A/N: Ok, at the end of this chapter the writing becomes repetitive and confusing. This is on purpose, as it is supposed to show how Dalton is feeling. Just so you know, ;-)
* * * *
Willow and Buffy were sitting in the dining cabin, glancing around in vain for any sign of Xander. They had seen him briefly only three times, not counting the time Willow saw him the first morning, and he was always either busy working or making googly-eyes at Anya, the cook's daughter.
"Now," Willow whispered, her eyes darting towards the kitchen, getting ready to run. Buffy rolled her eyes.
"I think they'll let us in if we ask, Will," She smiled. Willow frowned.
"Spoilsport," she huffed. Buffy laughed and Oz gave a small smile, one of his greatest facial expressions. The two girls got up and headed towards the kitchen.
"Excuse me ladies," the head waiter on board nodded to them, stopping them at the kitchen doors. "Can I help you?"
Buffy and Willow looked at each other. Then Buffy cleared her throat importantly and put on her most superior voice.
"Yes, we'd like to know whether Alexander Harris could join us for dinner? We understand he's working in the kitchen, but perhaps he could take his meal out here with us instead of in there?" She asked. The man blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"I'll send him out immediately, ladies," The maitre-de swept off into the kitchen, and Buffy and Willow returned to their seats. A moment later, Xander appeared, and grinning widely, made his way to their table. Buffy and Willow both jumped up to embrace him tightly.
"Erm, girls…" Xander's voice came out choked. "I know I'm irresistible, but do you think you could let me breath?" He gasped. Both girls let him go, and laughed. Xander turned to Oz.
"Do we hug?"
"I think we're too manly," Oz returned with his characteristic stoic frown. They both smiled and Xander sat down.
"So," Buffy began. "What are you doing here? How did you get on board? We thought we weren't going to see you until we returned!"
Xander grinned and leant forward conspiratorially.
"I know some of the crew, and they introduced me to the first mate. He got me a gig working here in the kitchens, and if it works out I may stay on and get a job working on deck," He sat back. The girls shared a pleased and tolerant expression. Xander always had trouble holding down a job.
"So you won't be coming to London with us?" Willow broke in. Xander shrugged.
"Maybe, if it doesn't work out on the ship. But there's one other thing…" He looked down at his plate. Buffy and Willow exchanged a look.
"And that is…?" Buffy prompted, grinning slyly .
"It's just…I met this girl," He said, fiddling with his napkin while his face flamed.
"Ah yes, the amazing Anya," Buffy caught his eye. "I've seen her around the ship." She paused, letting Xander sweat. "She's lovely," She finished, and watched as a smile of relief spread across Xander's features.
"Yeah," He grinned. "Yeah, she is." I'd like you to meet her, and then maybe we could decide what to do together," he looked up hopefully. Willow smiled kindly.
"Sure, Xand," She assured him.
And dinner progressed, with the four friends making plans for when the arrived in England, a week from now.
* * * *
Three days after the death of a man and his driver on the London Road, a man was arrested in a tavern outside London. He was brought before the justices under the charges of assisting in robbery and murder and was known only as Dalton.
" You are accused of these very serious charges, and of being a member of the highway gang of William the Bloody, also known as Spike. What say you?" The judge asked.
Dalton whimpered. He struggled to breath as his mind raced, debating what to do.
"I-I…I beg of you, your mercifulness….I swear, I-I-I am not a h-h-highwayman," He began. The judge leaned over his platform. Dalton felt the ropes bit harder into his wrists and fought the urge to cry out. He tried to begin again, but the guards were closing in on him, and he felt the room swirl.
"P-Please your honour, y-y-your graciousness, I swear to you, I did not k-k-ill that man, I-I…" The words would not come. Could he do it, deny everything? Or should he tell the truth, the shameful, shameful truth, for which he might well hang?
But how could they possibly understand the fear that Spike inspired when you met him face to face? How could he explain that it was not possible to stand against him?
Dalton was only a scholar, no murderer or thief. Just an everyday well-educated man, with a brilliant mind, no family and precious few friends. He had gone along with William the Bloody because he was weak, and Spike was strong, and because he was afraid for his life. He had never hurt a soul, and simply wasn't capable of stealing. It was against his principles.
But he had been there. He had been part of the gang, he had worked out which carriages came when, whether they would be rich or poor, useless or valuable. He had bee part of it, he had, he had.
"I have n-n-never k-k-killed anyone in my life, I am only a man, it wasn't me," He begged. He had been a part of it.
"I did not st-st-steal anything, I am a scholar, an educated man, y-y-your honour, y-y-your great and merciful gentleness, I promise, I swear.." They were closing in on him, they were stepping closer, he had been a part of it and they knew, they knew, he was sure of it.
"I WAS NOT PART OF WILLIAM THE BLOODY'S GANG!" Dalton screamed finally, his voice ringing out through the courtroom. Oh but he was a part of it, and he kept screaming, denying everything, laying down his life to God, swearing by everything he could lay eyes one.
He was a part of it and his conscience came crashing down on him and he fell to his knees, and he screamed again and again as they dragged him away.
He was screaming the next morning as they hauled him up the steps to the newly erected scaffold in the town square, and he screamed one final time to the waiting crowd of every townsperson there as they slipped the noose about his neck.
And then Dalton saw a familiar figure at the back of crowd. The man who he was denying, the man who had ruined his life. He was smiling faintly, and Dalton's scream caught in his throat and he coughed, his voice dying. He looked again and the man was gone, but Dalton barely had time to sigh with relief when the trapdoor on which he stood dropped away, and the rope came taut, crushing his windpipe and stealing his breath.
Any scream Dalton might have let out was completely stifled by the incredible roar of approval from the crowd, and as the sound continued, a man with white-blonde hair and bright, penetrating blue eyes made his way out of the city, wearing a cloak so as not to be recognised, for he was a wanted man.
