Closing In

The ride to Paris is easier in the daylight, and they would be making good time, except Farwind isn't much of a rider. Regenlief wants to let him follow at his own pace. If he's motivated enough to come with them, he's motivated enough to catch up to them. Eventually.

Ossian wants to keep an eye on Farwind. He asks Farwind. "Well, Brother. What do you make of all of this? Why do we want to study your sacred paintings?"

Farwind seems a bit short of breath and occasionally he grunts. He's useless on horseback. "The wise amongst our sect advice against speculating on your motives, My Lord. There is a division between those who think you are ineffable, those who think you are jealous of your prerogatives, and those who think you are mad. Why do you want to study the sacred paintings?"

Ossian smiles "Well, the paintings are holy to you, but they also provide a strategic advantage. While your order does do good things locally, it has also done a lot of harm to our family."

"You know, most of the known painters are members of our family "

"Would you say it is a gift or a skill that they have cultivated? The one is a blessing, even upon the most wretched demon, whom the divine can impart with transcendence. The other could be a side effect of immortality."

He waits a moment, then has a question back for Ossian. "How many painters are there?"

"I'd say that it is both a gift and a skill. The potential is the gift, but you need training also. The number of painters is unknown. Many seems to hide their skills, but at least half a dozen. Now living.

"I'd very much like to meet this Able guy."

Brother Farwind thinks, but it's not clear that he has any useful information to impart. "As I understand, he is constantly moving, as an itinerant brother, from house to house to help fix issues. Find where the local House needs tools, or leadership skills, or just a show of the presence of a Master, and you’ll find him."

Ossian nods and grins. At some time during the ride Farwind falls a bit behind. Ossian takes the opportunity to talk with his mother.

"What do you make of this? I knew they were obsessed with Trumps, but having their own set of place Trumps... Have you seen them in use?"

She shakes her head. "No, but it explains much from when I was with them. They were secretive about their movements and I just assumed they didn't want me to know their coming and going because they correctly assumed I would turn on them."

She pauses. "This seems more and more to be a conflict within your family, and not with outsiders who want your power. They have ties to your cousin Reid, they make and use your trumps, they know about you. Perhaps these monks are just window-dressing for an internal battle."

"It certainly seems so. I really wonder about this Able. Maybe Corwin can say something."

Their discussion concluded, Corwin's scotch bottle finds itself returned somewhat lesser in capacity than when it was previously acquired.

While awaiting Cordelia's return, Jerod switches out his silvered blades for a single blade that is concealable since they do not know the norms of their destination and where the open carry of weapons may be frowned upon.

He will also obtain more reasonable clothing, though for sure once they are in Shadow should the need arise for a change, as is known, Shadow will provide.

He will be finishing up a note to Carina when Corwin and company return.

Love..

I'm hoping this finds you in Xanadu and well recovered from your recent adventures. I would prevail upon you to remain there for a reasonable time until my return as I have family news that I would share with you personally as I feel it will require some discussion. Your clarity of insight into some recent events as always is of great benefit.

Not to mention it has been far too long since we've spent any time together.

With you always,

Jerod

He seals up the note and passes it to Corwin for transfer when he gets ahold of whoever will be in Xanadu to receive the latest news on the monks.

Once that is done he takes a look at Cordelia and how she is outfitted.

"Monks await?" he asks, his way of asking even though he has no doubt she will be ready to proceed.

Jerod thinks that there were firm discussions with dressmakers more used to dealing with Flora than with half-vampires. Her clothes seem to have come from a formal mourning set, and have been tailored to suit her style. She’s carrying both a parasol and a rapier. The hanger for the sword seems to have been recently dyed.

She nods. "It will be anticlimactic if they don’t want to give us a fight. We should give them what they’re waiting for."

"Or what they're dreading." Jerod says, a slight wolfish grin passing across his countenance.

Vere has changed into sensible travelling clothes, and has left the bag containing dungeon-diving supplies somewhere. If he is armed the weapons are not visible.

Cordelia steps up to the big painting, well lit by the beeswax candles that Corwin's staff have helpfully provided. "So, I've gone through these, but how do you initiate the transit? Do I just click my heels and wish I was there?"

"If the trump is usable, it should be cold." Jerod says, reaching out to it. He does not activate it when he touches it but verifies its function. "See the image and make it your focus. A real place trump will give impressions of conditions on the other side, temperature, wind, even smells. If it doesn't come up don't be worried, it may just be practice for the moment. The ones we are chasing don't have the family gift so they would have had to be trained to forge a passage through."

Jerod pauses a moment to collect imagery and data through the contact if possible. Assuming nothing is untoward, he turns to Vere. "I'll go through. If she can't activate herself, pass her through," he says, before activating it and stepping through.

Paris is busier than Orleans ever could be, and the guards at the gate know both Ossian and Regenlief by reputation, if not by sight. They are offered fresh horses or a carriage can be sent for, but by some means they can arrive at the Louvre and thence to their quarters to clean up and report to the King, or perhaps report directly to the King.

Ossian is all for drama and will report to the King immedeately. He will not let Brother Farwind be alone with the paintings.

The guards take custody of Brother Farwind and other guards take charge of the books of paintings and sketches (and remain with Ossian until he is with the King). Regenlief goes with Brother Farwind to make sure he's adequately supervised, and probably to keep the fear of Valkyrie in him.

Quickly enough Ossian is admitted to the study where Corwin conducts Family business, along with the paintings, which are left with them. Corwin pours him a drink. "Jerod and Cordelia and Vere have been and left. I've heard their version of the story; let's hear all the additional details you have to tell me."

"Well." Ossian says as he takes the drink. "We went into their library of sorts. They had quite an impressive collection of Trump sketches of places. Especially considering this monastery being a somewhat backwaters place. Most of them broken, though. But they were taking pretty good care of them.

"It seems to me that someone has set up this whole Klybesian religion as an information network. It's all too convenient having the Trumps declared 'Holy Icons'. They seem to keep most of the priesthood in the dark of the real purpose of the organization.

"Does the name 'Able' ring any bells? From way back in time, I suspect."

"That's Caine's son who was exiled a long time ago," Corwin says. "We've already talked to Caine about him, when the Sinbad business came up. This is all tied up in why Dad banned all the religious types from Amber. Paris is worth a Mass, but the question is whether Paris can survive too many of them."

"Interesting. How many cousins are still out there hiding? Anyway, he seems to have been busy. But I wonder if Able is the driving force behind the Klybesians. Who is this Sinbad?"

"Sinbad is a use-name that Caine traveled under in Shadow. Apparently someone--maybe Able--was using it when the Klybesians seized Huon and the archivists," Corwin said. "So Random and I talked to Caine and he had an alibi, not that having a solid alibi is necessarily proof of anything with Caine. But it seems more likely that Able has been using the name recently, or has passed it on to one of his followers."

"Seems likely. So where did Jerod and the lot go?"

"Jerod and Vere and Cordelia have gone through the Trump cabinet. Are you and Regenlief thinking of following them, or do you have something else in mind?" Corwin asks.

Ossian frowns "Jerod is competent enough, and I am tired of running one step behind the monks. With your permission I will set up a way to analyze the rutter we stole from them. "

Ossian will acquire a small number of assistants, preferably young and intelligent people with good 3D thinking. (Maybe some naval people could qualify, but also engineers and the like.) He will occupy a reasonably large room in the castle, installing a large number of small hooks in the walls.

He wants to convert the rutter into something visual to be able to spot patterns etc, realizing it is not a planar graph. He lets each monastery be represented by a small sign that he hangs from the ceiling, with all the aspects of that monastery listed (computers and the like) and differently colored string representing how the monasteries are connected. Is there anything in the rutter that could represent Trump connections?

Corwin grants his permission and Lance arranges rooms, engineers, and navigators from the Navy to work on building charts from the rutter. It's slow work, but based on what they already know, it proceeds apace. Alice Roth pitches in, since she was a Human Geography major in college. Regenlief has been to a number of their monasteries and helps decipher the map key. She knows what the monasteries were like, which helps determine what the symbols mean.

"Those are all abandoned ruins," she says about one marker. "They may use those as waypoints." She points to another. "Abford, I think. It has two of those symbols which may mean people."

Alice nods. "Here's a place which has that symbol and and the marker for abandoned."

One of the Admirals comes over and looks at the rutter. "If you can figure out where this is, I can follow this rutter to that place." He was a captain in Amber's navy before he was in Corwin's.

"That's Tariq's Mountain," replies Regenlief. "It's near the Land of Peace."

She looks at Ossian. "It's not like it couldn't wait, since it's waited for a long time, but at least we know someplace to start."

"Not bad at all. They won't expect us at least."

What symbols have they found in the rutter? I know of people, ruins, computers. What kind of connections i.e. Trumps, tunnels, other ways, are noted?

And what does it say about Abford?

There seem to be multiple sets of symbols, some of which have no clue other than context. There is a pattern that might be religious descent or founding order. Or it could be the trade goods they specialize in or what knowledge they gather.

Abford doesn't seem to have the ship/port marker, and two of the people markers. There's one of those on the abandoned place and another on a place that looks like a crescent moon.

Regenlief says "We should fetch Tomat. He is likely to have used a rutter like this when he served them."

Ossian nods. If Tomat is in Paris Ossian will send for him.

Tomat, Ossian recalls, was last seen recovering from injuries in Xanadu after the rescue of Huon and the archivists and the new cousins from the Klybesians. Ossian could send for Tomat, but it would probably involve Trumping someone in Xanadu and asking for Tomat to be sent through: not an unreasonable request but one that will add a little more time to their work.

Tomat is regularly based in Rebma, so if he is not in Xanadu, he has likely gone back to Rebma.

Ossian thinks it would be worthwhile to get Tomat so he will try calling Random.

Random answers quickly. The accoustics suggest he's in a big room, like a theater or a bar. "Ossian, good to hear from you. I'm here meeting newest cousins. Are you in need of a quick exit from someone's closet?"

"Sadly, no" Ossian says with a grin. "I, Jerod and mother did a little info gathering a while back. We are looking for help to interpret it, to get more of an edge on the damn monks. Specifically Brother Tomat could help us, we believe. Is he still in Xanadu?"

"Yeah, we'll send for Tomat. He's hanging around here pretending to study or studying librarians or something. We're definitely going to want a run-down on whatever it was you ran down about the Monks." Random nods to someone out of sight. "Hey, speaking of Jerod, is he with you?"

Ossian grins. "No, sorry. He went hunting monks. An opportunity appeared and he went with it. I stayed back and cleaned up.

"The monks seem to be obsessed with networks. Computer networks. Tunnels. And now Trumps. This Able guy seems have supplied them for centuries."

Random listens to this and thinks. "So, we think what? A relative, a klybesian, and a trump artist all walk into a bar, and his name is Abel?" He pauses.

"Didn't Fiona and Vere meet some ghost monks under a temple somewhere? I'm thinking of officially renaming them 'moles', but that may only apply to the ones that infiltrated us."

"The bar story is spot on," Ossian says. "I'm not sure I have heard Vere's story.

"After consulting with Tomat, I'll want to act on the stuff we are learning. Any objections to that?" he asks.

"I heard it second hand. It was during the Regency, and they were ghosts of monks. Might've been on his Paresh hijinks. You should ask him, because I am clearly not up to speed on it all. Anyway, just return Tomat to Rebma when you're done with him. He's working for The Man now, 'The Man' being in this case Celina."

Ossian nods. "I'll see to it. First Tomat to Rebma, then hitting the monks."

Random's eyes dart away from Ossian. "Hang on...

"Tomat, can I send you to go help Ossian? He's in Paris. Someone will get you back to Rebma from there." Random reaches his hand out and suddenly the monk in question is in the contact. He reaches toward Ossian to pass Tomat through...

Ossian gently drags Tomat through. "Anything else I need to know? " Ossian asks.

Unless Random has more to add, Ossian thanks him and closes the contact.

Hannah tells Gerard, "Some quick tea?" in way of invitation, and begins skirting the edges of the room toward the entrance to the kitchens. Once they've cleared the threshold she pauses to find the least invasive spot for them in the kitchen. She notices they've shoved some tables and chairs against the wall here by the entrance to capture, she assumes, folks like her wandering in. She gestures to the low one where Gerard can roll up to the front.

"Bless you, Hannah, you're thoughtful. Harsh, I'd say it's not usually like that, except it is often enough these days." Gerard rolls up to the low table that has been set up for him to use. There are low chairs for Hannah and Harsh as well, so that they can share the same table.

Harsh hasn't spent much time in the castle but he has already seen enough of it to know that the wide corridors, ramps, and low furniture all seem built to accommodate Gerard's injuries and his wheelchair.

Harsh waits for both Gerard and Hannah to get settled before seating himself (and will pull out Hannah's chair for her if she lets him).

Gerard starts his secondary introduction with Hannah, perhaps because she is the lady. "Hannah, Harsh is my son by a lady of Goldconda whom I knew not long before the war. I didn't know she'd fallen pregnant or I'd've handled things differently. And then things went all pear-shaped here so I had no chance to go back."

Hannah nods at this.

Harsh studies the surface of the table as long as the subject of his mother is in the air. This isn't a problem here, he reminds himself for what feels like the hundredth time on this very strange day.

"Hannah here is my physician. She and your cousin Conner, who is the brother of Brita -- that's the redhead in the dress who looked like she'd been in a brawl -- have been watching over me since the tower fell on me some years ago. Conner was there during the Regency but Hannah has taken me on since then," Gerard explains to Harsh.

A member of the kitchen staff comes over with a teapot and a caddy of teas so that the royals can select their favorite. Loose-leaf teas, black, green, and herbal. Some varieties are close to what Harsh knows; others are unfamiliar to him. The herbal teas are more Hannah's specialty and made from plants she and the people of the Blue World, under her father's leadership, have tried to cultivate around Xanadu.

The others will note that Harsh chooses the strongest and darkest available tea, and then proceeds to load it with a bit of milk and an unconscionable amount of sugar. Even other Golcondans tend to find his taste in tea to be absurdly strong and sweet.

Hannah glances at Gerard out of the side of her eye. "And your father took me on too. My birth mother, who I never knew, left my raising to my father, and his later wives - who are the women I call mother. She was one of Gerard's full siblings, but she died... I don't even know when, really." This doesn't seem to bother her. "So my uncle here saw to it I knew how to walk the worlds and find what was needed. The rest of the family is a bit much, sometimes. Our cousins are fine, but grandfather Oberon - well, I have opinions. He is also dead. Random is a good man, usually, so here my little family stays. My homeworld wasn't... really salvageable." This bothers her much more than old dead relatives. "Many of the People Who Go Upstream are here, in Xanadu also, including my father. It's our home now."

"My sympathies for the fate of your home world," Harsh says to Hannah. "I'm glad that your people have found a place here."

It's a formal sort of acknowledgement, but Harsh also means it.

"My own world -- I've recently learned that a number of catastrophic events from several years ago are echoes of those that troubled many worlds," he says. "I'm still trying to understand it all. A few months ago I was an officer in the Golcondan Navy on the way to explore the great southern continent, which we believed to be the last great unexplored region in the world." A wry smile. "I'd no idea my horizons were about to expanded even further than that."

"So it will be some time before your family misses you? I wandered off without saying goodbye - and time passes differently from place to place. Has anyone talked to you about that?" she asks.

"He was with Martin before; I think Martin told him some things but maybe not that," Gerard offers. He turns his attention back to Harsh. "Not all the realms are in sync with each other where time is concerned. So a day here might not mean a day in Golconda. I think the time dilation isn't that great, or you'd be older, but, maybe a day and a half in Golconda to a day here? And I don't know about anywhere you've been in between, obviously. So we'll need to fetch your ma, or see to her, sooner rather than later."

He'd heard about the difference in time passage, but somehow he'd failed to put two and two together and he starts suddenly at the implications.

"That means ... by now, the Mahtala will have been to Aotearoa already and on its way to the southern continent at the very least," he murmurs. "If so, they'll have had time to send word back to Kolkata -- it might or might not have reached home by then. And if it has -- they'll have given us up for lost."

Hannah looks sympathetic. "Yes, it's hard. It took me some time to get back, and the time variance between my home world and here was much higher than 1.5 to 1. It is easier not to have regrets. You shouldn't rush into the ritual, but you seem physically healthy at least. Only you can determine if you are spiritually prepared."

"If need be, I'll guide the way. I'll have to talk to Corvis and Vere first, though," Gerard says. "And I'll need help with the stars."

Harsh nods. "I began work on that very subject whilst on the Vialle," he says, "at the Prince's behest. I'll happily provide you with what you need."

He considers his tea as he organises his thoughts. "I have my work cut out for me, then," he says. "To meet with the lady Corvis and with Vere, to start. Then to learn what I can, to prepare for the Pattern rite." Ruefully, he adds to Hannah, "My first instinct is to hurry, I'll admit. But I'll take your advice and try to not be too hasty."

Gerard takes a look around to make sure nobody is too close if they're going to talk about the Pattern.

"It's a rule in the family," he says, skipping over the bit about Corvis and Vere, "that you don't watch the rite before you do it. But we can talk about it if that will help. It makes you look at who you are; what you believe about yourself; your nearest and dearest and all the people you care about; your ideals. And it's hard on you physically, though as you're a navy man, I expect with a good night's rest and no injuries, you'll manage. But also it's different for each one of us, because we're all different people and it works with what we bring to it."

Hannah nods. "For myself, I spent some time meditating on the notion that I'd have visions. I have some familiarity with those, and I knew they can be... distracting. It's easy to get lost in visions, because they're experiences, and we tend to engage with them. So for me, it was about being certain I was choosing this path - to be part of this family, the good and the bad of it. Once I was sure my heart and mind were committed, then I just had to turn my stubborn about not stopping all the way up. I do believe we all have that level of stubborn in us, that the physical and mental pressures, though very real, are the easy part. It's not letting what you're experiencing - temptation or disaster or love or despair - stop you or lead you astray that's the hard part. But if I can do it, you can do it," she smiles.

"Aye, it's difficult, but not impossible. Not if the King thinks you can. If he'd said you nay, I'd forbid it. Not for caring less, but because when the King tells you you can't he means it'll kill you." Gerard says this soberly, but as a fact he's come to terms with. "Some people think that every child one of us has could come into the royal gifts. It's not true, alas. But Random passed you, so you can do it. And you will, Harsh."

"You flatter me with your confidence," he replies, and it sounds like he's making a joke. However, there's a very real underpinning of anxiety, the old dread of being found out for a fraud -- only this time instead of one's career being on the line, it's one's very existence. "Though if stubbornness is indeed a virtue in this case, there are plenty who'll tell you I've got it in spades."

Hannah shrugs at this. "We've all been called stubborn by those who have come up against our will. And that's what stubborn really is. Our strength of will." She grins. "Aside from that, Random will want to know what instrument you play, and try to 'jam' with you, Cousin Brita might sniff you and talk like a well-mannered goddess, my sister Robin will fly in and around and out of here - oh, hey, they are looking for volunteers for a political marriage with an honestly fascinating young princess-general who is on site, if you might be up for that sort of thing."

Gerard pauses there and looks hard, but not angrily, at Harsh. "I assume ye'd've said if ye were married. Ye're not, are ye?"

Hannah is joking about the political marriage, surely? He shakes his head at Gerard's question. "Neither wife nor sweetheart," he says. "In all honesty, neither the time nor the interest for either."

Gerard doesn't seem to have treated Hannah's comment as a joke or something particularly unusual. So perhaps it is serious.

"Well enough," Gerard says. "I didn't think I was likely to have a daughter-in-law or grandchildren, but I thought I should ask. If ye did, it would make no difference, and we'd welcome them here.”

"Of--of course." Harsh says, which is not much of a response, but he can tell that he is reaching a saturation point with all the revelations and alarums and excursions going on right now. He wants to talk more to Gerard and Hannah as well, but he's also feeling a strong need for fresh air.

"Forgive my, um, disorientation," he says to them. "It's not every day that one's family increases a hundredfold all at once. I'd like to see more of the castle and grounds, if I may. And," he adds to Gerard, "at her convenience, meet the lady Corvis."

Little steps. It's a start.

"Of course," Gerard says, though Hannah suspects he's having a bit of a feeling at the notion himself. "Hannah, if you've aught else to do, I'll find someone to show Harsh about the castle. I need to speak to Gilt Winter, the King's Steward," he adds for Harsh's benefit, "about a room in the family wing for Harsh anyhow."

"I was going to talk to Folly about my and Dr. Soun's interpretation of the Monk's papers. Looks like DNA research, maybe they're trying to clone. It's research, nothing here indicates they've actually succeeded." She shrugs. Doesn't mean it hasn't happened. "You should have them put him on the hall with myself and Edan. Then he can help babysit," she grins. She's probably teasing.

Teasing or not, Harsh grins back -- he actually likes children.

"I am at your disposal," he says cheerfully.

Having changed into her typical comfortable pants and long sleeved shirt, Brita shakes out the green gown with a frown. That grease stain is Not going to come out. Maybe one of the Castle Staff can use the material. She folds it up and sets it aside.

Pulling out her Trump of her brother and places it on the table before her. She concentrates on his image while she bushes out her hair and begins to quickly braid it.

A few minutes after Brita has given up on reaching Conner right away, a page turns up with a note for her. It's a sealed letter in what she recognizes as Ambrose's handwriting. His letter-shaping is distinctive, perhaps because of the Uxmali influence, so Brita has no trouble identifying it. If that hadn't been enough, the seal is clearly Uxmali in design.

It reads:

Dear Brita,

I write to let you know that I have departed Xanadu on King Random's request. He has asked me to lead some merchant marine ships on a trading voyage. Apparently the King is uncertain of the survival of certain Shadow paths and has asked me to reinforce certain paths based on his notes.

It will take some time to complete the circuit of ports. I have put the code wheels in stasis in Aunt Fiona's laboratory and taken some of my father's partially translated notes with me to revise. I hope to see you again on my return, but will of course welcome your Trump contact should you wish to speak to me.

Your news of family matters will be fresher than mine by the time you read this, but should I encounter a lost family member, you will be one of the first to know.

I remain yours etc.,
Ambrose

Brita re-reads the letter twice through. Did Cousin Ambrose leave Before the information about kin being at risk? She is actually a little anxious about his welfare, traveling alone. This worry slithers round like Jörmungandr to her worry for Conner being out there amongst the monks - why didn't he respond? She picks up his Trump and gives it her attention again.

Conner accepts the Trump contact and Brita can see him sitting in one of Tricksey's computer chairs wearing a Tshirt with come sort of anime girl on the front. Conner smiles widely. "Greetings sister. What news?"

"We should Not be Out Alone," Brita leads off. "Are You Alright? Why the Delay in Connecting?"

"I am fine Sister." Conner replies. "I only felt this one contact. If you had trouble connecting, I don't know why?"

"It was Likely My Distractions," Brita notes, brushing it off.

"There are More Cousins. I Brought Cousin Tricksey to The King and Uncle Gerard Brought a New Son - Cousin-Captain Harsh. I am Not Sure if He is Older or Younger Brother to Cousin Vere. Cousin Martin Brought Cousin Cambina’s Sister Cousin Rowen, Lady of Wolfish Weirmonken."

Conner whistles. "I sometimes wonder if we are ever going to stop finding new cousins." Conner chuckles. "It has been quiet here. Fletcher has not checked in though so it would seem he needs the don't travel alone warning. What news from the King?"

"Uncle Random Spoke of Grandmare's Horn, Everyone's Music, The Pattern, and What it Meant to Walk His Pattern. He gave the Instruction for Pairing." Brita is obviously running through the discussions in her head. "Oh, We Discovered Cousin Tricksey is Daughter of Daeon," Brita notes. "Cousin Ossian Called Our Uncle for the help of Brother Tomat and Cousin Martin was Seeking Cousin Jerod." She thinks a bit more and then nods as she concludes that was the important bits.

Conner absorbs all of that. Tricksey as daughter of Daeon makes sense but how she got here is still a mystery. "Did you discuss how He wanted to handle Brother Able and the monks here in Tyrell?"

Brita cocks her head to the side and her brow furrows, "Actually, No. He was Distracted by the Influx of Kin. I Will Have to Ask Again." She moves to rise. "Should We Go Now?"

"No time like the present." Conner replies. "I would like to be done with this place one way or another."

Brita hums in agreement as she gathers Conner's Trump in hand and tucks the rest of her deck back in one of her coat pockets. She starts back towards the gathering with the king, holding Conner's image in front of her as she walks. "Anything You would Want from Here?" She asks as they go. "I can Send a Page."

Tomat disappears in a flash of color and light, and Random drops his hand to his side. He blinks and looks at Folly, smiling.

Folly returns the smile and seems about to say something, when...

Lark's voice comes from under the throne. "I found a knife! Mama, do you have a whetstone?"

Folly raises her eyebrows quizzically at Random as she responds to her daughter. "No, not on me, but I'm sure we can get you one if you need it. Although perhaps your Granda Syd is keeping it there on purpose. What were you looking for under there?" She kneels to peek under the throne at her daughter.

Random twists around in that boneless way of his and peers under the side of the throne. His hair hangs straight down to the floor. "Probably Caine's. He leaves those everywhere in case he needs one in a hurry."

"When I was in Rebma, there were words carved under the throne, so I wanted to see if there were any here." She pulls it out of the bottom of the throne and holds it out to Folly, handle first. "I don't think it's a very good knife."

Folly takes it and turns it over carefully in her hands, examining it from every angle. She also sniffs the blade and, as is her wont, suspends it lightly by the handle to ping it with her fingernail and listen to it.

Lark is probably right about the qualities of the knife. It is, however, bejeweled. It is a very expensive not very good knife.

"Looks more like Florimel's letter opener than Caine's emergency back-up knife -- not that I doubt he could be lethal with it if he wanted to," Folly opines to Random. If there are any particularly large gems set into it, she peers into them, looking for etchings or inclusions. (What colors/types are the jewels?)

The handle is inlaid mother-of-pearl with some semi-precious stones in deep reds and blues. It doesn't seem really expensive or exotic, but it's well made and looks nice. It belongs in a sash or as part of a dress costume. It's not really great for stabbing, or eating, or any practical purpose.

"What were the words under the Rebman throne?" she asks Lark. "And did it say who carved them?"

Lark scrunches up her face in thought. "Not many words, mostly Initials. Carved underneath it. Lots of Ls and Ms."

For a man hanging upside down from the side of a throne, Random looks remarkably calm. "I know about those. Any initials in this throne, or just a knife?"

Lark nods. "There’s an M..."

"Bet that's Max...", replies Random. "Don't carve anything unless you won’t get caught, Alouette."

Lark giggles. "When I, when I was in Rebma, I sang that song you taught me, except I made it "Aunt Llewella, gentille Aunt Llewella. Aunt Llewella, je te plumerai". She looks serious. "I don't think she liked it."

Random, his hair brushing the floor, grins a bit. "Doesn't matter, I like it fine. But don't give away your song too easily."

Folly is only half-listening to their banter as she stares into the middle distance, thinking. "Hey, Syd, did I ask you about the portrait in the family gallery that was signed with an 'M'? It looked like maybe a self-portrait, and it definitely wasn't Max. A woman in moonlight, or maybe underwater. I'd never seen it before, until the night before we rescued you. And then a day or two later it looked like it had been moved into a more prominent position. Lark asked about it, but I didn't recognize the subject. It didn't look particularly recent."

Random takes a deep breath a bit. "No, not recent. Morganthe, Princess of Rebma. Lark's grandmother was quite an artist." He pauses. "She sent it to me from Rebma." He smiles, and may have had something to say, but at that moment, the door opens.

Brita walks in, with the look of a woman maintaining a trump contact. The card in her hand gives it away.

Random is draped over the arms of the throne, his head hanging down and his hair brushing the floor.

Brita moves next to the throne and sits on the step so Conner can easily see the king and vice versa. She says, "Your Majesty, My Brother Wishes to Know How You would Like Us to Handle Our New Kin Abel. And the Monks of Shadow Tyrell. Kin Abel did Not Seem Inclined to Come Home....Yet. Also, Cousin Ambrose is Out Alone?" The last is reported almost as a question.

Random raises a single eyebrow (towards the floor) and says. "Hmmm. Well, as I've told some of your cousins, I don't require an actual oath to consider a family member under royal jurisdiction, so Abel is not in a great place. However, I also am 100% willing to leave people alone who want nothing to do with us.

"What I won't do is ignore these monks who aren't having nothing to do with us. So if he wants to protect them, he's either gotta control them, turn them over to us, or go to war with all of us. If he gets our full attention, it may not go as he hopes. What do you think he wants, anyway?"

Without waiting for an answer he turns to Folly. "Do you know where Ambrose is? I wasn't worried about him, particularly, 26 seconds ago."

Folly frowns. "I know he was in Xanadu on the day the archivists and our newfound cousins were rescued. But after that...." She trails off and closes her eyes like she's trying to remember, or maybe listening for him, somehow. After a long moment, she opens her eyes again and says, "I'll ask a page -- and Brita, if he's not here, do you have his Trump?"

She goes to the door and sticks her head out to summon a page and ask if Ambrose is still in Xanadu.

"He was going to check on shadow paths, but I don't know if he left yet," Random adds. He looks at Brita, as if unsure what she's asking. "He wanted a regular Amber task, so I gave him one."

The page reports that Lord Ambrose has not been in residence for three days.

Brita responds to Folly by holding out her small deck. "I Have a Sketch of Cousin Ambrose. You Can Use it to Contact our Cousin to Ensure He is Safe."

Folly takes the deck, carefully sorts out the sketch of Ambrose, and moves a small distance away.

To the King, Brita says, "Cousin Abel Indicated that chew was Responsible for Issues we Have Had with the Kidnapping Monks. He Said he Would Not Interfere with Our Actions Against chew. Brother, Do You have More Thoughts on What Cousin Abel may Want?"

Random grins, and it's not a pleasant grin. "How exceedingly kind of him. I expect we're about to get word about Chew shortly. I'm not convinced that throwing all the blame on one middle manager will be sufficient. Remind me how Cousin Abel is a cousin, though."

Before Brita can answer, Random holds a finger down towards the floor, and Lark nods. He mouths the word "Trump" to Brita.