Like I said, swords don’t have real minds and cannot think. But the danged things don’t know that. This one had more attitude that a overgrown piece of cutlery had any right to. It was determined that it would be the boss.
I had other ideas.
It’s a mental game, really. I was vaguely aware that the others were looking at me but since they couldn’t hear either the sword or my mental voice, they had no idea what was going on. I was a bit too busy to bother trying to tell them.
Finlay was a handful. He was trying to force me into submission by sheer force of will alone. Caught off balance, it threw me at first – which just encouraged the stupid thing more. But ultimately, it’s all bluster. Swords don’t really have minds or even wills of their own. If you can stand the initial onslaught, the battle is yours.
As I began to get the upper hand, I could hear Nyota and Tresmayne calmly debating what was going on. Nyota figured I was just intent on my job but Tresmayne had guessed the truth. I ignored them.
Another few minutes went by, probably just as boring for them as this is for you. It’s hard to describe the battle since it’s just one force of will against another and since I’m an actual person, the outcome was never in doubt. From my point of view it’s like a lot of emotional shoving. No real ‘talking’ going on, just one will against the other, pushing back and forth.
It’s to Finlay’s credit that it took me ten minutes to subdue him. I’d never before taken more than a few seconds to get one in line. The psyche that he’d recorded was ferocious. But eventually, that force dies back – the sword can’t sustain it the way a person can. At long last, Finlay settled down.
It’s funny that something so strong can suddenly become so servile. But they do. I was the boss; Finlay knew it. Score one for the home team.
I came back to the sofa and sat down. I poked Nyota, "I don’t get that intent!"
"What’d you get?" Jack asked.
"Nothing yet – Finlay gave me some attitude but we’re friends now. Give me a few minutes." I replied.
He nodded, "Sure." He glanced at his watch, "That call should come in about a half hour."
"Got it." I told him. I concentrated on Finlay, "So, did you sense the new slayer?" I asked. Yes, I know – I didn’t need to know that. But swords don’t read calendars and I had to get the time frame straight somehow.
"Mistress’ first born became a slayer. Is that what you mean, Lady?" Finlay’s voice boomed. I was surprised at the Scottish accent.I wasn’t surprised he called Mrs Scarlotti ‘mistress’ – a lot of older blades do that.
"Yes, that’s the one." I told him.
"Mistress always knew the boy would." He confided.
"So I heard. Do you remember what happened when he emerged?"
"He was slow. When Mistress was a slayer, she was never that slow. He didn’t even get the second one."
"Second?" I asked.
"Yes, the second slow one."
"Vampire?"
"Yes, Lady. the second vampire. He didn’t get it." Finlay told me.
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