Date: Wed, 8 Feb 1995 15:00:08 +0000 Reply-To: MB Overton Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: MB Overton Subject: "Box of Tricks" Part 5 Actually I've written Part 6 as well, but I'm going to hold back on it just to be sneaky . HIGHLANDER "Box of Tricks" by Mark Overton Part 5 "Greensight?" Duncan repeated blankly. Delaney nodded and placed her wine glass back on the table, pushing her emptied plate slightly away so she could balance her elbows on the table. "They were an English company originally, but they spread out and became an international outfit about six years ago. Specialising in the weird and delightful. Runes, tarot - you name it, Greensight do it." "So why was Carling keeping files on them?" Delaney hesitated. "Promise this goes no further?" "Promise," Duncan said immediately. Delaney looked at him suspiciously, but apparently accepted his word as good enough. "Alright. Well, Greensight have been up to suspicious things in England. There was a fire at Windsor Castle a couple of years back and they were tied up with that. All sorts of disasters, riots, things like that." "In England, but not in America?" "Right. Best guess is that Carling was keeping files on their English activities so as to help us over here if Greensight started doing the same thing in the US." Delaney leaned back against her chair. "That's about it." Duncan was frowning. "Very odd. What's she doing involved with people like that?" Delaney shrugged. "That's what we have to find out. So how about you share a bit of information with me now?" "Another drink?" Richie suggested. Marsden made an affirmative gesture. "Please." He winced a little as, holding out his glass for a refill, he put too much stress on his injured hip. Richie pretended not to notice as he took the glass for him and sloshed more wine into it. "Go on," he prompted. "You were talking about 1967." Marsden nodded and slumped back on the sofa of Richie's flat, which was still looking half-wrecked after Kern's devastation of it half a week ago. At least the alcohol was intact, Richie mused, as he dropped into a chair opposite his fellow immortal. "We'd almost got her," he resumed, "up on the top floors of the tower. She was unprepared, but she still led us a hell of a dance. This time Duncan and I were ready for her tricks and traps, and we'd avoided nearly all of them, 'cept he'd broken a rib." Richie presumed, apparently accurately, that 'he' meant Duncan. "We got onto the thirteenth floor. This was at night...." +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BRISTOL, ENGLAND. 1967 Starlight glittered on those windows which had glass in them; those which didn't allowed in a cool whispery breeze that stirred the building materials strewn across the floor. The tower was only half- constructed; above the thirteenth floor was the open sky, though several more levels were planned. The moon was half-full, shafting a column of light onto their feet as Duncan and Malcolm emerged from the makeshift staircase. "Nowhere left to run," Malcolm called out harshly, his voice ragged from exertion. Both immortals' clothes were torn, and blood was dribbling over Duncan's white shirt where a big gash had been torn in his stomach. "Who said I was running?" As poised as ever, the Magician stood near a window and smiled at them. She was wearing a short white voile dress and her hair was piled above her head, accentuating her faintly Slavic features. "This time it ends," Duncan said hoarsely, starting forwards. The Magician held up a hand. "Would you kill an unarmed woman?" she pleaded, in a mockery of fright. "You don't count," Duncan said through gritted teeth. "Wait." Malcolm pushed him aside. "This time she's mine. You had first go, now I've got dibs." Duncan shrugged. "Fair enough." As he stood aside, Malcolm hefted his sword and advanced towards the moonlight-outlined form of the Magician. Her silhouette concealed the disturbingly *hungry* smile on her face as Malcolm edged cautiously closer. "I suppose I should fight," she sighed, reaching behind a stanchion and extracting a short but wickedly pointed sword, holding it ready. Malcolm lunged forward and she parried hastily, stepping back. Encouraged, Malcolm thrust again, and again the Magician parried his lunge, though this time it was a closer thing. Their sword blades glinted in the moonlight as they attacked and defended, Malcolm's superior skill slowly coming into its own. Suddenly the combat stopped, the Magician's sword spinning through one of the open gaps in the tower wall, Malcolm turning a smooth three hundred and sixty degrees to end up with the point of his sword at her throat. Chin raised so as to keep as far from the tip as possible, the Magician glared across at the other immortal. "You or me?" Malcolm asked hoarsely, breathing rapidly and sweating hard. "You," Duncan said without hesitating. "It was your fight." Malcolm nodded grimly. He looked back to the Magician. "There can be only one," he said, drawing the sword back. With a huge whoosh, smoke billowed up and the Magician disappeared instantly, Malcolm's form hazing and dissolving moments later. Duncan raised his katana and hesitated, trying to see through the cloud. "Malcolm?" he called. The Magician emerged from the cloud and smiled at him. "Dazed and completely missing me, I think. Your turn." Misunderstanding, Duncan stepped forward. The Magician raised a hand and tear gas sprayed from the small canister in her hand, straight into Duncan's eyes. He choked and staggered backwards, mercifully hitting one of the windows rather than the open spaces in the walls. His vision blurred and threatened to disappear altogether as the gas attacked his optic nerves. "So easy," the Magician said scornfully. "All it takes is for you to relax your guard for one moment." Behind her, a dark shape appeared out of the smoke cloud with sword held up ready. Malcolm's foot scuffed briefly against a piece of paper on the floor and it was this which brought the Magician turning round just in time to duck as his sword whistled edgily through the air. Only barely on his feet, with a grim expression on his face, Malcolm advanced towards her. The Magician backed away, until she was standing near one of the open spaces in the walls and could go no further. "No - more - tricks," Malcolm grunted. "Die, this time." The Magician regarded him thoughtfully. "I've got plenty more tricks, Malcolm Marsden, I assure you." She raised her hand and moved to adjust a tiny dial on her bracelet. Duncan could barely concentrate on listening, so bad were the pains from his eyes, but he could undrstand that. Desperately, he reached out his hand, grabbed her ankle, and jerked hard. The Magician overbalanced and fell backwards, through the open emptiness, disappearing into the night. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ "She fell into the River Severn," Marsden concluded, "got swept away by the current. We thought she'd end up at the bottom of the ocean, permanently neutralised. I owned a salvage firm, got them to dredge the river until it left the city, just in case. We turned up nothing." "That wouldn't kill her," Richie observed. Marsden drained his glass. "You think I don't know that? That was the tenth time I caught up with her. My tenth failure. I've been trying since 1830, dammit." He held out his glass automatically, and Richie just as automatically refilled it. "Dawson said you'd been trying for ages," Richie nodded. "Who?" Richie hesitated. "Friend of Mac and mine." "Oh." Marsden accepted Richie's casual explanation and began to go to work on his sixth glass of wine. "Well, yes. I have. Did this Dawson tell you the details?" "No. He didn't know much about her." "Nobody ever does," the English immortal nodded morosely. "Well, I was about seventy years old then. Running a factory chain in the north of the country, you know. Start of the Industrial Revolution, everything building up bit by bit. I thought it was a good way to make some money." "Was it?" "Oh, yes. No problems there. Then the Magician turned up. She used explosives to destroy every single factory, booby-trapped the mills, and used some kind of gas to kill my wife and adopted kids." Marsden's expression had hardened as he was telling this story. "Then she came for me, at midnight one night. I nearly let her kill me, it would have been kinder." "But you didn't?" "I thought I owed it to all of her future victims not to suffer the same as I had," Marsden shrugged. "So I made it my mission in life to kill her. I still barely escaped her, that first night. If Duncan hadn't come visiting and rescued me, I'd have died." "So that was how you two met?" "No, we were friends before then. Met at a party in 1806, where Duncan was talking of getting married to Jane Austen." Richie nodded absently. Marsden scrutinised him. "Haven't you heard of Jane Austen?" Richie frowned. "Uhh..Malcolm, I wasn't around then, remember?" "Jane Austen, the author!" Marsden exclaimed exasperatedly. "Oh, *that* Jane Austen," Richie said blankly. Marsden sighed. "I give up. Let's just drink." "Good plan." Richie picked up his glass and was just about to take a swallow when the doorbell rang. He crossed to it and peered through the peephole. His expression changed to shock and he spun round. "Malcolm!" "What?" The other immortal blinked blearily. "Is she here?" "No. Look, I need you to answer the door. There's a woman outside who thinks I'm dead. Just say that you bought this flat after I died, okay?" Marsden got to his feet and crossed over to the door. "Alright. What's this girl's name?" "Alyson Carling. But you don't know that." Marsden nodded and opened the door. "Can I help you?" Richie heard him say to Alyson. "This is where Richie Ryan lived, isn't it?" Alyson asked, doubtfully, obviously put off somewhat by Marsden's appearance. "Uh..he's dead. I live here now. I just bought the place." Alyson sounded disappointed. "Oh. I just wanted to see if there was someone who knew him or anything like that." "Nope." Richie breathed a sigh of relief. Half the wall of the flat exploded inwards, showering the area in dust and rubble. On the other side of the door, Alyson screamed piercingly; Marsden let out an unsteady oath and turned to where a cloud of smoke was billowing inwards. Richie's eyes widened and he stepped forward as an immaculate form appeared. "Hello there, Richie," the Magician smiled. "Richie?" To his dismay, Alyson's head appeared round the door and her eyes went as wide as saucers as she saw him apparently returned from the dead. "Oh jeez," Richie muttered. =========================================================================