The temptation to deck the son of a bitch was overwhelming, but Ronon decided that it would be counterproductive. So, he winked at the guy instead. "It's a deal," he promised and nudged Teyla past the guard and through the gate.
They hurried across an interior court, which stood at least two inches under water, and toward the wing to the left of the gate. Ronon couldn't even begin to imagine what the other sections of the buildings might hold. The structure was massive, less from genuine need, he suspected, than to project a sense of power over the city and surrounding countryside.
"Where are we going?" Teyla whispered.
"The guardroom," he replied, trying to inject it with about twice as much optimism as he actually felt. "Should be empty. We'll leave a fire-starter there, then head down to the cells."
"Good. I think." She didn't sound convinced, not that Ronon could blame her.
Despite his own misgivings, he was grateful when they reached the entrance to the building and, for the first time in hours, a place that was dry. The outer door gaped on a long hall way, lit by a handful of torches in wall sconces and the warm glimmer of light spilling through another open door right at its end. The guardroom was deserted as he'd hoped, cups of wine and plates with unfinished meals littering the refectory table that took up half the space in the room.
"Hungry?" asked Ronon, grinning.
"Not particularly."
"You sound nervous "
"I wonder why." She gave a lopsided smile. Then, "Let's hurry. I've got a bad feeling about this. As if something or someone is going to try and stop us."
He knew better than to question Teyla's instincts. They were always on the money, and of course there was that Wraith gene that seemed to allow her to sense stuff above and beyond telepathic contact.
It took them less than half an hour to place the rest of their oil packages. One they deposited in the guardroom itself. From there a second door led off into several large bunkrooms, and they hid the remaining four parcels in those after making sure that the quarters were as deserted as everywhere else. The bedding would provide excellent fuel.
"How long do you reckon?" said Ronon.
"Difficult to gage," she replied. "It's a lot warmer in here than it was back in the market square, so that should speed things up. I would guess about half an hour, but I can't be sure. The ones we planted in the city should go up soon, though."
"That's what I've been thinking." He hadn't forgotten her warning about the need for haste. The fact that the guards, who had been milling around in droves the previous night, were absent was an unforeseen gift. In Ronon's experience you were well advised to take advantage of those as quickly and as thoroughly as you could, because there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be snatched away again. "Let's do it," he murmured. "Weather's only getting worse."
"Excellent point." Teyla gave a brief smile, which was reassuring. He didn't like her being all tense and apprehensive. It was rare enough to be unsettling. "Have you thought about how you'll get Rodney out of that cage?" she asked.
"Yes. I can do it, though McKay won't be happy." An optimistic assessment, but Ronon chose not to share that minor point. He led Teyla through the guardroom and back into the corridor, which ended at an archway spanning a flight of stairs.
Unlit and narrow, the staircase seemed to lead directly to the bowels of the planet. A clammy draft streamed up from below, making the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. Worse than that, he heard footsteps.
"Crap," he whispered.
"Do you want to go back?"
"No. Probably seen us already." He guided her forward, keeping a firm hold on her arm to prevent her from tripping.
Halfway down, they met a couple of guards who came barging up the steps, breathing hard. Ronon grunted a greeting, hoping that they wouldn't recognize the tension in his body as they squeezed past. He needn't have worried. The guards barely acknowledged him and Teyla, rushing on up the stairwell, intent on their errand, whatever it was. Good luck to them.
"They were scared," Teyla offered softly.
Ronon decided against asking how she knew. This whole telepathy thing was making him feel distinctly nervous.
A couple of minutes later they reached the bottom of the stairs and another corridor. Last night he'd learned that this was one of the levels where prisoners were kept, and the implication had been that there were further floors like this; gloomy and dank and devoid of hope, their low-ceilinged hallways seamed by sturdy wooden doors and the cells they locked. Uncharacteristically hesitant, he ambled to a halt outside one of the open cell doors.
"What?" Teyla asked.
"Look, don't take this personally…" Oh damn, just spit it out, Dex! "You should stay here. You can't help me with McKay, and it'll be easier if I know you're someplace safe."
A brief flare of anger danced across her face-or perhaps it had merely been the flicker of a lone torch five meters down the hall. "That's the worst part of it," she murmured. "Believe it or not, I managed to train myself into forgetting it most of the time. But every now and again I come up against something that demonstrates to me how lacking I really am."
"You're not lacking," he said earnestly. "Your skills are different, is all. And we'll need them again, later."
She gave a soft laugh. "I'd never have pegged you for a diplomat, Ronon. To be honest, the idea is a little scary."
"I know." He nudged her into the cell, pulled the door shut and bolted it. "I'll be back as quickly as I can."
And he'd better keep that promise. If he didn't, he had just sealed Teyla's death warrant.
Shoving that thought aside, he started jogging down the corridor until he got to another staircase at the far end. This one spiraled up floor after floor, to the upper cell levels and eventually to the parapet from which McKay's cage was suspended. Ronon wouldn't have to go quite that far. The place he wanted was only two floors up. He sucked in a deep breath and bolted up the stairs, two steps at a time. The temperature was dropping as he climbed, proof that he was getting close.
Tonight there were no rubberneckers-all of them too busy quelling the riot at the gate-and the landing in front of the window was deserted. Carved three feet through solid rock, the sides of the casement glistened wet, and gusts of wind drove in the rain. He shuddered to think what it had to be like out there in the cage. But McKay wouldn't have to stay there much longer.
Ronon took off the cloak that was part of his stolen uniform, drew his sword, and began cutting the heavy fabric lengthwise into strips. Knotted together they'd give him a reasonably strong rope. From what he'd seen yesterday, he wouldn't need much more than six meters, which meant he would use about half the cloak and should have enough left over to provide McKay with some kind of cover. When he was done, he tied one end of the makeshift rope to a hook set high in the wall, secured the other end around his waist, and crawled out to the edge of the window.
Out of inky blackness, a stinging fist of rain smacked his face and ripped his breath away. He couldn't see a single thing-welcome to Teyla's world-and for long moments he worried that the rescue attempt would fail right here. Then, slowly but steadily, his eyes adjusted and he could make out the gray-in-gray outlines of the cage and the man slumped inside it. Slumped in a different position from yesterday, which was good news. At some point in the none-too-distant past McKay had still been able to move under his own steam. It wasn't saying much, and it might have changed by now, but every scrap of hope helped.
Pushed and pummeled by the relentless wind, the cage swayed nervously three meters beneath the lower edge of the window, and about two meters out from the rock face. It'd be a rough landing, and Ronon would have preferred to jump for a more stable target, but he doubted that things would improve anytime soon.