"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 XXV…

"You see, friends…" Essex, beaming to the group after Sir Thomas had grimly taken his leave at Essex' light assurance he would present himself to the Queen's command that next morning, and headed off, with guards. And a stern warning that said guards would be watching to see the assurance become reality…

"The wheel turns and I am once again in favor."

Favor? What the hell is the boy thinking? DeVere stared.

Not even Southhampton showing much support for Essex' optimistic assessment…Though the mood had somewhat lightened at the faint hope of pardon at abject abasement.

Though that lighter mood was fading fast as various members of the assembly considered Egerton's words.

This indeed looked less and less like a guaranteed pardon. More like ole Henry the Butcher's command for unconditional surrender followed by a show trial and quartering party.

And Essex' bizarre refusal to see the grim fate beckoning to him was not helping.

"I have it." Essex, pondering briefly.

You do? Various looks including DeVere.

"The Queen clearly wishes to make amends and settle the issues between us. I must speak directly to her. That will solve everything." He nodded.

Directly…? The group regarding him.

Black as my soul may be, I'm tempted to offer him a quick and painless death…DeVere shook head.

No. The moment's passed. Carry on with the insanity, Bob.

"Yes. In the morning we shall march to the Palace in a body, and I shall speak with the Queen in her apartments. I won't allow the Cecils to corner me with false charges at the Council. Yes, a direct word with her, that's the answer." Essex, confidently. "But…"

Ah, perhaps that moment of sanity they usually have before Death…DeVere thought, along with several others…

"…It might do to have that confession from Shakespeare and those traitors in hand when I go to her. One more concrete proof that my loyalty to her is unquestionable. Yes…" Essex nodded. "That's the thing that will catch the conscience of the…Queen."

Hmmn…Not quite right somehow, but it does have a ring to it, DeVere thought. I should mention it to Shakespeare for use in a new play down the line. If I don't go and kill him tonight.

"Sounds good, Bob. Tomorrow, early…"

Early enough to ensure we'll be seen as attacking the Palace…I've little doubt Sir Thomas will have cannon at the ready.

"We march…To the Queen's defense." De Vere looking and taking a flask, languidly raising.

"There ya go!" Essex beamed, raising cup. Looking about…

C'mon people…

Various others half-heartedly raising glasses.

Yeah…

"But now as to that traitor and insolent rogue, Shakespeare…" Essex, frowning…

"Why not leave him to me, Bob? You have a march strategy to plan." DeVere suggested. "I'll have that confession out of him in a few…Signed and sealed."

"You, Edward? I mean…" Essex, delicately. "I have full faith in you, of course…And in Willoughby…To do so, but you are rather the kind-hearted, gentle sort."

I am? Wow. I have missed my profession as an actor, DeVere thought, offering smile.

"Well, in this noble cause of uncovering treason you'll find me an iron-jawed tiger, Bob."

"Well…Willoughby is experienced in this sort of thing." Essex hesitated. "And I suppose it would be wise to divide our efforts. And it will take time to organize the march properly."

Organize? March? This crowd of vapid louts? Five minutes to get them up and walking…Ten more to get them strolling in the right direction… De Vere thought. Marching? Asking a bit much, Bob.

But…March, walk, skip…It's all going to end in splatter, a few quarterings, and some hangings.

"Well, send for me if you need any help, Edward. Southhampton, Boyd, Wrentham, come to my study. We must plan." Essex, resolute look but slight frown. Yes, my study. Well…

Ah, yes…The place he dislikes because of all the books his uncle Dudley kept there…DeVere thought. But there are those big maps that even he can vaguely read. Well, leave the young Caesar and his stalwart aides to his campaign…Sure to match his brilliant success in Ireland…

Time to settle accounts with my playwright and my Slayer… He turned for the door.

Wait…We seem short a human or ten? He looked up to the makeshift stage at the front of the Great Hall where the actors had been.

Pon my soul, my company has vamoosed? "Kelvin?" he turned to a guard. "What's happened? Where are all the actors' company?"

"Sorry, Your Grace. They slipped out while Sir Thomas was here, sir. That girl with them just then put it about me men that Sir Thomas might spare our heads after all, sir. That if we stood ready to crave pardon…The boys did sort of take their eyes off the ball there."

"You fools!" DeVere, furiously, hurrying to the window of the Great Hall looking across the lawn to the road… NO! Not a one still in sight. He looked back to the front…

Even managed to grab the costumes. Hmmn…Well, no point in sicing Bella on them like a bloodhound, they'd be in London before she'd catch up.

Damn…He dropped the heavy curtain.

One of the remaining group coming to him. "DeVere? What's the matter? Is the Queen's guard coming back?"

"No…" DeVere frowned. "The Earl's company has left. Well, I shall see to them later."

"Actors…" the man sniffed. "Rogues and cowards all."

"Excellent idea, girl." Hemmings noted to Anya as they hurried down the dark road, several of the company bearing newly lit torches.

"Lets move it, people!" Jonson urged.

"Wait." The boy actor…Or "boy" actor, Calvin insisted to the general group. "We can't leave Will and his wife back there, alone."

Oh? Just hold my flagon of ale, lad. Jonson thought.

Several of the group eyeing each other…He is our bread and butter, after all. On the other hand…We barely got away by the skin of our teeth. And a return performance is likely to see us dead at the Earl's guards' hands or the Queen's…Takes yer choice.

"Calvin is right." Anya noted. "We can't leave the Shakespeares like this."

My boss would never forgive me, she thought. He's looking so forward to Shakespeare's next.

Well, at least this latest betrayal has got me in the mood for torture…DeVere noted to himself as he descended the stairs to the dungeon.

"So, you see…Falstaff makes his way up to the entrance of the Aztec temple of gold hidden by Montezuma when that Cortez fellow came in, and as he heads in he turns to Pistol and says…" Willoughby to the caged Shakespeare, eagerly.

Hmmn…Anne, listening… Sounds like it could have potential. Eyeing Shakespeare's sigh…

Come on, Will…You had no problem with "Titus Andronicus" when it was a hit. And everyone loves Falstaff.

"Willoughby!" DeVere called, appearing now at the turn of the stairs. "Get those tongs asearin'."

"If things work out, I'll finish running it by you…" Willoughby hissed to Shakespeare. "Just say whatever His Grace wants to hear…You can always deny it as extracted by torture later."