Chapter 8-Cracking the Code
In this Chapter: A little work, a little relaxation, a little dancing
Chapter 8-Cracking the Code
Music:
La Vida Es a Carnival: Celia Cruz
Suavemente: Elvis Crespo
Besame Mucho: Trio Los Panchos
Spike woke up with a headache-too many nights of lugging equipment through the bloody jungle like a pack mule and fruitlessly searching for Illyria’s temple. Illyria usually appeared at sunset regular as clockwork, scowled, and made one of her insulting pronouncements, then stalked off to disappear into the jungle until daybreak. She was late this evening. Maybe he’d get a chance to see a bit of Fred.
He’d barely glimpsed Fred for days, and even when he did, she was distracted and deep into her research. Her floor was awash in paper, notes scribbled on every available surface and her computer screen littered with sticky notes.
Cadwaller-Timsey was a constant thorn in his side, too. Sticking his nose into Fred’s office, fetching and carrying for her, researching and calculating.
He sees her all day, while I’m bloody well stuck with Her Highness.
Bah!
The Watcher seemed oblivious of her nighttime alter ego, taking it for granted that Fred needed be alone to work on her project. Some Watcher he was. He might translate Epi-Olmec like a whiz, but Illyria was off his radar completely. Something big and nasty will have him for supper one of these days, he thought grimly and with no little satisfaction.
At least he was keeping those dratted Slayers of his busy. Daisy and the twins were off in Campeche fetching more supplies while Ursula and Kennedy were out chasing down luckless (and probably imaginary) chupacabras. Cadwallader-Timsey had finally located the other cenote he’d named the Blue Eternal last night and Spike had ferried yet more lights and ropes to it while the Watcher filled pages with his tiny scribbles.
No doubt to regale my Fred with later on, he thought resentfully.
Spike stood under the showerhead scrubbing the accumulated filth from his hair. Still feel those loathsome bats. Vile!
No matter how often he showered, he never felt clean. How Timsey kept the crease in his wool trousers in that slime-pit was beyond his capacity for understanding. Yet every morning, Spike came home covered in the worst kind of messes.
Like to dip that Watcher headfirst into a guano pile and see how he likes it.
Stiff upper lip, my eye.
Shower finished and dressed in his only remaining pair of clean jeans, Spike headed upstairs to fetch a cup of breakfast and the news of the day from Nell. She was waiting for him, a steaming cup in her had and forbidding frown on her face.
“This gacho English-man. I do not like him very much.” She stormed, “He sticks his nose into everybody’s business. He spends too much time with Miss Winifred, too.”
He set his empty cup on the counter carefully and kissed Nell’s brown cheek, “Can’t argue with you there, luv. “Where is the bugger? Reckon I’d best find out what absolutely must be done this evening.”
“He is in her room. Talking.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Best I get my marching orders, then.”
He slipped up the stairs, his footsteps only a moth’s wings whisper loud. He leant against the doorway, just out of sight, noiseless and un-breathing. Only his narrowed eyes and tight jaw muscles betrayed his depth of feelings.
Fred was laughing at something Watcher-boy was saying, and then the both of them turned to stare at something on the computer screen, heads close together. Fred’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The Watcher seemed just as excited, leaning over her closely and peering at the screen.
Aren’t they just a pretty pair. She deserves someone like him, I reckon. His throat tightened with remembered pain. Poor old Wesley. He was a fine warrior, for all he was a Watcher.
It’s good to see her laughin’ again, though. That Illyria’ll be bargin’ home in a minute, runnin’ her back into her hidey-hole and I won’t get but a minute to see her. ‘Spect I’d best get my minutes while I can.
Spike stepped through the door, his thumbs tucked into his pockets and an arrogant smile on his face.
“Well now, don’t this look like fun,” he drawled.
“Oh, Spike! Hey.” Fred was distracted, her hair falling loose from a knot on her head, still typing away. Cadwallader-Timsey said nothing, only fixing the vampire with a baleful look.
“So. Find anything useful while you were entertaining each other?”
Fred looked up, her eyes wide and cheerful, “I’m almost certain we’ve located the final point of reference for the temple. Nathan’s triangulated its location, so I hope maybe you and the Slayers can find it pretty soon.” She hit a few more buttons and paper spewed from the printer in a steady stream.
Spike stepped closer to the workspace and peered down at the map covered in minuscule writing and carefully drawn lines in a variety of colors.
“’Fraid I’m not up on my map-readin’ skills, Nathan. Wanna give a poor old vamp the benefit of that fine Oxford education?” His lip curled with a sneer and his accent dropped a few notches on the social scale.
“Quite simple really Mr.…. er, Spike. According to our calculations, the Blue Eternal cenote and the bat cave were likely once connected through a long-collapsed limestone aqueduct system created by the Olmecs. Based on this, the most likely location for the temple is approximately here,” he pointed to a locale on the map, further north and west of Porto Gordo, toward the mountains. “We should gather the Slayers and walk a grid in this area, looking for inscriptions or carvings. The jungle has likely buried the temple by now, but if you walk the grid, you should be able to find it eventually.”
Spike grit his teeth. “Just point me in the direction.” Like a bloody Alsatian, I am. Trained for sniffing out the goods.
“Well, the girls are tracking down a chupacabra just now, so perhaps we can begin tomorrow night?”
“Do you know what that means, Spike?” Fred bubbled with excitement.
“That I can do something besides watch you two in full metal research mode?”
“No, Spike! Dancing!” She swayed toward him gracefully, holding out her hands and smiling. “There’s a fiesta in the plaza tonight and you promised me weeks ago that we’d dance. You promised!”
She went to the window and looked out into the evening, “See? You can hear the music from here.” The soft sea breeze lifted the loose curls around her face and she sighed in utter bliss.
Violins and the brassy sound of trumpets echoed in the plaza along with the bright laughter of the townspeople of Porto Gordo. Colored lights decorated the storefronts and bounced along in a candle-lit procession that snaked along the street.
He growled low, “Yeah. There’s always some sorta fiesta goin’ on around here.”
She giggled, “I’m going to put on my new white dress. I’ll be right back, so don’t you go away.” Fred nearly skipped from the room in glee, while Spike gazed after her bemusedly. Perhaps Illyria had relented or maybe Fred was getting stronger all on her own. For whatever reason, he hoped his Cinderella could stay here for a while longer.
Cadwallader-Timsey scowled at the vampire and gave the empty doorway a gloomy look. “She’s a brilliant woman and scholar, Miss Burkle. So full of joy. You’re a lucky man to have known her so long.”
“She’s the best person I know, my Fred. She was my friend when nobody else… and I won’t have anyone, even you, hurtin’ her.”
“It’s not me that will be causing her pain. She would have to care for someone deeply, and that person is not me. It’s you she cares for.”
“As a friend.”
“More than that, I think.”
Spike was gob smacked. He collapsed in the chair and stared at his shaking hands, “Do you…do you really think that’s true?”
“Do I think what’s true, Spike?” Fred stood in the door again, her face aglow with happiness and her hair long and unbound around her shoulders.
“That you’re the prettiest girl in Porto Gordo. Hell, the prettiest girl anywhere!”
“Oh, you old teaser!” She smiled, “How do you like my outfit? Is it pretty?” Her skin was creamy tan against the snowy gauze of her ruffled dress, with a blue and scarlet rebozo draped over her shoulders, and the silver doves hung in her ears.
Spike tucked up a long curl of dark hair into her bun with a smile, “Beautiful.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs, “Dance now, okay? Oh, Nathan, you can come, too.”
He gazed after her ruefully, “Rather stay here in case my Slayers return. You two enjoy the evening. Take good care of her, Spike”
She waved at him and Spike gave him a brotherly nod, “Not a problem, mate”
They stopped to listen to a lone guitarist for a moment, before joining a mass of dancers dressed in their holiday finery. Women in vividly colored skirts spun and dipped to the sounds of the music, their dark eyes snapping in joy while their men spun them from salsa to tango in a breathless rainbow swirl.
Fred danced until her breath came short and Spike could see her exhaustion. “Let’s have a little drink and rest a bit, love.”
Her lip quivered, but she was thirsty, “Bring me something fruity…with tequila!”
He grinned and quickly returned with her drink. She smiled up at him, her brown eyes soft with emotion.
“I’m not a very nice man, pet,” he said softly, “and you deserve a nice man. Maybe after we get all this straightened out, you and that Nathan...”
He looked upwards to the window where the Watcher looked out onto the plaza.
Fred pressed two fingers to his lips, “No, I don’t.”
Spike tilted his head and looked into her eyes.
“Winifred Burkle, you’re the very best person I’ve ever known.”
She looked down and blushed bright red, “Stop that! I’ll have you know, I have never been a nice girl! Why, I bet if my mamma told me once, she told me a hundred times, ‘Winfred, you get your head down out of the clouds this minute and get your chores done.”
He smiled and pulled her into a one-armed embrace, “”There’s never been anyone like you. That’s why I…”
“Why what?” she wheedled, “Why, Spike?”
“Why I’m so crazy about you, Winfred.” He looked down at his feet, embarrassed and trying to turn away. She stopped him with a touch of her hand on his cheek.
“You love me?” she whispered. She pressed her warm lips to his and he could hold out not a second longer.
“’Course I do. I love you, Miss Winfred Burkle. Have done since the second I saw you. Who wouldn’t love a sweet Texas gal like you?”
“Honest? You’re not just feelin’ sorry for me or something?”
“Truly.” At his smile, she kissed him again.
“Dance with me, Spike, please?”
“I ain’t any great shakes at it, but I can manage one more, I reckon.”
She pulled him onto a cleared space, just as the band shifted into a slow ballad. The musicians sang something heart breaking and sad, the music filled the night and the two dancers swayed together, foreheads touching while the great yellow moon rose over the distant mountains.
Previous Chapters may be found in Memories Ashes & Sparks
_________________
Chapter 8-Cracking the Code
Music:
La Vida Es a Carnival: Celia Cruz
Suavemente: Elvis Crespo
Besame Mucho: Trio Los Panchos
Spike woke up with a headache-too many nights of lugging equipment through the bloody jungle like a pack mule and fruitlessly searching for Illyria’s temple. Illyria usually appeared at sunset regular as clockwork, scowled, and made one of her insulting pronouncements, then stalked off to disappear into the jungle until daybreak. She was late this evening. Maybe he’d get a chance to see a bit of Fred.
He’d barely glimpsed Fred for days, and even when he did, she was distracted and deep into her research. Her floor was awash in paper, notes scribbled on every available surface and her computer screen littered with sticky notes.
Cadwaller-Timsey was a constant thorn in his side, too. Sticking his nose into Fred’s office, fetching and carrying for her, researching and calculating.
He sees her all day, while I’m bloody well stuck with Her Highness.
Bah!
The Watcher seemed oblivious of her nighttime alter ego, taking it for granted that Fred needed be alone to work on her project. Some Watcher he was. He might translate Epi-Olmec like a whiz, but Illyria was off his radar completely. Something big and nasty will have him for supper one of these days, he thought grimly and with no little satisfaction.
At least he was keeping those dratted Slayers of his busy. Daisy and the twins were off in Campeche fetching more supplies while Ursula and Kennedy were out chasing down luckless (and probably imaginary) chupacabras. Cadwallader-Timsey had finally located the other cenote he’d named the Blue Eternal last night and Spike had ferried yet more lights and ropes to it while the Watcher filled pages with his tiny scribbles.
No doubt to regale my Fred with later on, he thought resentfully.
Spike stood under the showerhead scrubbing the accumulated filth from his hair. Still feel those loathsome bats. Vile!
No matter how often he showered, he never felt clean. How Timsey kept the crease in his wool trousers in that slime-pit was beyond his capacity for understanding. Yet every morning, Spike came home covered in the worst kind of messes.
Like to dip that Watcher headfirst into a guano pile and see how he likes it.
Stiff upper lip, my eye.
Shower finished and dressed in his only remaining pair of clean jeans, Spike headed upstairs to fetch a cup of breakfast and the news of the day from Nell. She was waiting for him, a steaming cup in her had and forbidding frown on her face.
“This gacho English-man. I do not like him very much.” She stormed, “He sticks his nose into everybody’s business. He spends too much time with Miss Winifred, too.”
He set his empty cup on the counter carefully and kissed Nell’s brown cheek, “Can’t argue with you there, luv. “Where is the bugger? Reckon I’d best find out what absolutely must be done this evening.”
“He is in her room. Talking.”
Spike’s eyes narrowed, “Best I get my marching orders, then.”
He slipped up the stairs, his footsteps only a moth’s wings whisper loud. He leant against the doorway, just out of sight, noiseless and un-breathing. Only his narrowed eyes and tight jaw muscles betrayed his depth of feelings.
Fred was laughing at something Watcher-boy was saying, and then the both of them turned to stare at something on the computer screen, heads close together. Fred’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The Watcher seemed just as excited, leaning over her closely and peering at the screen.
Aren’t they just a pretty pair. She deserves someone like him, I reckon. His throat tightened with remembered pain. Poor old Wesley. He was a fine warrior, for all he was a Watcher.
It’s good to see her laughin’ again, though. That Illyria’ll be bargin’ home in a minute, runnin’ her back into her hidey-hole and I won’t get but a minute to see her. ‘Spect I’d best get my minutes while I can.
Spike stepped through the door, his thumbs tucked into his pockets and an arrogant smile on his face.
“Well now, don’t this look like fun,” he drawled.
“Oh, Spike! Hey.” Fred was distracted, her hair falling loose from a knot on her head, still typing away. Cadwallader-Timsey said nothing, only fixing the vampire with a baleful look.
“So. Find anything useful while you were entertaining each other?”
Fred looked up, her eyes wide and cheerful, “I’m almost certain we’ve located the final point of reference for the temple. Nathan’s triangulated its location, so I hope maybe you and the Slayers can find it pretty soon.” She hit a few more buttons and paper spewed from the printer in a steady stream.
Spike stepped closer to the workspace and peered down at the map covered in minuscule writing and carefully drawn lines in a variety of colors.
“’Fraid I’m not up on my map-readin’ skills, Nathan. Wanna give a poor old vamp the benefit of that fine Oxford education?” His lip curled with a sneer and his accent dropped a few notches on the social scale.
“Quite simple really Mr.…. er, Spike. According to our calculations, the Blue Eternal cenote and the bat cave were likely once connected through a long-collapsed limestone aqueduct system created by the Olmecs. Based on this, the most likely location for the temple is approximately here,” he pointed to a locale on the map, further north and west of Porto Gordo, toward the mountains. “We should gather the Slayers and walk a grid in this area, looking for inscriptions or carvings. The jungle has likely buried the temple by now, but if you walk the grid, you should be able to find it eventually.”
Spike grit his teeth. “Just point me in the direction.” Like a bloody Alsatian, I am. Trained for sniffing out the goods.
“Well, the girls are tracking down a chupacabra just now, so perhaps we can begin tomorrow night?”
“Do you know what that means, Spike?” Fred bubbled with excitement.
“That I can do something besides watch you two in full metal research mode?”
“No, Spike! Dancing!” She swayed toward him gracefully, holding out her hands and smiling. “There’s a fiesta in the plaza tonight and you promised me weeks ago that we’d dance. You promised!”
She went to the window and looked out into the evening, “See? You can hear the music from here.” The soft sea breeze lifted the loose curls around her face and she sighed in utter bliss.
Violins and the brassy sound of trumpets echoed in the plaza along with the bright laughter of the townspeople of Porto Gordo. Colored lights decorated the storefronts and bounced along in a candle-lit procession that snaked along the street.
He growled low, “Yeah. There’s always some sorta fiesta goin’ on around here.”
She giggled, “I’m going to put on my new white dress. I’ll be right back, so don’t you go away.” Fred nearly skipped from the room in glee, while Spike gazed after her bemusedly. Perhaps Illyria had relented or maybe Fred was getting stronger all on her own. For whatever reason, he hoped his Cinderella could stay here for a while longer.
Cadwallader-Timsey scowled at the vampire and gave the empty doorway a gloomy look. “She’s a brilliant woman and scholar, Miss Burkle. So full of joy. You’re a lucky man to have known her so long.”
“She’s the best person I know, my Fred. She was my friend when nobody else… and I won’t have anyone, even you, hurtin’ her.”
“It’s not me that will be causing her pain. She would have to care for someone deeply, and that person is not me. It’s you she cares for.”
“As a friend.”
“More than that, I think.”
Spike was gob smacked. He collapsed in the chair and stared at his shaking hands, “Do you…do you really think that’s true?”
“Do I think what’s true, Spike?” Fred stood in the door again, her face aglow with happiness and her hair long and unbound around her shoulders.
“That you’re the prettiest girl in Porto Gordo. Hell, the prettiest girl anywhere!”
“Oh, you old teaser!” She smiled, “How do you like my outfit? Is it pretty?” Her skin was creamy tan against the snowy gauze of her ruffled dress, with a blue and scarlet rebozo draped over her shoulders, and the silver doves hung in her ears.
Spike tucked up a long curl of dark hair into her bun with a smile, “Beautiful.”
She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs, “Dance now, okay? Oh, Nathan, you can come, too.”
He gazed after her ruefully, “Rather stay here in case my Slayers return. You two enjoy the evening. Take good care of her, Spike”
She waved at him and Spike gave him a brotherly nod, “Not a problem, mate”
They stopped to listen to a lone guitarist for a moment, before joining a mass of dancers dressed in their holiday finery. Women in vividly colored skirts spun and dipped to the sounds of the music, their dark eyes snapping in joy while their men spun them from salsa to tango in a breathless rainbow swirl.
Fred danced until her breath came short and Spike could see her exhaustion. “Let’s have a little drink and rest a bit, love.”
Her lip quivered, but she was thirsty, “Bring me something fruity…with tequila!”
He grinned and quickly returned with her drink. She smiled up at him, her brown eyes soft with emotion.
“I’m not a very nice man, pet,” he said softly, “and you deserve a nice man. Maybe after we get all this straightened out, you and that Nathan...”
He looked upwards to the window where the Watcher looked out onto the plaza.
Fred pressed two fingers to his lips, “No, I don’t.”
Spike tilted his head and looked into her eyes.
“Winifred Burkle, you’re the very best person I’ve ever known.”
She looked down and blushed bright red, “Stop that! I’ll have you know, I have never been a nice girl! Why, I bet if my mamma told me once, she told me a hundred times, ‘Winfred, you get your head down out of the clouds this minute and get your chores done.”
He smiled and pulled her into a one-armed embrace, “”There’s never been anyone like you. That’s why I…”
“Why what?” she wheedled, “Why, Spike?”
“Why I’m so crazy about you, Winfred.” He looked down at his feet, embarrassed and trying to turn away. She stopped him with a touch of her hand on his cheek.
“You love me?” she whispered. She pressed her warm lips to his and he could hold out not a second longer.
“’Course I do. I love you, Miss Winfred Burkle. Have done since the second I saw you. Who wouldn’t love a sweet Texas gal like you?”
“Honest? You’re not just feelin’ sorry for me or something?”
“Truly.” At his smile, she kissed him again.
“Dance with me, Spike, please?”
“I ain’t any great shakes at it, but I can manage one more, I reckon.”
She pulled him onto a cleared space, just as the band shifted into a slow ballad. The musicians sang something heart breaking and sad, the music filled the night and the two dancers swayed together, foreheads touching while the great yellow moon rose over the distant mountains.
Previous Chapters may be found in Memories Ashes & Sparks
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