Chapter Sixteen
Deception and betrayal
Following the departure of Angel and friends, the Scoobies, currently consisting of Buffy, Xander, Willow and Dawn, had gathered in Buffy's living room, eagerly awaiting the explanation Buffy had promised earlier.
"Ok Buffy. Now that Deadboy have left town, again, along with his friends, could you perhaps let the rest of us know the identity of your mysterious informer? You know, the one who recognized Mr. Eau'd Entrails but refused to come forward and talk about it?"
Buffy sighed as Xander's words reached her. She'd been courting disaster the last two days, and having Angel leave town should have made it all better, yet now she had to explain things to her friends, and preferably do it without lying.any more than she absolutely had to.
"Well, you see. It's really simple, actually. It was Spike. And you guys know how he hates Angel, so I figured it would be best if he didn't know that Angel was back in town. Best way I could see to keep them from smashing into each other and us having to sweep up one of them afterwards." Sounded much better than: 'Because Spike is still angry with me for breaking up with him, and he just might have told Angel all the dirty details of our relationship if they'd met.'
"And you believed him when he said that he didn't remember where he'd seen him? This is Spike we're talking about. The vampire, remember? This Samuel guy sounds like just the kind of person Spike would hang out with. He could have been hiding out in his crypt, and Spike would have denied it. Remember the eggs? You can't trust demons, Buffy!"
"No, he wouldn't do that," Dawn's grateful smile at her sister's unexpected defense of Spike faded as she went on: "after I bombed his crypt it's barely inhabitable for a vampire, and Samuel is human, remember? No way would he hide there, even if he didn't worry about Spike snacking on him."
"Ok, no hiding murderer in his crypt. But that doesn't mean that he was telling the truth when he claimed not to remember where he'd seen him, does it? For all we know, Spike could have been training him after Angelus killed his friends. And that would make him even more responsible for what he's done than Angel is."
Buffy shook her head. "No, I don't believe that. Spike didn't play well with humans before he got the chip, remember? 'Happy meals on legs' was all we were to him back then. Training a potential murderer seems more like something Angelus would have done, Spike's always preferred the direct approach. So, yes, I believe that he doesn't remember where he saw him."
"Ok, maybe he's telling the truth about that. But then what are we going to do about Samuel? If Spike is telling the truth, and Angel is right about him, there is a human serial killer on the loose, and he's from Sunnydale. What are we going to do about it?"
"The only thing we can do, Xander. We stay alert, kick his ass if we ever find him, and deliver him to the authorities."
****
Exiting the elevator, Duncan started following his guide down the corridor when a quiet voice from behind stopped him.
"Duncan MacLeod? I'm Michael. We're going up a bit further. Please enter this elevator."
Duncan winced. He'd been alert ever since walking into the other Immortal's range, but he'd assumed his guide would lead him to Michael, and had failed to notice his presence behind him. Quickly suppressing the wince, he turned and entered the elevator Michael was standing in. The man he'd been following continued down the corridor as the two Immortals continued upwards.
Taking the time in the elevator to assess Michael, Duncan found himself pleasantly surprised. Despite Amanda's description of him, his career in theft and his habit of running away from Challenges had led Duncan to expect a shifty looking weakling, yet he could find no trace of cowardice in the brown eyes firmly meeting his own. And while not as heavily built as Duncan, the way his loose fitting clothes hung reminded Duncan of the wiry strength of Methos, concealed and restrained until needed. Yet, no sword. Not even an Immortal could manage to conceal a sword of any length under the short jacket Michael was wearing.
"I see Amanda was telling the truth when she claimed you weren't playing the Game. Mind if I ask why?"
Michael shrugged. "I don't mind, if you could answer me this: what is the Prize?"
"I don't know. No one does. Enough power to rule the world, at least that is what most of us believe."
"Is that what you believe it is? Are you fighting for a chance to rule the world?"
Duncan frowned. "No, I'm not."
"I know. You hope for the Prize to be mortality, the chance to live out your live as a normal man, having a wife and children, don't you?"
"Amanda told you that?"
"No. I deduced that from you having never let go of your mortal life. Being Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod for almost four hundred years now. Am I wrong?"
By now they had reached the desired floor, and was walking down the corridor towards Michael's room.
"No, you're not. But I could be wrong, and I can't take the chance that some evil Immortal gets the power to rule the world, now can I?"
Michael shrugged. "Your decision, I guess. Me, I don't want mortality, and the power to rule the world, what need do I have for it? I'm Immortal, the world isn't. Fact is, I can't imagine a Prize grand enough to make participating in the Game worthwhile. After all, the stake of the Game is eternity."
****
Michael had given a considerable amount of thought to what to tell Duncan when they finally met. He had briefly considered making up the description of 'the slayer', but had decided against that when he considered that Duncan was actually working with the Watchers; and so would be giving them the description he received. It would not have looked good for Michael if the Immortal he described didn't exist. He had then considered describing the headhunter he had killed in Chicago, James Felder. Unfortunately the Watchers would by now have realized that 'the slayer' had killed James, and that was a coincidence he could do without.
In the end, he really had no choice but to describe a real Immortal. This Immortal would have to be known to the Watchers, a headhunter of unknown age, and too hard to track for them to have a Watcher on him. And it would have to be someone Michael wouldn't mind seeing found and decapitated. As luck would have it, he knew just whom to send Duncan and Amanda chasing after. And if there were any justice, they would even find the bastard. Not that he gave much for their chances. The slippery little weasel had managed to stay hidden from Michael for well over two hundred years, after all.
He had first met Lord Richard Fenworth in 1786 in England while hunting a couple of English officers from the American war of independence. While Michael hadn't actively participated in that war he had been on the American continent ever since he signed on with Cortez in 1518. He had greatly enjoyed the following years of fighting and bloodshed, until 1521. Standing in the newly conquered Tenochtitlán he'd watched as the Spaniards, their clothes still stained with the blood of the natives, prostrated themselves before a statue of the Blessed Virgin as they thanked their god for allowing them to end the idolatry and human sacrifice of the heathens, and he'd realized that his disgust of Christianity was turning into an abject hatred of humanity. He left Cortez the same day, taking a break from soldiering and assassinations, mostly just returning to his roots and enjoying the thrill of exploration. But the war of independence had drawn him in, tempting and enticing, and so he'd hung around on the edges, and had observed the two 'gentlemen' slaughter dozens of civilians. He'd gotten angry again, but this time with a clear focus for it. Unwilling to see them walk away without punishment, he had hunted them across the Atlantic. And in so doing, he had found satisfaction, and maybe even redemption.
Having been employed numerous times as an assassin and bounty hunter, it hadn't been the first time he hunted people, but he had been away from the European societies for over 250 years, and had found it difficult to get close enough to his victims. He had attempted to solve the problem by spending more money on the identity he'd been using at the time, making himself a member of England's upper society, but he'd been too hasty and careless, leaving tracks apparent to other Immortals. Tracks that appeared from thin air, and headed in the direction of the two returned heroes. And while Fenworth might have many flaws, stupidity hadn't been one of them.
The lord of a minor estate, Fenworth had access to the social circuits the officers traveled in, and, having suffered his First Death a mere year before, he had approached Michael with a few suggestions.
Most of which Michael had agreed to. In return for his help in getting close to his targets, Michael would train Fenworth for a year. And with Fenworth's help, the assassinations had gone off easily, if unsatisfactory. It had only been as he struck the final blow that he had realized that in making their deaths quick and painless he had allowed them to escape from the punishment they so richly deserved.
Pondering the unexpected conclusion to the hunt, he'd been somewhat distracted, and since he knew the younger Immortal didn't carry a sword either, he hadn't reacted appropriately when he moved up behind him, only to discover that lacking a sword didn't stop Fenworth from slipping a knife into his back. Waking up in a shallow grave, Michael had later learned that the beheading had been prevented by servants whom, having discovered the bodies of his victims, had raised the alarm, making Fenworth claim having killed the assassin, and have Michael buried, presumably planning to get the head later. Luckily, Michael didn't stay dead anywhere near as long as the younger Immortal had expected, and had been well out of the grave when he came for the head. Not having any weapons, Michael had made a strategic withdrawal, running for his life.
He had desired immediate retribution, but instead of beheading a Lord and drawing undue attention to other Immortals and their duels, he'd instead chosen to wait until the younger Immortal had to leave the life of Richard Fenworth behind. And so he had stayed in the area, taking care to never get close enough to be discovered, patiently waiting. Until, almost seven years later, Richard Fenworth died in a hunting accident, and vanished without a trace. Michael had been astonished. The death and disappearance had been planned perfectly, with far more skill and forethought than he'd ever have attributed to such a young Immortal, and despite his best efforts, he'd never been able to hunt him down since. He had even penetrated the Watchers once with the singular goal of discovering his location, only to find that they had no solid info on him beyond a rough description and speculations on his age ranging as far back as 700 years.
And so he fed Duncan a nice little tale of how the mad and evil Immortal had Challenged him in Chicago, handed him a sketch he'd made, and sent the Highlander on his way with his blessings and best wishes on the hunt. Unfortunately for Michael, however, he'd turned his back to Duncan to return to his seat after handing him the sketch, and so had entirely failed to notice Duncan's brief expression of shocked recognition, although he did find his sudden eagerness to get on with the chase somewhat puzzling.
****
Returning to the suite he shared with Amanda, Duncan spared no time asking the questions that had plagued him ever since Michael had handed over the sketch of the man he claimed had Challenged him in Chicago.
"He's your friend, right?"
Puzzled, Amanda nodded. "You know that, I distinctly remember telling you."
"And he's not playing the Game, and have no interest in the Prize?"
Nodding again, Amanda frowned. "Yes to both. I told you that, so why are you asking?"
Duncan handed her the sketch.
"Because your good friend wants me to kill Methos."
Author's note: Latest chapter here. Please review to let me know if you like/dislike it. Also, I have finally gotten myself a beta-reader. Many thanks to Muerte for proofreading, constructive criticism and good (and some not so good) ideas. And the address to join the update group is still available on my author page.
Deception and betrayal
Following the departure of Angel and friends, the Scoobies, currently consisting of Buffy, Xander, Willow and Dawn, had gathered in Buffy's living room, eagerly awaiting the explanation Buffy had promised earlier.
"Ok Buffy. Now that Deadboy have left town, again, along with his friends, could you perhaps let the rest of us know the identity of your mysterious informer? You know, the one who recognized Mr. Eau'd Entrails but refused to come forward and talk about it?"
Buffy sighed as Xander's words reached her. She'd been courting disaster the last two days, and having Angel leave town should have made it all better, yet now she had to explain things to her friends, and preferably do it without lying.any more than she absolutely had to.
"Well, you see. It's really simple, actually. It was Spike. And you guys know how he hates Angel, so I figured it would be best if he didn't know that Angel was back in town. Best way I could see to keep them from smashing into each other and us having to sweep up one of them afterwards." Sounded much better than: 'Because Spike is still angry with me for breaking up with him, and he just might have told Angel all the dirty details of our relationship if they'd met.'
"And you believed him when he said that he didn't remember where he'd seen him? This is Spike we're talking about. The vampire, remember? This Samuel guy sounds like just the kind of person Spike would hang out with. He could have been hiding out in his crypt, and Spike would have denied it. Remember the eggs? You can't trust demons, Buffy!"
"No, he wouldn't do that," Dawn's grateful smile at her sister's unexpected defense of Spike faded as she went on: "after I bombed his crypt it's barely inhabitable for a vampire, and Samuel is human, remember? No way would he hide there, even if he didn't worry about Spike snacking on him."
"Ok, no hiding murderer in his crypt. But that doesn't mean that he was telling the truth when he claimed not to remember where he'd seen him, does it? For all we know, Spike could have been training him after Angelus killed his friends. And that would make him even more responsible for what he's done than Angel is."
Buffy shook her head. "No, I don't believe that. Spike didn't play well with humans before he got the chip, remember? 'Happy meals on legs' was all we were to him back then. Training a potential murderer seems more like something Angelus would have done, Spike's always preferred the direct approach. So, yes, I believe that he doesn't remember where he saw him."
"Ok, maybe he's telling the truth about that. But then what are we going to do about Samuel? If Spike is telling the truth, and Angel is right about him, there is a human serial killer on the loose, and he's from Sunnydale. What are we going to do about it?"
"The only thing we can do, Xander. We stay alert, kick his ass if we ever find him, and deliver him to the authorities."
****
Exiting the elevator, Duncan started following his guide down the corridor when a quiet voice from behind stopped him.
"Duncan MacLeod? I'm Michael. We're going up a bit further. Please enter this elevator."
Duncan winced. He'd been alert ever since walking into the other Immortal's range, but he'd assumed his guide would lead him to Michael, and had failed to notice his presence behind him. Quickly suppressing the wince, he turned and entered the elevator Michael was standing in. The man he'd been following continued down the corridor as the two Immortals continued upwards.
Taking the time in the elevator to assess Michael, Duncan found himself pleasantly surprised. Despite Amanda's description of him, his career in theft and his habit of running away from Challenges had led Duncan to expect a shifty looking weakling, yet he could find no trace of cowardice in the brown eyes firmly meeting his own. And while not as heavily built as Duncan, the way his loose fitting clothes hung reminded Duncan of the wiry strength of Methos, concealed and restrained until needed. Yet, no sword. Not even an Immortal could manage to conceal a sword of any length under the short jacket Michael was wearing.
"I see Amanda was telling the truth when she claimed you weren't playing the Game. Mind if I ask why?"
Michael shrugged. "I don't mind, if you could answer me this: what is the Prize?"
"I don't know. No one does. Enough power to rule the world, at least that is what most of us believe."
"Is that what you believe it is? Are you fighting for a chance to rule the world?"
Duncan frowned. "No, I'm not."
"I know. You hope for the Prize to be mortality, the chance to live out your live as a normal man, having a wife and children, don't you?"
"Amanda told you that?"
"No. I deduced that from you having never let go of your mortal life. Being Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod for almost four hundred years now. Am I wrong?"
By now they had reached the desired floor, and was walking down the corridor towards Michael's room.
"No, you're not. But I could be wrong, and I can't take the chance that some evil Immortal gets the power to rule the world, now can I?"
Michael shrugged. "Your decision, I guess. Me, I don't want mortality, and the power to rule the world, what need do I have for it? I'm Immortal, the world isn't. Fact is, I can't imagine a Prize grand enough to make participating in the Game worthwhile. After all, the stake of the Game is eternity."
****
Michael had given a considerable amount of thought to what to tell Duncan when they finally met. He had briefly considered making up the description of 'the slayer', but had decided against that when he considered that Duncan was actually working with the Watchers; and so would be giving them the description he received. It would not have looked good for Michael if the Immortal he described didn't exist. He had then considered describing the headhunter he had killed in Chicago, James Felder. Unfortunately the Watchers would by now have realized that 'the slayer' had killed James, and that was a coincidence he could do without.
In the end, he really had no choice but to describe a real Immortal. This Immortal would have to be known to the Watchers, a headhunter of unknown age, and too hard to track for them to have a Watcher on him. And it would have to be someone Michael wouldn't mind seeing found and decapitated. As luck would have it, he knew just whom to send Duncan and Amanda chasing after. And if there were any justice, they would even find the bastard. Not that he gave much for their chances. The slippery little weasel had managed to stay hidden from Michael for well over two hundred years, after all.
He had first met Lord Richard Fenworth in 1786 in England while hunting a couple of English officers from the American war of independence. While Michael hadn't actively participated in that war he had been on the American continent ever since he signed on with Cortez in 1518. He had greatly enjoyed the following years of fighting and bloodshed, until 1521. Standing in the newly conquered Tenochtitlán he'd watched as the Spaniards, their clothes still stained with the blood of the natives, prostrated themselves before a statue of the Blessed Virgin as they thanked their god for allowing them to end the idolatry and human sacrifice of the heathens, and he'd realized that his disgust of Christianity was turning into an abject hatred of humanity. He left Cortez the same day, taking a break from soldiering and assassinations, mostly just returning to his roots and enjoying the thrill of exploration. But the war of independence had drawn him in, tempting and enticing, and so he'd hung around on the edges, and had observed the two 'gentlemen' slaughter dozens of civilians. He'd gotten angry again, but this time with a clear focus for it. Unwilling to see them walk away without punishment, he had hunted them across the Atlantic. And in so doing, he had found satisfaction, and maybe even redemption.
Having been employed numerous times as an assassin and bounty hunter, it hadn't been the first time he hunted people, but he had been away from the European societies for over 250 years, and had found it difficult to get close enough to his victims. He had attempted to solve the problem by spending more money on the identity he'd been using at the time, making himself a member of England's upper society, but he'd been too hasty and careless, leaving tracks apparent to other Immortals. Tracks that appeared from thin air, and headed in the direction of the two returned heroes. And while Fenworth might have many flaws, stupidity hadn't been one of them.
The lord of a minor estate, Fenworth had access to the social circuits the officers traveled in, and, having suffered his First Death a mere year before, he had approached Michael with a few suggestions.
Most of which Michael had agreed to. In return for his help in getting close to his targets, Michael would train Fenworth for a year. And with Fenworth's help, the assassinations had gone off easily, if unsatisfactory. It had only been as he struck the final blow that he had realized that in making their deaths quick and painless he had allowed them to escape from the punishment they so richly deserved.
Pondering the unexpected conclusion to the hunt, he'd been somewhat distracted, and since he knew the younger Immortal didn't carry a sword either, he hadn't reacted appropriately when he moved up behind him, only to discover that lacking a sword didn't stop Fenworth from slipping a knife into his back. Waking up in a shallow grave, Michael had later learned that the beheading had been prevented by servants whom, having discovered the bodies of his victims, had raised the alarm, making Fenworth claim having killed the assassin, and have Michael buried, presumably planning to get the head later. Luckily, Michael didn't stay dead anywhere near as long as the younger Immortal had expected, and had been well out of the grave when he came for the head. Not having any weapons, Michael had made a strategic withdrawal, running for his life.
He had desired immediate retribution, but instead of beheading a Lord and drawing undue attention to other Immortals and their duels, he'd instead chosen to wait until the younger Immortal had to leave the life of Richard Fenworth behind. And so he had stayed in the area, taking care to never get close enough to be discovered, patiently waiting. Until, almost seven years later, Richard Fenworth died in a hunting accident, and vanished without a trace. Michael had been astonished. The death and disappearance had been planned perfectly, with far more skill and forethought than he'd ever have attributed to such a young Immortal, and despite his best efforts, he'd never been able to hunt him down since. He had even penetrated the Watchers once with the singular goal of discovering his location, only to find that they had no solid info on him beyond a rough description and speculations on his age ranging as far back as 700 years.
And so he fed Duncan a nice little tale of how the mad and evil Immortal had Challenged him in Chicago, handed him a sketch he'd made, and sent the Highlander on his way with his blessings and best wishes on the hunt. Unfortunately for Michael, however, he'd turned his back to Duncan to return to his seat after handing him the sketch, and so had entirely failed to notice Duncan's brief expression of shocked recognition, although he did find his sudden eagerness to get on with the chase somewhat puzzling.
****
Returning to the suite he shared with Amanda, Duncan spared no time asking the questions that had plagued him ever since Michael had handed over the sketch of the man he claimed had Challenged him in Chicago.
"He's your friend, right?"
Puzzled, Amanda nodded. "You know that, I distinctly remember telling you."
"And he's not playing the Game, and have no interest in the Prize?"
Nodding again, Amanda frowned. "Yes to both. I told you that, so why are you asking?"
Duncan handed her the sketch.
"Because your good friend wants me to kill Methos."
Author's note: Latest chapter here. Please review to let me know if you like/dislike it. Also, I have finally gotten myself a beta-reader. Many thanks to Muerte for proofreading, constructive criticism and good (and some not so good) ideas. And the address to join the update group is still available on my author page.
