jamjar

"Package for you, sir."

"Drop it on the table," John says reaching for the Tabasco.

"You're not going to open it now?" Rodney says

"Geeze, Rodney. Didn't your mother ever tell you not to talk with your mouth full? And it's not going anywhere."

"Huh. Jonathan Device Shepperd. Your middle name is Device?" Rodney says, poking at the parcel.

"Stop that. And it's a family name." He gives in to Rodney's pout -he must have been hell at Christmas-- and unwraps the package. "Seems someone on the English side of the family died."

"I am sorry," Teyla says.

"Don't be." John finishes unwrapping the parcel. "It looks like it happened four hundred years ago. Huh."

"Huh?" Rodney echoes.

"There's a letter in here for me." He reads it quietly to himself, then frowns. "Teyla, you said some of the Athosians were fishing off the coast? Might want to call them in." He stands up, getting his tray together.

"I do not understand," she says, copying his actions. "The weather has been very beautiful."

"The weather's fine," John says. "But it turns out, now is the time when a young kraken's eyes turn to love."

~ ~ ~

"Practise harde, and ye shall have thy Rewarde. She shalle aime twice at thy leg, and one the second, shall stretch forwarde and that shalle be thy momente. Be not distracted by the press of her breastes, or she shalle..."

"Heed thou my Wordes, John Shepperd. The city shall waken to thy touch like a lover, and like a lover shall treasure you moste jealouslie. Let her not cling to thee, but roame freelie, and when she wouldst bind thee, do notte give in for an easie life. She is but lonelie, after her time alone,

"Keep thy tongue sweete and thy wordes playful, for this shall be thy currancie, and also thy weapone and thy Pinne. It shalle bringe thee goods, it shall stripe thine foe of their Guarde, and also shall it pierce Disguises."

"And soe shalle Liscentiousness befall thee, and thou shalt be right pleased, my Descendente. All of Atlantis shalle wake to thy Cries, and shall light the way for thee and thine Companions. The City shalle singe and in Celebration shalle heal."

~ ~ ~

"It's a complete fabrication. Your crazy witch ancestor rambles some vague prophecies that could mean anything and suddenly everyone on Atlantis goes crazy."

Zelenka coughs. "They're not exactly vague, Rodney. In some cases, they are very detailed-"

"I stand corrected. Your crazy, sex-obsessed ancestor who has way too much interest in the tawdry flings of her ancestors makes some vague prophecies and draws some detailed pictures and--"

"'Thee Zedd Pee Emm Shalle be founde at this Address, butte take ye guardes and goe only in Springe, for the Genii do sometimes makke campe there in Summer.'" Shepperd says.

Rodney stares at him, then reaches for his jacket.

"Fine, but this doesn't prove anything."

~ ~ ~

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a friend of mine," the guy says. Lorne can see himself in the man's sunglasses and reaches up to push his fringe back automatically, then stops himself.

"I'll see what I can do, sir. Does your friend have a name?"

The man says something. It's not clear what he says exactly, even for Lorne who's had way to much experience navigating the million and one different shades of English around here, but he's pretty sure he means Professor Fell. Professor Fell showed up a few months back. Lorne likes him, even if he is really, obviously, British. Lorne's a pretty open-minded guy.

"Sure. I think he's still working in the archive section. I guess you're one of the new scientists that came over on the Daedelus?"

The man nods. He doesn't look like most of the science crew. He's a bit too groomed, and most of them are happier in white coats than leather jackets, but he smiles and says, "Anthony Crowley. Doctor of applied philosophy."

Lorne raises an eyebrow, but shrugs. They're getting more and more science guys in here every week. Dr Crowley doesn't blink an eye at the transporter.

"Professor Fell?" Lorne calls out. The professor appears behind one of the weird shelving units the Ancients used and blinks and in surprise.

"Crowley! What on Earth... what in Heaven's name are you doing here," Professor Fell says.

Dr Crowley grimaces. "I could ask you the same. Why the hell are you in a dead-end dump out in the middle of the ocean? Especially when you were going to put in some hours in Glasgow."

Professor Fell looks almost guilty. "You see, there was this book that I've been trying to get for ages. Besides, it's not like I really owed it to you, not after what happened in Shropshire."

"You can't blame that on me! That was just human error, and--"

Lorne shakes his head and leaves them to it. He knows better than to get involved in an academic debate.

~ ~ ~

No one could figure out what the thing did, or even how to open it, until someone asked Professor Fell if he’d seen one in the archives.

"The Ancients. Terribly messy and appalling dress-sense," Professor Fell says, ignoring the snort from Dr Crowley that sounded suspiciously like "Tartan", "But they did have a wonderful appreciation for alcohol. The wine was a little sweet for my taste, but--" he reaches into the Ancient cabinet "They did make excellent whiskey."