Date: Mon, 20 Feb 1995 09:10:29 -0700 Reply-To: Tara O'Shea Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Tara O'Shea Subject: We'll Always Have Paris (3/4) We'll Always Have Paris By Tara O'Shea Part 3 "Someone shot at me today." "*What*?" Darius stood up so quickly papers drifted from his desk to the floor, unnoticed. "Where? When?" "I was talking to Richie a few blocks from the barge. It was a sniper, about an hour ago, I didn't know where else to go but here." "And the boy?" "He's fine, he's outside. I'm certain that this is about me, not him." "Does MacLeod know?" "No." She shook her head. "This is supposed to be my vacation, you know." "Don't get grumpy." Darius cracked a smile. "Oh, if it's him, I'll get more than just grumpy, I'll tell you that now." "You're sure it has something to do with Victor?" "This whole thing has his stink about it. The treachery, the fear." "I had hoped that crippled as he was, one of us might haveD" "You never thought any such thing, you hate any talk of killing." "Were he a mortal man, I would have condemned him to the law then, with no qualms." "But we are not for mortal courts, and we have none of our own save the sword." * * * Morienval 1223 "Abbess Claire, allow me to introduce you to my niece, Madeleine. She would like to become a novice of your order." Darius pushed Niamh forward and she plastered a false smile on her face, bowing her head before the seemingly two hundred year old nun. "It's my dream, my lady Abbess." "We will be happy to accommodate you, my dear girl." She patted her hand, squinting in her general direction. "I'm sure your coffers will be happy to accommodate my dowry as well." She smiled sweetly and Darius squeezed her elbow painfully. "Pardon?" "She's very happy to be here." "Ah." She nodded her head, smiling blankly. "She's deaf," Niamh sang sweetly as they made their way from the office to the courtyard. "And she thinks I'm your daughter." "Let her." "I don't want to be here." "Do you want to lose your head?" "No." Niamh chewed on her bottom lip, thoughtful. "But to hide on Holy Ground--" "You are young, Niamh. And I would not see you die so quickly. He would come for you, you know that." "I would play the Game, Darius. But I will not play as a pawn." "It is a different game that he plays. I have asked after him, in Paris. He took the head of Charlotte of Brittany last month." "The grand dame herself?" Niamh had met Charlotte through Himiko when they first came to France. She was six hundred if she was a day, and it was Himiko who referred to her as the Grand Dame. She had been everything from a courtesan to a pirate, and was one of the strongest women Niamh had ever known. "It was worse than that, he hunted her down and raped her before he killed her. He boasted of it in Paris, and I fear he plans to make you his next." "Darius..." She looked at him with eyes full of fear. "I want you to stay here." He touched her shoulder. "Promise me." "Himiko will return within the month. You must get word to her and Ramirez when you return to Paris, tell her where I am and warn her." "I will, poppet." "I can't stay here forever." "I know, child. But going to ground now it the best thing, until one of our kind stops this animal." * * * "He's doing it again. I can't feel him near, but the sensation of being watched, the terror. It is so familiar." Niamh shuddered, and Darius put a hand on her shoulder. "He still frightens you." "Damn straight." She shook her head, embarrassed as her words echoed in the stone chamber. "Sorry." "Niamh?" Richie appeared in the doorway, still looking shaken up. "I don't think that guy followed us, shouldn't we call Mac and Tessa and tell them we're okay?" "Of course, you're right. I don't know what I was thinking." "Yeah, well, it's been a long day." Richie dialled. "It's 10 am." Niamh grumbled. "I hope things don't continue this way." * * * Darius stared at the chessboard still set up. He and MacLeod were in the middle of a game, as usual. He picked up one of the pawns set to one side, captured. That was what Niamh had been like; a pawn put out of play at his request, but the game had still caught up to her. * * * Morienval 1223 "Sister Coralie here would turn me to a brewster, *Uncle*." Niamh kissed Darius's cheek respectfully, holding in a giggle. His visits to the convent were rare, and she cherished them. "Would she? And what progress has she made?" Darius smiled. In the white robes of a novice, with only her flushed and smiling face peeking out from her wimple, she seemed like a child. "I believe my mead a wee bit on the strong side." "Here, let me taste it." He took the mug from her hand and savoured the strong flavour of the young mead. It reminded him of his youth. "I do not think it is so terrible. Here, Sister, let me have your opinion." Sister Coralie, a meek woman in her early thirties with the bright eyes of a bird, put up her hands in protest. "Father, I could not." "Do you not tend the bees? Come, see the fruits of their labours, I am sure God would not mind." Within an hour, Coralie was using language Niamh hadn't heard since the ship across the channel, and she was feeling pretty punchy herself. "Oh, I think the abbess is going to be very angry with me." She giggled, hands over her mouth. "What have I loosed on this unsuspecting abbey?" Darius laughed as she leaned against his shoulder, still laughing. "Aye, it's all your fault." They settled on a bench in the garden, while Coralie tried to tend the bees, her white shrouded form weaving a bit in the strong afternoon sunlight. "Uncle." she added, belatedly, and broke into renewed giggles. She sighed, calming herself, though her eyes still danced. "Have you heard from Himiko?" "Yes, she comes. I got word of her from Constantinople, she should be back soon." "And Victor?" "I put out word. He was last seen in the south, near Nimes. He took the head of a young woman from the West of Africa. She had not yet taken her first Quickening, yet he took hers, regardless." "But he has not yet left France?" "No." Darius watched her closely, as she toyed with the edge of her wimple as a child might the end of her plait. "What if I met Himiko in the East?" She did not meet his eyes as she lightly stated the question, already knowing what his answer would be. "He has not found you yet, I have hidden you well, but I don't know how much longer you will stay well hid. If you leave now, he could catch you." "I am getting tired of hiding." Niamh scowled, looking for all the world like a petulant child, even though the matter was as far from a child's game as a sword was from a sewing needle. "Do you not like it here?" "Why? Would you turn me into a nun?" "Just think of it, you could stay here as long as you wished, you'd be safe from the game, you could turn your mind to higher learning--" "I can't read." Niamh laughed. "You could learn. I could teach you." "You would have me put up my sword forever?" "Think on it." * * * He placed the pawn back on the board, still lost in memories. He had tried so hard, with so many. First Greyson, then Niamh, Xavier, and MacLeod. Slowly he would lose them all to the Game. It was the nature of their kind, and it was like raging against the wind and sky to try and change it. Yet he always tried. * * * "*What*?" "Duncan, no one got hurt, it's no big deal." Richie put up his hands, as if to ward the angry Scot off. Niamh leaned against the back of the couch, hand over her mouth, looking distracted. "No big deal, huh? A guy shooting at you in broad daylight, and it's no big deal." "Oh, and like it hasn't happened to you." "*Richie*." Niamh put a hand on his arm. "It's about me, not Richie. I don't know who it is, but when I find out, I'll take care of it." "You don't know that." He scowled. "Yes, I do." Niamh tried to reassure him. "I think it's one of us." "We don't use guns, it's not our way." "It was for Zachary," Tessa reminded him. "He thought nothing of using a gun to slow you down, so he could kill you." "Tess--" "Duncan," Niamh broke in, "I don't think I'll be coming by tomorrow. Or the next day, not until I can end this once and for all." "You know who it is, don't you." It was a statement, not a question. Yet it deserved an answer all the same. "I have enough of an idea. One of us who needs a gun." * * * Morienval 1224 Niamh silently swore in four languages as she lay awake in the novices quarters. Her pallet was lumpy, she went from hot to cold, and there was no way she was going to be getting any sleep that night. Another fortnight in the abbey and she was going to go mad. She made her way to the kitchens, wrapped in her heavy woollen cloak against the chill. Vigilae has ended and none of the other nuns would be out and about again till Matins, so she had till dawn to practice. No one had ever caught her at her night activities except the cook, and while she thought it bizarre, had no desire to spread tales. Niamh usually sparred in the root cellar, but that had been locked for the past few weeks, after some petty thieves had broken in. So she decided to work out her tensions in the pantry. She drew the short sword that she had taken from her first Quickening and began to dance. It wasn't dancing exactly, but while she went through the movements that had become as familiar to her as breathing, she heard a walking song in her head, beating out the time. As the blade made patterns in the light from the wall sconces, she sang softly under her breath. She lost the sense of where she was, even when she was, and just thought of the steps, the rhythm of her breathing. She became empty and it brought her joy. That was when she felt him. She heard the scrape of bootheel on stone and Victor separated from the shadows, clapping. The sound echoed off the stone walls, but Niamh could barely hear it over the laboured sound of her own breathing. "Why are you here?" "Ah, my pretty, who wouldn't want to be where you are?" "If you want my head why don't you just take it? Why the games?" "But I like the games." He reached out to caress her cheek and she jumped back as if his touch burned. "This is holy ground!" "I don't intend to kill you," His smile was feral in the darkness. "Yet." * * * "What happened?" Duncan paced the width of the barge, touching Tessa's shoulder as he passed her and she squeezed his fingers. "I was on holy ground. I couldn't fight him." "What did you do?" Richie looked at her with new eyes. "Severed his sword arm at the shoulder and threw it on the fire." Niamh's eyes were clear, unblinking, but she was not seeing them. She was remembering the fear and the blood of a time long passed. "He could be ambidextrous," Duncan reminded her, and she crossed her arms over her breast to stop her shivering. "He could be. But I doubt it. He's survived this long solely using his wits. And he hates me. I can almost feel it, a palatable thing following me. Holy ground stops us, but it wouldn't stop a mortal with a gun. If it comes down to it, it wouldn't stop a mortal with a sword, either. I didn't come here to involve you in this, MacLeod. And I think it's time I left." "Niamh--" Tessa began, but stopped, unsure of what she meant to say. "As long as I am here, I'm placing all of you in danger, and I can't do that." "There is something you can do." Duncan looked her straight in the eye. "What?" "Become the hunter." * * * "I lost her," Vassily didn't bother with pleasantries, he didn't have the time. "Where?" "By the barge. They ran into a crowd, and the police--" "Where is she now?" "I don't know." "Well you'd best find her, hadn't you? The boy will warn MacLeod and I will have two of them to deal with." "If you want me to take him, the price goes up." "For now, concentrate on the girl. When she has been taken care of, perhaps then I will turn to the matter of MacLeod. If she is not at the barge, or her hotel, you will be sure to find her at a church on the Seine, you know the one, we spoke of it before. She will be in the company of a priest, a Father Darius. She will be an easy target." "But in broad daylight--" "I do not care. I care only that you bring her to me." There was an audible click and then silence and Vassily had to deal with the fact that he had been dismissed. His employer treated him no better than a servant, a fool and an underling, and it was beginning to grate on his nerves. Refolding the cellular, he slipped it back into his pocket and motioned the girl over to top up his coffee while he planned his next move. * * * "Come here," Tessa grabbed Niamh's hand, pulling her towards the kitchen. "Where are we going?" Niamh blinked, looking back at MacLeod, who only shrugged. "To have a little woman to woman talk." Tessa called over her shoulder. She refilled their coffee cups and pulled up two stools. "I can see why MacLeod loves you, you're a take charge kinda gal." Niamh couldn't help but smile. "This man, Victor, you really fear him." "Oh yes." "Can I ask you something?" Tessa's eyes shone, and Niamh couldn't decide if it was with pity or empathy. She shook her head, looking away. "You don't have to. It was almost eight hundred years ago. I can't exactly go into therapy now, can I?" "Maybe you should. Eight hundred years, it could have been yesterday as far as you are concerned." "You're smart too." "For a mortal." "For anyone. Look at me, I'm twice MacLeod's age and I obviously don't know a thing. Mind you, I started off in a mud and bark hut back when people thought if you bathed too often, your skin would fall off. Okay, I've made some strides. But sometimes... sometimes I'm still a fifteen year old girl who is afraid of her own shadow and can't understand why all this has happened to her." "Well, give it another hundred years." Tessa held up her mug for a toast, and Niamh mirrored her. "Here's to seeing if I age gracefully." They sipped their coffee in silence, then Niamh cast a glance at the kitchen door. "What do you think the guys are doing?" "I know them, they are in the living room, pacing, wondering what we're talking about." "Well, it would really burst their bubble if they knew most women talk about sex when they're alone." "Speaking of sex..." Tessa's eyes lit up, a devilish sparkle to her smile and Niamh giggled. * * * "What do you think they're talking about in there?" Richie gave up trying to eavesdrop. Except for the occasional laugh, he couldn't make out any particulars. "Are you kidding? They're probably talking about sex." "No way! Women don't do that." "Wanna bet?" Richie continued to look sceptical and Duncan shook his head, chuckling. The door opened and they both looked up expectantly as Niamh came through, Tessa behind her. "You going to be okay?" Duncan asked Niamh as she pulled her trenchcoat on, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I think so. I don't know where to start." "I think you do." Duncan searched her face, a hand on hers. "I know, I have to tell him." "He just wants you safe." "He still won't be happy." She slipped out the door and Duncan stuck his hands deep in his pockets. "Somebody want to tell me what all that was about?" Richie looked bewildered. "Darius." "I know she's his friend--" "I think it's a little more than that." "But he's a priest!" Richie was shocked. "Yeah, well, he's still a man." Duncan shrugged. "And she's known him for a very, very long time." -- johanna@hydra.unm.edu * "Excuse me, my associate is applying * Lady Johanna Constantine * dairy foods to his body." * or just plain Tara * - Ray, Due South 13-10-94 * * * Ask me about DSOUTH-L@trearn.bitnet, the Due South Discussion List * * =========================================================================