***

It was a muted sort of foggy feeling coupled with perplexing body aches and something more she could not easily identify. Marguerite thought she might have felt the same if she had awakened early on a rainy morning in London, the sun hidden away behind menacing dark clouds. She would also have felt this way, her head swimming and eyes remaining squeezed shut against the brightness of day, having awakened in her bed after drinking heavily of brandy the evening before.

“In the café Tartes du jour.” she whispered, smiling faintly, body motionless on a hard flat surface.

Only, Marguerite suddenly realized, she wasn’t at home in London, snug in her bed, and it wasn’t raining. Nor had she consumed a great deal of alcohol last night. Or had she? And London … that was in England … right?

Painfully and unenthusiastically, Marguerite shifted. All she could hear was a muffled breeze, the sound of her own breathing, and in the distance the call of some annoying bird.

Licking her lips and feeling a sour taste in her mouth, the woman slowly blinked her eyes open and coughed. She gazed upward at a partly cloudy sky. ‘No, not in the city.’ Again, she heard a squawk off in the distance and saw a large bird circling way up high. Or no … not a bird … What was it? ‘I should know this.’ she thought, rising painfully up on her elbows.

It was all so hard to remember.

Marguerite groaned deeply in her throat, placing a shaky hand to her temple. Her head now hurt terribly, making her rethink last evening. She really could not remember anything of significance. “I have a fuzzy brain.” she whispered, almost childishly. Where had she been and how did she get here and …. She glanced down at her clothes. Jodhpurs and a blouse? When had she started to wear such things? Her blouse’s sleeve had been ripped, she noticed.

Frustrated, Marguerite looked to her left and spotted a dark hat. It wasn’t exactly feminine and fashionable. As a matter of fact, it looked rather masculine and practical considering her surroundings. Bewildered, she removed her hand from her temple, reaching for it, and saw blood stains on her fingertips. She moved her hand closer to her face, gazing at the crimson traces. Confused and annoyed, forgetting the hat for a moment, Marguerite slapped her hand down on the surface of where she was resting. “Could this day get any ….?” she began and slapped the slab again.

Solid.

Beside her loomed a great wall of rock and dirt. Marguerite had been lying on a ledge jutting out of the side of a steep cliff. Had she fallen? ‘Twenty … maybe twenty five feet up …’ she estimated silently. Possibly more.

Grasping her hat moodily by its brim, she once again wondered how she ended up here.

Sitting up, Marguerite stretched a bit and looked over the edge into a massive gorge. She could barely see bottom. Squinting against the sun and the ache at her temple, Marguerite looked up once again to the cliffs tip-top ledge. Jumping either way was not an option. If she was going to make it off this shelf she’d have to find foot holds and climb.

Lifting her hat, glancing at it curiously if not a bit aggravated, Marguerite placed it gingerly on her wounded, disheveled head. Carefully, being certain there were no broken bones, she got to her feet.

Again, the pterodactyl made a figure eight, swooping a little lower this time when seeing prey on the move.

~~~

Of course! Another morning and another reason for Lord John to do anything but what she requested. “This is just like you, Roxton. I asked you two days ago and you said ….”

“Oh for Pete sake, Marguerite, who knew the windmill was going to be tampered with?” He had the rifle balanced over one muscular thigh, his knee bent and foot positioned on a low backed chair, and was loading the weapon with freshly cast bullets. “When the natives are curious we have to be on our guard. You know that. Challenger needed my help yesterday and today we …”

“You and he are going back to the windmill.” she huffed, “Of course.”

“If we want electricity, we have to.” he reminded.

At the breakfast table Challenger quietly sipped the last of his tepid tea and gazed at his “to do” list. Exchanges such as these were common place between the couple. He barely noticed them anymore.

“There’s always an excuse. You know how important this is to me, Roxton. When I spotted those precious stones near Malone Rift you promised me we would get to them before the Kikos realized the treasure they have in their midst. They gave us permission and ….”

“And we will dig them out, Marguerite. Be patient.”

“Patience,” she snorted. It was not her strong suit. Ever since Omec and his men took off with her jewelry Marguerite had been determined to make good on her loss. … “I have nothing.” Marguerite murmured and turned away from him, feeling both anger and disappointment. Roxton would never understand. He was a part of that rarified breed that never had to financially struggle through life, making ends meet, hoping that the decisions he made today would pay off in the end with a large financial windfall.

“Things are always easier when Malone and Veronica are around. They take up some of the slack.” Roxton observed, “Otherwise …”

“I wish they were here now.” Marguerite whispered.

Roxton, noting the new softness in her tone, and how her head bowed a little in misery, put his rifle down, leaning it against their breakfast table and walked up behind her. This emotional exposure was most unusual for Marguerite. Carefully, attempting to be as sympathetic as possible, he put his hands on her shoulders and spoke close to the woman’s ear from behind. “It’s been awhile since we visited Pakim and the children in their tree houses. Ned and Veronica felt it was time to check on them.”

“I know.” Marguerite nodded, accepting. She dismissed a hidden notion that she might actually miss their companions. “But if they were here you would be free to go with me.” she murmured, straightening her shoulders, concentrating on the problem at hand. She could just picture the Kikos going back on their word, not allowing her to dig from their sacred mountain, after a significant amount of time passed. Some of the tribes on the plateau had very short memories.

Roxton smiled softly and chuckled. If they were still living on the plateau during the first year of their adventure, he would have automatically assumed it was Marguerite’s greed talking. But it wasn’t. Not really. She didn’t just want him to go with her to help dig gems from out of the side of a hill -- she wanted his company. More accurately, Marguerite wanted his undivided attention. He had been quite distracted lately with all of the repairs and outings he and Challenger were engaged in. But Marguerite, Roxton knew, would be damned if she admitted she felt as if she was being neglected amorously or otherwise by him.

“We’re onto finishing touches.” he promised, “It probably won’t take any more than a few hours. George?”

The scientist allowed an affirmative grunt, distractedly gazing through his list.

“When we get back it will still be day, with plenty of sunlight to spare. I’ll go with you then.” Roxton watched her profile from behind and saw a corner of Marguerite’s mouth beginning to upturn. Her head was still bowed but he was getting a positive response. He said, “We’ll fix up a nice picnic supper and won’t stop digging until you get all the precious treasure your heart desires. We will stay the entire night if you like …” Then he added in a low seductive growl of a tone: “… sleeping under the stars.”

Now she turned about gradually, welcoming his effort, and allowed Roxton’s arms to embrace her loosely. Marguerite smiled reluctantly and glanced once over at the preoccupied Challenger. She then looked up at the hunter with guarded but content eyes. “Promise?” she whispered.

He nodded, leaning his forehead against hers. “Just wait for me.”

Marguerite had intended to do just that. Wait for him. But it seemed silly to sit around the treehouse all day doing nothing but dishes and dusting when those gems were waiting to be excavated. The moment Roxton and Challenger departed Marguerite left them a note. She then seized her hat, gun belt, a bucket, pick and shovel, and went on her merry way.

Roxton would join her shortly ...

~~~~

“Dirkon will be pleased.” He reached forward and scraped rough, calloused fingertips across her smooth cheek. “It’s been far too long since we’ve come across merchandise like you.”

Two of the slavers were holding her from either side as their leader spoke to Marguerite.

“You will bring us a good price once we break your spirit.” he said, smiling through his short beard and discolored teeth. “I’d like to see to it personally.”

“Well, aren‘t you the charmer?” Marguerite snarled.

“The lady likes pretty stones.” one of the raiders called. Crouching before the wooden pale, he pulled a few of the glittering uncut diamonds from their container and showed them to his companions.

They chuckled.

“Are they worshiping stones?” The leader asked Marguerite, curious.

“You could say that.” Marguerite replied, dour and honest. “Where I come from they are very valuable.” Her pain was almost physical as she thought about her options and offered, “Would you like a few … to honor your own gods?”

“We honor Renta here and, in our world, they mean nothing.” Then, grinning sagely he said, “The more colorful stones are mere decorations for some of our women’s clothes; those women we choose to keep that is. Perhaps Dirkon will see you and decide to keep you in his own harem?”

Marguerite almost told the brute - obviously new to the slavers - that she and her companions already had a few run-ins with Dirkon in the past. Most notable was when he and his raiders tried to attack the treehouse during their first year on the plateau and make off with Veronica.

“I’m not worthy.” Marguerite said, sarcastically.

“Perhaps you are right. “ He looked Marguerite over very closely, from the top of her brunette head, down her slender body to her jodhpurs then to the tips of her booted feet. “There must be a reason why a woman like you wears such confining garments.”

The man near the pail stood upright and laughed, dropping the gems in his hand unceremoniously to the ground. “Perhaps we should relieve her of some of those clothes just to be certain she has something a man might want.”

Marguerite tensed, not liking the sound of that or the way the men were now looking at her. Some of them were closing in. The bare-chested fiend holding her gun belt and pistol was practically drooling. What would Veronica do in a situation like this?

As a filthy hand snuck out to touch her shoulder Marguerite reacted, twisting violently, hearing the sleeve of her blouse tear. Her next movements were instinctual. The heel of one of Marguerite’s boots came down on the foot of one of the men whilst her opposite elbow connected to the ribcage of the goon on her reverse side. Both pushed away from her in shock and pain. She then screamed but not out of fear or anger but because she knew a loud, unexpected scream in the face of an assailant was almost as effective as an unanticipated police siren, or in the case of the plateau, rampaging ape-men. The desired effect was achieved when the leader backed up and Marguerite - seeing her chance - broke free.

Her plan might have worked if she had time to think clearly and had more room to make her escape. If only she hadn’t miscalculated her positioning on the edge of the tall hill, overlooking the massive gorge … Marguerite would later curse her terrible luck without truly realizing how fortunate she had been, tumbling head over heels, at one point flying in thin air, to land hard on a stone flat of the overhang. Marguerite would later determine she was pushed by one of the brutes who had initially attacked her although, upon serious reflection, she would also wonder if it hadn’t also been raw, blind panic. She, of course, would not tell the others of the latter possibility.

“Should we go in after her?’

The leader of the raiders glanced at his second in command then again at the body lying far below them on the ledge. He scratched his beard, considering the potential wealth such a woman, wounded or not, could bring them. He stared steadily at the unmoving figure. Right now she was either unconscious or dead. A splash of red coloring he saw on her head and the fact that not a muscle twitched made his final decision inevitable. “Too steep and too much trouble.” he said, clearly thwarted but resigned. “We’ll take her weapon. Dirkon may find it interesting.” He nodded as the slaver with Marguerite’s gun-belt slung it over his sun bronzed shoulder. The leader then glanced again over the ledge at the motionless woman, “Too bad. She was a beauty.”

As they turned and walked away one of the men said, “Doesn’t matter. Children sell better. We‘ll go to the nearest village and make a raid. The Kikos are nearby.”

“Just wish they would sell for as much as beautiful women.” said another as they disappeared into the jungle.

***

Marguerite pulled herself up the precipice, one hand in front of the other, grasping large handfuls of damp soil and rock. Her boots jammed hard into the cliff side, finding and often times making ruts, greedy for anything that could keep her moving upward at a more than perilous angle. At the halfway point there was no stopping her progress. If she descended she would most assuredly fall to her death.

She could still hear the cry of that big bird up above and the more it screamed the more she wanted to take some of the rocks she had been tossing aside in her quest to get to the top and throw them with great force at the beast. “Big, big bird …” Marguerite murmured as she climbed. It had swooped down once, very close to her, and she had been frightened but a recollection intruded. ‘Birds peck …’ she thought dizzily, ‘… but they don’t …’

Something was not right. Marguerite, even whilst slipping into shock, knew she was not thinking as she should. There were so many things she could not remember and understand. She had been pecked by a little chick once when she was a child. It didn’t really hurt. She had even giggled. Did it hurt when big birds pecked?

Marguerite suddenly felt a great wind at her back and a loud flapping noise. She turned only slightly, fearing a fall and without warning saw her ‘bird’ close up. The beak of the flying reptile snapped at her and Marguerite saw its razor sharp teeth. She shrieked as the it lunged in her direction. The talons of it massive feet propelled forward and grasped her, with little effort, around her waist and wrenched the woman from the incline.

With a horrified shriek Marguerite felt herself heaved away and suspended in mid air. She then felt a surge of air and pressure as she began to rise rapidly in the air, ‘Like one of those fancy lifts at Harrods …’ Marguerite thought as she began to lose consciousness.

The ever patient pterodactyl cried out in triumph as she carried the much sought after prey away. There were hungry offspring to feed ...