Chapter 8
"Look Sergeant Angua," cried Buffybot. "I've got my own axe!" She swung it through the air and hit the brick wall beside them with a metallic cherchunk, striking sparks and dislodging a large chunk of masonry and mortar dust.
Angua jumped back.
"Oops!" said Buffybot merrily, "I'm not used to the balance yet." She lowered her voice in awe. "It's a genuine dwarf axe. Cheery lent it to me. She says it doesn't match her helmet or chainmail, so she never wears it." She looked sad for a moment. "It's a pity I can't have the crossbow as well, but of course it's true I only have two arms - or at least I do for now - so the sword and the axe are enough. And Sergeant Detritus says I have to take more shooting lessons first, because hitting other members of the watch with bolts is inefficient and wasteful."
"Yes, said Angua absently, "and it was lucky it was only Reg. You could have done someone else a mischief. Even so, you gave him a nasty flashback."
Buffybot blushed. "I didn't realise you had zombies on the force, so he took me by surprise." She brightened, "Still, he was very kind about it. Said it could happen to anyone. And Igor fixed the hole, no problem." She swished her axe happily, "Anyway this is really sharp, and really cool! Cheery says her grandma Merry Littlebottom cut off more enemies' legs with it than she could count!"
Angua sighed; she couldn't help thinking that taking away Buffybot's crossbow and replacing with it an axe had not really addressed the basic problem.
The Scoobies sat around a table, several large tomes open in front of them. Giles was frowning. "I cannot see in these descriptions," he tapped the books, "any creature who would be wandering around in the Void - and either interested enough to break our spell, or powerful enough to step through the pentagram to do it." He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "Meanwhile, we have no idea where everyone went, or what damage they may be wreaking on whatever unfortunate world received them."
Anya was frowning too. "I don't see why you're all so upset about it. You've got rid of the dragon, and Spike - and the most of all, you got rid of the annoying little robot. Seems perfect to me." She shuddered. "Someone taught her to whistle recently, and then they bought her the DVD of Snow White and Seven Dwarfs." She looked at Tara, who blushed. "If she'd sung 'hi ho, hi ho' at 8 o'clock in the morning one more time I'd probably have thrown her into a void myself."
Buffy drummed her fingers on the table. "We may not like Spike - or Buffybot - Anya, but it's our job to rescue them. They're part of the team." She got a brooding look in her face. "Plus someone is trying to interfere here from another dimension, and I'm betting it's not because they love little puppies and kittens, and want the world to be a better place."
Xander nodded. "We need to find out what's going on, honey. Before some giant evil worm appears, or some insane immortal Goddess decides to end the world. Or eat us, and not in a good way."
Willow looked up from her book. "Well, looking on the bright side, they don't have to be planning to invade the earth, or you know, bring down an age of endless night, or whatever. I guess maybe they just wanted Spike for something. But it's impossible to know."
Xander made a helpless gesture. "Yeah, I mean - who would want Spike? It's got to be a madman."
"Or," said Tara, her tone thoughtful, "it might be Buffybot they want. And they spoiled the spell just to stop us getting her back."
Giles sighed. "All possibilities. Not to mention that it might be the dragon they're interested in. Or that orb. It had some very impressive capabilities. But we simply don't know what is going on, or why."
"Well then," said Buffy, getting to her feet. "You book guys come up with a plan to find out. I'm going to get my best axe - and when we find the bad guy, cherchunk! Problem solved."
Spike squinted into the darkness. There was small figure there, dressed in a robe, and carrying a scythe. Pretty classic, in fact, except for one small thing. The figure didn't top 12 inches tall.
"So what are you, then?" he asked "The Munchkin Grim Reaper?"
"SQUEAK!" said the Death of Rats, insulted.
He moved closer, out for the shadow, and Spike blinked. "Well, hello Scabbers. You're looking a bit thin. Been on one of those celebrity diets, have you?"
"SQUEAK!" The Death of Rats stepped over to the drained rat in the corner, and swung his scythe. A rat phantom rose from the little flat corpse, gave Spike a dirty look and then turned and faded into the cellar wall.
"Well, there's a thing," said Spike. "You know, I've eaten hundreds, or maybe thousands of rats in my time, and I've got a mate who's gone through hundreds of thousands of 'em - and yet I've never met you before, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't either. Want to tell me all about it? And while you're here you can tell me who put me in this cellar, and the best way out. Do that and I might stop eating your little furry mates."
"SQUEAK!" The Death of Rats turned his back ostentatiously, and began to trudge away, his robe trailing in the dirt behind him. Spike put a detaining thumb on the hem of his robe, and he turned.
"You're a bit limited conversationally, aren't you? Still, luckily for you, I'm resourceful. So, let's have two squeaks for yes, and one squeak for no, shall we?""
"SQUEAK!"
"All right, be that way." Spike thought for a moment. "Okay, I've got it. "Tell me, what sound does a rusty door make?"
"SQUEAK!"
There!" said Spike triumphantly, "that's got the conversational ball rolling. Now ... argh!"
The Death of Rats had turned and brought his scythe down squarely on Spike's thumb. As Spike's hand shot back, he took a nimble leap into the dark, robe flying, and melted into nothingness.
"God, I hate this bloody world," muttered Spike, looking at the welling slash on his thumb.
"Oh, how super," said a voice. "Because I've got a plan that will let you wreak havoc all over it."
Angua looked up at the sky, worried. The full moon was rising soon, but it had been so thoroughly overcast when they set off, she'd thought she was safe. Now, though, the clouds were scudding across the sky, and little wisps of moonlight were beginning to show as gleams that bounced off the rackety roofs and towers of Ankh Morpork.
Still, she comforted herself, there's plenty of overhang to these streets - and I'm not upset about anything. Not at all. Even if she was still nursing a black eye, and a very sore back, because of the little dimwit beside her. Even if Gaspode had dropped her in it - and Commander Vimes had promised to have a chat with her about the Watch, and what she might expect that her senior officers needed to know, once he had a moment. Even if he had sent her to sniff out the dragon, and then when she hadn't found the trail, sent her back to the Watch House again to carry on regular patrols instead of keeping her with his search party. Even if he had told her to keep their newest recruit in her sights, as though she was some sort of nursemaid for brainless, perpetually smiling little dandelion-headed twits like Lance-Constable Bott. But still, she wasn't upset. Nope. Not at all.
"So," she said after a pause during which she reflected on just how calm and in control she was, "what did you make of Captain Ironfoundersson?"
"Oh, he's great!" said Buffybot, her eyes lighting up. "We went on a tour this morning and he knows everyone, and everyone knows him, and they all like him - even the evil villains! And when our shift was over he took me to the Dwarf Bread Museum, which is really historical!"
Angua felt a twinge. Carrot hadn't suggested a trip to the Dwarf Bread Museum in months. True, this was probably because she'd expressed just how much she didn't care about dwarf bread, or the science of offensive sugar glazing. But still, the fact remained that the Dwarf Bread Museum was on Carrot's list of places to take a date, and he'd taken blondie there. And on her first day at work as well. It had taken him weeks to ask her if she was interested in ballistic bakery.
"He told me all about the history of dwarf bread," said Buffybot, unconsciously twisting the knife in the wound, "and it was very interesting. There's a Saga about a Scone. And did you know you can slice someone's head off with a slice of bread - as long as the slice is sharp enough? But the poor Captain was sad because not enough young dwarfs come to the museum to learn about dwarf bread heritage. So I told him about the interactive displays at the Los Angeles Science Museum, where my friend Tara took me, and we're thinking about making a firing range at the back, and baking some chakra bagels for the young dwarfs to throw. Of course, we may need to reinforce the courtyard wall first."
Angya felt a growl rising in her throat. 'We' may need to reinforce the courtyard wall, eh? Her teeth bared, and she began to fall into a hunched crouch.
"He has a very shiny breastplate, doesn't he?" continued Buffybot. "He uses grease from elbows. I never knew people had grease in their elbows before, but I looked at the people in the Mended Drum and they had grease absolutely everywhere!" She looked at her friend who seemed to be bent over with a stomach ache. Was Angua all right?
"Let's just get one thing quite clear," said Angua, falling to her knees, her lip curling back from her teeth. "Captain Carrot is my boyfriend." She shimmered, as hair sprouted in every direction. "Damn!" she howled, as her breastplate and armour clattered to the ground. She sprang around to face the Bot, teeth bared, claws clattering on the cobbles.
"Ooh!" said Buffybot, pleased. "You're a doggie, too." She leant down and patted Angua's lean flank.
Angua flashed a fang. "I am not a doggie," she said, biting each word off with her sharp white canine teeth. "I am a wolf. A werewolf."
"Would you like me to scratch your back?" said Buffybot solicitously. "I bet I can find the spot that makes your leg twitch!" She flexed her fingers.
"No," said Angua firmly, although her tail had wagged a tiny bit, despite herself. She frowned. Where had the anger gone, and the overwhelming urge to rip her rival's throat out? Why was there now an equally pressing urge to thrash her tail and butt her rival's knees with her head? She was a wolf, not a lap dog. But Buffybot made her want to curl up on a rug on front of a roaring fire, with a nice juicy hambone to chew, and an owner's leg to press herself against. The sensation was similar to the way Carrot affected her in her weaker moments, oddly enough. She stared at the perky little blonde dimwit in front of her. Could anyone as irritating as Buffybot have charisma? It was downright disturbing. And another thing...
"You can carry my armour, though," she added grudgingly. "It's very difficult to do that with just teeth. And then," she paused for effect, nostrils flaring. "And then you can explain to me why you don't smell of human being - or dwarf, or anything at all for that matter. I should have noticed sooner, but Gaspode had enough smell for ten."
Buffybot gave a dismayed gasp. Her secret was out! And after only 12 hours in Ankh Morpork. Willow would be so disappointed in her.