Timewyrm: Genesis Part 7

"I'm not interested," she told him.

He leered at her, heavily. "Then shall we retire for the night?" She could kill the Doctor for this. "I'm even less interested in that," she snapped. "At least with you." She was definitely going to bring on another regeneration crisis for the Doctor in exchange for this.

"Nonsense!" Gilgamesh insisted, belching loudly again. "I've bedded better-looking wenches than you."

"Yeah?" One thing she'd learned from her mum's fancy men - never argue with a drunk. You couldn't win, and you might provoke them. She remembered a black eye she'd sported for a week after one of them had lost his temper with her quick tongue.

"G.o.ds, yes," he told her, warming to the subject. "Why, the G.o.ddess Ishtar herself tried to entice me into her bed just a few weeks ago."

What an ego he had! "Can you blame her?" Ace smiled, leading him on.

While he was drinking and talking he at least kept his hands away from her.

"Of course not," Gilgamesh replied. "But, despite her pleas, I turned her down."

"Not good enough for you, eh?" Gilgamesh tapped the side of his nose. It took him two attempts to find it. "Not that," he said. "But you know what happens to mortals who sleep with the G.o.ds."

"No, I don't," Ace said, suddenly tired of the man and his boasting. "And neither do you, if you're truthful."

"Truthful?" he echoed. "I'm always truthful! Don't you believe that Ishtar tried to seduce me?" At this moment there was a snicker from the next table, saving Ace the trouble of either lying to him or picking a fight.

Gilgamesh turned round to glare at the man who had laughed. "Do you have a problem?" he asked. "Or were you dropped on that face at birth?

The man, eyeing the empty beer pots lined up in front of Gilgamesh, obviously decided to humour the drunk. "Friend," he laughed, "I've heard that when Ishtar wants a man, she takes him. She takes enough these days at the temple."

"It won't be Ishtar who takes you," Gilgamesh swore, starting to his feet.

"It'll be Belit-Sheri, recorder of the tablets of the dead!" Enkidu grabbed his king's arm. "Please," he hissed. "Don't start anything."

Gilgamesh glared at his friend, but he was not so drunk that he couldn't see the worry in Enkidu's eyes. Reluctantly he nodded, and sat down again. He started to nurse his drink, turning his back on the other man.

Ace was doubly thankful - first, that Gilgamesh had calmed down, and second, that he had forgotten about trying to get her to bed. She glanced up as the man at the other table reached over and tapped her arm.

"Listen," the Kis.h.i.+te told her. "Keep an eye on your friend there. Not everyone in this town is as tolerant as me."

"I appreciate it," replied Ace. "Thanks for the advice."

The man hadn't finished. "Where are you from, anyway?" He glanced over her. "I've never seen skin that fair before. You're not from around here.

What are you doing in Kish?" That tore it! All they needed was some nosey native, prying into their business. "I'm a traveller," Ace said, hoping to stave him off before he started on Gilgamesh. The drunken king would give everything away as soon as he lost his temper.

"You're not a merchant," the man said. "You've no wares to display. So what are you doing here?" Casting about for ideas, Ace could think of only one answer that might convince him. "We're entertainers."

"Oh?" It was the wrong answer, because the man's companions now turned to look at the trio. "What does he do?" He gestured towards Gilgamesh.

"I'll bet he's a fire-eater!" one of the other men said, and laughed.

Gilgamesh caught this. "I do magic," he growled. "I cut men in half."

"And then put them back together in one piece?" howled another of the drinkers.

"Only if I like them."

Before the situation could get completely out of hand, Ace broke in: "I'm a singer."

"Really?" The men stared at her, interested. "How about a song, then?"

Now she'd done it. There wasn't a piano in the room, and there wouldn't be unless they all hung around for four thousand years or so. Well, there was only one thing she could do...

"Okay," she agreed, getting slowly to her feet. What could she sing that wouldn't go completely over their heads? No jazz! Nothing too modern...

She realized that everyone in the room - including Gilgamesh -was looking at her with interest.

Clearing her throat, she began to sing.

It was one of her real talents, her voice. She had perfect pitch, and only had to hear a song through a few times to get it down right. After the first line or so, she had them enraptured. She sang: I've been a wild rover for many a year And spent all my money on whiskey and beer But now I'm returning with gold in great store And I swear I will play the wild rover no more.

One of Mum's fancy men had been an Irishman. He was almost as full of folk songs from the old country as he was full of Guinness from the local, and he'd spent many evenings teaching Ace as many songs as he could recall. The Wild Rover, he had told her, was his theme song.

Ace had cried when she learned he'd been killed. He'd fallen, blind drunk, under the wheels of a bus. Fighting back the memories, she started on the chorus: And it's no, nay, never - clap, clap, clap, clap, clap No, nay, never no more No, nay, never no more Will I play the wild rover No never, no more.

The room had gone very quiet. Everybody was listening to her singing. She launched into the second verse, hoping that they could follow the meaning of the words.

I went into an alehouse I used to frequent And told the landlady my money was spent I asked her for credit, but she answered me Nay!

Such custom as yours I can get any day.

This brought a round of laughter. It had obviously struck close to home for many of the men present. She finished the final two verses, and had the audience clapping and joining in the chorus. For good measure, she repeated the last verse: I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done And ask them to pardon their prodigal son And ask them to pardon their prodigal son And if they caress me as ofttimes before I swear I will play the wild rover no more.

At the end of the chorus, the men all applauded, slapping hard on the tables. The animosity towards her, Gilgamesh and Enkidu had dissipated.

The man who had been questioning her smiled.

"Girl, that was uncommonly well done. Let me and the boys know when you'll be performing, and we'll be along to see you again." The others chipped in with their agreement, and Ace grinned at them all.

A man materialized from between the tables, and bowed low. He was dressed well, in a rich cloak and trappings, but they all showed signs of wear. Unlike the townspeople he was clean-shaven, and his shoulder length hair was not oiled or matted. He looked thin, and his grey-green eyes seemed to suggest he'd seen much.

"Lady," he said, courteously, "might I speak with you?" Glad of any distraction, Ace nodded. The man pulled up a stool, and almost fell on to it.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "I am Avram, the songsmith."

"Songsmith?" Ace echoed.

He opened his cloak, to show her a small harp slung over one shoulder.

"Like you, a travelling singer, my lady...?" "Ace." She stuck out a hand, and he shook it, gingerly. "Nice to see you."

"Likewise." He hesitated, then plunged on. "I was wondering if you might be willing to take me on with your party, lady. Truth to tell, Kish is not a very good place for a musician at this time."

To avoid replying to his question, Ace shot back: "What's wrong with this place?" Avram's eyes darted about, then he leaned forward, conspiratorially. "People are not happy here. This does not give them a good spirit to listen to music."

Wicked! Ace thought to herself. I'm a real spy. Getting the gossip for the Doctor. She asked: "Why's everyone so hacked off then?" Carefully, he whispered back: "Because the G.o.ddess Ishtar dwells among them."

Puzzled, Ace thought it over. "I would have thought that was a bonus."

Striving to recall all she could about primitive religions, she added: "Doesn't she make the crops grow, and that sort of thing?" "Hardly that," confided Avram. "She sits within her temple, preying on her wors.h.i.+ppers. Devouring them, it is said."

Ace suddenly felt a deep, gnawing wave of fear. "In her temple?" she asked, weakly. "In the city? Here?" Gilgamesh leaned forward. "Did I not tell you she was here, and trying to bed me?" Ace pushed him away from her, fighting back nausea at the stench of his breath. "If I listened to you, I'd be in dead trouble." Ignoring the pained look on Gilgamesh's face, she turned back to Avram. "Is this on the level?" "Certainly, lady." He seemed amazed. "You must be a newcomer here. The city is filled with the news.

Ishtar has come to dwell in her temple."

"And the bit about her devouring people?" Ace prompted.

Avram shrugged. "Many bodies have been found. No one speaks openly, but a songsmith keeps his eyes and ears open. I hate to speak of such an indelicate subject to a lady such as you..."

"You'd better talk" she said, finding it hard to restrain her impatience, "or I'll rip your tongue out and feed it to my pet donkey here." She indicated Gilgamesh.

"Well, they have been found with their heads broken open, and their brains missing."

Anything that Ace might have said next was lost as Gilgamesh surged to his feet, glaring furiously at her. "Your pet donkey?" he yelled., "Girl, I will take no more of your impertinence!" Not to be outdone, Ace jumped to her feet. "Listen, you daft p.i.s.s-artist!" she screamed back. "I've had it up to here with your high-and-mightiness and that wandering hand syndrome of yours!" She turned to Avram. "Let's get out of here. I want to talk."

He nodded, happy to get away from the muscular giant. Gilgamesh was too stunned that Ace had answered back to react. As a king he was not used to being spoken to in such tones nor to being turned down for a session of lovemaking. By the time he'd gathered whatever wits the drink had left him, Ace and Avram were gone.

Out in the cold, crisp night air, Ace felt she could breath again. Avram stood next to her, waiting. Finally, she asked him, in a quiet voice: "Do you know where this temple of Ishtar is?" "Of course. But it will not be possible for you to visit it."

More certain than ever that this temple of Ishtar must have drawn the Doctor to it like honey draws flies, she looked grimly at Avram. "Why not?"

she demanded.

"Because no women are allowed within, save for the sacred priestesses."

"Typical," she said. "Well, I'll deal with that problem when we get there.

Now show me the way."

Avram gave in to her strong will. Shrugging, he led the way through the streets.

Ace was absolutely sure that the Doctor must have gone to this temple.

Gilgamesh's claims of meeting Ishtar she had taken with more than a pinch of salt, but Avram's quiet honesty had convinced her. If there was anything funny going on in Kish, it had to be in that temple. And the Doctor was bound to get himself into trouble there and need her help.

9: NITRO NINE, G.o.dDESS NIL.

The shadows seemed to gather about Dumuzi as he led the Doctor through the temple precincts. There was something very unwholesome about the man, but the Doctor couldn't quite put his finger on it. These annoying little hints of danger and wrongness were beginning to annoy him. While things were rarely entirely clear in his adventures and crusades, he hated nothing quite so much as working in the dark. In this case, he reflected, looking about the stone walls, quite literally in the dark.

"Business not good?" he asked, sympathetically. "Can't afford to burn the midnight oil?" Dumuzi regarded him with detachment. "The temple is visited by the G.o.ddess and good fortune," he replied. "We lack for nothing that we wish."

"Well, that's handy," the Doctor replied breezily. "Most of us aren't that lucky. For myself, I'm beginning to wish I'd brought a large torch. Bit dark in here, isn't it?" "That is how the G.o.ddess prefers it."

"Oh, well, that ends the problem," the Doctor observed. "No arguing with a G.o.ddess, is there? Do you ever argue with her?" "Never."

"Didn't think so." The Doctor stopped dead, looking with interest at the altar of sacrifice. It bore the marks of much use. "Yes, I can see this is a busy place. I'm surprised that the G.o.ddess has the time to see me. She will be seeing me personally, I take it?" Dumuzi gave him another of the curiously blank stares. "Yes. She will have union with you."

"Oh, well, I'm all in favour of unions," the Doctor smiled. "Trade unions, postal unions..." "This way." Dumuzi gestured for the Doctor to begin walking again. The Doctor, however, had no intention of plunging further into the gloom until he was completely ready. His instincts were definitely warning him of danger in these darkened halls. He had discovered over the centuries that evil preferred lurking in darkness to sunbathing. If this priest were kept off-guard, it might provoke some interesting responses. So far, his answers were far from satisfactory. The Doctor had let slip any number of anachronisms, and the man had questioned none of them. Highly unusual.

"It's not every temple that's visited by the G.o.ddess it serves, is it?" he asked, leaning against one of the pillars and giving the impression that he had all night to spare for chatting. "How come you're so blessed? Win a compet.i.tion for best-kept temple or most respectful sacrifice or something?"

"The G.o.ddess has her own reasons for whatever she deems best." Dumuzi gestured again. "She awaits you."

"Does she really?" Peering into the face of the priest, the Doctor smiled.

"How does she even know I'm here? I've not sent in my card yet, and I didn't see you use the telephone."

"Your words are devoid of meaning," Dumuzi replied.

"You're not the first to tell me that," said the Doctor. A sudden impulse struck him, and he decided to act upon it. His impulses were rarely wrong.

When they were, of course, they tended to get him into serious trouble. He hoped that this wasn't one of those times. "I've been insulted by better men than you!" he yelled. "You take that back, or put up your fists!" He struck a pose that Jack Dempsey had once shown him, fists clenched and raised, ready to strike.

Dumuzi seemed to be completely unmoved. "This way," he repeated.

"Certainly," the Doctor agreed, cheerfully. So he couldn't annoy the priest.

Interesting. The man was under some form of mind control. No matter how good his self-control, he should have reacted at least slightly to the Doctor's threat, but there had been no flicker of puzzlement or alarm in his face. Of course, in this light, it was impossible to be certain... But the Doctor didn't need to be certain of anything yet - just very, very wary. He followed his host through a doorway, then stopped dead.

"Now I know what that smell is!" he exclaimed. "It's anesthetic! I always disliked hospitals, and that's what this place reminds me of!" He tapped Dumuzi with the handle of his umbrella. "Now where did a primitive civilization like yours get its hands on anesthesia?" Dumuzi made no attempt to answer him. Instead, two of the priestesses darted out of the darkness by the doorway and gripped the Doctor's arms tightly. Unable to break free, the Doctor yelped: "Be careful of the jacket! I had it dry-cleaned and pressed last century!" The priest bent to an alcove, and then moved forward, a pad in his hand. The Doctor caught a momentary stench of ether, and then the pad was pressed into his face. He kicked, and struggled, then gave one long, sharp intake of breath before going completely limp.

Dumuzi regarded him with the same lack of interest he had shown all along. "The G.o.ddess will be pleased to devour the mind of this one," he murmured. Then he gestured for the two women to bring the body through into the Holy of Holies, to await the pleasure of Ishtar.

Her heart beating furiously, En-Gula hid behind a pillar, wildly trying to think what she should do next. The stranger had been tricked and rendered unconscious by the minions of Ishtar. She had caught some of his words as she had followed the two men through the temple, and though she understood few of them, the certainty had grown that here was a man who might be able to help. If he was Touched by Ishtar, there would be no hope of any aid from him. His mind would be hers to mould or devour as she pleased. But what could one young priestess do, alone, to save this strange stranger? Should she try and get word to Ninani? But what good would that do? By the time the princess could receive the message, make a decision and act, the stranger's brain would be long gone. No, if there was to be anything done, she would have to do it now, alone.

But what?

Ace found her fears growing as they approached the gray bulk of the temple. Maybe she was just imagining things, but her travels with the Doctor had honed her senses. She couldn't write off her mood as being simply the product of worry. There was something seriously wrong in Kish, all right, and this temple was the place where it dwelt. She had absolutely no doubt that the Doctor had blithely waltzed in here, trusting to his luck and improvisation to deal with whatever problems he encountered.

She felt he placed too much trust in his abilities. Without her to help him, he'd undoubtedly get into some real trouble. As she was about to move forward, Avram placed a hand on her arm.

"Stay, lady," he advised, "You will not be welcome within."

"Dead right I won't be," she agreed. "But I'm going in. I'm certain that's where the Doctor must have gone."

Avram sighed. He liked this young woman. She was pretty, talented, and bright, but she was too headstrong for her own good. Ace," he explained, not for the first time, "only the sacred priestesses are allowed in there. You would never be able to pa.s.s as one."