TITLE THE HIGHGATE TUNNELS
AUTHOR Vivienne
RATING PG-13 ....for the moment!
DISCLAIMER All BTVS characters and certain other aspects of this story belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, ME and associates.
SPOILERS Diverges from canon somewhere early in season six.
THANKS To Wayland (Clare) for her unstinting beta-ing.
FEEDBACK I have read so much first-class feedback on the kitten board. I would be delighted to be on the receiving end of some of that.
NOTES FOR CHAPTER SIX The artefacts that make their first appearance in this chapter are based in fact. Anyone who is interested in pursuing them will find a fairly decent article in the Wikipedia with a couple of good references to other resources. For the purposes of this story I have, and will continue to, shamelessly embellish and distort the facts to suit my own evil ends.
The Highgate Tunnels
Chapter 6
Giles bent over the table, apparently lost in thought as he gazed at the little object.
‘Giles!’ He looked up at two frustrated faces.
‘Oh, yes. Well,’ he sat back, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘This is very interesting, very interesting indeed – if I’m right, of course. And, if I
am right, quite astonishing, in the light of recent events.’ He paused again to think.
‘Giles!’ ‘Sorry,’ he took a breath, ‘I think, well, I believe it could be – hardly seems possible really – but I think it’s a Tartaria tablet.’
‘Wow,’ said Tara.
‘Say that again,’ said Willow.
‘Tartaria,’ he repeated, ‘a Tartaria tablet.’
‘Tartaria,’ whispered Willow under her breath as all three of them bent over the table to study it.
It was circular, perhaps two inches in diameter and a little over a quarter of an inch thick. The red clay it had been made from looked delicate, but it had been baked to stone-like hardness. Pictograms covered its upper surface. The stylised figure of a slender, long-haired woman bisected the tablet from north to south. Her outstretched arms formed the east-west division. Symbols filled each quadrant. The hole for the lace was above the woman’s head. Giles picked it up and turned it over. It was blank on the reverse. He put it back down, carefully, face up.
A coal on the fire fizzed, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Willow picked up the poker and used it to break up the cinders on the bottom, settling the fire into a steady glow. Tara refilled their coffee cups, determined to stay awake now.
‘Okay, Giles,’ said Willow, putting down the poker, ‘tell all.’
‘Leave nothing out,’ Tara smiled.
‘Well, only the boring bits – if there are any boring bits,’ said Willow.
‘Maybe you could start by telling us what ‘Tartaria’ is?’ said Tara.
‘Of course,’ said Giles, ‘but it’s not a “what”, it’s a “where”. There are – or were – only three of these tablets known to exist, and they were named for the place where they were discovered. Tartaria is a remote village in Transylvania.’
‘Oh great. Transylvania. Like, instant vampire connection,’ said Willow.
‘Possibly, although I can’t see an immediate link. It might be pure coincidence,’ said Giles.
Willow sighed.
As if, she thought. Tara squeezed her hand.
‘Fifty years ago,’ Giles went on, ‘a team of archaeologists were investigating the culture of the Vinca, the Neolithic people who once populated the region. The three tablets came to light when they were excavating the tomb of a Vinca shaman.’
‘A shaman,’ Willow snorted, ‘it just gets better.’
‘So,’ said Tara, ignoring her, ‘if three were found in this tomb, and there aren’t any others, where did this one come from?’
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Giles shook his head, ‘but I can tell you that what you’ve been wearing around your neck, Willow, is probably about seven and a half thousand years old.’
‘Wow. Oh, wow to the power of . . . a lot,’ said Willow, uncharacteristically lost for words.
Tara cupped her face with both hands, murmuring her surprise through her fingers.
‘Making that,’ said Giles, pointing a finger at the inscriptions, ‘a rare example of the earliest known form of writing on the planet.’
‘But what does it mean?’ said Willow.
‘No-one really knows. There are various theories, some of them more credible than others. Unfortunately, there are no other surviving examples of Vinca writing, so there isn’t much to work with.’ Giles peered at the tablet. ‘Tell you what, though. If this one comes from the same site, it might shed some light on another long-running argument.’
‘How?’ said Tara.
‘Well, this figure is clearly that of a woman,’ said Giles.
‘That’ll be the mammalian protuberances,’ Willow grinned, looking at the two tiny arrowheads incised on the upper body.
‘Quite,’ said Giles, feeling a sudden need to polish his glasses. ‘The bones in the tomb were broken up and many were missing. They were assumed to be those of a man, a powerful shaman, given the wealth and ritualistic nature of the grave goods. However, the bones have been re-examined using modern techniques, and are thought to be female. “Milady Tartaria”, they are calling her now.’ He finished his coffee.
‘Giles,’ said Tara, ‘How come you know so much about it? I-I mean, it’s not like there isn’t an ace researcher sitting right next to me, or anything.’ She was remembering Willow’s frustration at finding so little – and her consequent snippiness. Willow slid an arm around her waist, as if reading her thoughts.
‘Because that is where I spent this summer. Not in Tartaria itself, but nearby in Salistea. I was investigating some of the shamanic aspects of the old culture.’
‘Another coincidence?’ said Willow.
‘And what did you mean when you said “recent events”, Giles? What recent events?’ said Tara.
‘It happened while I was there. Let me see, it would have been almost a month ago. Milady Tartaria’s bones were taken – stolen – from the Museum at Cluj. What struck me as odd was that nothing else was taken. Not even any of the artefacts associated with her grave. Just her bones.’
‘But why?’ murmured Willow, almost to herself. A sense of foreboding entered her, spreading, weighing her down.
‘We don’t have the answers to any of this, as yet,’ said Giles, ‘so perhaps we should look at what we
do know. Willow, it seems that this, um, this whole thing, is directed at you, yes?’
‘Well, yes – like that guy gave me the tablet and said I had to find the other half, and the woman on the tablet . . . .’
‘And the third vamp mentioned a witch . . . .’ Tara contributed.
‘Yes, and what did he mean by “other half”? I mean, it’s not like it’s broken, is it?’ said Willow.
‘We don’t know what he meant, not yet. Tell me again what he said about looking for it in stations,’ said Giles.
‘Tunnels, he said, “old station tunnels”,’ said Willow.
‘No indication as to which station?’ said Giles.
‘No clue,’ Willow shook her head.
‘It could take some time to track down. It might be anywhere in the country. I suppose we might as well start with the London stations,’ Giles looked despondent.
‘They can’t all have old tunnels though?’ Tara tried to be helpful.
‘Most of them do. The Victorians burrowed like rabbits. Bloody tunnels everywhere,’ Giles smiled, in spite of himself.
‘How many railway stations does London have?’ said Willow.
‘To begin with, there are six principle mainline stations: Paddington, Euston, King’s Cross St Pancras, Charing Cross, Waterloo and Victoria. There are others.’
‘And I bet you can name them, too,’ murmured Tara.
Giles pushed his glasses up his nose. ‘Well, yes I think...let me see, Marylebone, Moorgate, Liverpool Street, Fenchurch Street, London Bridge, Cannon Street and, uh, Blackfriars. Then there are the really minor ones, um, I suppose I could...’
‘Giles!’ said Willow and Tara in unison.
‘As for the Underground network . . . all tunnels, of course,’ Giles trailed off. Willow and Tara began to understand the enormity of the task.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Willow, ‘the guy said
old station tunnels, not
old tunnels in a station.’
Tara and Giles looked blank.
‘Could the tunnels be in an old station, a disused,
abandoned station? There can’t be too many of those?’
Willow waited for them to catch up.
‘Genius,’ said Tara.
‘Brilliant,’ said Giles.
‘We can get a list from somewhere?’ Willow felt as if they were finally getting somewhere. She squirreled back into the sofa, the dread she had felt earlier fading away.
‘Yes, I’ll give Charley a ring in the morning,’ Giles said, looking at his watch and thinking it was a bit late to call his secretary now. ‘She can find that for us. In the meantime, we might as well stay put here until we have some sort of plan.’
Tara took the leather pouch from the table.
‘I think we should put this somewhere safe overnight?’ she said.
They looked at Milady Tartaria, each of them wondering what secrets she held.
‘Perhaps she would be safest exactly where she was,’ said Giles, ‘but first, I’d like to copy the pictograms, if I may?’
He went over to his desk and brought back a sheet of blank paper and a pencil. Swiftly, he drew a double-size reproduction of the tablet, folded the paper and put it in one of his jacket pockets.
‘Okay, ready?’ he said.
Tara nodded and put the tablet in the pouch. When it was back on Willow’s neck Tara performed the small ritual. The pouch slowly faded into invisibility. Willow sat back with a sigh, her eyes closing.
‘I’ll take a good look at this tomorrow, after I’ve phoned Charley,’ he said, ‘I might be able to cross-reference the symbols with some of my own work. Some of them look a little familiar.’
‘We’ll help,’ said Tara.
‘Yes, good,’ said Giles, ‘now, would anyone like a nightcap?’
‘Oh, no, not for me,’ said Tara, ‘I couldn’t eat or drink another thing, but you go ahead.’
She turned to Willow. Willow was fast asleep. Definitely, deeply asleep. There would be no waking her now, not for a good number of hours. The fire had shrunk to a crust of glowing embers, its deep red light barely reaching those it warmed. Giles got to his feet and moved around the table.
‘Ah,’ he said bending over Willow, ‘I’ll just . . . .’
Tara laid her hand over his arm and looked up at him.
‘My job,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, yes. Of course,’ Giles gave her a little smile and withdrew.
She stood up and, gathering Willow into her arms, drew her to her feet. Willow muttered, but leant obligingly against Tara, who grasped her firmly by the waist. With one of Willow’s arms draped around her neck, Tara manoeuvred them both around the coffee table. Slowly, she sleep-walked Willow out of the study. Giles followed them through the dining room and into the hall.
‘If you’re sure you don’t need . . . .’ he said as they started up the staircase.
Tara half-turned on a stair. She smiled down at him, her face ethereal with exhaustion.
‘No burden, Giles.’
She helped Willow up onto the next stair. Willow buried her face in Tara’s neck. Tara looked at her, then back at Giles.
‘No burden at all.’
‘Goodnight Tara.’
‘Goodnight Giles.’
Giles nodded and turned back to the dining room.
‘Don’t forget to switch off the electric blanket,’ he called over his shoulder.
Tara and Willow resumed their ascent of the stairs to the measured ticking of the grandfather clock in the empty hall.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.Tick.Tock.
Oh, the sinister apple core of evil . . . mwah ha ha! More food torture coming up!
