"Twilight for Anonymous…"
Disclaimer: Not mine but thine...O, Joss!
Archived at the Cicelyverse page of the Buffy Rebecca verse, or direct to story at www...
General audience level...
Summary: In a past life of Buffy and William, a certain story- and scene-stealing vampire gets his much-deserved desserts…
Part XIV…
Jonson, still keeping among the off-stage actors in the left wing of the improvised stage, having watched Shakespeare and DeVere slipping through the audience to the hallway door…
Now what's that to be about?
Not quite sure if it be in my own interest for Will to kick off just yet…But Anne must be with him, he's not likely to come to harm.
Not yet anyway…And not at that fop DeVere's hands…
Unless I've made my arrangements with the wrong demonic Lord…
Still, best to leave it in the hands of God and a competent professional, namely Annie…
"Ben?" Hemmings had come by him, whispering. "Do you know what's Will about? He's not gone and left us, with that pretty boy, DeVere?"
"No, no, Johnny…You've nothing to worry about. Will's just putting in a word of thanks and selling the notion of artistic support. You know DeVere's a patron…" Jonson whispered quickly.
"Support? From the gallows? Look, Ben…" Hemmings hissed. "Half the gentry here are looking to flee. I've had word from a few kind enough to warn an actor that the Queen's determined to bring Essex to heel or worse. She could order the guard in at any moment…"
"Then best to finish and leave as soon as you're done…Take heart, Her Majesty likes actors." Jonson noted. "'Cuse me, John, I'll see what's about." He moved off, Hemmings looking anxiously after him.
"Let us know, Ben…Soon as you can…" hiss…
Jonson, off-hand wave…
"All very well for these 'geniuses'…" Hemmings sighed to a young actor in female garb, the same who'd inquired about the situation earlier. "A man must think on his family...And mortality…"
"You think we'd do well to go, John?" the young actor asked, anxiously.
"No, best to do as Ben suggests…We don't need to be offending Lord Essex. We've just a bit to finish. But lets be ready to pull stakes as soon as Bolingbrook makes his mea culpa as to poor Dick. Hopefully Will'll be back before then."
"Right…I'll tell the lads to start folding up…" nod…Hurried rush away.
God, Will…Don't let us find you're indulgin' your love of tragedy here, in the real life…
Not to say the fall of a fellow like Essex isn't a bad theme for a play in a few years, Hemmings pondered. I imagine Burbage in that role but I could do Lord Dudley, bless his good soul, with pleasure. And of course with all due respect to Her Majesty…Not a hintin' of scandal between 'em. Temptin' as it might be to at least hint at the mystery about Dudley's wife's death.
…..
The small, balconied room where DeVere had previously intended to ambush the Slayer…
Shakespeare eyeing Oxford carefully…Bella wanly guarding the door just outside, watching an anxious Anne waiting down the hall…
"Well?" DeVere regarded the playwright…
To let him speak or just snap his neck now, that is the question before me. Still, confident as I am of defeating his Slayer wife, t'would be ironic to win all and be staked in an instant due to a burst insane rage on her part. Besides, perhaps the little fellow has some fascinating speech to render that I can make use of later on…
"I am all attention…What did you wish to propose, Master Shakespeare?" warm smile…
"You seek to take my fame from me, my Lord…Including that which I do not yet hold." Shakespeare began… "Using my work…"
"I've no need of your work to garner fame, Shakespeare…" frown. "I am Oxford…"
"You wanted a complete copy of 'Richard II' in order to copy it yourself…Master my style, claiming it as your own."
"I wanted the play to study, yes…But I've no need of your feeble verses to achieve renown." Oxford sneered.
"Then why bother with me…?" Shakespeare smiled.
"You're husband to the Slayer, dear fellow…Oh, I do truly admire your work…But it's your wife I want."
"I beg to differ, my Lord. Though thanks in my wife's name for the compliment, cursing you in my own."
"Peasant, do not push me too far…" DeVere, annoyed.
"You've yet to hear my offer, my Lord."
"State it, then…Quickly…"
"I'll continue my work…You'll patronize our company. Anne will see you're supplied with animal blood to sustain you. You'll refrain from taking new human victims…"
"Indeed…" DeVere, amused.
"And I'll give you lessons, my Lord. Surely you would prefer to see what you can accomplish on your own, you're a good poet…" Shakespeare lied. "You'd have the fame of patronizing the finest actors in England, the Slayer's guarantee of safety, and a chance to immortalize yourself, by your own hand, not another's…."
"Interesting…So…I do all this and your wife kindly spares me…?"
"As long as you keep to the agreement, my Lord, yes."
"And you'll…Teach…Me…How to write as you do?"
"Certainly not, my Lord. I would help you find your own voice…Tis a fair offer, my Lord."
"Is it?" DeVere smiled. "So I am to finance your successful career whilst my own work languishes next to yours? Oh, I have a healthy ego, Shakespeare…But I'm not blind to my defects. I'll not settle to be the second or third literary light of this new era of genius…"
Second…Or third? Shakespeare blinked.
Jesu, has the fellow read his own work?
"No, I fear that will not do…" he advanced.
"Kill me and you lose what is to come, my Lord." Shakespeare noted. "And my wife will see to it your 'immortality' is quite mortal."
"You dare…You worm, you peasant. Lord Essex may be a fool, but he had the right notion about you…Ahhhh…" he covered himself against the cross Shakespeare had pulled from a pocket and raised.
"A crucifix?! You papist traitor!" DeVere cried, backing away…
"I'm afraid I am a Catholic by conscience, my Lord, yes…But not a traitor…." Will, firmly holding crucifix in hand.
"I too have my secrets, Shakespeare…" DeVere, averting head. "I happen to be a free-thinker…" he struggled forward. "No…Mere…Ornament…Of accursed Rome…Will…Stop…Me…!" he insisted, covering eyes with hand.
"Ahhh…You motherfucking!…What?" he stared at the stab and burn line on his upturned hand and the sword in Shakepeare's other hand. "That can't hurt me…"
"Afraid it can…Wood, dipped in holy water, my Lord." Will, calmly. "It's normally a prop but I treated it backstage. Nice silvering, eh? Looks just like the real thing…"
"Hardly sporting for you to be armed…And I with nothing…" the vampire eyed him, backing a bit…
"I think the odds, until my wife should show, remain well in your favor my Lord…Excepting that I possess something you want." Shakespeare smiled, keeping sword up.
"Yes, well, really you ought to have put male pride aside and called her in, you churl. No weak human can fight a creature of my power. Nor a peasant a noble of my name and house."
"I certainly don't expect to defeat you, my Lord…I believe I've made it clear I am here to negotiate. I still am, for my wife's and family's sake. Can we not yet do so?"
"Well…" DeVere calmed a bit… "Wise of you, mortal…Given you have the stance of a lumbering oaf, Shakespeare. Indeed, I'm rather glad I have no sword of mine own. T'would be an embarrassment to fight you like a gentleman…So this will have to do!" DeVere hurled a knife, concealed in his right sleeve. To his fury, Shakespeare dodging and striking down with sword.
"I actually did see a bit of service on the Continent a few years ago, my Lord. I wasn't a fit soldier for mercenary duty but I learned a thing or so…" Will smiled. Hmmn, he eyed the snapped end of his wood sword…
"You should have stuck with your mighty pen, Shakespeare." Sneer…Cautious approach, averting from a direct look at the still-upraised crucifix. "Oh…I should kill you…" DeVere glared…"But perhaps…" he paused… "You have a point. There is doubtless more matter in that weak human brain of yours yet. I may yet spare you, for a bit. But not under your terms…!" he charged for the poet, Will deftly backing and swinging to dodge him.
"Don't make me kill you, Shakespeare!" DeVere fumed as Will threw a chair down on its side to block the vampire. "For Art's sake, surrender! I'll allow you life in my dungeon, so long as you continue to produce work worthy of me. And I'll spare your wife as my new cow…!"
"I appreciate the compliment to me, my Lord." Slight bow… "But seems but a poor deal to me, as a practical man of business as well as an artist. And I can't let the insult to my Anne pass…"
DeVere enraged now, gathering to charge… "You refuse me?! Now, die!"
"Lord…!" faint cry from Bella outside…Slam on door, forcing it open.
"Time's up!" Anne cried, stake in hand.
"Damn you, Slayer! We had an agreement!" DeVere cried.
"Doesn't look as you've kept it, DeVere!" she cried.
De…Vere? He stared, now backing to a corner to cover himself from both.
You miserable cow, you milkmaid…You dare use my name to my face?
"Who the Devil out of Hell do you think you are, you worthless slut, using my family name?!" he raged. "Address me properly! Shakespeare?" he turned to Will, outrage in tone. "Take your wife in hand and school her as to how to speak to the gentry!"
"I'd say we've had quite enough of you….Edward." Shakespeare quietly.
"You little…!...Slayer!" DeVere eyed Anne. "Enough! We fight this out, now! To your Death…!"
"Fine by me…Will, you go wait outside." Anne, stake out…
"Henderson, Milner, Stuart!" DeVere cried, leering triumphantly. "My men in the upper hallway have you and your fool covered by crossbow again, Mistress! Do you never learn?! Drop your stake and submit or..." he paused at her grin.
"Henderson?! Milner?! Stuart?!"
"They're not coming, my Lord." Anne smiled serenely. "I didn't have to kill them, thankfully. Two ran outright after I knocked your randy little fellow, Milner, unconscious. Rather enjoyed that…" smile to Will.
"You …What?"
"You should learn the tricks of the theater, my Lord." Will noted. "We've quite an alphabet of hand signals, which over the years have come in handy for my missus' work, and I signed to Anne I'd seen your men in the audience leave. Your livery is distinctive, my Lord though we'd both had the pleasure with Milner and you know I'd met some of your other men at your home when you were gracious enough to invite me before to discuss your lamentable sonnet."
"My…Sonnet?" stare…
But you said it was a fine early effort…He blinked.
"I'm afraid I lied for the sake of the trade, my Lord. It was and remains, execrable. As I think, in what's left of your heart, you know yourself." Shakespeare shook head. "I'd recommend remaining a patron and member of the audience, you could win some acclaim there funding other artists over the centuries. No one will ever award it to you for your own work…"
"Goddamn you, you filthy little papist oats trader!" DeVere howled, charging…Anne leaping to block him from Will, he fell back…
"A fatal weakness, Slayer…Love." He sneered, falling back and running through the door to the hall, Anne's leap to protect Will having offered him an escape route.
"My…Lord…" A wan Bella called after DeVere as he ran…
"Edward?!" Essex and a number of his men and supporters had entered the hall, performance ended, wondering as to Oxford's failure to attend the finale. Just as Anne and Will emerged, Anne ready for a charge with stake…
"Bob!" DeVere made the most of the opportunity…Hurrying to the puzzled group…
Slayer was hardly likely to trying killing her way through humans…
"I've unmasked the author and authoress of all your woes!" he cried, stopping by Essex.
Hmmn…Never would've thought Ed could manage such a feat as running like that, Essex thought.
"Are you all right, Edward? What the deuce do you mean?"
"There! The filthy papist and his whore, Bob!" DeVere pointed to Shakespeare and Anne. "Agents of the Pope, sent to come betwixt you and Her Majesty! Seize them and the Queen will soon know all!"
What? Essex, the others, Anne, Shakespeare…
My…Lord…? Bella stared wanly.
A possible chance to actually come out of this alive? Several of Essex' supporters eagerly thought. Essex himself joining the thought after a moment's pondering.
"You mean to say this fellow Shakespeare is…"
"Look at his bloody crucifix, for Jesu' sake, Bob!" DeVere glared.
Hmmn…Pon my soul, tis a crucifix…Essex noted.
"My Lord Essex, this is a most foul lie…" Anne tried.
"Silence, you papist whore!" DeVere cried. "Bob, it's clear to me now…They have been undermining you with the Queen, for Rome's sake, no doubt in league with that devilish Jewish doctor, in part by using me, curse my trusting soul and my blind passion for Art, secretly, for months. The Pope and his foul minions know only you have the Queen's and the kingdom's true interests at heart…"
Essex considering…
Yeah…Nod…That sounds about…
Fatally compromised supporters, seeing their cause moving from near absolute hopeless to a bare chance, eagerly ready to grab the life raft offered…
My God, I could half-believe this crap myself…I am good…DeVere thought.
And after all, the man is a papist…
…
