Celina waits for Brita in her office while tending to a long list of requests from Families of the City.
When the scratch comes at the door, she calls, "Come in Brita."
The door swings in to reveal B'nath. "Your Majesty, the page has not returned with your Cousin yet. However, the Archivists ask for more time to narrow down the matter of the funeral attendants."
Celina nods.
"And the Tritons have your message about the request for battle histories. There was no return response. Shall I ask the Heirophant to the palace?"
"Oh no," Celina shakes her head. "I'll go there if we hear nothing by tomorrow. I actually like getting out of the palace." When B'nath inclines her head in silent permission to withdraw, Celina waves her fingers with a theatrical walking motion and smiles. "Send Brita when she arrives, even if someone else is with her. And we will need some light edibles."
The Queen goes back to her lists once she is alone.
A short while later, there is another scratch at the door and B'nath ushers Brita inside when bid. Brita is carrying a large bag. She greets Celina with a head bow and "Queen-Cousin, I had Thought to give you a Choice of Medium for Your Trump." The bag disgorges several shells, coral chunks, and small pieces of slate. Most of the shells are fairly flat with fluted edges, but there are a couple of long ones with pearlescent insides. Brita picks up a piece of slate and pulls out a dark stick of charcoal. She begins to sketch as she continues, "I Can of course Do a Traditional Paper Trump, but I Thought You Might Want One that was More Durable - Like You." Brita smiles slightly, although she is still focused in her sketching.
Celina comes to look at the many materials in the bag. "How interesting. Yes, why not?" She examines the shells and admires the heft of the rock types. Her hands flow and dance over the offerings, testing each sample and then moving through them all again. Finally she takes up a dark piece of slate and licks it. She smiles. "From common clay, under pressure and ordered heat, given a dark smoothness, layers of rough scarring can make it more beautiful and warm." Celina laughs. "That's me all right." She looks at Brita. "But not as durable as you."
Brita's brief smile is more of a grimace. "I Feel as if I Have gone Through Ragnarok Again. I Feel Adrift and Alone....and afraid." She shakes her head. "And So Very Angry - Ready to Drown Those Responsible in an Ocean of Acid." The charcoal stick snaps in her hand, pieces floating and darkening the water until she waves impatiently at it to disperse the bits.
Celina draws much closer but moves slightly behind Brita where she will not interfere with the artist's arm motions and the sketching. She touches Brita lightly on the neck. Her fingers trace the muscles there, following the tight anger in Brita's body down her back. "We create. We define our lives, or we are defined by our enemies. Anger creates more anger and less definition of what we need to move past the agony."
If Brita does not resist, Celina brings up her other hand and traces tight shoulder muscles on her cousin. "I am often afraid. When asleep, I have nothing to solve, nothing to fix, nothing to keep my hope up. So the nightmares start. Yet living in a nightmare is still living. Still creating. Better than the alternative. Fear can be a blessing. It shows your weaknesses to you. Anger is a subtraction of your own Ordered Will, unless you are Gifted with Clarity within your Anger."
Celina starts to massage Brita's muscles, easing the dammed energy into Brita's blood and frame to redistribute. "You are not alone. Your brave words build the bridge. I walk across it and embrace you."
Brita tenses at the first touch, but does not shrug it off and eventually relaxes for the massage. "Better than the Alternative. Yes. My Anger is Definitely Not Clear." She shakes her head. "I Must Move Forward. Keep to the Pattern and Move Forward - Never Stop. Our Will will Bring the Chaos Created by These Enemies to Order. It Will Be So. We Will Make it So." Brita smiles over a shoulder at Celina with a shark-like grin. She turns back to her sketches and gestures back to a seat. "Come sit so I can Capture Your Image. The Slate is a Good Choice for You, I Agree. It will be Easier to Paint On as Well. I Am Planning on Going With Cousin Ambrose when he Travels to My Mother to Work on His Translation Endeavors." She throws in the last as she continues to sketch.
Celina works Brita's muscles a bit more, occasionally tapping a TaKhi point to make sure the paths are clear. Cousin Brita has an impressive physique. As Celina finishes the brief massage. She marvels at how many of the things Brita has said often run through her own thoughts at night.
And why not? They've both chosen Never Stop over the Alternatives.
Celina moves past Brita to the seat. "Can an artist make a Trump from a Trump, Brita? If this work of yours was stolen---could a Trump artist make another before the original was retaken?" She sits down arranging her limbs as if she was going to have a morning of Court. Those mornings can be long and her pose is one she can hold all day if she has to.
"Unlikely. The Image is Flat and gives one Little Information about the Personality, the Essence of the Person. I Suppose Grandfather Could Tell what the Artist Intended in the Strokes and Decipher the Meaning Behind It, but I Doubt Others could. Knowledge of the Artist may also be Necessary to Interpret the Trump. It is Why I Cannot just Copy Another's Work." Brita has pulled out another, slightly larger slate to sketch on.
Celina swishes that idea around in the water for a bit. "So if I want a Trump of me in the booth at Xanadu and one in Paris and one in Avalon, then I'm asking you to do this favor three times over. That is a lot of work. I'll understand if you have to leave before you can accomplish all that. Ambrose told me that he needs to work on his Translations before the mechanisms break down." Celina watches Brita's hands moving and limning away. "What favor can I return you for this Trump work?"
Brita looks up quickly with a startled expression. "I do Not...," a distracted look crosses her features. "Trump Contact," she says as she sets the slate aside and rises, reaching her freed hand out to Celina. "Who Calls?" Brita asks the aether.
Celina's expression shifts from surprise to a fierce look. She stands and steps to Brita and takes her hand. Her other hand digs into a hidden pocket in her tanga and she readies three bead crystals.
The contact with Ossian feels cold and clear, like a mountain stream in the spring. A whiff of sadness can also be felt.
"Ah, Celina also. " Ossian says "Greetings my cousins.
"Since time seems to be important, I will try to stay brief.
"Brita, there is no way to say this gently. I went through shadow looking for Reid, but I was too late. We do not know who killed him, but we know the Klybesian monks greedily held his body. It is in Xanadu now."
Celina relaxes her defensive stance.
Brita, conversely, tenses back up. "Master Reid's...Cousin Reid is in Xanadu," Brita seems a little relieved. "Cousin Edan had Relayed The First News. He Said Some Were Sent to Seek Retribution. Were You One?"
"Yes. Me, Raven and Jerod." Ossian pauses.
"We recovered the body, but there are still Klybesians around that need a lesson. I will try to investigate more. A certain monk called Chew seems all too interested in collecting tissue samples of Amberites."
Celina's emotions at Ossian's comment about Chew spike through the contact. She's appalled and then very angry. "So you gave a lesson, but feel the lesson is incomplete? Do you have further authority from King Random to investigate? Do you need help?"
"Yes, yes and yes. It would be unwise of me to go there by myself. Not that I am wise."
Brita's emotions feel like a suddenly becalmed sea. "Samples of Amberites." She repeats. "Could the Samples...." She becomes very focused on Ossian, "As a Fellow Artist, Do You Think Live Samples would Retain the Connection to a Trump?"
"I have no idea, but the thought has occurred to me. That would be disgusting, wouldn't it?" For some reason Ossian grins. He then turns somber again. "I think we should ask Merlin. There is the distinct possibility that just making the call would kill the sample."
Celina looks sideways at Brita and then again at Ossian. She wrinkles her nose. "I do not support a universe where Trump is so enamored of Contagion that Trump links to inanimate flesh. Ossian, beware of traps. These monks are experienced with Family retribution. They certainly have a ....contingency for pursuit. You should not follow into shadow alone. If Jerod is still available or working on this, that would be better. Have you heard from Brennan? And who is Raven?"
"Raven is a new cousin. Random-approved, of unknown lineage. A sea-captain I think. I just spoke with my father. He needs you to contact him as soon as possible."
"If You Speak with Cousin Merlin or Grandfather, Ask Why a Trump would Remain Cold for One Deceased. Who Will You Need to Investigate These monks?" Brita asks.
"I'm not picky. I got Jerod last time." Ossian smiles wrily. "But preferrably a sorceror."
"Perhaps Cousin Edan Could Assist or Cousin Ambrose - but he Plans on Decoding His Father's Writing. I am Not Skilled Enough - Was Master Brennan Available?" Brita asks.
Celina bides a moment waiting for that answer.
Ossian shakes his head. "No. His siege seems not to be going well. He wants you two to call him. Preferrably Conner too, if he is close. Do you have a Trump of my father?"
Celina responds, "No, I have no trumps at all as yet. Do you have one you could lend us?"
"I Have sketches and could Make a Sketch Fairly Quickly," Brita notes.
Ossian nods somberly "He did seem to think it was urgent. I do have a sketch that I could lend you. I hope it survives the transfer." Ossian suddenly has his trump deck in his hand.
Celina holds up a hand, "Wait." She smiles, squeezes Brita's arm. "Brita is wise in this. We are in the waters. Your generous offer touches my heart Ossian, but keep your sketch for when it's value is most assured. We shall contact Brennan when we may if Brita has time to work a sketch here. We hope to talk to him soon. Meantimes, I think Conner should very much like to hear your story. If you are leaving to further explore this matter of Reid and the Monks, give me a day to mention this to Conner. He certainly will have advice even if he does not have time to help directly."
She looks at Brita and then back to Ossian. "If that suits."
Brita nods in concurrence.
Ossian nods too. "Work quickly, Brita. He might need help. And if Conner knows things I will listen. I need all knowledge I can get."
Celina nods once. Ossian can feel through the connection she is satisfied. "Expect Conner to get in touch then."
Ossian nods: " Take care, lovely cousins."
Celina shakes her head. "So much going on. And a lot seems to be resting on your shoulders, Brita. I'm glad you came to Rebma and will be sorry to see you go."
Brita smiles. "My Shoulders are Fairly Sturdy. Shall I Will Work on a Sketch Trump of Cousin Brennan first? I Will use the Slate for Both Your Trump and the Sketch to make them Viable in the Rebman Environ."
Yes, I've noticed the shoulders. Celina nods and smiles. "Please. Brennan says something is urgent and he needs to talk. This can only mean a situation fraught with complexities and third order dangers. Let's put his needs ahead of mine."
Brita nods and states "I Will Start Now." She proceeds to do just that, pulling out colored oils and beginning on an image on the slate. "I will Need a Space that is Part Air as well," she notes. "Some of my Studies of Master Brennan are On Paper." She appears to be working on the general shape, first outlining an area that quickly becomes a shirt followed by the shape of the face and hair above.
Celina nods once. "We have such an Air Chamber. And we'll move there when you are ready. I'll make arrangements." Celina moves off to get food and drink sent to the Airy Chamber in the palace. She'll also send a Triton messenger to Conner, even if he is doing rounds in the City, he should be found.
The message is: "Brennan may need assistance. Ossian has asked for your help. Direct communication maybe within the palace soon."
Conner will pretty much drop everything and seek out Celina when the messenger finds him. He arrives at the airy chamber carrying a slate in one hand and a piece of chalk in the other. He takes a moment to adjust to breathing air once more and then enters fully.
Celina has changed to casual clothes and orchestrated a sideboard of food. She nods and welcomes Conner. Brita appears to be hard at work with papers and tools and slate.
Conner nods to them both. "Your message was most intriguing, Cousin. What have you heard about Brennan and Ossian?"
Brita waves a hand holding a pencil at her brother although she does not look up from what she is doing. She has a fairly deep basin of water next to her and her other hand is in the water. She puts her hand with the pencil in the water, glancing back at her open sketchbook. Then, after a few minutes, she dips her face in the water as well although only for a few seconds before glancing back at the book.
"We spoke with Ossian, who gave us the news again of the death of Reid and recovery of his body from the Klybesian Monks. Reid's body is now in Xanadu awaiting farewells." Celina begins with the most difficult parts of this and describes the party sent by Random to recover the body. She does not skip the details of how Reid may have been in a lab for 'sampling' by the monks---or that almost all the monks escaped through shadow, and that Ossian speculates they will need to be brought up short as they are taking such liberties.
Conner's hand tightens around Halosydne's hilt as Celina describes what Ossian found.
Then she switches to Brennan's request for communication. "And Ossian said Brennan's siege in Avalon is not going well and he hopes to talk to you and I. To which I speculated that Brennan would not say he needed to talk to us, or that things were 'not going well' unless the implications were very serious. Ossian did not disagree or offer anything else. Though Ossian did say he is willing to take help in going after the Klybesians to learn more and he mentioned you.
"So Brita offered to immediately work on a Trump sketch of Brennan." Celina crosses to Conner and hugs him. "Welcome back."
Conner didn't realize just how tense his muscles were until Celina's embrace caused him to relax a bit. "It is good to be back but from the sound of this news, I shall soon be away again." Conner sighs. "Though I think it more likely it will be Avalon rather than wherever Ossian is bound much as I would see these Klybesians punished."
"I understand," Celina says softly. "And it is Avalon that can more closely impact Rebma, so I do not disagree." She looks over her shoulder at Brita focused on her work over the piece of slate. "She knows we are here. She's just been very focused."
"I have not been here for her as I should have been." Conner murmurs softly looking over at his sister. "Professional hazard I suppose. I would think she'd be answering Ossian's call honestly."
The trump drawing will, Brita advises them, take a number of additional days.
Brita works on her sketch, keeping at it for the remainder of a ten-day. She finishes, and the sketch is properly cool to the touch and should be usable to reach Brennan. Brita wonders if it might be slightly less durable than she had hoped, but it should certainly work, for now.
Signy leaves the smithy and Tomat, and makes her way back to the palace. She stops off in her rooms and collects a small pack of tools that might help in looking at the code wheels, belts on her sword and sticks a well-used dagger into the top of her boot, and goes off to find a page that can carry a message to the Queen.
She dictates a brief message, commending Tomat and Red Fox Claws to her protection and whatever service they can provide in her absence, and letting her know of her request that Tomat document his time in the Order to help find something that will help the Family.
As the page goes on her way, she wonders again at how discrete they truly are, but shrugs the thought off as one she can't do much about at this point in time.
Once ready, she makes her way over to Ambrose's quarters to see if he's ready to head on his way.
Ambrose has made his preparations as well, though they appear to be not much more significant than Signy's. (They are, after all, Amberites and can find what they need when they travel.) He also sends a message to the Queen to advise her of his departure, and together he and Signy start to make their way out of the palace and into the city. "We can depart through Paris or go out through the outer Rebman shadows--the ones they call the Shells--and make our way to dry land through them. I've never done either before, so it's six of one and a half-dozen of the other for me. We'll probably have to pay our respects to the King of Paris if we go that way, though. What do you think?"
Signy sighs. "I'd rather just go the quickest way so that we can be back quickly as well. Would King Corwin be unhappy about not getting to talk to me after what's happened with Reid?"
"I don't know which way is the quickest, alas," Ambrose confesses. "I know reliably how to get out through Paris, and I think we can use the trade routes to get through the Seaward Shells. What I don't know about that route is how the transition to surface Shadows happens." He puts his hands out, palms up, and looks to her. "King Corwin is a complication, but he may still be faster than navigating our way through the Seaward. I don't know him well enough to know what he'll think. Does he like you? You’re more likely to get away with it if he likes you."
Signy looks slightly worried.
"He seemed to like me well enough, but I only met him in person once. Do you think that's enough? Maybe we should go through Paris just to be safe?"
"It would be the courteous thing to do under the circumstances," Ambrose says, as if it's not the conclusion he necessarily wanted, but has come to by sorcerous arithmetic or Pattern mathematics.
Ossian goes to his rooms in Xanadu, freshens himself up, and then pulls out his Trump of Corwin. He frowns. The news he carries are not good at all, and the questions he wants to ask are of the prying kind. Whatever.
He calls Corwin. "It's Ossian. I hope you will bring me through."
Corwin takes a moment to respond to the initial Trump request, and then, once Ossian has identified himself, he takes a moment--which Ossian guesses is to find a private place--and then brings Ossian through. The King of Paris is in a lounge which Ossian takes a moment to realize is probably part of a public restroom somewhere.
"We're in a cafe in Paris, after the opera. What news, before we join the others again?"
Ossian bows. "Short version then: We returned to that monastery. Things went bad, but we got Reid's body and destroyed the place. But they had a Shadowpath."
Ossian pauses "To Greenwood Hospital."
Corwin looks broody on a good day, but something about the way his expression changes when Ossian breaks the last bit of information out for him tells Ossian this is no longer a good day. Evening. Whatever.
"Greenwood Hospital? The same one where I was a patient for a time? Because that's very much not good news. Who have you talked to about this? Specifically have you talked to Bleys or my sister Florimel? And Random. I'll assume you've already talked to Random, to tell him about Reid."
Ossian frowns and makes a face. "Random knows. And a number of cousins. I have not talked to Bleys or Florimel, but too many people to keep it secret in the long run, I'm afraid.
"What are the dangers?"
"No, we don't need to keep it a secret. I just need to be the first to question my sister and brother about it. I need their memories as fresh as I can get them, and you to tell me all about this." Corwin makes a disgruntled noise, and adds, "So much for my pleasant post-opera evening. Mme. Hardwind will be devastated but understanding, no doubt.
"And the dangers have to do with--well. Scientists can learn some things from our blood, but the sciences of Shadow aren't entirely reliable. Sorcerers and mad intershadow monks are an entirely different problem."
Corwin is about to drag Ossian off for a moment when he gets That Look again. "Wait," he tells Ossian then, "Hello, Martin. Yes, send her through." He reaches for whoever Martin is sending through.
A moment later, Folly appears in a rainbow shimmer. "Thank you, Uncle," she says as she emerges from the contact. "I've got some news that I thought you would--- OSSIAN!" Her face lights up when she sees her cousin -- but then a small crease appears between her brows. "Forgive me -- I hope I'm not intruding."
Ossian grins and steps towars her to give her a hug. "Welcome Folly!" Then he stops "But where is your child?"
"She's safe with her father," Folly replies as she closes the distance and gives Ossian a warm hug. "She's not quite ready for court appearances yet, we think. Soon, though." Mindful of her waiting uncle whose evening she has just interrupted, she releases Ossian and turns back to Corwin with a slight bow of apology.
"Ossian has just joined me. He has family news as well--and I think I need to make my farewells here and summon a council of war tomorrow. It's after the opera, so I doubt we'll get a full house tonight." Corwin takes in her costume and Ossian's and says, "Fortunately we'll be in a carriage so nobody will notice your appearance. Unless your news is an emergency that I need to deal with immediately?"
"I don't think my news is that kind of emergency, no," Folly says. "It's a possible threat, but most likely not an imminent one." She smoothes the skirt of her not-quite-gown absently.
Ossian nods."I'm happy you are here. I have missed you. And I think you should hear my piece of news. And I hope you have something to tell me about it too. "
He turns to Corwin." I guess we have inconvenienced you enough for the moment."
"The duties of a King are never-ending. Fortunately, my royal prerogatives include leaving my own parties to deal with them." Corwin ushers the two of them out into the main chamber of the cafe and toward the door.
The maitre d'hotel runs to present himself to the King, tails flapping behind him as he races toward the royal presence. Corwin excuses himself--royal business, family arriving, please have my coach brought round and let my guests know, scribbling a quick note to his hostess--and suddenly people are moving at speed to deal with the King's requests.
A few minutes later, Corwin, Folly, and Ossian are ensconced in the (closed) royal carriage for the trip back to the Louvre. "We've got a few minutes. Folly, you tell me your news, Ossian, you tell her your news, and then we'll sort out what's to be done by whom when we get to the palace."
Folly nods. "My news is a bit complicated, but here's the main gist: As you may know, Brennan is currently in the vicinity of Avalon -- a place called Montparnasse, to be exact -- looking for possible Rebman or other outside involvement in a conflict there. I joined him via trump for the interrogation of a hedge wizard he'd caught -- fellow by the name of Cameleopardis Findanus of the Maghee clan." Folly watches Corwin's face as she says the name to see if he gives any sign of recognition.
"His clan claims descent from those who sank the silver towers -- and their own ancestral home, Maghdeburg -- beneath the sea many generations ago. Which is important, because when Brennan asked how he came to be laying siege to the castle at Montparnasse, his story started with a trip beneath the sea to the ruins of that other castle. There he saw a vision of a man walking a path of light and sparks, with the Sorceror-King and the Protector dueling in the midst of the sparks. He passed out, and when he awoke he met someone matching the description of and claiming to be Dara, who seemed awfully keen to join forces to bring down Sorceror-King Corwin's new realm. He described seeing what sounded exactly like the Dara-and-Benedict side of that weird business in the throne room with Greyswandir and the mechanical arm, which story I'd heard already from Martin. Then Dara made him sleep, and told him that when he awoke a priestess of Lir would give him further instructions. He was not able to identify that person exactly, but when shown a picture of Moire he thought it might have been her. She gave him ships and sent him to Methryn's Isle."
Folly pauses, frowning thoughtfully. "There are several reasons to believe this Maghee, and several parts of his story, were unstuck in time, somehow. But there were enough elements that concern you -- your history, and possibly also plans against you -- that I thought you'd want to know." She inclines her head respectfully toward Corwin.
Corwin listens to Folly's story with apparent concern, though he's difficult for Folly and Ossian to read. Not so much deliberately so; more as though he's just generally difficult to read well. (Perhaps it's all the brooding.)
"I'm glad you came to tell me that, Folly," he says after a bit. "That's a lot to digest. Ossian also has some news, some difficult news that you may not have heard. I think you should hear it and then, when we're back at the palace, we can discuss calling a council of war."
Ossian nods. "Funny what my father tells different people. On the other hand, he could be trying to protect me.
"Well. I'd better start at the beginning. I am kinda-sorta the guardian of Reid's daughter Jasmine. Yes, he has a daughter. So I went looking for him in Shadow."
Folly nods; they had briefly discussed Jasmine before her own child was born.
"Finally I ended up at a monastery belonging to the Klybesian monks, a society that sells and buys information. They had Reid's body, and more. I bargained my way out, coming here, without the body."
Folly opens her mouth in shock, or perhaps to ask a question, but closes it again immediately, certain of what he's implying. Even in the dim carriage it is clear that she has gone a bit pale. She lets Ossian continue:
"The Klybesians seems to be very interested in our kind. Inappropriately so, in fact. So Random ordered me back, this time with Jerod and Raven. It turned out that 'Brother Hannibal' who spoke with me the first time was a fellow called Dr. Chew." Ossian lets that sink in for a moment, waiting for Folly's reaction.
Her jaw has taken on a hard set. She fumbles in the pocket of her gown for a small sketch pad. She quickly scribbles something -- several hard, angry lines -- then rips out the page and hands it to Ossian.
"That Dr. Chew?" she asks, her voice low and dangerous. It may be only a quick caricature, but it's unmistakably him.
Whatever Corwin has to say, and he clearly has something to say, is waiting on Ossian's response.
Ossian nods. "We realised it must be the same man. Jerod wrecked the Shadow badly. But the monks escaped to a place called Greenwood Hospital as far as we know. Dr Chew included." Ossian looks at Corwin.
"I don't think that's where we saw him," Folly offers, "or at least that name doesn't sound familiar. And anyway that place got slightly blown up." However she might have felt about that at the time, there is not a trace of regret in her voice now.
She too looks at Corwin, eager to hear what he has to say about all this.
But Corwin's not finished with the story as Folly has told it. "You encountered this Klybesian where? And what was he doing that it got _slightly blown up_? By whom?" He gestures to her to go on and tell the story and fill in the missing pieces of Ossian's news.
Ossian is also interested. "Jerod didn't say much. But I take it wasn't a pleasant encounter?"
"That's putting it mildly," Folly says with a bitter laugh. "I don't know the name of the place, unfortunately. High-tech, lots of glass-and-steel, skyscrapers. I'd just figured out I was pregnant and caught up to Martin there. We---"
She hesitates and stares out the window of the carriage as she sorts through the unpleasant memories. "I've never much cared for hospitals. But we went to get me checked out, make sure everything was progressing more or less the way it was supposed to." She gives her head a little shake, as if to clear it, and looks at Corwin. "This Dr. Chew was one of the people we saw. He wanted to run more tests, he said. Nothing to worry about, totally routine. And I couldn't tell you why I thought so, except that I really don't like hospitals, but it just felt... off. Wrong. I knew I had to get out of there, so I trumped back to Xanadu, and Martin stayed behind for a little while to destroy any blood and tissue samples. With extreme prejudice."
"Greenwood was where I was taken after Brand tried to murder me. I was shadow-lost and my memories were gone. I had to walk the Pattern at Rebma to recover them." Corwin is frowning. "Brand arranged to have what they called electroshock therapy applied to me. He didn't want me to remember who I was or anything else. The idea that the people he was working with were Klybesians is--" Corwin pauses, and finally settles on, "bad.
"I don't remember how long they had me, but it would have been long enough to get samples of anything they wanted. I knew better than to give blood, but I didn't think about destroying the hospital. I should have."
Ossian frowns. "Greenwood looked kind of modern." he pulls out his sketch book "Could this be the same place you were in?" he asks Folly, showing a few sketches of the control room. "Of course you were not in a room like this."
To Folly, the level of technology appears to be much lower in the sketch than what she remembers of her encounter with Dr Chew. Greenwood appears to be a little retro even to her own sensibilities as a Texorami native; Shadow Tyrell was higher-tech than Folly's home. Tyrell was minimalistic and that's not the case with the sketch of Greenwood.
She shakes her head slowly as she inspects one of the sketches. "Not unless this is some forgotten sub-basement with technology that hasn't been updated in a century or so." She returns the sketchbook to Ossian. "You said the monks escaped to this place from their monastery. How? From what you said, it kind of sounded like they weren't even in the same shadow."
Ossian grins. "It was some kind of shadow path. It makes sense that Chew would stay away from the hospital where Martin blew things up. And my grandfather could very well have established that path back when you were in Greenwood." Ossian looks at Corwin.
"That's a lot of effort to put in," Corwin says, "unless he owed them a big favor. And if it wasn't him, I definitely want to know how the Klybesians got that path. Because it's too pinpoint-precise to have been an accident, and it should have been unmade by the storm." Corwin is really scowling.
He reaches out and thumps on the ceiling of the carriage to tell the driver to get on with it and get them the rest of the way back to the Louvre.
Folly grips her seat, bracing herself for the anticipated burst of speed. "I've got ideas, but they're mostly speculation that can wait until the meeting, when we have a greater depth of collective experience to vet them."
When Ossian gets to his room at the palace in Paris, he pulls out his sketch book, and flips up a page with a picture of Silhouette he has been working on. He adds a few more brush strokes. " Not as beautiful as the real thing."
Then he shrugs and touches the sketch lightly with two fingers. "Cousin."
A moment later, the familiar coolness of the contact opening touches him. Silhouette tentatively smiles. "Ossian. You are well, I hope. I've missed you." She sits at a workbench, wrapped in a sheer nightgown. A spot of oil caresses her cheek.
Ossian smiles. "We are separated all too much.
"I hope I am not interrupting your work." Ossian obviously tries to figure out what she is working on. "I have some news."
The bronze construction resembles a child's toy - if said child embraced psychotic tendencies. Its serrated teeth slowly shut and open, too much like a shark's mouth to be coincidence. Glassy eyes move back and forth, as if searching for something. Its metallic guts are exposed; Silhouette likely working on its timing mechanisms.
Ossian smiles. He probably likes the thing.
"Your company is never an interruption, my poète maudit," she smiles, cleaning her hands with a rag. "Do you require transportation here, or must you remain where you are?"
"I must remain here for at least a few hours. I think Uncle Corwin would be quite disappointed otherwise." Ossian looks sad "As much as I would like to talk with you about art and construction, I sadly have more urgent matters to discuss. Have you ever met the Klybesians?"
Silhouette's smile dissolves, "Yes. I am familiar with them. They murdered our cousin, Reid, and have been a thorn in the Family's side for some many centuries. Blood mages, possibly. Interested in our physiological make-up for some dark Purpose. Uncle Corwin and I were discussing possible strategies for dealing with them. Have you learned more of them?"
"I wouldn't say that the murder is proven. But they have been very interested in tissue samples. Both from Reid and other family members. And they have had all too much to do with my upbringing." Ossian scowls for a second.
"Jerod destroyed their monastery, and they fled. I followed them, very probably to the hospital were Corwin was held.
"Did you come up with any ideas for dealing with them?"
"We need a decisive and unforgiving strike against their core leadership," Silhouette says. "However, we have much to learn of their intentions and capabilities prior to the strike. Otherwise, the opportunity would be wasted. We're dealing with an enemy well over fifteen centuries old.
"Corwin and I discussed placing a spy within their ranks. Or allowing the captured member of their Order to escape and follow him to the source."
She cocks her head, "Do they have your blood, Ossian?"
Ossian frowns again "If their interest in blood is not newly found, I should say yes. Although only from when I was a child, which could matter. I have to consult Random on that one.
"That is, I have not given my blood to them, but they were responsible for parts of my upbringing."
"That's unfortunate," Silhouette says softly. "Will your former association with them be a benefit or a hindrance to subsequent actions against them? Even during my incarceration, I had close friendships with some of my masters. Enough to mourn their passing."
Ossian shakes his head, smiling. "I was too small to remember them and they worked by proxy. So I guess it's neither.
"I do intend to go back there to investigate more. But maybe I should await the developments here in Paris. Anyway I'm looking for people stupid enough to join me." He grins.
"Ah. So, when you considered potential simpletons, my name came to mind," Silhouettes says. "I'm flattered."
A sly smile curls her perfect lips. "What are your intentions, my poète maudit?"
"I was in the basement of Greenwood hospital, but chose to retreat. Probably a wise move, considering how dangerous the monks are. But I think the place could give us more leads. I'm not sure how to proceed, however.
"And in the end I want to obliterate the order, or transform it utterly." The last is said with more passion than is usual for Ossian.
"Then I am with you," Silhouette says. "We shall track these monks to their source and eliminate them as a threat."
She pauses, weighing her words. "You do understand the weight of my involvement in this, Ossian. I do not believe in half-measures."
Ossian laughs. "That suits me well. I will volunteer us then."
Then he smiles "Last time I confronted the monks with Jerod...who certainly have a flair for destruction. But I believe we will be a better team. And prettier too."
Silhouette smirks, "Destruction without fashion sense and perfect teeth is pointless."
She dips her head, "I will request an absence from the Queen. Will you be speaking with other cousins?"
"I will. But I suspect many will be busy. This is only the first leg though."
"Very well. I believe the sooner this matter is resolved the better," Silhouette says. "I await your next contact." A smile. "And it is good to see you again."
"The same," Ossian says, now grinning.