It must be confusing to drive on the wrong side of the road. It feels weird to be sitting over here, where the steering wheel should be, but it isn't. This must be what it's like for you, when you're in America. Only, over there you'd be here where I am if you were driving the car, and then the wrong side would actually be on the right side, not where I'm sitting.
Giles sighed, and did his best to disregard his passenger's driveling chatter. He concentrated on the road, negotiating his entry into the confusing roundabout traffic. But Andrew was used to being ignored, and continued his one-sided dialogue without expecting the Watcher to answer.
Do you think this castle we're going to could be haunted? They didn't say anything about ghosts in the brochure I picked up at our hotel. You'd think that would be important. I bet tourists would pay a lot if they could stay at a place with a real ghost. Not the you need special glasses to see it or crazy, it tells you to kill your best friend kind. I'm thinking more like a friendly Caspar, or like Patrick Swayze in that movie with Demi Moore where they make that melty clay pot and get all sexy. So are there a lot of castles in England?
His return to England for this visit was less than pleasurable, and it had nothing to do with his present traveling companion. It seemed that lately all his trips back to his homeland were precipitated by some dramatic or emotional event. This visit was no exception. He had been summoned by the Council. They were interested in his journals, specifically those concerning any incidents directly prior to and including the closing of the Hellmouth.
Months earlier, the First had precipitated its systematic plot to annihilate all slayers and Watchers with an explosion of the Council's headquarters in London. The attack had come while the Council was in session, and many of the leading members had died with the building's destruction, which had consumed hundreds of years of valuable books and records, a loss that could not easily be replaced.
What was left of a once far reaching institution was temporarily thrown into a state of anarchy. Watchers that had escaped the First's detection scattered, forced into hiding to simply survive. Over the following weeks, Giles had gathered those few potentials that were alive, bringing them from all over the world to Sunnydale. There they became a small army under Buffy's tutelage, eventually besting the legion of Turok Han forces the First sent to destroy them.
With the danger passed, those Watchers remaining had banded together to rebuild, reinstating the Council in a new order for the future. The egoistic leaders started by restructuring the hierarchy of their new Council, appointing those who considered themselves self-important to the choicest seats of authority. Access to funding was restored, and word was sent out to various sources to seek replacements for the ravaged archives. At this point, the Council was now a full-ledged entity with ever burgeoning reach, and they had summoned Giles to report before them with the aim of closing out the journals from the previous administration.
That phone call had come just over a week ago. Giles had put off the trip for as long as he could. He was unhappy about having to leave Buffy and the others while they had only recently reestablished their strained connections. As if that weren't enough of a reason, they were embroiled within the very midst of planning out the new slayer school idea. He had wanted to have their vision perfected before approaching the Council, but they had to make do with what they had so far, if he expected to present it during this current trip.
To Giles it seemed excessive to make two separate trips, so he and Buffy had spent several long days and sleepless nights working out the details of their plan. When the day of the flight had finally arrived, he convinced himself that he was ready to introduce their proposal before the Council in the hopes of securing their approval and the necessary funding to ultimately put things into action.
In addition to his presentation, Giles had also brought along Andrew on the trip as well. The Watcher had been asked to provide a secondary eyewitness to the events in question, and though he was loathe to travel with the annoying young man, Andrew had quite thoroughly documented their encounter. He would be able to provide a layman's inside perspective on various details, if his imagination did not throw suspect in their accuracy.
The long flight to England had been interminable in its duration. Andrew had talked non-stop from take-off to landing. Since setting foot on the island, the young man had attached himself to Giles like a leech, sucking the very joy the Watcher got from being home again, instead draining his pleasure with his endless observations and pop culture references Giles didn't quite understand.
After spending that day in London making arrangements for the rest of their journey, the two of them were now on their way to Watersbyri, a small Suffolk village first founded during medieval times. They had worked their way north from Ipswich, and after turning off the A 12, were now winding down a narrow back road that took them through several smaller, picturesque coastal settlements. Traffic was reasonably light, so Giles was able to make good time. Ahead, the road took a slight rise over the distance, climbing gradually toward the cliffs that surrounded the lower village.
A thriving fishing community during more ancient times, the village of Lower Watersbyri today depended upon the lucrative tourist trade for the main livelihood of its citizens. With its sandy beaches along a protected inlet of the North Sea, there was plenty of entertainment available in its fancy galleries, specialty shops, seasonal fairs and historic destinations, among them the ruins of a legendary church. There were a host of restaurants and small hotels as well, and the upper district featured its very own working castle. The latter had once been the loft estate of a local lord and protector, but over the later decades had been refurbished into an elegant inn that serviced various private functions. That was where Giles and Andrew were headed.
Is that the castle up there?
Andrew asked, his arm shooting out to point across Giles' field of vision.
The Watcher momentarily started, his car veering toward the edge of the narrow street. Andrew clutched at the dashboard as the vehicle jerked sideways, the drink cup in his hand dropping onto the floor. Giles barely missed sideswiping several parked bikes, and quickly regaining control again, steered the rental car safely back into the lane, avoiding any possible insurance complications.
I guess it takes a while to get used to driving over here again,
Andrew commented with a critical snip at his companion's driving ability. Do you still even have a valid British driver's license?
Yes,
Giles griped back irritably. Though there is nothing listed concerning a handicap status for passengers who blind you while driving.
Sighing dramatically, Andrew leaned forward and retrieved his fallen cup. Fortunately, it was empty of all but a few ice cubes, so nothing had spilled out onto the floor. That would have upset the high-strung Brit, and Andrew really didn't want to listen to another of the older man's boring lectures. It was like being back home again in his parents' house, where his mother got hysterical about every dirty dish, or muddy footprint on her clean carpets. He couldn't understand how someone who worked around blood and monsters and icky dead things like Mr. Giles could be so fussy about a little stain or two. Older people sure lost their tempers a lot. He guessed it was the price they paid for shouldering the responsibilities of a job, and that adult stuff that came with it. He was never going to be like that when he moved out on his own. He was always going to know how to have fun, and he wasn't going to have any carpets in his house.
Moving past the main village at sea level, the road took them upward into the forest, twisting along the treacherous edges of a towering cliff. Andrew was glad they weren't travelling in the outside lane, where he'd have be leaning over the shear drop off and looking down on the churning waters below. Not that it was comfortable riding so close to the woodland vegetation that reached out toward him just beyond the car door. He was sure the bushes were full snaggly-toothed rabid creatures with beady little eyes just waiting to leap out at him should he roll down his window.
A short time later they were motoring up the last few hundred meters toward the grand stone structure they had first spotted from the town below. Up close, the castle was an even more impressive sight, with its multiple fenestrated towers and roughly hewn rock walls rising over them like a continuation of the very cliffs they were built upon. A broad bridge spanned a coursing river, and provided a natural line of defense to the broad arched entry in ancient times. Today, the same driveway was lined with iron rails at its edges for safety, preventing cars and people from falling into the raging waters below.
From the corner of his vision, Giles noticed a strange shadow amid the leafy foliage of the woods nearby. The silhouette was distinctly human, and the Watcher instinctively slowed the car's progress¸ attempting to get a better look. He saw a man dressed in camouflage clothing and carrying a rifle casually in his arms. While he gave the appearance of a mere hunter walking through the forest, something seemed a bit off to Giles, and he felt the first nudge of apprehension push at his nerves, which were already stressed by the approaching meeting with the Council.
Pushing the image of the hunter to the back of his mind for the moment, the Brit continued on toward the fortress ahead. As they drove under the shadows of the archway passage, a deep sense of history overcame Giles. The castle had been her for countless centuries, and might remain for as many more. At one time it had housed the lord and lady of the surrounding lands, and all those people in their service who had kept this fortress a bustling community in and of itself. In times of siege that number would have swelled, including both additional citizens and whatever livestock would fit within the open courtyard that lay within the walls beyond. The place was an indomitable bastion meant to withstand an army of men. Giles only hoped that the same protections would hold back evil as well.
This was Giles first visit to the village of Watersbyri. The very spelling of the word itself spoke of connections to ancient times past. In his preliminary research he had learned that Watersbyri Force was originally intended as a defense against Viking invasions during the reign of the Saxon king Alfred the Great. Built as a keep-and-bailey, the castle's construction was a series of towers connected by tall stone walls, all encircling an open interior. Over the centuries, the structure had been modified to service various additional uses, growing ever larger within its footprint. The walls were broadened to accommodate chambers for housing, their interiors under continuous remodeling to reflect changing stylistic tastes. The courtyard was developed from its military purpose of armory and trading post, and today featured a modern garden and grounds landscaped more for aesthetics, than the bivouacking of protecting armies. If it weren't for the stressful nature of his trip, Giles might have enjoyed spending his holiday exploring the castle and its surrounding community. But the scenery was lost on him today as he anticipated his meeting with the Council.
Moving along the courtyard drive, Giles noticed several men standing about the large landscaped yard. They were strategically positioned, and their purpose as guards became obvious to the Watcher. Apparently, the Council was taking no chances this time out. They were taking plenty of precautions against any possible attack.
Better late than never, I suppose,
Giles muttered to himself.
Following the prominent signage into the former stables, Giles parked his car amidst several dozen vehicles already in the covered garage. He shut off the engine, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before gathering his courage for the difficult hours ahead.
There sure are a lot of people here,
Andrew observed, looking around him at all the cars. He was nervous, too. Are they all Watcher people, like you.
That is what I was told,
Giles replied.
He was feeling the same trepidation as his young companion. While he had expected a full contingency of Council members to be present, it was looking more like the entire surviving pool of his fellow Watchers had decided to collect for this event.
Not the brightest of new beginnings,
he muttered under his breath. The last time this many Watchers had gathered in one place, it had ended badly for them all. It was going to take more than a few guards to repel any truly determined attack.
Exiting the car, Giles and Andrew retrieved their bags from the back, and followed a marked path toward the main entry off the courtyard. Once through the large doors, they found themselves standing in a large, and well appointed receiving lobby. Two muscular men in dark suits and nearly matching ties stood at guard, their very imposing presence barring any further progress into the heart of the castle.
From the room beyond the sentinels position a young woman of about thirty some years appeared, her heels clicking crisply on the hard stone floor as she approached. She carried herself with confidence, her stylish tweed suit perfect and professional, a formal contrast to her softer, feminine features.
Good morning, Mr. Giles, and welcome to Watersbyri Force.
Her greeting was courteous, with a touch of warms meant to put her guests at ease. I do hope your drive was pleasant.
Wow! Are you famous, or something?
Andrew asked his travelling companion. He was impressed that a complete stranger knew Giles' name. I guess everybody must know who you are, you being the slayer's Watcher.
I know everyone attending this conference, Mr. Wells,/
the woman replied, turning her attention briefly toward Andrew.
I have a complete dossier on everyone here. It's part of my job to maintain order. We can't allow simply anyone to walk in off the street, now can we?
She flashed another no nonsense smile at Giles and continued her introductions, extending a cordial hand to each.
Marilla Finch, Security.
Andrew Wells. Uhm, person visiting,
the younger man awkwardly returned. He winced slightly, surprised by the woman's firm handshake. I'm here with Mr. Giles. But you probably already knew that. Do you really have a dossier on me? That's so cool. It's kinda like being in a James Bond movie, only for real.
She seemed thrown by the comment, but quickly dismissed it as something peculiar to his American culture. Moving to a nearby side table, she picked up a clipboard, consulting the attached pages.
You'll be staying in the western chambers, on the upper floor,
she informed them. She gestured to one of the men standing guard. Coulby here will take your bags. If you would follow me, please.
They handed over their suitcases, but Giles deferred the man's assistance when it came to his briefcase, preferring to retain its possession. Falling in beside their female host, the Sunnydale delegation followed her obediently through the guarded arch, and into the spacious hall beyond. Coulby brought up the rear at a respectable distance, never saying a word as his superior handled all the talking.
Marilla Finch led her guests up a grand stair case, and through a series of twisting passages whose walls were lined with antique tapestries and gigantic portraits of historical personages. As they walked, she briefed Giles on the Council's planned proceedings, being specific about times and expectations. She handed over a prepared itinerary for him to read at his leisure, and made several references to the importance of punctuality. Glancing at the pages, Giles saw that he was expected to talk that afternoon. At least he'd have a few extra hours to prepare. He needed to present a good first impression to this so called new
Council, considering what he was about to ask of them.
She showed them their rooms, a set of adjacent chambers set back into the furthest recessed corner of the hall. Coulby dropped the respective bags into each man's quarters, and with a curt nod to his boss, took off. Marilla Finch lingered, adding a few details for her guests to consider, and after promising to send up something to eat, she took off as well, leaving the two men to their own devices.
Closing the door, Giles sighed, reveling in the knowledge that he was alone at last. The welcomed silence settled in around him, and he drank in the blissful absence of chatter before moving across the room to a chair, where he made himself comfortable and began to review the information he had been given.
After a few moments, Giles noticed the muffle sound of running water in the background. He found the natural white noise somewhat soothing, Ignoring his surroundings for the moment, he concentrated on the package of papers Finch had left him, leafing idly through the pages, trying to discern some useful clue from the seemingly random schedule.
A mincing knock brought his attention back to the door. Hoping that the promised lunch had finally arrived, the Watcher set aside his papers, and went to answer the interruption only to find Andrew standing in the hallway outside.
This is like the greatest place ever!
the young man started. Brushing past Giles, he entered the other man's room without invitation, and immediately began to explore. You've got a fireplace, too,
he noted. I guess there must be in every room. I think it's how they heat this place. It's not very energy efficient. Everything feels kinda damp, you know, like a basement. Do you think the furniture in this place are all antiques? Everything looks pretty old. I bet all these things were used by that lord guy in the brochure. What was his name? Loxley? No, Loxton.
Andrew. . .
Giles attempted to stop the young man's diatribe, but Andrew continued his rambling observations, unmindful of the Watcher's dwindling patience.
The younger man was standing by the narrow window. Pressing his face to the glass, he took note of the scenery beyond the castle walls. He seemed excited by what he saw, throwing open the casement to poke his head outside.
Wow! You can see the waterfall from here. It's pretty loud. I hope it doesn't keep you awake all night. Maybe you should ask them for a different room. One without so much noise.
That would be wonderful,
Giles wistfully sighed directing a pointed glance toward his companion. Between the long flight to England, and the overnight stay in the city, he was dangerously running close to his limit of patience.
That Finch lady said the Council is expecting us to talk this afternoon. Do you think they've watched the videos I uploaded to them? I edited out some of the rougher parts. You know, to make it flow more cohesively. I hope they don't think I'm trying to hide something. I like to think of myself as an artist. My work isn't intended as pure journalism. Sometimes changes need to be made to improve the vision you're trying to achieve. I hope they understood that when they watched my movie.
Hey, if they're Watchers, and they're watching my film, does that make me a watched Watcher's Watcher?
Another knock at his door rescued Giles from having to address the younger man's question. It was Coulby again. This time he was wheeling a small cart on which sat two tea pots with matching cups, and as well as several covered trays with an assortment of plates and flatware. Seeing Andrew in the room, the agent pushed the cart inside, setting it between the two men. He had yet to say a word, and left them the same without any comment, closing the door behind as he disappeared to return to his post at the entry downstairs.
Pulling up a chair, Andrew made himself right at home in Giles' room, and began unloading the covered trays onto a small table. A glimmer of pity struck the Watcher, and instead of kicking the boy out, and sending him away to eat in his own chambers, Giles joined him at the makeshift table, where Andrew was busily unveiling the various plates that had been brought to them.
Thankfully, the arrival of food precipitated a slight reprieve from Andrew's constant jabbering. Fixing himself a cup of the provided tea, Giles took a few moments to pick through the various offerings, and prepared himself a plate from which to eat.
The next hour was almost pleasant, and passed by much too quickly. When Andrew again began to talk, it was obvious that he was nervous about his upcoming appearance before the Council. He had every right to be worried. In the past he had proclaimed himself a nemesis of the slayer, and it was his hand that originally spilled the blood that opened the Seal of Danzalthar at the entry to the Hellmouth. That first attempt had proved less than successful, as his sacrifice was anemic and didn't hold enough blood to permanently release the seal's Turok-Han army. Others tried, prevailing slightly better, but it was Andrew, whose tears were ultimately required to close the seal once again.
Andrew's role vacillated so regularly between the evil and good that it was difficult at times to discern on which side of the issues he sat. In the end, he aligned himself with the slayer, earning a place in her small army in the fight against the First Evil. Whether that fact would matter to the new Council was anyone's guess, and it would be up to Giles to convince them of the young man's loyalties. Provided, of course, they believed in his own.
The time for final reckoning arrived at last. Marilla Finch appeared promptly as promised, and escorted them to where the Council was in session. Another twisting journey through the labyrinth of halls, and she left them to wait, Giles with his briefcase, and Andrew nervously fidgeting, outside a set of large heavy doors guarded again by a pair of formidably muscled men.
Those guys sure look really…tough. And big.
Andrew whispered aside to Giles. He was unsettled by the large men at the doors, turning quickly away when one of them glared back. Do Watchers have to pass some sort of special physical, like when you join the army?
There are tests,
Giles replied, but he was distracted, only half-listening to Andrew's concerns. There were other issues to preoccupy his mind at that moment. His entire future as Buffy's Watcher could hinge on the Council's decision about the school.
Giles looked at his watch. For all the talk about punctuality, the Council was apparently running late. The minutes slowly ticked by. Thankfully, the Watcher was spared Andrew's jabbering. The boy kept sneaking apprehensive peaks toward the guards while pretending to examine the various paintings that lined the walls.
A loud creaking announced the opening of the large doors. Giles turned to see a familiar face. It was a fellow classmate from many years past. The years had grayed the ginger-red hair Giles remembered, and he carried a good sixty more pounds on what had once been an already portly frame. Still, the man's identity was unmistakable, and Giles found himself smiling in response to meeting an old chum.
David!
he greeted the other Watcher. David Taggart. This is a bit of a surprise.
Rupert,
Taggart smiled back, extending a hand. How long has it been? Twenty years?
Far too long,
Giles cordially replied, returning the handshake. I certainly didn't expect to see you here. Last I heard you were in Glasgow.
Now it's Edinburg,
Taggart returned. Though the wife and I are looking to move again. She's got a lead on a possible promotion in London, and with all the open positions for our kind these days, it sounded like the opportune time to think about a change in location. At our age, we need to start thinking about where we might want to be when we retire. We're not any of us getting any younger. It's time we started planning for those Golden Years.
Retirement,
Giles smiled, shaking his head. That's an idea that's a bit difficult to wrap my head around. I'm still hoping to survive through the next week.
So I've heard. You've been quite the busy man, Rupert. What is it? Six years with the Slayer?
Seven, going on eight now.
He gave his head a good natured shake. Who would have ever thought all those years back that we'd end up where we did? Especially you, old mate. Watcher to the Slayer herself.
It's been an experience like none other I've known,
Giles returned.
Stepping closer, Taggart leaned forward, lowering the volume of his voice so that only Giles could hear.
I don't need to tell you, things have been rather dodgy 'round here as of late. The Council has been nervy to say the least. They suspect everyone, and trust no one. Not even their own. And for good reason. If it's not the outside forces of evil after them, then its politics that's got them in a fret.
For some reason this business with your Hellmouth has them really going at each other. They want to close out that chapter for good, and move on to bigger, more pressing matters.
I can't imagine what would have precedence over the mouth of Hell,
Giles chuffed in a disgruntled snipe.
With these yobbos, just about anything that requires them to make a decision. They're still debating where to set up a permanent headquarters. This location is temporary. The only reason they even agreed to meet here is because they were offered the facilities on the cheap.
As they were speaking, the huge doors to the Council's inner chambers swung open. A young Watcher came out, and spotting Taggart, he approached his fellow colleague to whisper something in his ear. Taggart nodded, and the young Watcher turned, disappearing back through the doors, leaving the way open behind him for them to follow.
Looks like you're up, Rupert, Old Boy,
Taggart told his companion. He gave Giles an encouraging clap on the shoulder. Good luck, then. You'll be needing it.
Motioning to Andrew to join him, Giles walked toward the impressive gateway of the Council's inner sanctum. Beside him he could hear Andrew hyperventilating. The young man seemed genuinely fearful. It was a surprising response considering all he had been through during those weeks spent fighting The First Evil. Apparently, Andrew found the prospect of public speaking more terrifying than facing the possible end of all hope for all humanity.
They entered the chambers, and it was as if they had taken a step back in time. The room was an intimidating environment. Cavernous and grand, the ceilings were vaulted and hung with massive medieval iron fixtures. The room had once served as the castle's communal banquet hall where great feasts had played out within the very expansive space. Lordly dignitaries and crowned heads had dined among the same tapestries that still graced the massive stone walls. At another time, Giles would have spent hours exploring the countless relics displayed about the room as he pondered the lives of those who had walked these same floors in ancient times, but today was not that day, and those he was to face were all too real and entrenched within the now in which he lived.
It was obvious that these were people who believed in the own sanctimonious self-worth, and they chose to play that role with a serious intensity, surrounded by the majesty these chambers afforded them. From their dramatic and pompous environment, to the secretive agenda of the proceedings, the present Council had missed no detail in staging their performance. For indeed, Giles thought, this was theater in every sense of the word.
The young Watcher who had called them in had moved to one side, and now stood ready and awaiting any inevitable orders that he knew could come at any moment. His gaze unconsciously flicked toward the long, stately table that was strategically positioned to command the room. Against the backdrop of a medieval weapons display, a dozen plus members of the current Watcher's Council were seated on the far side of the table, like judges presiding at the bench. Among their numbers were several faces Giles recognized from his years of service. A good many more were unknown to him, though their names would eventually become far too familiar during the coming days.
Rupert Giles.
The voice calling him forward was haughty and impersonal, and came from the throat of one of those who was a stranger to him. There was an oily superiority to the man's demeanor, his narrow pinched features and beady eyes reminding Giles all the world of a constipated ferret.
You have been invited here to speak before this Council assembly,
the man continued without bothering to introduce himself or the others beside him. We have been reviewing the journals you forwarded, and there are many questions we would ask you. First, however, we request you relate those events leading up to the extermination of the entity known as The First Evil.
Giles hesitated, holding back the urge to laugh in the faces of the men now waiting expectantly for his reply. He drew a deep breath, and stifled his tongue before addressing the Council.
Of course,
he answered calmly. Where exactly would you like me to start?
The beginning would seem appropriate, don't you think?
another member returned. And then you might proceed from there.
The comment had come from Alan Bishop, a man with which Giles shared some familiarity. The older Watcher had been a both a teacher and friend during those years early years of Giles' training. Bishop had always been quick with an opinion couched within a pithy or witty remark, and had never been shy about sharing his views. Giles recognized the glib and capricious glint in his peer's eyes. He'd seen it many times before in the past when Bishop had attempted to chat up a girl he fancied, or when joking with his fellow Watcher's at some pub. The man's reply had not been meant as a castigation of Giles' impertinence, but as a brief moment of levity in what was a solemn and heavy subject.
Since that request would involve a lengthy discourse, and the Council undoubtedly has other important matters to attend, I'll offer an abbreviated summary of those events I believe to be significant. Any additional matters you wish to expand upon further I can address with your questions.
Thus, Giles began his dissertation. He related the history with as much clinical dispassion as he could maintain, attempting to keep a level of professionalism. At moments his humanity would surface, as when he told of finding Robson injured and near death, or his description of the courage and perseverance of his fellow combatants in those last days battling the Turok Han, and his voice took on a prideful tone that he felt well deserved, considering the results achieved.
He had just passed the first hour, and was telling of the encounter that had injured some of the young potentials when one of the members of the Council interrupted, bringing his story to an abrupt stop.
And this division between the two slayers,
the man asked. Was it the result of their former animosity toward the other, or had some new issue come between them?
Yes,
another voice chimed in. We were led to understand that the slayer Faith Lehane had been declared unstable, and a detriment to our mission by the former Council. A team had been sent to retrieve her, but was unsuccessful.
That was the case,
Giles confirmed the offered information. He thought how best to briefly dismiss this new tangent and get back to his point. However, at that time Faith was actually Buffy, and the team captured the wrong slayer.
There was a unanimous rise of eyebrows from the Council at that explanation, so Giles attempted to clarify further.
Faith used a magical device to transpose the essence of their persons into each other's physical bodies. Thus Faith appeared to be Buffy, and the reverse as well. It was all eventually straightened out, and everyone got put back where they belonged.
And this was when the slayer known as Faith turned herself in to the local authorities?
Grateful for the change in questioning, Giles reminded himself to thank Bishop later. He was about to get on with this recitation of those events when another Council member cut his short. The remark brought the desired effect with a moment of levity among his compatriots, but Bishop conceded the point to his colleague. The man scowled at Bishop, peeved at having been interrupted. Victor Hawthorne. Hawthorne was one of the privileged blue-eyed boys that the Old Guard was grooming with the purpose of his eventual succession to the Council. He had finally made the grade, and was obviously enjoying the power that came with his new position. q>Again,Uh, not immediately,
Giles hemmed.
Giles interceded. But she was found to be guilty of murder by an American court, and subsequently imprisoned, was she not?
Yes, but the death was deemed accidental so far as the former Council was concerned, and the entire matter was closed with her civilian arrest.
Perhaps this matter was resolved too soon,
another voice suggested. It would seem our deceased colleagues were a bit too hasty in dismissing their responsibilities. We don't intend to make those same mistakes again.
So how is it this rogue slayer managed to escape from prison? Or was she released by the American authorities. I hear they have serious problems with their penitentiaries being filled beyond capacity, and quite often violent offenders are set free to create more space.
The Council isn't here to argue the merits of the American penal system.
It was Bishop who had interrupted this time. Especially when our own is less than perfect
It is of no consequence to us how this Faith came to join with Mr. Giles and his slayer,
Bishop continued admonishing his peers. She was there, and from what I hear, proved to be an invaluable asset when it mattered most.
That is true,
Giles adamantly pronounced. Faith played an integral part in The First's eventual downfall.
I disagree with Mr. Bishop,
one of the female members began. You would,
the accused glibly threw back. We haven't agreed on anything in forty years, Emily. Why should we start now?
And to what do you object this time,
he asked. If these two slayers can't always be counted upon to work harmoniously together, how does the Council propose we handle the possibility of hundreds of such girls, any one of whom may at any time decide to have a go at each other? And don't try to hand me any of your codswallop, Alan, and tell me it's a one off clash in personalities. I've raised three teenage daughters, and I know what sort of cruelty children of that age can inflict upon each other. This is something that we are going to need to address, and the sooner, the better for all involved.
Mrs. Stuart has raised a valid point,
another fellow chimed in. I thought she said she raised daughters,
Bishop rejoined, prompting another round of chuckles. A slayer has always served one Watcher. These girls weren't created with synchronized slaying as a team in mind. Their temperament was meant for hunting alone,
he argued. Ahhh!
Giles jumped in, seizing the moment to raise Buffy's proposed school for slayers. The girls needn't patrol as a team. Once trained, they would be assigned a Watcher, and the two would form a core partnership, working together much as Slayers and Watchers have done for centuries. Only in those special circumstances when they encounter a foe that is insurmountable to the one would they join forces on a temporary basis. If you look through the submission I tendered concerning the opening of a training school, you'll se that I've covered just that contingency. . .
There are simply too many girls,
a voice objected, completely disregarding Giles' speech. And not enough Watchers to train them,
another added. The Slayer School would handle that, and the Council would need only concern themselves with preparing the Watchers, just as they have been doing for. . .
How many slayers now? Do we know?
someone questioned.
Last I heard from Collins it was over six hundred, and we've yet to hear numbers from South Africa, or the Far East.
The tally continued to climb in South America as well.
Too many slayers!
We need more Watchers, now!
The voices came fast and without regard for any answers. The situation was getting out of hand. The Council was bickering over their problems instead of finding solutions. Everyone was yelling, trying to make his or her point heard, and no one was bothering to listen. Giles curbed his urge to add his voice to the many. He wanted to scold the entire board like the noisy children they emulated. Instead, he breathed a weary sigh, and glance toward Andrew to see how he was faring.
His traveling companion was doing just fine it seemed. He was ignoring the ruckus across the room, and talking animatedly about something with the young Watcher standing guard near the doors. Andrew had apparently made a new friend. The two were smiling and laughing, and the Watcher's former stiffened posture has relaxed significantly in the interim since they had entered the room.
At least someone is willing to listen,
Giles muttered under his breath. It's certainly more than I've managed to accomplish, which is bugger-all.
Giles was beginning to give serious consideration to the idea of packing his bags and fleeing the country. Giles followed the move, which brought a response from one of the elder members, Richard Pemberly. Pemberly had been pulled from a recent retirement to fill in after the former Councils' unfortunate and devastating demise. Giles didn't know much else about the man, who had kept himself in the background workings of the Council in the years prior to his new position.
Pemberly motioned for the young Watcher to come over. The two spoke briefly, the younger man excited about something. Suddenly, Pemberly reached for an item on the table. It was a wooden gavel, which the elder man proceeded to bang loudly against the table top, the noise bringing the room to a sudden silence.
All this arguing is getting us nowhere fast,
Pemberly declared to the others. My grandson Timothy here informs me that our other guest has brought the video evidence we requested. I suggest we take a recess from all this talk about The First and such matters, and see for ourselves firsthand what things were truly like.
Timmie, why don't you assist young Andrew with the equipment he requires to set things up. Meanwhile, why don't we call for some tea. I'm sure we could all do with a bit of a break about now.
He turned to Giles, and blithely continued.
Why don't you use this time to review your notes, Mr. Giles. I'm sure we'll have plenty of questions when you finish your presentation tomorrow.
Tomorrow?
Giles repeated, stunned by the unexpected rescheduling of his unfinished presentation. Disgruntled, he decided it best not to anger those with whom he needed to keep in good favor. Still, he felt the need to push. And then might we discuss the matter of the slayer's school?
All in good time. For now, we have your proposal in hand, and we will it the issue under advisement. That will be all then, Mr. Giles. Good day.
Good day?
Giles couldn't believe what he was hearing. Not only wasn't he going to get to talk, but he was being instructed to leave the room. Meanwhile, Andrew had apparently been invited to stay.
Incensed beyond mere words, Giles turned and marched toward the massive doors leading out to the hallway. He mumbled bitter pejoratives under his breath, cursing the various members of the Council and their parentage. As he drew abreast of Andrew, the young man stepped forward. The last few moments of cheerfulness had dissolved at the prospect of Giles abandoning him to these strangers. Once again his eyes held a look of sheer terror.
You're going?
Andrew whined, unconsciously reaching for Giles sleeve to retain him. You're not staying to be my Obi Wan cheerleader?
You heard the Council,
Giles grumbled. I've been asked to leave.
Seeing the young man's apprehension, Giles' anger softened. This wasn't Andrew's doing, and he shouldn't take his ire out upon the innocent. Sighing, he offered a smile and a few words of encouragement for the frightened lad.
You'll do fine, Andrew,
he told the boy. This is the sort of thing you excel at doing. Telling stories. You don't need me for this. I'd only be a detraction form the main plot. Simply remember why you're here. To show these. . .people what girls trained in a slayer school are capable of accomplishing.
But Buffy said if I screw this up, that I should stay in England where I'm far away enough to hide, or she'll hunt me down and give me an ass kicking.
I'm sure she meant every word,
Giles assured him with a reinforcing pat on the back. Simply stick to what we rehearsed, and don't let them trick you into revealing any slayer secrets.
Or it's the ass kicking thing again, right? Okay.
Andrew inhaled deeply, and attempted to shake the tension from his arms and body. It's show time!
With an expelled sigh, he started across the room, his forced smile betraying the nervous excitement he felt as he approached the table of waiting Council members.
Moving to exit the room, Giles paused, turning back one last time to observe Andrew. The young man was gesturing dramatically as he talked to his young Watcher friend. Together, the pair began to set up their video equipment, setting up Andrew's presentation for viewing.
God help us all,
Giles breathed, shaking his head resolutely.
We've placed the future of the world in the hands of a chap who speaks in movie quote tongue.
Striding forward again, Giles reached for the handles on the massive wood and iron doors that would take him out into the hall. This time there was no one to open doorways for him, no guard to make sure he made it safely to his room. Forced to wrangle the heavy slabs apart on his own, he felt the weight of his disappointment sitting ponderously upon his shoulders. Perhaps tomorrow he would be given the opportunity to speak his piece. In the meantime, he would use the rest of his afternoon to tour the castle. With any luck, the place had a lovely dank dungeon where he could bide his time and mope.