There are illustrations to this story. But I'm too dim to insert them here, so they'll be posted to the version on my website. It's not necessary to look at the pretty pictures to enjoy the story. :)

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CHAPTER ONE

"You seen any of London yet?" Spike asked, tucking the Slayer beneath his arm and strolling up the street.

Buffy shook her head and slid her arm across Spike's back beneath the duster. Once again, her fingers tangled in his t-shirt. "I haven't much been in the mood to play tourist."

"You in a better mood today?"

"Well, yeah." She rubbed his back and gave his waist a squeeze before stuffing her fingers inside his back pocket. "But we can't play tourist."

"Can too. Can do anything we want to." Reversing directions on the pavement, he began pulling her down Gloucester Road.

"Spike, no." Her fingers dug at his where they'd captured her wrist. "We can't. It's cloudy now, but that could change. You should get indoors."

"Won't change."

"You can't know that."

"I know London weather. Won't change."

She braced her feet against his strength, which had little effect except to make her trip after him. Slayer and vampire both knew she could have overridden him easily had she wished it. The other pedestrians couldn't have cared less what the odd couple were doing on the busy London street.

"I don't want to risk your burning up," Buffy protested.

He stopped so quickly, she nearly ran into him.

"Not a risk when we're traveling underground." Taking Buffy by the shoulders, Spike spun her around to face the building before them. "Gloucester Road tube station. What say we grab a ticket?"

She bit her lip. "It's tempting."

Spike grinned and did that tongue thing he did so well. "Friend of mind once said the best thing to do with a temptation is yield to it."

"A friend of mine once said while opportunity knocks, temptation leans hard on the bell. It never gives up, sort of like you."

Buffy...."

His eyes were so eager, so earnest and so blue, Buffy closed her mouth on the strong refusal she had ready.

"Come on, pet." He was practically bouncing on his feet. "Got you all to myself for the first time in months. You're in my city, my territory. Let me show it off to you."

Sliding up behind Buffy with a predator's grace, the vampire slid his hands around her waist. His fingers spread across her stomach. Those hands slid even lower and tightened just so, making something deep inside Buffy flutter. Enfolding her in his duster, Spike pushed his nose against the back of her ear and purred.

"You know I'll make it good for you, Slayer." He was holding her so tightly, she could feel his voice vibrate inside of her. "Show you the Tower of London. The Crown Jewels and the Beefeaters."

"There's a restaurant?" she squeaked.

Spike laughed softly, his breath tickling her ear. Buffy leaned back, wanting him even closer.

"No, pet, that's what we call the guards. What say we nip over to Tower Hill and I show you the Bloody Tower?" His fingers snuck further inside her jeans, were caressing circles much lower than they should have been on a public street.

Buffy closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "Oh. God."

"I'll take that as a yes." Catching her hand, he yanked her inside the station. Studying the rate chart, Spike muttered to himself while Buffy tried to uncurl her toes.

"Not like we're playing tourist only one day," he muttered. "Too much to show you, so think a month pass would be better for both of us. Here now, let's get our pictures taken and no making faces, Slayer. No sitting on my lap either, much as I know you want to. This one's solo for the transit authorities."

She agreed with Spike that it was "right handy" to have a photo booth right there at the entrance to the tube station, so that one could get a photo and obtain a month's pass immediately from the man behind the glass. In only a few minutes, she and Spike had their very own passes to the London Underground to flash at the guard before passing neatly through the turnstile.

"It's the Circle or the District Line east we're wanting." Spike said as he captured her hand again to guide her down the narrow stairs. "Come on, don't dawdle. The ravens won't wait."

"Ravens?"

They reached the platform, and Spike peered impatiently down the dark tunnel for the train. "Yeah. Eight of 'em are kept at the government's expense 'cause they're the palladium of the realm."

"The what-sit?"

"Palladium. An image from legend on which a city's safety is said to depend. They teach you nothing at that school of yours?"

"I'd forgotten how fast your words can leave my brain behind."

"You complaining already?"

"Nooo. Just realizing how lazy I've gotten recently."

A train rumbled into the station, and Buffy followed her vampire aboard. Once they were settled, she rested their joined hands on his thigh. "So, what about these palladium birds that won't wait?"

"Legend says so long as the ravens are at the Tower, Britain's safe from invasion."

"Demonic or mortal?"

"Mortal. Both. I don't know, Slayer. It's a sodding legend."

Buffy stroked his hand. "Poor Spike. You don't like being interrupted, do you?"

He glowered at her, his full lower lip coming out to play. "You asked, I was telling. Can't tell if you keep interrupting. You treat your uni dons like this?"

"My what?"

"University professors." His accent was clipped and clean.

"Oh. Were you lecturing me like they did?"

"Was trying, before a pretty little bint interrupted me."

She grinned and hugged his arm tightly to her. "You really think I'm pretty?"

"None of that. Profs don't flirt with their students."

She snuggled against him. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not a student, and you're not a professor. But go on. I promise not to interrupt again."

"Where was I?"

"Legend says Britain's safe from invasion as long as the ravens are there," Buffy summarized dutifully. "But you don't know what kind of invasion the legend is talking about."

"Right. Not much else to tell. Legend also says if the ravens leave the Tower of London, the White Tower will crumble and the monarchy will fall. The raven keepers trim the birds' flight feathers to prevent them leaving. 'Course, they mate on the wing, so they're right frustrated all of the time."

"The raven keepers mate on the wing?"

"Yeah. Go soaring out over Traitor's Gate and the Thames like bloody archangels, they do." He nudged her. "Get up, pet. This is our stop."

~ ~ ~

"The names of the eight ravens currently in the tower are Gwylum, Thor, Hugine, Munin, Branwen, Bran, Gundulf, and Baldrick," proclaimed the Beefeater, pacing patiently behind one of the birds.

"Which raven is that one?" Buffy asked.

"Don't know," said Spike. "Didn't put on its name tag this morning."

Buffy looked up at the vampire. "You know, if you'd told me those names before, I'd have thought you were making them up."

"Not me. I'd have told you they were named Giles, Xander, Willow--"

She smacked him lightly in the arm.

"That'll bruise. Gonna kiss and make it better, Slayer?"

"Absolutely. Just not here." She tugged him away from the guard, who was being surrounded by tourists eager to ask questions. "Come on, mister. Show me your tower."

"Love to." Leering, Spike trapped the tip of his tongue between his teeth and began stalking her in the predatory panther style that always made Buffy's adrenaline kick in. "Want me to show you now or later when we're alone?"

"I....um...." She walked backward away from him as he continued deliberately pacing her. The duster flared around his legs and Buffy stared, could feel herself blushing. "I walked into that one, didn't it?"

"Walked in, closed the door, and delivered yourself very nicely," Spike agreed. Lengthening his stride, he pounced to tuck her beneath his shoulder in one easy motion--a place Buffy was fast learning was a favorite with him--and kissed her forehead. "Come on. I'll let you off the hook and show you the tower, as opposed to my tower."

~ ~ ~

Buffy stood wide-eyed before the Crown Jewels while Spike stood beside Buffy and offered a running commentary on their history that had other tourists inching closer to listen. A gaggle of tourists followed like goslings in hopes of more tidbits as Spike led the Slayer through the display.

Always aware of any attention he might be getting, Spike whirled at the exit and addressed the small crowd. "The lady and I will be examining torture in the Tower next. Feel free to join us."

The tourists laughed at being found out and followed sheepishly in Spike's dustered wake.

Entering the narrow room, the vampire hung back in a shallow alcove and let the tourists file past. He didn't move or speak until the group of men, women and children were all waiting for him in front of shadowed display of some sort of wooden medieval furniture guarded by a thick plexiglass barrier. Some cast anxious glances over their shoulders to peer at their impromptu guide.

What is he planning? Buffy wondered.

Spike raised his head, and his smirking face was too familiar to the Slayer. Years before, she'd first seen that amused predator look before the vampire had begun toying with her inside Sunnydale High.

"Spike?" she whispered.

"It's all right, pet." Slinking forward, he used the same suggestive, hypnotic walk Buffy had seen years before in Sunnydale High to approach the tourists. "It's been said that only the Rack, the Scavenger's Daughter and the Manacles were used here in the Tower. It was only a little torture—only two centuries' worth. The three of 'em are replicated right over there."

Spike nodded at the objects behind the plexiglass. As one, the tourists turned their backs on the vampire to view the replicas. Stupid tourists, thought Buffy.

"See that big placard announcing 'Torture in the Tower'? Touch the computer screen next to it, and you can read a bit about the torturers and their victims. It's all historical. Clean and tidy, too. Can't smell anybody's blood or worse. Can't hear the screaming. Can't hear anybody begging for their life or protesting their innocence. The tourist board doesn’t want to scare you." He stopped and smirked at a pair of teenaged girls. "Are you scared?"

They giggled at him. One tossed back her hair. "No."

"No." Spike tilted his head. "You two don't feel anything for Ann Askew? Accused of treason, she was the only woman tortured here. Maybe happened right where you're standing. Since, like Ann, you don't want to confess, how about I strap you to that Rack over there, dislocate your arms and legs, and then rip them out of their sockets? Think you'd feel something then?"

One of the girls dropped her gaze to the stone floor. Whatever the other girl saw in Spike's face made her leap back and try to hide behind her friend.

A boy stepped up to pull on Spike's sleeve. "Where's the iron maiden?"

"Not here," said the vampire. "Best one was in Nuremberg, but she was destroyed during the war."

"How did she work?"

"Had two doors, like a cabinet." The vampire gestured by way of illustration. "Featured an interior studded with spikes. The maiden impaled you in the eyes, chest and back, but left you alive to feel it for days. She had a trap door in her bottom that let her minders drop your greasy remains into the river or moat below."

"Awesome!"

"Glad you think so." Spike clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder. "So. That accounts for London and Nuremberg. Other toys were used elsewhere. Cat's paw, mutilation shears, ear chopper, iron gag, knee splitter, caspie-claws, thumbikins. Most are pretty self-explanatory. Just look 'em up on the Internet and enjoy."

"What are caspie-claws?" the boy pursued.

"Let me tell you." Leaning against the stone wall and crossing his arms, Spike began his narration in earnest. "They weren't used here or so say the history books. They were used in Scotland in June of 1595 after the Earl of Orkney had some family troubles. His brother John tried to murder him, first by witchcraft and then by poisoning. A notorious witch named Alison Balfour was said to have helped him. Alison swore she was innocent and no evidence could be found, but it was enough back then to be accused. Her legs were put into the caspie-claws--iron cases for the arms or the legs. The cases were heated over braziers until Alison's flesh burned. She was kept like that for two days."

"Oh, God," said someone in the crowd.

Spike hesitated. "It gets worse. Want me to stop?"

"No," said an older woman with a Scots accent at the front of the crowd. "This part of our history needs remembered so it never happens again. You go on and tell what happened to Alison."

"She didn't confess, so they brought in her family. Alison watched as her elderly husband was slowly crushed to death by fifty stone of iron bars." The vampire glanced at Buffy. "That's seven hundred pounds. Alison still didn't confess, so her son was next. A boy like you." Spike nodded at the one who'd asked about the iron maiden. "They put the boots on him. Anybody know what those were?"

A few people shook their heads.

"Your legs got put between two planks of iron and bound with cords. Then the torturers used a cousin to today's sledgehammer to drive in wooden wedges from your ankles to your knees. With every strike, the inquisitor--a different fellow from the torturer--repeated the question. First your flesh split, then your bones cracked, then the marrow gushed out. Your legs were useless when the torturer removed the boots, and you died a little later. They gave Alison's son fifty-seven strokes, but his mum still didn't confess."

"I can't believe this," someone said over the tourists' murmuring.

Spike shrugged. "Like this lady here said, it's a documented part of history and not just Scotland's. Next came Alison's little girl. Didn't have boots small enough to fit her, so she got the piniwinkies--sort of a thumbscrew. Did the same thing as the boots only to the little one's fingers and toes. Crushed them until the blood spurted out from under her fingernails." He nodded at the two teenage girls who had giggled at him in the beginning. "You feeling anything over there yet?"

"Stop it," whispered one of the girls.

"The torturers didn't stop, and Alison finally broke down. Confessed to witchcraft and probably to the seven deadly sins as well. 'Course she was convicted. Recanted her confession later when she was about to be put to death on the Heading Hill of Kirkwall, but they burned her anyway. Deducted the cost of her trial and execution from her estate, too. Should probably mention this all happened in Edinburgh. Not here. If that matters."

"Did the little girl live?" someone asked.

"The records don't say, but my guess is no. Even if she did survive her fingers and toes being crushed, who'd take in a convicted witch's child? And so--" Spike pushed away from the wall. "Hope you enjoyed this little torture tour as much as I enjoyed taking you on it."

Giving a mocking bow to the stunned and silent crowd, Spike strode back to a stunned Buffy. "I'm feeling peckish, pet. Care for a snack? "