Childe of my Heart ~ Chapter Seven
by Shanyah
 

Changes Afoot

The room wasn’t much. Single bed against one wall, three shelves carved in another wall, two candles, a pitcher and two mugs on a shelf, fireplace in the corner and a basket of wood on the hearth.

The thing to focus on, Xander thought, was that it wasn’t an overcrowded, filthy cave.

The mattress, pair of sheets and three blankets on the bed were still in their packaging. The whitewashed walls were spotless, the window looking out on the ledge gleamed and the tiled floor shone.

Dawn sat on the bed and tested it with a little bounce, “It’s great,” she beamed at Spike.

A smile shot to Spike’s lips. “You and Fred sleep there. Me and Harris’ll take the floor,” he set his holdall and sword on the shelf.

Xander frowned at the floor space on which he stood. It was narrower than a single bed. “Is there a room with a bigger floor space?” He asked the guard who’d led them down to Third Ranking from the Amphitheatre.

She didn’t answer him, but handed Spike a couple of bulging cotton bags. “Your new tunics and insignia bands are in there, Mi Amo. Meals are served three times a day in the dinning hall. An Unbonded will leave candles, kindling and a basket of firewood outside your door every morning.” The guard placed a brass key next to Spike’s sword on the shelf and bowed her head at him. “Would Amo like to be shown the rest of Third Ranking?”

“I’m not doing anything else,” Spike shrugged.

The guard cast a furtive glance at their baggage. “I am certain the bath staff will not object to arranging for your clothing to be laundered on this one occasion,” she respectfully suggested.

In other words, get de-flead, Xander thought.

He, Spike, Dawn and Fred were waxy with grime, fermented in body odor. Very conscious of his poor personal hygiene, he picked up his vermin infested backpack and followed the guard out onto the ledge. 

*    *    *    *

The Third Ranking ledge was circular and was bordered by an iron railing same as on First Ranking. Xander could see all the way down to Main Floor from the ledge. The doors on Third Ranking were steel and an alcove was carved out in the wall between each door. Third Rankers sat on benches in the alcoves, watching as the guard gave the Sunnydale gang a tour of the place.

According to the guard, Tresten’s Trail was, “a rabbit’s warren of imported influences from the many Travelers who walk its labyrinths.”

“From the mountainous regions of China and India,” she said, “Amo Tresten has borrowed the art of stone masonry and hewing to expand the caverns nature kindly provided this cave-system. The Pueblo multi-storied settlements along the Rio Grande lent Amo Tresten the idea of building in a step formation, with the higher rankings being set back from the lower ones.”

With mosaic tiled floors, colorful murals on the walls, port-holes built into the roof over the ledge to let air in, and intact marble columns to hold the roof up, Third Ranking was luxury compared to First. Xander didn’t think it was worth the asking price of six humans, though. 

“Via aqueducts and clay pipes, Amo Tresten’s engineers harness the hot and cold springs that are scattered throughout the mountain,” the guard was saying. “The network of pipes conduct water to and through the Baths, and carry sewage away from it to the First Ranking and Main Floor.”

It figures. First Ranking is the toilet bowl of The Trail, Xander silently said.

The Guard went to the railings and pointed to the ledge across the space. “That is the right wing of Third Ranking and the double doors you see are the dinning hall doors. You need only walk along the ledge to arrive at them. We stand on the left wing and these double doors,” she gestured at a set of mahogany doors identical to the dinning hall doors, “are the gateway to leisure.”

“Ever consider becoming a tour guide?” Xander asked her.

She directed her comments to Spike, “This way, Mi Amo.”

First thing Xander saw when she opened the doors were floor to ceiling cubbyholes built into a wall; towels and other things to do with showering were stuffed in the cubbyholes. Next thing he saw were archways in the other two walls of the reception area. Two young men in black uniform, gray wristbands and black backless mules stood in the archways.

“This is Master Spike. He and his Earned are new arrivals from the First Ranking,” the guard said.

“Welcome, Master Spike,” the young men chorused, stepped at the same pace to the wall with the cubbyholes.

Same ash blond hair, light-brown eyes and slim bodies, the two could’ve been related. The one on the right reached for a bunch of folded towels on a high-up shelf, his tunic lifting away from the waistband of his pants. Xander eyed the band of smooth skin this little maneuver revealed, dwelt on the dip of back and the swell of ass.

“You want help with that?” He offered.

The young man turned, met his eyes, blushed. What a cutie.

“The attendants are here to help you, Monsieur,” the guard brought the towels down, “you are not here to help them.” She handed Xander, Dawn and Fred fluffy white towels and Spike an indigo one.

Spike’s look at Xander was hard-eyed. Xander returned it with a smirk and turned his back, accepting a bathrobe, a loofah and a pair of slippers with rubber thongs and wooden soles from the cute attendant.

“Would Amo like patchouli or ylang ylang bathing oil?” The other attendant held up two cut-glass bottles for Spike’s inspection.

“Neither,” Spike grunted.

“We also have medicated oils blended with tea-tree. Our new customers find this blend effective in combating parasitic irritants,” the attendant said.

“Didn’t you all pack your own soap?” Spike asked, obviously not getting the hint.

There was shuffling in the reception hall, everyone waiting for someone else to candidly point out to Master Spike that his clothes and persons needed fumigating.

“My shampoo doesn’t kill cooties, Spike. And your holdall’s jumping up and down with the flea jamboree going on in there,” Xander to the rescue.

Spike laughed softly, shook his head. “How’s the nit oil work?”

“Condition with the oil after shampooing and leave in for twenty minutes. One application is sufficient,” the attendant placed four bottles in a drawstring bag and gave it to Xander.

“We’re out of toothpaste, Amo,” Fred said.

With a glance, Spike fielded this to the guard.

“I will see if Jude knows of surplus stock from the higher Rankings. If not, you will have to use a local alternative for Third Rankers are not permitted to import.” The guard turned for the double doors, “I leave you in the capable hands of Ramon.”

“Can’t even get a tube of toothpaste without songing and dancing,” Spike sighed, taking his toilet bag out of his duffel and handing the duffel to Ramon the not-as-cute attendant.

“Your coat please, Mi Amo,” Ramon said.

More sighing and Spike surrendered the duster.

“I beg your pardon, Master Spike, but I will need your uniform as well.”

“You what?” Spike glared.

“If you would step into the changing room, Mi Amo,” Ramon swept his arm at one of the archways. “The bathrobe is thick and offers abundant coverage. Please place your boots and clothing on the bench when you have changed.”

Spike muttered as he disappeared into the archway, could be heard muttering in the changing room and came out dressed in an indigo bathrobe and those slippers that were clogs-flip-flops.

Xander started to smirk and Ramon turned to him. “You will disrobe next, Monsieur.”

*    *    *    *

When they had all disrobed and were draped in bathrobes, Ramon supplied them with new tunics, pants and underwear from the cubbyholes and passed the group on to the too-cute attendant.

“Come with me please,” Too-Cute led them under the second archway and into the place of leisure. It was a long, cold hallway with smaller archways opening off it and another set of double doors at the other end.

“What’s after those doors?”

“The exercise garden, Mi Amo. It is an open courtyard where Earners tend to walk their Earned,” Too-Cute said. “The entire Baths are modeled along those found in Great Caesar’s land and many Third Rankers spend the day enjoying the amenities provided here.”

Xander could see why Third Rankers spent all day in the Baths. There was more space here than in two First Ranking caves put together, not to mention the steam room through one archway, the sauna room through another and…

“Pool!” Dawn pointed. “There’s a pool, Spike…I mean Mi Amo. Can I swim later?”

“This isn’t your local Y, Nibblet,” Spike stomped on her joy. “I don’t want you swimming with them in there.”

Xander went in to check out the big oval pool, stopping at pool-side to ask a girl in an indigo bikini, “is the water warm?”

She back flipped and smiled at him from the bottom of the pool, her dark hair waving in the water.

“I can do that too. You’re looking at the star of Sunnydale High’s swim team.”

She swam up to the surface and treaded water, “Mine’s Pearl. What’s yours?”

“Harris!” Spike interrupted, “get over here.”

“So long Pearl,” Xander walked backwards towards the irate voice.

“Goodbye Harris,” she giggled.

The next archway they went into had more cubby-holes and a bamboo sliding door. Scented steam warmed Xander as soon as Too-Cute slid the door open. White marble tiled floor and walls, rows of sinks and mirrors, leafy potted plants in one corner and a chain of showerheads along one wall. Men and women showered side-by-side in unisex harmony under the showerheads.

Xander glanced away from the communal shower cubicle, but it was no use because a long, marble bench ran along the middle of the bathroom and on it were naked people drying off in unisex harmony.

“God,” Dawn mumbled, gaze glued to a torch above a mirror.

“Could we at least have less light in here, Mi Amo?” Fred asked the floor.

Spike climbed onto the bench, clapped sharply and raised his voice, “Cover up, get out and come back later.”

“What’s the problem?” A guy shaving at the sink asked. He had a muscular ass, Xander noticed, two hard handfuls.

“Want some privacy,” Spike said. “Now, am I going to have to throw you out?”

“Who is this clown,” the guy snorted.

“Been in The Trail six weeks, made the jump from First to Third Ranking in a fifteen minute fight. I’m Spike, the one who’s going to carve up your face like I carved the Dragon.”

The guy rinsed the lather off his cheeks, turned from the sink and wrapped a towel around his waist. “Yeah, I heard about that,” he smoothed his dark hair down with both hands, pecs and biceps tightening. “And I wouldn’t want my pretty face carved up. Just make it a quick private moment, huh?”

The guy picked up his stuff and walked out. Shuffling, muttering, a few growls and the other Third Rankers filed out.

“The water closets are behind there,” Too-Cute smiled, gesturing to a shoulder-high bamboo screen along the third wall. “Will that be all, Mi Amo?”

“Yeah, for now.” Spike jumped down, grinned at Dawn and Fred when the attendant had left. “Take your time, girls. I’ll be on other side of the door.”

*    *    *    *

The other side of the door was a chilly place, with Spike growling at anyone who came close and Xander ignoring the overtures Spike made at small talk.

“Could be worse, I suppose.”

Silence.

“Least Third Ranking’s not so crowded.”

Silence.

“And it’s sanitary. Not so many germs on Third Ranking.”

"You hit me," Xander said, incredulous that Spike thought they could bury that little detail.

"You disobeyed, I showed you the error of your ways," Spike did that one-shouldered shrug of his.

“The belonging to you is pretend," Xander steamed.

"Not out there it's not,” Spike jerked a thumb at the busy hallway. “You defy me in front of those wankers and they'll want to join the queue. Out there Harris you belong to me and you'll remember it or you get slapped."

Xander’s mind seethed with unanswered questions and he blurted, “you killed them, those missing people, and you let someone else pick up your dinner tab. Should’ve been you that got mob-justiced.”

Spike’s cheekbones stood out in sharp angles as his jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbed.

Xander crossed his arms, "How’d you get past the chip?"

Spike crammed his hands into his bathrobe pockets and glared at the floor.

“I asked about the chip,” Xander pressed, anger making a fist in his chest.

“Thing’s fussy about dimensional hopping, s‘not working. Got my fangs back and you should be glad for it too.”

Glad that Spike was free to bite at will? Xander was many things, but glad wasn’t one of them. Changes were coming, were here and he didn't think they would be good times for him. He smiled vaguely at Dawn and Fred as they emerged from the bathroom, fresh-faced and smelling like roses.

“Good?” He asked Dawn.

“Way.” She went up to Spike and air kissed his cheek, “Thank you so, so much Spike. I owe you big time, no, huge time.”

“Anything for you, Nibblet,” Spike sort of ducked his head in a nod and went into the bathroom.

And there, right there was the problem. Spike would do anything for Dawn. Kill, maim, torture, anything for his L’il Bit. Xander hoped Dawn never got to realize how much influence she had over Spike. Not that he didn’t trust her, just that he didn’t trust she was seeing things clearly enough to ask Spike for the right things.

“Hurry it up Harris,” Spike called from the bathroom, “no shower for you if you’re not in here by the time I’m through.”

“Who died and made you dad?” Xander yelled at the bamboo sliding door.

*    *     *     *

The pairing up happened overnight, literally. They went from being one team with four singles to one team with two pairs. Not what he would’ve chosen, but that’s how it panned out. He and Harris were a pair. They showered together, kept guard at the bathroom door together, padded the floor with a blanket, pulled the duster to their shoulders and slept together. Or rather, lay in hostile silence together. You could crack a tooth on the tension between them, would get frost-bite if you stuck your hand in the air around Harris.

Cold in private and rebellious in public, Xander’s sassy comebacks morphed into spite-tipped barbs intended to mock and mock they did. Harris walked where he wanted – which was usually in front of him – sat where he chose – which was rarely below him – and responded to advice as he pleased – which was often by turning his back and walking away.

The only time he’d seen the boy smile was on their first morning on Third Ranking. And what had brought a grin to Harris’ face? The tubes of Colgate and their clean-smelling bags delivered to the door by Jude. He’d got burnt earning Third Ranking, still had sore ribs from Dragon’s death-hug, and not so much as a ‘ta’ from the boy.

He didn’t get, ‘thank you Spike, for saving me from the plague in those grotty caves,’ from Harris. No, he got plenty, ‘do you feel the tiniest grain of guilt over those people you iced on First Ranking?’

Done what he had to do. Hadn’t enjoyed it, like. Not one bit. Wouldn’t be volunteering for soul replacement therapy now would he, if he didn’t know right from wrong. He’d enjoy draining Harris, though. When the boy got going, raised his chin and stuck his lower lip out in stubbornness, at times like that, he wanted to sink his fangs in and suck Xander dry.

Now was one of those times.

They were in Third Ranking's mess hall. Oval shaped with a high vaulted ceiling, the room held trestle tables and the usual lit torches. Xander had grabbed Dawn's hand, pushed past him and joined the line of Third Rankers waiting to be served at the hatch in the wall.

Spike had his mouth open and ready to swear, when he caught the gaze of a couple of on-looking Earners. Contempt is a universal language and he didn't need to understand their comments to appreciate the meaning in the eyes that swept over him. He held back an angry retort. What could he say, when Xander was making small talk with an Earner ahead of him in the queue?

He’d told the boy about that, over and over. “Makes me look wet and you like you’re up for it,” he’d told him.

Yet there Harris was, flashing a huge grin and joking like he was with his carpenter mates in the site canteen. Did it to humiliate him, succeeded every time.

"Come on, Fred," he snapped, escorting her to the line.

"He's finding it difficult to adjust," she said apologetically.

"Harris doesn’t want to adjust."

"I'll talk to him."

"Again?"

"Yes, again…" she hesitated, fidgeted with her tray. “You could talk to him, without the yelling. Just talk.”

Spike accepted a bowl of elk blood from a server. “Yeah,” he said, “because I live for being told to get bent.”

He stood by Dawn’s shoulder when he got to the table Xander had chosen and gestured at her untouched plate of boiled rice and two veg. "You waited."

"Uh-hu, can I eat now?"

"No," he picked up Bit’s plate and turned it upside down, ground his heel into the rice.

Dawn turned hurt eyes onto him.

“Blame Harris,” he said.

Rice cascaded from the spoon poised midway between Xander’s plate and his mouth. "How?" Xander’s rising voice attracted curious glances, “How is your boundless stupidity my fault?” He pushed his plate in front of Dawn.

Spike upended that plate as well.

Xander was on his feet, glowering at him above Nibblet’s head. “Why are you doing this?”

“Sit down.”

“You can-”

“We’re with you, Mi Amo,” Fred rushed in, placing her elbows on either side of her plate. “We know how it works here, the whole feudal way of the Trail and how it’s based on mutually dependant hierarchical relationships. We need each other, right Xander?”

“Right Xander?” Dawn echoed when it seemed Harris hadn’t heard Fred. “Sit down? Please Xander.”

“Yeah,” Harris said, not sitting down.

"Mutually dependant. I like that. From now on, meal times are mutually dependant," he smirked. "Whether they eat or not depends on you."

Xander traced a finger over the rough wood of the trestle top, his tone reminiscent of a four-letter word, “What you mean is that whether I eat or not depends on you.”

Not a push-over, this one. Fierce warning radiated from his eyes, backed up by the strength in his shrug when he grasped the boy’s shoulder and tried to stop him strutting off.

“Harris…”

Xander walked on, purposefully negotiating the crowded tables. Thing of it was Harris drew the eye, tall, broad and roguish with the wayward hair and untrimmed beard. Every eye in the place was on him, a few pairs clouded with panting.

“Harris,” furious hiss.

Harris thrust the door open and slammed it behind him.

He stayed standing. Gulped down his meal in one go, a vein in his temple thumping like anger had breathed new life into his still heart.

CHILDE OF MY HEART ~ CHAPTER EIGHT

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