Splendid, More or Less Part 5/?

Author: Nefret24

Disclaimer and notes, see part 1.

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Though I cannot say that that instance was the only occurrence in which I lost consciousness, I can remark that no matter if it is the second or seventh time that someone has bludgeoned you sharply, it remains an unpleasant experience.

I have no recollection of how I came to be sitting in the middle of the fountain, but suffice to say, the quantity of water did have its merits in helping me to regain my consciousness. I kicked and sputtered and tried to move. From what I could tell, my hands and feet had not been bound.

They might as well have been. The weight of my water-soaked dress efficiently left me frustrate in a labyrinth of fabric. I tried to pull the hair out of my face and could make out a third individual who was speaking to the men.

I attempted to address them and were it not for the water garbling my speech, I would have upbraided them forcefully. Instead, my strangled shout of indignation served as the catalyst for making them scatter.

"Good Gad," I muttered to myself as I tried to untwist my skirt from the fountain's spout. After a few unsuccessful tries, I managed to free myself and slowly extract myself from the structure.

I hugged my arms tightly, feeling my teeth chatter with cold. However hot the desert can become within the daytime, it is shockingly cool at night. Especially when one is wearing a thin frock, is dripping wet and completely alone.

Mr. Gilbertson was nowhere to be seen. "Mr. Gilbertson?" I called out, to no reply. I completed a circuit of the fountain to no avail. Had he been kidnapped?

I called out his name several times and eerie silence was my only reply. My cool intellect and nerves of steel, for which I am known, persevered, but I would be telling an untruth if I did not confess a bit of unease at finding myself in such a position. More determined than ever to find my way back to Shepheards, I began to walk down one of the less gloomy connecting streets.

As I continued, I devoutly wished that I had remained where I had been. The street became narrow and the mazelike quality of the streets was reinforced tenfold. It was very, very dark and to make matters even more disagreeable, the darkness itself seemed alive, teeming with unpleasant things: piles of pungent refuse, small rodents scurrying about, looming balconies perched precariously overhead.

I am not easily daunted, but without a torch or a guide, the starlight completely obscured now by houses, my cause was hopeless. I would never find my way back to the Muski by this path, I rationalized, and so, I turned back the way I came.

The fountain was in sight when I heard the noise- a loud, strangled "whoop!" Startled, I found myself whipping around to find its source only to be rushed head-on by its originator. Strong arms wrapped around me, half-lifted me from the ground, my head was pressed into a large shoulder. Assuming the worst, I struck out in all directions, blindly kicking and squealing.

As my knee connected with my attacker's anatomy, a sound emanated from his lips that to me was akin to choirs of angels: "Dammit all, Peabody!"

"Emerson?!" I ceased my struggles and peered up into my would-be attacker's face. It was he!

"Peabody, what the devil is the matter with you? Can't you stay out of trouble for five minutes?" he roared in my ear.

"It is not my fault," I upbraided him and was about to protest my innocence when his lips captured mine.

"I don't know why I ever agreed to marry you, Amelia," he remarked some time later, slightly retracting his embrace. "I shall find an early grave, I think."

"Rubbish, my dear," I replied firmly and proceeded to fill him in on the events that had transpired since we had left the hotel. "But however did you manage to find me?"

"Especially when I was unknowing of your being lost?" he chuckled to himself complacently. "To be honest, it was an accident. I was, er, in the neighborhood, so to speak, and came across a rather incoherent skirmish- your carpet vendor was quite upset at the destruction of his shop."

Despite all Christian attempts to the contrary, I felt a satisfied smirk grace my lips.

"Your driver was quite, er, the worse for wear, but he did manage to say that he had been denied payment by an English gentleman and lady who happened to have been in the coach."

"And you simply deduced it was I?"

"No other Englishwoman I know wears this shade of crimson," he said, pulling one arm away to dig within his trouser pocket and revealing the torn fragment from my dress. "Or would be damn foolish enough to go running around the Old City by herself late at night!" he finished, giving me a slight shake.

"I wasn't alone, Emerson... Emerson! Mr. Gilbertson! He's missing! Those thugs must have dragged him away!"

Emerson looked at me as if my hair were afire. I realized that in my previous account I had not explained what had happened after we had gotten hopelessly lost. His face underwent a series of convulsions and twitches, but he remained silent throughout.

"Well, it does explain why you're dripping all over me," he mumbled, shaking his head. He continued to murmur and I managed only to catch a few words: "Hebrew, did you say? It couldn't have been educated street ruffians, bah " he fingered the clef in his chin, deep in thought.

"I have heard stories, they say that criminals employ a secret language, composed of a mixture of Semitic languages" I began excitedly.

"The siim issaagha, you mean? Really, Peabody, what utter nonsense!"

"What other explanation can there be? Ruffians roaming around in the middle of the night- obviously uneducated men and yet speaking Hebrew? It is the only explanation that makes sense!"

Emerson's lower lip thrust out petulantly. He knew I was right. His hands found my shoulders again and he looked me straight in the eye. He spoke in a low growl. "Amelia, I will not leave my excavations for any longer than a week. You promised we would drop off Miss Evelyn's nefarious relation--"

"I didn't expect these events to occur--"

"I don't suppose you ever do," he muttered, shaking his head. "Whatever you propose to do-- don't do it. Gilbertson's a grown man"

"He's an idiot and you know that and he could be in terrible trouble! Just because someone has no wits to speak of is no reason to leave them in the clutches of criminals!"

"Ameliaaaa," Emerson groaned feelingly. "My dig site"

"Emerson. I promise you I'll find him before the week is out," I said confidently.

"That's what worries me," he managed feebly, taking my arm to lead me back to the hotel.