Chapter Five

They were marched through the streets of Cairo as the Pharaoh made his way towards the river Nile, the Doctor and Martha quickly becoming the subjects of many bewildered gazes as they passed-by, hands in pockets or arms crossed in vain attempts to blend-in with the royal guard.

"How much further?" growled Martha as she swiped sand from her face for the umpteenth time.

The Doctor inhaled deeply through his nostrils, which wrinkled pleasantly as if he could measure the distance in scents. "Not long now, Martha! And c'mon, where's your sense of adventure, ey?"

"Oh, so this is suddenly a great adventure to you, is it?" she pulled her arm free of his. "Because I could've sworn we were prisoners – with the chance of being executed!"

"Ah, yes, but it's a very small chance," he assured her with a smile, "reeeally tiny, in fact, speck-like if you will, infinitismal – well, you get the point. Nope, I'm pretty sure we won't get executed."

"Really?" she sounded relieved.

"Yeah…cos I reckon that, if anything, the High Priest will get to us first. Not that I'd let anything happen to you," he added as she shot him a withering look. "We'll be fine, I promise."

"Well, you better be right, because I didn't travel all this way to end up a mummy."

"What makes you think you'd warrant mummification?" the Time Lord looked amused, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "They used to reserve that for the real bigwigs – y'know; royalty, nobility, the movers an shakers…the cats. That sort."

"Good think I'm an ambassador for the Nubians, then," she retorted wryly.

"Oh, yeah," his nose wrinkled unhappily at the memory, "I guess I'd forgotten about that…"

She shot him another resentful look, and they finished the journey in utter silence, the scrunching of hot sand underfoot quickly becoming the only sound between them for several long, agonising minutes before it was accompanied by the gently babbling of the river Nile running along sun-baked clay banks. Sighing with relief, Martha slowed her storming pace down to a tired padding and was almost immediately greeted with a sharp poke in the small of her back from a guard's spear.

"Oi!" she rounded on the offending spearman, one hand nursing her punctured skin. "Careful with that!"

"Keep marching," ordered the guard, evidently confounded by such fiery spirit from a woman. He lifted his spear to point it back over her shoulder. "Can't you see that my Lord has yet to reach his destination? We do not rest until he does."

"Easy for him," Martha snorted as she turned back and picked up the pace once again, "sitting on his throne like that. I'd like to see him walk a mile in this bloody sand. Bet he'd want to slow down then…"

"Yes," conceded the Doctor, "but that would probably be because he'd have realised that he was a mile out of his way, you see…because I'm pretty sure we're heading over there."

'Over there' appeared to be a towering sandstone building that was set into the riverbank. Pharaoh Rameses' man-drawn box came to a rest by its threshold, and he stepped through the parting of curtains to address the three people in the group not a part of his usual royal convoy.

"Hem netjer, Doctor and…and you woman," he pointed each of them out in turn, swiftly skipping over Martha before she could kick-up a stink. "You are to come with me. I've realised that my holy duties require a clear head if I am to fulfil the ritual, so I shall pass judgement on this situation first. Now, come!"

"This is bad," hissed the Doctor as they followed the Pharaoh and the High Priest, keeping just far back enough for their hushed whispers not to raise suspicion. "I mean, really, really bad; things are going to go from bad to catastrophic real quick within that building…"

"Oh?" Martha murmured, hoping the indifference in her voice hid the unease his words gave her.

"If that Pharaoh finds in favour of the Hem netjer, he won't hesitate to allow the madman – or whatever he is – to kindly relieve us of our heads. Why, ol' Rammy might even find the time to take a swing himself. If, on the other hand," he took a short breath, considering the alternative. From the dire look in his eyes, it didn't fare better, "if he somehow miraculously decides to believe us over his High Priest – which, despite my uncanny knack for pulling miracles out of the ether, I fear juuuust isn't going to happen – I'm pretty sure the Priest and his 'godly'," he spoke this last word with air-quotations and a look of tiredness, "friends will do their best to make sure we never see outside these dank walls again…

"Yes," he sighed heavily, hands jammed in his lower coat pockets, eyes rising to meet the looming building as the sky seemingly fled behind it, "no doubt about it, Martha, there's going to be trouble…four will enter, two will leave."

The entered the strange building in sullen, awkward silence. It was only when they were several steps inside, their footfalls echoing around the dark walls that Martha felt she couldn't let it slide after all.

"That was an awful Thunderdome joke," she grinned, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Huh…you try and bring your banter kicking and screaming into the 21st Century…"

~**~

The gods watched the small party as they made their ways through the floodhouse from above, disembodied and close.

Things have not gone entirely as planned, Isis conceded as the Pharaoh led the way down a flight of stairs that stretched into the inky abyss. But the Hem netjer has things under control. He has the strangers isolated from the public eye. They, too, can be the first to die, along with the Pharaoh.

Shall we descend? Asked the gruff tones of Anubis.

As if in confirmation, the Hem netjer raised his head, fixing their exact location with a knowing stare as he nodded, barely noticeable.

Yes, intoned Isis with malevolent excitement. We shall…

~**~

"'Ang about," the Doctor tugged anxiously at Martha's arm, having caught sight of the High Priest's skyward glance and nod, "looks like things are about to kick-off…"

Sure enough, as they neared the bottom of the first stairwell landing, a sinister emerald glow began to emanate from far above them.

"You even think of saying 'They're heeereee', and your shins won't know what's hit them," Martha warned as she hurried the Doctor down the remainder of the stairs.

"No more time for jokes," he agreed, grabbing her hand, "just run!"

Without another word the two barged past the Pharaoh and his zealot priest as, behind them, the four gods took shape amongst the light, drifting down the stairs.

"Look, my Lord!" bellowed the Hem netjer, throwing his arms wide. "See how the heathens flee before the mere sight of our gods! Witness the guilt in their actions! Know the truth in my words, now! Do you believe, O haraoh?"

But Rameses was transfixed by the terrifying sight approaching him. Nothing in the visages that met his eyes warranted the faith and devotion his upbringing had set upon him. "My…gods…" he groaned in utter revulsion and horror as he fell helplessly to his knees. Struggling to keep the tears from his eyes, he turned his head to stare, confounded, at his Hem netjer. "Mepheses…what have you done?"

"I have done nothing," corrected the High Priest, "I am merely working on the gods' behalf, to make sure you complete the ritual. Together, the New Life of Earth…shall begin!"

A/N: Yes – it's that time again! Time for the next reincarnation of this Who-fic! But don't despair, for things have truly taken a turn for the better finally! I will not only be able to finish this story within the next week, but I'll be able to continue ahead with the rest of the planned series!

Until next time, faithful few…!