The earth is a sphere that rotates on its axis as it orbits the sun. Some parts of the globe are in darkness while others bask in solar warmth. It was dark and cold as St. John Merriweather decided that Kirkland's distaste for fine spirits was reprehensible, but at the same moment it was a warm winter afternoon in Sunnydale, California. Even by Sunnydale's generous standards it was a balmy day for January, mild enough that Cordelia Chase wore a sleeveless silk top and short red skirt as she watched Xander play basketball. It was nothing serious, just a quick pick-up game, but Cordelia was secretly enjoying herself as she watched Xander run and sweat. He took a pass on the left wing, faked to the middle and drove the baseline. He pulled up from ten feet and launched an ungainly but accurate jump shot that dropped through the worn chain nets with a soft clank. He exchanged high-fives with his teammates as the opposition took the ball out. They swung the ball around the point and tried to reverse it, but Xander stepped into the passing lane and deflected the ball. Lonnie Krueger grabbed it and took off toward the basket. It took him some time to get there. Not that Lonnie was slow, but Cordelia could have gone to the salon, had her nails done, consulted Paul (pronounced 'Pah-oooool) about a new hairstyle, been reassured that her coiffure was absolutely perfect just as it was and still returned in time to see Lonnie miss the lay-up. The ball bounced off the side of the rim and Xander sliced between two flat-footed opponents and tipped it in. "Game point!" shouted Lonnie, who was apparently under the impression that his missed shot had been the secret key to the game-winning sequence. Watching Lonnie perform his victory dance was not Cordelia's idea of time well spent so she concentrated on Xander. Sweat dripped off his nose and chin and formed a dark inverted triangle on the front of his T-shirt. He picked up his other shirt, a short-sleeved green and black rayon number, and jogged over to her.

"Hey," he said, gasping slightly. "Were you impressed?"

"Oh yes," she said with mock gravity. "Watching you dominate the geek-and-loser league takes my breath away."

"I prefer to be a big fish in a little pond. Actually, I prefer to be a big fisherman in a little pond. It's much easier that way."

Cordelia looked over at him as he shrugged into his shirt. "You know, I watch all the basketball games, being a cheerleader and all, and you're as good as some guys on the team. And you did make the swim team last year. Why haven't you ever tried out for any other sports?"

"Hello, let's look at the swimming experience, shall we? I was on the team for about a half-hour, then I found out they were trying to turn me into the cousin of the Creature from the Black Lagoon. All in all, not an episode to make one long for the camaraderie of team sports." They walked a ways, Cordelia with her books in one hand and her purse slung over a shoulder. Xander wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "I guess when you come right down to it, it's always the coaches."

"What?"

"The coaches. I love the games, but there's always a coach screwing it up, either making too big a deal of it or getting in your face. I don't need any more of that."

Cordelia decided it was time to change the subject. "Do we have plans for tonight?"

Xander snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Yes, we do. Buffy's invited us to hang at her place. Oz and Willow will be there. I believe board games and popcorn are major agenda items."

Cordelia groaned. "This is what I've come to? My dating life consists of hanging out at Buffy's yet again?"

Xander held up a forefinger. "Small point. I don't think you've actually done much hanging out at Buffy's house. Sure, you've been there, but mostly it's been of the 'barricade the doors, evil's a-comin'' type or the 'break out the books, let's find out when evil's a-comin'' type."

Cordelia made a sour face. "You forgot the 'put duct tape around the door or the worm man will get us' type."

Xander shrugged and a small smile played around his lips. "Yeah, but I kinda look back on that fondly."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "You would."


***

Willow placed her last tile on the Scrabble board with an authoritative little snap. "Xylem," she said.

"Wow," Xander said. "I don't believe I've ever seen a word that short be worth so many points." Buffy and Oz just stared in dumfounded awe.

"Is that even a word?" Cordelia demanded. "Because I don't think it is."

"Sure it is," Willow protested. "Xylem, as in xylem and phloem. It's the vascular tissue that carries water from the roots to the branches and leaves of ferns and seed plants."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "Nice try, but I'm not buying."

Willow's voice grew quiet. "Are you challenging me?" Buffy, Xander, and Oz turned pale.

"Yeah," Cordelia snapped. "I'm challenging."

Willow reached out and picked up a worn and broken-backed Scrabble dictionary, never taking her eyes from Cordelia. She glanced down as she flipped through it, turned back a couple of pages, ran a finger along a column, then reversed it and handed the book to Cordelia. "What do you see?" she said.

Cordelia read. Her eyes smoldered and her lips pressed into as thin a line as their fullness would allow. She thrust the book back at Willow. "Fine," she said.

"That's game," Willow said. "Want to tally?"

"Hey, I think it's time for a popcorn break," Buffy said, getting to her feet. "What say we partake of the fluffy white kernels?"

"I'm all for it," Xander said. "That salty crunch sounds fine to me. How 'bout you, Cor?"

"Sure." Cordelia got up from the couch. "Popcorn sounds good. I need something to grind my teeth on."

Willow began to pick up the Scrabble board. "I'll find another game."

"Sorry," Xander said to Cordelia as they entered the Summers' kitchen. "I should have told you, no one challenges Will at Scrabble."

"Why not?" Cordelia bristled; even her ponytail twitched in anger.

"Oh, I don't know... maybe because she's a Scrabble deity and if she's angered she can summon her divine word powers and smash all of our boards."

"God, you are such a wuss." Cordelia shouldered past him. "I have to use the bathroom."

"Is our queen a bit touchy about getting bitch-slapped in Scrabble?" Buffy asked in a voice that implied that butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

"Cordelia doesn't like to lose," Xander said.

"No," Oz said with credible astonishment as he poured a glass of water. Buffy attended the popcorn. Xander fetched bowls from the cabinet. They met Cordelia in the hall. The four of them trooped into the living room.

"Look," Willow exclaimed, her face luminous with delight. "I found Trivial Pursuit." Xander, Oz, and Buffy exchanged microscopic shakes of the head. Cordelia studied them for a moment, glared at Xander, then turned back to Willow.

"I love that game," she said, settling onto the sofa. Xander closed his eyes. Oz sat on the floor beside Willow. As Buffy put the popcorn on the coffee table she whispered in Xander's ear.

"Is she just a glutton for punishment?"

***

"If I wasn't seeing it with my own eyes, I wouldn't believe it." Buffy gulped water, then ran the glass over her forehead.

"Man, where did she learn so much about sports?" Xander's question was directed at the cosmos.

"Well, she has dated most of the good athletes at school," Oz pointed out. "Maybe she gleaned a little from each of them."

"We better get back in there before this gets ugly," Buffy said.

"Too late," Xander said as they filed out of the kitchen. "It's already uglier than Aldo Ray in a teddy."

Willow sat cross-legged in the living room floor, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Cordelia perched on the edge of the couch, back straight, her fists clenched on her thighs. Both of them stared at the board. Two tokens, their wedge-shaped segments filled with bits of colored plastic, sat on the surface. Willow was one space from the hub, Cordelia's two. Willow rolled the dice. The white cube bounced and spun. A three. Willow hissed and moved her token past the hub. She was on green. Cordelia pulled a card from the box.

"Science and nature," she said. "What line on a map connects all points of the same elevation?"

Willow waved her hand. "A contour line. Roll."

Cordelia picked up the dice. She needed a three. She tossed the dice. Three black dots stared upward. Willow rolled her eyes as Cordelia advanced to the center.

"Okay," Willow said. "I pick the question." She reached into the box. A sly smile spread over her face. "The category is geography. What's the only active volcano on the European mainland?" A self-satisfied grin creased her face.

Cordelia shrugged. "Mount Vesuvius."

Willow's jaw dropped. "What?"

Buffy looked stunned. "She's right?"

"How did you know?" Willow asked.

"Please," Cordelia said. "It's in Italy, land of shoes and fine handbags. Ever heard of Gucci, Versace? Who would know more about Italy than moi?"

"That's French," Oz pointed out.

"So," Cordelia said, "do I win or something?"

***

Cordelia turned the key and the Sebring's engine roared to life. She checked the mirrors, put the car in gear and pulled smoothly away from the curb. She kept silent until they reached the stop sign at the end of the street.

"What is the deal?" she asked.

"What deal?" Xander asked, the soul of innocence.

Cordelia turned right. "For the last half-hour everybody sat around looking like their dog just died. What gives?" He shrugged but Cordelia would not be denied. "Xander," she said in a tone that would not take no for an answer.

He shifted in his seat. "It... You upset the natural order."

She frowned. "What?"

Xander half-turned toward her. "Willow never loses at board games. That's one of her things, part of the Willow persona. She doesn't lose at things requiring facts or memory."

Cordelia shrugged. "Well, she lost tonight."

"And that's the point, don't you see? We all had our niche, our little special place. You're pretty and popular, Buffy's the Slayer, Oz is music guy and Will... Will's Brainiac. You've usurped part of her role."

"First of all, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, and after dating you for almost a year, I've heard some stupid things. Plus, I've lost a considerable amount of cachet because I'm dating you, so I think Willow owes me at least one game of Trivial Pursuit."

"But don't you see?" Xander held up his hands, fingers curled as though he grasped oranges. He began to wave his arms back and forth. "You've upset the alignment. Worlds are colliding." He banged his hands together. "Bkshhhhhhhhhh. Who knows what could happen? Cats and dogs living the together, the dead rising to walk among the living... real Old Testament stuff."

She rolled her eyes. "That's a pretty involved theory from someone who I think is wearing bowling shoes. Besides, the dead rise in Sunnydale all the time."

***

Des Kirkland sawed a small section from his breakfast sausage and popped it in his mouth. The Grand Inquisitor ate with a peculiar combination of delicacy and rapaciousness that produced a queasy sense of disgust in any observer. As he chewed there was a knock at the door. He swallowed and said, "Come in." The old oaken door swung open and St. John Merriweather stepped into the chamber. The ramrod-straight old man looked at the walls of massive stone, the old tapestries, the hardwood floor worn smooth by generations of feet.

"Might have asked for rooms with indoor plumbing," he said.

Kirkland smiled, or at least pasted a smile-like expression onto his vulpine face. "Don't worry about me, Lord Merriweather. I'm quite comfortable here." He chewed a small triangle of toast.

"I'm sure you are." Merriweather stuck his hands in the pockets of his navy blazer.

"I suppose we might as well just get to it," Kirkland said. "How was your little conversation last night?"

Merriweather shrugged. "They are all appalled at your request for measures of necessity and shocked that it was approved. I'm sure you're aware of that." Kirkland nodded and made an impatient gesture with a hand. Merriweather stifled a small smile. He was going to enjoy watching the little prick digest the next morsel. "David Mangwana claims that you manipulated the rituals of selection."

Kirkland's eyes bugged ever so slightly. He reached for a glass of water and took a sip. Deciding that this was not strong enough, he rose from the small circular table, went to a cabinet and poured himself a whiskey. He took a healthy drink and closed his eyes as he swallowed. When he opened his eyes they were a little watery. "Everyone's leaving this morning. You might have mentioned this sooner."

Merriweather shrugged. "You didn't ask."

Kirkland glared. "Do you think he has any proof?"

Merriweather thought for a moment. His classic features assumed a stillness as his mind worked. "Mangwana is a cautious, thorough man. He would never mention something of this magnitude unless he had some sort of evidence to confirm it."

"Damn!" Kirkland hurled his glass against the wall. Shards of glass and amber whiskey sprayed across the stones and onto the floor. "This is what comes of expanding the Watchers." A black scowl twisted his face. "That's where the rot began, you know, when we let the Asians in, but it really took off when we included the bloody Africans."

Merriweather refrained from mentioning that most histories pinpointed the first Slayer in Africa. "Kaffirs have their uses. Still, they cause nothing but trouble when you give them responsibility." He shrugged. "Still, my father always believed the Council's first error was admitting Americans."

"Probably." Kirkland passed a hand across his forehead as though wiping the dark thoughts from his brow. "Well, I suppose this must be dealt with." He looked at Merriweather. "You've been of great service, Lord Merriweather, even if you weren't exactly johnny-on-the-spot with this intelligence."

Merriweather offered a slight bow, a sardonic smile on his noble profile. "Thank you. I believe I'll show myself out." He left the chamber.

***

David Mangwana hefted the silver aluminum briefcase as he walked across the parking lot. The day was slightly overcast but stray shafts of sunlight poked through the clouds. Mangwana had exchanged his somber suit of the night before for dark trousers, chunky Mephisto walking shoes and a baggy sweater with brilliant flecks of color. He checked his bags at the ticket counter but kept the briefcase with him. He took his boarding pass and started for the security checkpoint.

"I say David, care for a drink at the club?" Mangwana turned. St. John Merriweather stood a few feet away. The old man wore a navy blazer and gray pants, polished black cap-toe oxfords and a blue-and-red striped regimental tie. As usual, he looked as though he was posing for a statue to be erected on the commons of some posh public school.

"I have a plane to catch," Mangwana said.

"You have time," Merriweather said, taking the younger man by the arm. "Only take a minute. Besides, I don't think you'll be getting on your flight." He steered David toward a black-painted door. A plaque on the wall beside it read Take-Off Club. "Dreadful name," Merriweather said as they entered.

They settled into a leather-padded booth. A waiter took their order-scotch and soda for Merriweather, mineral water for Mangwana. As the waiter glided away Mangwana stared at the old man. "I assume there is a reason for this, Sinjin."

"I suppose," Merriweather said. "I told Kirkland about our conversation last night."

Mangwana's chiseled features remained still, but his eyelids lowered to half-mast. "You did."

"Yes." The waiter placed their drinks on the table. Merriweather tasted his. "He knows your suspicions." He pointed at the silver briefcase, which sat on the floor beside Mangwana's ankle. "I assume your proof for your accusation is in there." Mangwana did not reply. "Come, come dear boy," Merriweather said. "Time is short."

"Why?" Mangwana said.

Merriweather sighed. "I assume you're asking why I told Kirkland, not why time is short. Don't try to understand an old man's motives, David."

"You betrayed us."

"I beg to differ. I divulged information you'd rather keep private. If I had betrayed you, you would even now be on your way to Kirkland's chokey."

Mangwana sipped at his water. "And why am I not?"

Merriweather waved a hand. "I'm an old man. I suppose it's possible that I told him the wrong flight on the wrong airline in the wrong terminal. An honest mistake."

"Why do it?"

Merriweather took a healthy drink. "I have seen the Watchers Council change during my lifetime. Some of those changes offend me. I know how it feels to see another chosen to mentor a Slayer. I've swallowed that bitter pill six times. I have seen us fight and squabble and behave badly. Still, if we are to stand for anything, the choosing ritual must be sacrosanct. It's one thing to be ambitious. It's another to tamper with our sacred texts out of disappointment."

Mangwana tapped a finger against his bottle. "How can I trust you?"

"My boy, I'm the one you can trust. I'm completely honest; I tell all to everyone. Now, I have a question. Did you discover this... duplicity on your own?"

Mangwana hesitated, then shook his head. "No."

"And do you have proofs in your case?" Mangwana nodded. Merriweather touched his upper lip with a forefinger. "Then I assume he or she was not present this weekend." He looked at Mangwana. "As I said, I'm afraid you will miss your flight." The old man signaled for the waiter, who appeared as if by magic. "Excuse me," Merriweather said. "Would you direct us to your fax machine?"