The small vessel turned on the spot like a compass needle searching for north, until its nose pointed at the event horizon that exploded out toward them in a glorious cascade of silver and blue. To the left of it an uneven fight was taking place, and she grasped in a second what the outcome would be.
"Don't look!" John's lips were compressed in a strained white line, he kept his eyes stubbornly on the large, shimmering target that was the event horizon.
Elizabeth's gaze dropped to the storage box she was cradling in her lap. The snow in it was melting into rose-tinted puddles. At the bottom of one of those sat a small white clump. John had been right. Star had managed to get them one of Radek's teeth. Whether it was enough remained to be seen.
John goosed the engines, the jumper shot forward into the wormhole, and four years of Elizabeth's life dissolved into cold nothing and the vague awareness of a rough, rough ride.
Chapter nineteen
Teyla drowsily turned over, smacked her elbow against unforgiving stone, and realized that she actually must have fallen asleep at some point. It bore witness to how tired she'd been. The first thing she noticed was that her sleeping place was markedly cooler than it had been when she'd dozed off. At least it was still dry. Ronon had explained about the porticoes and the braziers and found them shelter right by that large market square where they'd ended up the previous evening.
At a guess, the brazier had gone out.
She swiped her hand across the floor until her fingers struck metal, and she cautiously traced the leg of the brazier upwards, prepared to let go as soon as she felt the heat. There was none. A little residual warmth, perhaps, but nothing else. She must have slept for hours. And the space beside her was still deserted.
"Ronon?"
Apart from a sleeper somewhere to her right who shushed her angrily, there was no reply. So he was still gone. She couldn't begin to imagine what he could be doing reconnoitering for so long.
With a soft sigh, she drew up her knees, pulled her cloak tighter around her, and listened to the rain slapping the pavement. It had to be dawn by now, she supposed. Over the steady crackle of raindrops, she could hear the hurried footfalls of a handful of early risers who one by one arrived in the square among quiet calls of morning greetings. Then the rustle and creak and clatter of stalls being opened and readied. Before long the sounds were complemented by smells. At least one of the stalls was a bakery, and the scent of freshly baked bread drove her half crazy with hunger, especially when an early customer had the indecency of walking past, munching on his purchase.
She barely suppressed a moan.
Then she thought of Rodney, which went a considerable way toward curbing her appetite. He wasn't going to eat either, probably hadn't eaten in however long he'd been locked in that cage-and that, by all accounts, was the least of his problems. Ronon had filled her in on the details of what he'd seen and, together with the gossip they'd picked up the previous evening, it didn't paint a pretty picture. They'd spent half the night in hushed conversation, trying to figure out what to do. By all accounts, Rodney McKay was going to be executed at daybreak tomorrow-which left her and Ronon twenty-four hours, or the local equivalent thereof, to save his life.
The attitude of the onlookers in the market had made abundantly clear that any appeal for mercy would be a waste of time. Which meant a prison break, but how did you break someone out of a prison that was in plain sight of hundreds, perhaps thousands of people? They'd bandied about dozens of possibilities, and the later into the night their discussion lasted, the more scurrilous the proposals became, until Ronon at last had decided he would use the cover of darkness to find out as much as he could about the city and the fortress.
The fact that he hadn't returned worried her. Yes, this was a large place, but yesterday's events had shown that its inhabitants were deeply suspicious and that nobody could be trusted. What if Ronon, too, had been captured? Or worse?
Fear tightened her throat, and the attempt to convince herself that he was too experienced to make any careless mistakes failed. Suddenly something was thrust under her chin, and she gasped with apprehension, sucking in a lungful of warm fragrance. Bread.
"Ronon?"
"Sleep well?" he asked casually. "Thought I'd bring breakfast "
"Where have you been?" Fear and relief funneled into a surge of anger, and she wanted to hit him. About to move, her hands twitched against a crunchy, flaky crust of bread, and suddenly anger, too, evaporated. Instead of striking out, she grabbed the roll, tore it apart, inhaled that magical scent of sourdough and flour and spices. It tasted as delicious as it smelled. "Where have you been?" she repeated around a mouthful of bread.
"Sightseeing." In a series of soft thuds he slumped to the ground beside her.
Teyla heard scraping noises she couldn't place, then a new aroma hit her. Spicy, meaty, mouthwatering.
"Careful, it's hot." Ronon placed an earthenware bowl and a wooden spoon in her hands. "They eat soup for breakfast here. Go figure. Smells good, though."
"Do I want to know how you came by the means to buy this?" she asked lazily, not really caring. The soup was every bit as good as the bread and had started a comfortable pool of warmth in her belly.
"Does it matter?"
"Just curious."
"I made a new friend in a tavern last night" he said. "Got drank as a skunk, and I helped him home. Did him a favor, deserved to be paid."
Teyla grinned. "Obviously. I hope that, otherwise, your friend is in good health?"
"Hung over, maybe. Anyway, we need the money more than he."
"I'd have been happy with just the bread."
"Food was an added bonus," Ronon chomped between two slurps of soup. "Getting out of here will be expensive."
"Oh?"
"After breakfast we should go for a walk," he said and tore into a chunk of bread.
She listened to the crackle of the crust and, above that, the stirrings of their sleeping companion. Evidently the man was awake enough now that Ronon couldn't risk any further discussion. Just as well. The food deserved her full and undivided attention and was gone more quickly than Teyla would have liked. They were ready to go within a few minutes, and Ronon led her out from under the portico and into the persistent rain. Either side of them people hurried up and down the stairs, which suggested that the building that had sheltered them wasn't a temple, as Ronon had assumed, but some kind of administrative office.
The market had well and truly woken up now, and they were shunted along by throngs of shoppers going about their business. Vendors were praising their goods-everything from beauty products to pig's ears-and serious haggling matches were going on all around. At last the tide of people spat them out on the opposite side of the market where, according to Ronon, that huge chasm gaped to swallow Rodney. It was quieter here, except for another clump of spectators staring up at the cage amid curses and mutterings of outrage and disgust, but Ronon steered her around the group and into the shelter of a small parapet at the lower end of the square. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap.
As soon as she came in contact with him, she realized that he must have changed clothes. He was now dressed in a leather shirt and pants, his chest protected by a metal plate of armor, well scratched and uneven with patches of rust.
"Try and look hopelessly in love with me," he said. "It'll explain why we're alone."
"Am I still pregnant?" she asked.
"We're not married yet "
"Glad to hear it. So, where have you been?" Teyla asked for the third time that morning. "And where did you find this outfit?"