Marcus L. Rowland (ffutures) wrote,
Marcus L. Rowland
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Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness part IV

Here's the latest part of my BtVS / St. Trinian's crossover. Earlier parts can be found on-line as
http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1504765
or
http://www.tthfanfic.com/story.php?no=1762


This is a crossover between Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the St. Trinian's films and books inspired by the cartoons of Ronald Searle. Minor spoilers up to season 7 of Buffy. Set after Season 7 BtVS, after Season 4 Angel. Since there is no real St. Trinian's continuity a mixture of characters from the films, books, etc. has been used. For a good web reference to the St. Trinians stories see users.netmatters.co.uk/ju90/ron.htm

All characters belong to their respective creators / film companies / etc. and are used without permission, and without any intention of damaging their owners copyright. This story may only be distributed on a non-profit-making basis.

Work in Progress. If you like this story, check out my other stories on the Fanfiction Net, Twisting the Hellmouth, and Fonts of Wisdom websites.

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.



Deeds of Maidenly Unkindness

by Marcus L. Rowland

IV

"Are you quite sure?" asked Old Harry, sitting up in bed and staring at his grandson.

Flash Harry looked at the grey-bearded old man, shrugged his shoulders, and said "Sure as I can be. She crushed a bit of granite like it was nothing, an' I've seen her lift a sack of rubble that must have weighed a hundredweight or more when she thought no-one was looking."

"So... It was definitely daylight?"

"Yes, an' she wears a cross," Flash said patiently. "She isn't a vampire, grandad. Probably not a demon neither. What else is there?"

"For years nothing, then a Slayer comes to Saint Trinian's. A bloody Slayer. You know what this means, of course."

"I do, grandad."

"Fetch me my stick and my dressing gown, an' get your father from the pub. This time there's going to be a reckoning. A full reckoning. This time they're going to pay. Pay with interest." He slammed his fist on the bedsite table for emphasis.

* * * * *

"What's all this?" asked Buffy, staring at the pallets of plastic-wrapped gymnasium equipment that a small fork-lift was unloading from a huge truck.

"What you wanted," said Flash Harry.

"This isn't the stuff that went missing, is it? It looks too new."

"It is new, innit. New-ish, anyhow, comes out of a sports club that went broke. Couldn't track the old stuff down, could I, so I talked to some friends wot are in the import-export business and owes me a favour and they found me this lot."

"How?" asked Willow.

"Well, they send regular shipments out to places like Africa, an' there 'as to be a label saying there's something kosher inside the container for the customs there. So this time the container is supposed to be full of sports stuff. Usually they dump the legit stuff, or sell it cheap to get rid of it, this time they gave it to the school, they're going to write it off as a tax loss."

"And what's really inside their containers?" asked Buffy, "Guns? Drugs?"

"Don't be daft."

"What then?"

"Slot machines, I hexpect. One-armed bandits, that sort of thing. 'An maybe a few crates of Scotch. It's a Moslem country, they don't like gambling or booze."

"Oh..."

"'Course I can send this stuff back if you don't want it."

"Umm... No, don't do that. I suppose if it isn't guns..."

"I can find out easily enough," said Willow, looking at the delivery documents. "There's bound to be something I can trace."

"I did find out what happened to the old stuff," said Harry, "That Miss Ballard sold it all to Joey Bonnington, 'im wot bought the lead off the roof 'an the rest of the stuff from the gym. 'E couldn't shift it, burned it to melt down the lead. Wicked wastefulness, I call it."

"How did they get it off the roof without anyone noticing?" Buffy asked skeptically.

"Without anyone noticing? Ballard bunged the fourth year a crate of gin for their Christmas party, they made so much bloody noise that you could have stolen the whole bloody building without anyone noticing. Then the kids went off for their holidays 'an nobody the wiser until it snowed in January and the ceiling fell down. By then Ballard was long gone, 'an Joey was nabbed by the filth for 'andling the silver that wos nicked from the Abbey last year."

"So you weren't involved?"

"Me? 'Urt the school? Wot do you take me for? Four generations of my family 'as 'elped 'ere, and not one of them never did nothing to 'arm the place. I feel properly insulted now." He whistled shrilly, then shouted "George, start loading the stuff back on the lorry, it 'aint welcome 'ere." The fork lift backed towards the truck.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said hastily, "I didn't mean it that way. It's just that we want things to go right here, and with your connections we kinda thought..."

"Well, that kind of thoughts is very wounding to a man of my 'onesty. Very wounding. But I see you was thinking of the good of the school. George, keep unloading, I was wrong."

"Make yer bloody mind up," said George, stopping the fork-lift.

"Keep unloading mate, it was a misunderstanding."

"You sure?"

"Am I?" asked Harry.

"Oh yeah," said Buffy, "we totally believe you."

"Totally," confirmed Willow.

"Good," said Harry, "It's okay George, unload it."

"Thanks," said Buffy, "it really means a lot to me."

"Really?" said Harry. "Then maybe you two ladies could do me a small favour..."

* * * * *

Over the weekend Buffy finished setting up the gym and Willow finished her preparations in the computer room and the laboratory. On Saturday they went to the village to get some shopping, and were surprised to see that most of the villagers were boarding up their front windows and repairing fences.

"Maybe they're expecting a storm," said Willow.

"In Britain?" asked Buffy. "Didn't think they had tornadoes or anything like that here." She noticed a workman outside one of the shops and went across to him, spoke for a moment, then went back to Willow, looking bemused.

"Well?"

"It's to stop the girls smashing up the village when they arrive on Monday."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Last term they broke eighteen windows. Are you sure the school isn't on a Hellmouth?"

"No Hellmouthy vibes," said Willow, "and I think we would have noticed by now if there were."

* * * * *

On Monday the rest of the teachers and the girls returned and the relative peace of the holiday disappeared. The first arrival was a trio of battered buses, each crammed with shrieking children wearing black school uniforms waving hockey sticks, tennis racquets and at least one pitchfork out of the window. The teachers waiting to greet them on the drive were suddenly hit by a wall of noise and the pungent smell of too many children and too little deodorant.

"These are mostly the lower-school children," Miss Fritton shouted over the din, "the older girls are generally brought by their parents later in the day."

"Why's that?" asked Willow. "Do they have a lot more luggage?"

"No, it's to make sure that they really come here rather than running off with their boyfriends or taking jobs as barmaids."

"Oh. Right," said Buffy, intercepting one of the girls, taking her spiked brass knuckles, and throwing them into a box that already held four catapults, a half-dozen knives and a machete, two bottles of vodka and several cartons of cigarettes.

"You have a good eye for this," said Miss Fritton as Buffy took a baseball bat with three spikes from another girl's backpack.

"Got a lot of practice as a student counsellor in Sunnydale. People carrying weapons walk differently, behave differently. Should I be handing out demerits?"

"Not yet. We always expect to confiscate a certain amount of weaponry at the beginning of the term, the girls seem to find the oddest things during the holidays and bring them back to amuse their friends. Why, it can't have been more than three years ago that Potts Minor tried to bring in a missile launcher."

"A missile launcher?"

"A small one, I think it was called a stinger, or something of the sort."

"That girl over there with the heavy valise," said Willow. "She's got something inside it."

Evadne White was already moving to intercept her, and stood patiently as the girl tried to defy her then opened the case to reveal a can of deiseal fuel and a small bag of fertiliser.

"Okay," said Willow, "Fuel and an oxidiser. Check her for anything that could be used as an igniter."

"Don't worry," said Miss Fritton, "We know Drusilla of old, another of our budding pyromaniacs."

"Drusilla?" asked Willow. The girl was dark and did look vaguely like... no, it had to be a coincidence.

"Drusilla Padgett. Named for one of her ancestors, a novice nun who disappeared after all of her immediate family were murdered. It's one of the famous unsolved mysteries of the nineteenth century."

"Wow. Do you think it has anything to do with the pyromania?"

"No, she just likes watching things burn."

"Oh."

"How did you spot her?"

"Just a feeling. I guess I picked up on her body language like Buffy said."

"Well done. Oh Miss Summers, the blonde girl with the pigtails please. Bring her here."

One of the girls approaching the entrance, aged about thirteen, slowed as she got near to the waiting teachers then hung back until she was in a crowd of her classmates. Buffy gently took her by the shoulder and steered her to Miss Fritton. "Well, Abigail?" asked Miss Fritton.

"What, Miss Fritton?"

"What is it this time?"

"Me, Miss Fritton?"

"Yes you, Abigail. Do I have to open your bag?"

""No, Miss Fritton." Abigail sighed and unzipped the canvas cover. "Yikes," said Willow, stepping back hastily as an angry boa-constrictor surged out. Buffy watched it for a second then darted out a hand to grab it behind the head.

"Can you manage, Miss Summers?" asked Miss Fritton.

"Sure," said Buffy, as the snake wrapped a coil around her. "I think it's just trying to be friendly. Got somewhere for me to put it?"

Miss Fritton put two fingers into her mouth and blew a piercing whistle. Flash Harry appeared from around the side of the building and approached warily.

"Harry, perhaps you can find a home for this creature?"

"There's some sacks and an empty cupboard in the boiler room, we'll shove it in a sack and leave it there while I phone the pet shop an' arrange to ship it back to her dad. Ought to be warm enough."

By now the snake had three coils around Buffy and was doing its best to crush her. "Are you sure you're all right in there?" asked Willow.

"I'm fine, it's kinda like a massage," said Buffy, following Harry down to the boiler room.

"Now then, Abigail," said Miss Fritton, "What have we told you about bringing pets to school?"

"Nothing bigger or more dangerous than an 'ampster, Miss Fritton."

"And the snake?"

"Well he eats 'ampsters, Miss Fritton, I thought it'd be okay." She started to cry.

"Fifty lines, Abigail, 'I will not bring dangerous animals into school.' And before you ask, Abigail, that includes the lion cub last term, and the tarantula and scorpions last year."

"Maybe you could try fish... harmless fish... instead," said Willow. "There's an aquarium in the laboratory, would you like to be in charge of that?"

"What's in it?" asked Abigail.

"Nothing right now," said Willow, "it's about four feet long and eighteen inches wide and high, and it has a heater, lights, and filters. Work out what we can keep in there and give me a list of what you'll need, and if it isn't dangerous we'll see what we can do."

"Okay," said Abigail, brightening up.

"But no piranha or electric eels," Willow said hastily.

"Oh." Abigail sadly went inside. The last stragglers from the coaches were inside the school by the time Buffy came back, minus the snake.

"Well done everyone," said Miss Fritton. "Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg, I'd like you to check the buses, make sure that the girls haven't left anything behind.. money, luggage, time bombs, bodies, that sort of thing. Everyone else, let's get the children unpacked and check for contraband again before the upper school gets here."

"Time bombs?" said Buffy, as she and Willow climbed aboard the first coach. "Bodies?"

"She was joking... I think."

"Let's hope so. After the snake I'll believe almost anything."

* * * * *

Agnes Spink and Cathy Spiggot tried to look innocent as they dodged through the noisy corridors towards the computer lab. Cathy kept look-out while Agnes picked the lock again, then locked it once they were inside. "How long have we got?" asked Agnes.

"About two hours before the last stragglers get here. There's an assembly at four followed by tea, we'll have to be there I suppose, but that gives us bags of time."

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

"I can't crack her security through the network and I'm not going near that server again so we'll have to cheat. I'll bug the office and her phone and put a key stroke recorder in her keyboard. You search the place and see if you can find anything that looks like a list of passwords, or anything that we can use for blackmail. Make sure that you don't make a mess, I don't want her to know that we've been here."

"Right." They worked in silence for a few minutes, then Agnes said "Here's an old book. Really old. Looks like Latin, I wonder why she'd have it in here."

"Maybe it's her encryption key. Can you photocopy it?"

"Yes... damn, no, there's no paper."

"Bung it on the scanner, we can save it onto a CD and read it on my laptop."

"Okay.... Oh bugger."

"What's up?"

"The ink must be light sensitive or something. As soon as I scan a page the writing disappears."

"You're kidding."

"See for yourself."

Cathy looked at the book and saw that the first half-dozen pages were blank. She thought that she could see a faint ghost of the letters on the page, areas that were paler than the old stained paper, but it was hard to be sure. She put the next page of text onto the scanner and waited for it to cycle, then took another look at the page. It was now as blank as its predecessors. "That's bloody odd. Finish scanning the chapter, then put the book back where you found it. With luck it'll be days before she notices, by then we might be able to break into the system."

"Let's hope so" said Agnes, scanning the next page. "Why the hell would she have disappearing ink?"

"Maybe she's a spy or something?"

"Get real."

"Well I don't know. I'm just about finished here, how about you."

"That's the last page."

"Burn it to CD-R and I'll wipe everything, I think I can get into the logs without triggering her alarms. We can take a proper look at it when we get back to the dorm."

* * * * *

Buffy and Willow finished searching the buses and dropped two knives, a throwing star, another knuckle-duster and a spiked stick into the box as the first of a long line of cars arrived, each bearing a more or less reluctant student. The heap of contraband slowly grew. Last to arrive were the sixth form. About half seemed to have a boyfriend or two in tow. "Remember," said Miss Fritton, "with the sixth form we're only interested in weapons, explosives, and hard drugs. It's legal for them to smoke although we don't encourage it, and some of them can legally drink. I can't actually tell you to ignore pornography, cannabis, and alcohol, but most of them will be carrying at least one of the three and those that don't can easily get hold of it. If we're too strict they'll bring in more, and may not be too careful about keeping it away from the younger children."

"How's it going?" Buffy asked half an hour later.

"Enough pot to keep Bob Marley happy for life," said Willow, "eight copies of The Story of O and four of Venus in Furs, plenty of booze and cigarettes and a musical.. um.. sex aid."

"About the same here," said Buffy, "plus some ecstasy and another machete."

"What did you do about it," asked Miss Fritton, overhearing.

"Confiscated the E's and the machete, left the rest alone."

"Well done. I think that's about the last of them now, if you two could help me take these boxes to my office..."

"Sure, no problem. What are you going to do with everything?"

"Flush the drugs and add the spirits and cigarettes to our reserve for entertaining guests. Harry can dispose of the.. um... hardware."

"I could look after the weapons if you like," said Buffy, "kinda a hobby of mine, might be something I don't have in my collection back home. I think one of the machetes might be second world war US Marine issue, and the throwing star looks like early Thai."

"How splendid. Of course, help yourself." She held her office door open for Buffy and Willow.

"Miss Fritton," said Willow, "Flash Harry kinda talked us into going round to his cottage tomorrow night and helping his grandad with his computer. He wants us to stay for supper, I guess we should take some sort of gift. What would you suggest?"

"Gin, my dear," said Miss Fritton. "Harry thrives on it, so does his father and grandfather. And his great-grandfather was so soaked in it that it's a wonder his body didn't spontaneously combust."

"Where can we buy some?"

"Buy? Take one of the bottles we confiscated, of course." She examined them, selected one, and said "This one; it hasn't been opened and it's expensive enough that even Harry will have heard of it but not so good that he'll think it's effete."

"Oh. Okay, thanks."

"Better get along and get ready, assembly's in fifteen minutes. I've got some notices to read and I'll have to introduce you to the girls."

"Right."

* * * * *

"What do you make of it?" asked Agnes, watching Cathy working at her laptop.

"Well, we've got good images of the text, I'll just run it through the OCR program then see if I can get a translation. Wish there was an internet connection up here."

"Get the text onto a floppy and you can run it through Babelfish or something when we have our next IT lesson."

In the distance a bell rang. Cathy finished saving the file and said "Assembly. Better go, bloody Fritton will notice if we cut it."

She saved the file, exited the program, but left the laptop on as they hurried out.

After a few minutes an MS Messenger box opened on screen and said "Hi, I'm Malcolm." After a long pause it added "Is anyone there?"

TBC

Note: The cartoon used in this chapter is a detail from one of the original St. Trinian's cartoons by Ronald Searle.


Gotta dash out to meet someone, already late, back later.

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