Exile - Rewritten

Part 3: Sunnydale, Year 1999
Chapter 11: Full Moon
Chapter 12: Werewolves, Keats and a Slayer
Chapter 13: Dark Knight

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Part 3: Sunnydale, Year 1999

Chapter 11: Full Moon

"Move aside, you!" a rather shrill voice sounded from the rear of the crowd that was still watching, and counting, the sword fight. It was incidentally ten points to Zaknafein and six to Quetzal.

"Snyder," Buffy and gang rolled their eyes.

The crowd parted, albeit reluctantly, to show a slightly vertically challenged, balding man with ferret-like eyes, in a suit of a horrible shade of brown. He marched over to Zaknafein and Quetzal, who stopped their fight curiously.

"Who are you? How dare you perform here! I'll have the police on you, just wait!" the small man said, shrilly.

Zaknafein found that his swords had gone up into an attacking posture. Quickly, he stuffed them back in their sheaths, though Khazid'hea, his sentient sword, glowed more brightly.

The man in charge of the group, which they had found was called Mr. Cairn, walked forward. "It's a free land," he said, in his amazing voice.

"This land happens to belong to Sunnydale High School!" Snyder said, in an outraged tone of voice.

"And who may you be?" Mr. Cairn said in an amiable voice.

"I am the principal of the school." Snyder said in a self-important voice, "And I'll have you charged for trespassing!"

"Your name ain't written on the land," Frank, the massive man dressed as an executioner, walked up to beside Mr. Cairn.

"It belongs to Sunnydale High School!" Snyder insisted.

"Doesn't a school belong to its students?" Mr. Cairn said, reasonably.

"Well, yes, but..." Snyder began.

"Let's take a vote then," Frank interrupted. "Who here votes for us to stay?"

The crowd, expectedly, raised their hands.

"Man. Look at Snyder's face – I've never seen him in that particular shade of red before...not even when you..." Xander said.

"Hush," Cordelia said.

"One of them called you here, didn't they?" Snyder changed tack. He whirled around, and pointed straight at Buffy. "It's probably you, you troublemaker! Own up!"

Mr. Cairn put a firm hand on Snyder's shoulder. "To my knowledge, many students asked for us to come." He said, "What is your name, girl?" he asked, in a kinder voice.

"Buffy," Buffy said.

"Nope. I don't recall the name." Mr. Cairn said, "Come to think of it, I don't recall who called us, but it was a group of students from this school."

IS THERE A PROBLEM HERE? Death walked over, holding a full hat.

Snyder glanced at the scythe, then at the tall, black robed figure. Something about that figure's voice greatly unnerved him. "I'll have the police on you!" he said, then quickly walked away.

***

The group had packed up after the last performance, and was just ready to leave. Zaknafein looked at the spider jewel. It was half full.

"Are you coming?" Mr. Cairn asked, in a hopeful voice.

"No. We've got something to do here." Quetzal glanced at the student party, which was either asking the performers about their costume or beginning to disperse.

"Ah then. Goodbye, and good luck." Mr. Cairn said, then went up the bus, which drove away.

NOW WHAT? Death said. It was getting darker.

"We stay here until the gem refills," Zaknafein said.

"What are you here for?" the blonde girl, Buffy, had appeared in front of them, with four friends.

Zaknafein looked at her, then at her friends. One of the boys pulled a trigger inside a set of his new senses. What was a werewolf doing in this place?

"Business," Quetzal said, in a tone that implied that it certainly wasn't the business of people at least three decades younger than her.

The werewolf boy looked at Zaknafein, fixedly.

"What is it, Oz?" Willow asked.

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" Oz asked Zaknafein.

"Yes," Zak admitted.

Buffy blinked, then stared at them. "It's going to be full moon tonight. I don't know what business you're about, but if you're a werewolf, you're coming with us."

Full moon? Zaknafein felt a certain thrill up his spine, and then resisted the motion to change.

"It's going to start soon," Oz said, and shivered.

***

"Buffy, who are these?" a tall, thin, bespectacled man opened the door to the library of the school. It was certainly large, though not as large as those that Zaknafein had seen in Menzoberranzan were.

Buffy looked at them.

Zaknafein sighed. "Oh, all right. My name is Zaknafein Do'Urden, this is Quetzal Do'Urden, and that is Death." He waited.

The thin man raised his eyebrows. "Death?" he said.

Behind them, Xander closed the doors.

I AM NOT THE DEATH OF THIS WORLD. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. Death said.

"Succinct," Quetzal muttered.

The thin man looked at her, then at the robe. "And you are drow?" he said, cautiously.

"Yes." Quetzal said. "What does it mean to you?"

"Drow are, in... in the b-book, evil... er... worshippers of L-Lloth." The man said.

"We're not that type of drow anymore," Quetzal said, "If we were, we'd have killed you all by now."

The thin man appeared to consider this while the other teenagers watched. "True," he admitted, "For the sake of c-curiosity, do you really live in underground caverns and practice sacrifice?"

"Yes," Quetzal said.

"And the s-snake whips?" the man continued.

Quetzal flipped her robe to the side and snapped the whip up. The three heads hissed at the man, then writhed into knots. "Not really my idea, and it's a long story," she said quickly.

"Giles, he's a werewolf," Buffy said, getting impatient. She pointed at Zaknafein.

"It's f-full moon tonight... er... oh dear. I don't think we should put him in the same c-cage as Oz... er," Giles stammered.

"Cage?" Zak said, in an ominous voice.

"Er, yes. Or you will go on a rampage. Happens to me every full moon." Oz said.

"I think I'm a different type of werewolf," Zak said, defensively.

Death, who had been looking at some of the books, spoke up. IF THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME, YOU CERTAINLY WILL. TAKE IT FROM ME.

"Unless you'll like a silver collar," Buffy said, sweetly.

Zaknafein shuddered. The word silver was already making him nauseous.

"I don't think we should go in the same cage," Oz said. Zak nodded his agreement.

"I t-think I have a spare," Giles walked away and began to rummage around.

"First time?" Oz asked, sympathetically.

Zaknafein nodded wearily.

I DON'T KNOW ABOUT THE WEREWOLVES HERE, BUT ON THE DISCWORLD THEY GRADUALLY GAIN CONTROL OF THEIR WOLF PART. Said Death, SINCE YOU WERE BITTEN BY CONSTABLE ANGUA, A BIMORPHIC, YOU'LL BE ABLE TO CHANGE ANYTIME YOU LIKE INTO A FULL WOLF.

"Bimorphic?" Oz asked.

IT IS THE TERM TO DESCRIBLE A WEREWOLF THAT IS HUMAN DURING THE DAY AND WEREWOLF IN MOONLIGHT, Death explained.

"I suppose I am one," Oz said, "But I've been doing this for some time and I still can't control the wolf bit."

"I could bite you," Zak said, helpfully.

Willow shuddered. "I don't think so. What if he's a normal wolf during the day and a great big monster - sorry Oz - at night?"

"True," Zak said.

Giles appeared, dragging two large cages behind him, and assisted by Xander. "Found it. It was to be a spare," he said.

"Now what?" Zaknafein said.

"We get in," Oz sighed.

***

The moon started to climb laboriously over the horizon, full and round in the frame of dark clouds. The first pale beams swam over the dark land.

In the rest of the world, the people began to sleep, except for thieves, a few policemen, etc. In Sunnydale, half the population got up.

The vampires awoke.

***

Zaknafein looked up from where he had been sulking inside the cage. It wasn't even silver, for goodness' sake. The only danger it posed to him was that by biting it, he could possibly get tetanus.

Oz looked to him from where he had been talking to Willow.

The first beams of moonlight, unseen to the others except possibly Death, but certainly felt by Oz and Zaknafein, danced into the Library.

They began to Change. Their hands shortened, growing hair, as did their faces. Their teeth lengthened, and they grew tails.

When it was over, the Oz-wolf threw itself on the bars, snarling in rage.

The Zak-wolf sniffed suspiciously at the chain mail then tried to struggle out of it.

"Oops," Buffy said, mildly.

"They look different," Xander observed.

"What an amazingly accurate and obvious perspective," Buffy drawled.

While the Oz-wolf resembled a giant brown cross between a grizzly bear and a wolf, the Zak-wolf looked like a real wolf, though bigger. The Zak-wolf had a mostly white coat; with a gray ruff the color of an incoming storm. There were suggestions of gray here and there. Its legs were slender and long, and the eyes at least held a flicker of intelligence.

"Father?" Quetzal asked, tentatively.

The Zak-wolf ignored her, then got out of the chain mail with a triumphant bark. It pushed the entire affair to the edge of the cage, then looked up at them.

"He looks like a real wolf, too," Willow said.

"Well of course he does. What did you think he'll look like, a fish?" Cordelia said.

"I think Willow means that Zak looks at us as a real wolf would," Quetzal remarked. Willow nodded gratefully.

"The vampires are out," Buffy said, "Time to work."

She picked up some equipment that featured mostly stakes. Death looked more closely at her.

AH. YOU ARE A VAMPIRE SLAYER? Death asked.

"Yes." Buffy replied, "And Giles is my Watcher. You have problems with that?"

NO, Death said. BUT I THINK I SHOULD GO WITH YOU.

"Why?" Buffy asked.

I SHOULD LIKE TO MEET THE DEATH OF THIS WORLD. Death said. HE SHOULD COME WHEN THE VAMPIRES ARE DESTROYED.

"Just make sure you don't get in the way," Buffy said, then walked out of the library, Death following behind.

"Do you just leave them like that?" Quetzal asked the remaining others.

"No, we usually talk to Oz to try and calm him," Willow said, selecting a book at random from the shelves, then flipping the pages.

"Would you like a poem?" she asked. The Oz-wolf snarled, and the Zak-wolf looked at it in surprise, as if for the first time.

The Zak-wolf twitched its ears forward, mouth opening slightly.

"I think t-the wolf is trying to tell t-the, er, Oz something," Giles said.

The Oz-wolf changed its charge direction to the Zak-wolf, growling, but the Zak-wolf merely shrugged, then made a noise that was half bark and growl.

The Oz-wolf redoubled its efforts to get at the Zak-wolf, all the while snarling horribly.

"I don't think they like each other," Willow said.

***

Chapter 12: Werewolves, Keats and a Slayer

Quetzal looked at the title of the poem while Giles found a few chairs. "La Belle Dame sans Merci?" she said, skeptically, "Is that appropriate?"

"You've read it before?" Willow asked.

"No... but a spell I put on myself before this allows me to understand languages. 'The beautiful lady without mercy' doesn't sound like a very good thing to read to two werewolves." Quetzal said.

"I don't think they understand the words," Willow said defensively, then sat down on a chair. "Besides, I rather like Keats."

Quetzal shrugged, pulling her chair closer to the Zak-wolf, which watched her rather calmly. She just wished it wouldn't keep looking at her neck.

Xander took a seat, then looked at the Oz-wolf. "Don't say anything," Willow said from her chair. Apparently she was used to this.

She cleared her throat. "La Belle Dame sans Merci, by John Keats. Ah, what ails thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?"

"It really isn't t-that appropriate, Willow," Giles said from where he was cataloguing something.

"Maybe they'll start crying and stop snarling. Oops," Xander shut up, when the Oz wolf turned a baleful eye at him and growled.

"Oz doesn't like Xander in this shape," Willow explained, then continued. "The sedge is withered from the lake. And no birds sing."

***

The stake made an accurate nosedive into the chest of the vampire, and it promptly dissolved into dust. "Last one," Buffy said, sounding satisfied, and then looked around.

Death seemed to be having a conversation with nothing near a pile of dust.

YOU ARE THE DEATH OF THIS WORLD? PLEASED TO MEET YOU, Death was saying. He, at least, could see the other Death.

The other Death was a black robed human sitting on a large, gleaming machine of many scythes. It was a combination harvester, the higher technological equipment of the Deaths.

"And I you," the Death said. At least his voice was somber, like the Death of the Discworld. "What are you doing here?"

IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, Death said.

"The girl can see you," the other Death said. Indeed, Buffy had strolled up to Death.

"Whom are you talking to?" she asked.

I AM TALKING TO DEATH. YOU PROBABLY CANNOT SEE HIM, Death said.

Buffy shrugged. "I've got to patrol. Hurry up."

I THINK I WILL STAY HERE FOR A WHILE. I WILL GO BACK TO THE LIBRARY. Death said.

"You can remember the way?" Buffy asked, suspiciously.

I HAVE A GOOD MEMORY. Death said. Buffy shrugged again, and then gave him a Look that said, if you get into trouble I would personally break all your bones, then walked off.

"Buffy is a good slayer." The Death said. "Business here is rolling."

THERE IS CERTAINLY A LOT OF DEAD VAMPIRES. Death said.

"Yes," The Death said, then looked wistfully at the scythe. "Sometimes I miss using the scythe, but the people on this world don't take you seriously if you don't get some high tech equipment," he said. "Do you mind if I borrow your scythe?"

NO, Death said, handing it over.

The other Death clambered down the combination harvester then took the scythe gratefully. "You're the Death of the Discworld, aren't you?" he said, "The one that still rides a horse?"

YES. Death said.

"Is it a skeletal horse?" the other Death asked curiously, as a clean sweep of the scythe freed the soul of a dead human on the scene, a victim to the vampires.

NO. THE BITS KEPT FALLING OFF, AND FLAMING STEEDS SET FIRE TO THE STABLES, SO I TOOK A NORMAL HORSE. Death said, truthfully. It was very irritating to keep stopping to wire bits back on the skeletal steeds.

"Wise move," the other Death said, handing back the scythe.

WHY DOES YOUR MAGIC STILL WORK? I MEAN, BUFFY SAW YOU, Death said.

"Oh yes. Magic does exist in parts of this world, actually. For example, here. I've trained myself to store that magic." The Death said proudly.

THAT IS AN INTERESTING CONCEPT, Death said, COULD YOU TEACH IT TO ME?

"If you have a few hundred years of spare time," the other Death said.

***

"I see a lily on thy brow/ With anguish moist and fever dew / And on thy cheek a fading rose / Fast withereth too."

The Oz-wolf, at least, subsided. Cordelia and Xander had given them a last look and excused themselves to go back to their respective homes. Giles continued his cataloguing, though now almost hidden by books. Quetzal appeared to be asleep, though she woke up now and then to look around her, groan, then sleep again.

The Zak-wolf lay down and carefully put its paws over its head.

***

The vampires crept through the deserted school, their faces ridged and fanged, their clothes tattered. Their feet made no sound on the polished floor as they walked past classrooms, to a very specific place.

***

"I saw pale kings, and princes too / Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cried, 'La belle Dame sans merci / Hath thee in thrall!'"

"I really don't think Zak likes the poem," Quetzal remarked. The white-gray heap was whimpering slightly.

The Oz-wolf was looking thoughtfully at them.

Willow bravely continued in the face of adversity. "I saw their starved lips in the gloam / With horrid warning gaped wide / And I awoke and found me here / On the cold hill side."

***

The vampires started to climb some steps, as soundless as a cat. They split into two groups when the reached the top of the stairs, then walked in opposite directions, to some doors.

At the same time, the leader of each horrid band reached out, and twisted the knobs silently. The doors swung open without any protest.

***

"And that is why I sojourn here / Alone and palely loitering / Though the sedge is withered from the lake / And no birds sing." Willow looked up brightly. "Now wasn't that..." she screamed.

Quetzal jerked up where she had been dozing off. Vampires lined the top balustrade of the library, a floor above them. They came down, but her swords went up.

"No, not like that! Use the stakes! Giles!" Willow screamed.

Quetzal dropped her blades on the ground and grabbed two stakes that were on the table. Close fighting was not her forte.

There was a muffled exclamation somewhere behind the piles of books, and a heavy thud.

Quetzal kicked one vampire smoothly, then stabbed her with a stake. The vampire vanished in a hiss of dust and protest, then she just as smoothly staked the one behind her.

Willow rather clumsily held a stake. "I... I warn you," she said shakily to the vampires closing in on her.

Quetzal noticed the vampires weren't here for them, really. A few of them walked over to the cages with a certain purpose.

"We've got to keep them away from the cages!" she cried at Willow, ducking a heavy blow. Then she realized she was talking to herself.

Willow's unconscious body hit the ground as the other vampires turned to her. "Damn," she said, fervently.

From what she could make out, the vampires at the cages wrenched at the doors. The metal began to squeal in protest. The wolves looked up, and growled warningly.

Quetzal managed to get another stake in, then there was a very loud growl, as the wolves were set free. The Zak-wolf bounded out of the doors, and the Oz-wolf followed, growling horribly.

Quetzal felt a little stab of self-pity that she quickly quenched. Zak hadn't even stayed to help her!

The vampires advanced on her. Then there was a slight commotion at the ranks. The vampires stopped, turning to see another figure throwing most of them into bookshelves, books, the ceiling, etc. The vampires fled, as if their mission was accomplished.

Quetzal was facing a human that could be described as 'dark'. He was wearing a black shirt and black trousers and had black hair, as well as a brooding look. He would be described as 'handsome' by some, though Quetzal could clearly see the fangs.

She raised the stakes, and the vampire backed off a little. "I was trying to help you," he protested.

"How am I supposed to know this isn't some kind of plot?" Quetzal said nastily.

The vampire paused. "Well, you don't. But I would consider not attacking you and killing you right now not a plot." He admitted.

Quetzal looked at the unconscious form of Willow, then back at the vampire. "I really should go after the wolves," she said.

"They won't be returning," the vampire said, "They've finished their task."

"How did you know?" Quetzal challenged.

"I have connections in vampire society," he said.

"Well, Mr. Connections-in-society, if you're going to continue to help me, you're coming with me and not staying here." Quetzal snapped. It had been a long day.

The stupid jewel wasn't even full yet.

"My name is Angel," the vampire said.

***

The Zak-wolf ran through the park, flowing over the grass like a ghost, effortless and without sound, reveling in the moonlight and the feel of the wind blowing over its fur.

The Oz-wolf chased after it, growling and making almost as much noise as a drunken bear.

The park petered into a hard road, and the Zak-wolf merely ran on, without any destination in mind. It was the night of the Wolf, and time to hunt.

Carried on the wind, there was the inviting scent of deer.

***

"Whoever heard of a vampire called Angel?" Quetzal said, as they walked out of the Library after propping up Willow and Giles.

"I haven't," Angel said, "It's a unique name."

Quetzal glared at him. "I think you've got some motive behind helping me."

"True," Angel admitted, "I'm not exactly helping you because of some dormant sense of honor. I'm helping you because you, or one of the werewolves, at least, is a friend of someone I know."

"Buffy?" Quetzal guessed.

"Yes," Angel replied, his voice not showing any emotion.

"Do you know where the wolves are going?" Quetzal asked grudgingly, after they had walked out of the school for a while.

"To the place with the most creatures to hunt," Angel said. "It's Halloween, though the children in Sunnydale don't take up the custom of asking for sweets from door to door."

"I wonder why," Quetzal said sarcastically, "You'll think it's a positively friendly place, what with bloodsucking vampires wandering around – not excusing current company – and werewolves and Lloth knows what other monsters."

"You're really a dark elf?" Angel asked curiously

"Yes!" The snakes hissed inside her robe, reflecting her mood.

"Ah," the vampire said. "I think I know a shortcut to the circus."

***

Death went along with the other Death to what looked like a gypsy encampment. There were the brightly painted caravans and the horses, but to his knowledge, no gypsy brought along deer, caged lions, and a collapsible Ferris wheel.

"One of those deer are going to die," the Death said, pointing at the deer paddock.

THE BIG STAG, Death agreed. You got a feel of such things after a while.

The deer and other creatures stirred, staring at them with a certain horror. A cat mewled, then padded out from under one caravan, jumping lightly onto Death's lap, who was sitting on the combination harvester.

"You like cats?" the other Death asked, as he watched him pat the cat with bony fingers.

YES. THEY DON'T TRY TO DROWN OTHER CATS, OR KILL ANYTHING OTHER THAN WHEN IT'S NEEDED, AND THEN PAINLESSLY, Death said.

As they watched, Quetzal and a vampire turned up at the place. "Well?" Quetzal demanded.

"They will come," the vampire said.

"What I don't understand, is why did they let them out?" Quetzal said.

The vampire shrugged. "The police department and the citizens here are really dense, but if they ever found out about the vampire activity here, they'd either move away, or spend a lot of time with torches, stakes, garlic etc. With us in the middle of it, too. Spike doesn't want that, so he came up with this idea that if we let the wolves around for a while, and they kill for one night, the blame will shift on 'feral' wolves."

THEY CAN'T SEE US? Death asked.

"S'long as you're on the harvester," the other Death said proudly.

***

There was quite a bit of vampire activity today, and they seemed to be in one direction.

Buffy began to feel suspicious after the twentieth or so vampire that had turned into dust, and after finishing the current batch, began to run in the opposite direction.

A howl could be heard, which raised the hairs on her neck.

She began to run faster.

***

The Zak-wolf appeared, bounding past Quetzal and Angel, at the penned deer. Quetzal started towards it.

"I think that the other wolf is more...pressing," Angel said.

The Oz-wolf looked even more like a giant grizzly bear this close up. It roared, and charged.

They sidestepped the lumbering run, but the wolf turned with amazing speed and lunged at Quetzal.

She ducked and slid to the side in one move. "Do you have anything silver?" she shouted, but Angel seemed to have disappeared.

"Damn," she cursed, and snapped the snake whip from her belt. The snakes hissed, and bit into the wolf. Nothing happened – perhaps the stunning poison was too slow to work on such a beast.

Buffy hit the wolf, with a kick, but it merely snarled, backing off, then pounced again. "Don't!" she yelled, as Quetzal began to draw her swords.

The wolf skidded to a stop as it missed them, snarling. Then it let out a damp yelp, and collapsed.

Death stepped off the combination harvester into view. I FAVOUR A SHORT, SHARP SHOCK IN THE RIGHT AREA WITH THE RIGHT STRENGHT MYSELF. He said. HIT IT WITH THE SCYTHE HANDLE.

"Where's Zak?" Quetzal asked.

***

The Zak-wolf ducked under the poles penning in the deer, and the deer scattered before it. It chased merrily after them, snapping at hooves that were always one bound before it.

The old stag, maddened with fear, tensed up and leaped the pen. The Zak-wolf laughed a wolf's laugh, and followed it with a measured run that saved its energy.

The stag bounded into the park, splashing briefly into the pond, while the Zak-wolf darted around it daintily, still following the stag at a respectful distance.

The stag ran out into the street, its great sides heaving, and its tongue hanging out. It was old, and past its prime.

It never saw the grille of the sewer drain before it.

***

They were half-dragging, half carrying the Oz-wolf through the streets back to the library.

Quetzal glanced now and then to her side, where her infrared eyes could make out, sometimes, a darker shadow blotting out the glow of the living trees.

"Do you know someone called Angel?" she asked curiously.

Buffy shook her head. "Why do you ask?"

"It's probably not important," Quetzal replied.

They rounded a corner. The Zak-wolf was sniffing cautiously at the carcass of the old stag, which appeared to have broken its neck in a fall. The Death on the combination harvester waved to Death, and then vanished.

It looked up at them, not backing off, but more importantly, not attacking.

"Father?" Quetzal said, softly. "I know you're there."

The wolf backed off slightly, with a bark of protest.

YOU CAN COUNTER THE URGE WITH YOUR WILL, Death said.

The wolf let out a whine, backing off further. Quetzal advanced. "Remember Drizzt? And Belwar? They're waiting for us...we've got to complete this job. Together."

The Zak-wolf backed off even further. "It's soppy and so sentimental as to be a cliche, but we have to do this," Quetzal continued, with a half-smile. "We have to. Do you understand?"

The Zak-wolf stopped, then padded forward, and nudged Quetzal's leg.

"Glad to see it," Quetzal said warmly, then hugged it.

***

The Oz-wolf was sleeping peacefully inside the hastily patched up cage.

"It's full," Quetzal said, looking at the jewel. The Zak-wolf was sitting down quietly, and Willow seemed to be feeding it something and giving it a lot of pats.

"Are we going?" she asked the Zak-wolf. It looked up guiltily, and then slunk to her side. Death nodded at them, walking over from where he had been talking to the now conscious Watcher.

"Good," Quetzal said, and nodded to Buffy and the others.

"Goodbye," Willow said, as Quetzal thumbed the star.

They vanished.

***

Chapter 13: Dark Knight

Picture a dark alley, with tall streetlights and misty fog. The streetlights cast golden shadows on the backs of the buildings and on the rickety fence. The decor seems to lean against wet, gloomy, or dark, or possibly all of them at once.

A multihued circle spirals out in the middle of the alley, and spits out Zaknafein, Quetzal and Death. Or, if you'd rather, the Zak-wolf, a very irritated drow cleric, and a curious dark robed figure.

"Why do we always land in dark alleys?" Quetzal said.

WHAT AN INTERESTING OBSERVATION, Death said, dryly. Quetzal glared at him, then looked down at the spider jewel.

"I think that it's somehow malfunctioning," she said, "It's still half full. We should be able to jump again."

REALLY, Death said.

Quetzal shrugged, seeing that the conversation was going nowhere, and started to walk down the alley. The Zak-wolf padded in front of her, its nose picking up the metallic scent of grease and the stale reek of stagnant pools.

Death paused at the sight of a crumpled heap, leaning against a nook in a tree, nodded at something Quetzal couldn't see, then hurried after them, making a clicking sound on the pavement.

"We don't seem to have advanced very far," Quetzal mused, as they got out into a courtyard. There was one of those things on wheels in front of them, parked next to a gate. The gate was open, or rather, blasted open, and men were loading things into the van.

A man was shouting and laughing at the same time, his back to them, ten meters from their current position. His hair was a shade of emerald green, and was in a quiff. He was wearing white gloves and a shirt and trousers of a disgusting purple color.

The three of them retreated back into their alley, watching as the men moving things moved a last stack of bars that glinted gold in the moonlight into the van with a trolley, grunting with the effort. The van is garishly painted into the face of a white-faced clown with a red, wide smile, all in the most painful hues of yellow, green, red, and, for no reason at all, pink.

"Masterly! I, am a genius," the man in purple said, in a high voice that certainly did not sound very sane.

A cat darted out of the alley, startled by the Zak-wolf. The wolf growled, and tried to advance forward, but Quetzal quite firmly held it back.

The man whirled at the sight of the cat, not noticing them at all, and kicked it savagely with his shiny black shoes. "Don't speak when I'm speaking!" he cried, then started on a mad caper.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and whirled to see Death's skull grinning down at him. I HATE PEOPLE WHO KICK CATS, Death said, NORMALLY I WOULDN'T DO ANYTHING TO YOU, BUT I THINK I SHOULD MAKE AN EXCEPTION.

The man glanced at Death's black hood, then at the scythe, glowing slightly in blue. He screamed, sanity having returned briefly to his visage, then fled to the van, yelling at the men to start it up.

Quetzal shuddered. The man's face was that of a clown – painted white, green eyebrows, mouth set in a horrific, perpetual red smile.

The van's tyres screeched, then the entire thing moved off at great speed, crashing momentarily into a streetlight.

"Mad," Quetzal said, walking with Death to the street. The wolf padded forward, then looked upwards.

They followed its gaze.

A dark figure was running effortlessly from the top of one building to another. His head had two pointed ears, and a long, dark cape with serrated edges billowed behind him. He was, however, building up quite a turn of speed.

"Suicidal," Quetzal muttered, as the figure jumped the high gap down to another building.

WHY IS HE WEARING TIGHTS? Death asked.

"You might as well ask why is he jumping around buildings in the dead of night, with a silly pointed mask and a cape that might trip him up any time," Quetzal said. As the author has stated before, Quetzal has had a long night.

As they watched, the figure jumped down neatly on the van.

"I think we're in the City of Mad men." Quetzal said in a formal voice, then snickered.

ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? Death asked, solicitously.

"Well, yes. My father's a werewolf, I haven't slept for more than 24 hours, Death is talking to me, and we're in this perpetually dark world with people in tights dancing on rooftops. Pinch me."

***

Now, while the heroes of the story get bored with everything in particular and head down the street in the opposite direction, I suppose you'd like to know what is going on.

No? Well, that's just too bad.

As the caped figure leaps lightly onto the escaping van, the purple person inside hears a thump on the ceiling. The edge of serrated cape flutters briefly over the windscreen.

"Boss!" cried the driver, who was obviously suffering from tight nerves, "It's the Bat!"

"Good!" said his boss, taking out a gun from the floor of the van. He pointed it directly upwards towards the van ceiling.

"I feel like pest control. Take that, Bat-butt." The gun goes off in a bang, but a small flag comes out of the barrel, which reads, well, bang.

While the readers are outraged at the purple guy's lack of actual vocabulary, let me point out that, 1, this is a fanfic, 2, the purple guy is insane, which you should have guessed by now.

"Damn!" the guy says, picking another gun.

Now, what should happen is that said caped crusader would smash one fist through the window and grab the wheel. Not only is that really, really painful, but also really, really stupid, so the caped crusader, who we now only know as Bat-Butt, which is not his name, simply drapes his cape over the windscreen.

"I can't see, Boss!" the driver cries, who also turns out to have a low IQ.

"Just keep driving straight, stupid," his Boss snarls at him, taking out what looks like a semi-automatic and firing little holes in the ceiling of the, accompanied by a lot of mad laughter.

The van, according to natural physics, goes straight, and hits the display window of a shop. There was the sound of tinkling glass as it stops completely.

The driver fumbles for the door, which was then wrenched open by a thick, dark blue glove with fins on it. He screamed in fear, and leaps out of the van, running madly.

He goes a few yards; before – you've guessed it – a dark caped figure lands neatly on him and proceeds to kick the living out of him.

Other thugs from the back of the van run out at him, raising their guns, but the figure flicks out a hand, and three vaguely boomerang like objects knock the guns out of their hands. Then he somersaults gracefully, and kicks the living out of them, too.

The purple man aims the nozzle of the semi-automatic at the caped crusader, and fires. The lights from the bullets light up his madly laughing face.

A glove jerks down in front of him, wrenching away the gun, then throwing it away. The purple man is grabbed by the front of his outrageous suit, and stares into a cold chiseled visage of a man-bat.

"Batman!" the purple man exclaims, now shaking in fear.

A gold oval is emblazoned on the chest of the Batman, with a dark bat in the middle of it. A small breeze kicks up the robe.

"It's back to Gotham Asylum for you, Joker," the Batman says, in a graveled voice. Behind him, police sirens start to sing.

***

Our heroes, at the moment, do not know of what has transpired, and probably do not care, as well.

"Why can't it work? Don't tell me we're stranded in this... this place!" Quetzal's voice rose.

PERHAPS IT NEEDS TO BE FULL TO WORK PROPERLY, Death suggested.

"Oh sure. Good. Did you notice it's not moving at all? This world is totally void of magic!" Quetzal snapped.

I DON'T REALLY KNOW. Death remarked, I JUST SAW DEATH IN THE ALLEY.

The Zak-wolf, which till then had been happily padding along ahead of them, stopped, then turned into another alley.

"Now, what does he want?" Quetzal said irritably, following.

Moonlight glinted off shiny metal. A lot of shiny metal, Quetzal realized.

***

The Batman sprinted along the roofs. He lived for this – the chase, the hunt, and justice. His alter ego during the day was just a facade. It was something that worried him most of the time.

Right now, his considerable brain was thinking about the apparition he had seen talking to the Joker. What had frightened the mad criminal so much?

He paused to get his bearings, the wind kicking up his cape into a rather impressive pose. Above, the bright moon shone.

***

"It's like that thing the purple human got away in," Quetzal said, examining the material, "Except that it's covered in metal, even the wheels."

She poked it with her blade, but it only scratched the metal a little. "Could you pass me Zak's swords?" she asked Death.

Death rummaged in his robe. It was speculated in the Discworld that there are many things that are bigger on the inside than on the outside. In this case, Death's robe could carry dead souls, any number of hourglasses, and, if he wanted it, a packet of curry.

He took out the sheaths with a bony hand, and passed it to Quetzal.

"Thanks," Quetzal said, "I have an idea. I wonder if the jewel could absorb magic from magical things?"

She drew Khazid'hea, that grew hot in her hands. "Stop it," she admonished the sword. Startled, it did.

She advanced on the metal thing, then poked it with Khazid'hea. True to its name, the sword went through the metal over the windscreen.

"Normal metal," Quetzal sniffed, "Probably some new alloy."

There was a whirring noise, and the metal plates on the car slid away into hiding places and the top hatch opened to show two seats.

Quetzal swallowed.

CAN THE JEWEL ABSORB ENERGY FROM THAT? Death asked, mildly.

"Good question…but it may be rigged," Quetzal mused. "Damn. I'm beginning to speak like a surface dweller."

SURFACE DWELLER? Death inquired.

"Yes. My kind usually stays deep underground." Quetzal said, flicking the jewel onto the shiny metal vehicle.

And watched as it played its second line of defense – a bright blue electricity jolt lanced into the jewel with a 'crack'.

BUGGER TO THIEVES, Death said.

Quetzal slowly held her hand out, and willed the spider to jump back on. It did, with much creaking of magical joints.

"It's full now." She said, relieved. "I think we can… what in Lloth's name are you?"

A dark figure in a serrated cape dropped down beside them then pressed something on his yellow belt. There was a sound of something winding down in the car, and then he turned back to them.

"I might ask," the figure said slowly, "Who are you?"

He lifted sharp eyes towards Death, who grinned for full effect. The figure gasped, and stepped backward involuntarily.

Quetzal sighed. "We are not from this world, we are not mad, and yes, that is Death."

Death gave a jerky bow. NOT THE ONE OF THIS WORLD, HOWEVER.

The man looked stunned.

"We won't be bothering you in a while. Why don't you go home to your cave, or something, wear something more warm, and go to sleep? It'll go better on you." Quetzal said, not unkindly.

"How did you get here?" the man managed to say.

"That is also none of your business," Quetzal snapped.

"You are in my city. That is my business," the man replied evenly.

"If I tell you, will you go away?" Quetzal was all for hitting the man with her saber, but decided it might bring more unwanted trouble on herself.

"Perhaps," the man said.

"Very well. We weren't supposed to be stopping here, but this device," Quetzal held up the spider jewel, "Is cranky. Happy now?"

"You look like a…an elf!" the man said, suddenly remembering the pointed ears and delicate features thing.

"Yes. Anything else?"

"That's a wolf!"

The Zak-wolf had padded over in interest.

"So?" Quetzal challenged.

"It's dangerous." The man said, his hand going to his belt with the knobs on it.

"Look, Mr. Tights-and-the-serrated-cloak, will you stop being so paranoid? We're going to go in a while, and just pretend this is a dream." Quetzal said.

The man glared at her. She leveled a Look at him.

"Just don't get into any trouble," he said, at last.

Quetzal nodded, and started to walk further into the alley, followed by the wolf. Death paused, looking back at the caped person.

WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT COSTUME? Death pointed a digit.

"It puts fear in the hearts of my enemies." The man said, proudly.

OH, Death said, SEE YOU.

"I hope not," the man muttered, as Death walked quickly after Quetzal. He could hear the sound of bone against the hard pavement.

***

"Why did you ask him that?" Quetzal asked.

I WISHED TO KNOW IF HE KNEW HE WAS WEARING THAT, Death said.

"Of course he knows!"

I AM NOT SURE OF THAT. I KNEW A MAN IN ANKH-MORPORK THAT WORE A DUCK ON HIS HEAD AND DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT IT. Death said, truthfully.

"A duck?"

YES, Death said.

"My word… I suppose we should get on with it." Quetzal said, thumbing the button.

***

A dark shadow from the wall moved, and leaped down lightly with the moves of a dancer, every muscle in full athletic control. The Batman walked cautiously around the spot where they had been, then stood on it.

"I have been keeping too many late nights," he muttered, then strode back to his car.

He paused, in front of it, then pressed a knob on his belt. The metal plates curved and covered the Batmobile completely.

The Batman bent forward, and saw, with a certain chill, a perfectly precise cut of a sword, at the windscreen plate.

[next page]

Lledith RavenWolf