(Untitled)
They arrive in a small, dusty back-alley in central Bangkok. It is deserted and thus the first thing that meets them is the heat: harsh and bone-searingly dry, until Sam’s magic calls tiny breezes around them, keeping them cool. Though the alleyway is deserted, the buzz of people close by is loud in their ears, and at the entrance to the alleyway a
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"Language, young lady," he laughs, mock-seriously. "But here we are."
Buddha's library masquerades as a bookshop sandwiched tightly between a bakery and a launderette. Thai lettering above the door proclaims it to be named 'The Tardis'- apparently Sam isn't the only one of the family to be fond of Britain. Inside it is cool and dark, though only dark in contrast to the stark afternoon sun outside, and appropriately enough seems to be at least three times as large as the outside would suggest. And every inch of it is packed ceiling-to-floor with books- ground floor, top floor and basement level where even what few customers there are never permitted.
Buddha himself is sitting in his favourite lotus position on a chair behind a desk, apparently indexing: taller and broader than Sam, with a kind, clever face and wise, peaceful brown eyes. His fingers are stained with ink and slightly calloused from long hours spent fishing, his skin is dark and his head shaven. Though clearly Asian in appearance, he wears Western clothes- scruffy jeans and a scrupulously clean but obviously old white t-shirt- and goes barefoot. There isn't much resemblance between the brothers: in fact, none at all. But brothers they are.
Sam beams at the man he hasn't seen in centuries. "Matilda, this is my older brother. Basil, this is Matilda." He can't help but grin over Buddha's choice of name.
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Giggles are shortly forgotten. In staring. At all. The BOOKS.
"...hi, Basil. Pleased to meet you," she says absently. She's much more preoccupied with the aforementioned staring. A herd of rollerskating elephants could dash through the shop playing trumpets, and she wouldn't pay them any mind unless they got between her and her bookstaring.
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"Brother, where did you find my kindred spirit?"
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Buddha grins at Matilda. "I've spent a very long time compiling it. And I very rarely leave it. Is there anything in particular you'd like to find?"
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"May I borrow this one?" she asks, gently taking the book off the shelf and petting it, her careful handling of the book contrasting the expression of pure academic joy on her face. Any more avaricious glee and she'd be calling it 'my preciousss'.
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< I've got the original downstairs anyway > he tells Sam telepathically, grinning a little.
"Somehow I'm not surprised," Sam tells him, grinning as well. "Though Time only knows how you got hold of it."
Buddha has the grace to look guilty, which only makes Sam burst out laughing. "You jammy beggar, I always knew you had sticky morals when it came to books. Which is why I was surprised when you weren't here. What were you doing at Home for so long, brother?"
Home, in Sam's vocabulary, always requires a capital.
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An astute observer might catch a glimpse of the other contents of her bag, and wonder what all those lumpy brown paper packages are, and why some of them have various coloured bits of string attached. But who knows if any observers in the room are that astute.
Tilda certainly isn't astute enough to pay much attention to the conversation the two brothers are having. She'd much rather pay attention to OMGBOOKS. The Academic Squee Face is partying it up with the Gleeful Adorable Grin. And Matilda herself? Well. See that book over there? And that one on the top shelf? And the one over there... and there... and there... well, she's inspecting them all. Possibly at once.
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Sam's grin falls like a lead balloon. "About the Light? What about it?"
"How it was created, how Time gave it to you." Buddha pauses. "What it would take to remove it."
"...You can remove it?" Sam looks incredulous, desperate, almost hungry for something. "How?"
His brother shakes his head. "You can't. Not really."
"So why are they asking?"
"Because, if it were possible... they could give the Light to a new owner. One perhaps more... predictable, more easily controlled, than the bastard son who's been outwitting all comers for centuries."
"But it's not possible." Sam frowns. "Right? And in any case, who's they?"
"No, it's not. But if it were..."
"If it were I'd have found out how a very long time ago," Sam says firmly. "Who?"
"It's hard to say exactly- you know how rumour flies and disseminates itself. But as near as I could get at it, the Olympians seemed most interested."
"Hmm." Sam thinks about this. "I've never had too many dealings with that crowd, on the whole. Met Aphrodite once or twice- she got on well with Freya. Used to crack the most terrible filthy jokes." His serious face is lightened by a grin. "She was all right, Aphrodite. But her family, the House of Olympus- it's crumbled, hasn't it? An Olympian's never going to ascend the throne of Heaven, not any more. Which I suppose is why they’d be so interested. Not that it matters in any case, since you can’t remove the Light. Unfortunately.”
“Lucifer.” Buddha’s voice is low and urgent. “If they could- if it could be done- it would be- I’ve been researching it- they’d have to rip out your soul to get the Light out of you.”
His brother’s face freezes. “Then I suppose it’s just as well they can’t, isn’t it. I’m rather attached to my soul.”
Sam picks up the nearest book and heads to the roof. He knows Buddha’s penchant for flat-roofed houses of old, and it makes sense that his choice of earthly abode would not be bereft of one. So he heads for the roof, and people-watching, and distraction.
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Books books books books Light what's that? books books books OOH OUT-OF-PRINT HEINLEINS books books whose bastard outwitting what? books books IS THAT A FOLIO SET OF THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA? WOOHOO! books books books Aphrodite knows dirty jokes? books books books books what about souls? books books OH MY WAITING FOR GODOT IN THE ORIGINAL FRENCH! books books books...
Needless to say she isn't paying much attention to the snatches of conversation she hears out of the proverbial corner of her ear. By the time Sam heads to the roof she has given up stuffing her overfull bag with books and is writing down in her notebook a list of titles along with cryptic notes indicating their locations in the store. She finishes scribbling down "Riverside Chaucer _| TS-2 L" and looks up with a vague frown.
"Where'd he run off to?" she inquires of 'Basil', pausing in her search to blink up at him, adorable and slightly concerned.
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He eyes her bookbag. "Forgive me, but- you're awfully young to be-- The Canterbury Tales? You picked that? In the original Old English, no less."
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A pause. "...Sulking? What about?"
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It is, however, considerably less than an hour before Sam reappears, looking distinctly worried. "Brother, how are your shields? We've got Firedancers a street away."
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"What's a Firedancer?" she asks curiously.
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"Yes, if not exactly here then bloody close, and half a dozen," Sam snaps.
The brothers look at each other. Simultaneously: "Shit."
"I can't take six of them," Sam says matter-of-factly. "You're going to have to fight. I don't suppose," he adds hopefully, "that we've got another sibling around here that they could be after? Or that they could have been sent with perhaps a birthday card and nicely-wrapped pressie?"
Buddha shakes his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no." And vanishes downstairs to retrieve his weapons. Sam just hopes he has them; it wouldn't surprise him to know that Buddha's forgotten where they are.
Sam turns to Matilda as he unwraps the package he's been carrying to withdraw a gleaming silver sword. "Firedancers are assassins. They're bloody good at their jobs, and fire can't hurt them. Can you open a door to Milliways?"
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"...Assassins? Who do they want to assassinate? No, I can't open a door to Milliways."
A contemplative expression appears on her face.
"If they're not hurt by fire, how do they feel about explosions?" She pats her bag absently.
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