!!!'

'I don't know much,' gibbered Giles, terrified. 'All I know is that, in mediaeval times, Odo had the power to drive men mad and…' he glanced around, as if concerned somebody might hear his admission. 'Not only did he dispossess men of their minds, but their lives as well! On the finest specimens of manhood, he performed…human sacrifice!'

'And you think that the Forest Sisterhood are intent on doing the same?'

'I thought it was all nonsense, but the mayor says that several local men have vanished during the Bunny Chase… or returned, utterly transformed. The Forest Sisterhood have revived Odo's cult, and are intent on finding the staff to maximise their powers!'

…………………………………………………………………………

Somewhere in the hinterland between natural sleep and fever, Nigel's mind swirled with tormented images of scarlet daemons and sharp tooth ponies, galloping as one; pursuing him relentlessly through a char-black forest. Their screams hounded him onwards, lashing his ears with an ancient, twisted tongue, rendered all the more torturous by a burning consciousness that this wasn't what he'd had planned for that evening. It was as if he had been on a ship bound for the shores of heaven, but had been rudely cast off into the tumultuous pits of hell. Tonight should have been warm, safe and sensual… how did he get here?

As the screams swelled to almost unbearable levels, however, the tortured tones took on unexpected forms. Tingling voices and laughter seeped into his consciousness: murmuring and incoherent, but human nevertheless.

It was then he became aware he was being touched, and being carried. The tight, cold skin of many uninvited hands gripped his arms, shoulders and his ankles, and the coolness of what could only be night air caressed his face. A shiver jolted him closer to lucidity and he vaguely wondered how long it could be before his body joined his brain's ineffectual struggle for liberation.

There was never time. As he finally surfaced in the world of wakefulness, a cold, hard surface rose from nowhere to take his weight and the human shackles were suddenly withdrawn. He perceived the slam of a door, and another eerie ring of laughter.

The next words Nigel heard were not tender ones. The voice was jarringly hostile and male, and the words were barked in a harsh, German accent.

'I don't believe it! It's Sydney's new guy…'

Nigel opened one eye to confirm the man behind the voice he didn't want to hear.

'Reiner?' Nigel registered his presence incoherently, but thought, clearly enough, to himself: 'After four years, why does this obnoxious man still think that I'm new?'

Fighting his way into a state of awareness, Nigel reluctantly absorbed his environs. He was lying on the floor of a damp cell, about three metres square. It was very dark and lit only by a small candle lamp, although Nigel instantly identified that the large, chunks of stone that made up the walls had been crudely cut and erected in the mediaeval period. Kurt Reiner, in Nigel's opinion one of Sydney's most unpleasant rivals and exes, was sitting fairly near. Indeed, he feared he was within kicking distance of the nasty man's booted foot. Approaching him from the furthest corner, looking a little dishevelled, was the smart-suited, bald man who he recognised from the bar the day before: Henchard.

'Are you all right, son?' asked the mayor of Little Hintock.

Nigel wasn't sure what to answer. He felt really groggy and had no idea where he was or how he got there. As he tried to sit up, the room swam and nausea churned his stomach.

'Oh God… I think I might throw up.' He slumped back down again on the hard stone and groaned piteously.

'If you are ill in this confined space,' articulated Reiner matter-of-factly. 'I will kill you.'

Nigel, lying on his side and desperately struggling to master the contents of his digestive system, still managed to scowl at his cellmate He'd lost track of the number of times Reiner had threatened his life. It was getting tedious.

He managed to croak: 'Shut up, Reiner! Or I'll tell every Relic Hunter this side of Outer Mongolia about the incident with the stilettos and the one-eyed donkey… '

'Hey! Take it easy, lad… and you, back off!'

The last of Henchard's words were addressed pointedly at Reiner, who had started forward, his fists clenched. Retreating, the rival relic hunter pulled a mocking face like a cheeky, scolded schoolboy.

'I was set up,' he leered.

Henchard rubbed Nigel's back comfortingly and then bellowed at the top of his voice: 'Hey? Can we have some water here? Come on, you harlots. What've you done to him? He's a sick man.'

The initial response was a crescendo of giggles but, after a few moments, a creamy, delicate hand with an emerald ring tossed a bottle of Evian through the barred hatch, which thwacked onto the hard floor.

'That was close,' thought Nigel, as it barely missed him. He never saw the prettily decorated hand.

Henchard scramble for the bottle as it rolled across the floor, then unscrewed the lid and handed it to Nigel.

'Thanks.' He took the water shakily and swallowed a small sip. When that went down okay, he followed it by a large gulp. His tummy protested then and, abruptly grabbing his middle in a hopeful attempt to calm it, he decided that was enough.

'He'd better not be sick,' muttered Reiner, still regarding Nigel like a piece of chewing gum he'd found on the bottom of his boot.

The Mayor of Little Hintock ignored him. 'What happened to you?' He asked Nigel.

Nigel, who was now feeling a little better, scrutinised the older man's craggy features as he racked his memory. Almost completely devoid of hair, the mayor was aged well over fifty, but in fine shape with broad shoulders and staring, black hawk-like eyes. A small, nigh cupids-bow pink mouth, failed to temper his tough guy air, even if his actions seemed relatively gentle.

Nigel was just wondering if he could trust him, when he realised that his mind was wandering. 'I…um, think my drink must have been spiked. I have no other explanation for how I got here… and why I feel so dreadful.' Nigel compulsively lay back down, this time resting a hand behind his head. 'How did you get here?'

Reiner just grunted, but the mayor took a deep breath and began his story.

'We're all here because we tried to interfere, inadvertently or not, with the plans of the Forest Sisterhood.'

Reiner grunted again, but this time Nigel detected a small element of humour – or was it desire? Reiner's image of the sisters was obviously not an entirely negative one.

'The Forest Sisterhood?'

Henchard nodded grimly. 'That's right. And a nasty set of witches they are! Sometime in the early 1970s, when all that New Age rubbish was first becoming fashionable, a group of silly local housewives revived, or rather, reinvented, an ancient religion in order to worship Mother Nature, or some sort of rubbish like that…'

Nigel objected to his derogatory tone. 'Its not rubbish,' he interrupted. 'Many different cultures have worshipped Mother Nature or Mother Earth. In this part of the world, archaeologists theorise that these forms of religious worship could have their roots in the Neolithic age, if not before. Strong evidence suggests Stonehenge, for example, lined up as it is to the rising of the sun is midwinter, was the temple of some such religion, and...'

'Ssssssh!' seethed the mayor, lifting a finger to his lips. 'They could be listening. You mustn't encourage them.' He continued in an undertone: 'These new, empowered women of the younger generation have turned their mother's innocent 'flower power' jabberwocky into a man hating cult! In recent years, they have hijacked the annual Bunny Chase. It's just an excuse to get a defenceless young man into the forest, and then…well, nobody knows what happens next, but four local lads have come back gibbering wrecks with no knowledge of what happened to them, and one has disappeared entirely! If the Bunny Chase wasn't so good for the tourists, I would have cancelled the whole event years ago. As it was, I was on the verge of stopping it this year...'

'Is that why they locked you up?'

Henchard groaned. 'No. They knew nothing of that. They ambushed me because I tried to stop your Professor Fox finding the bishops staff!'

'That was you?' Nigel, his faintness deserting him, sat up quickly and shuffled back across the room, dabbing at the healing cut on his neck. 'You could have killed me… and you burst in on Sydney in the bathroom!'

'She looks good in the bathroom,' smirked Reiner. 'Not that you'd know, I'm sure…' This comment was intended for Nigel, who shot back a scornful, and decidedly contradictory, glare.

The mayor continued: 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't think of any other way. That idiot Giles Appleforth was too obsessed with finding the thing in order to further his career, and I thought you'd be the same. Giles only agreed to help me get the research back today after I told him about them driving men mad. He now thinks that those idiot women will use the staff to raise the dead, or perform human sacrifice or something…and, of course, now they've got his research. I had it on me when I was 'taken.''

'Raise the dead? Human sacrifice?' Nigel failed to disguise the hitch of alarm in his voice.

'Indeed!' scoffed Henchard, 'murderous jabberwocky! I just wanted to stop these women before Little Hintock become synonymous with mass murders, mind altering drugs and cult activity, and every last tourist penny dries up! The bishop's staff would just have made the sisterhood more hysterical.'

'And Giles eventually agreed with you?'

'I have no idea. All I know is that when I mentioned madness and human sacrifice, he went as white as a ghost and agreed to help me rob you. We need to get out of here and call the police before there is a PR disaster!'

Nigel said nothing. Having briefly warmed to Henchard, he now found he didn't want to trust him. He couldn't help wondering what else Giles might have known about the staff.

'I wish I'd had a better look at that research,' he thought to himself. This triggered memories of Stewie, the key and the GPS. The GPS! If he still had it on him, Sydney could simply remove the one of Stewie and use it to trace him! His heart sank as he slipped his hand into his pocket. As he had gloomily suspected, it was gone.

His meditations were interrupted by Reiner: 'Aren't you interested as to why I'm here?'

'Not really,' sighed Nigel. 'I'm just assuming the sisterhood thought you were an aberration to nature.'

'You snivelling little runt! I will not allow you to speak to me like that…' Reiner leapt up and grabbed Nigel by the collar, dragging him to his feet. He knew that Henchard would intervene, but he didn't really care. The relic hunter was bored with not being the centre of attention, and was gagging for a scrap.

'Leave him alone!'

Henchard placed a firm hand on Reiner's shoulder. The German released Nigel by sending him flying backwards into the hard, stone wall, then swivelled and punched the mayor on the nose.

'I'll have you arrested!' shouted Henchard.

'Yes?' spat Reiner. 'That might be difficult in the circumstances. Now you two can sit here and whine, but I'm going to stop mucking around and get myself out of here. I know women! Money is the only thing they're really interested in. This staff is worth a fortune, and I'm going to convince them that I can find it for them…'

'And then run off with it yourself!' interrupted Nigel, rubbing the back of his sore head. Don't worry, Reiner, if they haven't already worked it out, I'll let them know that you're not to be trusted!'

'Whose side are you on?' Reiner lunged for Nigel again, but Henchard pulled him back.

'Not on yours, that's for sure!' retorted Nigel.

Henchard was about to add his tuppence worth to the dispute, when an austere female voice fell upon their ears and stilled their tongues.

'Tess! You naughty girl. Why did you put him in there with the others? It's nasty and cold! He is 'the one,' remember?'

'I know,' came Tess's flirtatious tones. 'I suppose I just like to watch him suffer!'

'You must let him out now! He's too precious to be locked away with that nasty rough German and that uncultured mayor!'

There was the clink of keys.

Anticipation flashed across Reiner's face. 'I've got a new plan,' he rasped to Henchard. 'They're just women! They've got no guns… we ambush them now, and fight our way free. Then we find the staff ourselves. I'll cut you in 25 percent...'

Henchard had little time to say 'yay or nay' before the lock clicked. As it swung an inch open, he gave an affirmative nod: 'Fine. But it's not a deal. We talk money later…'

Barmaid Tess tiptoed delicately into the cell. Despite his dislike for the woman who had probably kidnapped him, Nigel looked on in horror as Reiner swung his fist straight at her plumptous lips and delicately sculpted jaw.

Tess, however, looked decidedly unimpressed as she ducked the blow and countered it with a half-hearted karate chop to his neck. She then kneed him between the legs, with the air of somebody who simply couldn't be bothered to think of anything more interesting.

Reiner collapsed to the floor, a moaning heap. The sizeable Henchard looked blankly terrified, and backed into a corner. Nigel was greatly surprised, but not overcome: 'She's not as stylish as Sydney,' he thought to himself.

Tess barged her way into the cell and grabbed Nigel's hand. 'Come on, angel,' she simpered as she dragged him towards the door. 'We've got other plans for you…'

Reiner was twisting his face towards him, scarlet and pained. Nigel avoided kicking or tripping over Sydney's erstwhile lover and rival. Tempting as it was, it was not gentlemanly to knock a chap while he was down.

A few seconds later, however, he wished he hadn't stayed his boot. The words Reiner whispered sent a shiver down his spine, just as they had when Preston uttered them, seventeen years before:

'She's got you marked for sacrifice. She is going to chop you into little pieces…'

Nigel's eyes remained focused on Reiner's leering grimace until the door slammed between them. Desperately trying to dismiss his 'childish' fears, he raised his head, as calmly as he could, to confront his new situation. The scene that had silently formed in front of him, however, did little to abate them.

His cell was located at the end of a long, stone corridor, which was now ablaze with increasingly vibrant light. The heat and glow intensified as more and more figures, each dressed in long white robes that covered their bodies and faces, emerged from beneath the pointed, gothic arches of doors on either side. Each carried a tall, flaming candle. The smell was sickly sweet; like incense, he thought, but underlain with a hint of something much more pungent and sinister.

His horror was amplified as the robed figures began to chant: their words were in an ancient tongue, even Nigel could barely understand. Their voices were low and resonant, like the hum of a thousand wind chimes.

His hand involuntarily tightened around Tess's as she led him forward, for what purpose, he knew not. 'Sydney,' he muttered to himself. 'Where the bloody hell are you?'

………………………………….

'The pony was a sort of…dirty off-white grey colour, with dappled brown markings.'

'How big?' Giles voice conveyed all the enthusiasm of a stroppy teenager who had just been asked to tidy his bedroom.

'Uh, small, no more than five foot high. But quite big for these guys, I guess.' The ponies in the Great Forest were much smaller than even the children's riding ponies that Sydney had learned to gallop upon as a girl in Hawaii. 'It had a collar around its neck, and the GPS is probably still attached. It followed us back, and must be around here somewhere…and you need to check all the piles of…you know.'

'Poo! Yes, I know!'

'If you keep on complaining, Giles, I swear I'll kick you face first into the biggest pile I can find. It's your fault Nigel's in this trouble, you know? Besides, it's just grass…'

They floundered around in the dark for around half an hour. Some of the ponies stirred and started as Sydney shone the light in their long-nosed faces. She felt a little cruel disturbing their slumber, especially if they whinnied in surprise. Even less enjoyable, were the investigations she was compelled to undertake with her boots, each time something dubious squelched beneath her feet.

Just as Sydney was on the verge of giving up on both Stewie, and the key, and resolving to get Nigel back some other way, she heard a shout from Giles: 'I think I've found it!'

She splattered across the boggy ground in his direction. 'The key?'

'No…err, your pony, I think. This one fits your description: it's the right colours, and it's got pointed ears and a little wispy beard.'

'Great!' Sydney instantly recognised Stewie, who had opened his eyes and was now regarding her sleepily but warily. She approached cautiously, and snatched the GPS off him with a sudden movement, that made him back away and snort huffily. Quickly checking the route recorder, Sydney realised the pony had barely moved for several hours.

'If he's deposited the key, it's not far away. We just need to check the area around him. If there is nothing here, then we're going to take him with us, over towards Hangman's Hill.'

'You can't do that!' cried Giles, as horrified as if she'd suggested shooting the Queen. 'It's against the law to tether a Great Forest pony. It's still punishable by death…'

'I don't want to hear it, Giles! Otherwise, I'll be responsible for much worse actions than tying up a pony. Now get searching - and use your hands! I don't want anything missed…'

……………………………………

It seemed to take an eternity for Tess and Nigel to make their progress up the passageway. Nigel still could not see the faces of the hooded, chanting figures. Seeking assurance of their humanity, he subtly glanced at one, keeping his own eyes low. His fears were not allayed: beneath the shadowing hood loomed two piercing blue orbs, set aglow by the reflective candlelight that danced in their jet-black pupils.

Nigel's inquiring gaze darted away quickly. He was immensely relieved when they reached the end of the corridor, and he and Tess ascended into the relative solitude of a spiral staircase. It was then he ventured to speak:

'Ummm… obviously, I appreciate the effort you've gone too, but would you mind telling me what's going on?'

Tess said nothing, and annoyance began to mingle with Nigel's fears: 'Could you at least where I am - I can tell from the stonework that this building is of some antiquity.'

He felt Tess's thumb caress the back of his hand. 'All will be revealed, my angel.'

Nigel's anger finally overcame both his trepidation and his manners. He crossly snatched his hand away.

'Now look here! I'm not your 'angel'…and, I wish you'd stop being so over familiar! I can't believe you spiked my drink. That was cheap, and it could have been dangerous…'

Even as he berated her, Nigel and Tess reached the top of the staircase. The way was barred by an iron-enforced wooden door, some centuries old, but still formidable. It was, however, unlocked. Tess showed no sign of stopping him in any way, so Nigel negotiated the latch and, pushing it with some force, he thrust the door open.

At the sight that greeted him, he stopped dead under the archway.

The spiral staircase had led up to the edge of a ruined castle keep. Even by moonlight, Nigel recognised where he was instantly, stabbed by the happy memory of childhood visits: Coomb Castle. All around him, tottering walls jutted out at distinctive and eclectic angles. Assembled with giant stones, each crumbling, limestone segment was so thick and heavy they would instantly obliterate anyone caught below, should they finally tumble. In some places, the walls had disintegrated nearly to the ground; in others, the once formidable defences soared high into the starry sky.

It wasn't the sight of the castle that snatched Nigel's breath away, or the large, stone monolith that stood in the middle of the roofless keep, decorated with garlands of early spring flowers. Neither was it purely the white robed and hooded figures that encircled him, each holding candles, each chanting softly. Amidst them were gathered murky, looming beings that wrenched into his present, a guttural, long repressed fear.

As Nigel looked straight at the nearest sleeping pony, its eyes flew open. A jet black eye caught the glimmer of the moon, and sparked like burning coals in the pits of hell.

'It isn't real,' muttered Nigel. 'This is silly, this is a nightmare… you're not 11 any more, ponies don't scare you… you're back in the pub, in that warm, cosy bed…'

A cold gust of wind against his face, and the realisation he was shivering, did not confirm his hopes. Neither did the reminder of Tess's presence, which came as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, rubbing his jumper sleeves to generate warmth. Her hand clamped down on his shoulder.

'This is quite real,' she purred. 'As real as all the wonders of Mother Earth. And now, you must join with her.'

Nigel turned unsteadily to face her. 'What do you mean?'

Tess's smile was macabre; her lips blood red and her blonde hair whitely luminous. The words were chilling: 'I knew from the first moment I saw you. You're 'the one' Nigel, and you must be our greatest offering!'

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