Title: "Pictures At An Exhibition."
Parts: 1/1
Author: 'A Gentleman Of Leisure'.
E-mail: <nemo1nemo@[EMAIL PROTECTED]
>
Summary: In which Joyce Summers re-opens her Art
Gallery,
a mysterious ritual is planned by certain persons, and Dawn saves the day!
A
Series 1 story - yes, that's what I said - Series 1! Now read on.
Story Type: BTVS.
Rating overall: K+ (?)
Spoilers: S1-7.
Distribution/Archiving: Ask first please.
Disclaimer: No one here belongs to me - I've just borrowed
them to play with. All other Patents, Trademarks and Copyrights duly
acknowledged. Thank you.
-------------------------------------------------------
"Pictures At An Exhibition"
[from 'The Apocryphal Adventures of Dawn Summers']
by
'A Gentleman Of Leisure'
-------------------------------------------------------
Introduction.
We all know that the Scoobies have memories of Dawn being around during
the
first four years in Sunnydale, so they must also remember her actually
being
involved in at least a few of their early adventures. This story is set in
Series 1. Welcome to 'The Dawnverse'.
--------------------------------------------------------
1.
'Promenade'
Rupert Giles cautiously entered the foyer of the 'Gallery Eye' in the
heart
of Sunnydale's shopping district, uncertain what he would find. He hadn't
been in the USA for more than a few weeks, and this was the first evening
function he'd attended. In the unfamiliar territory of American small-town
life he still felt slightly ill-at-ease and out-of-place. Of course, in
this
particular small town, a vague sense of unease was a definite survival
feature. Someone asked his name, and he waved his Invitation to the
'Re-opening Exhibition' casually in their direction.
Inside, the standard selection of conventionally scruffy-looking types
usually found at Gallery openings the world over, wearing the customary
jeans and small range of earnest expressions, were milling about looking
'arty'. There were also a few, more cultured looking individuals in suits
but no ties (how he hated that trend - so sloppy,) most of them looking
terminally bored. Lastly there were more than a few who looked as if
they'd
really only come for the free drinks, and were determined to make the most
of the opportunity. Those are always with us, he thought. It all seemed
reassuringly familiar, for which he was deeply grateful.
He looked round the exhibition space, and told himself that if the
artworks
were really as poor as he expected of the local American artists, it might
be as well to try to catch up with the last group, assuming that the wine
itself was drinkable, a fair possibility with their close proximity to the
Californian wine-producing region. However, knowing that the Watcher's
Council was secretly footing the bill, he expected to find that they would
have funded something that was at least reasonably palatable, though they
were usually notoriously stingey with their expenditure. The new manager
of
the gallery, Joyce Summers, the innocent and unknowing mother of his
Slayer,
unaware of the true identity of the 'Gallery Eye's new owners, would
simply
have been told she could spend as much as she needed to in order to get
the
Art Gallery back on its business feet again.
And right on cue, here came someone carrying a tray of glasses, someone
wearing a traditional maid's uniform, complete with white frilly apron.
"Thank you, my dear," he said absent mindedly and reached for the fullest
glass he could see. As she paused and offered the tray he noticed the
furious scowl on her face and did a sudden double-take.
"You laugh, and I'll have to kill you!" she growled out of the corner of
her
mouth. The glare she gave him as she spoke rather took him back. Still,
considering who it was, the fifteen year-old daughter of the new gallery
manager, 'his' Slayer, obviously pressed into unwilling service for the
evening, he really shouldn't have been surprised. The next moment she had
whisked away, before he could even think of a suitable reply. Idly he
thought to himself that perhaps he should really have a talk to her in the
morning about her all-round attitude. At any rate, for now, the wine
glass
in his hand demanded his full attention.
He took a sip, and found it surprisingly palatable, for which he was
sincerely grateful. He was not one of those wine snobs of the Old World
who
couldn't believe Californian wines were a match for the French. "Down the
hatch," he thought, and idly scanned the room.
"Gee, you like to live dangerously, don't you, Mr. Giles?" a young voice
suddenly said at his elbow, and he glanced down in surprise to see a young
girl, about ten or eleven years old, gazing up at him with a friendly
grin.
She had a freckled face, a snub nose, and yards of long wavy brown hair
with
a centre parting. She too was carrying a heavy tray of glasses, but so big
it was almost too much for her to manage.
"I beg your pardon?" he said cautiously.
"You shouldn't call Buffy 'my dear'. She hates that - it's just asking for
trouble," said the girl.
"Thank you very much," he said. "I'll keep that in mind." Then, a little
dubiously he asked "Er... may I ask how you know my name? Who are you? How
do you know who I am?"
"You showed me your invitation a couple of minutes ago, when you arrived,
but of course you didn't notice me." The girl sighed. "No one ever does -
I'm just 'Buffy's little sister'."
"Oh, I see! I'm sorry, I didn't realise. The new manager of here is your
mother too then, isn't she? Hm. I hope your big sister wasn't too
offended."
"Oh, of course she was, Mr. Giles, but she'll probably forget about you in
a
couple of minutes, so I shouldn't worry about it. Here, would you like
another?"
Giles swiftly finished off the glass he was holding, and swapped it for
another.
"You know, 'Buffy's-little-sister', this is really rather good wine. I
must
congratulate your mother on her excellent taste. And," he added, "if you
tell me your name, I won't have to call you BLS again."
"BLS? Oh! Yes, that's very good, Mr Giles. Well, I'm Dawn - Dawn Summers."
She put out a hand, the tray wobbled, and they both grabbed for it to
steady
it.
"Let's assume we've shaken hands, for now - it looks as if that might be
safer," Giles said. He had little experience of children, but realised it
might be adviseable to be friendly towards his Slayer's younger sister.
"Anyway, delighted to meet you, Miss Summers."
"Oh, the pleasure is entirely mine, Mr. Giles," she replied politely, "but
you can just call me Dawn if you wish." Her exaggerated formal manner
sounded somewhat like a character in an old fashioned novel, something in
the style of Jane Austin, or the Bronte sisters perhaps, but the effect
was
rather spoiled by her bursting into giggles, and they both quickly grabbed
tray to steady it again.
"You're nothing like the way Buffy described you!" she went on chattily.
"She said you were terribly stuffy sounding and had a funny accent. She
said
that half the time she doesn't understand what on earth you're talking
about
either. I can see now what she meant about your accent of course," she
added, "but it's not really that weird, just different."
"Thank you so much; you're too kind," said Giles, not quite sure whether
to
feel offended or to burst out laughing, but trying hard to keep a straight
face either way.
"Now, could you perhaps point out your mother to me - I really must say
'Hello' and thank her for my invitation. And perhaps I ought to have a
look
at some of the pictures as well, don't you think? You seem to have quite a
crowd here already."
"Oh, most of the staff at Sunnydale High were going to be invited," Dawn
said, "in fact almost everyone in Sunnydale of any importance was. Buffy
was
complaining just the other day about having to help address all the
invitations, and take them into school to deliver each one herself. She
hated that."
"Oh I could tell when she handed me mine, I assure you," said Giles. "The
look she gave me would probably have stripped paint at forty paces. I
really
only came this evening in order to annoy the hell out of her." He smiled
as
he took off his glasses to give them a good polish, and Dawn giggled.
"You're off to a good start then!"
"You know," Giles said, mainly to himself, "I really think I'm going to be
rather good at that." He didn't notice Dawn's broad grin in response as he
looked round again at the crowded walls of the gallery. "Now, where do I
begin?"
-------
2.
'Portrait of an Old Man'
As Giles strolled round the place, the exhibition appeared to be the usual
sort of thing one might find in any small town - a mixture comprised of
very
amateur local artists painting chocolate box-top pictures, some so-called
'modern art' where the artist 'expressed' him- or her-self freely if
unoriginally, and a very few genuinely interesting pieces of work that
were
definitely worth going back to have another look at. The whole show was
relatively small, as the gallery had only three modestly sized exhibition
rooms, each of them crammed with a mixed selection of work, all hung as
closely together as possible so as to utilise every square inch of wall
space. There were also a number of sculptures of various sorts dotted
about
the place, some on pedestals, some large enough to be free standing -
apparently deliberately arranged so as to constitute both a physical and
intellectual obstacle course. However, despite the considerable crowd, it
wasn't long before he was back near the entrance again, at the beginning
of
the show.
"Good evening, Giles," said his Slayer, approaching him again with her
tray
of drinks at the ready. "Have another? It might help to blot out the
memory
of this evening's experience, or at least make it less painful. And these
cheesy things are fairly edible - though I haven't tested each one
personally."
"Thank you, Buffy. I think I will. I came by cab, so I'm not driving
tonight." Again he swapped his empty glass for a full one, took a handful
of
the proffered snacks, and studied the fifteen-year-old as she gazed round
the room.
"I take it you don't find Art with a capital A of much interest," he said.
"Huh? This lot? Nah! I reckon kids in first year grade school could do
better fingerpainting than some of that stuff!" She pointed to a
particularly garish example nearby of the West Coast Ultra-Post-Modernist
School.
"See that? I could do better with a bag over my head!" she said
scathingly,
though keeping her voice down. "Even my kid sister could do better!"
"Dawn? I'm sure she could. I've just met her. She's utterly charming. And
so
very polite." He said this with a slight emphasis for Buffy's benefit.
"Have you? Yeah, everyone says that. It's either 'Isn't Dawn sweet, Mrs
Summers,' or 'How well behaved she is!' or 'She's very clever for her age,
isn't she?' Pah!!"
Giles smothered a grin, and endeavoured to keep a straight face.
Admitedly,
sibling jealousy could be a very powerful emotion, but he'd never actually
heard anyone say 'Pah!' before, let alone with such vehemence.
"Younger children always get more attention, Buffy. In some ways they need
it."
"Yeah, right! Whatever. Oh, excuse me, Mr Giles, there's Willow and
Xander.
Good, I hoped they'd come," and she was off before he had a chance to
remind
her he preferred just 'Giles'.
"Though of course, I realise she hasn't had your problems," he added, but
she was already out of earshot.
-------
A little later, Giles was once again standing in front of one of the few
pictures that had attracted his attention, when he noticed he'd been
re-joined by Buffy's little sister. She too was studying the picture,
standing with her hands clasped behind her back, rather like the Duke of
Edinburgh, her head tilted a little to one side. The picture they were
both
looking at was a small, very detailed portrait of a gentleman in dark grey
seventeenth century dress with a ruff round the neck instead of a collar.
He
had a long white pointed beard, and was wearing a small black skull cap on
his head. In one hand he held an open scroll, and there was a large
crystal
globe in the other.
" I see that's a pretty old painting, ," he said. "The card there below it
says it's a portrait of an old English magician called John Dee, from the
reign of Queen Elizabeth the First. I suppose your mother borrowed it from
a
collector, to give some artistic perspective. She must have some
influential
friends."
"Yup," said Dawn. "That's on loan from the Paul Getty Museum. It's worth a
whole lot of money."
"I imagine it is. I've heard of him before." He didn't enlarge on how or
why, but continued conversationally, "He's really rather interesting - a
famous character from that time, you know. Among other things he was court
astrologer to the Queen, as well as a very clever mathematician. Bit of a
con-artist too, by all accounts. Used to make money telling people's
futures, and believed he could find how to make gold from base metal, like
lead or iron, using something called the Philosopher's Stone."
"Oh, wow!" said Dawn. "You mean like in Harry Potter?"
Unfortunately Giles had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but
he supposed she was referring to some juvenile American cultural thing he
couldn't really be expected to recognise, so he said nothing, which seemed
to be safest. At any rate that seemed to be perfectly acceptable to the
girl, so they continued to stand looking at the portrait in companionable
silence for a few minutes until she eventually said "It's weird, you
know?"
"Weird?" Giles echoed. "Do you mean something about the picture? How so?"
"You wanna see something interesting, Mr Giles?"
"Er, possibly," said Giles cautiously, wondering just what she had in
mind.
Instead of explaining herself, Dawn beckoned him to follow, and quietly
led
him round the corner into the next exhibition space, stopping in front of
another small portrait, this time apparently of an early twentieth century
man surrounded by books; a scholar in his library perhaps, or a retired
business man hoping to give the impression of being an educated gentleman.
This too was a painting full of detail.
"Notice anything?"
Giles studied the picture for a couple of minutes, but had to admit he
didn't see anything particularly noteworthy in it. The label next to it
didn't identify the sitter, but the face rang a bell in his memory. It was
strangely familiar, but for some reason he just couldn't place it.
"What should I be looking for?" he asked, but in response Dawn then led
him
into the last, smallest room, and across to the back of the gallery, and a
third picture of a family group, this time by a living painter whose name
he
actually recognised. As he also did the sitter.
"I see your mother really does know some influential people," he
commented.
"I believe that artist has a number of works in the collection of the
National Portrait Gallery in London."
"Yes, I know," said Dawn. "That's one of them. And that second one I
showed
you is on loan from somebody's private collection. We have to take all
three
of them down and lock them away in the safe every night. That's why we've
hired a security guard for the evening. But," she added, "do you notice
anything unusual about it?"
Giles considered the picture, took off his glasses and gave them another
polish, then went up really close so that he could examine it in detail. A
large person wearing a uniform jacket and cap approached, but Dawn waved
him
away dismissively.
Giles scanned the picture from top to bottom, and one end to the other,
before finally replying.
"Hmm. Yes, I think, now, I can see now why you wanted me to have a look at
these three. Interesting, very interesting. You've had a bit of time to
look
at them, haven't you?"
"Yes, they've been here for nearly a week, while we've been working out
the
hanging arrangement. I'm Mom's spare pair of eyes."
"And sharp ones at that," Giles said. "Let's just go back and have another
look at those other two you showed me already. You think they all have
something in common, don't you?"
"You can see it too? It's not just me? Mom always says I have an
overactive
imagination, and of course Buffy just says I'm a pain in the..."
"Quite!" said Giles hastily, leading the way back into the main part of
the
exhibition. "I'm sure you're not really. Anyway I wouldn't worry about it
-
big sisters aren't always right," he added thoughtfully. They joined a
small
group also looking at one of the other two pictures, and then discreetly
drifted back round to the first one Dawn had shown him, Giles taking care
not to look too interested. In the circumstances, he didn't think it
would
be adviseable to make himself conspicious.
-------
3.
'Promenade'
"Hello, Mr Giles," a voice said in his ear, making him jump. It was one of
Buffy's friends - Xander Harris, was it? Willow Rosenberg was with him,
also
peering at the painting.
"Ah, good evening," he replied, a little awkwardly. "Er... interesting
exhibition, don't you think?"
"Sure is," the girl said. "This one's quite old, isn't it? Buffy was just
telling us the Directors of some museum up-state had offered to lend it
for
the opening of the exhibition."
"Very generous of them, too," Giles said. And the thought popped into his
head: #'Offered? Not asked by Mrs Summers? I wonder what, or who prompted
them to do that?'#
"Excuse me, Mr Giles," said Buffy, reappearing at his elbow, and he turned
round quickly to find himself facing an attractive woman of about his own
age.
"Mr Giles, may I introduce my mother?"
"Mrs Summers. Delighted," he said, shaking hands. "I know your daughter
already, of course, from school, but it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank
you
so much for my invitation. It's a fascinating exhibition, absolutely
fascinating. A... er... very wide range of styles."
"Why, Mr Giles, how nice of you. When Buffy mentioned you were new in
Sunnydale, like we are, I felt I just had to invite you along."
"That's most kind of you," Giles said. "I know she's made a number of
good
friends in school already," - and he nodded at where the two Slayerettes,
Willow and Xander, were hovering in the background.
"Yes, we were very lucky. This gallery job came up absolutely out of the
blue, just at the right time for us, and my daughters were both able to
transfer up from Los Angeles without any delay. This is Dawn, the
younger,"
she added, putting an arm round the girl. "I asked her to help out her big
sister this evening. It's a little late for her but since it's not a
school
night..."
"Yes, we've already introduced ourselves. She's very kindly made sure I
had
some wine and nibbles, and we were just discussing the paintings."
"I do hope she hasn't been pestering you, Mr Giles. I've told her just to
keep taking the drinks and snacks round, and make sure everyone has
something."
"Not at all. She's doing a magnificent job, I assure you. She must be a
great help to you - she was telling me she even helped you work out the
hanging arrangement."
"Oh, yes. I only have one permanent staff member at the moment, and
another
pair of eyes is absolutely essential."
"And you're expanding the place, I take it? You've got a very wide
selection
of works on display for this Inaugural Show. And Dawn tells me you've even
been lent a couple of very nice pictures. You're very lucky. You must
have
some very influential friends."
"Oh, we had some help from the Town Hall here in Sunnydale, arranging to
borrow those," Joyce Summers said. "They're as interested as we are in
getting the Gallery back on its feet as a cultural resource, so they
offered
to help us negotiate the loan of a couple of works from out of State, and
even one from abroad. It all makes for good publicity.
"Apparently the previous gallery owner-manager had already been working on
this exhibition before he had to sell up and move away rather suddenly.
Family problems, I believe. Bad luck for him, of course, but very good
luck
for us. Anyway, when the new owners took me on as manager, they suggested
I
pick up the idea, take over the planning work that he'd already done, and
use it for relaunching the Gallery. It would start my new career here with
a
bit of a splash at the same time. The plans included arrangements to
borrow
a couple of pictures from other galleries, including one from the Paul
Getty
Museum, up-state."
"Every little helps, of course," said Giles politely. He couldn't say
anything about it, but he already knew the circumstances of the previous
owner's departure from the town - the Council of Watchers could be
curiously
ruthless at times, when the circumstances demanded it.
"Oh, absolutely! And it's been a great boost. The people in the Mayor's
Office have been such a help. It's been real good of them," Joyce Summers
said enthusiastically. "Oh, there's the reporter from the local paper. You
will excuse me, Mr. Giles, won't you?" and she rushed away to deal with
the
publicity aspect of the Art Show.
"Nice lady," he said to the Slayer who was still sanding there at his
elbow. "You're very lucky."
"She doesn't know," Buffy said quietly, out of the blue. "About me, that
is.
Not really."
"I should bloody well hope not, Buffy," said Giles sharply. "And let's try
to make quite sure we keep it that way, shall we?"
Buffy nodded curtly, and marched away to rejoin her friends.
"But I do," said a little voice quietly at his other elbow, surprising the
life out of him. He looked down and there was Buffy's little sister again.
"Erm... I beg your pardon? You do... what?" he said cautiously.
"I know," said Dawn. "About Buffy. You don't really think my big sister
could keep something like that from me, do you?" Her expression was
perfectly serious, and he suddenly had the unenviable sensation of the
gallery floor under his feet turning into quicksand.
"Um... exactly what is it you think you know?" he asked cautiously, hoping
he was misunderstanding what Dawn had just said.
"She Slayer, you Watcher," the girl said matter-of-factly. "I know all
about
that. Why on Earth do you suppose I wanted you to look at those pictures,
Mr. Giles?"
-------
4.
'A Portrait of Some Conspirators'
"So your kid sister already knows about your secret identity? Are you sure
that's a good idea, Buffy? I mean, I always thought secret identities were
supposed to be just that. You know - like, secret? Especially as in the
bit
about no one else knowing?" Willow said.
It was morning recess, next day, and the three friends were hanging out
in
the school library, while Giles was busy somewhere back in the book
stacks,
trying to make some sort of sense of his predecessor's filing system. This
un-named individual also seemed to have been the benificiary of the
Watchers' Council's attentions, for he too had resigned, suddenly
vanished,
or otherwise abruptly departed during the previous summer break. Which of
course was how Giles had got the job.
"Hey, that's right," said Xander. "After all, where would Peter Parker be
if
everyone knew he was Spider Man? Or that Clark Kent really didn't need
those
glasses, for that matter? Not much point in having a Superhero costume if
everyone knows who's inside it, right?"
"Hey, just you try keeping secrets from a ten year old sister. The little
runt is into everything, and I do mean *everything*!! I mean, I even have
to
hide my secret diary from her, AND put a combination padlock on it!"
"How on earth did she find out, then?" Xander asked.
Buffy looked at him doubtfully. She still felt anger and embarrassment at
having been forcibly hospitalised in a psychiatric ward by her parents
after
the incidents which had got her expelled from her original High School in
Los Angeles, where she had only recently started. It really wasn't
something
she wanted to talk about.
"Well, I told you about my first Watcher, and the vamps I fought in LA,
didn't I?" she said reluctantly.
"Yup. That was some real crazy stuff," said Willow. "Your parents must
have
thought you'd seriously lost the plot."
"I guess they thought you'd freaked out for some reason?" Xander said. "I
know I would have. I mean, these first few weeks here since you arrived
have
been seriously weird, and yet you say that's nothing compared to what
happened at your last school? Sheesh!"
"So what did they do, when you tried to explain? They must have thought
you'd gone completely loco, or been on drugs or something!" Willow said.
Buffy shrugged, and sighed.
"I guess I can't blame them, not really. Nobody would believe me of
course,
after all who in their right minds could, and what with having had a
knock-down, drag-out fight all through the school, and ended up
'accidentally' setting fire to the gymnasium, the best way my family could
think of to keep me out of Juvenile Hall was to say I must have had a
nervous breakdown of some sort due to the emotional stress they were
causing
by the rows they were having all the time, besides having just started at
High School. So they put me in the psych ward of the local hospital and
hoped the doctors there could 'make me see sense, and snap out of it', as
they put it. I guess they thought maybe I was attention seeking on account
of the problems they were having of their own."
"They were splitting up?" Willow interrupted.
"Yeah, big time. Anyway, the psychiatrists went along with that.
Apparently
it's a common problem. Unfortunately I just kept right on insisting I'd
actually seen real vampires, and they were starting to think I was
seriously
screwy."
"Stuck b-between a rock and a hard place, I guess," said Willow. "Poor
Buffy!"
"So how did you get yourself out of there then?" Xander asked. "'With one
single bound she was free', huh?"
"Huh! I wish! No. Actually Dawn saved me."
"What?! Your kid sister? Wow! Way to go, Dawnie! Good girl!" said Willow.
"I'm impressed!"
"How did she do that? Did she maybe smuggle you a file in a cake, so you
could cut through the bars of your padded cell and make your getaway?"
said
Xander.
Buffy couldn't help laughing. Good old Xander. Always capable of saying
something dumb enough to break up the gloom and despondency.
"No, nothing like that. My problem was that I just wouldn't play the game.
I
refused to tell the doctors what they wanted to hear, and 'admit' I was
making it all up. Some of the other girls in the unit told me what I ought
to do, because they had the experience to know how the rules worked. A
bunch
had been in there before, a couple of them several times, and they knew
how
to play the doctors' game right back at them, but I was so certain all I
had
to do was tell the doctors the facts that I just wouldn't listen. I was
totally convinced that all I had to do was keep telling the truth, and
eventually they would see I really wasn't crazy at all."
"Like, the truth will set you free, kind of thing?" said Willow.
"That was the idea, at any rate. Unfortunately it didn't work like that -
most people can't see the truth when it's staring them right smack in the
face. It very nearly did drive me crazy, but eventually Dawnie persuaded
me
to try to play their game.
"One afternoon she came to visit me on her own. It was just awful. She
told
me how much she was missing me. It was all horrible at home with Mom and
Dad
blaming each other and rowing all the time. She knelt on my bed and begged
me to please come home. She was in floods of tears - it was dreadful. When
she looked at me like she did, with those eyes, well what is a big sister
supposed to do? How could I not do as she asked?
"I only had to lie - just a little bit, you know... pretend to admit I'd
been making it all up - attention seeking, that sort of thing."
She shrugged. "After that, I was out in less than a week. Crazy or what?
Ha,
ha! Not me, ma'am! No way!"
"Them, not you!" said Willow earnestly. "I mean, Xander and I have grown
up
in this town, and we've always been sort of half-aware that there was
something weird about the place, b-but nobody ever talked about it. We
live
here and that's always just been the way things were - no one ever really
questioned it. Then you come along , and B-Boom! Things really start
happening - everything goes to Hell in a handbasket. You tell us the what
and the w-why and the wherefor, and Bingo - it all starts to make some
s-sort of sense! Like you say, c-crazy or what?"
"And the things that have happened in just the last few weeks. I don't
know
why my hair hasn't turned white yet!" said Xander.
And Giles, leaning on the railing of the mezzanine floor of the library
listening, unnoticed above them, couldn't help nodding to himself, and
murmuring, "Give it time, Mr Harris, give it time.".
Buffy looked up, noticing for the first time that he was there.
"I hope Dawn wasn't being a pain in the butt, last Saturday, Giles. I saw
she was tagging along with you, talking nineteen to the dozen. What was
she
on about?"
"It looked like she was dragging you round the gallery making you look at
stuff, Mr. Giles. I thought it was rather cute, really," said Willow.
"I'll bet she was telling you she can draw just as well as some of the
artists actually in the exhibition, wasn't she?" Buffy said. "She's
always
scribbling away on a sketch pad, if she isn't wanting to play me or Mom at
chess!"
"Hm. Interesting," said Giles. "Is she any good?"
Buffy grunted dismissively.
"Pardon?" said Giles.
Willow laughed. "She told me the other day she wants to be Junior Chess
Queen. She's not bad really, for her age, that is. I had to play quite
hard
to beat her!"
"Actually, I meant is she any good at drawing?"
Buffy looked up again, frowning. "No. I don't think she's any better than
most kids of that age. Why?"
Giles looked thoughtful.
"She's very observant for... How old is she? What, ten... eleven? Anyway,
she brought something in the exhibition to my attention," he replied.
"Like what?" Xander said.
"Something interesting, though I don't know if it's of any real importance
yet. Of course, it might just be a coincidence."
"What are you talking about, Giles? What might be just a coincidence?"
"And yet," Giles went on, apparently thinking aloud, "what good would only
three parts be?"
"Mr Giles? Three parts of what?" Willow asked.
"I must try to get another look, preferably while no-one's around to
interfere or ask awkward questions," Giles continued, either ignoring, or
not hearing her question.
Buffy looked at her two friends. She shrugged apologetically.
"I think he's gone again!"
"Is he always like this?"
"Hey, don't ask me, I don't really know him any better that you do. As I
understand it, he only arrived here at Sunnydale High shortly before I
did.
You must have actually met him first, so you guys really ought to know him
better than I do," Buffy replied in a stage whisper.
"Wha'd'ya think he's on about, then?"
"What I'm on about is that there's an apparent connection between those
three paintings young Dawn got me to take a particular look at," said
Giles,
coming slowly downstairs and leaning on the table where they were sitting.
"Which ones were they?"
"Apparently they were the three that the gallery had received on loan from
other galleries."
"Really? What have they got in common then, Mr Giles?"
"I couldn't say just yet, Willow, not until I've examined them properly
anyway - by which I mean really thoroughly. In fact I think it might be
quite a good idea if one of you three, perhaps you Buffy, came along with
me
to see what I'm on about."
He straightened up, and in a firm voice as if he had just made an
important
decision, he said, "Buffy, do you think you could get me into the gallery
without your mother knowing?"
"Seriously? You mean after it's closed and all locked up? I guess," she
said, sounding a little doubtful. She thought for a moment, then her
expression brightened. "Yeah sure, I got it - easy peesy. She always takes
the keys home with her in her purse, but I know where she keeps a spare
set.
And the burglar alarm code is Dawn's birth date. Why?"
"Excellent. Can you acquire them without her finding out? Tonight?"
"Nah, not tonight, Giles. No way! It's a Monday. Everyone's going to the
Bronze tonight. There's a new band called The Dingoes playing tonight -
everyone says they're the next thing! Gotta be there! Sorry!"
"Buffy, this could be important," Giles said sternly.
"Hey, Giles, I don't know when I'll be able to get hold of the keys, yet.
And anyway, won't you want me to patrol later? What was that you were
saying
just the other? Something about me getting into a routine, wasn't it?"
Giles sighed. It was perfectly true, he had indeed stressed the importance
of regular patrolling for vampires, and he had to admit it was also quite
true that it might take a day or two before his Slayer could abstract the
spare keys from their hiding place at home. She had a valid point.
"All right. See if you can get hold of them tonight or tomorrow. You have
my
home phone number, don't you? Call me there, or pop in here and tell me
after school ends. Whichever way, let me know as soon as you've managed
it,
OK?"
"You got it, Giles." She jumped to her feet as the bell rang out in the
hall
to mark the end of Recess. "Oh, did I remember to mention the security
guard?"
Giles sighed. "No. No, you didn't. Do tell."
"There's one in the building at night, patrols from closing time through
to
when Mom opens up again next morning."
"Inside the gallery?"
"No. Just the hallways - he does the whole building. The gallery occupies
the whole of the ground level, and the rest of it's offices 'n' stuff. He
checks the doors and alarms and so on, 'bout every half hour. He doesn't
come into the gallery, just shines his flashlight in the door, which is
partly glass. We have our own guard in the gallery daytimes, while this
exhibition's on."
"Night time it will be then. And please don't forget."
"As if! Come on guys, it's Math this period. Be still my heart!"
"Ooh, my favourite," said Willow as they made for the door.
"You know, you're weird, Willow. How you could like that stuff...?"
"I think I left my text book at home," Xander could be heard to say
plaintively.
"I think I'm guessing someone didn't do their homework this weekend, did
they? Okay, so you can copy mine - again," was the last thing Giles heard,
coming from Willow as the door swung-to behind them and silence was
restored.
-------
5.
'The Intruders - a sketch'.
"So what is it that's so strange about these three p-pictures, Giles?"
Willow whispered. "They looked pretty ordinary to me the other day. B-but
then, what do I know? I've never done anything more advanced than coloured
crayons 101."
"My favourite has always been yellow, ever since first grade," Xander told
them, a trifle too loudly. Buffy and Giles both went "Sssshhh!!" , and
Xander shrank into his jacket apologeticaly. Then he dropped his
flashlight
and everyone went "Sssshhh!!!" again simultaneously, including even him.
"Sorry, sorry! It's the excitement. I've never helped to burgle an art
gallery before," he explained nervously. "In fact I've never been out
burgling, period! If my friends could see me now..."
"We can," Willow pointed out, sotto voce.
"...They'd probably be laughing themselves sick while they were dialling
er... oh dear, what is it? Nine something something?" Giles said.
"It's 911," said Buffy scathingly, "and a whole lot of use you're going to
be in an emergency!"
"B-but it should be OK, Mr Giles. Her mother runs the gallery, so it
wouldn't really be a problem, even if the cops did turn up," said Willow,
trying to be reassuring and look on the bright side.
"It bloody well would be for me!" said Giles in an emphatic whisper. "If
her
mother ever got to hear about it, Buffy might just about get away with
having her pocket money - sorry, allowance - stopped for a couple of
hundred
years or so - but what's my excuse? I'm doing it for a dare?
Extra-curricular Art Studies? I don't think so! I can just see it now - me
up in court, the Principal handing me my notice, my Green card being
confiscated and my visa cancelled, being deported - if I'm not slung into
gaol first - the Watchers' Council holding an investigation. Oh, yes,
wonderful! And you, Buffy, you'd certainly be assigned another Watcher.
Probably someone a lot less amenable to the vagaries of your social life
than I am. Just you remember that!"
Buffy looked at him steadily for several heartbeats.
"I am coming in to borrow a really big dictionary tomorrow morning, first
thing before class starts," she then announced. Giles looked puzzled. "I
only understood about half of what you just said," she explained. "I
thought
they spoke English over there in your country!"
"We do!" he said, astonished. "Where on Earth do you suppose the language
originally came from, then - the bloody Moon?"
"I know my social life is vague, and even disorganised," she continued, as
if he'd not spoken. "You don't have to remind me! Anyway that's mainly
your
fault, what with all the patrolling and training and stuff you're having
me
do after school."
"What? No, no, I said vagaries, not vague... Oh, never mind. Come into the
library tomorrow morning, Buffy, first thing before classes start," Giles
said. "I'll dig out the very biggest dictionary I can find, just
especially
for you. I obviously need to introduce you to some of the strange facets
of
the 'real' English language that your school English teacher may not tell
you about."
"Extra classes? Oh gosh, how super!" said Buffy in a mock British accent,
sounding about as enthusiastic as someone being offered a bowl of cold
porridge. Giles gritted his teeth in silence.
"What's that about, Giles?" Willow asked. "We all talk English, don't we?"
"Sure we do - even me!" Xander volunteered. "I'm big with the Englishness,
mainly on account of using some of it, most days anyway."
"Yes, Xander, I'm sure you do. It's just that, since I've arrived in
Sunnydale, I've found that, if I'm lucky and have the wind behind me, I
can
understand about every second word spoken by the average High School
student
here. Some days it feels not unlike trying to watch a foreign language
film
that's been subtitled by someone who cannot actually speak the language,
and
has only had a small tourists' phrase book to work from."
"Why's that, Giles? Isn't English your first language?" Willow asked,
looking genuinely concerned. "We can all try to talk slower if you want,
if
you're having trouble keeping up, that is?"
"Hey, sure. That's why you have that weird foreign accent, isn't it,
Giles?"
Xander said. "That's OK. There's no need to feel ashamed - you can always
take night classes in 'English as a Second Language'. Millions of merry
Mexicano's do."
Giles looked at him, stony faced.
"No, Xander. But thank you for the information - and I accept it in the
kind
spirit in which it's obviously intended." He paused. "No, what I really
meant is that there's a profound difference between the English you speak,
and the English I speak. Mainly owing to the fact that I come from
England.
Which, may I point out, is where English originally comes from. Whereas,
here in America, everyone speaks American. Although for some strange
reason
they actually call it English."
He looked at them sternly in the half-light. Willow leaned across to Buffy
and whispered in her ear, "I think he's miffed. He sounds really miffed.
He
is miffed, isn't he? We've miffed him."
"I didn't do anything!" Buffy whispered back. "He's miffed himself. I
didn't
really want to be here anyway - I just want to be out having a social
life,
which is what this all started out as being about."
"Um, Giles, d'you think perhaps we should be looking for the safe so you
can
take a proper look at those paintings?" Willow suggested. "If there's
something weird about them we don't want to waste time arguing about what
language you're talking. Or us for that matter."
"Hey, right! Weirdness first, everything else second!" Xander said. "We're
wasting time. That security guard will be round again soon and we don't
want
him to see our flashlights or hear us discussing the 'whichness of what',
languagewise."
"Ah! The voices of reason! Willow, Xander, you are both of course
perfectly
right," said Giles, "and I apologise. There was no excuse for my little
outburst, and I hope we can all forget it. By tomorrow morning, at any
rate," he added, producing a clean handkerchief from the top pocket of his
Harris tweed jacket, and cleaning his glasses, a gesture the Slayer and
her
Slayerettes had already begun to recognise as a typical Giles gesture in
times of emotional crisis.
"So, Buffy. Whereabouts does your mother keep the pictures nice and safe?"
"Oh, Giles! Nice! Safe, in the safe. Very g-good," said Willow. Buffy
pointed her flashlight towards the office at the back of the gallery.
"Lead on, MacDuff," said Xander.
"Actually, it's 'Lay on, MacDuff', Mr. Harris. It means 'Let's start
fighting'. Perhaps 'Lead kindly light' would be more appropriate," said
Giles.
"And you just quoted the Scottish Play," said Willow very quietly, meaning
for only Xander to hear her. "You shouldn't have done that. It's bad
luck."
"Only in the theatre, Miss Rosenberg," Giles reassured her. "It has no
significance otherwise."
Which was a pity really, because although technically he was quite right,
he
was also at the same time very, very wrong. Luckwise.
Because unfortunately, the very next moment Xander walked backwards into
one
of the sculptures.
-------
6.
'Promenade'
While her mother was out in the gallery, busy talking to a potential
customer and hoping to make a sale, Dawn rummaged quickly through the
filing
cabinet in the office at the back. It was late next afternoon, the
Wednesday, after school. If she could just find what she was looking for,
she might not only save the day, but score mega-points over her older
sister
as well.
From what she'd gathered from Buffy's irate, muttered comments during
breakfast in the morning, things had not gone well the night before. In
fact, it had been what that nice Mr Giles had apparently called 'a major
cock-up - a complete and utter shambles', in brief a total disaster.
Apparently, someone whose first name began with a letter very near the
tail
end of the alphabet, had dropped his flashlight, and then knocked over a
large, fragile sculpture at a critical moment. Of course the security
guard
had heard the crash and promptly phoned for the police. Luckily, by the
time
Sunnydale's 'finest' arrived, the intruders had already made their
gettaway
through the fire-exit into the back alley, and were well over the hills
and
far, far away. It was lucky that everyone actually involved had been at
the
Exhibition two nights before and would have a legitimate reason, if one
was
to be required, for their fingerprints being all over the place inside the
Gallery.
Dawn giggled at the thought - four burglars, one of them a grown-up, and
another the Slayer, with not a single pair of gloves between them! One
would
think they'd never even heard of Sherlock Holmes, let alone modern
forensic
techniques! As a keen watcher of the Discovery Channel, and of a number of
TV detective series, she was perfectly sure she wouldn't have made the
same
mistake herself !
Then - there it was! That was what she was looking for! She grabbed the
envelope, flipped it open and quickly separated the item she wanted from
the
rest of the contents. She shoved this into her schoolbag. Everything else
was returned to the envelope and hastily put back in its proper place. Now
her mother would be none the wiser, and she, Dawn would certainly save the
day.
Trying hard not to break into a big grin, she strolled out into the
gallery
and indicated to her mother in sign language that she was going out to do
a
bit of shopping. Her mother nodded, and Dawn walked casually away down the
street until she was sure she was out of sight. Then she ran just as fast
as
she could to her destination.
-------
7.
'Portrait of a Thursday - 1: Morning'
"Mom, can you drop me off with Buffy this morning, please. She's going to
lend me one of her books - she's got it at school. I can walk the rest of
the way. The exercise'll do me good, won't it?"
Her sister and mother both stared at Dawn in surprise - her mother that
she
she was so keen to borrow a book off her sister, and Buffy simply looking
baffled. Behind her mother's back she mouthed a furious question, but Dawn
was feigning a sudden inability to lipread.
"Sure, honey. That's really good of you, Buffy. I like it when you two are
encouraging and helping each other, and not having an argument about
something. Oh, help! Is that the time? Grab your things, girls, while I
start the car. Now where did I leave the keys...?"
"Oh, by the way, Mom. Can I please have twenty dollars?" Dawn said,
suddenly
ambushing her mother now her attention was diverted. "We're doing a
project
at school, and I need art supplies - you know, card, paints, sticky-back
plastic, tape. That sort of stuff. I promise I'll bring back the change!
Pleeeeease!"
"Oh, OK, honey. This really is for school, isn't it? You won't be doing
anything stupid in town with your friends on the way home, will you?"
"This is for art, Mom. Promise. Cross my heart etcetera, etcetera, dot dot
dot!"
"OK then, pumpkin. Remember I trust you, you know. Just see what you can
find in my change purse on the way, then. Now hurry up, the pair of you,
otherwise there won't be time for you to walk on to Junior High. You get
yourself a 'Tardy' slip, and I won't be pleased."
"No, Mom. And if we're late I'll run all the way."
By this time they were all piled into the family SUV.
"Well, I don't want you crossing the roads without stopping and looking
both
ways. Promise?"
"Yes, Mom, I promise."
"OK. Good. And Buffy, I suppose you'd like a twenty as well, wouldn't
you?"
"Sure, Mom! Thanks! Er... there's still a few bits of school stuff I
haven't
got yet. Being in a new place I keep finding something I still need and
I'm
getting tired of the teachers ticking me off about it. It'd be kinda nice
to
get ahead of the pack for a change. I can ask Willow's advice about what
I'm
still short of."
"Good. I like her. She's a nice level-headed girl. You're very lucky to
have
found such a good friend. Is that Xander her steady, then?"
"I'm still not sure. I guess. She told me they've been in the same class
together since forever - oh, first grade at least, so..." Buffy shrugged.
The fact that Xander Harris was displaying the rather too obvious symptoms
of a heavy crush on her could remain her own business.
"I like him, he's kinda cool," Dawn said from the back of the car,
grabbing
on to the back of Buffy's seat as they took the corner a trifle fast.
"She's got a crush on him," Buffy told their mother, grinning. This was
taking her revenge for Dawn keeping a secret.
"Have not!" her sister said indignantly, her cheeks rapidly going pink.
"Ha-ave!"
"No-ot!"
"Crush! Crush!" declared Buffy gleefully.
"Have not!"
"Cruu-uush!"
"Not! Not! Not!" Dawn exclaimed furiously.
"Don't tease your sister, Buffy. Set her a good example, now!"
"Aw, Mom! She wouldn't know a good example if it sneaked up behind her and
bit her on the...!"
"Buffy!"
-------
8.
'Portait of a Young Student'
"Mr Giles!"
"Good morning, Dawn. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"
Giles
said, as the two Summers girls barged into the library.
Dawn stopped to catch her breath, while Buffy shrugged at the enquiring
look
her Watcher gave.
"Buffy told me what happened night before last," said Dawn, still panting
heavily . "Don't worry about it!"
"Er, no. We won't. I'm sure it'll be enough if we just wander quietly into
the gallery for another discreet look at the pictures, preferably while
you're mother's not on the premises. I imagine Buffy can entice her away
with some sort of stratagem..."
Dawn straightened up, still slightly out of breath, waving her hands to
negate his suggestion.
"You won't need to, Mr Giles, sir. Can you be here at a half after four
this
afternoon, please?" she said. "And Buffy, you too!" Then without waiting
for
an answer, she swung her book bag back on her shoulder and made for the
door.
"Hey! What? Why? Dawn?"
The library door swung slowly shut behind her, leaving the Watcher looking
at the Slayer for answers.
"What was that all about?"
Buffy shrugged. "Don't ask me, Giles. I have absolutely no idea. Sorry."
"You don't think she'll accidentally let slip to your mother what happened
the other night do you? That could be very embarrassing - no, disasterous
even!"
"No, no. It'll be OK, I'm sure, Giles. Whatever it is, she can keep a
secret
with the best of them - I'll give her that. If she can keep schtum about
me
being the Slayer all this time, she'll have no problem hiding whatever
she's
up to now. I'll tell you one thing though..."
"What's that?" Giles asked, still gazing at the library door with a
worried
look on his face.
"She managed to scam twenty dollars out of Mom, just as we were leaving
the
house. Said it was for art supplies. Mom was so shocked she even offered
me
a twenty as well!"
"And did you take it?"
"Well, du-uh!"
"Manners, Miss Summers! Manners!" the librarian said absent mindedly,
absorbing this intriguing information. The Slayer just stood and gawped at
him in astonishment.
-------
9.
'Portrait of a Grand Official'
"Ah, Alan, I'll be working late tonight. If you want to leave early it
would
be a good evening to do so - I'm expecting visitors later on, and we're
going out to dinner afterwards."
"OK, Mr Mayor, whatever you say. Thank you very much, if you're quite
sure...?"
"No, no. It's fine. You deserve it."
"Thanks, Mr Mayor. It's much appreciated. We work hard for the good
citizens
of Sunnydale and the people really have no idea what goes on behind the
scenes. Why if it wasn't for us..."
"Absolutely, Alan, absolutely. Now look, it's nearly four o'clock, why not
call it a day right now? You could surprise your wife... Stop off and get
her some flowers on the way home. The ladies love that."
"Well, OK then. If you really are quite sure..."
The mayor of Sunnydale amiably waved his deputy out of the office, taking
care not to actually touch him for fear of the germs - that would never
do.
The door was scarcely closed before he had the office phone to his ear,
and
was dialling.
"Are you awake yet?"
"Aah, sure, Mr Mayor, sure," a sleepy voice affirmed. "What time is it?"
"Time you and yours were up and about!" the mayor said firmly. "Now get
your
people ready for a little trip out tonight."
"Where to, Mr Mayor, sir? We going far?"
"No. We're just going to get ourselves a little culture - after hours,
that
is. We're going to look at some works of art."
"Oh, that little project you were telling me you had on the back burner?"
"That's the one," said the mayor. "We've got two and a half years, plenty
of
time to do all that's necessary, but there's nothing wrong with getting
some
of the groundwork prepared well in advance! You be here as soon as it's
dark - the official car will be in the usual place in the car park. You
already have the spare set of keys, don't you?"
"Keys, check!" There was a faint metallic jingle in the phone earpiece.
"That's what I like to hear from my special staff - efficiency! If you
weren't dead already, you could even stand for office and hope to win!"
"Thank you for the compliment, Mr Mayor. We'll be ready and waiting for
you
at half an hour after sunset."
"We won't actually be starting until the gallery is closed for the night,
and everyone in the area has gone home, so your people will have plenty of
time to 'eat' before we move out. Make sure they've had all they want
before
then - I don't want anyone getting distracted and wandering off just
because
they're feeling like a snack. Loyalty and efficiency are the watchwords -
you make sure they all remember that, right?"
"Sure, Mr Mayor. We'll be ready when you are."
The mayor of Sunnydale put the phone back without bothering to say
goodbye.
Next he locked the office door, and then went to the office safe. He
fished
a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked it, swung the heavy steel door
open, and from a shelf inside took out a small, extraordinarily detailed
painting.
-------
10.
'Promenade'
"She's late! Typical!" said Buffy.
"No I'm not," said an out-of-breath Dawn indignantly pushing open the
library door. "I had to go visit the shopping mall first before I could
come
over here."
Panting heavily, she plonked herself down at the table where Willow was
typing away at the library computer, doing a search for Giles, who hated
the
'modern' device with a passion verging on the mania displayed by
Flat-Earthers against school geography globes.
"Are you all right?" Xander asked.
"I ran all the way," she said faintly, "but thank you for your concern,
kind
sir."
She gave him what she fondly imagined was a devastating smile, but which
actually just made her look as if she was trying not to throw up. It did,
however, have the desired effect of turning his full attention on her, and
he came round to her side of the table.
"What did you have to do in the mall?" Buffy asked. "Oh, no, don't tell
me,
you'd got twenty bucks burning a hole in your pocket of course. How silly
of
me," she added sarcastically.
"Silly of you is right," Dawn said, delving into her book bag. "I had to
go
and pick up these. Twenty bucks didn't cover it, so I had to spend some of
my own allowance as well. Here, Mr Giles. These are what you need!" and
with
a dramatic flourish she carefully put a large fat envelope on the table in
front of the assembled Slayerettes.
"What...?" said Giles, confused. "I'm not sure I'm entirely with you, Miss
Summers..."
Dawn waved a hand at the packet on the table, and leaned back in her
chair,
still breathing heavily. "For you," she said. "Open it and see!"
"A present for Mr Giles?" Willow asked. "That's very sweet of you Dawn,
but..."
Dawn shook her head vigorously. "For all of you," she said. "Just open it!
It'll save you a lot of trouble."
Rupert Giles picked up the envelope, opened the flap, and another envelope
slid out onto the table. This one was bright yellow, with the words
'HappiSnaps' on it in blue and red letters. He glanced up at Dawn, who was
grinning in anticipation as he slowly opened it and looked inside. There
was
a short pause. Everyone held their breaths.
Giles shook out the contents and they spread themselves across the table.
He
stared, amazed.
"Bloody h...! Er... Dawn! Well I never! Where on earth did you get hold of
these?"
Buffy's jaw dropped. There laid out in front of them were a bunch of
ten-by-eight photographs of the three paintings on special loan to the
Gallery Eye!
"What...? How...?"
Dawn smiled blissfully. The stunned expressions on everyone's faces were
all
that she could have possibly hoped for, maybe even more.
"I got the shop to blow up just the bits of writing as well, Mr Giles, as
big as they could on this size print. I hope they're going to be clear
enough."
However, Giles was already poring over the pictures with a magnifying
glass
he'd whipped out of his tweed jacket pocket, turning two of them round so
he
could read the writing the right way up, and he hardly heard what she
said.
"These are fantastic, magnificent. So clear!" he was saying to himself.
"If
I just knew what language they were written in I'd be able to read every
word with ease. Why on Earth does it seem so familiar? I really ought to
recognise what it is."
Willow leaned over and murmured in his ear. He glanced round. "What? Oh!"
He straightened up and looked at Dawn, his eyes gleaming with excitement
behind his glasses.
"Miss Summers, these are fantastic. I don't know how you managed it but
these are just what I needed. They're absolutely perfect!"
"You mean she's succeeded where we messed up the other night?" Xander
said.
"Way to go, Dawnie!"
"Thank you, Xander," Dawn said simply, beaming broadly, and this time
managing not to look as if she was about to barf on his shoes. She was so
happy there was nothing else she could say.
Buffy was almost, but not quite, speechless. "I don't understand. What are
they? How did she get them?"
"They're obviously photographs of the paintings in the gallery," Willow
said. "Dawnie dear, where the heck did you get them from?"
Dawn smiled as everyone, even Giles, directed all their attention on her.
To
be in the centre of the spotlight was all a girl could hope for, whatever
her age! This... , this was perfection. Plus it made her big sister look
like a complete dummy for a change! Life was so, so sweet!
"I stole them," she said simply, a statement intended to shock them all,
and
successful in its aim. She paused dramatically, then hastily continued,
"Well actually I just borrowed the original colour prints from the gallery
filing cabinet, while Mom was busy with a client. They were sent with the
paintings so Mom could check when they arrived whether there'd been any
damage while they were in transit.
"I simply took them to the Photo Store and had them make copies. This way
you can keep them as long as you want. I'll just slip the originals back
where I got them tomorrow afternoon, and Mom'll never know."
"Oh! Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" Giles exclaimed. "All
galleries
and museums do that for safety and insurance purposes. They used to do so
where I was working before! I really should have remembered." He ran up
the
stairs and disappeared into the book stacks at the rear, where he kept his
own collection of esoteric volumes. The sound of books being rummaged
through came drifting down to them.
"That was very clever of you, Dawn," Xander said. "I never heard of that
before."
"Thank you, Xander." Dawn beamed at him. "If I'd known what you guys were
planning on doing the other night I could maybe have saved you a lot of
effort!" She shrugged. "But you didn't."
She sighed dramatically, got to her feet, and patted her sister on the
arm.
"Next time, maybe you should include me in," she said.
-------
11.
'Portrait of a Thursday - 2: Early afternoon'
"Dawn, would you like to help us a bit more?" Giles asked, reappearing
with
his arms full of large old leather bound books, and clattering down the
stairs again. "You seem to have a good eye for detail. It was you who
originally spotted that all three paintings had the same sort of writing
somewhere in them, so perhaps you'd like to see if you can find something
similar among this collection."
"Sure, Mr Giles. I'd love to," she said, grabbing one from the pile he
dumped on the table and sitting down again.
"You be careful how you turn the pages," Buffy told her sternly. "Some of
those are probably a hundred years old!"
"Most of them are a great deal older than that," said Giles, opening
another
volume and holding one of the photographs beside the old fashioned text to
compare it. "That one you've got there was printed before Columbus even
arrived in the West Indies."
There was a collective gasp from the Slayerettes.
"Really? Are you sure we should be handling these, Mr Giles?" Willow asked
anxiously. "Aren't they awfully valuable?"
"Hm?" said Giles. "Oh, you mustn't worry yourselves about their value. I'm
trusting you all to be careful. True, some of these are utterly
irreplaceable, but we have to use them anyway - there are no other copies
in
the world."
"So just be very, very careful, OK?" Buffy said to Dawn.
"Yes, do please be very careful, particularly when turning the pages over.
Turn them from the outside edge so that you don't tear them near the
gutter," Giles told them.
"The what?" Xander said, still stunned by seeing a book several centuries
older than the nation itself, lying open there right in front of him on
the
library table.
"The gutter is the printers' term for the centre of the book when it's
open - the middle, where the pages join. If you turn pages near there you
can easily tear the top or bottom edge - here and here." He pointed. "Not
good! Just turn the pages carefully, one at a time, from the outer
corners.
Be as gentle as you can, all right?"
"Y-yes, sir!" Dawn said, in an awed whisper, gently stroking the surface
of
the paper. "Golly, it's more than twice as old as the USA!" She paused.
"Is
that way cool, or what?"
"Er, cool? Yes, I think we can definitely say it's cool," Giles told her,
glancing up over his glasses at her with a smile. He really couldn't help
it - there was a grin so broad on her face that it was practically
dazzling.
He looked at the other three others, but they just seemed as if they'd
been
turned to stone at the mere thought.
"Come along, you three. Each of you take one of the other books. Here,
have
a good look at one of the photographs first, that Dawn has so kindly
brought
us. Make sure you know what sort of writing you're looking for."
Cautiously they helped themselves to a volume each and sat down to begin
ploughing their way through, in the hope of finding squiggles that matched
the ones in the photos. For about a quarter of an hour there was no sound
except that of pages being very carefully turned. Then Willow decided to
venture a question.
"Mr Giles. Um... Earlier... You said something the other day about only
three parts? What did you mean? Three parts of what?"
Giles looked up again. "Ah... oh, yes. I just had the idea the writing
might
be a magical text of some sort, but if it was, I would have expected there
to be four parts."
"Painted in four portraits? But why?"
"For safety, as a disguise of some sort, I would imagine," Giles said.
"Most
people would tend to ignore an unreadable script in someone's portrait,
unless of course they were expecting it, and it was in some language they
knew, but that others couldn't read."
"But Mr Giles, one of those portraits was over four hundred years old,
while
another was only fifty or sixty, wasn't it?" Dawn said. "That man sitting
at
a table with a book in front of him, wasn't he from the nineteen thirties.
You said so yourself, didn't you?"
"You're right; I did. But he was of an anonymous sitter, wasn't he? By a
little-known portait painter - one I'd never heard of, at least."
Dawn nodded.
"And the third one was by a famous painter, of a living person and his
family. Someone quite important in Britain, by the way. A fairly recent
work..." Giles scratched his chin, and then removed his glasses to polish
them, meanwhile gazing into the middle distance. "And they all had a piece
of text with this writing... Hm..."
Everyone held their breath, while they watched the great brain at work.
"You know, that chap in the nineteen thirties portrait looked curiously
familiar," he said after a little while. "I think I may have said so at
the
time, didn't I?" There was another pause. Then...
"Ah! Ye-es. Yes! Got him! I know who he is! That's Aleister Crowley,
reputedly one of the most evil magicians of modern times! Well I'm blowed
-
I really ought to have recognised him immediately. I wonder why on Earth I
didn't?"
"Someone nasty, Mr Giles?" Willow asked.
"Yes. Famous for it! No, infamous actually! He used to call himself the
wickedest man in the world. Really though, he was just a rather grubby,
would-be magician specialising in sexual magick, with a K." Then ,
realising
what he'd just said, he added, "Oh, I'm sorry, not the sort of thing for
younger people's ears, perhaps. I do apologise."
"Strictly a Slayerette need-to-know," said Buffy firmly, poking her sister
in the ribs.
Dawn beamed delightedly at her. "I'm a Slayerette, then? Really?"
They all looked at Giles, who after a pause nodded reluctantly.
"Honorary, strictly honorary, Miss Summers. And absolutely no one may
know,
OK?"
"OK! Cool!"" said Dawn, enthusiastically. "Cross my heart!" And she
promptly
did so.
-------
12.
'Portrait of a Thursday - 3: Later afternoon'
"So, might that mean they're all something to do with magic, or magicians,
then?" Willow asked.
"Black magic - Bwaaahaaahaaaa!" Xander exclaimed, looming over Dawn like a
character from a horror movie. She gave a little shriek and then burst out
laughing.
"Stop it, Xander! You'll frighten her!" Willow said. "It's OK, sweetie,
he's
only fooling!"
"Oh pooh! I know that. He couldn't scare me in a month of Sundays. Go on,
tell them, Buffy!"
"Mucho waste of time, Xander. She has a heart of ice."
"Yeah. Since I saw the real thing, anyway."
"What?" exclaimed Giles, surprised. "You've seen a vampire? Seriously?" He
did not look happy. "How come? I'd have thought that you especially,
Buffy,
would try to keep your family away from that sort of thing."
"Oh I did, Giles. Believe me, I really did," said Buffy, and glowered at
her
sister. "You and your big mouth! You weren't supposed to tell anyone about
that. You promised!"
Dawn looked indignant. "Hey, I'm a Slayerette, now. No secrets, right?"
Buffy looked daggers - if they'd been real then Dawn would have instantly
resembled an oversize pincushion!
"Er, you might want to explain that, Buffy," said Giles, in a deceptively
mild tone. "How come Dawn got to meet vampires? After all, she's only
eleven, isn't she?"
"Please, Mr Giles - it wasn't her fault. I insisted," said Dawn,
unexpectedly claiming the status of guilty party.
"She insisted?," he said, still addressing the Slayer. "And you let her
what... go patroling with you? How come?"
Buffy looked angry and embarrassed.
"It was after she helped me get out of the hospital psychiatric unit in
LA."
Reluctantly she plonked herself down at the table and slumped dejectedly
in
her chair. The others quietly sat themselves down to listen.
"It's like this, Giles. You already know what things were like for us at
home in LA, before we came up here to Sunnydale. And about the vampires."
She sighed.
"Although she knew I really believed in vampires, Dawn still thought I'd
just been making it all up to get attention, and try to keep Mom and Dad
from splitting up. So she kept teasing me about it, even though she'd
managed to persuade me to pretend to admit that's what I'd been doing,
so's
to get out of the junior funny farm. I know it sounds complicated, but..."
"No, Buffy, I understand," said Giles. "I really do. You believed,
correctly
as we know, that there were vampires infesting Los Angeles. She was still
convinced you'd been making it all up to grab attention, and hopefully
stop
the family from falling apart. I understand that part all right. It does
all
have a warped sort of logic to it, so far at least. I think."
"From both points of view," Willow said. "I understand, Dawnie. It is a
difficult thing to believe - we've only just gotten over the shock
ourselves, Xander and me. Believe me, I've never had such a big surprise
in
my life as when I saw my first vampire being dusted, and we'd already seen
a
few weird things in Sunnydale, even long before Buffy and Giles arrived."
"Right on the money there, Will!" Xander agreed.
"So? How did she meet vampires? Don't, please, please DON'T tell me you
really did take her with you out on patrol one night!" Giles said. He
stared
at his Slayer, his expression pleading with her to deny the charge, but
Buffy just sat there, her head hung down, frowning at her hands which lay
limp in her lap, her face bright pink.
Giles sat looking at her, slowly shaking his head. "I don't know how you
can
have been so stupid, Buffy. You'd already lost your Watcher, and now you
went and put your little sister in harm's way? How could you?"
"Please, Mr Giles, don't be angry with her - it's all my fault. Honestly,"
Dawn said urgently, hurriedly coming to the defence of her big sister. "I
made her take me out with her."
"Dawn. You, you're..." Giles stopped what he was about to say, and
gathered
himself. "You, I can understand the fascination. Your sister, I can't
condone the stupidity!"
"But it really isn't her fault, Mr Giles. I went on and on at her, and she
kept right on telling me it was really, really dangerous. I just wouldn't
shut up - vampires were from the movies, and off TV - I simply couldn't
believe her." Dawn too looked seriously embarrassed. "In the end I
threatened to tell Mom and Dad she was still sneaking out at night to go
on
patrol if she wouldn't take me with her one night."
"Is this true, Buffy?"
The Slayer nodded reluctantly. "I'm really sorry, Mr Giles, but you've got
to understand. I'm not making excuses, but you have absolutely no idea how
irritating she can be when she really tries. If whining and complaining
was
an Olympic sport she'd be gold medal material every damned time!" She
scowled at her sister.
"So, what happened? The two of you slipped out late one night? I take it
you
found a vampire for her," said the librarian.
Buffy just said "Huh!" and looked over at her sister. "You want to tell
him,
Dawn? Yeah, why not? Go on, you tell him."
"*A* vampire?" Dawn responded, emphasising the indefinite article. "*A*
vampire? Did we find one? Well, not exactly, did we, Buffy?"
"Not exactly? Not exactly?? No, definitely NOT exactly, Giles. They found
us, almost before we got to the dark end of the street."
"They?" Giles said quietly. "How many then?"
"Well, we only saw one at first. I didn't realise until the rest of them
appeared that it wasn't a case of us hunting them, but of them hunting us!
Turned out that one was just bait!"
"So more appeared once you'd seen the first one, and had started to chase
it?"
"S'right - we were ambushed, plain and simple - ran straight into it! A
stupid beginners' mistake, and I should have known better after what I'd
experienced already. Anyway, there we were, running down the side street
after the one we saw first, thinking it was out all on it's lonesome, when
bingo! - more came out from where they'd been hiding behind palm trees,
and
trash bins - you know the sort of thing - and before we knew it we were
more-or-less surrounded by at least half a dozen of them," said Buffy.
Dawn took up the story.
"I didn't realise exactly what was happening until I saw their faces go
all
funny and bumpy, and then I saw their fangs. Oh... my... God! I sort of
froze - I couldn't move. My legs wouldn't work - I didn't know what to do.
Then Buffy grabbed me, spun me round and shouted 'Run like hell'! dragging
me off down the road with her, waving a stake."
"She screamed," said Buffy.
"I'll tell the world I bloody well screamed - we were running straight at
one of them! I was sure we were about to die!" Dawn protested. "If you'd
been me you'd have screamed, I bet!"
"What happened then?" Willow asked.
"Buffy staked the vamp in front of us, and it just exploded into this
great
big cloud of dust. I'd never seen anything like it. We ran right through
it
and down the road back to where there were lots of streetlights, with cars
and real people and stuff."
"What about the others. Didn't they chase after you?" said Xander.
"Of course they did, but they couldn't run as fast as us. And anyway,
Buffy
was looking back while we were running, to make sure they weren't catching
up with us. And she threw another of her stakes at them!"
"Hit anything?" Giles said.
"Mmm. Got a second, but I was just lucky," Buffy admitted.
"Geez! Lucky's the word all right!" Willow said breathlessly. "If it'd
been
me I think I'd've fainted right on the s-spot!"
"They stopped chasing when we got back to the main street," said Buffy,
"but
I could hear them still laughing from the shadows as we ran away down the
road to the bus line."
"I couldn't stop shaking for nearly half an hour." Dawn dug in her purse
for
a tissue and blew her nose. "Buffy was shaking too. Yes, you were!"
Buffy scowled at her sister. "All right! Yes! I didn't realise until we
were
safe again just how close we'd been to getting killed - or worse! There,
Giles, I admit it - I was an idiot. I should never, ever have let Dawn
persuade me to take her out on patrol!"
"After that I - I promised never, ever, ever to question what she told me
about them," said Dawn. "Or to tell anyone. Never!"
"And she hasn't, Giles, not until now. Several times she's helped cover
for
me if I'm out after curfew, when I'm supposed to be home in bed asleep.
She's even helped me treat some of the injuries I've picked up out on
patrol - specially on difficult-to-reach places."
"There've been one or two close things these last few weeks since we
arrived
here in Sunnydale, though," said Dawn. "She tells me some stuff - I guess
not everything though."
"We've just about made it though, so far," said Buffy, picking up the
thread. "Mom doesn't suspect a thing. We've got this sort of unwritten
family agreement not to talk about the past, and I'm supposed to be on the
straight and narrow, make up my grades, be in by ten - you know the
stuff..." She looked at him nervously.
Giles looked at them both for a minute or two. "Well, I'd say you're
probably both as bad as each other," he said eventually. He paused to let
that sink in for a short while. Then he added, "And if either of you ever
do
such a stupid thing again... well, we'd probably be looking for a new
Slayer
anyway, so what I'd do probably wouldn't come into it."
Then he added, "And as for how your parents would feel about a double
funeral..." He shrugged. "We'll, I think I've said all that's necessary -
at
least I hope I have."
The Summers's nodded in unison, and Dawn snuffled into her tissue again.
"I guess I'm demoted, then," she said sadly. Giles stared at her for a
long
moment, and then sort of laughed.
"No, that's in the past," he said gently. "Just don't let me find you with
teeth marks in your neck one fine evening, OK?"
"Well, not until you're sixteen, at least," said Xander brightly.
"... !"
-------
Buffy and Willow exchanged one of those looks a girl keeps in her
repertoire
especially for when boys say something really, really dumb. Giles merely
kept a straight face. Dawn herself gave her snub nose a final trumpet, and
settled down to another ancient volume.
This one was apparently a book of biographies of famous people of the
Renaissance Era in Europe. One name caught her eye fairly quickly - that
of
the magician John Dee, to whose portrait she had first drawn Giles's
attention at the gallery opening. The text was printed in an archaic
gothic
typeface, extremely difficult for a modern person of the last years of the
twentieth century to decipher. After a moment or two of vainly trying to
read the unfamiliar letter shapes, she was about to turn the page when
something caught her eye - a small engraved illustration depicting some
more
text that, though different, still looked somewhat familiar.
"Oh!"
No one looked up or took any notice - they were all earnestly turning
delicate pages, each individual leaf probably worth a small fortune at
auction. She studied the writing carefully for a moment or so, and then
stood up and reached over to grab the nearest photographic print, which
happened to be the one Gile was examining, while mumbling to himself "Why
the hell, does it look familiar? Think, brain, think."
The disappearance of the picture from in front of him did at least get his
attention.
"Oy!" he said mildly. "I was just looking at that, if you don't mind,
young
lady!"
Dawn ignored him totally, her eyes firmly fixed on the text in the book,
and
then flicking to the photograph and back several times, comparing them.
Eventually she looked up, just as he reached out to take back the print,
and
instead turned them both round, and pushed book and picture together
across
the table to him.
"Here, Mr Giles," she said. "What's 'Enochian' mean?"
-------
There was an instant's silence while Giles stood there with his mouth
open,
not exactly looking foolish, but certainly surprised. He took off his
glasses, polished them within an inch of their life, carefully put them on
again, and painstakingly examined and compared the two items Dawn had just
shoved under his nose. Everyone held their breath. They could see him
murmuring something to himself, but couldn't make out what he was saying,
which was probably just as well.
"Miss Summers," he said eventually. "Whatever idiocies you and your sister
have perpetrated over the last three or four months, you've just gone a
long
way towards making up for them. In fact I think I may be this week's prize
chump!"
"Yay for me!" Dawn exclaimed excitedly. Then she added cautiously, "What
did
I just do?"
"You've reminded me that I really must pay attention to details," he
replied. She looked a trifle confused. "You brought Dr John Dee's portrait
to my attention in the first place, because you'd noticed the same strange
writing in a couple of other completely unrelated paintings, each of them
on
loan from different parts of the country, one indeed from overseas. I even
think I remember mentioning that he was known to be somewhat of a
charlatan - a con artist of his own time." Dawn nodded.
Giles paused to gather his thoughts, while the four young people gazed at
him, absolutely rivetted.
"One of his little inventions was a sort of magical writing which he
claimed
had been given to him by angels, through his assistant. He called this
script 'Enochian', and said it was for working magic, spells and the
like."
He paused again. "And that's what this writing in these paintings is -
Enochian. I really don't know why I didn't recognise it immediately in the
gallery."
"Napa Valley '95", murmured Buffy quietly to Willow.
"I heard that!" Giles said sharply. "My hearing is still A1, thank you. I
think it would take more than a couple of glasses of red wine to make me
unable to recognise something as obvious. No. Though something else might,
I
suspect."
"Something interfering?" Buffy asked. Giles nodded thoughtfully. "But
how?"
she asked.
"D-d'you suppose there could be, um... some kind of magical spell at work,
to prevent people from noticing it?" Willow suggested diffidently. "Sort
of
diverting their attention?" Giles considered the point.
"Good thinking, Willow, very good! That sort of thing is indeed perfectly
possible. It wouldn't take too much skill to lay a distraction spell of
some
kind, over the three pictures. Such a spell was originally called a
'glamour'. That was the original meaning of the word, you know, Xander -
nothing to do with actresses or bathing beauties, I'm afraid," he added.
All three girls grinned at each other.
"You wouldn't even have to be where they are to do it, I don't think.
Hmm..." Giles looked at the text reproduced in the photograph. "But why?"
"Hey, Dawnie. I didn't realise it was you who spotted they all had the
same
sort of ancient type writing in them," Xander said. "That was very
clever."
Dawn beamed at him in gratitude, and then she batted her eyelashes at him
like the heroine of an old black and white movie she'd seen on TV the
previous weekend. Xander blinked - all this adoration was like having the
sun shine on him unexpectedly. Buffy smiled knowingly at Willow, who
pulled
a face at her and mouthed the word "Cute" over Dawn's head.
"And they were the three oldest pictures in the exhibition, and all on
loan," Giles said thoughtfully.
"You think something's up, then?" said Buffy.
"Let's say rather that I don't believe in coincidences of that sort,"
Giles
replied. "Two pictures, well maybe. Three? Most unlikely! Out of the
question, even. And didn't your mother tell me the Mayor's Office helped
out
with arranging the loans?"
"Yeah. Hmm, does sound strange, now you think to mention it," Buffy said.
"Why would they do that?"
"Maybe," Willow said, thinking aloud, "maybe someone there is up to no
good?
I mean do these writings say anything magical? Are they actually spells?
Or
something else, maybe?"
"Boy, you're brain is firing on all cylinders this afternoon!" Xander
exclaimed. "You can see why I get her to help me with my math homework,
can't you?"
"They can certainly see why you copy mine most times!" Willow said a
little
sharply.
"Er, can we keep to the point, please," said Giles. "Willow, your idea is
a
very sound one, and I think we need to try and work out what the three
pieces of writing say, if we can."
"W-won't we need some sort of a dictionary? If there is such a thing?"
Willow asked.
"We will, and actually, I think there is," Giles said, and unexpectedly
sprinted off up the stairs again back to the upper level, disappearing
into
the far recesses of the book stacks, where he kept his Watchers' volumes
carefully concealed among old, out-of-date school texts, somewhere no
self-respecting high school pupil would ever dream of going voluntarily.
For
a little while they could hear him foraging around in the shelves, cursing
as he knocked over piles of ageing, unwanted volumes, raising clouds of
dust
which tickled his nasal passages, and alternately sneezing and swearing.
"Where the hell did I put it?" they heard him exclaim more than once. Then
there was a whoop, a crash as yet another pile of books fell, a new,
choice
English curse - one previously unknown to the young Americans, as were
most
of Giles' - and their favourite librarian reappeared, galumphing down the
stairs again, waving a small, insignificant looking book triumphantly
above
his head.
"I wish I hadn't had to unpack in such a hurry. Nothing was where it was
supposed to be, of course. It never is when you really want something in a
hurry, is it?"
"That's it?" Willow sounded a little disappointed. The book was barely
pocket size, and bound in dull brown leather, rather worn.
"It's what's inside that's important, Willow," said Giles. "And that's
true
for most things. You'll find that out for yourself as you get older, I'm
sure," he added.
"Thank you, Gandalf," Xander said quietly for Dawn's ear only, making her
giggle - she'd read 'The Hobbit' several times already, though not 'Lord
of
the Rings' as yet.
"Now we're really going to get somewhere," Giles announced. "If there's
something going on, it's almost certainly something we ought to put a stop
to, and once we've got some sort of understanding of the meaning of these
three pieces of text, we'll have a good idea what's going on, and exactly
what to do about it!"
-------
13.
Promenade.
"Sssh!"
"Dammit Xander, can't you keep your feet under control? If you fall over
again, we're bound to get ourselves arrested this time!"
"Sorry, sorry. I'm doing my best, Giles."
"He wants you to do better, Xander. Watch where you step," Willow
whispered
fiercely in his ear. Xander did his best not to move while Buffy squeezed
past him and sorted through her mother's keys. It was almost as if they'd
all been transported in time back to the night of their earlier nocturnal
visit to the 'Gallery Eye'. Only now they knew what they were looking for.
It was late at night on the same day, and everyone was feeling tired and
stressed. A couple of hours' translation work at the photographs of the
texts Dawn had brought them, using Giles little dictionary, had revealed
something of the secret purpose behind them. As he worked, Giles'
expression
had got more and more serious. Eventually both Buffy and Dawn had been
forced to depart for home, carrying a note from Giles telling their mother
they'd volunteered to help him sort books in the Library after school, and
apologising for letting them stay so late.
After they'd gone, Willow had kept quiet for a while until eventually
she'd
just had to ask what he'd discovered. The answer had not been a welcome
one - the three texts were parts of a seriously powerful magical ceremony
to
imbue the celebrant with magical abilities of a dangerous power. Only the
fourth part was missing, the climax, and that, apparently, not a very long
part. Even without it there was considerable danger. A great deal of harm
could be caused if the incomplete ceremony was performed; powers would be
released that would be uncontrollable. Not a good situation.
"Buffy says that The exhibition is only on for another few days. It's
ending
on Sunday, so the sooner we do something about it the better," he'd said.
"You mean tonight, Mr Giles, don't you?" Willow had been quick on the
uptake. "How about I phone up Buffy, as if for a chat, sort of thing, and
if
her Mom's out of earshot I can give her the news," she said. "Just tell me
when we should meet up. And where."
It had all been arranged in a great hurry. Driving his battered Citroen,
Giles had collected Willow and Xander from just outside their homes, where
they were hidden in bushes close enough to get safely indoors again if
vampires had appeared. Buffy had been last. It had been a little after
midnight, but even that late they'd seen Dawn at Buffy's bedroom front
window, waving encouragement to them.
-------
14.
'Portrait Of A Ceremony'
"Quick! Everyone inside!" Buffy said in a stage whisper, and they all
slipped into the Gallery Eye', and shut the door quietly behind them.
"Phew! I was sure the security g-guard would hear us," Willow said. "When
I
heard him coming down the stairs I thought we were done, for sure."
"Shush. Keep still, everyone. Wait until he goes back into his rest-room,"
said Giles very quietly. "Give him a few minutes to settle down again,
then
it'll be safe for us to move about. Then we should have about twenty
minutes
or so to get into the safe and decide to do with the pictures."
They all stood in the darkened gallery, while their eyes gradually became
accustomed to the gloom. The only light was the little that filtered in
through the heavy venetian blinds on the huge plate glass front window,
which faced the street.
"What *are* we going to do with them, Giles?" Buffy asked softly.
"I'd actually like to dispose of all of them completely," he whispered
back,
"to destroy them utterly, but I really don't think I could bring myself to
do that to genuine works of art. Besides which, it may well be that their
owners have no knowledge of their secret, so it might not really be fair."
He shrugged.
"We could keep them, hide them somewhere, maybe?" Willow offered.
"How about we send them to this Watchers' Council thing you work for?"
Xander suggested unexpectedly. "Wouldn't they like to have them?"
"You know, Xander, you constantly amaze me," said Giles.
"Um, is that a good thing?" Xander asked uncertainly.
"In this case, definitely yes!" Giles told him. "That's a very good idea
indeed! It has the merit of taking them all out of circulation, and
allowing
the Council to do research on them under controlled conditions."
"And I guess the owners will get their insurance payouts," Buffy added,
"so
it's all good, huh?"
"It would certainly seem to be," said Giles cautiously, "but there's no
knowing what problems might crop up."
Never were truer words spoken. They were hardly out of his mouth when a
little tapping noise came from the passage outside the gallery front door.
Giles and Buffy looked at each other in horror.
"That's someone else keying in the entry code on the security alarm!"
Buffy
whispered, grabbed Xander by his jacket sleeve and rushed him as quietly
as
possible towards the back of the gallery. Willow and Giles grabbed each
others' hands and hastily followed them.
Buffy hesitated by the office door, and then, seeming to change her mind,
dragged Xander on towards the emergency exit at the rear, with Giles and
Willow close on her heels. She was about to press the emergency release
bar
on the fire door when Giles fiercely whispered "Stop!"
In the faint glow filtering in through the venetian blinds from the street
lights outside, he pointed towards a couple of large, pedestal-mounted
metal
statues close against the back wall. There was just enough room for a
couple
of people to squeeze hastily behind each of them, and in a couple of
instants they were those people.
Everyone froze as the gallery door opened, there was a pause, and it then
quietly closed again. A moment later they heard someone say quietly "OK,
the
guard's asleep now. He won't bother us for a while."
Another voice said "Why wouldn't you let us feed on him, Boss?" It was the
creepiest voice Willow had ever heard, and her hair tried to stand on end.
She also tried to stop breathing so loud.
Someone carrying a flashlight walked unhurriedly through to the back part
of
the gallery and stopped to look around. "Here'll do fine. Well away from
the
front window. Go open the safe, and bring out the other three pictures."
"Lights, Boss?"
"Certainly not! We don't want any late night passers-by noticing anything
out of the ordinary, do we?" the voice of the person in charge said, and
there was a general laugh. It sounded as if there was now a small group of
people in the gallery. "Sunnydale's finest do patrol the main thoroughfare
occasionally, after all, and we don't need to excite their interest, do
we?"
There was a pause, during which someone at the entrance said "What about
us,
Boss? Do we take part?"
"No!" the voice said sharply. "You're all on guard. Now keep quiet!"
"I can smell the Slayer's scent," one of those on guard said, and Buffy
tensed, reaching cautiously for her stake.
"Not surprising," the voice said, sounding completely unworried. "It's her
mother's gallery, after all, so she's in and out all the time, I guess.
Now
keep quiet, or I'll use you as the sacrifice instead!" The casual manner
in
which this was said made even Buffy go cold.
'Instead of what?' Giles wondered, fishing for something in his jacket
pocket. Then Willow felt him feeling around in the darkness for her hand,
and a number of small roundish objects were placed in it. More were put
into
her other hand a moment later. It wasn't necessary for Giles to tell her
to
hold them ready for him, whatever they were. She supposed they were some
magical device to be used to subvert the magical ceremony that was
apparently about to take place.
The sound of the safe being opened with a key came from the office, and
someone brought out the three pictures. "What do I do with them, Boss?"
someone said.
"Lay them out here, here, and here," the one addressed as 'Boss' replied,
pointing at the floor with the beam of his flashlight. They couldn't see
any
detail of him except a vague impression of average height. "Now you, give
me
the fourth one,"
In the dim light reflected off the floor the hidden observers could just
make out the figure of the person addressed as he opened the briefcase he
was carrying, took out a small flat object and carefully unwrapped it. It
was the last picture. He passed it to the 'Boss' who went down on one knee
to lay it gently, almost reverently in the fourth corner of what was
apparently to be a 'magical square'.
Still kneeling, he waved all the others back towards the front part of the
gallery.
"Right," he said with great satisfaction clearly audible in his voice,
"now,
finally, finally we can begin!"
-------
The four hidden observers held their breaths as the ceremony commenced. It
was in a language none of them recognised, not even Giles, and so they had
to guess at exactly what was happening. The only thing they could be
certain
of was that it wasn't going to be a very prolonged affair - these people
obviously wanted to get it done and be away before the security guard
roused
himself (from whatever spell had been cast on him) and realised it was
time
to do his round again.
After a few minutes of apparent recitation from the four texts laid out on
the floor the 'Boss' started to walk round the magical square of pictures
in
a counter-clockwise direction, chanting slowly as he went. Most of the
time
the hidden watchers could see very little. Only when he was on the far
side
from them did the flashlight reflected from the floor show anything of his
face, and Giles told himself to try to memorise it for future reference.
The voice began to rise, and it was obvious that some sort of climax was
approaching. Willow was just beginning to wonder how long they would wait
when Giles touched her on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, very,
very
quietly indeed, "When I say, throw one lot, then the other."
Giles felt her nod, and readied his own handful.
"Go!" he said clearly.
The voice in the gallery heard him and stopped immediately. "Someone's
there! Where? Who is it... ?"
Willow hurled her first handful of objects right into the middle of the
gallery and was rewarded with a series of deafening bangs like gunshots -
they were a bunch of firecrackers that all exploded on impact as they
scattered across the floor!
Sudden confusion and dismay gripped the intruders immediately. Someone
shouted "Run for it!"; the 'Boss' yelled angrily for someone to grab the
pictures, and then Giles too hurled something. There was a heavy metallic
clunk as it hit the floor in the centre of the room, and then a hissing
sound. Instantly the gallery started to fill with thick impenetrable smoke
which poured from the device, rendering the entire place invisible. Then
Willow threw her second handful of crackers, and this time it sounded just
like a pistol duel being fought in a fog.
Someone shouted again, "Get the damned pictures!", and Giles threw another
device. This time the effect was far more powerful - a brilliant flash and
the a really deafening bang. Willow shrieked like a banshee and clapped
her
hands over her ears, while Giles scrambled to his feet and charged,
yelling
at the top of his voice, out into the darkness and smoke. Buffy and Xander
too had been astonished by the explosion, but both jumped out from
concealment behind their statue and dived into the smoke, Buffy with stake
at the ready. There was a muffled howl, cut suddenly short.
"The Slayer!" someone shouted immediately, and through the ringing in
their
ears they could just about hear the intruders making a panicky retreat the
way they'd come, and many feet running off down the street. A car started
up
and left rubber on the road as it shot away, tyres squealing as it
fishtailed round the nearest corner.
Then there was silence, with just the smoke swirling about, masking
everything.
"Anyone got any of the pictures?" Giles said loudly, partly deafened
himself.
"One here," Xander's voice came through the smoke. He coughed heavily.
"I've got one," Buffy announced. "I think I stepped on another, but I
can't
find it now."
There was a thud. "Ow! I think I j-just fell over that one," Willow said
unhappily.
There was a pause while everyone groped round in the gloom and fumes, and
coalesced into a group in the middle of the gallery.
"Are you alright, Miss Rosenberg?"
"I'll live, thank you, Mr Giles. B-but if you call me Miss Rosenberg again
I'll... I'll... I'll jolly well spank you, so there!"
There was a chuckle from within the smoke. "Very good, Miss... er...
Willow.
Point taken. As interesting an experience as that might be, I'll do my
best
to reserve the formality for during school hours when other people are
around."
"Thank you, Giles. And I've banged my knee, but I think it'll be OK."
"Maybe someone could kiss it better?" suggested Xander invisibly.
"Down, boy!" said Buffy, grinning.
"Did anybody get the fourth picture?" Willow said after a moment.
"Well," said Giles, "you found one. Have you got hold of it?"
" 'You bet!' said young Willow bravely," said Willow bravely.
"I've got one here," said Buffy.
"So've I," Xander said.
"Well, I'm holding one as well, so I really think we've got a clean
sweep!"
said Giles. "Amazing!"
"The whole lot?" said Buffy, surprised. "Really?"
"Someone, somewhere is going to be mighty pissed," Xander said. "Maybe we
should get the heck out of here before they decide to come back?"
"Wise words," Giles said. "The security guard will also be making the
wires
hum to the police station at this very moment, if he's woken up after all
this row, so out of here is the very direction we should go. Bring the
pictures with you."
"But three of them ought to go back in the safe," said Buffy protested.
"No, no. As Xander suggested earlier, the best place for them all is back
in
England, safe in the care of the Watchers' Council, where there's no
chance
of them ever being mis-used again. I'm afraid your mother's gallery has
just
been burgled by art thieves, but the various owners will get their
insurance
value in full, I'm quite sure. Now, for goodness' sake let's scarper!"
"Let's what?" Buffy asked, heading for the firedoor at the back of the
gallery, a picture tucked under one arm.
"Cockney rhyming slang," said Giles. "Scapa Flow - go!"
So they did.
-------
15
'A Picture Of Satisfaction'
"Thank you all for helping out with mailing the paintings to England at
the
weekend," Giles said the following Monday evening in the library after
school. "If one person had tried to do it from the main Post Office all in
one go, particularly if is were a foreigner like me, it might have looked
somewhat suspicious."
"The Slayerettes are here to help and serve," said Dawn soberly, and
Xander
nodded in agreement. "I do wish you'd let me be there at the gallery, all
the same though, Mr Giles," she added. "I'm sure I'd have been able to
help
somehow."
"But you did, my dear," Giles assured her. "The ingenious way you solved
our
problem about examining the texts in the paintings was masterly."
The youngster beamed at him with visible pleasure, and Buffy patted her
encouragingly on the shoulder.
"Just one thing, Giles. Where did you get all those firecrackers we used
that night?" Willow asked. "How come you just happened to have your jacket
pockets full of them?"
Giles took off his glasses and started his ritual of cleaning them.
"Hm. Well I'd confiscated them from a group of eleventh graders at
lunchtime
the day before, and thought they just might come in handy."
"You were right on the button there," Buffy said. "But what about the
smoke
bomb and the flash grenade?"
"Oh, I got those from a rival gang of eleventh graders. Did you never hear
of the Arms Race?"
THE END.
-------
Author's Note 1: I was going to write the story of Buffy's incarceration
in
the psychiatric ward as an even earlier Dawnverse story, with the title
'It's Always Darkest (Before Dawn)...', with a sequel where Dawn finds out
what her world is really like. Instead, I was too lazy, but I didn't want
to
drop the idea altogether, so I cheated and came up with the idea of having
Buffy tell the other Slayerettes about it as part of the explanation of
how
she came to be in Sunnydale.
-------
|
