The morning found most of the explorers up and about. Summerlee was making a pot of tea as Malone ground coffee beans.

“Be sure you make enough for me.” Marguerite ascended the stairs unaided, albeit slower than normal.

Roxton was bringing a bowl of fruit to the table and smiled at her. At his inquiring look, she patted her pocket. He nodded his approval of her being armed. A glimpse of the table had a broad grin crossing her face. A crucifix lay out in the middle of the table.

Roxton, seeing what caught her attention, exchanged a glance with her and tipped his head in Malone’s direction. Marguerite rolled her eyes. They both found amusement in the reporter’s reliance on sensational fiction for solutions for day-to-day life on the plateau.

Marguerite couldn’t resist the chance to tease the reporter and crossed over to get a glass of water near where Malone was working. She leaned close to him. “So what’s the plan?” Her voice was lowered conspiratorially. “You’ve got the crucifix, should I get the wooden stake?”

Malone knew when he was being mocked. “You do want coffee, don’t you?” He also knew the threat most likely to keep Marguerite off his back. He smirked at her, proud that he was able to get his own shot in.

“Now that’s just cruel, Ned.” Marguerite eyes danced with mischief.

Any further response was forestalled by the appearance of Challenger, Veronica and Sándor. Veronica kept an eye on the scientist to make sure the stairs didn’t prove too daunting. The Count followed behind the pair, appreciating the view of Veronica.

Bocskai’s appraisal of the jungle girl didn’t go unnoticed. Malone’s jealousy was fired anew. Marguerite glanced knowingly at Roxton. While they both knew Veronica could handle most of the dangers of the jungle, neither forgot how she had fallen prey to a more sophisticated man. A predator of this sort was still a novel experience to Veronica.

As the Count approached the table he noticed the crucifix, picking it up he turned it casually in his hand, studying it. “Beautiful workmanship. Is it yours?” He looked at Veronica, holding it out admiringly.

“It’s mine.” Ned took it from the Count and put it in his pocket. The reporter covered his disappointment that this tried and true method hadn’t revealed a monster like the ones described in the books he so enjoyed. "It wasn’t fair," he thought, "the heroes in the penny-dreadfuls never had these kinds of problems."

The Count walked over to take a cup of proffered tea from a genial Summerlee. Veronica, behind Sándor’s back, frowned at Ned, perplexed. Ned shook his head, warning her not to say anything. She didn’t like the idea of the deception, but the slight inclination of her head let the reporter know she’d follow his lead. Ned studiously avoided Marguerite’s overly innocent smile and Roxton’s amused grin.

“It was part of a pirate’s treasure. I was planning on including a description in my journal.” Ned’s off-the-cuff explanation impressed the hunter although Veronica frowned again. Sándor didn’t notice anything amiss.

“You been giving Neddy-boy lessons?” Roxton crossed over to where Marguerite stood, his back to the others in the room. His voice was meant for her ears only.

“I always thought fiction was his forte.” Marguerite was equally adept at keeping a conversation private. “He needs to work on his delivery, however.”

“Lord Roxton, Veronica tells me you might be able to lend me a weapon. She has offered to help me scout the area around this impressive structure so that I might make plans to return home.” The polite tones were innocuous, but the hunter was still wary.

Ned, thinking that perhaps his jealousy had gotten him carried away, decided to make amends. “That’s a good idea and we can keep an eye out for the warriors from that tribe the Zanga told us about.”

Veronica smiled approvingly at this willingness to be part of the scouting party. She was eager to see that the Count felt a part of their group.

“Are you familiar with weapons like ours, Count? They’re quite dangerous for the untrained.” Roxton, taking Marguerite’s elbow to escort her to the table, kept his tone civil, but he wasn’t anxious to put a gun in the hands of this newcomer.

“I know something about them,” their guest temporized. “Perhaps, Lord Roxton, you will consent to join us in this excursion? I understand from Veronica that you are highly skilled with firearms.” Sándor’s tone was formally courteous, as if he thought he should say something, but wasn’t convinced of the veracity of his statement.

“Some have said.” Roxton replied to the praise in a studied offhand manner as he pulled out a chair for Marguerite who smirked at the false modesty. Roxton refused to glance at her as he continued. “But I will definitely join you.”

The hunter approved of this scheme. He’d have Bocskai under his eye, away from Marguerite, Summerlee and Challenger. Ned would undoubtedly carefully chaperone the Count and Veronica, so he’d need not worry about any complications in that department. In the meantime he could evaluate how good this Count was with firearms. Information that was definitely worth having. He could also do a little scouting to see if the pair he saw yesterday were still hanging about. Based on what the Zanga had said, the strangers shouldn’t be interested in the treehouse. Still, all the same, he’d have a word with Marguerite before he left.

“You two get plenty of rest today.” After breakfast Veronica was more herself this morning, well-rested and concerned about her friends. She made sure both Marguerite and Challenger were listening.

Catching their eyes she regarded them sternly. “You don’t want a relapse now that you’ve fought off the last of the fever.” She also wanted to ensure that Summerlee would be able to manage on his own in keeping these two stubborn members of the household in line. Challenger and Marguerite acquiesced with a patently false meekness.

The Count smiled at Veronica’s care of her companions. “Indeed it is good to see that the two of you have recovered. Are you quite sure that you no longer have a fever?” His manner was solicitous.

“Their temperatures are completely normal.” Summerlee announced. “I credit my chamomile and herb tea.”

“Nonsense, it was my Penicillium notatum fungus that I’ve been studying for the past two years. It’s proved most efficacious in a variety of situations.” The two scientists headed off to the lab still arguing about whose remedy effected the cure.

With a laugh Veronica turned to check on Sándor, making sure he had a pack and supplies. She called over her shoulder to Roxton and Malone, “We’ll meet you on the ground.” Veronica shouldered her bag as she turned to the Count. “Will the people of your village be worried about you being gone so long?”

“I live alone. I am grateful to you for both letting me stay here and for the pleasure of your company.” He bowed gesturing for her to enter the elevator first. “Especially such beautiful company.”

The elevator began its descent.

“Take care of yourself,” Marguerite said quietly to Roxton. She adjusted one of the straps on his pack. “Don’t turn your back on him.”

“Worried about me?” Roxton teased to ease her mind.

“According to you I’m behind on my chores already. I don’t need the extra work stitching you up.” Marguerite decided to cut the smug hunter down to size.

Roxton grinned at the comeback appreciatively. Then quietly he said, “Do me a favor and keep a rifle handy, just in case someone turns up unexpectedly.”

“You think that those two you saw yesterday might be by?” Marguerite frowned as she considered the matter.

“If I thought that, I wouldn’t be leaving. But better safe than sorry, right?”

“Let’s get down there.” Ned kept trying to convince himself that nothing was wrong with the Count, but somehow he couldn’t suppress his suspicions.

Still concerned, Roxton looked at Marguerite one more time. She smiled encouragingly. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”

Reassured, Roxton joined Ned on the elevator. The only way they survived on the plateau was depending on each other. After all this time, he knew Marguerite could handle a couple of interlopers.

***

Roxton and Ned stepped off the elevator to the thump of knife hitting wood. One of Veronica’s throwing knives was stuck in the painted target across the treehouse yard. They’d set it up years ago when Veronica decided to teach the reporter how to throw a knife. The two of them and Roxton still used it for practice.

Veronica was smiling as she pulled the knife from the bull’s eye. “Here, Sándor, see what you think of this knife.” She gently tossed it to him, a dangerous stunt if he was a novice, but she’d already seen his skill demonstrated, a skill which rivaled her own.

The Count panicked! Eyes on the knife, none of the explorers noticed. With a gasp, Sándor fumbled, trying to grasp the handle as the blade spiraled towards him. He sliced his fingers as the knife fell to the ground.

“Good lord!” Veronica ran to him, frantic. “I’m so sorry. How badly did it cut you?” Roxton and Malone rushed to her side. Ned pressed his clean handkerchief into her hands. The Count inhaled sharply as Veronica bound up his fingers and pulled his hand away from her. At his reaction, Veronica feared she’d pressed too hard on the wound. “Oh, no, I hurt you worse.”

“Calm yourself, drágám.” The Count’s manner was once again polished and urbane. “The fault was entirely mine.” He reached down with his uninjured hand and picked up the knife hilt. He flipped it midair, grasped the blade and in a smooth move launched it across the yard. It landed smack in the middle of the bull’s eye. “You see I am fine.”

“Let’s take you up and get that bandaged properly. You probably shouldn’t use the hand for a while. Stay here today.” Veronica urged their guest.

“Nonsense, it was just a scratch. This will do fine for a bandage.” The Count dismissed her concerns graciously. “I cannot miss this opportunity.”