Sandra Pascoe - Who Needs to Dream? 07

Title: Who Needs to Dream? (7/13)
Author: Sandra Pascoe
Disclaimer: Giles doesn't belong to me - I'm only borrowing him. Can I keep him, please?

< >indicates thoughts

Giles threw down his pen with a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

"Well, even with your assistance, for which I am grateful, this translation is tricky."

"I can hardly help that. I was hoping to clear this work quickly then I could concentrate on trying to find that demon."

Giles smiled slightly, glancing up as the door was pushed open and Henry peered in.

"Sorry," frowned Henry, "I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"Oh, yes - I was on the phone," replied Giles, trying not to grin at the amusement that flashed though his mind.

"Ahhhh, I see," replied Henry as he pushed the door open further and walked in, carrying two mugs. "Well, as you haven't been out of this room for hours - I thought you'd like a cup of tea."

"Oh, you have no idea how much I need that," replied Giles with a smile. "Thank you, Henry - most thoughtful."

Henry handed Giles a mug and leaned back against the wall, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

"So what's on your mind, Henry?" Asked Giles, raising the mug to his lips.

"Nothing, old man," replied Henry evenly. "Just wanted to be sure you were okay."

Giles raised an eyebrow and Henry sighed.

"Very well. Our lord and master is concerned. He thinks you've been a tad distracted recently."

"He's probably right," shrugged Giles, sipping his tea.

"Well that's entirely understandable under the circumstances," replied Henry. "Losing a friend is never easy. Were you close?"

"Fairly close," replied Giles. "We were at University together."

"I see," Henry paused briefly, waiting to see if Giles would elaborate. When he remained silent, Henry shrugged and continued. "Well I have artefacts to unpack. Can't stand around here chatting all day."

"Thanks for the tea, Henry."

"You're welcome. Don't work too late, Rupert. I know you - you'll be here until midnight to catch up."

"I won't be here that late - important day tomorrow," replied Giles softly.

**********

<You know, Rupert, I was going to have Quentin Travers killed next. I thought that might stymie your budding new relationship with the Council. But they're not important - YOU are. And I rather think I've found another target.> The Hooded Man chuckled as he watched Henry leave Giles' office. <A bumbling fool - but you like him. Like attracts like, perhaps? This time, however, I need to be more obvious. I neglected to allow for your natural stupidity. Really, Rupert, I'm disappointed. Leaving SO much to the Council researchers? You need to look closer to home. Who was it who said the past always comes back and bites you on the ass? Ah well - never mind. There is one thing though: I honestly thought that you and your new-found friend would prove more of a challenge to me. Maybe you are BOTH over-rated, eh, Rupert?>

**********

Quentin entered Bernard's office, carrying a large, empty box. He closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh. <Dear lord, why can't they leave me alone? Stop bombarding me with their false sympathy and calculating eyes. You've been gone for less than two days, Bernard, and some are already canvassing for your job. It's disgusting - watching them try and outdo one another in the sympathy stakes.> He walked across the room and put the box on the desk. With slightly shaking hands, he started filling the box with Bernard's personal effects, pausing as he picked up a framed photograph. Quentin smiled at the proud mother and slightly embarrassed looking son in the picture. <You never did like having your photo taken, did you, Bernard? I used to wonder if you believed the camera would steal your soul.> Quentin carefully placed the photograph in the box and sat down. <What am I going to do without you, Bernard? Who will talk sense into me when I go flying into a rage? Who will pick up the pieces? Who will watch my back? Who will be my conscience? I valued your advice - I may have ignored a lot of it but I DID value it.> Quentin sat back and smiled slightly. <Remember the Cruciamentum? You said it was mistake - an outmoded system. I disagreed - I still do. It had been effective for Centuries - there was no reason to change it. I thought it was sour grapes on your part - I thought you were trying to protect Rupert. That was the first time I ever saw you lose your temper. My God, you let me have it with both barrels. I think most people expected me to fire you but I admired you for it. You had the courage of your convictions and you fought for what you believed in.> He sighed. <And where does that leave us now? Whom can I trust? Rupert? No, he has other concerns. I don't think the good of the Council is - or ever will be - uppermost in his thoughts. There will be no shortage of applicants though. There are roomfuls of people falling over themselves to help solve this - and purely to put themselves one up on those around them - to give themselves a better chance of promotion.> Quentin opened the desk drawers and smiled at the neatly organised contents. <A place for everything and everything in its place. I envied you that. Envied your ordered mind - your efficiency. You were the perfect right-hand man.> He closed the drawers and glanced into the half-full box. <Not much to show for a life, is there? No medals, no citations, nothing to show the impact you had on those around you. The outside world may not know - but we do, Bernard - and we'll remember.> He picked up the box and walked to the door, opening it and taking one final look around the office. <I'll miss you, my friend.>

"Mr Travers, sir?" Charles Grant positively quivered with excitement. Not even the glare and string of muttered curses thrown at him by Quentin could dampen his enthusiasm. "We've found something."

Quentin opened his mouth, closed it again and then sighed. "Precisely WHAT have you found, Charles?"

"The answer - the connection," smiled Charles, pulling papers out of his briefcase.

"Not here," muttered Quentin, moving along the corridor and opening his office door. He stepped back, allowing Charles to shuffle past him. "Well, I hope this is worth it."

"Oh it is," Charles sat down, waiting patiently as Quentin put down the box he was carrying before handing him the papers. "Don't worry, I'll summarise!"

Quentin dumped the papers on the desk and sat down. "Carry on."

"We searched through the sealed records and may I say they are most fascinating! To think that an active Watcher was responsible for those murders."

"Get to the point, Charles."

"Oh, yes, well." Charles paused briefly to gather his thoughts and then continued: "As you are no doubt aware, the Watcher in question was interrogated by the Council and his diaries used as evidence. Going through the diaries, we found references to a demon but the problem is that one of the diaries - the one that specifically details the murders - is missing."

"Missing?" Quentin glowered and Charles held up a hand.

"It doesn't matter, you see we found the interrogation transcripts and not only is there a detailed drawing of the demon in question," Charles leaned forward, scrabbling through the papers he'd given Quentin and holding one up, "but there's also a name."

Quentin narrowed his eyes as Charles paused for effect before adding dramatically: "Sceleratus."

"That's the same demon," muttered Quentin, taking the paper from Charles and gazing at it.

Charles nodded. "Recorded sightings go back to the 16th Century and that's where we discovered the, uh, common denominator. In 1546, a Watcher called William Giles disappeared without a trace - leaving behind a wife, Anne and a son, Edward. Months later, the first sighting of Sceleratus occurred. He almost killed a Slayer and he was heard to say 'forgive me, Anne, my love,' before disappearing."

"That's a bit tenuous," remarked Quentin with a frown. "I suppose you're going to tell me that this William Giles is the ancestor of Rupert Giles?"

"Yes he is. And the connection may well be tenuous but it's the only one we 've managed to find."

"Hmmm," Quentin dropped the drawing onto the desk. "What do we know about William Giles?"

"Not a lot," shrugged Charles. "His diaries are rather on the sparse side. They state facts not theories or thoughts. The Council were obviously concerned about him though - there's a note on his file - it seems there was doubt about which side William Giles was actually on."

"Rupert might be able to discover more," murmured Quentin. He frowned and then glanced up. "Thank you, Charles - good work. Keep looking."

"There is one other thing."

"Yes?"

"During the interrogation, reference is made to a spell that either summons or controls the demon. I would assume the missing diary details this because we can't find any more information about it."

"And therefore whoever has the diary is the one behind all this - thank you, Charles."

Quentin waited until Charles left the office and then he picked up the phone. He dialled quickly, tapping his fingers on the desk as he listened to the seemingly endless ringing tone. <Come on, Rupert - come on, come on - pick up the phone. Bugger.> Quentin slammed the receiver down. <Where are you? Surely you're not still at the Museum?> Quentin flicked through his diary, locating the number and dialling again. <Damn it, Rupert, why can't you get a mobile phone like everyone else?> He frowned as an automated response cut in.

"Thank you for calling the Museum of Ancient Antiquities. Our office hours are."

Quentin cursed and hung up, sitting back and fingering the papers in front of him. He glanced at his watch. <Maybe we should speak in person anyway.> Quentin picked up the papers, stuffing them into his briefcase. <This isn't really the kind of thing we can discuss over the phone - and Bath isn't THAT far away.>