Egyptian Tahtib: Frustration
The rest of that day would surely go down as one of the single most frustrating days in Rose's entire life.
Napoleon took in her appearance with a single, swift – and appreciative – glance, as he strode arrogantly up to the head monk and began conversing through an interpreter. As Rose spoke neither French nor Arabic (why didn't I think to ask the TARDIS for myself, too?), she understood not a word, not even when the monk turned and gestured graciously towards her.
"Madame?" came the curious, courteous invitation to speak from the famous general.
She spluttered a bit before she managed to reply, blushing, feeling completely and unexpectedly out of her depth. "I... I'm sorry. I don't speak French."
"Vous êtes Anglais?" came from the astonished Napoleon, at the same time as one of the men crowding behind him echoed the question – but finally in words she could comprehend!
"You're English?"
She turned to him with relief. "Yes!" Before she could get another word out, he interrupted, unexpectedly identifying her.
"You're Madame Picard, no?"
Rose blinked, then in a flash remembered Jared blurting out the sci-fi alias back in Suez. "Yes, I am."
"General Bon told us of you and your husband," he explained then turned and spoke to Napoleon, obviously introducing her. She shared a quick mutual wordless nod and smile of greeting with the general, then her savior swung back with the most important question of all: "But where is he? Monsieur Picard?"
The long night of worry came rushing back, and she didn't have to pretend distress. "I don't know. He disappeared!" While he provided a running translation for Napoleon and the other Europeans who now crowded around (and, she noticed absently, the Egyptian translator relaying it into Arabic for the monks), Rose began carefully explaining the situation – only making a few minor "tucks".
"We came out yesterday to investigate reports of a mysterious pyramid that sometimes appears here, on the north side of the oasis. And it was here! My husband found the way inside and was exploring it. I came back to get some tools from our camels, but when I turned around again, it had disappeared – with him inside!"
"What do you mean, it disappeared? How can a building vanish? Where was it?"
She gestured to the north, and as one, the group of men turned to gaze at the accusingly empty vista.
The English-speaker slowly swiveled back, skepticism etched on his face. "Madame..." he began condescendingly.
Rose interrupted him that time, for she'd spied a familiar face. Selim was lurking near the back of the group – he must have been hired by the French contingent as a local guide. "Ask him," she said urgently, pointing him out. "Ask him about the black pyramid, and about the... the bad wolf."
"Bad wolf?" came the nonplussed response.
"Just ask him." Tock was calmly sitting by her side, and she let her hand rest on his head while she stared at Selim, who looked increasingly uncomfortable.
It took a few minutes to coax it out of the reluctant Egyptian through the interpreter, but finally he admitted to the local legend of the black pyramid, and that the dog had been an astonishing match to the statue said to have been retrieved from inside the pyramid many long years before.
Excitement swept through the group then, and Rose thought she might be on her way to accomplishing her mission: luring Napoleon and his men inside and through the portal to god-only-knows when. She managed to relay the question of whether Selim knew how the pyramid could be made to appear, but the answer, startled and apprehensive but firm, was No.
Bonaparte reasserted command then, reminding all that he did have other business, after all: a conference with the august Abbot of St Catherine's (Rose's mouth curved in a tiny smile of satisfaction that she'd pegged the monks' origin correctly). So he selected a pair of his companions and the interpreter, and imperiously swept the holy men back into the tent, leaving Rose and the English-speaking gentleman to mount an investigation into the pyramid with the rest of the men.
"I am Gaspard Monge, by the way, Madame," he introduced himself at last.
"Rose. Rose Tyler Picard," she managed to add the alias without stumbling or smirking over it. Soon to be Rose Wolfe – at least it BETTER be! she added mentally.
She and Monge (who, when she asked, confirmed that he was one of the corps of scientists) led the way out to where the pyramid had been sitting the day before. But the day deteriorated rapidly from there, for of course there was absolutely no sign whatsoever of the monument's existence, then or ever. And shortly even hers and Jared's footprints had been thoroughly scuffed out by the throng of men tramping back and forth, leaving her less and less sure of the exact location.
It wasn't long before the others began giving up, drifting back to loll under the scrawny trees in the oasis in twos and threes, laughing and joking. At her expense, probably.
"Madame..." Monge finally said to her, apologetically. "There is nothing here."
Rose looked beseechingly at Selim, who had stayed to the last as if attempting to make up for some shortcoming. But he merely gazed back apologetically and shrugged, then turned back to the springs himself.
She trudged back to her packs, Tock still loyally at her side, and collapsed on them in despair. After a moment of silence, she heard Monge move off, returning to the tent.
Now what? What am I supposed to DO? She almost felt like tearing her hair out in frustration. How the hell am I supposed to get Napoleon through that damn portal if it won't even appear?A long, excruciating hour slowly dragged itself by, marked by the palm shadows drifting silently across the sand, and still no answers occurred to her. Maybe that's not what I'm supposed to do after all? Maybe there's something else? Although she could not for the life of her think of a way she could make a couple dozen French troops and the world-famous general simply disappear in the desert without a trace (let alone the "couple thousand" men Jared had said the Beta histories reported lost).
A sharp clatter roused her from her reverie, and she looked up to see yet another troop of horsemen arrive, but these were definitely Arabs, riding in from the deep desert to the east. They swung arrogantly down from their magnificent horses, brightly-colored robes and flashing metal weapons and jewelry augmenting the rich trappings on their mounts as proof of their wealth and importance. Napoleon and the Abbot came out of the tent, introductions were made all around, and the top two or three newcomers joined the bigwigs back inside the tent for another apparent round of talks. Watching from her far corner of the caravanserai, Rose saw Monge join them this time.
And so the long, frustrating afternoon dragged on. Shortly after the arrival of the Arabs, one of the Frenchmen hesitantly approached her little campsite, offering lunch: somehow they'd contrived to bring along some cold roast chicken and some skins of wine. She accepted the food gratefully, sharing scraps of the bird with Tock, but declined the pantomimed invitation to join the men. After burying the bones and checking the camels, who still showed no signs of wanting to graze, she sank dejectedly back into her morose brown contemplation.
Finally, finally, as the sun was beginning to sink in the west, the talks broke up. Napoleon came striding out, conferring with his subordinates. Monge apparently was giving him an update on the afternoon, gesturing at her several times and out towards the empty sands. Bonaparte listened quietly, then gave a sharp, decisive nod and barked out a few short commands. No doubt as to what they were, as his troop sprang into action, saddling their horses and preparing to return to Suez.
Monge loped over to Rose. "Madame, you are... requested... to return with us. Have no fear, the general will get to the bottom of your husband's disappearance. But there is nothing more to be done here." His hesitation on the polite word revealed the hidden command, but Rose had nothing better to do. She felt sure she wasn't going to accomplish anything out here on her own. And truth be told, she didn't care for the looks she was getting from the Arabs as they went about setting up camp for the night. She didn't care to share the oasis with them protected only by Tock, regardless of how good a guard dog he had been in the past.
Nodding wordlessly to Monge, she stood and began reloading the camels, finding she had some unexpected help from Selim and the interpreter. Shortly she was ready, and she mounted Sandy again, leading Brownie by his long reins, and joined the rear of the French horse troop, ignoring the pair of armed soldiers who "just happened" to fall in watchfully behind her.
By then the sun was truly setting, and Napoleon set a fast pace back to the Red Sea crossing. Rose remembered Jared telling her of the tides, and tried to remember the timing. Would they make it back and across before they were caught by the rising waters?
Just as the question crossed her mind, they came into view of the crossing point, and she caught her breath. It was already under a few inches of water, swirling ominously under the rapidly darkening, moonless sky. Looking ahead, she spied the interpreter speaking urgently to the general at the head of the line, pointing away to their right, urging him to go around the end of the bay.
But Napoleon completely ignored him and plunged unhesitatingly down the bank, his horse's hooves splashing into the rising waters.
The others in the troop followed their magnetic leader automatically, splashing their horses in behind him. Rose's camels, however, were having none of it. Sandy stopped dead at the top of the low bank and dug in her heels, bawing obstinately, while Tock joined in, barking at her as if trying to tell her something urgent. Rose couldn't afford to try to understand him, but urged the camel forward, clucking and speaking in both English and the Arabic command she'd learned, and even – growing more and more irritated and humiliated – using the little guide stick a little less than kindly on the camel's hindquarters, all to no avail. The camel simply refused to budge. Brownie began backing up, pulling his reins out of her distracted hands, and loped a dozen yards away from the waters.
The French troop had stopped to see what was going on at her two guards' shouts (which were also turning steadily more angry), and finally several splashed back, including Napoleon. He gave a sharp command, which of course she didn't understand. Then Monge was there. "You must leave the camel, Madame. Ride behind Villefort."
Villefort was a young soldier, slender and lightweight enough that his horse could carry double. He reined his horse around beside Sandy and reached out his arm to help her cross.
"But my things!"
"Leave them, Madame! There's no time! We must go!"
Rose drew breath to argue, while Tock kicked his sharp, warning racket up a notch. But she'd run out of time and the general's patience. He shouted another terse command, his face reddening in fury, and suddenly there were two rifles pointed at Rose. The veneer of courtesy had been stripped away, and her status was suddenly plain: prisoner. She had no choice but to obey, awkwardly slithering down from Sandy's higher back and landing behind Villefort's saddle. The soldier kicked his horse forward into the water as she grabbed him around the waist and held on tight.
She turned her head and called to Tock to follow, again and again, but the dog refused to enter the water, pacing agitatedly back and forth. All she could do was watch helplessly as the bank fell rapidly behind them, disappearing within seconds into the dark – the sun had sunk below the horizon while she'd argued with Sandy.
Tears streaming down her face, she choked back sobs at leaving her faithful companion, while trying to ignore the water now rushing, cold and black and ominous under the faint stars above, past the horses' knees all around her.
And out of the dark behind them came a heartrending, desperate howl.