A Little Knowledge 

Crickets chirped awake in the palm grove’s undergrowth as dusk fell over the Pool House. Giles and Fred played a desultory game of chess at a poolside picnic bench, watched by Spike and Xander who sat on the adjacent bench. It had taken a good amount of shushing and hugging – mainly by Xander – but now reassured that Tresten hadn’t see her, Dawn stood by Giles’ shoulder clasping her book to her chest and watching the gates.

 

“Why isn’t he here yet? It’s been two hours,” she said.

 

“More like thirty five minutes,” Fred said.

 

“Are you sure your watch’s working? It was thirty five minutes an hour ago,” Dawn looked like she might start fretting again. “How many minutes by your watch, Giles?”

 

He glanced at his watch, said, “Thirty six,” folded his arms on the table and reverted his focus to the chessboard. “Jude will turn up, Dawn, just try to be patient.”

 

“I can’t be patient! I’m turning into a freakshow or hadn’t you noticed? Every time we think we’ve got things figured, something happens to show us that we’ve got nothing figured and I’m fed up with never knowing what’s really going on,” Dawn’s voice, rising in pitch, warned that she would not be fobbed off with platitudes.

 

The hell with being patient, she wanted answers and so did Spike. Seeing Groza’s intentions for Xander painted on the Seventh Ranking wall had made it all too clear that Groza was bragging; he wouldn’t brag so openly unless he was sure of winning and he couldn’t be sure of winning unless he had a trump card. Spike badly wanted to know the nature of Groza’s trump card. Since he had no bright ideas, he went for the practical.

 

“How about you read to us? We want answers, we should be looking for them in the definitive guide to playing The Pass.”

 

Dawn rifled through the book, reluctance in her movements. “Which page?”

 

“Ninety two,” Spike said.

 

“Why not one hundred and two or eighty two?” Giles asked.

 

“Ninety two’s a clue page, ain’t it?” Spike said. “I dog-eared the pages partly written in English ‘cause we figured they were clues. Turns out we were right. Makes sense for Nibblet to go over the clue-pages now that she’s got Demony reading abilities.”

 

Giles took the book from Dawn and turned the pages, flicking back and forth between a set of dog-eared pages. “It’s an option between the doors and Theodore of Urran. I’d opt for Theodore, personally,” he said, handing back the book. “Read pages sixty eight through seventy, Dawn.”

 

“That’s typical of you, that is; contradicting me just to wind me up,” Spike said and unasked, moved Fred’s pawn to dispatch of one of Giles’ pawns that had strayed into enemy territory.

 

Giles retaliated, knocking Fred’s pawn off the board with his knight and simultaneously threatening her rook and her king.

 

“Thanks Spike,” Fred frowned, sacrificing her rook to save her king.

 

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged, unrepentant.

 

Making another move, Giles said, “Jude partially translated the clue-pages then went on to engineer our meeting with Indi, who elaborated on the meaning behind the two doors. We now have a wealth of knowledge on the exits, and precious little on Theodore. Don’t you wonder at Indi and Jude’s conspicuous silence on the rest of Theodore’s story?”

 

It was alien to Spike, this feeling of esteem for Giles, alien and disturbing. He’d written Giles off long ago as a naysayer, an arrogant waste of space. That he was beginning to think of the Watcher as a valuable and wiley advisor niggled Spike and he couldn’t bring himself to back down graciously. “We’ll do it your way just this once, Watcher,” he said, grumpily.

 

Using Giles’ shoulder as a book rest, Dawn began reading out Theodore’s tale in the disorderly blend of languages that was characteristic of Trailian speech. The minutes dragged by. Dawn completed the reading and started on the interpretation. A master vampire from the human dimension, Theodore of Urran had earned kudos in Tresten’s Trail as a Sixth Ranking warrior-lord, she said, repeating information that they all already knew. Spike’s brain was going numb with the dullness of it all. His feet were restless, the shrill cricket calls preyed on his nerves…and his ears perked up at Dawn’s second mention of ‘friend.’

 

“Repeat the friend part again, Nibblet. I’m lagging behind.”

 

“Tresten passed a decree in 1516,” Dawn recapped. “I’m not sure I’ve got the wording right, but it goes something like: from this day forward, Tresten calls Theodore friend and extends his friendship to all vampires who are inherent with Theodore’s colour. A Friend shall regard as supreme his native law in matters pertaining to all Earned who bear the Friend’s seal upon them. Such Earned, and those who would associate with them, must defer to the Friend’s native law and will have no recourse to Tresten’s powers of arbitration.” Dawn turned the page, “Apparently,” she said, “eight humans had Theodore’s seal upon them.” 

 

Xander groaned. “Will someone interpret the interpretation?”

 

Giles shined his specs with a corner of his tunic, peered through the lenses and shined them again. “Theodore’s colour is his status as master vampire, therefore, Tresten calls all master vampires Friend. An Earned with a master vampire’s seal upon him is a claimed. I imagine the Friend’s native law refers to the Règle de Sang, wouldn’t you say, Spike?”

 

He didn’t know what the Watcher was blathering on about, but he’d never admit it in a month of Sundays. “Has to be,” he said.

 

“So what is it, this Règle de Sang?” Dawn asked Spike.

 

Luckily for him, Giles stepped in, explaining that the Règle was, “an ancient rule created by vampires and imposed on other beings, ostensibly to promote honor among demons. In reality, the rule’s primary beneficiaries were vampires, its function being to safeguard their claimed against that historical period’s lawlessness. Considered passé in modern vampire circles, the rule has waned in popularity and is resorted to only by the most conservative of vampire orders.”

 

Giles checkmated Fred and set the board out for a new game. “You must be overjoyed Spike, learning that Tresten’s 1516 Decree places the rule higher than his own laws where the claimed are concerned.”

 

It didn’t take genius. The Règle had sprung up at round about the same period as the claim and Spike was annoyed with Angelus for failing to educate him on yet another vampire rite. Thanks to the poof, he was an expert at skinning sheep but knew fuck-all about the things that mattered. To make things worse, that little swine Jude had been holding out on him, laughing at him as he pranced around ignorant. It pissed him off no end. So when Jude finally showed up in the Pool House with the battery, Spike bypassed civility in preference to glowering at the Runner.

 

“Please take a seat Jude,” Giles slid along the bench to make room.

 

Jude placed the battery on the ground, straightened up and kept standing; deadpan eyes on the Demony book in Dawn’s arms.

 

“Cat got your tongue?” Spike asked.

 

“No Mi Amo, but Ruby will soon have Dawn’s tongue,” Jude’s face contorted into expression, tic in his eyelid and the warts flattening as he grimaced, his facial mask ugly with supplanting its customary submissiveness. “You had only to study the pictures and had ample time to do so before tonight. Yet this was a task too intricate for Master Spike.”

 

“Forget the cat, I’ll cut out your tongue myself,” Spike rose to his feet only to have Xander slide a detaining hand around the back of his knee. “Wait there,” he said to Jude and bent to whisper in Xander’s ear. “Go higher or lower, luv. That’s a ticklish spot you’re teasing.”

 

“Enjoy his teasing while you can for Master Groza will…”

 

“You think I don’t know what I stand to lose?” Spike shouted Jude down. “There’s not a day goes by I don’t count my possible losses so spare me the chipper reminders and cut to it. Why are you here?”

 

Jude’s warts oozed fluid, became a freckling of crystalline green gobbets standing out on his face. “You do not know loss,” soft words clanging with emotion, tawny eyes showing Spike a loss above his reckoning.

 

He sat down with a bump, windswept by the tide of Jude’s emotions. “You’re him,” Spike guessed. “You’re the bloke that wails. Everyday two hours before dawn, you bawl inside the walls.”

 

Jude wiped his face on his sleeve, neither confirming nor denying Spike’s accusation. “Tresten has set his sorcerers to work. They are chanting reveal spells the length and breadth of the Seventh Ranking and will unveil you should you return there.”

 

“It’s senseless going back up there. We’ve more hope of finding a needle in a haystack than of finding a homage game in the drawings on those walls.” Spike decided.

 

“Er, aren’t you forgetting something?” Dawn asked. “I need clues from the pictures after Ruby gives me the cryptic Spoken Wish task.”

 

“You heard the man, sorcerers the length and breadth. We’ll have to use brain power to unmask the cryptic,” he said.

 

“Unless we use a diversion to get the warlocks off the walls.”

 

“Be serious Xander,” said Giles.

 

Jude took Xander seriously, advising that Court provided, “an optimal opportunity for the mounting of a diversion,” and that, “Groza must be your focal point. He has great influence over Tresten and the courtiers. Agitate Groza and you will cause a flurry.”

 

“Make an iceberg feel – now why didn’t I think of that?” Spike snarked.

 

“It is not difficult with Groza, offend his dignity.” Jude said.

 

Xander pounced on it. “I’ve got it. This one’s mine,” and he outlined his diversion plan. His enthusiasm carried Dawn and Fred along, they added their tuppence worth and the plan snowballed into an ambitious hoax - if over-dependant on Indi’s conjuring tricks and Fred’s techno-wizardry.

 

Spike loved it.

 

Giles objected to it. “It’ll never work. Apart from that, I simply refuse to revisit Indi’s courtyard.”

 

“Indigo,” Dawn corrected, going on to say, “it’s not spicy enough. Groza’s dignity won’t be offended by it. We’ve got to hot this plan up.” She came up with a few tips for hotness and checked with Spike and Xander. “You guys can do that, right? I mean, you’re not embarrassed or anything?”

 

“No problem,” Xander said, red about the ears.

 

“Not like I haven’t embellished the truth before,” Spike fumbled for a cigarette.

 

“Yeah, how hard can embellishing be?” Xander asked. “Indigo’s going to be doing most of the work, she’s the one that has to make the embellishment appear believable.”

 

Giles tried once again to be the voice of reason. “Indigo practices questionable hypnotics and I for one, am reticent to submit my thoughts for her conjuring.”

 

“Come on Rupert, where’s your sense of fun?”

 

“It’s quaking in my boots.”

 

“Stiff drink should perk it up.” Spike lit his cigarette, “that’s settled then. Can you deliver the gear by sundown tomorrow?”

 

“If I take leave of you now. The Pirates are collecting today’s last orders at this very moment,” Jude stood up, but hesitated before leaving. “Indigo will expect recompense, Mi Amo.”

 

“Never mind Indigo, what’s your price?”

 

“Justice for all Earned, Mi Amo. Indigo and I seek justice for the down-trodden,” with that, Jude made his exit.

 

“Justice for all?” Spike gave a disparaging snort. “He’s taking me for a mug, is Jude. Since when did demons give a rat’s arse about the down-trodden?”

 

“Do you sense a soul in him?” Giles asked.

 

“I sense bull, is what I sense.” Spike furiously puffed on his cigarette.

 

Dawn, Fred and Xander sat in glum silence. Giles played chess against himself, moving Fred’s neglected pieces as well as his own. “Is there a mention of Jude in the book Dawn?” He asked.

 

“Not on any of the dog-eared pages,” she said.

 

“Turn to the first page, scan it for Jude or Indigo and do the same for every page until you find a reference to either of them.”

 

“There’s like ten billion pages! I don’t wanna be reading all night.”

 

“Then I suggest you scan the ten billion pages quickly.” Giles moved the black bishop, devouring the white queen.