Chapter 7 - The Master of the Council of Watchers
Being summoned to this office was always a big deal. It didn't matter whether it was a good reason, or a bad one, it was still an occasion. The outer office looked like nothing else in the building. The Council of Watchers lacked for little in their London headquarters, but, at the top of the building, accessible to most only by invitation, was the office of the Master of the Council of Watchers. Michael Barrat sat nervously in the outer office. The Master's secretary watched him hawkishly as she worked, apparently irritated that his presence was allowed to degrade the stylish surroundings. After what she deemed was a suitable wait, she stood and beckoned him to the door to the main office.
"The Master will see you now, Mr. Barrat."
Michael stood, conscious that his hands were damp with perspiration. He nervously ran his index finger between the collar of his shirt and his neck, trying to relieve the chafing that suddenly assailed him. He had never been called before the Master before - not even when he returned to London after Emily was turned. Then he had been grilled by one of the then Master's assistants, and that was an experience he didn't want to repeat. He had no idea why he had been summoned today. He had filed his initial report on Emily the previous night before he had left for home. He was puzzled by much of it, but the initial testing procedure was complete after two days, and it was policy that he report at that stage. He had arrived at his office this morning to find an addition to his diary - a request to present himself to the Master at ten. His own secretary had blanched when she had seen the entry. Such summonses were rare, and even more rarely were they happy occasions.
He knew the current Master, of course. He had been around the Council throughout Michael's own time there. Like Barrat, Lucien Spencer also came from an old Watcher family. Unlike the Barrat family, the Spencers always found their way to the top echelons of the Council.
He entered an office which defied imagination. To say it was spacious, elegant, richly furnished and decorated would be to insult it. It seemed to go on for ever. There was a huge conference table at one end, surrounded by the paraphernalia required by such a facility, but it in no way overwhelmed the room. At the other end of the room, was an informal seating area which could easily accommodate fifty. Somewhere between these two areas, was a huge desk behind which sat Lucien Spencer.
Lucien Spencer sat in the centre of his domain with pride. He was in no way overawed by the opulence in which he found himself. He simply considered it his due. His family had been at the pinnacle of British society for generations, and despite some problems several decades previously, the family had retained its position. His ancestral home was filled with portraits of previous Masters of the Council of Watchers from whom he was descended. In fact, although it was not apparent to those unconnected to the family, every member of the upper management of the Council was related to him. The relationships were intentionally blurred for general consumption, but family members were brought up to understand the intricate ties between the various families which made up the Spencer clan. As a Spencer by name, Lucien was a member of the senior branch of the family, but the other names (Borkett, Waters, and Willoughby, among the most prominent) were kept in order by their interdependencies. It simply was not in their interest to do other than support the status quo.
Spencer glanced up from the report he was reading as Barrat entered. He pointedly ignored the other man, returning to what he was reading as Michael stood awkwardly in the doorway. He looked up a short while later, and beckoned Barrat to sit on the opposite side of his desk. Barrat moved smartly to the proffered chair, and was surprised to note that the document Spencer was reading was a printed version of the report he had filed the night before.
It was several minutes before Spencer spoke. When he did, he did not look happy.
"Barrat," he looked back at the document to check the name, "isn't it? This is your report. On one …. Emily Stevenson. She was your Slayer, was she not?"
Barrat replied in the affirmative to both questions.
Spencer put the report down, and stared at Barrat. The stare was designed to make the other man uncomfortable. "Do you have any idea of the damage you could have done with this report?"
Whatever Barrat had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Damage? I don't understand."
"Damage. The preposterous claims you have made here. I'm just glad Jeanette Borkett warned me about the direction your tests were taking. At least I was able to remove this report from general circulation before the damage was done."
Michael felt he should defend himself, but he wasn't yet sure what the accusation was. "I have only reported the tests done and the results achieved."
"You claim that this ….vampire," he said the word as if it sullied his tongue to utter it, "was immune to the effects of holy objects."
"That's what happened. And Jeanette Borkett found the same thing. I was keen to know what was happening with that particular subject, so I stopped at her office while she was making notes on her initial tests. I was surprised, naturally, and wanted to see the tests first hand. I wasn't happy with the way she was conducting the tests, so I took over. If she's been telling you anything else, she's lying because I pulled rank on her."
Spencer's face didn't give any clue to his thoughts. "Stupid man," he thought. "She's a Borkett, a second cousin of mine. You couldn't possibly pull rank on her. She's only in the position she currently occupies to keep an eye on people like you."
Aloud, he ignored Barrat's comments. "You stand by what you wrote here, then?"
"Of course I do. I'd be happy to demonstrate her immunity to you personally. Any time you'd like to pop into the research department, we can repeat the tests. As you've no doubt read, her reaction to other stimuli is as expected. Sunlight burns her. I expect that a wooden stake will cause her to revert to dust, although that is, of course, the ultimate test. Her healing rate is exceptional, however. I suspect the same for her strength, but that remains to be tested rigorously."
Spencer stopped listening after Barrat's affirmation. He mulled over the action he had to take, only listening again towards the end.
"I see," he told Barrat. "Of course, if you are willing to stand by the report, that is a different matter. Please keep me personally informed of the progress of the rest of the tests. I can see you are someone we are going to have to keep an eye on."
The smile Spencer gave the other man was intended to be conciliatory, but Barrat was reminded of nothing so much as a shark. Spencer's cold grey eyes seemed to bore through him, and he wondered if the man had any feeling at all.
Spencer stood up, holding out his hand to Barrat. "Thank you so much for meeting me today. I'm kept here in my office much of the time, with the details of the Council for company, and I don't often get the opportunity to meet those of you who do such sterling work on our behalf."
Michael recognised his dismissal, and started to walk towards the door through which he had entered the office. Spencer put a hand on his shoulder, and propelled him instead to an area behind the conference table. "Please, allow me to show you my personal lift. You can take it directly to the basement, and it will save you having to walk past my secretary and other assistants. It is so tedious to see them wondering what was discussed here, isn't it?"
Spencer fingered the remote control in the pocket of his suit jacket, and a part of the wall pulled back to reveal the sliding doors of a lift. Another button on the remote, and these doors opened. He gently propelled Barrat into the lift, adding as Michael turned to face outwards again, "Good work, Barrat. I'll be waiting to hear from you."
The doors closed, and then disappeared behind their cover. Spencer pulled the small remote control out of his pocket and removed a secure cover from one end. He pressed the button which was hidden there, and calmly walked to his desk. He picked up his phone, dialling a number quickly.
"Package on its way to the sub basement. Dispose of it in the usual way."
There was no reply to the order, just a click as the line went dead.
He ended that call, and entered another number. "Full meeting in my office at eight this evening," he ordered.
"Yes, Sir," came the answer.
*-*-*
It was late that same morning when Emily regained consciousness. She opened her eyes warily, relieved to find she was in her cell. The bright lights of the research lab would mean a resumption of tests, and she really didn't want that.
She had undergone two days of tests so far. The previous two days had been a nightmare. The testing procedure included repeated exposure to measured amounts of sunlight, cuts to varying depths and a number of other injuries applied to various parts of her body. The initial injury was not the end of it, however. Each hour, the injuries were examined, prodded and poked in an effort to measure the rate of healing, and in many respects, that part was worse than the original damage.
She didn't remember being returned to her cell the previous night. The tests at the end of the previous day had included intentional infection of a number of wounds by bugs Emily had no understanding of and ended by measuring the effects upon her of a number of drugs. One of them at least had had a significant effect, since she had been knocked out. She knew instinctively that the sun had risen when she woke, so she knew she had been unconscious all night.
She gasped as the cuts on her limbs and abdomen pulled as she sat up. Michael had been very thorough in his efforts. He had carried out the tests with enthusiasm, apparently taking great pleasure from every sound she made. She looked at her arm, pleased to note that the wounds from the first day had closed. The newer wounds on her abdomen seemed to have stopped bleeding, and healing was advanced except where her movement had pulled the gashes open again.
She was surprised at how quickly her injuries from the day before had healed. She knew she had accelerated healing, but hadn't suffered many injuries in the past year. The last time she had had major trauma of any sort was after Angelus, and she was sure her wounds had taken longer to heal then. Then there was the fact that she had had no blood of any kind since before she was captured. By that standard, her healing rate was amazing. She thought perhaps such things improved with time, and made a mental note to ask Buffy and Spike.
Thinking about those two friends, she felt fear at the prospect that they would try to free her. She didn't want to consider the possibility that they had already tried to rescue her, and had both been immolated. And Alasdair, had he been executed? No, she reasoned. If any of those things had happened, she would have been told. Michael would have revelled in her misery. Therefore her friends and her lover were safe. The other possibility, that she had been abandoned by them was one she refused to consider, despite the murmurings in her head which pointed out that no one had ever stuck with her for long. She silenced the voices with her belief that this time it was different. Alasdair would never abandon her.
*-*-*
It had taken some time, but by late afternoon, Giles' location had been discovered. He was in England, in a remote part of Herefordshire, close to the border with Wales. Some rather more mundane research showed that the location was in the grounds of an estate owned by the Willoughby family. Eleanor Price confirmed that the Willoughbys were one of the families at the centre of the Council of Watchers, adding, "They must be very worried about him if a family of that stature is willing to become involved so obviously. Of course, there is a lot at risk for them."
The same team was able to confirm quickly that Emily was indeed being kept in the Council headquarters. Grianne met with her most trusted sisters to come up with a plan of how to extract the vampire from her imprisonment.
There were four women around the table. Grianne welcomed them and asked each to give their ideas in turn. The first, a grey-haired witch well into her seventies, with small eyes that seemed to glitter with an inner light, gave her opinion first.
"There are spells we can use. I've got all the details we need, and they're all well tested, and they can be performed from here. We just need to get in touch with those who will actually do the rescuing. The first priority, I take it, is the child. I know Rupert Giles is a friend, but he is insignificant compared to the New."
Grianne listened with deference to the older woman, glad as always for her wisdom, but desperate to disagree. "Thank you Brenda, but I intend to go to London in person. Remote spells will not be necessary."
The other three at the table shook their heads, almost in unison. A second spoke. She was similar in age to Grianne, but auburn haired. "Grianne, you can't go. We have only a few advantages at present, and one of those is the fact that the Council don't know you are at liberty. I suspect that even that advantage will soon be lost, but in the meantime we would be foolish to squander it."
The remaining participant, younger than the others at about thirty, with black hair and piercing blue eyes added, "And we need you here. Your strength will ensure the success of the spells. The others will have to do what has to be done with our help."
Grianne knew they were right, but she wasn't happy. She had had suspicions from the first that Emily was the one who had been foretold, but that wasn't the reason that she felt so deeply about her. Grianne simply felt that Emily was a young woman who had had a terrible start in life - a life brought to a premature end by evil. That she had been through what she had and become a lovely young woman (despite being a vampire) spoke of her strength and courage.
"Very well," she agreed reluctantly, "I will stay here. But, how do you propose contacting the others and getting them the information they need?"
"You have been out of touch, haven't you, dear?" Brenda replied. "When you informed us of Emily's likely identity, we ensured that we have others close to the Council. Eleanor already takes a huge risk in her dual role, but she is no longer alone, we have some minor players in the Council, and others who simply live and work in London and have no overt connection to the Council. One of them will simply pay your friends a visit."
The discussion then reverted to details of the spells most likely to be of use. By the time there was a workable plan, it was well after midnight. Contact was made with a supporter in London, and the release attempt was set for the following night.