PART OF THE K AND A SHARED UNIVERSE SERIES AND A BIRTHDAY FIC FOR IVORYROSE.

Disclaimers: I don't own Sydney and Nigel or any other Relic Hunter characters. I have 'borrowed' a few names and places from the novels of Thomas Hardy but, then again, so did JK Rowling, and she gets paid a lot more than I do. The rest belongs to me!

Pony Trek

by Katy

As the beasts closed in around him, Nigel Bailey vowed he would defend what was his to the death.

The hedge blocking his escape rose as high as the heavens, while the grass beneath his feet encircled his ankles like bindweed. Rooting him to the spot, it grew in perfect harmony with his ever swelling fear. In the distance, his enemies bayed and cheered, urging on his destruction, demanding his inevitable pain.

Now he could smell the harsh breath of the predators, and was imaging only too clearly the damage their grinding teeth would do to his delicate flesh. The leader was just inches away.

'I won't give in,' vowed Nigel. 'Not without a struggle…'

He lifted his chin defiantly and looked straight into his persecutors eyes. The glare that greeted him snatched his breath, and only a great effort prevented his legs giving way. At that moment, Nigel knew that he looked straight into the pits of hell.

In all of his 11 years, he had never been so scared…

………………………………………………………….………………………………….

Seventeen years later….

Nigel's face lit up in delight as the voluptuous brunette from the bar sauntered over with their meals. She laid in front of him one large steak-and-ale pie with veg and extra chips.

'There you go, angel,' purred the waitress in a soft, West Country accent. 'And one salad for the lady.' Sydney's meal was delivered, unlike Nigel's, minus the obvious dose of lust.

'Thank you, this looks marvellous!' beamed Nigel.

'My pleasure,' gushed the waitress. It very obviously was. Tess ignored Sydney's relatively icy thanks and wandered back to serve two gin and lemonades to somebody else. She adjusted her creamy milkmaid top, wiggled her bottom provocatively and wondered if Sydney and Nigel were 'together.'

'Ah, this is the life, isn't it?' Nigel took a glug of red wine, unrolled his cutlery from a paper napkin, and prepared to tuck into his enticing and sizeable meal.

'Is it?' asked Syd. Her voice, like her demeanour, was uncharacteristically dull and flat.

It had all began so intriguingly. Two days ago, Sydney Fox had received a mysterious, ancient key and a begging letter from the curator of the Museum in Wintoncester, England. The curator, Giles Applethorpe, had been researching the whereabouts of a golden staffbelonging to a mediaeval bishop of Wintoncester, Odo. He believed the key was to its hidden resting place.

Odo, notoriously, had not been the most Christian of bishops. He was rumoured to have worshipped nature more than God, and was allegedly insane. All of this meant that his staff was of great historical value and believed to have supernatural powers: it was a natural target for a keen Relic Hunter.

Giles had discovered this to his cost. As he deciphered some mediaeval Latin symbols engraved on the font in Wintoncester Cathedral, he was attacked by a hooded man and the best of his research was stolen. Fearful, he sent all that remained - the key - straight to Sydney, with the ominous warning that the missing papers revealed that the hidden chamber was in the middle of the Great South Wessex Forest, and could only be revealed by the rising of the sun on the first day of spring – one week from then! If the thief was to be stopped in time, he needed her help…

'It sounded great when we got on the plane over here: all we had was a key, a rival, and a deadline,' complained Sydney. 'But then we arrived and found out find out that the rival was Reiner…'

'He's not the stupidest Relic Hunter we've faced, Syd,' chipped in Nigel. 'Remember that time he got away with one of your Incan daggers? He's way better than, um, Stewie…'

'That's not saying much,' snarled Sydney. 'Anyway, it's irrelevant since he's gone and got himself arrested … '

Kurt Reiner had been apprehended by the Wintoncester authorities the day before, for a public misdemeanour involving a stolen mediaeval illuminated manuscript, a pair of stiletto heels, and a small, one-eyed donkey. The donkey had not been harmed, and had lost its eye several years prior to the incident.

'Did they get all the stolen research back from him?'

'Yup, I think so. Giles said he'd drop it over to the pub this evening.' Sydney and Nigel were not staying in Wintoncester, but at the Flighty Filly Inn in the tiny village of Little Hintock, nestling on the edge of the Great Forest.

Nigel swallowed a juicy mouthful of pie. 'What's the problem, then? Surely all we've got to do now is spend the three days left until the first day of spring eating a few nice meals in this cosy pub, getting some long, restful nights sleep, and taking some uneventful strolls in the Great Forest piecing together Giles's research? What could be more pleasant?'

The sharp wince on Sydney's face said it all.

'Ah… so that's the problem,' said Nigel, laying his fork down suddenly. 'No rival relic hunters, no sense of danger, only a gentle race against time… you're bored!'

'It's not that,' hissed Sydney.

'Yes it is!'

'No it isn't,' reiterated Sydney, although he had hit on an element of truth. She was a busy woman! Finding the relic excited her a little - it always did - but this one did not possess awesome power, as far as she knew, and wasn't about to fall into the hands of a homicidal maniac or a dodgy dealer. She glanced up furtively at her assistant, whilst chasing a slice of avocado around her plate. 'I suppose I'm a little bit… disappointed this doesn't look like it's going to be much of a challenge.'

'Why don't you see it as an opportunity to enjoy yourself, then? We could… treat this hunt like a holiday.'

Sydney glanced around the quiet, wood-panelled country pub and giggled. 'Little Hintock isn't much like my usual choice of holiday destination.'

'What's wrong with it? retorted Nigel. 'It's the perfect place for reading and relaxation! Granted, the night life might not be quite up to what you're used to in Hawaii, or Bali, or where have you…'

'You don't need nightlife when you're here for the annual Bunny Chase! Are you enjoying your meals?'

'Yes, thank you,' replied Nigel. The barmaid was now hovering over him again. 'What did you just say about Bunnies?'

'The annual Bunny Chase!' The young woman pointed to a poster advertising the said event, winked and then leaned towards Nigel confidentially. Sydney rolled her eyes and returned to her salad, but listened nevertheless.

'Every year on the eve of the first day of spring, all the single girls in the village run off into the Great Forest and, half an hour later, all the boys chase them. It's said that the boy who catches you, will be your future husband!'

'A pre-women's lib tradition, by any chance?' asked Sydney, curling her lip.

'It's been going on for centuries,' continued the waitress, still not ripping her eyes away from Nigel. 'Are you interested in history and local customs?'

'Yes…yes, very,' replied Nigel, blushing slightly. He had become very aware how low cut the waitress's blouse was; her cleavage was now suspended very close to his face. Averting his gaze, he added: 'Sydney - Professor Fox - and I are teachers of history, at a university in the States.'

'You're colleagues?' said the girl delightedly. 'How interesting! Well, in that case, you should definitely join in. I'm sure a few of the local girls would love to be caught by such a… clever historian. I'm Tess, by the way.'

'I'm Nigel. Very pleased to meet you.' Nigel held out his hand, but the formalities were cut short by an impatient cough from a large, bald man in a smart, navy blue jacket, who was waiting at the bar.

'I've got to go. Demanding peasants, I'm afraid. Are you staying here?'

Nigel nodded. 'Yes. Right here at the pub, for the next three days.'

'Great! We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other.'

Tess hurried off, and Sydney shot Nigel one of her best 'what's with that woman?' looks.

'Bunny chase?' She pronounced the words with disdain.

'It's probably just a bit of harmless fun, Syd. Good for the tourists, and all that.'

'Harmless fun that's degrading to women! Mind you, it looks like you've already caught your Bunny.' She indicated with her eyes to Tess, who was now pulling a frothy headed pint of local real ale.

'The waitress?' replied Nigel, not quite feigning shock. 'No… seems like a nice girl, though.'

Sydney narrowed her eyes at him, her glare masking any hint of jealousy. 'Would you like to catch her?'

'Tess? Oh no… not quite my type…' Sydney sent out a few particularly aggressive vibes, which caused Nigel to backtrack rapidly. 'Not that I'd want to catch any girl in the manner that you're alluding to. Degrading to women! Very wrong!' He shook his head and clicked his tongue.

Sydney's frown faded as she swallowed a laugh at his desperate attempt to appease her. Perusing her assistant affectionately, she decided he looked rather adorable, snuggled up in his warm, brown woolly jumper. His cheeks were glowing in the radiated heat from the open log fire. She felt a pang of guilt for diluting his obvious pleasure, and decided she might as well try and enjoy their little romp, the silly local customs and, most of all, his company.

'I guess it really is just a bit of harmless fun,' she conceded.

'Professor Sydney Fox? So sorry to interrupt your meal…'

Sydney turned smilingly to greet a chunky, round-faced man, over six-foot high and in his early 30s. His dark blonde hair was wet and windswept - it was stormy outside - and he was clad in a green wax overcoat.

'You must be Giles! Great to meet you - this is my assistant, Nigel Bailey.'

'Please to meet you, Nigel.' On cue, Nigel shook the man's hand politely.

'Do join us,' entreated Sydney.

Giles pulled over a chair and perched his rather large backside on the edge awkwardly. Sydney noted him glance furtively towards Tess and the bald man at the bar, who were engaged in a polite but meaningless conversation.

'Friends of yours?' asked Sydney.

'Oh…no, no.' Giles spoke quickly and quietly. 'The well-dressed bald gentleman is the mayor of Little Hintock, Mr Henchard. But I don't know many people around here at all.'

He hastily handed her a bulging A4 size brown leather wallet. 'Here's my research. It consists of the mediaeval manuscripts I found in the cathedral and the script that was on the carved font. Since I've got them back, I've finished translating them as far as I can from the mediaeval Latin and they reveal that the staff is hidden in a chamber in the middle of a stone circle.'

'I didn't know there was a stone circle in the Great Forest,' interjected Nigel.

'No,' replied Giles. 'Because it's hidden among the trees! I've already found several of the monoliths and I believe they're over 3000 years old - Neolithic! But the scripts claim that, unlike Stonehenge, the circle is aligned to the rising of the sun on the first day of spring, rather than midwinter. The mediaeval Bishop must have re-used them as a coded guide when he decided upon his hidden chamber.'

Nigel couldn't conceal his excitement: 'A Neolithic stone circle would be just as great a discovery as the relic!'

'I know!' ejaculated Giles. 'I can't tell you how grateful I am for helping me. It will be the most exciting find of my career! You still have the key I sent you?'

Nigel patted his rucksack. 'Right here!'

'Good, good…'

Tess was now flirting with some backpackers and the mayor, sipping his pint, was staring straight at them. Giles glanced cagily in his direction, inadvertently making Sydney and Nigel acutely aware of the bald man's interest. 'Between you and me,' whispered Giles, 'the sooner you find this thing and get it out of here, the better.'

'I thought you'd want it for Wintoncester museum?'

'No, no. That wouldn't be a good idea. It should be put somewhere secure, in the British Museum… or maybe you should take it back to America. Anyway, I'd better be off.' He rose hastily. 'Enjoy your stay. People come from miles around to see the wild ponies in the forest, you know?'

Nigel pulled a pained expression: 'I have no idea why!'

'Not a pony man? Never mind…' He patted Nigel on the knee, and hurried away.

'He seemed a little flighty,' commented Nigel. 'Do you think something was bothering him?'

'Maybe. I wonder why he's so keen that we take the relic away? Do you want to head out and start digging around tonight?'

Nigel looked distinctly unenthusiastic. 'Do we have to, Sydney? It's cold and wet out there, it's nearly 10 p.m., and we need to go through Giles's research first and …and…'

'And?'

'I'd like some pudding! They've got Treacle Tart, Granny Apple Crumble and Spotted Dick!'

'Spotted Dick?'

'Suet pudding with currants. It's great with whipped cream or custard.'

'I'm sure it is! I have no idea where you put it all.'

Nigel chewed and swallowed the last mouthful of his pie and beamed: 'I'm a growing boy!'

'Yeah - but not upwards!'

His grin turned to a scowl. 'That's not fair. Besides, since when have you developed an appetite like Claudia? What's with all this salad rubbish?'

Sydney sipped her wine and shrugged. 'An exciting hunt always gives me an appetite.'

'Oh, come on. Surely twitchy Giles has made your spider senses tingle a little? And that 'mayor' looks awfully interested in us…'

Sydney laughed, and almost betrayed a hint of excitement. 'You know, Nige, something definitely was up with Giles. Maybe I will have some dessert after all!'

…………………………………………...

Two hours, two desserts and several more glasses of red wine later, Sydney unlocked the door of their bedroom, which was tucked away in the gables of the timber-framed pub. She switched on the lights to reveal two, neatly made single beds with chintz coverlets. A matching pair of bedside tables were adorned with spotless white cloths. With an adjoining bathroom, it seemed almost luxurious for £30 per person, per night.

'This looks lovely,' yawned Nigel, chivalrously throwing down his bag, and then himself, on the bed nearest the window and furthest from the radiator. 'I'm absolutely shattered.' He kicked off his boots and, still fully clothed, curled up on his side.

Sydney laid her satchel on the second bed, and smiled indulgently. 'Feeling the effects of the Beaujolais?

Nigel's eyes snapped open as he rolled back towards her. 'No! I can take a few glasses without losing all my dignity. Has it occurred to you I might be suffering from jetlag?'

'Okay, Nige,' soothed Sydney. 'I'm not saying anything… I'm heading into the bathroom for a shower. Do you want me to turn the light off?'

'Don't mind,' replied Nigel sleepily, his eyes falling shut again. 'Won't make much difference…'

'Fine.' Sydney pulled pyjamas out of her bag, and picked up a folded white towel from the end of the bed. She paused a moment.

'Are you going to sleep with your clothes on?'

'I'll change in a minute…' muttered Nigel. Sydney shrugged, and pulled her top off over her head, revealing her brown, lace underwear. She subtly peeped at Nigel, to check that his eyes were no longer shut, but simply narrowed and pretending to be. He then thoroughly betrayed his interest by displacing a stray lock of hair that blocked his vision with a short, sharp puff.

Turning away, Sydney smiled to herself. She casually acknowledged she would be disappointed if he didn't want to look at her, particularly in that endearing, modest way of his. As she floated towards the bathroom, her thoughts meandered to the question of whether she would have to undress the sleeping T.A. herself when she returned from her shower. Almost subconsciously, she turned to the bedroom light off.

Shutting herself in the bathroom, however, Sydney wondered if it would be a good idea to leave the bedroom door open with the lights blazing. The bulb for the main light in the bathroom had gone: the whole room was lit dimly, and rather unflatteringly, by the little shaving lamp over the sink. Musing that she had nevertheless stayed in much worse places, Sydney pumped up the shower to its full power potential - which was rather lethargic - and stepped under the flow.

She was attempting to enjoy the less than invigorating impact of the lukewarm droplets, when she heard a rattle at the window. It was a rough evening, so she wasn't unduly alarmed. Her ever-ready senses went onto high alert, anyway.

A moment later, the noise came again. This time there was a definite jolt.

Sydney leapt from the shower and had her towel fixed around her in an instant. She yanked the window open with a vigorous thrust.

'Hey? Who's there?'

She was two storeys up, and anyone else would have been convinced there was nothing out there but rain, wind and darkness. Sydney's gut told her otherwise.

'Show yourself!'

Two jackboots, followed by a sturdy pair of legs, swung through the window from above. Sydney ducked out of the way in the nick of time. The body which followed the feet thudded onto the carpeted bathroom floor bringing down with them a cheap, Edwardian wash stand and a vase of flowers.

The floundering figure was wearing a long, white robe with a hood that hung low enough to cover the face. Sydney grabbed at the garment, pulling the not insubstantially-sized intruder to its feet and pushing them back against the wall. An ivory-handled knife dropped to the soft floor.

'If you're going for the Psycho remake,' she snarled. 'You'd better improve on the surprise factor and catch me while I'm still in the shower.' She shook the offender hard. 'Who the hell are you?'

As she reached to yank away the hood, her hand was swiped away by smarting blow. The newcomer used his bulk to throw her off and lunge for the knife. Sydney kicked at his head before he could reach it, and the impact sent him flying towards the bath. Grabbing desperately for the fallen vase, he flung it at Sydney, now primed with her fists for a fight. She ducked the missile effortlessly, and it crashed loudly against the door.

As Sydney went in for round three, the cry finally came:

' Sydney? Syd… what's going on in there?'

'We've got a visitor, Nigel… nothing I can't handle…'

The attacker jumped his feet as the door burst open. There stood Nigel, bootless and shirtless, brandishing the electric kettle.

Even as Sydney seized for the intruder, the hooded figure grabbed for their knife, darted for the window, leapt through the frame, and was gone.

Sydney flew after them even as her towel's tenuous hold on her modesty finally gave way. It slipped down around her knees, and it was all that even she could do not trip over it.

'Ooooh!' This time, Nigel turned away rapidly, his cheeks flaming bright red. 'Syd…um.'

'I know, Nigel!' snapped Sydney, hoisting back up the towel and leaning right out of the window. There was no sign of a ladder or rope. The intruder had either flown away, or climbed back over the roof. Either way, they were long gone.

Turning back to Nigel, Sydney was torn as to whether to laugh, be grateful or be angry. 'I told you not to interfere!' she retorted, not too crossly. 'Unbelievably, you scared him away…'

'He was attacking you!'

'Yeah, and I wanted to know why…damn.' Sydney chastised herself. She'd been momentarily distracted when Nigel burst in, and now finding out would be a lot harder.

Nigel let out a long breath and put down his kettle. 'Sorry.'

'I guess it wasn't your fault.' Sydney nodded towards the discarded 'weapon': 'What exactly were you intending to do with that?'

'Oh… I don't know. It was all I could grab at the spur of the moment. It might have boiled… a few hours ago.'

Sydney laughed. 'Oh well. It's a good job you weren't in a state of total undress like I was. Were you in the middle of changing?'

'No!' admitted Nigel. Reminded of his semi nudity, he dashed back into the bedroom and pulled his pyjama top out of his bag. 'This is as far as I got before I sort of dozed off… then I heard the commotion.'

'Is the research still there?'

Nigel dived under the bed to check where he had hidden it. 'Yup.' He emerged and yawned. 'Does this mean we have to go out looking for the intruder now?'

Wind and rain were still pounding against the window. Syd could read the lack of enthusiasm in Nigel's flat tone, even though he tried to conceal it.

'No. That rat is long gone. We'd better keep our eyes open tomorrow though, and make sure nobody tries to snatch the research. I've got a feeling he'll be back.'

'Lovely,' replied Nigel sardonically. They both concluded their transformation into their bedclothes just outside the others sightline.

'Who do think it was? Could they have let Reiner out?'

'It wasn't Reiner: it just wasn't his style. He could never keep his identity concealed that long… and he would have…' Sydney was going to say 'tried to pull the towel off,' but instead she concluded 'tried something cheap.'

'The mayor didn't seem to like the look of us.'

Sydney nodded. 'Yeah. It could have been him, or someone working for him. The white robes were distinctive - did you see the green and red embroidery at the bottom?'

'I didn't get a good look,' admitted Nigel. 'But the patterns did seem vaguely familiar…'

'Yeah? I've never seen them before. And then there was that knife. It looked like a mediaeval, pearl-handled one, which belonged in a scabbard.'

'Giles would have ready access to such a knife at the Museum!' exclaimed Nigel. 'But why would he attack us?'

'I don't know,' said Sydney, thoughtfully. 'I've got a hunch it was a man… not your flirty waitress, that's for sure.'

Nigel slumped back down onto the bed and sighed. 'I suppose you're happy now.'

'What do you mean?'

'You thought this hunt was going to be too easy!'

Sydney wandered back into the bedroom, rubbing out the remainder of the dampness from her hair. 'I guess I did. I'd just rather the excitement stayed out of my shower!'

'Fair enough.' Nigel finally clambered under the bed covers and made himself comfortable. 'Night, Syd.'

Sydney switched off the light. 'Night.'

Sleep began to close in around her. After a few minutes, however, she opened her eyes with a start. The noise of the storm had evoked the beginnings of a nightmare.

Her vision forced upon her rattling windows, trees with twisted, groping branches, harsh, whirling wind and cutting, slicing rain. Amidst it all, were galloping demons of darkness. Nevertheless, as her rushing mind registered what they were, she had to laugh: the cause of her terror had been stampeding, teeth-baring ponies, cute and squat despite all their ferocity. Moreover, following on behind them were not the hounds of hell, but some vicious, foot-thumping, sharp-fanged bunnies.

Sydney dismissed it as she smoothed down the coverlet. She imagined Nigel dryly commenting that her dream conjured up visions of 'Bambi meets The Evil Dead.'

She would have been surprised to discover that, less than a metre away, Nigel had experienced some very similar delusions, and he was not dismissing it so lightly.

'Get over it, Nigel,' he berated himself. 'It happened well over 15 years ago… and they're just bloody ponies.' Deep down inside, however, he could not deny the awful truth: they were not just ponies.

Something nasty lurked in the heart of the Great South Wessex Forest…

Thanks for reading. Please review.