Chapter 19

Spike emerged from the Ramkins' potting shed rumpled, tousled and furious, with a small smelly dog yapping at his feet. As he had staggered in at the door of the shed, still drawn by the ring, Watkins had removed the riding habit from his head with a practised flourish, and then, while Buffybot hung on to his foot, acting as a partial brake, Wilkins had swiftly and skilfully clad him in a voluminous one-piece, all-embracing white suit with a huge saucer-like hat and a heavy veil. As soon as everything was in place, Buffybot let go, and he had staggered onwards once more.

"Down, Gaspode," called Lady Sybil. "I know he looks very peculiar, but he's a friend!"

She dragged Gaspode back by his collar, then Spike's helpers stood in a row admiring their handiwork.

"Well!" said Lady Sybil, "my new bee-keeping suit is certainly coming in very useful."

"You're ever so clever to have thought of it," said Buffybot admiringly. "And Wilkins is a whiz at dressing a moving target!"

"Well done Wilkins!" cried Lady Sybil.

Wilkins coughed modestly, "My years as a valet made me adept at dressing gentlemen in the most awkward of circumstances, my Lady. It is a skill once learned, never forgotten."

There was an explosion from the garden next door, a whistling sound, and a brilliant green fireball flew into the air.

"How peculiar," said Lady Sybil, "Cyril hates fireworks. He thinks they're common."

Buffybot broke ranks and skipped up beside Spike as he jolted his way to the bottom of the garden, "And we're going to follow you to Mr Winkelson and arrest him! Isn't this fun? Ooh, I can hear someone coming. That was very fast." For as she spoke, the sound of pounding feet was audible from the road outside the garden wall. Buffybot ran to the wall, leapt, and took hold of the spikes at the top and chinned herself up to look over to the road below. "Ooh! It's Porphyry - and he's going to walk into this wa..."

The wall exploded beneath her as Porphyry walked right through it, ancient stonework and mortar bouncing in every direction. He and Spike converged at the wall below. Moving quickly, Wilkins opened the garden door in the middle of the wall, and, after a brief struggle they both passed through the door and into the garden of Lord Pownder beyond.

Lady Sybil began sorting frantically through the smoking pile of rubble. "Bottie!" she cried, "Where are you?" Then she stopped, and swallowed. Sticking out of the piled stones, toes upwards was a small pair of feet.

Buffy, Detritus and Cheery scrambled through the hole. Lady Sybil pointed dramatically at the feet, and in a moment a frantic rescue was in progress. Stones rained around the garden, until finally Detritus pulled Buffybot to her feet, and Cheery began checking her for dents.

"Bottie," cried Buffy, "are you okay?"

"Knock, knock," said Buffybot happily, "Who's there? Kanga who? No! Kanga roo!" Then she sank to the ground. "I think my gyros are a bit wonky," she said to no one in particular.

Buffy sighed, "Oh well, she's sort of okay. And Willow can probably fix the knock knock thing again." She looked up, "What's with the Sound and Light Show next door?"

"Let's find out, said Vimes, his face grim. He and the rest of his troop had come up unnoticed as the others dug. He pressed the stitch in his side, and gazed at the prone, dust-covered figure of Buffybot, and at the hole in his garden wall. "And then, he said ominously, "Bott can explain to me why she is in my back garden instead of on a hill top somewhere saying her farewells to a dragon!"

He and Buffy set off for the bottom of the garden, trailed by Detritus, Carrot, Angua and - after she had given Buffybot a last anxious pat - Cheery Littlebottom.

"My goodness," said Lady Sybil, "I'd quite forgotten the dragon in all the excitement." She bent over Buffybot. "Do you think you can get up?" she asked anxiously. "She's due any moment now."

Ernest Winkelson, self anointed Count, was feeling pretty pleased with himself. As they had come out into the grounds, some burly guard with a martyr complex had tried to creep up on him from behind, and he had blown the fellow 50 feet backwards with a green fireball. That had gingered everyone up. Lord Pownder's fastest coach had been called, and Pownder and his household were now cringing before him, as was his due. Now both his undead servants had shown up - both looking pretty repulsive, of course - and his stock had risen still further. All in all, he rather fancied he could have ordered a million dollars and a bag of rubies at this point - and received them without a murmur. Things were looking up. Except.

"Mr Ernest Winkelson? Of 29 Tallow Boilers Street?" It was the Watch. Led by that pernicious, officious, rule-obsessed, all-round nosey parker, Lord Vimes in person. Winkelson snorted. It was about time that his tame vampire did what he had been hired for. He pointed at Vimes, and tapped Spike on the shoulder. "Kill him, Spike!" he cried. He tapped Porphyry on the shoulder as well, grimacing as a piece of zombie flesh fell off in his fingers. "Kill them all," he said expansively. Then he sat back to watch.

Buffybot and Lady Sybil had regained the turret, and were watching events unfold. The Watch and Buffy might have Spike and Porphyry outnumbered three to one, but they were hampered by their desire not to kill either of their attackers. So Spike had flattened two Watchmen in his attempts to reach Vimes, and was now wrestling furiously with Buffy. Porphyry was creating mayhem; having grabbed an ornamental stone gryphon from Lord Pownder's terrace, he was swinging it around his head, trying to crush everyone in sight. Detritus had reached out a hand to catch the gryphon's head, and had caught a heavy blow from the plinth instead, crushing his helmet over his eyes. The other Watchmen dodged and jumped, trying to hook a leg from under him, or score a direct hit on his huge stony head.

Meanwhile, a smart carriage had drawn up, and Winkelson was striding smugly towards it.

Buffybot stood on one foot, agonised. Then she threw open Lady Sybil's war chest, selected a chakram bagel, took very careful aim and let fly. The bagel flew, fast and true, zinging as it went, down the Vimes' garden, over the stone wall, and finally made a direct hit on the back of Mr Winkelson's head, just as he stepped up into the carriage. He fell back to the ground with a moan. After a frozen pause, Cheery crawled over to his prone body, grabbed hold of his hand, closed her fingers over the ring and shouted, "Spike, zombie troll! Be still!"

Spike, caught in the middle of trying to throttle Buffy, and at the same time throw her aside, froze instantly. Buffy, breathless from trying not to punch Spike in the face, gasped and rolled over on the grass. Porphyry paused, stone gryphon raised above his head.

"Drop the gryphon!" cried Cheery, thrilled by her first success. "Oh, dear," she said, a moment later. "I didn't mean for him to drop it on his head."

Vimes bent over the prone figure of Ernest Winkelson. Spike leapt forward, only to find his eager reaching hand grasped by a small sinewy one. He glared at Sergeant Littlebottom, as Vimes slid the ring from Winkelson's finger and twirled it experimentally.

Beside him, Carrot lifted the chakram bagel reverently from the grass. "Battlebread," he breathed. "And not just any battlebread. This is the finest chakram bagel it has ever been my privilege to hold. Look at it - not a dent on it, or a scuff on the glaze."

"Is the villain dead?" said Lord Pownder hopefully.

Vimes looked up at him. "No sir, your average chakram bagel is not lethal from 200 hundred yards. Unlike the glazed bloomer. Although that requires a catapult for launching of course."

"You did listen when I took you round the museum, sir!" said Carrot delighted.

Vimes sniffed. "I always listen, Captain." He looked at Lord Pownder. "I will be interviewing you and all your household shortly, sir. After I have seen all these prisoners taken into custody." He gestured to Detritus, whose helmet had just been removed by Buffy and Angua, pulling together. "Bring them all along, sergeant."

And then everyone trooped wearily through the door in the wall, leaving Lord Pownder looking anxiously behind them, and planning a swift flight from the city of his own.