Chapter 17 - The Defence of the World
Not for the first time, Emily Stevenson wondered what she was doing here. She sat at the long table, surrounded by the senior people from the army, government ministers, and of course, the Prince of Tor. The capital city of this world sat on top of a prominence which led itself to being a natural fortress. In addition, the world had been, for many centuries, a place of peace. The comparatively small, and largely rural, community had lived more or less harmoniously. There were little spats, of course there were. And there was crime, but both were kept under control by the police force. The only other threat to the people in living memory had been from the vampires who moved among them, but they were never numerous, and for them, there were the Slayers. As a result, the army had always been rather a ceremonial organisation, spending time primarily on the pomp and circumstance that the people so enjoyed.
Then came the invasion. Thousands of vampires had arrived through a portal, killing or capturing many and scattering more of the people of the world. There was no organised resistance at first, although many people had done what they could to defend their own homes and families. They didn't succeed.
Despite this, the more experienced of the two Slayers, Buffy Summers, had gone into battle against the invaders, surrounded by a good portion of the armed forces of the world. The army was decimated, and Buffy was taken prisoner. That news of this reached the city of Tor was almost amazing in itself, and it was generally considered to be an intentional move on the part of the invaders. They wanted to completely demoralise the population. They didn't want them dead, simply pacified and kept as food.
The meeting that morning was the latest in a long succession of such meetings, as those with power in the land gathered to decide what had to be done. It wasn't Emily's idea of how to achieve anything, but she had been given no choice. Since the enemy already had Buffy in their clutches, she had to be kept safe at all costs. If the two Slayers were killed at the same time, no Slayer would rise to replace those who had been lost. Such an occurrence would certainly demoralise the population to a greater extent than any other happening.
Emily was built to fight. It was what she was intended to do, and all this sitting around in the castle was making her extremely edgy. Day after day she heard the latest information on the approach of the vampire army. The past week had, however, been different. For seven whole days, there had been no movement of any type. They held the positions they had taken, and they were waiting. There was no information on what they could possibly be waiting for.
She knew she was squirming in her seat. She couldn't help it. She was bored, and she desperately felt the need to kill something. She hadn't met a single vampire within Tor for over two weeks. They had been cleaned out within days of her incarceration there. She felt her inactivity like an itch throughout her body. She couldn't even relieve her discomfort with some exercise of a different kind, as her boyfriend was not allowed to accompany her into the city. She missed him so much, but she understood the logic. She could afford no distractions, and she had to be able to judge every person she came across dispassionately in case they had been changed and sent to destroy her.
She looked up from her hands to find all eyes on her. They were obviously waiting for an answer, but she hadn't heard the question. She decided to brazen it out.
"Could you repeat that? I'm not sure I understood it fully."
She was met with a variety of expressions from those close to her at the table. From the Prime Minister, John Miller, she saw haughty disdain. From the Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, she saw total incredulity. From the man next to her, her Watcher, Michael Barrat, she saw irritation. Only one of the faces had a remotely positive expression. From the Prince of Tor, David, a man bred for the position he held, she saw tolerant affection. In truth, his position had always been purely ceremonial. Despite that, the people loved him, and would follow his lead in anything. For that alone, he was invaluable to those who wielded real power in the land.
The chief of the armed forces, Bertram Willis answered.
"We asked for your opinion on the plan under discussion. Perhaps you would be so kind as to point out exactly where we lost you?"
Despite her lack of interest in the endless discussions, Emily was bright. And, the discussions varied little from one day to the next. She pulled her eyes to the diagram drawn on the map of the ground surrounding the city. She could see the city marked with a thick black line, implying that it was believed to be impenetrable. She didn't actually believe that, but to say so was considered tantamount to treason.
Below the map was a diagram of a machine, a catapult of sorts, and the picture included an illustration of it throwing burning brands over the ramparts into the crowds of ravening vampires below.
"Well," she began slowly. "Of course it will work as far as it goes. It will cut down the numbers of the attackers, but it will only protect those of us who are inside the fortress. And how many is that? How many of us can actually fit into the city? And how long can we last in a siege anyway? The more people we have in the city, the shorter the time. And it's not just food we're going to need. We'll need huge supplies of wood to use against them if we go with this plan, and that's got to come from outside the city too. Remember too that we've already got thousands camping in the fields surrounding us. Food will soon be scarce around here without any intervention from the invaders."
She paused. She knew her next comment was going to go down badly. "And remember, that it will only take one vampire in the city to ruin everything. All they would have to do is lie low, turning a few, then letting them loose to do the same, and we could be overrun from within despite everything we try to do."
Willis sneered at her. "And what is your alternative?" His tone made it clear he didn't expect an answer.
"The only solution is to take the fight to them. They don't want us dead, they want us alive but domesticated. We have to line up everyone we can. We have to show them how to kill these things. We have to shoot them with fiery brands, sure we do, but we've got to do it at a place that'll give us the advantages. There're other things we can do too. Water blessed by the holy men causes their skin to burn. We can throw quantities of that at them too. We can make sure everyone knows how to use a stake, and is armed with them, although their use should be a last resort."
"And do you remember the last time we attempted such a thing? Your sister Slayer was taken by the enemy. We cannot risk your being taken also." Miller was obviously irritated.
"The last time this was attempted, the numbers used were too few. This isn't something that can be achieved only by those in the army. Every able-bodied person must be used. It's only if we can outnumber them that we stand a chance. And if it doesn't work, then it doesn't matter whether they have me, kill me, or not. Because any of you who are left had better just bare your necks and get used to being about as important to the new regime as the stock we keep for food. Because this won't be our world any more."
She stared at each face around the table as she spoke, willing them to deny the truth of what she was saying. To the surprise of everyone at the table, Prince David stood up.
"I think the Slayer is right. She makes sense, and I for one wish to be trained to be a part of this people's army she wants to set up."
His words were met with incredulity around the table. Then, one by one, the faceless men who outnumbered the others at the table started to nod, muttering their agreement. The wave of positive feeling flowed up the table, eventually reaching Miller, Willis and Barrat. Realising they were hopelessly outnumbered, they had no option other than to nod their heads and seem to agree. Silent communication between them made it clear that they would meet later to find a way to ensure that this plan never made it out of the castle. It was, quite simply, preposterous.
*-*-*
It was another conference table in another world. The faces around it were wary, afraid. Since the meeting about the 'New', and the disappearance of Lucien Spencer, everyone who had attended that meeting, with one or two curious exceptions, had disappeared or died in mysterious circumstances. Their heirs eyed each other as they waited for someone, anyone, to take control of the meeting. At last, one man did. He was the lawful heir of one of the families, but a very distant relation. If fact, he hadn't even realised until the recent events that he had a relationship to the family in question.
Rupert Giles spoke clearly, irritated by the wave of fear which undulated around the assembled company.
"The purpose of this meeting is to attempt to find someone to accept nomination to the post of Master of the Council of Watchers. I propose that we dispose of any other business. The only matter of importance is the appointment of new Master. Only once that is done can anything else be achieved. Do we have any nominations?"
Several people raised their hands, nominating another member of the assembled company, only to have the nominee decline. At last, an aggressive young man spoke up.
"What about you? You've taken over the meeting, and I've never seen you before. Which family do you represent?"
Giles' voice was cold. "My credentials were checked before I was admitted to this meeting, as were yours." He paused, waiting for some acknowledgement from this questioner. When he saw the almost imperceptible nod, he continued. "Now, did you wish to nominate someone?"
The answer was brief, and to the point. "Yes, I'd like to nominate you."
The intention of the nomination was clearly to put Giles in his place, so, when the answer came, the voice quiet, there was substantial surprise.
"I accept."
The atmosphere in the room was instantly changed. The charged tension disappeared, and smiles of relief appeared on many faces. Another of those around the table, a tweed-clad older man, a younger son who had never expected to be raised to head of his family quickly spoke up. "I second that nomination. Can I suggest an immediate vote?"
There was murmured agreement from around the table. The man in the conservative tweed jacket continued. "Those in favour of," he paused, looking towards Giles, unsure of his name. Giles took pity on his situation and supplied the necessary information.
"Those in favour of Rupert Giles taking on the mantle of Master of the Council of Watchers, indicate your agreement by raising your hand."
One by one, all hands around the table were raised, and the vote was concluded with the words. "I therefore announce that Rupert Giles has been elected to the position of Master of the Council of Watchers by the unanimous decision of the Council Management Committee. I therefore pass the chairmanship of the meeting over to him."
Giles cast his eyes around the table before speaking. "I decree this meeting closed. You will understand that I need some time to consider my new duties and responsibilities, and I will not be reconvening this body in the meantime, if ever. I thank you for your time."
With that, he stood up, pushing his chair away from the table. He continued to stand there, clearly waiting for the others to leave. There were a dozen murmured conversations, some clearly expressing the relief felt by the participants, others, indignation at the way they had been dismissed. In twos and threes, they moved towards the lift, and disappeared into it until Giles was left alone.
He approached the Master's desk, and pressed the button on the intercom to the Master's secretary. She was new to the job, her predecessor one of those who had disappeared, and as far as anyone knew, unrelated to the ruling families. She had worked for the Council for a number of years, and was more than competent. Her name was Janet Frazer.
"See to it that I'm disturbed by no one other than my wife until further notice," he said, before switching off the device.
He wondered if anyone else had felt it. At the instant he had been declared Master of the Council of Watchers, he had felt a tingle in his skin, the unmistakable feeling of magic in the air, as if an electric charge had dissipated in the air around him. He knew he had been keyed for something, and he was keen to find out exactly what. He opened the top left hand drawer of the desk, and noticed a polished metal box, just bigger than A4 in area, and maybe five inches deep. It had no apparent seam or join, no visible lock or hinge. Yet, when he placed his right hand on the top of the box, it sprang open.
On top of the other contents was a typed sheet. He began to read it with initial amazement, and then growing excitement.
Congratulations Mr. Giles on your appointment. It is many years since we have taken an active role in the appointment of the Master of the Council, but these are difficult times, and your appointment was necessary.
You should know that we were charged with the protection of the New, and that we had thought everything to be under control until the attempt on her life by your predecessor. She is safe for now, but her fate rests in the hands of the two warriors who have followed her into another world.
Your job for now, will be to reform the Council of Watchers. Whether or not the warriors are successful, the Council will be needed, and it must rekindle its purpose and be once more true to its aims.
Below this sheet are various tools which you will find invaluable. There is a remote which will allow you access to the whole building, and to all the information kept for the Master's eyes only. The device will work for no one else, unless we deem it necessary. I have taken the liberty of having certain debris removed from the lowest level of the building, but it is otherwise as it was left by your predecessor.
I can be contacted via the private line on your desk, but only by you. I am known as the Phoenix. I will aid you when I can, you have only to ask.
Under the note was an instrument which he recognised from Grianne's description as the one used to operate the lift from the sub basement. That device had disappeared from her possession at some time between her arriving at ground level and the arrival of the ambulance. Giles had been back to check the location since then, but there had been no sign of it at all. It looked remarkably like a remote control, and beside it were a number of other items at whose purpose he could only guess. He ignored them for the moment, noticing a set of keys which were designated 'Keys to the Master's home'. He knew that the Master had a flat somewhere in the building, but he had never been privy to its location. There was no further information on the fob, so he pocketed the keys, lifted the remote, and started to investigate the purpose of its various buttons.
It wasn't long before he had used the remote to open a cache of documents which he instinctively knew would make for interesting reading, a safe whose contents looked remarkably intriguing, and worked out how to access the sub basement. There was one other interesting discovery. On one wall was a bank of bookcases, and when a certain key on the control pad was operated, they moved to reveal a doorway. He walked through to find himself in a sumptuously appointed flat. A quick perusal showed four bedrooms, a lounge, dining room, kitchen, utility room, study and a couple of bathrooms. It had another entrance, one he assumed would not necessitate coming through the office, most likely opened by the keys in his pocket.
He left the flat, choosing to investigate the sub basement, and found it much as Grianne had described. The body was gone, the only thing remaining to show for its existence was the bloodstain which adorned the floor and wall close to the lift door. He could see no evidence of the alternative exit that Grianne had described, and assumed it was hidden.
Satisfied that he had achieved all he could, Giles headed home to share the news with Jenny, and to call Grianne. For himself, he was relieved to have something real to do. He had carried on with assorted research since Alasdair's injury, but he had no heart for anything unrelated to the current predicament. His income as Master of the Council would more than meet his and his family's needs, while allowing him to work towards the aim closest to his heart.
He also hoped this new turn of events would be sufficient to persuade Grianne that she needed to remain in London. He knew she was close to agreeing to the demands of the coven that she return as soon as possible. More than anything, he wanted guidance from the witch. She was not so much older than he was, but the wisdom she showed in most circumstances sometimes made him feel like a callow schoolboy. He smiled at his own picture of himself, knowing how Buffy would feel about such a drawing. Compared to Buffy, he always felt like an impossibly old man, and now that she was immortal, that would never change.
Despite the long time he had lived without contact with her, he missed her desperately now. He was even surprised at the extent to which Spike had become part of the extended family to which he belonged. The events in Sunnydale of a year ago had moulded them into a unit to which he was proud to belong.
As he headed out of the building, it occurred to him, that, as Master, he had it in his power to make Grianne an offer she would find it very difficult to refuse. A deputy Master was, to his mind, a necessity, and he could think of no one better suited to the task.
He drove home feeling better than he had for some time. He had a purpose again, a purpose that mattered. If he couldn't contribute directly to the safety of Emily, Buffy and Spike, at least he could work in an effort parallel to the efforts of the two warriors. He just wished he could know how they were doing.
*-*-*
Grianne was spending the evening at the hospital. It simply wasn't possible to have someone there all the time, but between them, Alasdair had company at some time each day.
She was reading to Alasdair, a book she had read many times, which he had once said he wanted to read. It had been her project for a week now, reading him a single chapter each day in an effort to bring him out of the coma in which he languished. She knew that the doctor in charge of his case was working towards telling them that there was no hope for his recovery. Grianne didn't believe that. He looked much as he did in health. His skin was normally pale, that particular pale peculiar to the ginger-haired, so, although his freckles had faded, he looked unchanged. He looked unreasonably large as he lay in the bed. His over six-foot frame looked even taller in the bed which looked as if it was designed for a much smaller person. He had lost weight, but even that was not excessive yet. At least, his face still looked much the same. His arms were definitely thinner than she remembered.
She reached the end of the chapter and put the book down. She knew instinctively that hers was not the voice which would sink to whatever level it was that his consciousness resided. Only Emily's voice would be able to reach him, and she was lost.
She had never been a violent woman, but the memory of the remains of Lucien Spencer was still vivid in her mind, and she couldn't help but wish that she had been the one to inflict the injuries on the man responsible for Emily's disappearance.