"Crap," he whispered to Teyla. "Looks like we have to bribe the soldiers to get in. Didn't you say you'd think of something to trade?"
"Leave it to me."
Two young men immediately in front of them were sent back, and then it was their turn. The commander of the detachment took in their appearance with a long, slow glance that betrayed a mix of disgust and boredom, decided that no backhanders would be forthcoming here either, and said, "Not you."
"You are making a mistake." Teyla took a step forward, found the man's arm with surprising accuracy, and placed her hand on it.
"I assure you, woman, it's no mistake. So let go of me," the soldier snarled. "Besides"-he raised his voice so the bystanders would hear-"what's the point of a attending an execution if you can't see it, huh?"
The hopefuls waiting behind Ronon and Teyla dutifully broke into chuckles, pandering to the man's doubtful comedic talents to improve their chances. Ronon barely heard it.
Execution?
"That would be my problem." Teyla's voice had taken on a pitch and tone that startled even him. She wasn't talking loudly-nobody could overhear, except he and the watch commander-but her tone had a creepy, unearthly quality that perfectly matched the white irises trained on the soldier as though she could see him after all. "And believe me, it is far less grave than yours will be when your wife learns that you're in the habit of spending your bribes on a whore."
"Witch!" The soldier jumped back as if her touch had burned him. His face had turned chalky, and though he was trying hard not to show his fear in front of his men, he couldn't hide the tremor of his hands. "Witch!" he hissed again. "Go! Go on. And you too! Take her out of here." He spat at Ronon's feet. "But beware, witch! If I see you again, I'll kill you."
"I'll see you first," Teyla whispered. Her smile promised that, should this contingency come to pass, she'd turn him into a toad. Aloud she said, "Thank you so much, soldier. You are very kind."
The man reeled back, terrified. Ronon grabbed Teyla and all but ran through the gate before the soldier could change his mind-or come to his senses.
"How did you know?" asked Ronon as they rushed up a wide, cobbled street trying to put as much distance between themselves and the gate as quickly as possible. "Don't tell me you read his mind!"
"I read his smell" Teyla grinned. "When a guy reeks of cheap perfume like that, there aren't very many options, are there?"
"I wouldn't know. But how could you tell he was married?"
"Baby milk and home cooking." Her grin widened. "It couldn't have been more obvious."
"If you say so." Stifling a laugh, Ronon pulled her around a corner and slowed his pace now that they were safely out of sight from the gate. "What made you think it would work?"
"A society as primitive as this`? He was bound to be superstitious."
The rationale struck Ronon as tenuous, but he didn't quibble. Checking out the neighborhood was more important. Compared to the shantytown outside the walls, this was definitely upscale. The streets were lined by palatial houses, fronted with porticos, soaring pillars, and flights of marble stairs leading up to doors of richly decorated bronze. Many stood open despite the weather, offering glimpses of sumptuous interiors, all gleaming gold and shimmering silk. Large, glowing braziers just outside the doors kept out the cold.
Apparently those were an invitation for travelers to gather around and warm up. Each brazier was surrounded by at least three people, wet and disheveled and rubbing their hands over the heat. Ronon filed it away for further use. Dusk was falling now, an unspectacular thickening of the gray light, and unless Teyla managed to scare an innkeeper into offering them free accommodation, they'd be well advised to find themselves one of those braziers.
In the street folks were still bustling, though the throng had thinned out markedly, a combination of admittance policies and the fact that the street was as wide as any square Ronon had ever seen. The sheer number of people made him doubt the wisdom of coming here. How were they supposed to find one man among the teeming masses? He'd expected the reasonable dimensions of a market town, nothing like this. And there was no guarantee that McKay had even made it through the gate… Well, if they didn't find him here, they could always return to the farm and try their luck there.
Ronon shrugged it off and directed his attention back to the street. Pairs of soldiers strutted among the visitors, but they seemed to be routine patrols, keeping the peace rather than looking for a witch and her companion. Deciding that it was as safe as things got around here, he led Teyla back out into the flow of traffic, which was headed uphill toward a cluster of buildings that towered high above the city proper. At a guess, the main event was going to take place up there somewhere.
As though she'd read his mind-a troubling thought-Teyla said, "You were wrong. It's not a market."
"Does it matter?" he asked. "Still people, still gossip."
"I expect it does matter to the person being executed."
"Can't worry about him… or her."
At last they reached the end of the road, as it were. Before them stretched a vast space, dotted with stalls closed up for the night. Ronon figured he'd found his market after all, though on a far grander scale than a farm boy from Sateda could ever have imagined. Three sides of the square were seamed by structures that dwarfed even the palaces further down the street-temples, most likely. The fourth side bordered on a gaping abyss whose bottom was swallowed by the shadows of nightfall. It separated the market from a vertical rock face beyond. Perched at the top of that sat a fortress, which gave the distinct impression that it was watching your every step and disapproving.
"Cozy," grumbled Ronon.
"What is?"
I 'll tell you in a minute. Come on."
Right at the edge of the chasm a clump of people had gathered, and they were craning their necks, staring up at the fortress. Ronon slotted himself and Teyla in between a couple of other spectators and squinted up in the direction they were gazing. Suspended from a battlement of the fortress and barely visible in the gray-in-gray gloom of the rock and a rain-logged evening hung a cage. He could just about make out a figure huddled inside. The condemned, he presumed, and there was little doubt about the form of execution.
"Who'd have thought that there were any of those disciples of Ikaros left?" one of the bystanders mused. "You'd have thought they'd been rooted out good and proper."
Disciples of Maros?
As Ronon bit back his own gasp, he felt Teyla stiffen and squeezed her hand to stop her from blurting out anything that might blow their cover.
By all accounts he confessed straightaway," somebody else offered. "Said he was a `scientist' and sounded right proud of it, too. Been sticking his nose in the forbidden place, they claim."
The information solidified the sinking feeling in the pit of Ronon's stomach. He backed away from the gaggle of rubberneckers and pulled Teyla with him until they were well out of earshot.
"Ronon!" she hissed. "Will you please tell me what's going on?"
"They've got McKay." Ronon sent a last despondent look up at the cage. "And day after tomorrow he'll die."
Chapter eighteen
Elizabeth couldn't say when the cold and the relentless shaking had stopped, but stopped they had, and for the moment that was pretty much all she cared about.