Blackadder: I wonder if Sir Giles has set a new record for the extreme brevity of his career at Court? There was Lord Broomhall, who returned from his travels in the Indies, and presented her Majesty with a baboon instead of a chest of pearls, but Lord Giles may have pipped him. I must go and consult the Guardroom league tables - I have five shillings, threepence ha’penny riding on Lord B losing his record inside six months. (he strides away, a spring in his step)

Buffy: Poor, poor Giles. We have to save him, at once.

Baldrick: (sidling up to Buffy) You don’t need to worry about him being topped just yet, your lovely Divineness. The executioners won’t work weekends, or bank holidays, or feast days, or days with an ‘e’ in them - they’re unionised, you see.

Spike: Pity. Personally, I think having his head separated from his shoulders would improve Giles a lot. (broodingly) Lord Alexander of Harris, indeed! On second thoughts, beheading’s too good for the sod.

Buffy: We’ve gotta get Giles out of the Tower now, or ourselves in.

Spike: (looking around the corridor, bored) Oh, there’s no hurry, is there? I expect your dear old Alfred is thrilled at the chance to see another bit of authentic old London.

Buffy: Willow and Tara need us all together to bring us home, remember? If this rip doesn’t get fixed, the best thing that can happen is that we’re stuck here for good. (dramatic pause) The worst thing is the end of the world!

Spike: Finally took the time to read that bit of paper Willow sent for Giles, did you? I wouldn’t worry too much about it Slayer, witches always say stuff like that, makes ’em feel important - and they usually say it in Latin to make it sound scarier. (for a moment he looks bitter) Bunch of bloody posers.

Buffy: You don’t want us to get Giles out, do you?

Spike: Frankly, no.

Buffy: Want to stay in Elizabethan London forever, Spike? (raps his skull with her fist) With that chip in your head?

Spike: (disgusted) All right, all right. We’ll bust him out. (quietly) I’ll just have to make sure he dies in agonising pain another day.

Buffy: We need to stick together.

Spike: (to himself) Oh great, just great. My day really isn’t complete without a few hours spent hanging with Cemetery girl here.

Blackadder: Hah! Five shillings, threepence ha’penny! The day has started to improve. I fancy a decent rump steak, and a bumper of sherry - I’ve gone off pies for now.

Baldrick: (wistfully) Rump steak sounds very nice, my Lord....

Blackadder: I wasn’t planning to buy you any, Baldrick.

Baldrick: (dreamily) Rump steak and turnips. (he takes his turnip from his pocket and strokes it). You can’t beat a good turnip.

Blackadder: Although you can beat a cretin with a turnip.

Buffy: Cut it out, Torquemada. (she moves away)

Blackadder: Hmm, I bet you have quite a grip with your thighs, too, and other muscles.

Buffy: (returns) Slayers also have very good hearing. And Lord Blackadder? Believe me, I have a very strong grip everywhere. (reaches out a hand and squeezes his codpiece)

Spike: Yeah, that’s what Angel said. (Buffy’s grip on Blackadder’s codpiece tightens)

Blackadder: (falsetto) Madam...

Blackadder: (calls after her) And I wish you every success in your future career as a circus freak. (he moves to the door) Now, it pains me to do this, but I assure you it is entirely for your own safety. Trust me. (exits the room, slams the door, and locks it)

Baldrick: Hey! He’s I think he’s locked us in. That was a bit careless. (Spike rolls his eyes)

Buffy: Not to worry, Baldrick, I can fix the door.

Baldrick: (impressed) Can you walk through doors, your exquisite Divineness?

Buffy: Yes - but not exactly in the sense you mean. On this occasion, I think I’ll try something a bit subtler. (She walks up to the door and rips the locks off it with a loud scream of tortured metal.

Baldrick: Oooh!

Spike: Oh, that was subtle all right.

Buffy: Thanks.

Spike: About as subtle as a pickaxe in the head.

Spike: Right, finally I can get some breakfast. And the Slayer need be none the wiser.

Spike: Damn.

Buffy: (advancing rapidly) Is that Sir Edmund’s money, Spike?

Spike: No.

Buffy (reprovingly) Well, I am shocked - I see you are now a Scotch and small change stealing demon. (then her mood changes) Although, that money’s gonna come in useful. I have a plan.

Buffy: Spike! Let go of my fingers or I’m going to punch you again - with a bunch of heavy coins in my hand. (Spike lets go reluctantly)

Baldrick: My Lord is going to be ever so upset when he realises that money’s gone.

Buffy: Gee that’s true, Baldrick - which is why you’re not going to tell him - for his own good, you see. Save him being upset sooner than he needs to be. Okay?

Baldrick: (besotted) You’re so lovely, and sweet, your Divineness.

Spike: (snorts derisively) Still can’t keep a boyfriend though, eh Slayer? (Gestures to Baldrick) Although it seems you can try again with Turnip Boy here.

Buffy: (balls her first to punch him, then takes a deep breath and smiles at Baldrick instead) Thank you for saying so, Baldrick. Now let me tell you about my plan. It’s a lot more cunning than your Lord’s idea with the bet, but I need a native guide - and you’re it.

Buffy: No way am I wearing that! (she holds up a grubby pair of green breeches)

Baldrick: It’s the best you’re going get for eighteenpence, you Divine Loveliness.

Buffy: It’s snot green.

Spike: Actually it’s more of slime green, (grins) makes all the difference.

Baldrick: That’s right Your Loveliness, snot green (holds up a brown pair of breeches) or shit brown. Very practical colours for young men - it’s cunning when you think about it.

Buffy: Ethan is going to pay for this. In blood. (she passes over money)

Spike: You’re going to make a cute little orphan Oliver, Slayer.

Buffy: Shut up, Spike. (she looks around) Now, we need to find you a dress.

Spike: Hey! what dress? What are you going on about? (he hurries to catch up with her, as she moves over to a stall draped in women’s clothes. Baldrick wanders after them, a vacant expression on his face. As he turns away, a pickpocket’s hand sneaks into his breeches, and removes his turnip)

Mr Ploppy: Hallo, hallo Sir Giles. Bearing up are we? Your sausages are in the pan, sir. And Mrs Ploppy tells me she actually found a pig’s trotter to put in them today. Very nice. And you have some visitors, sir - the lovely Mrs Sir Giles, and your devoted son Bob.

Giles: What? I have no.. I mean, thank God! My dear devoted family!

Buffy: Papa! (rushes to Giles’ side) Are you okay, Giles?

Spike: Hello, Giles old boy, how’s it going? Have they tortured you yet? Any authentic Elizabethan floggings, iron boots, or turns on the wheel? That would have been exciting for you, eh?

Mr Ploppy: (indignant) No torturing on weekends, bank holidays, feast days, or days with an ‘e’ in them - same as executions. We present a united front to all management demands.

Spike: Pity again. Still, I suppose I’ll have to settle for authentic Elizabethan chilblains, fleas, rat bites and nits. And it does my heart good to see you, mate. To see you cold, wet, starved and manacled to a wall, that is.

Giles: (mock sweetly) And what a very pretty dress you are wearing today, dear. It suits you splendidly. You should wear it more often.

Mr Ploppy: Ah! It does my heart good to hear a happy married couple, and the good natured chaffing between them. Reminds me of my dear old mum and dad. Many the merry laugh we had, as she chased him round the kitchen table with a skewer in her hand.

Giles: (stirring painfully in his chains) Is there any chance of sausages all round, Mr Ploppy?

Buffy: (she turns to Baldrick, who is staring listlessly at the wall) Would you like a sausage or two, Baldrick?

Baldrick: I suppose so. (he sighs, and sinks on to a nearby bench)

Giles: Our fragrant friend seems a little depressed.

Buffy: Someone stole his turnip, in the market when we were buying our disguises. He’s all wigged about it.

Giles: Good Lord, it’s a cut throat world here in Elizabethan England, isn’t it? Not even a man’s turnip is safe.

Buffy: I bought him a new one, but it’s not the same apparently. (she breaks off and smiles at Mr Ploppy) Anyway, sausages sounds good. Lady Giles here will be happy to pay, she has some pennies left.

Spike: No I don’t.

Buffy: Yes you do - you hid them in your coat pocket when you thought we weren’t looking.

Baldrick: (looks up briefly from the bench) Your left hand inside coat pocket, Lord Alexander, sir. Eightpence ha’penny.

Giles: Excellent! So, sausages all round it is.

Mr Ploppy: Certainly, sir! There’s always enough sausages to go round. (Everyone looks at Spike. Mr Ploppy holds out a hand, and Spike places a coin in it with bad grace. Mr Ploppy continues to hold out his hand until Spike has grudgingly paid out five pennies)

Mr Ploppy: Happy to oblige! (he leaves)

Spike: Can we for God’s sake get on with this? Break the chains, already, Slayer. And we can be on our way, and wait for the Wonder Wiccas somewhere quiet.

Baldrick: (suddenly alarmed) Aren’t we going to wait for the sausages?

Buffy: We need to escape while Mr Ploppy is away, Baldrick. (breaks the first of Giles’ chains)

Baldrick: Perhaps I could stay behind (brightens a little) Then I’d have lots of sausages.

Giles: (rubbing his wrist) You would also have the full attention of Her Majesty, and Her Majesty’s torturer, Baldrick.

Baldrick: Well, I could cross that bridge when I came to it.

Giles: Oh my back! And my arms!

Spike: Genuine authentic Elizabethan pain, that is. You’re living in history, remember? You should be a bit more appreciative, seems to me.

Giles: That joke is wearing very thin, Spike. (looks at Spike’s dress) And has anyone ever told you how pretty you are when you just make a bit of an effort with yourself?

Spike: (scowls) No.

Giles: Thought not. Right, we really need to go, very quietly.

(Giles, Spike and Buffy prepare to sneak away, but as they approach the door, Blackadder enters, followed by Queenie, Nursie, Lord Melchett, a number of burly guards - and Mr Ploppy, with a frying pan full of sausages)

Spike: Oh God. It’s the Queen of Misrule and her halfwit minions, again.

Mr Ploppy: Sausages for four, My Lord!

Queenie: Oh, I say - sausages. (takes one)

Melchett: Ah, sausages! Splendid. (takes one)

Nursie: Ooh, I like a nice big sausage. (takes one)

Blackadder: I bet you do, you libidinous old hag. (takes two)

Blackadder: (eating a sausage) Baldrick - would you like to explain to me why you are here with these two cross dressing refugees from a Shakespeare comedy? (indicates Spike and Buffy)

Baldrick: No, my Lord.

Blackadder: I thought not. Baldrick - do you notice anything different about me? (waves his right hand, now clad in a glove, significantly in front of Baldrick)

Baldrick: Have you done something with your hair, my Lord?

Blackadder: No, Baldrick - good guess, but no. (waves his right hand significantly again) You will remember, Baldrick, that earlier today I was unable to strike you as often as I wished because I had mislaid my gloves, and I thought I might catch something if I struck you bare handed.

Baldrick: Yes, my Lord

Blackadder: So, what has changed Baldrick?

Baldrick: New tights, my Lord?

Blackadder: (waves both gloved hands slowly in front of Baldrick’s face, his left hand holding the uneaten sausage)

Baldrick: You’ve become a smutty mime, my Lord?

Blackadder: No, Baldrick. Let me put both of us out of our misery here. (strikes Baldrick around the head with his right hand, then holds both hands in front of Baldrick again)

Baldrick: (dazed) Ooh! You’ve got four hands my Lord! I never noticed that before.

Blackadder: There’s only two of them, Baldrick. My point is that I am now wearing gloves. Gloves, Baldrick, gloves!

Baldrick: (to himself) Seems a lot of fuss to make about a pair of gloves, I must say.

Blackadder: I am happy to announce that I have saved you, Sir Giles.

Giles: (rather feebly) Oh, Good. Thanks.

Blackadder: No need to fall on my neck babbling your thanks, and promising me half your fortune, although frankly that would be polite.

Queenie: Cooee! Lord Giles, I’ve decided to pardon you!

Giles: (trying to sound pleased) Oh - um, that’s very splendid and um, noble hearted of you, your Majesty.

Queenie: Yes, I am super, aren’t I? And besides I just bought you from Sir Edmund, so chopping your head off would be silly, and uneconomical.

Melchett: Her Majesty is as financially astute as she is tender, womanly and merciful.

Nursie: And here is little Bob, again! Let me crush you to my bosom, my little cherub, and dandle you upon my knee! (grabs Buffy and crushes her to her bosom)

Melchett: Such a tender and touching sight!

Queenie: (jealously) Just whose Nursie are you, Nursie?

Nursie: (still holding Buffy head against her bosom) Why yours, my pet, but it’s a long time since you were a sweet, blossoming, nubile little thing, like Bob here.

Queenie: Drop that boy immediately.

Buffy: Yes, please, do drop me! (Nursie reluctantly releases her, and Buffy frantically rubs powder from her face)

Buffy: (to herself) Oh God, I need so many showers!

Queenie: (falls back a step, her hand to her breast) Lord Alexander! In women’s garb? (sobs a little) I have been deceived. I believed you to be a manly man. (apparently to herself) Slight, and lean, it is true - but still muscular, and well endowed (glances involuntarily at Spike’s missing codpiece) and just a little dangerous.

Spike: (indignantly) I am a manly man! Very manly. And I’m very dangerous! (stands with his hands on his hips, the effect a little spoilt by his dress, which is covered in little sprigs of flowers)

Melchett: You are a pervert, Sir. Deliciously saucy and sexy though you appear in that shockingly revealing garment.

Spike: Look, I can explain. This is all Giles’ fault. He is trying to escape, back to his own time, and Buffy here is not a pretty boy - she is a wom.. (Buffy punches Spike, and he bounces off the cell wall, and passes out.)

Queenie: Ooh! A fight! And the evil deceiver Lord Alexander is vanquished. (The Queen sidles up to Buffy)

Queenie: Gosh you are a strong little man, aren’t you, Bob? You make me feel a little bit squidgy (lowers her voice) down there. I think I might marry you.

Buffy: (looks nauseous) I’m flattered, Your Majesty, but....

Melchett: (very put out) Ahem, unfortunately, as you yourself have so rightly decreed, Bob is of course a monkey, Your Majesty.

Queenie: Have I? Oh bother, yes I suppose I have.

Giles: This is ridiculous! Obviously Buffy is not a monkey...

Buffy: Yes I am! (an argument between Giles and Buffy ensues)

Queenie: Ooh, this is all very exciting.

Melchett: Indeed, ma’am. You now have the only talking monkeys in Europe.

Spike: (comes around dazedly and staggers to his feet) Wha? Where am I?

Blackadder: Still in the Tower, Lord Alexander. Enjoying Her Majesty’s hospitality. (looks Spike up and down) I presume there is a reason that you’re dressed like a drunken gin whore?

Spike: Slayer’s stupid bloody idea. (holds his jaw) Ow.

Blackadder: Very handy with her fists, you little lady friend, isn’t she?

Spike: You don’t know the half of it.

Blackadder: Meanwhile, your half witted friend Sir Giles appears to be digging himself deeper into a hole at every second.

Spike: Good. And they’re not my friends, not at all.

Blackadder: Really? How interesting... perhaps we should talk.

Spike: Perhaps we should - how would you like to join the twentieth century? You should feel right at home there.

Blackadder: And what would you like me to do, in return, Lord Alexander?

Spike: I am not Lord Al.... (controls himself) Never mind, it’s not important. (turns to Blackadder) Just call me Spike, okay? Since we’re such pals now.

Blackadder: Spike? How very monosyllabic and Anglo Saxon of you. Very appropriate. Spike, it is - and you can call me Lord Blackadder.

Spike: Anything you like. Now, here’s the deal - three people came and three people can leave. Someone has to stay behind - but it doesn’t have to be you.....

Melchett: The Queen’s monkeys will be silent!

Giles: For the last time, we are not monkeys!

Melchett: The Queen has decreed that you are.

Giles: (severely provoked) Well clearly, the Queen is talking out of her arse. (There is a collective ooh! of shock from Nursie, Melchett, and Queenie. Blackadder and Spike look up)

Giles: (collecting himself a little) If you will pardon the expression.

Nursie: He said ‘arse’! What a naughty boy Lord Giles is. Nursie says naughty Lord Giles needs a spanked bottom.

Queenie: I think you’re jolly well right, Nursie.

Melchett: Ahem, Lord Giles - it is not for we humble subjects to suggest that the Queen is or is not talking out of her notably delectable and royally distinguished rear end.

Blackadder: (who has approached, with Spike) Quite so. We simply accept her decrees and trust in her royal splendidness.

Queenie: Oh Edmund, you are sweet!

Blackadder: (bows) It was nothing, Your Majesty.

Queenie: Was it? Oh, all right I’ll ignore it then. Now back to the spanking.

Blackadder: (quietly to himself) Damn. Thick as pigshit - I keep forgetting that.

Buffy: No one is spanking Giles - lets get that straight right now.

Queenie: (sending Buffy an unpleasant look) And I don’t like Bob’s attitude, or Lord Alexander’s dress...

Nursie: So true - little bunches of flowers like that do nothing for him.

Queenie: (laughs merrily) Oh Nursie! You are so funny! You made a splendid joke. (Nursie, Queenie, Blackadder and Melchett all laugh)

Queenie: (changes tone abruptly) But you interrupted me - if you do that again, I shall chop your head off! (There is an uncomfortable silence) Right - so Lord Giles and Bob have been frightfully rude, and Lord Alexander is a big girl’s blouse, so I’ve decided to send them all to the Menagerie. (She waves at them) I might let you out again sometime - if I remember you, that is!

Spike: That went well, didn’t it? Did a fine job there, Watcher. Charmed her Majesty a treat.

Giles: What a frightful woman.

Buffy: (indignant) We are human beings, she can’t just call us monkeys and lock us up in a zoo!

Spike: Yes she can. (quietly to Buffy) Luckily we can break out again.

Blackadder: Yes, well, that’s bureaucracy for you. I expect Melchie has written it up on a nice pretty decree by now. (places his hand on his breast) The Queen has spoken, and we are her loyal subjects.

Buffy: I am totally not her loyal subject. She’s not my Queen - I’m from California.

Blackadder: California, eh? Oh well of course that makes all the difference.

Buffy: You bet it does.

Blackadder: (sighs) I was being sarcastic, madam. It makes no difference at all that you hail from Scotland, you are still officially a monkey.

Buffy: Scotland?! California is in the United States of America. You could fit Scotland in one toe of California.

Blackadder: Very possibly, madam, but I can’t imagine why you’d want to.

Baldrick: America? (reverently) Have you met brave, noble Sir Walter Raleigh? He’s a fearless explorer, and he invented potatoes and tobacco.

Blackadder: He didn’t invent them, Baldrick. He didn’t even discover them - he just stole them from the Spanish. God knows why.

Baldrick: Brave, noble Sir Walter! (pulls a tatty piece of paper from his breeches pocket and proudly displays a drawing of Sir Walter holding out a potato. The potato looms in the foreground of the picture, partly obscuring Sir Walter’s face.)

Blackadder: As always Baldrick you are way behind the wave crest of public opinion. You will find the public has put away its antlered hats, and has now taken to calling Sir Walter Mr "Potato Head" Raleigh. (he taps the picture) I hear he is now desperately trying to flog those things as edible - hah! And as for tobacco, he’s really reaching there, the poor simpleton - he tells us you can set fire to it for fun.

Buffy: Potatoes are edible! I’ve eaten tons of ‘em. (pats her hips self consciously) That’s over many years, obviously.

Blackadder: (annoyed) Oh God! That means they’re going to catch on, doesn’t it? It’s always the ghastliest things that do. Well, I can see they’ve formed a lovely nutritious diet for you, madam. They seem to have stunted you a bit, but what’s a little stunted growth between friends, eh? All hail Our Lady of the Potato (bows ironically at Buffy). Anyway, frankly, the Menagerie is probably the best place for you tonight - nice clean straw, all the fruit you can eat, and no likelihood of being beheaded. You’ll be better off than most of the population of London, actually.

Spike: Plus I need to stay out of the sun. (he looks around him at the Tower) And no bloody sun ever gets in this place.

Giles: You have a point...

Buffy: It seems like a good idea, Giles. We’ll all be together, easy to find.

Giles: (thinks about this) Hmmm...

Blackadder: I suggest you go along quietly to the Menagerie, and I will try to change her Majesty’s mind, such as it is, over the next few days.

Buffy: (quietly to Giles) By which time we will be long gone...

Giles: Yes, yes - the Menagerie sounds like a good plan. (holds out his arms to the guard) Take us away!

Blackadder: (to himself) Now, I just need a key, a pistol with a round of shot in it for Bob the Slayer - and possibly a change of underpants, if I am to go time travelling. (turns to Baldrick, who is still sitting silently in the corner, brooding over his turnip) Come along, Baldrick, I have a cunning plan.

Spike: You’re just a six stone weakling, aren’t you, Slayer?

Buffy: Shut up Spike - you couldn’t break them either. (she gestures to the heavy iron doors behind them)

Spike: Yeah - but you’re the super Chosen One. I’m just a humble vampire.

Buffy: Humble my ass.

Spike: I’d love to. Believe me.

Giles: (sighs) I suppose we might have predicted that the doors in the Tower of London Menagerie would rather hard to break - since they’re designed to keep elephants and rhinoceri in.

Spike: You didn’t predict it though, did you? You led us in here, and we followed like a pair of bloody stupid sheep. (he ducks as a potato hurtles by)

Giles: (begins to pace) You were the one who was so eager for us to come here, Spike. Remember?

Buffy: (stares at the bars at the front of the compound, against which the crowd is pressed) Maybe I could bend the bars, and then we could fight our way out.

Giles: I have told you, several times, that we can’t damage a hair on anyone’s head without endangering the space time fabric.

Spike: (scowling at the mob) Bugger the space time fabric.

Giles: Now, now, we just need to look on the bright side - we haven’t been executed, and we haven’t caught the plague. (a rotten cabbage hits him on the side of the head. There is a roar from the crowd. Giles shakes his fist.) Savages!

Buffy: Also looking on the bright side - we’re all together, so Willow and Tara can rescue us, just as soon as all the factors are aligned.

Giles: Just so - we just need to be all in one place, with no contemporaries within 10 yards of us.

Spike: (to himself) Three people anyway - Lord Slackbladder can earn himself a one way trip to Sunnyhell, and rid me of the Slayer all in one fell swoop. Where the bloody hell is he?

Giles: Hmm, there seems to be some consumer resistance to Sir Walter’s spuds developing, doesn’t there?

Buffy: I guess they’ll realise you have to boil them, eventually.

Giles: It’s a bit like waiting for Godot, isn’t it? If he comes we’ll be saved - only it’s Willow, not Godot.

Buffy: And if Godot doesn’t come?

Giles: Well, in the play Vladimir and Estragon are planning to hang themselves.

Blackadder: Come along, Baldrick. We need to get them out as soon as possible.

Baldrick: Yes, my Lord.

Blackadder: Right - you remember the plan? You wait until the Great Clock strikes Five, then you throw them the key.

Baldrick: Yes, my Lord.

Blackadder: (to himself) Then they step out in to the corridor, which is where I will be concealed. And we all take a trip to the future. I shall be free of Her Majesty the Moron, and that consummate brown noser Melchett, free of all my enemies and my debts, and my obligations! And best of all no one will know that damned outrageous story about me and the goat, and the May Pole. Ha! A new start, in a new land, in a new age. A man of my relentless unscrupulousness should go far. (he hurries off to the back entrance to the Menagerie, while Baldrick heads for the front)

Buffy: I’m sure they’ll get tired soon, and go home. (ducks a flying turnip)

Spike: Soon would be good. (sinuously dodges two parsnips thrown at once)

Giles: I’m sure they will. Their arms must be aching by now. (watches as a rotten beet splatters on his shoe)

(Buffy picks up the turnip that she dodged)

Giles: Don’t throw it back, Buffy - not a hair on their heads, remember. (Buffy lowers her arm reluctantly, then does a double take at the turnip in her hand).Oh - hey, it’s Baldrick’s turnip! Look. (she holds it out to Spike and Giles)

Giles: Um, are you sure? It looks rather like any old wrinkled turnip to me.

Buffy: No, no - it has this little blemish just here, look - like a kind of winking eye.

Giles: I didn’t realise you’d taken such an interest in Mr Baldrick’s... (he hesitates) ...toy? pet? Neither sounds quite right.

Buffy: I shall have to try and get it back to him.

Giles: Well, that’s a nice thought, Buffy, but it’s hard to see how we can pull that off. (he takes the turnip and examines it) It does look familiar.... hmm, that reminds me of something. Doesn’t it strike you as amazingly unlikely that this particular turnip should be thrown at us?

Buffy: The really amazingly unlikely thing was that anyone would steal it from Baldrick in the first place. (Buffy and Giles look at each other)

Spike: (shouts) What is wrong with you two? It’s a bloody turnip! And a mangy, wrinkled, ugly little turnip at that!

Buffy: Spike!!

Giles: Now you’ve done it, you great ninny!

Buffy: Ow! Why did I think that wouldn’t hurt? (rubs her forearm)

Giles: A key! (they all gaze at each other) Could it be the Key?

Spike: That would be pretty bloody unlikely, wouldn’t it?

Giles: Yes, yes it would, wouldn’t it? There seem to be a whole series of coincidences going on, don’t there? (He retreats to the back of the compound, and stares for a long moment at the door, then tries the key, and turns the lock)

Giles: As I expected. (turns dramatically to the others) I think the space time fabric is attempting to heal itself! (Spike and Buffy gaze stonily back at him)

Giles: (trying again for a reaction) That’s pretty impressive isn’t it?

Buffy: Giles, if you don’t get out of the way so we can go through that door, I’m going to run you over.

Spike: If it wasn’t for the headache potential, I’d have punched you through it already.

Giles: Oh! Ah, sorry! (he steps through the door, closely followed by Spike and Buffy, eliciting a low moan of disappointment from the crowd. They emerge in to the dogleg corridor down which Blackadder is hurrying, his pistol drawn. Just as Blackadder reaches the turning in the corridor Giles, Buffy and Spike disappear in a flash of light.)

Blackadder: Nooo! It can’t be...they can’t have! (He rushes around the corner, to find the corridor empty) Aargh! (falls to his knees) What have I done to deserve this, O Lord? What? What? I, Blackadder, a soldier firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, and giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel, been cast down....

Baldrick: My turnip! (looks up to heaven) It’s a miracle!

Tara: You’re back! (hugs Willow) We did it! It’s a miracle. (She hesitates) Or actually, no. It’s exactly what was bound to happen, if you look at the sums.

Willow: Yay for sums! (moves to embrace Buffy, and then steps back, her eyes watering) Oof! What is that smell?

Tara: (gazes at the filthy, strangely attired bunch anxiously) Are you all okay?

Buffy: We are all cool, and our heads are still safely attached to our shoulders - which is a good thing. But I need like six showers. And then I need to burn everything I’m standing up in. (scratches her head) I think I may have lice. (Willow steps back quickly) And then, I need to torture Ethan.(Buffy glares at Ethan. He waves his fingers at her cheerfully. It is hard to tell through his gag - but he appears to be giggling)

Giles: (looming up beside her) You’ll need to stand in line, Buffy. But more importantly (he turns to Willow) Is the rip repaired?

Willow: It soon will be - it’s been trying to fix itself ever since you disappeared. It’s really very interesting, you see, from both a physics, and a magic point of view... (she is interrupted by Spike, who sees the objects on the table)

Spike: Where did you get....? You’ve been breaking and entering! (he blushes, and snatches up the book of poems, then strides out into the night, his dress swishing about his knees, and his coat flapping behind him)

Willow: (shouts after him) Oh, hey - you’re welcome, no problem. Happy to help...

Buffy: I really, really need a shower! And insecticide shampoo. Do we have any insecticide shampoo? (she blunders off towards the bathroom)

Giles: Willow, Tara, tell me your theory about this self repairing fabric, that sounds quite fascinating.

Blackadder: ....fortune is blind, and inconstant, and mutable, and her foot is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls.... (he sinks to his knees)

Baldrick: Have you been staying up late and reading poetry again, my Lord? You know that upsets you.

Blackadder: Fortune is Blackadder’s foe, and frowns on him. Alas! They are gone! All gone! And I am stuck in this hell of a life forever.

Baldrick: (sighs) Have the Angels gone back to heaven, my Lord? I’m going to miss them.

Blackadder: Not nearly as much as I am going to miss them, I assure you Baldrick. My passport out of here, forever! Gone!

Baldrick: Still, looking on the bright side, my Lord, your cunning plan means that your fortune is restored, again.

Blackadder: Not really, Baldrick, no. The Queen beat me down to thirty two shillings and tuppence for the lot of them. And I had a lot of trouble getting her to part with even tuppence for Bob, I can tell you.

Baldrick: (still stroking his turnip lovingly) That’s still a lot of pies, isn’t it my Lord? (brightens) And we got free sausages. (beams) And I have my turnip back.

Blackadder: You’re a simple creature, aren’t you Baldrick? Easily pleased.

Baldrick: Yes, My Lord.

Blackadder: Have I mentioned how much I loathe and despise you recently?

Baldrick: Yes, My Lord.

Blackadder: Good, good. Remind me to strike you again, when I have the heart for it.

Baldrick: Yes, my Lord.