Chapter 13 - Rescue?

Vimes had experienced very little difficulty tracking Buffybot's progress through Ankh Morpork. A shadow loped along beside him, ghostly in the shadows, visible only by the glow of its golden eyes and an occasional flash of white fang. But a keen nose had not been needed for this job. The sight of a fully armed and uniformed Member of the Watch merrily swinging a huge golden orb from its chain, while skipping and singing little snatches of 'Gold, Gold, Gold!' as she crossed the dark alleys and squares of the city, had drawn considerable attention. Mainly from sporting citizens laying bets with one another on how soon she would either be mugged or, even worse, be collared by Mr Vimes for being drunk on duty. Now that Vimes was after her, the odds were shortening considerably on option two, and he was attracting a crowd of eager punters, happy to point out her direction. They trailed after him as he strode grimly across the cobbles with Captain Carrot, grinding his teeth as he went.

Buffybot had clambered over the wall of the Unseen University and up to the base of the tower. She had paused on the railing that surrounded the fifth floor balcony and was looking up. A number of apprehensive gargoyles were peering back down at her from higher up the tower. Up until now they had always considered it a place that was safe from the attentions of the Night Watch, but it seemed even this bastion had been breached. Buffybot waved to them merrily.

"Hi there!" she cried. "Have you seen a very big dragon with pretty patterns?"

She swung out onto the balcony rail and reached up for a handhold, as the gargoyles shuffled very slowly round the tower and as far away from her as they could. At that moment there was a flash and a roar and the balcony shuddered under the sudden weight of a huge green zombie troll and a small blonde Slayer.

Buffybot made a little surprised 'ooh!" as the railing beneath her knee gave way, and she fell forwards and outwards, headfirst towards the ground until her ankle caught on something, stopping her fall with a judder. Her helmet fell from her head, spiralling downwards into the darkness to hit the ground with an ominous clang, and the Orb swung down and clouted her around the ear. She swung, dangling from the tower, armour jingling as gravity caused all the overlapping metal plates to flap backwards. After a second everything went abruptly dark as her breast plate jammed itself over her head.

"Hello Bottie," said a familiar voice. "I've come to save you."

The ritual droned on, with much crossing and uncrossing of sickles, and reciting of bad doggerel backwards. Spike yawned and rested his eyes for a moment. Been there, done that.

Then Count Nosferatu stirred, and opened his Gladstone bag. Spike's eyes snapped open. The Count took out a number of shrunken head fetishes, some barely articulated bones, and various dried and desiccated little furry bodies. He arranged them in an arcane pattern and began to mutter, eyes closed.

Spike wrestled with his cuffs now the Count was distracted, until he heard a faint rattle behind him. He turned and stared suspiciously into the shadows. Sitting on one of the scaled and winged statues behind him, eyes glowing blue in the darkness, and scythe in bony paw, was a familiar skeletal figure. Standing beside him, and currently investigating vigorously beneath its wing for mites, was a raven. He moved towards them and bent down, not too close - that scythe was sharp.

"You again. So, how's a rat going to cop it in this little melee then? I can see me getting it in the neck easily enough, and the girl, and the goat, and the chicken - and maybe even a Brother or two if I'm really lucky. But where's the doomed rat, I ask myself?" He sniffed the air. "Can't even smell any rats around here. I reckon any rodent with any sense buggered off long ago."

The Death of Rats tilted his head on one side, as though considering Spike's words. "SQUEAK."

"Oh yes, very informative, as ever. And how about him, eh?" Spike pointed at the raven. "I don't see any ravens flapping about either, ready to get a flying arrow through the unmentionables. Don't see any arrows come to that."

"Oh, I ain't a Death," said the raven, making Spike jump. "Goodness me, no. Just a humble raven, me." It peered out over the room. "This ritual sacrifice business," it added casually. "That'll be your basic hearts and livers I daresay? No one going to be bothering about a little thing like an eyeball or two are they?"

The Death of Rats turned to look sternly at the raven.

"Just asking," it said sulkily, shuffling from foot to foot. "Can't blame me for taking an interest, now can you?"

"Well, in a minute I'll do my best to cut a few heads off for you," said Spike, turning and girding himself.

"Ta, mate." The raven hopped from one foot to another and ruffled its feathers, excited.

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow. Looked like he'd made a friend. Pity he was going to die in the next few seconds and wouldn't have a chance to really get to know his new pal. Because there was no point delaying any further - the ritual had wound its way around to the ceremonial unsheathing of the sacrificial axe, and the Count - who was doing the real work - had finished his summonsing as well. The axe flashed in the smoky incense laden air, swung in an intricate pattern, and on the altar the chicken shifted uneasily. Possibly it had seen an axe before.

"SQUEAK!" said the Death of Rats.

"He says you might want to wait another couple of minutes or so, though," added the raven after a pause, his tone disappointed. "There's stuff going to happen."

Spike rocked back on his toes, frustrated. If he was going to go out in a stupid, agonising, blaze of glory, he'd like it to be soon. Apart from anything else, he was getting hungry - and a wee bit bored, frankly.

"Buffy!" cried Buffybot, from inside her breastplate. "Hi!" She felt herself raised effortlessly through the air, and in a moment she was deposited head first on the shaky remains of the balcony, and her leg was abruptly dropped. She lay on her back and beamed up at her rescuer, who scowled back down at her.

"Ooh!" she said, thrilled. "You're a troll. Do you know Sergeant Detritus? He's really cool - especially his brain."

Porphyry's forehead wrinkled alarmingly as he scowled. "No small talk!" he yelled, "Let us find the Brotherhood of the Orb, and slaughter them like the miserable bleating sheep that they are!"

Buffybot lay in a shower of rotting detritus fallen from the zombie's mouth. She wondered if he would be open to some tactful hints about minty toothpaste?

"I see you've still got the Orb, at least." It was Buffy. She leant down and helped Buffybot to her feet. "And nice to see you're still in one piece," she said, patting Buffybot's shoulder gingerly, "Tara was worried, so she sent me to fetch you."

Buffybot glowed, and grabbed Buffy in a big hug. Buffy had come to save her! Her friends were so sweet! "I am in one piece - I haven't even cut an ear off," she said proudly, "and my legs both stayed on fine, even in these funny boots."

"Yeah," Buffy extracted herself from the hug, and began flicking bits of Porphyry's spittle from her jacket. "That's quite some costume you've got there, Bottie. You're going to have to tell me all about it."

"NO!" It was Porphyry. His greyish green face was turning an interesting mottled colour. "No telling, just killing! We smash the Orb, now. And then we kill them all." His bandaged hand reached out for the Orb dangling around Buffybot's neck.

………….

Spike's foot tapped impatiently. When was whatever it was that was going to happen, going to happen? The Head Brother had just taken hold of the chicken and was swinging it in an arc with one hand, axe held ready in the other. The chanting had reached a climax. The Count was holding a fetish in one hand, and a small black notebook in the other, his lips moving in a very different form of words.

There was a knock at the door.

Everyone ceased moving, and the chanting tailed off. Heads turned towards the great temple door. As they watched, the great locking bar began to shift, and the handles to turn, as it slowly unbarred and unlocked itself. The door swung inwards in a scream of hinges and a slender, elegant figure stepped through the threshold.

"Cooee!" said a sultry foreign voice. "I do so hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

…………

Buffybot moved the Orb hastily behind her. "I'm awfully sorry, but it belongs to the dragon. I can't let you smash it even though you saved my life - thanks very much for that, by the way." She beamed the troll her friendliest smile.

Porphyry's face mottled further with rage, and flaky peeling chunks began to detach themselves from his distorted face and to rain down on the balcony floor. Buffy and Buffybot took a hasty step backwards. The saliva was bad enough.

"Give Me The Orb!" he yelled, and smashed his fist down into the spot where Buffybot was standing. She skipped nimbly aside and his fist crunched through the wood of the balcony and into the planking below. A large hole opened as shattered wood fell away into the blackness. Porphry roared again and smashed his fist down into the next section, sending it spinning away and downwards.

"Oh boy," said Buffy, clinging to the remaining railing. "He's not dumb enough to smash the whole balcony he - and we - are actually standing on, is he?"

Porphyry's fist smashed down a third time, and she and Buffybot gazed at each other in wild surmise.