Chapter 50

Paris

Derrick parked the Land Rover three blocks from where they'd parked it the last time at Ellie's directive.

"I'm not taking any chances," she said.

"But it's raining." Derrick grumbled.

"Trust me… you won't melt."

"No… but I might catch cold," the boy grumbled. He was tired and his arm throbbed again. He sat back in the seat and stared at the rain collecting on the windshield. It had been so clear a few hours ago… Derrick was surprised how fast the storm had moved in. He'd tried to talk Ellie into stopping… but she'd insisted on coming all the way back.

"The sooner we're back… the sooner you'll be safe."

"Right… back on holy ground," he'd snorted. "You were more fun when I was little."

She reached out to squeeze his upper arm slightly. He grimaced… even that hurt. "I'm sorry, baby."

"I'm not a baby!" he lashed out… shrugging her away. He felt her hand on his face.

"You're running a fever again. I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into this. Let's go…" she opened her door to climb out. "Now!"

Derrick nodded as he slowly got out on his side. Stumbling a bit next to the car, he licked his lips and shivered in the cold rain. He felt her arm go around him and lead him along. Derrick stopped fighting it… and just let her lead the way.

Once back in the room… he sipped the water… took the pills… including a pain pill… and slipped gratefully into sleep.

Eleanor stood over his sleeping form for some time… just staring at him. Finally she turned, descended the stairs and worked at the hidden chock, which she had used to lock the door to the sewer so many years ago. It was time to be a little more circumspect… it was time to go underground… at least for now. She fumbled for the Maglite in her coat pocket, and turned it on.

Entering the sewer, she crossed the tunnel and unlocked the door to the cavern. Once there… she fumbled through some of the drawers of the wooden cabinet seeking some of the older medicines that Darius had stored down here… strong ones… that he didn't want falling into just anyone's hands. She tried to recall what he'd told her about some of them… "Medicines lost to modern man." He'd said it eight hundred years ago… and he was still saying it… twenty years ago. "Medicines modern man is only now beginning to rediscover. Powders for pain, for oblivion. Too much causes death. This root when ground and brewed as tea… calms the cough. These leaves… this mold…" he'd told her over and over again.

Finally she pulled out a small vial of blue crystals. "Very rare… hard to gather. When properly ground and mixed with animal fat… it will make an excellent salve to cleanse a wound."

Eleanor pocketed the vial… and a small crock of mold. She had what she needed… now she just had to brew the potion and prepare the salve. It would work… it had to work. She chuckled slightly at the thought of using some of Darius' old remedies to cure a boy… who carried some of her friend's memories within him. And he was her friend… both of them were… no matter what he'd done.

For a moment Eleanor closed her eyes and let the tears she'd been holding in fall freely… the tears of loss… the tears for time which would never come again. She'd trusted him. She'd believed him… and now… now. Darius' lies may have also robbed her of Methos. She had to find him… now more than ever. "You should have told me… both of you… you should have trusted me."

She shown the light up the narrow stairs to the church entrance… but that one would remain locked for the time being. There was no reason to open it now… perhaps there never would be. Derrick was not Darius… he never would be. He was already forgetting the things he'd known when he was younger… he was already becoming himself… and not the precocious boy she'd first met.

Eleanor smiled, wondering if it had been that way with her. Had Methos watched the memories of someone else flitter through her mind as she'd grown… and then vanish once she was? Was that why over the centuries, the only events of her childhood she'd recalled at all… were the ones he'd told her of? Now, of course, she knew them all… at least the ones he remembered.

When she returned to the grove… she stared at the bubbling spring. "The water only eases the passing of the dying… it does not heal," Darius had told her. Well maybe this once… when she brewed the mold into tea… it would help… it would have to. Eleanor gathered a pitcher of water before climbing the stairs. She had work to do… and the sooner she was about it… the better.

-----

Derrick raised one eyebrow as Ellie handed him the hot tea.

"It smells," he said.

"I know, now drink it… all of it," she replied.

He sipped the dark hot brew and spat it out. "It's bitter!"

She laughed. "I know… now drink."

He drank, all the while watching as she unwrapped his arm and began applying a smelly grease to his wound. "That smells even worse," the boy grumbled."

Ellie chuckled. "I know… it always does." Satisfied that she had enough on his arm, she began to bandage it anew. When she finished… Derrick lifted his arm to his nose and sniffed… gagging.

"I can't go anywhere smelling like this!"

"Nope!" She gathered her supplies and rose. "Finish the tea."

Derrick wrinkled his nose and glared at her… but he drank the noxious brew. "Sugar would help," he finally murmured.

"But I don't have any." She sat on the nearby chair and grinned down at him, still wrapped in the sleeping bag. He'd refused the bed again.

"I like the floor!" he'd murmured before dropping off to sleep last night.

"You always did," Eleanor whispered as the corners of her mouth turned up in a small smile. "You always did."

Once he'd finished the tea he held the cup up to her, still glaring. "I suppose you're going to tell me I have to drink another one."

"Not now… Not right away," she laughed as she collected the cup and returned to the small kitchen where she was attempting to heat soup. Behind her, Derrick rose from the floor and threw himself into one of the chairs… he sorted through the books stacked on the table and groaned.

"These are all in French… I hate reading French!"

"Well… when in Paris…" she smiled. "Besides… the practice will be good for you."

-----

Geneva

Keith Boyer looked up from his computer suspiciously. After returning to Geneva he'd reclaimed his belongings from a storage locker and relocated to another hostel. He'd been worried that even he'd been followed yesterday… but until now… he'd neither seen nor heard anything. Rising… he pulled his sword from its nearby sheath and stood quietly beside his door.

As yet… he felt nothing. No tingle of another immortal… so if someone was coming… they were mortal… and while he didn't like to kill mortals… if they came for him… he would. He was not going quietly into whatever they had planned. He'd take some of them with him… and those some wouldn't be coming back.

On the far side of the door… he heard the floor creak from the shift of weight as if someone stood just on the other side… waiting.

Keith centered and brought his sword up vertically before him… he took several cleansing breaths… and waited.

It was almost anti-climatic when the door burst open. Keith pivoted and brought his sword across… striking the first of three men. As soon as he struck… he pulled it back and thrust at the second… impaling him in the chest… withdrew and turned to slash across the mid-section of the third.

Even as they slumped to the ground, Keith took only enough time to grab his computer, stashing it into his backpack with his identity papers as he climbed out the window and up onto the roof. Once there he raced pell-mell for the roof of the adjoining building. "Always have an escape planned!" he'd heard someone say long ago… and so he had. Once on the other roof, he rolled and quickly regained his footing.

He slammed against a wall and listened… hearing voices in the other building… but none in this one. Rising to a crouch he headed for the next roof… and then the next before finally opening the stair access and heading swiftly down. He needed to get out of the area quickly and vanish.

Reclaiming the ground floor he exited the building quietly and double-timed up the street keeping to the shadows. Even as he ran… he wondered if Ellie and Derrick had also picked up a tail.

-----

Paris

Avril Mischkov slowly closed his cell phone. He'd returned to Paris a few hours ago… but was only now making it home. Accidents caused by the rain had tied up traffic slightly.

They'd lost Boyer. As for the ones he'd met with in Geneva… reports were inconclusive as to whether the couple in the car had been immortal or not. To complicate matters… the Watcher had been unable to get a really good look at the female, and the young man's photo had not shown up on any database.

When they'd separated… the Watcher had followed Boyer… that was his job. He'd made the assumption that someone else was on the other two… if they were immortal. Now the Watcher and two others were dead… Boyer had proven to be far more elusive than they would have thought. Rawlins would not be pleased!

Mischkov slowly unlocked the door to his rooms and switched on the light. His austere apartment… devoid of bright color and comfort calmed him… as it always did. He required the severity of form and the blandness of color to focus… to remove the toxins of his assignments… to become again the cold machine that Rawlins required him to be.

Closing the door, he crossed to the desk and picked up the scourge. He'd missed this. Shivering in anticipation and hating himself for doing so, he swiftly removed his coat, jacket and shirt. In the dim light, he faced the blank wall and began to strike his back… again… and again… ever more harshly. If he embraced the pain… if he ignored it… he could follow though and focus on the end task… on becoming immune to the little doubts and fears that sometimes plagued him. He struck again… drawing blood… and again… wincing slightly. Setting his jaw and gritting his teeth… he continued… until he was numb to it all. Until he was cold, hard, and of deadly purpose.