Part Six


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Spike pulled his coat off and tossed it on the table. Grimacing in frustration, he sat in one of the high-backed chairs and leaned back. Putting one foot up, he pulled a knife out and began picking at the edge of his boot.

Damn, damn, damn, he thought. Losing your temper is stupid. It was beyond stupid, it was…common. He glared at his men filing into the factory around him. Several of them had run tonight when that…person…had killed Baranov. He watched them through slitted eyes as they passed by. To make matters worse, three others had gone hunting tonight and not returned. Victims of the Slayer, probably.

Grinding his teeth, he forced himself to remain calm. Keeping control in tight situations was the difference between living and dying. I didn't kill two Slayers by acting rashly, he thought. Well, not too rashly.

He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward. What are they up to? Clearly something big. Spike noticed Dalton standing nearby, looking nervous. "Well? If you've got something to say then say it." He stuck the knife into the tabletop. "Blokes like that Severian character don't just waltz into town for your average hocus-pocus." Pursing his lips, he wondered about Severian's claim of being Assyrian. Normally he'd laugh at any vampire that claimed to be even half that old, but his strength…

"Spike…" Dalton rubbed his head and eyed him warily.

"Come on, speak up then! I'm not in the mood to drag it out of you." Spike stood and kicked the chair away from behind him.

Dalton flinched but spoke up. "I've never seen anything like that before…" Spike stared at him. "Though I vaguely remember reading about a vampire with such strength once."

"Well?" Spike said in irritation.

"It was in a book the Master had. It was a warning to vampires that grew old and full of pride. It claimed that there used to be many Old Ones, vampires who lived for thousands of years. But we were cursed and now when we grow old, our arrogance becomes our downfall. It's fascinating, the curse I mean—"

Spike grimaced and cut him off. "I don't care about any curse. What the hell does it have to do with this Severian character? And what is he doing in MY town?"

"The passage I read described one that has survived the curse. He supposedly had strength like that we saw tonight." Dalton paused, remembering. "The Master dismissed it as a fairy tale. He claimed never to have actually heard of any such being." Dalton took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "I always wondered, though…"

"Wondered what?"

Dalton quickly put his glasses back on. "Haven't you ever thought about it? About the old vampires that is? Remember what you said about all those that claim they were at the crucifixion?"

Spike nodded. Claiming to be old among vampires was as common as sand on a beach. He'd once said that if they were all telling the truth then the crucifixion would have been an event like Woodstock.

"How many of us have actually met a vampire that was extremely old?" Dalton looked around the room. "The Master was the oldest that I know of, but he was little more than six hundred years old."

"You do have a point to all this?" Spike said.

Dalton looked back at Spike nervously, but there was excitement in his eyes. "Yes. The Master never had the strength to kill as we saw tonight. Severian must be extremely old. Given our inclination towards pride and boasting, for him to admit to be a servant of another would likely be true. There was much more in the book, but I never got a chance to read it."

Spike stood thinking. He'd never thought much about the lack of ancient vampires. He pulled his chair back to the table and sat down again. He had assumed they had died trying to pull off major stunts like the Master's attempt to open the Hellmouth.

Like the Master, many of them had died on the end of a Slayer's stake.

"Dalton, where is this book?" If this new vampire is planning on stirring up trouble, Spike thought, I want to be ready. The book might have useful information.

"It was with the Master's things at the Hellmouth. I looked for it, afterward, but it was gone. I think the Slayer and her Watcher may have taken it."

"We'll just have to get it, won't we?" Looking at his watch, he added, "Sun's almost up. We'll go tomorrow night." He pointed his finger around the room at the gathered vampires. "Any of you wankers run again, I'll kill you myself. Are we clear?"

A soft voice whispered through the room. "Spike…?"

Spike turned and smiled pleasantly. "Drusilla? What are you doing up? It's time for bed, love."

Drusilla stood pale and thin, her head lolling to one side as she leaned against a pillar. She tugged at her black hair with one hand while the other hung to her side, a small doll clutched in her hand.

"Why are the people talking?" Confusion on her face, she walked slowly forward. "I was afraid something had happened. Ms Edith was out of sorts." She held the doll up. Smiling, she ran her finger over a cloth blindfold that held the doll's eyes shut. "She was seeing phantoms, so I covered her eyes."

Spike stood and moved to embrace her. "Did you eat anything, Dru?" He looked to another vampire, who shook her head no. "You've got to eat. You'll never get better." He kissed her forehead, then moved to take her away.

Drusilla resisted him, then spoke with a low, firm voice. "The phantoms spoke, though. They said awful things." She looked up at Spike, a wild expression in her eyes. "He wants to close the door." She smiled slyly. "He thinks he can do what he wants, but they won't let him."

Spike looked at her carefully. "Dru, you seeing something?" He jerked his head at Dalton to come closer.

Drusilla smiled then went limp. She dropped the doll and put her hand on Spike's face. "Spike," she whispered, "the phantoms. That girl. The Slayer. She will hurt us if he gets them all. Only one left free…" She pulled Spike's head close. "Don't let her hurt us. Don't let him have them all…Don't let him…"

"I won't love," Spike murmured. He kissed her forehead, then turned to Dalton. "Well? How does that fit into your theories?"

Dalton's eyes were large. Drusilla was insane, but her visions were always accurate. "The book. There were a lot of prophecies in it. The Master never let me read many. It may have something, though."

"It looks like we have a project, people," Spike said loudly. "Drusilla," he said softly, "it's time to go to bed." Putting his arm around her shoulder, he led her away.

Ms Edith lay on the floor behind them. Dalton bent to pick the doll up, but just as his fingers were about to touch her, he hesitated. Looking up at Drusilla, his hands quivered for a moment. He stood up and left the doll where it lay.

* * *

Claudia stood by the door, waiting for her turn to speak with the one inside. The Old One. Kveltain. She shivered at the thought of his name. He'd changed it often, they all did, but she still always called him by the name he'd used when he found her. Made her.

The others took their cue from her and Severian and called him the same, partly out of respect, but mostly fear. All but Severian. Her eyes narrowed. Severian showed no respect. No gratitude. He'd lain dying on some battlefield when Kveltain found him. At least that's what she'd always heard. Claudia closed her blue eyes and remembered her own meeting with Kveltain…

He'd had found her in the ruins. Naked and bleeding. She still revolted at the memory. The Mongols had swept through eastern Poland like a plague. Her entire village was working in the fields when they came over the horizon. Her father fell before her eyes, an arrow in his chest. They looked like demons…what she thought demons might look like anyway.

She knew better, now.

Hours later she had lain in the dark, waiting to die. A voice spoke to her. His voice. "Do you want to die?" The flames of the cottages crackled and sputtered, but they didn't reveal the speaker's face.

She tried to speak, but her throat seized and she couldn't.

Kneeling down, he spoke again. "No? Would you like revenge, perhaps?"

"Are you the devil?" she whispered. A part of her knew she was being tempted, but her objections were distant and faint.

"No, I'm not the devil." He leaned forward, and she could see his face. A pleasant, friendly face. He smiled. "You have a choice, though."

She couldn't speak, so her eyes answered instead.

"I thought so." Leaning close, he whispered in her ear. "Both."

Behind the door Severian's voice rose to a shout.

Starting suddenly, Claudia grew angry. Severian. He should be thankful as well. He would have died on that battlefield. Why does Kveltain put up with him? The others waiting with her eyed one another nervously. One held a pair of small boxes tightly in his hands.

The door opened and Severian stepped out. His face was dark with anger. He stormed past her and snatched the boxes away from the waiting vampire. He turned and went back into the room, eyeing Claudia coldly as he went by.

Slamming the door behind him, Severian tossed the boxes to Kveltain. "That's eight. Shouldn't we be getting the last one? Whatever it is? Or is this sitting around crap part of your secret plan?" Severian went on with a mocking tone, "Or would it go against some PROPHECY?"

Kveltain sat in a chair reading a book in his lap, drumming his fingers on the armrest. With Severian's last biting words the fingers stopped and he raised his eyes to face him.

Severian held his breath for a moment, but when no reply came he went on. "You of all people. Fooling with prophecies and omens. How many centuries have you spent mocking those fools who dabbled with that rot? Now you act like some puppet getting jerked about by its Master."

Kveltain flashed from his chair and seized Severian by the throat. Lifting him into the air, he pulled Severian closer so that his face was inches from his own. "Puppet? You are mistaken. No insane scribbling controls my actions." With his free hand he gestured to the book, discarded beside the empty chair. Looking into Severian's eyes, he said, "I can see the doubt. 'Just like the others,' you are thinking." He smiled, "The others were fools because they did not understand the nature of prophecy. I do. If I had so little use for it, why have I spent these long years studying so much?" He released Severian and stepped back.

Severian put his hand to his throat and rubbed it. "You alone have the knowledge. Got it." He spoke with no trace of sarcasm, but Kveltain's eyes sparkled with anger. He went on in a conciliatory tone. "What then, is your bidding? Shall I teach table manners to Spike? Claudia to sing? Or perhaps take the Slayer out for a dinner and movie?"

Kveltain stood unmoving for a few seconds. "Severian," he said finally, "I understand your confusion and anger, but it must be this way. You've been with me longer than any other. When I set myself to some task, you know I have always succeeded. This is the greatest task of all. I've spent nine hundred years preparing. I will be successful. Why do you struggle against me so?"

Severian let his hard expression relax. "I don't understand. You've never been so secretive. The others," he waved towards the closed door, "they're too busy playing this 'Kveltain the Holy' routine to think for themselves." He grimaced, then went on. "You've never kept me in the dark before."

"I'm sorry." Kveltain stooped and picked up the book. He sat down in the chair and looked up at Severian. "It has to be this way for now." He turned and lifted a large, iron knife from the desk beside him. "Just keep Spike out of the way and keep the Slayer alive." He ran his finger along the edge of the knife and added softly, "We'll need her at the end."

For a moment Severian stood and looked at him. Finally he nodded and left the room.

Claudia watched him leave. Someday, she thought, you will push him too far and I will be his favorite. Someday soon, perhaps.

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