Title: The Summoning (2/5)
Author: Sandra Pascoe
Disclaimer: Giles doesn't belong to me -I'm only borrowing him. Can I keep him...please?

Nicholas Goldsmith, Curator of the Museum, sighed with relief as the two detectives left his office. <How do they manage to make you feel guilty, even when you've done nothing wrong? Part of their training, I guess,> he thought as he stood and gathered together some papers. The shrill ringing of the telephone cut into his thoughts and he cursed under his breath.

"I told that damned woman I wanted no calls..." he picked up the phone. "Mrs Jones, did I not tell you that..."

"I'm sorry, sir," the young, agitated voice interrupted, "but Mr Travers was VERY insistent."

Nicholas groaned inwardly. <Great,> he thought, <that's all I need.>

"Very well, Mrs Jones," Nicholas kept his voice even. "Put him through."

There was a brief pause, followed by an audible click and Nicholas took a deep breath.

"Good morning, Mr Travers," he said, continuing quickly, "I really do not have the time to talk at the moment."

"I'm sure you don't," replied Travers, sounding almost amused. "The discovery of two bodies in the Museum must be keeping you remarkably busy."

"How did you...?" Nicholas paused and sighed. "On second thoughts, I don't want to know."

"Well, that's not important," continued Travers. "Now, I want you to listen carefully. I want you to co-operate fully with Rupert should he decide to look into these murders himself."

"But why?"

"Just do as he asks. Give him whatever he wants." There was a pause from the other end of the phone and then a softly muttered, "this could be just what he needs."

"Fine," replied Nicholas, "whatever you want. Now, I really DO have to go."

Nicholas felt a surge of relief as Travers muttered a "goodbye" and hung up. He put the phone down and frowned. <Why on Earth would Rupert want to investigate murders? I must have another look at his file later,> he thought, <but first things first: staff meeting.>

**********

"Was that entirely necessary?" The slightly irritated tone of voice caused Quentin Travers to glance up sharply at the old, emaciated looking gentleman sitting opposite him.

"Yes it was," he replied evenly. "You know what Alistair Butler was searching for - there's always the possibility he found it."

"Yes, yes," said the older man, waving a hand. "I do not dispute that it would be best for us all if the artefact were to be firmly under the Council's auspices. However, I DO dispute your choice of using Rupert Giles for this."

"Why? He's the perfect man for the job."

"That's rubbish, Quentin, and you know it. There are people here far more qualified than he is. People who would be loyal - whom we could trust. Rupert Giles is a loose cannon - he always has been."

"People loyal to YOU, Gerald," remarked Travers. "People YOU could trust."

"I see," Gerald Montague smiled. "So you decided to use Rupert merely to stop me? Or did you decide to fight back and use him to boost your waning popularity here?"

"Popularity means nothing," Travers shrugged. "The important thing is who sits in this chair and it will be a cold day in hell before you find yourself here, Gerald."

**********

Detective Sergeant Roberts skimmed quickly through the personnel files of the Museum employees. <Nothing,> he thought, <why is there never anything out of the ordinary with these people?> He sighed, put down one file and picked up another.

"Rupert Giles," he read and opened the folder. "Let's see how boring you are."

He studied the file for a few moments before smiling slightly and sitting back.

"Well, well," he muttered. He glanced around, beckoning to a young man who was precariously balancing a tray of coffee in one hand and a plate of biscuits in the other. The young man sighed, managing to put the tray and plate down without incident before wandering over to Roberts.

"Yes, Guv?"

"Here," Roberts handed him the file. "Get hold of the Sunnydale Police Department in California - I want everything they've got on this man."

**********

"You know," remarked Henry Rochester as he and Giles made their way towards their respective offices, "that man is obscenely efficient."

"Isn't that why the Board appointed him?" Giles grinned and Henry chuckled.

"My dear chap, the Board appointed him because he is a quite remarkable bean counter. He really has no interest in the work we do here and he wouldn't know a Pilum from a Gladius. However, I will concede that despite the incredible increase in paperwork, this place is finally paying its way."

"He's certainly a very good negotiator," replied Giles with a wry smile and Henry clapped a hand on Giles' shoulder.

"Got you for a song, did he?" He grinned as Giles nodded. "Yes, he did the same with poor Alistair."

"Did you know him well?" Giles glanced at Henry, who shrugged.

"I don't think anyone really knew Alistair - not completely. Obsessive type - too consumed with his search for that flibbertigibbet to pay any attention to the real world."

"Flibbertigibbet?"

"Some mythological thing that is supposed to promise immortality. It's never been proven to exist but Alistair's grandfather and father both wasted their lives searching for any trace of it and, consequently, Alistair did the same."

"So, he was employed here?"

"Well," Henry frowned, "yes and no. I believe the deal was that we paid him a certain amount and subsequently we had first choice on his finds. You see, he would concentrate on archaeology for a while - until he had enough to sell to raise funds for his obsession. As part of the deal, he used the museum as his base of operations so to speak."

"And the young lady?"

"Oh smitten, my dear chap, positively smitten. Not that Alistair noticed, of course. The man could be incredibly obtuse at times."

Giles stopped as he reached his office door.

"Well, I'll see you later, Henry."

"Have fun, Rupert," smiled Henry as he walked off down the corridor. Giles watched his retreating back for a moment before calling after him.

"Henry? What was the name of that thing Alistair Butler was searching for?"

Henry turned, a frown on his face.

"Oh lord," he replied, "buggered if I know. Never paid much attention to his ramblings. I might be able to find a reference to it though. I'll have a look later."

**********

Travers waited until the door closed behind Gerald Montague before sitting back and throwing his pen onto the desk. <That man makes my flesh crawl,> he thought with a slight shudder, <and if he ever gets control here then it will mean the destruction of us all.> A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," Travers sat up and waited expectantly. The door opened and a thickset, middle aged man with greying hair entered. Travers smiled.

"Hello Bernard."

"Well done, Quentin," chuckled Bernard Hodgkinson, "I've just seen Gerald storming down the corridor with a face like thunder. What did you say to him?"

"Oh," shrugged Travers, "we just had a discussion about Rupert Giles."

Bernard grinned and sat down. "That would explain it then."

Travers nodded, gazing down at the desk and Bernard frowned.

"What's wrong? Don't say you're having doubts?"

"Yes," replied Travers, "I am." He looked up at Bernard. "What if we've translated it wrong? What if we're simply reading too much into it?"

"We're not," said Bernard. "In the circumstances, it's the only interpretation we COULD make."

Bernard took a piece of paper out of his pocket and spread it out on the desk.

"Evil will come from within," he read, "and should it reach the highest level the old ways will prevail and the tower will fall. The phoenix will rise from the ashes and the battle between old and new will be joined. Only one shall survive the merging."

"Yes, thank you for that, Bernard," remarked Travers with a slight smile. "I DO know the prophecy by heart."

"Well then let's go over it again," said Bernard. "The first section is obvious: 'Evil will come from within and should it reach the highest level the old ways will prevail and the tower will fall'. The evil within is Gerald - and we all know he wants to return to the old ways - that of seeing the Slayer as a weapon, a tool. 'The tower will fall' is a direct reference to the destruction of the Council that will no doubt follow."

Travers sighed and nodded. "You know ... that is VERY annoying."

"What is?" Frowned Bernard.

"That all these so-called prophets write in such cryptic terms. Why can't they say what they mean? It would make life so much easier."

"But not half as much fun," grinned Bernard and Travers smiled slightly.

"Alright, carry on."

"Right," continued Bernard, "the second section. 'The phoenix will rise from the ashes and the battle between old and new will be joined.' The phoenix is Rupert Giles - rising from the ashes of his old life. He's always been a firm advocate of the 'new' way - that of working with the Slayer, of supporting her, helping her - so it makes sense that he and Gerald will 'face off' so to speak." Bernard glanced up at Travers. "The final part: 'only one shall survive the merging.' That must be a reference to Vulcan's Bane."

"Yes and the problem is that we're not sure whether that should read 'merging' - it could also be a number of other possibilities. Couple that with the fact that we don't know what Vulcan's Bane actually does and we could be sending Rupert to his death or worse."

"Can you think of another way?"

"No, I can't," replied Travers irritably. "We've set the wheels in motion and now there's nothing we can do. I take it you've put a stop to the Police investigation and given Rupert a bit of a push in the right direction?"

"Oh yes," smiled Bernard, "that's all under control."

**********

<So - the age of machinery - where the boundary between good and evil has become blurred and uncertain. Slowly, this time I must go slowly. I have learnt from my mistakes in the past and now I must search for The One. There are a lot of minds here, all engrossed in their work and therefore open to me. A lot of grey exists; there is no - wait - there - there it is. Such a mind - this is what I have been searching for but wait - there is another. One is close - one is far off but they will meet - and from that encounter The One will be revealed.>

**********

Giles sighed and sat back, running a hand through his hair. He glanced at his watch, his eyes widening with surprise. <Is it that time, already?> Giles took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"Tired, Rupert?" Henry's voice was tinged with concern and Giles smiled slightly.

"I forgot the time," he explained and Henry nodded.

"Happens to the best of us. By the way, thought I'd tell you before I left - I remembered the name of that object of Alistair's."

"Oh?"

"The Romans called it 'Vulcan's Bane' and if I remember right, Alistair mentioned something about it being in bits."

"Well," shrugged Giles, "I must admit it doesn't ring a bell."

"I didn't think it would," replied Henry. "Ah well - excitement over for one day. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes. Goodnight Henry."

"Goodnight Rupert."

Giles chewed his pen thoughtfully as Henry left his office. <Vulcan's Bane,> he thought, <Vulcan's Bane. Time for me to go home and hit the books.>

**********

DS Roberts put down the phone and cursed loudly. <It had seemed such a nice juicy murder - something to get his teeth into - something that could have meant promotion. Bloody Doctors.>

"Guv?" Andrew Brenton hovered at the door, nervously clutching a file. "I've spoken to the police in Sunnydale and they say..."

"Forget it," interrupted Roberts irritably. "It seems there are 'no suspicious circumstances' and these two just happened to die of brain aneurysms - at the same time."

"But..."

"No buts. We've been ordered to close the investigation." Roberts looked around the large office the Curator had given them. "So pack up the gear and get back to the Station."

Roberts stood up, put on his jacket and walked out through the Museum. He glanced with distaste at the various display cases and shuddered. <Bloody Museums - full of dead things and dead people. I HATE bloody Museums.>

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