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The dust and heat occasion a small coughing fit, but Matilda is mostly concerned with staring around at all the Interesting Things.

"Oh, don't worry about me," she says absently. "I have lots and lots of practice at not getting lost."

Sam knows that look. "Unfortunately I don't quite believe you, but anyway. Round here!"

He quietly tags her with magic, just to be on the safe side, before they leave the alleyway behind, and plunge into the sea of people. Sam swears effortlessly in Thai, French, Arabic and English at the people who step on his feet or step into their path or attempt to knock them down with bikes and prams and rickshaws, always with one eye at the small person beside him and a hand on her shoulder.

Bangkok is a mixture of tawdry, jewel-coloured new and old; markets that might have been there for centuries- and indeed probably have- mingle effortlessly with the gleaming modern skyscrapers and monuments.

She considers whipping out her notebook and recording all the interesting things she hears Sam say, but decides that it would be imprudent to open up her bag in the midst of so many people.

Instead she stares round at everything in sight. Buildings, people, the sky, people... hey! Someone stepped on her foot! She curses at the offender in Sindarin. It would appear Sam is not the only person around with an extensive vocabulary.

Sam snerks. He doesn't know Sindarin, per se- he learnt the living languages, or at any rate they were living when he learnt them- but it borrows from Icelandic and Gaelic and Welsh, so he understands most of it well enough.

"Language, young lady," he laughs, mock-seriously. "But here we are."

Buddha's library masquerades as a bookshop sandwiched tightly between a bakery and a launderette. Thai lettering above the door proclaims it to be named 'The Tardis'- apparently Sam isn't the only one of the family to be fond of Britain. Inside it is cool and dark, though only dark in contrast to the stark afternoon sun outside, and appropriately enough seems to be at least three times as large as the outside would suggest. And every inch of it is packed ceiling-to-floor with books- ground floor, top floor and basement level where even what few customers there are never permitted.

Buddha himself is sitting in his favourite lotus position on a chair behind a desk, apparently indexing: taller and broader than Sam, with a kind, clever face and wise, peaceful brown eyes. His fingers are stained with ink and slightly calloused from long hours spent fishing, his skin is dark and his head shaven. Though clearly Asian in appearance, he wears Western clothes- scruffy jeans and a scrupulously clean but obviously old white t-shirt- and goes barefoot. There isn't much resemblance between the brothers: in fact, none at all. But brothers they are.

Sam beams at the man he hasn't seen in centuries. "Matilda, this is my older brother. Basil, this is Matilda." He can't help but grin over Buddha's choice of name.

Tilda giggles. She can't help it. "Hey, he stepped on my foot! I reserve the right to call him nasty things in Elvish."

Giggles are shortly forgotten. In staring. At all. The BOOKS.

"...hi, Basil. Pleased to meet you," she says absently. She's much more preoccupied with the aforementioned staring. A herd of rollerskating elephants could dash through the shop playing trumpets, and she wouldn't pay them any mind unless they got between her and her bookstaring.

Buddha chuckles amiably, rising from his seat to bow to her. "Pleased to meet you, Matilda. Although I suspect you're more pleased to meet my books than you are to meet me.

"Brother, where did you find my kindred spirit?"

She giggles and tears herself away from the epic bookstaring long enough to give hime a wave and a grin. "You'd probably be right. This is a magnificent collection." She goes back to staring, and walks up to a shelf, trailing her hand along the books.

Sam laughs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, Basil."

Buddha grins at Matilda. "I've spent a very long time compiling it. And I very rarely leave it. Is there anything in particular you'd like to find?"

"Oh, anything really. I love books of all sorts. And you've got quite a bit here that I haven't read yet." Something catches her eye. "Oooh, do my eyes deceive me or is that a translation of Beowulf?" Her eyes do deceive her. It's a reprint of the original. See the icon? Eyes like so, only BIGGER AND SHINIER AND OMGBOOKS. She's at the Beowulf quickly like a thing of quickness.

"May I borrow this one?" she asks, gently taking the book off the shelf and petting it, her careful handling of the book contrasting the expression of pure academic joy on her face. Any more avaricious glee and she'd be calling it 'my preciousss'.

Buddha twinkles at her. "You may."

< I've got the original downstairs anyway > he tells Sam telepathically, grinning a little.

"Somehow I'm not surprised," Sam tells him, grinning as well. "Though Time only knows how you got hold of it."

Buddha has the grace to look guilty, which only makes Sam burst out laughing. "You jammy beggar, I always knew you had sticky morals when it came to books. Which is why I was surprised when you weren't here. What were you doing at Home for so long, brother?"

Home, in Sam's vocabulary, always requires a capital.

The Beowulf vanishes into her bag with the speed of an extremely happy six-year-old girl snatching a book for later perusal.

An astute observer might catch a glimpse of the other contents of her bag, and wonder what all those lumpy brown paper packages are, and why some of them have various coloured bits of string attached. But who knows if any observers in the room are that astute.

Tilda certainly isn't astute enough to pay much attention to the conversation the two brothers are having. She'd much rather pay attention to OMGBOOKS. The Academic Squee Face is partying it up with the Gleeful Adorable Grin. And Matilda herself? Well. See that book over there? And that one on the top shelf? And the one over there... and there... and there... well, she's inspecting them all. Possibly at once.

Buddha frowns. "Truth be told I only went to collect a few books. Some of them I can't keep on earth all the time- it degrades them. They can't last anywhere near as long as they do in-" he glances at Matilda, and sees that she is engrossed in books, "-in Heaven. But there are whispers going round. About the Light."

Sam's grin falls like a lead balloon. "About the Light? What about it?"

"How it was created, how Time gave it to you." Buddha pauses. "What it would take to remove it."

"...You can remove it?" Sam looks incredulous, desperate, almost hungry for something. "How?"

His brother shakes his head. "You can't. Not really."

"So why are they asking?"

"Because, if it were possible... they could give the Light to a new owner. One perhaps more... predictable, more easily controlled, than the bastard son who's been outwitting all comers for centuries."

"But it's not possible." Sam frowns. "Right? And in any case, who's they?"

"No, it's not. But if it were..."

"If it were I'd have found out how a very long time ago," Sam says firmly. "Who?"

"It's hard to say exactly- you know how rumour flies and disseminates itself. But as near as I could get at it, the Olympians seemed most interested."

"Hmm." Sam thinks about this. "I've never had too many dealings with that crowd, on the whole. Met Aphrodite once or twice- she got on well with Freya. Used to crack the most terrible filthy jokes." His serious face is lightened by a grin. "She was all right, Aphrodite. But her family, the House of Olympus- it's crumbled, hasn't it? An Olympian's never going to ascend the throne of Heaven, not any more. Which I suppose is why they’d be so interested. Not that it matters in any case, since you can’t remove the Light. Unfortunately.”

“Lucifer.” Buddha’s voice is low and urgent. “If they could- if it could be done- it would be- I’ve been researching it- they’d have to rip out your soul to get the Light out of you.”

His brother’s face freezes. “Then I suppose it’s just as well they can’t, isn’t it. I’m rather attached to my soul.”

Sam picks up the nearest book and heads to the roof. He knows Buddha’s penchant for flat-roofed houses of old, and it makes sense that his choice of earthly abode would not be bereft of one. So he heads for the roof, and people-watching, and distraction.

The stream of Matilda's consciousness at the moment:

Books books books books Light what's that? books books books OOH OUT-OF-PRINT HEINLEINS books books whose bastard outwitting what? books books IS THAT A FOLIO SET OF THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA? WOOHOO! books books books Aphrodite knows dirty jokes? books books books books what about souls? books books OH MY WAITING FOR GODOT IN THE ORIGINAL FRENCH! books books books...

Needless to say she isn't paying much attention to the snatches of conversation she hears out of the proverbial corner of her ear. By the time Sam heads to the roof she has given up stuffing her overfull bag with books and is writing down in her notebook a list of titles along with cryptic notes indicating their locations in the store. She finishes scribbling down "Riverside Chaucer _| TS-2 L" and looks up with a vague frown.

"Where'd he run off to?" she inquires of 'Basil', pausing in her search to blink up at him, adorable and slightly concerned.

He sighs. "Headed for the roof, if I know Sam. Don't mind him, he'll turn up when he's finished sulking."

He eyes her bookbag. "Forgive me, but- you're awfully young to be-- The Canterbury Tales? You picked that? In the original Old English, no less."

She nods. "Yes. Old English is fun. Though technically Chaucer was writing in Middle English, which is easier to understand. I haven't quite got the hang of actual Anglo-Saxon yet, at least not as well as I'd like."

A pause. "...Sulking? What about?"

"Oh, it's been a bad... past few years for him." Buddha eyes the stairs wearily. "He'll turn up in about an hour and say something irrelevant, I don't doubt. Probably several things."

It is, however, considerably less than an hour before Sam reappears, looking distinctly worried. "Brother, how are your shields? We've got Firedancers a street away."

Considerably less than an hour is considerably longer than it takes for Matilda to go through a good third of Buddha's stock and accumulate a list as long as her arm of 'books I'd like to borrow but that won't fit in my bag because it's too full of explosives'.

"What's a Firedancer?" she asks curiously.

Buddha bliiiinks. "Firedancers? Here? How many?"

"Yes, if not exactly here then bloody close, and half a dozen," Sam snaps.

The brothers look at each other. Simultaneously: "Shit."

"I can't take six of them," Sam says matter-of-factly. "You're going to have to fight. I don't suppose," he adds hopefully, "that we've got another sibling around here that they could be after? Or that they could have been sent with perhaps a birthday card and nicely-wrapped pressie?"

Buddha shakes his head regretfully. "Unfortunately, no." And vanishes downstairs to retrieve his weapons. Sam just hopes he has them; it wouldn't surprise him to know that Buddha's forgotten where they are.

Sam turns to Matilda as he unwraps the package he's been carrying to withdraw a gleaming silver sword. "Firedancers are assassins. They're bloody good at their jobs, and fire can't hurt them. Can you open a door to Milliways?"

She blinks up at him.

"...Assassins? Who do they want to assassinate? No, I can't open a door to Milliways."

A contemplative expression appears on her face.

"If they're not hurt by fire, how do they feel about explosions?" She pats her bag absently.

"Well, going on past experience I would suggest 'me'. Either me or-- oh, to hell with it, his name is Buddha, anyway," Sam says grimly. "And explosions are usually helpful. Except perhaps not in a library."

"Unless the contents of aforementioned library are shielded by the best wards anyone other than a son of Magic could design," his brother says dryly, reappearing. He holds a simple, long blade distastefully in one large hand. "Which I want you behind before those murderers get here, Matilda."

< Are you sure you do the right thing, telling the child who I am? > he enquires.

< She's liable to find out when the Firedancers come calling, anyway. And where she's from- they're rather used to deities and such, round there. > He grins dangerously. "So, I can be messy, brother?"

Buddha's eyes are weary and almost nauseous at the idea, but he nods. "Get rid of them, Lucifer."

"That's the idea-"

DOOR GO BOOM.

"Well, fuck."

There are several very tall men in the library. Garish red shirts, jeans and hair, murderous expresssions, dragon-bone swords- just as deadly for an immortal as for a human. Just your average heavenly assassins, then.

She looks at them and giggles. She can't help it. The absurdity of the situation, perhaps, or maybe just a sudden adrenalin shock. Whatever the case, it doesn't prevent her from taking action.

As brief spate of giggles subsides, she drops her bag onto the floor and looks at it. It opens and violently disgorges books and origami paper. Still grinning maniacally, she picks it back up again, resettles the strap on her shoulder, and draws an innocuous-looking brown paper package from within. The package is marked by a dangling piece of vibrantly blue string, which she grasps with an air of supreme mischief.

"Explosions are helpful, are they?" she asks airily before launching the firework in the general direction of the intruders. It makes a very pretty boom, erupting in wild streaks of electric blue. Did you know that the colours in fireworks come from flecks of burning metal? If anyone in the room was ignorant of that fact, it is very probably safe to assume that they are ignorant no longer.

"So unnecessarily showy," Sam sighs. "Do you lot never just open doors?"

The brothers exchange startled looks at the explosive; Sam's grin broadens.

Light, white edged with blue, fills his hands. He hurls the coldfire at the Firedancers, hears them screech horribly as he lunges for the nearest with his blade at the same time as Matilda's firework hits.

Two down, one badly wounded, but despite the confusion another manages to punch him in the back of the head and Sam gasps with pain. Fire dances before his eyes as he kicks out wildly, catching another in the stomach.

Oh, my. Nasty people hitting our friends? We can't let that happen.

As she takes out her next firework, Matilda pauses and glares at the one that just hit Sam. Along with the glare comes a shove, and the Firedancer accelerates rapidly into a bookshelf, whose shields provide a satisfyingly nasty hard surface against which he is thrown like a rag doll from the hand of a temperamental child. That's one assassin that won't be getting up for awhile.

The new firework has a braid dangling from it - orange, red, and white. She looks at it, and it levitates, making a beeline for the sixth Firedancer, who hasn't yet done anything of note. Midway through its flight it explodes, still under the accelerating effect of Matilda's eyes. The result looks rather like an ordinary firework explosion would if you stretched it out into a fast-moving cone and aimed the wide end at someone you really didn't like. Needless to say it leaves its target down for the count.

She shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose, warding off an incipient headache. Throwing that much mass and then that much energy can't be good for the precious brainmeats.

As the explosions clears, Sam sits up groggily. "Hell. That the lot?"

"Apparently," Buddha says drily. "Matilda, are you all right?"

"I'll be fine," she says with somewhat less cheer than her usual standard. "People are heavy. That-" she waves a hand in the direction of the Firedancer lying in a consciousness-free heap near a bookshelf "-gave me a bit of a headache."

Sam nods. "I'll bet. That was a hell of a trick for a mortal."

Beat. "I assume you are mortal, right?" Buddha looks at him oddly. "Milliways," Sam explains briefly. "Long story."

"Yes, I'm mortal so far as I know. And thanks. I've been practicing."

The headache seems to be dissipating. Or perhaps she's just gotten better at ignoring it.

Sam shrugs easily. "Oh, well. Mortals in this world aren't usually capable of using that much magic so easily. And on that note, I think we'd better be getting back. We got off lucky that time, I think."

Oh, Sam. You should know better than to say such things.

One of the Firedancers- the one Sam only managed to kick- comes suddenly to life. Fire grows around his hands before flying towards them; Sam wards quickly to shield them but the creature in red only grabs several fat, ancient books from Buddha's unshielded desk before fleeing.

And meeting Buddha. Buddha with a blade and an expression that says, very clearly, 'DO NOT TOUCH MY DAMN BOOKS, KTHNX'.

"Want them? Have them," the Firedancer grunts, hurling two out of three books.

Buddha makes a noise that might have been a wail and throws himself to catch them before they hit the floor. This involves getting very effectively in Sam's way so that all his brother can do before the Firedancer is though the door and lost in the crowds outside is to tag the intruder with a tracer spell.

Sam and Buddha look hopelessly at each other. "Well, fuck."

"...That's unfortunate," Matilda says, gazing at the carnage and sighing.

Then she gives the pile of books her bag spat out at the beginning of this altercation a Look. The books pack themselves into her bag again, as does the scattered origami paper, sheet by sheet. Holding her head once more as the headache makes a comeback, she gives the room a grumpy look. "I really want to chase down the guy who stole your book and hit him with a nice big explosion, but my head hurts."

"Mmm," Sam agrees. "Come on, you, back to Milliways. Before something else happens. Buddha, I'll scry for you later or something."

His brother nods. "I'd better get this mess cleaned up. See if I can work out which book that Firedancer stole." He gives the dead and-or collapsed pile of remaining assassins a look which suggests their skins will shortly be becoming antique leathe book covers. "I'm sorry our meeting went so... messily, Matilda." He bows to the girl. "Perhaps some other time."

She nods. "Definitely. I've got a whole list of books to borrow from you after I'm done with these ones, for one." She gives Buddha a smile, then thinks of something. "Why'd you say his name was Basil at first?" she asks Sam curiously.

Sam grins, somewhat embarassedly. "Force of habit. It tends not to work out too well if we introduce ourselves as 'Lucifer and Buddha'. In my case in particular- for obvious reasons."

Buddha laughs. "Come see me again. Try not to bring Firedancers next time, though."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam's eyes grow faraway: the door to the shop lifts itself back up and reattaches itself. He shakes his head. "Anyway, come on. I need a drink."

Before he opens the door, he closes his eyes and concentrates for several heartbeats. The door opens on Milliways Bar.

"Benefits of prior experience of world travel, it seems. I'll explain later, brother. Bye!"