Man Friday

the Order."

  "I think that is most appropriate, Madam," Aelfraed said.

  "I'm glad you feel that way. I want you to see to it, but I would like to choose the final design. And as long as I have your attention, you should know I plan to recommend that you receive the Queen's Gallantry Medal."

  For the second time in her memory his reserve slipped; in fact, he looked so shocked his pince-nez spectacles fell right off his face. She couldn't help grinning as he fumbled trying to catch them while everyone present slapped a hand on the table and stamped a foot on the floor.

  Recovering his composure, he put his glasses back on and waited for the applause to die down. "I appreciate the honour, Madam, but Mr. Holt deserves that accolade, not me."

  Holt looked like he would have a heart attack at any moment. She sported a Cheshire Cat smile and spoke before he could. "That reminds me. Mr. Holt, if I could I would award you the Victoria Cross; in fact, I'd pin it on you myself."

  "I understand, Mum."

  "Not so fast. I thought about this long and hard, how to recognize your actions without overshadowing the sacrifices of the others, and I've hit upon a solution. I don't claim it's perfect, but I feel it accomplishes what I want. First, I told you a few days ago I would have you Mentioned in Despatches; I plan to do that twice now. Second, I will put through an order to have you promoted to full corporal, with the commensurate raise in pay. Third, I will recommend that you receive the George Medal. Despite being a civilian award, I truly believe standing up to a Fomorian with just a sniper rifle, no matter how powerful, qualifies as an act of great bravery. It's either that, or we impale a hundred thousand captives on the front lawn. Your choice."

  At first everyone stared at her as if she had gone crazy, but then a ripple of laughter passed around the table, and Holt raised his hands in capitulation as he blushed, while the others applauded.

  "Gentlemen, I understand your reluctance, but believe me, I'm not playing at this like I used to play at having tea. I am in grave earnest. So I would appreciate it if you all would just shut it and accept these awards in the spirit they're offered."

  Both Holt and Aelfraed nodded. "Of course, Madam."

  "Very well, that'll be all. Mr. Holt, could you please stay? I'd like to talk with you in private."

  He looked uneasy, but he nodded and resumed his seat. As soon as the others left, however, she stood up. "Let's go into the office, where we'll be more comfortable."

  He preceded her, but she paused as she closed the door and glanced at Vlad. "Could you leave us alone please?"

  He favoured her with a grinning leer, but bowed his head. "Of course, My Master." He then turned to shadow and disappeared through the floor.

  Holt stood in the middle of the room, so she walked over beside the desk.

  "Shouldn't you be resting, Mum?"

  "I'm sick and tired of resting. I have work to do, and it's for that reason I asked to see you. I'm afraid I lied to you."

  He flashed a disturbed look. "I don't understand."

  She reached across the desk and pulled a piece of paper off the blotter. "This is your official request for transfer." She held it up. "I never put it through."

  Before he could respond she ripped it in half. For a moment he again looked like he would have heart attack.

  "I've decided to follow your advice and go by my gut. As a result, I won't grant your request. You are, of course, free to go over my head, but you know as well as I do that without my consent the chances are remote that it will be approved."

  For once he looked truly upset by her actions rather than just displeased. "You can't do that, you have no right!"

  "On the contrary, I have every right, as both Director and Head of Family. The Order needs you; you're much too valuable for me to let you just walk away like this." She cut herself off when she saw the anguished look on his face.

  I can't do this; not like this.

  In a more gentle voice she said, "Sit down."

  He straightened his back and put on a defiant mask. "I'd rather stand."

  "Giles, please."

  He flashed a surprised expression, then seemed to slump. He looked around, spotted the chair by the safe, and went over to it.

  She waited until he settled himself. "Would you like something to drink? Aelfraed would offer you tea, but Father kept a bottle of Scotch in the bureau."

  Again he looked surprised. "Ah, no, really Mum, that's..."

  "Oh, it's no trouble." She went over to the wall unit, opened a lower cabinet, and pulled out a bottle. She detoured to grab a club soda from a built in mini-refrigerator and snagged a glass off the niche shelf before she approached the chair.

  "This is supposed to be pretty smooth stuff." She poured a libation and handed him the glass, then set the bottle on the floor and pulled the tab on her soda.

  She raised her can and said, "The Queen."

  He perked up at that and tapped his glass to her can, repeating, "The Queen." They both took a sip.

  "I'm sorry I didn't honour your request."

  "Mum--"

  "No, please, hear me out. It's just that the events of the past few days have brought home to me just how much I need you, in the strongest possible terms."

  He stared at her in wonder.

  "Yes, Giles, I need you. I'm not talking about emotionally; I got over my crush years ago. I mean professionally. And I don't mean the Order. I need you; me, Differel Van Helsing."

  "You have Aelfraed, Mrs. Widget, and Vlad. The new troops will be here in a few days with a new commander. You don't need me."

  "They each have their specific duties, in addition to the lessons they give me. They can't do your job as well as their own."

  "And what would my job be?"

  "I'd like to make you the manor's Master-at-Arms; Vlad gave me the idea, just before the battle. That would not only put you in charge of security for the house and grounds inside the security fence, but also of training and discipline, both mine and the guards under your direction. But really, what I need is a Man Friday."

  He raised an eyebrow at that. "I think there would be others that would be better qualified."

  She flashed a lopsided smile. "Give me a chance to convince you. If afterwards you still want that transfer, I'll recommend it with my blessings. You don't have anything to lose."

  He mulled that over as he chewed on his lower lip. "Very well. Give it your best shot."

  "Thank you. First of all, I need you to train me how to fight. Vlad may be able to teach me pistol shooting and Aelfraed knife fighting, but not hand-to-hand combat, not like you can."

  "There are other teachers."

  "But none like you. You have the knowledge, you have the skill, but most important you have the experience. I don't need lessons in techniques or moves or forms; I need to know how to stay alive. I want to be able to take down an attacker as quickly and efficiently as possible, or even to kill if I have to. There may be others who can teach me that, but you're the only one who understands why it's necessary, and so won't hesitate to teach me everything I need to know."

  He looked uncertain, and he took a drink to cover it.

  "Secondly, I was nearly killed yesterday, despite being surrounded by guards and having Vlad nearby. If it hadn't been for you, I would be dead now. I can't ignore that."

  "I was just lucky."

  "Maybe; probably. But you had something everyone else lacked, including Vlad: the wit and imagination to analyze the situation and come up with a strategy that worked. Everyone else just thought to shoot, despite the fact that it didn't work. Vlad was worse than the others. He was so confident in his weapons and power that he grew complacent. Well, I can't afford to make that mistake; it could prove fatal. I need someone who'll use his head, not just shoot first and ask questions later, and I need someone who isn't afraid to stick his neck out and take the initiative."

  He seemed pleased with that, because a faint smile played at his lips.

  "Next, I need someone wh
om I can trust to obey my orders no matter what."

  He frowned in puzzlement. "I don't understand."

  "Suppose I was bitten by a Zombie. If I ordered you to kill me, would you do it?"

  "Yes." He didn't even think about it.

  "Why?"

  "Because there would be no hope of saving you, and once you reanimated you would be a danger to others."

  "Exactly. The thing is, I don't think Aelfraed or Mrs. Widget would, and Vlad couldn't. I need someone close to me who can put the Order and its mission ahead of even my life and well being, if necessary. That might also mean having to go up against Vlad. Could you do that?"

  That time he did hesitate. "If it meant the difference between triumph and catastrophe, then yes I would."

  "Excellent. That would also make you my Man For All Seasons, my conscience and moral compass, in case I lose control of or doubt myself."

  He nodded, as if accepting that.

  "Finally, Vlad told me something a few nights ago that has bothered me since."

  "His offer that you drink his blood?"

  "No, but you should know, I've decided to decline, for the time being, and that was largely due to your advice; that's another reason I want to keep you around."

  "What else has he said?"

  "That as Director it would be my responsibility to send my people to their deaths if necessary. I got a taste of that yesterday. Fortunately, I didn't have to order anyone to sacrifice himself; they did so willingly, or at least dutifully. Like Vlad said, they understood their purpose, even as he does. But one day I'll have to, and right now I don't feel like I can."

  "You're only twelve years old."

  "I can't allow that to make a difference. Before he died, Father told me that my responsibilities are my alone; no one else can bear them for me. Tomorrow there might be a crisis that forces me to make that decision, even though I'm not ready. If I try to avoid it, the result may be disastrous. So ready or not, I must face the reality that I am the only one who can order any of you to die. Vlad said I must find the strength to do so on my own; no one can teach me that. But...but, I'm scared. What if I don't have the strength? What if I can't find it? What if I fall apart? What if I fail--"

  She spun around and retreated a few steps, trying to keep from breaking down and sobbing uncontrollably. It wasn't going the way she wanted. She had hoped she could remain in control and calmly present her arguments.

  Some leader I am; I can't even manage that.

  She could imagine how Vlad would berate her if he were present: not just a mere female, but also a mere child, unworthy of his loyalty, or anyone else's for that matter.

  She felt Holt place his hands on her shoulders. Startled, she turned around. He had gotten down on one knee, and he gripped her arms. "Don't ever think that. I believe in you, and that's not idle flattery. In the four years I've known you, I can see in you the character that Vlad tasted in your blood."

  "That's why I need you. I need your help to bring it out."

  "I wish I could, but I can't, and I don't want you to depend on me for something I can't deliver."

  "I don't understand!"

  "Differel, I'm only twenty-three. I've barely started my life, much less my career. I can't even find the strength to fulfill my own duty; how can I help you find yours?"

  She did a mental double-take, and her misery disappeared as soon as the shilling dropped. "Is that what this is all about?! Then what the bloody hell do you call that stunt you pulled?"

  "An act of desperation."

  "You didn't strike me as being desperate; in fact, you seemed pretty confident. I think you're selling yourself short." The irony of her statement kicked her in the face. "And I think I'm selling myself short, too. Giles, listen, I believe we're both suffering from the same problem: a lack of confidence in ourselves. We know what needs to be done, we're just frightened of doing it, or rather, at failing. Perhaps not enough to prevent us from doing our jobs, but certainly enough to make us question our ability. You have the advantage of being older, more mature,