Bath And Breakfast

Solange watches Lucas depart until his form melts into the night. She replaces her cards in their case and returns to the reading room.

Once back inside, Solange gives Kyril a small smile, then turns her attention to Germaine. "Lucas has decided to go climb his mountain. He says he's sorry for the abrupt change of plans and to expect him back in time for breakfast.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Elder Germaine. We'll all be leaving back for Amber now."

Elder Germaine nods. "There was a reason for your coming here, Lady. May that always be true where e'en you go."

"That's a nice sentiment. I hope it proves true." Solange puts her hands on her hips. "So, Elder Germaine, I thought my reason for coming here was to find a way to cure my Father. What do you think my reason for coming here was?"

"Isn't that obvious?", says Germaine. "Your fate and that of the woman who floats are clearly tied."

"So, fate is a shoelace, to trip upon?" asks Kyril. He seems annoyed with Germaine. Perhaps he's had more medicinal alcohol than is strictly good for polite manners.

"The 'woman who floats' measured me and decided I was not the woman she was looking for, so I'm not sure I agree with you," Solange replies to Germaine. "Regardless, I don't seem to be suffering any lasting ill effects, so not perhaps a 'shoelace' experience."

Ender Germaine puffs up. "The other world does not care if you believe or not, it is, and fate is. Ignore it at your peril, it always has the last word." He seems annoyed.

She smiles placatingly. "Then why did she cast me aside and leave so abruptly? All because she's afraid of the moon?"

He doesn't answer, apparently thinking long enough that Solange is in motion before he can reply.

Solange pauses and catches Kyril's eye. "It's time to leave," she says softly. She holds her hand out to him.

"The Merciful One be praised," Kyril responds, taking her hand. "Take me away from all this, Princess."

She draws him to her and kisses him lightly on the cheek.

"Goodbye, Elder Germaine," Solange says. "It's been an experience. I'll give your regards to my brother Vere."

"Please do. He is welcome here."

They leave the reading room, gather up her men, and head back to Amber on Solange's trump.

The gate is not closed, but the guards look more attentive than usual. "Thank you, Lady Solange, may I take the men back to the harbormaster's office now?" Tallow seems willing to stay if she so desires.

"Take the men back," Solange says. She reaches into her pockets and produces hazard pay, which she doles out to the men before they leave. "Go buy a few drinks. Have a good time. Sorry about the ship."

[Amber is used to (or used to be used to) ships coming in at all hours full of sailors wanting drinks. The fact that it is morning will not deter Tallow's crew from their booze-related task.]

"The admiralty has more and will make more as necessary, Lady Solange."

After the men leave, Solange turns to Kyril and takes his hands in hers. "I'd like to talk. Are you feeling social--in which case I can suggest several good eating establishments Down There--" she gestures with her head in the direction of the concourse leading down to Amber town, "--or are you feeling more...exclusive, in which case I can suggest a bottle of port in my room?"

Kyril squints up at the sun. The day isn't as hot as the day they left behind on Aesir Island. "Does your room have a shower? Because it's been a while. Torrential rain, almost drowning, Sand, Sun, Ghosts, your cousin Lucas, Elder Germaine, your cousin Lucas and Elder Germaine. It's been a day."

"So it has. I'm sorry. I forget..." Solange apologizes, making a fluttering gesture. "If you want to bathe we have communal baths, or if that's not your thing, I can arrange for something more private in my room. Up to you."

"Living in a castle isn't very different from being in the army. I don't care if we're semi-public, as long as I can get really wet, really fast." Kyril shrugs. Then he adds, "I'm still trying to figure out what happened back there. What did happen back there, Solly?"

Solange runs a hand over her face. "That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about--but later. Let's get you really wet, really fast first."

She leads Kyril through the castle to the communal baths.

Kyril lets himself be led. Solange finds the castle to be strangely underpopulated, and in places underlit. The baths are on the first floor near the kitchens, and approaching them there is some of the expected noise and bustle.

The water in the baths is hot, and the chambers are both empty. Kyril raises an eyebrow. "Now it's a lot less like the army and more like college. Are you going to sneak into the guy's or am I sneaking into the girl's side?"

"Is that what you did when I wasn't around--sneak into the women's shower?" Solange asks archly, though Kyril knows she isn't serious.

"Sneak? Usually I was dragged. There I'd be whistling innocently as I walked down the halls, when suddenly, sploosh!" Kyril grins and waves his arms broadly. "I found myself thrown into a shower, my clothes ripped off, and it all becomes a haze. The only other part I remember was that there were loofahs involved. And giggling, but not mine."

"Dragged, huh? Loofahs and giggling? Oh my." Solange looks up at Kyril and narrows her eyes speculatively, the hint of a wicked grin at the corners of her mouth. "And did you enjoy these abductions?" she asks, running a finger lightly down his chest.

He answers her grin with one of his own. "Well, as a scientist, I'd have to re-create the experiment to be really sure of the results. Do you have a Loofah? And can you giggle?"

"I don't giggle," she states--a challenge, perhaps.

Coming down the passageway towards the kitchens are two servants. They seem to be resolutely ignoring the two people standing close to each other at the bath doors.

Solange smiles at Kyril and places quelling fingers on his lips. Once the servants have passed, her wicked grin returns. She grabs a handful of his shirt and pulls him into the women's side of the baths, barring the door behind them.

[Brennan] makes sure he understands who is nominally in charge while Random is in Xanadu and stays out from under foot. He then understands from his sources in the shadowy, gossipy world of pages and squires which of the Royal Family are even present. He reads his mail.

He writes one letter, to Fiona:

Favored Aunt,

I once asked your advice on the direction of my studies. I asked if there were any vital subjects I was neglecting without realizing the neglect. You responded that I should let you know when I figured it out. It occurs to me that Mabrahoring is indispensible to a classical education. I understand the language studies can be intensive, but as many of us have, I've studied many of them before. A ready made grimoire of grammar is too much to hope for, but perhaps there is a method that places most of the burden on the student.

I send this letter with a page, to await your pleasure, for I leave shortly to execute Random's will in Shadow, and I anticipate a wider journey after that though I will not detail it on paper. If you wish to speak before I leave, tell the page when and where. I request no aid, but your counsel is always valued.

Your Favorite Nephew Brennan

While waiting a day or two for Fiona to reply, if necessary, Brennan avails himself of the royal library to refresh his memory of Avalon if there is mention of it there. He checks in on the various concerns of the Knights, determines if there is anything he can do in the few days he's there to advance the great migration, but most importantly makes sure that the army, the veterans, and the mechanics of the migration are still all benefitting from each other.

On at least one evening, Brennan will make the trip down into the City to see personally how the migration is moving, and to see if the King's Gambit still operates, and to ensure that it makes it through the migration as well. While there, he partakes of at least one very fine meal.

Other actions will depend on whether Brennan has messages waiting for him, or if any PCs or NPCs want threads (anyone in Amber, this is your chance!) or if Amber burns down or something.

Fiona replies to the notes from her nephews suggesting breakfast on a balcony overlooking the city first thing in the morning. For Fiona, first thing is early, so they will be up to see the dawn.

...By not bothering to sleep, in Brennan's case, which in the absence of hellriding is the only sunrise he prefers to see.

When either or both of her nephews arrive, they find that the table has been set for three and well-provided with delicacies of Amber, the Land of Peace, and Uxmal. Whatever changes have befallen Amber since the war began apparently do not serve to trouble Fiona's breakfast plans.

The lady herself is at the edge of the balcony watching something down in the city, whether with two eyes or the Third.

Since Brennan worked through the night, only stopping to change clothes for the new day and wash before joining Fiona, Brennan probably arrives first. "Favored Aunt," he greets her, leaving the breakfast until Edan arrives and joining her at the edge of the balcony.

"Nephew," Fiona murmurs, and returns to her task.

He looks to see whatever she observes, first with two eyes, then if Edan is still not present, briefly with the Third.

Fiona is watching the Foreigners' Quarter, where the embassies are. There are flares and hotspots of magic in the city below them when Brennan looks with the Third Eye. He doesn't have the knowledge to be sure, but he suspects there are more than there used to be.

Edan comes in shortly thereafter, clad in dark robes and sandals; his kaffiyah is bound by an elaborate gold-and-rope circlet. He looks relaxed and alert, as if he is quite used to waking up before dawn, and his robes have the creases one would have from kneeling or prostration.

"As-salaam alayk.." he says, then notices the two peering down from the balcony. "Is there something wrong?" he asks.

"Peace be upon you also, Edan," Fiona replies in Thari. "I watch the Rebmans. They are up to something."

"Ayiiii, this business in the broadsheets has progressed so far?" Edan asks, and looks down upon the city himself.

"There is already bad blood between the Rebmans and my son. They exploit their man's death to pursue the feud." Fiona's speech patterns are familiar, as if she is thinking in the tongue of the Prophet and speaking in Thari.

Likely not seeing anything, he observes with the Third Eye himself; assuming he sees what was described, he'll see if there's a pattern there to follow to a source.

There is no particular pattern, but there are some places that are distinctly hotter than others. If Edan asks or figures out where they are later, the Rebman Embassy is one. The Embassy of Gateway is another.

Brennan shoots Edan a look, saying, "Neither of us are fools. Neither is Caine. Ergo, we all know perfectly well that Conner wasn't involved. Whoever was involved must be considerably more threatening, such that they are afraid to confront him or her openly. Or perhaps they're trying to run the table-- use the pretext to deal with Conner, then hope they've convinced the perpetrator that they really are that stupid in an attempt to blindside him.

"I will confess to being inexpert on Rebman political undercurrents, although they keep surfacing in conversation. Beyond all the pretexts and posturing, what is their real complaint against our Cousin?"

Edan frowns a little at the intricacies of the possible plans, but does not say anything; rather, he inclines his head and watches Fiona when Brennan asks about the complaint.

"In general, they have the old complaint against our line. For all that Llewella was legitimated, the Rebmans have never forgiven my father for going back to my mother, and siring _your_ father." Fiona looks at Brennan as she says the last; it's easy for both men to tell the feeling is mutual.

Brennan smiles the insufferable smile of a forceful man, used to being disliked and vainly opposed. Posture and expression couldn't possibly say "Bring it," any more clearly even if he said it out loud, in words.

Edan nods, slowly, taking this in.

"Conner has dabbled in Rebman business in the past. He has an old acquaintance with Llewella. That may have something to do with this grievance, as well. Duchess Valeria is prosecuting it with a personal zeal and that may have to do with her own rivalry with Llewella. Are either of you familiar with the Rebman succession?"

"Politically? Only with the bare basics: Moins bore Llewella to Oberon prior to-- I believe-- bearing Moire to someone whose name I never heard. Moire, to my knowledge, has borne Morganthe to someone, Rilsa to someone possibly else, and Celina to Corwin. Morganthe has borne Martin, and Rilsa has borne Valeria, Loreena, and Jerod," Brennan says, "thus giving Rebma an heir by both crowned Kings of Amber as well as by both living Jewelwearers. A fact I have always found more than a little suspicious. I don't know much more than that-- the details of why Llewella wasn't in line for the throne of Rebma, for instance, if she was elder."

If Fiona sounds like she's mentally translating from the Language of Peace, Brennan might be translating from Uxmali, speaking a sentence with no center.

"Metaphysically? Just barely enough to know that I have some serious questions, which is to say, hardly anything at all," Brennan says. "Unless that's an invitation to rattle off the whole list, though, I'll hold them for later."

Edan still looks as if he's thinking up a storm. "And if this Duchess is successful in her plans, whatever they would be?" he asks. "If, say, cousin Conner was prosecuted or otherwise removed, and aunt Llewella embarassed or otherwise affected... how would that affect things in Rebma?"

Fiona looks at Edan as she answers his question. "That's not entirely clear. Moins never declared an heir--she was not unlike Father in that respect--and Llewella didn't contest for the throne before. I'm not sure why she would now. There's the complicating factor of Llewella's own daughter, as well, which makes it questionable where her loyalties lie. Khela and Martin were both involved in a political movement that was discredited and purged. Martin left Rebma not long thereafter and Khela simply vanished."

She arches a delicate brow at her nephews, as if to invite further speculation.

Brennan steeples his fingers in thought, then almost shrugs and says, "When Martin described the situation to me, I told him it sounded like it had the makings of a civil war, or a succession struggle. Let's reckon along that vector, then. Valeria has a strong pragmatic claim to the throne... someday. With Moire on the throne and Morganthe dead, Rilsa is the obvious successor, and following Rilsa, Valeria. If Valeria has a shred of ambition and strategy, she is probably acting in the best interests of Rebman stability, orthodoxy, and status quo.... while angling Celina to favor Paris over Rebma.

"Khela's politics, as I understood them, appeared to be less pragmatic than idealistic." Brennan gives a wry twist of his lips. "It did not seem as though, centuries ago, she was interested in ruling. A burning desire to free some of the strongest servants of the ruling family is not obviously congruent with actually ruling. Let's assume she still holds the same notions. Can those assumptions fit the facts we have?" Brennan twists his mouth in thought. "Possibly. Khela is still alive and emerging from the shadows, if you'll excuse the phrase. She became close to Celina, for instance. If Khela still seeks to free the Tritons, Valeria would also oppose her for that reason alone, and Moire would almost certainly sanction Khela's death.

"Here are the questions: What does your son know about Triton subjugation? What opinion does he have of it? What does he know of Khela? And could he have done anything to give the impression," Brennan says delicately, "which might foster the notion that he has a stake in the future of the Tritons?"

"There's a service he did for Llewella some years ago that might have bearing on these things. But as far as I know, Conner has never involved himself with the Tritons." Fiona narrows her eyes, considering. "From what Martin said, is it succession, or hate and love?"

"It sounded personal," Brennan says, "but if I were the Queen I would not permit myself the luxury of believing it was only that, which alone would give Khela an advantage." He spreads his hands, and says, "Understand the limits of my knowledge here, Favored Aunt. They are considerable."

Brennan moves to the table and pours himself a thick mug of Uxmali coffee-- and ones for Edan and Fiona if they indicate their desire-- saying, "How is Conner, now?"

Edan accepts coffee with a smile and a nod, his eyes widening a little as he tastes it, but golden eyes are turned on Fiona at the last.

"My attempt to trump him yesterday was unsuccessful," Fiona says, frowning as she takes the cup from Brennan. "He was on a trade mission to Gateway for Random. He should have concluded it by now, but I believe he thought to look for Thalia as well." A bit of frost enters Fiona's tone at the name.

"Hmm. Gateway does come up in conversation, lately. When I met Jerod in Paris, he was lately of Gateway having just," Brennan pauses for the right dramatic emphasis, "lain a path from there to Paris for Corwin. Which, as a matter of fact, is where Jerod and I both warned each other about Khela. I believe that Jeord, in his subtlety, intends you to know that Llewella will shelter Khela.

Fiona nods.

"I don't know much about Thalia," Brennan says, "but I believe she was Gatewy's ambassador to Rebma, yes? What do Gateway and Thalia have to do with all this Rebman business?"

"Gateway is strongly tied to Rebma. And Thalia was mixed up in some business with Demond Harga'rel, who used to be married to Jerod's mother. He's the one Conner was originally accused of killing." Fiona purses her lips, clearly less than pleased with the whole business.

"Thalia must be the magician from Gateway that Conner mentioned to me," Edan says. " 'Long association' was how I think he put it." He suddenly frowns and glances out in the direction of the sea. "Would it be her face I saw in the after-effects of my sending? No... that would not make sense." He gives Fiona a bemused glance. "But you were quite right, my Aunt. Someone tried to listen in."

"Show us who it was," Fiona says.

"Of course," Edan says, and glances around the balcony. If those plants are there, then they would need potting soil, and clay from down near the seashore... and they would keep that clay... there.

A few moments later, Edan has a double handful of wet clay on the actual stone of the balcony and is shaping it with quick, deft movements. With a nod towards differences in individual style, he shapes the clay into the face he saw at the end of his Sending.

Brennan watches with interest, and does not disturb Edan at his task. He does shoot Fiona an eyebrow at the mention of people listening in.

A face long familiar to Brennan forms under Edan's hand.

Fiona's answer is a single tightly-reined word. "Mother."

Brennan watches with great interest as the face takes shape under Edan's hand. He says nothing, nor changes expression even long after he is able to identify the face.

He turns to Edan and says, with perfect gravity, "Ghenesh is looking better all the time." He looks at his bare left wrist, taps it, says, "I think we're late, actually."

He gets a weak smile in return. "At least Rebma and Gateway seem very unlikely now, as well as Dara..." he says in a 'good-news-bad-news' kind of tone.

Then he sighs. "The precautions I took would be more of a disadvantage, I am thinking. I drew a Circle of Misdirection in my Circle of Power... Grandmother would have seen that I am proficient with fire, and if she bothers to de-Goedelize the 'random' algorithym I placed within it, it would be obvious that I am from the Dar-es Salaam. Probably that I am afrit, as well. I mentioned Father, and that is easily deduced." He smiles a little more. "I must remember to apologize to Father when I next see him..." But then he turns to look at Fiona. "Ah.. my Aunt... is it possible that Grandmother is, ah, simply... watching after you?"

"Quite likely." Stronger men than Edan have quailed at the expression Fiona is currently wearing. Bleys may be one of them. Fortunately it doesn't seem to be directed at him. "She won't have to de-Goedelize the random algorithm. She is Chaosi. Those things come as second nature to her."

Brennan gives an introspective frown, at that, one characteristic among the many redheads to mean that he's found a clever problem that would consume and destroy lesser men, and which he expects to occupy him as a diversion for at least a few days or weeks. Or perhaps that's just Bleys and Brennan.

Edan ponders a moment. "How bad is this?" he asks, finally. "Clearly, Grandmother will have her own agenda, but how divergent is it from ours? Should I expect her to interfere with my plans, should I scout in Ghenesh?" He smiles a little. "Should I prepare a fete for her?"

"Your choices collapse to two, I think: Contrive to be somewhere utterly out of touch as soon as possible, or just go and get it over with." Brennan adds, "Do send her my best, though."

Fiona gives Brennan a withering look before turning back to Edan. "My mother has her own agenda and it is likely to wreak havoc on yours, Edan. Now or later. Especially since you've raised concerns about Bleys."

Edan has a flat expression, thinking, and Brennan at least can tell he's thought of about fifteen different scenarios and followed them out to their individual conclusions. He doesn't appear to like any of them.

"Then a meeting will happen," he says. "Thus it becomes a matter of timing and of advantage. I would ask if you had a Trump of Grandmother, my aunt, and invite her here, but I doubt she would so readily place herself in such a position." He smiles suddenly. "Alas, we shall have to forego Vent and Uncle Caine and the thought of a formal dinner."

Edan pauses a moment. "Nor can I afford to have myself overly delayed or my plans disrupted- timing is not crucial, but delays will stack upon one another until I am buried under a rolling dune of them. I will arrange to meet with her under the same circumstances as the Sending. Neutral ground, or shipboard as it may be... the best circumstance would be after I ride out from Xanadu. Or an island, on the way back to Xanadu, if she is... impatient."

Fiona shakes her head. "Mother does not come to her children and grandchildren. The children, and grandchildren, come to her. To Castle Clarissa," she explains. "Have you been beyond Ygg before, Edan?"

Edan shakes his head; his expression says that this was one of the Fifteen Choices From Hell that he was trying to avoid. "It seems I have no choice," he says. "If I do not face this headlong, the reprocussions will fall upon others. I wanted to make the Path to Xanadu a priority, but..." his expression lightens. "Would you, by chance, have a Trump to this place, my Aunt?"

"It is beyond Ygg, and unfixed. Mother would consider it an act of supreme insolence to attempt to fix it with a Trump." Fiona smiles. "Ride out to the place where the shadows become strange and find the great Tree. Send to her from nearby, and she will have you escorted in. Perhaps by grackleflints, or her Bronze Legionnaires. Mother believes in pomp and circumstance."

She looks at Brennan. "Or perhaps Brennan will be good enough to explain how to travel there from Ygg."

Brennan shoots Fiona a raised eyebrow as he manfully fights back the suggestion that someone just part the veil and have done with it.

"Take your best route to Ygg," Brennan begins, "and from there, travel in a disorderly direction. If you've never been past Ygg, before, that much should still be intuitive. Beyond that, I have found it useful to aim for an antithesis if you're going somewhere you haven't been, or if you're being led somewhere you haven't been. It is a matter of knowing categories to give up, and how much to give up, and in what sequence, as Order breaks down."

Brennan goes on to give a rough sequence of things he noticed breaking down, as Bleys sailed them from Tree to Quay-- including particular aspects of geometry, time, physical forces, the behaviour of objects and materials, and so forth. He also points out the losses of Order that he saw as essential, and describes the accidental aspects of the courts when those things happened, almost as landmarks.

He describes the Floating Gardens, rising and falling on winds that he thinks were conscious, when gravity began to break down. It sounds like it might make a good vacation spot for the daring and bored. With a shudder, he describes the Hyperbolic Mountains-- or Mountain, he's still not quite sure-- when perspective and geometry both collapsed at the same time. That one, he marks out as both dangerous and essential. Dangerous, because it seemed to be a minor local attractor between courts, and because it was certainly a local attractor within itself, and seemed like a difficult place to leave. Essential, because Brennan thinks it's either just barely within or just barely without Clarissa's sphere of influence.

Along the way, he describes certain mundane experiments Edan might perform to make sure that the rules have collapsed in the proper fashion, noting which ones he had time to try, and which ones are speculative. They are typically simple things that can be done in a few moments' time.

It should be clear to Edan that Brennan has spent quite a long time out beyond Ygg. It should be clear to Fiona that when Bleys took them to Clarissa-- and for that matter, when he and Bleys led the Army back from the Courts-- that he paid attention to what he was doing.

[Note for the casual reader: "Category" is also a mathematical term, and Brennan is using it in that sense, because he's smarter than I am. It's used, among other things, to draw *extremely* broad conclusions between one mathematical system and another. As an example of how general it is, set theory is incorporated within it, and computer scientists use it to prove things about type systems and proof systems.]

Edan's expressions cycle through suprise, disbelief, and furious concentration, only to come back around to suprise again. He nods through the tests Brennan describes, but most of the rest is met with a serious frown.

"I have never been there," he says. "I had not thought the process would be so... complex. When I finally arrive, it seems Grandmother would have all of the advantage. And this is not even considering those troops and creatures that are loyal to her."

"Mother doesn't want to hurt you. Mother wants to inspect you," Fiona explains. "She's got a very strong sense of family feeling."

Yeah, and she just wanted Aisling to invite Madoc to a family picnic, Brennan doesn't say.

Edan nods. "Father did say something to that effect... well, I am, how do you say it, 'sold'. Once I retrieve Aramsham, I will travel to Ygg, and beyond." He smiles slightly. "After the attempt of laying a path, I might wish a short sleep first."

"Ask after Madoc and Saeth," Brennan requests. "But I suggest you do so... gingerly." He will explain their relations-- Madoc being Clarissa's sibling, and Saeth his grandspawn for lack of a better word-- and Saeth's origin, if Edan doesn't know.

"I'd be more careful of speaking to Madoc of Mother than the other way around. I suspect she has no idea she did anything wrong by killing Aisling and spawning Saeth, or by holding Brita hostage against the rest of us visiting Castle Clarissa," Fiona explains.

This is indeed news to Edan, from his expression. He glances between the two of them. "Was Aisling not one of the Knights of the Ruby?" he asks.

"Was," Brennan says. It's not his favorite topic.

"She is only dead in the manner of Chaosi," Fiona explains. "Saeth must have some of her memories. We just don't know which ones." Her tone is clinically detached.

"Nor what happened to the rest, scattered, collected, or effectively destroyed," Brennan says. "Although it may be quite important."

Edan shakes his head. "I feel like the man who has kicked over a papery nest and is about to examine the opening to find out the source of the strange buzzing inside," he says. "Rest assured, this is not what I expected when I came to impart my news."

He glances back out at the city, then meets their eyes. "I should be about the preparations, I think... I am most thankful for this meal, my aunt. Any advice for me upon the road?" He smiles slightly. "Roads?"

Fiona smiles. "I'm sure Bleys has told you the way. Hellride away from the center--the centers, now--until the shadows go mad, creating as great a time differential as possible between them and yourself. Look for the great Tree, and from there proceed as Brennan suggested."

Brennan glances over at Fiona-- lack of contradiction is one of her stronger forms of praise, as Brennan understands her.

After a moment, she adds, "Give Mother my love."

"I shall," Edan says, and touches his heart, then forehead as he gives an eloquent bow. "Ma as-salaamah, my Aunt, my Cousin. Fortunate, I am, to see you again."

"Ma'as salaam, Edan," Fiona replies. "Feel free to call upon me again on your return, should I be in whichever of the Cities you visit next."

When Brita and Morris Carper return to Meg's home, Ambrose is resting quietly in preparation for all the Sorcery he expects to be doing. Ossian has been given free rein of the study to work on trumps or read or do as he pleases.

Ossian sits in the study working on another Merlin sketch.

"Cousin Ossian," Brita greets him as she enters the room. "Where are Cousins Meg and Ambrose?"

"Meg is at the orphanage, and Ambrose is preparing himself." Ossian lowers his voice "For more sorcerous work.

Brita nods in understanding and one eyebrow raises slightly in interest.

"I asked him for help with finding out who my mother was." Ossian smiles. "I hope people won't see it as me taking advantage of my Uncle, although that would be an uncommon turn of events in our family."

"I Doubt he Believes you are Taking Advantage of him," Brita responds.

"Merlin is not answering my Trump call - I managed to make a sketch. Have you found anything interesting?"

"Masters Fuller and Fawkner explained that they Made Rifles for Protector Huon. They Agreed to Provide us with Samples of the Powders used in these Weapons." Brita's 'agreed' almost comes out as 'argued' and is said with a slight tone of annoyance.

"That's very good." Ossian gets more on the edge at the mention of gunpowder "When will we get it? Random will want a sample really, really soon."

"Surprisingly, they will provide us the Samples within a Few Hours," Brita says. "Excuse me for a few moments"

She leaves the room and finds Morris: "Master Morris, if you would, Please go and Determine if My Cousin Meg has Finished her Consultation at the Orphanage."

Morris agrees to do this.

Then she returns to Ossian, "When might Cousin Ambrose begin with his Assistance in your Endeavor? I will have to Ask him if I can Assist."

"Maybe tonight, if we can find a secluded location." Ossian grins "Unless we decide to go Huon-hunting when Meg comes back.

"Speaking of which - Maybe we should try Merlin's sketch again?"

"Yes. We should Do that while we Wait," Brita sits down. "I have an Idea about Tracking Uncle Huon, but Knowing More from Cousin Merlin would Help."

Ossian slowly pulls out his Trump case, and gently pulls the Merlin sketch from it. "Let's hope he answers this time, the sketch is very frail. Do you want to join in the conversation?"

Brita shakes her head, "I will let you Speak."

With or without Brita, Ossian tries the sketch once again.

Ossian does not receive an answer. It's as if Merlin is too distracted or preoccupied--perhaps in another contact.

Brita wonders aloud as it becomes clear that the Contact is not occurring, "Do you Think there is Something Wrong or is Cousin Merlin Blocking? Can you Tell the Difference? Perhaps we should Try Cousin Celina?"

Ossian swears. "I cannot tell what he's doing. I don't think we should worry about him now, though. I guess I could try to force my way through, but that's way to invasive and dangerous for now. Celina? Yep, we could try, but I have only met her a few times. Maybe with a joint effort."

Ossian opens his sketch book.

"By the way, how did you plan to track Huon?"

[GMs? Did the sketch survive? How long would it take for Ossian to make a Celina sketch?]

[The Defender Upright: the sketch survives.]

[With Brita helping, in a watch , he thinks he can get something that will last about a month.]

[Yay! and Yay!]

Brita will join in the sketch effort, offering observations here and there on Celina's coloring and face structure. If Ossian will allow, she will add to the sketch what she cannot describe she senses from the Rebman scent. In response to Ossian's question, she says, "I thought I would Try to Utilize my knowledge of the Scent of Amber combined with Sorceries of Time and Space - this is Why I Wish to Speak with Uncle-Cousin Ambrose on the Subject. I would Use the Scent in Time as a Marker to give Direction through Shadow Space." She shrugs as she continues to examine the Sketch. "At least, that is my Thought."

Ossian smiles "That did only make half-sense to me, but then I'm not a sorcerer. I guess Ambrose has more constructive comments than I have."

Brita smiles slightly as she adds, "I'm Sure he will."

Brita will notice that Ossian's drawing technique is much less well-structured than Reid's; Ossian early starts fidgeting with seemingly minor details that Reid would leave until the finishing pen-strokes. Ossian seems to appreciate Brita's help.

"That's a good suggestion." "Do you think I got this cheekbone angle right?" "Ah, hair. Do you think we could get away with something like this?"

Brita is intrigued by the new style. She asks questions on certain techniques he is using. "These Strokes," she notes as she points to the drape of hair Ossian has just added, "Truly, they Draw Forth the Essence of Water - Flowing, Continuous, Filling the Volume."

Ossian nods, but does not seem quite convinced. "It feels a bit cheap. But it simplifies the painting quite a bit. Doesn't look bad either."

When Brita takes the pencil, Ossian will come with suggestions, and questions in turn, but also stop her when he thinks Brita goes astray.

"That shading comes from a small light source at the floor. Why do you want to add that?"

Brita looks startled at the comment and glances askance at the shading she has just added. "Ah, I See the Problem." Her expression becomes focused as she adds a few strokes of the pencil so that the shading becomes more dispersed, as if the subject was seen through water.

When it comes to art, Ossian seems to be pretty much without prestige.

Brita's style is rooted in realism and she is eager to learn the new, more open, and flowing techniques Ossian is using.

Ossian is more than happy to share, and learn a few things from Brita as well. "Your style resembles Reid's quite a bit." he observes "But I never got the chance to study Reid's technique this close. What is the general structure you apply when starting on a sketch?"

Brita's brow furrows, "The Structure that is There. I don't Remember all of Master Reid's Terms, but Trumps are Truth, Reality, so the Structure Begins that Truth."

Ossian raises an eyebrow. "It's hard to explain verbally, eh? I surely can't."

Morris comes back in a little while to tell Ossian and Brita that his mother hasn't yet returned, but he'll let them know when she does.

Brita thanks him.

She then turns back to Ossian and continutes the conversation, "Some Parts of Trump are Difficult to Explain because they are so Personal. Each Artist has a Different Eye, a Different Sense. Each Subject is Perceived Differently. The Techniques can be Taught, but the Spirit of the Art comes from Within. When you ask what Structure I begin with," she shakes her head, "I Cannot Speak it Because it is Different for me for Each Start."

She pulls out her sketch pad and flips to a blank page. With a few quick lines she begins a sketch. "The Start of My Brother's Face," she says as she holds up the smiling visage of Conner with a smile of her own breaking through, "Evokes such Joy in my Heart that the Structure comes Quickly, Easily. I may Fuss with Details Later to get that 'Just Right' Aura - the Sincere look of Interest he gets when he Listens to you Speak, a Wicked Twinkle in the Eye when he Teases, his serious Court Look - but the Start is Easy." She touches the page tenderly for a moment and flips to another page.

She speaks as she sketches, a slight crease in her brow, but a half smile still on her face, "My Mother is Harder to Start. There is still Joy in my Heart, but my Memories of My Mother also Hold Much Longing, as she was Away much of my Youth. I Know she did Not Leave Because of Me," She glances up at Ossian and her look is very serious, "I Know This, but When I was Young, there was Always the One Doubt, the One Question - could I have Done one thing Different, could I have Erased one Careless Act and Kept her Longer?" Her gaze drops back to the page and her smile becomes tender. She holds it up for Ossian to see - a quick sketch of what is obviously Fiona with long tresses hanging down, seated before a large fireplace, her face lit by the unseen fire. A small chld is seated before her, its head resting on her lap under her hand, the face turned in so the visage is unseen.

Ossian stays quiet while Brita explains. He nods here and there and his smile becomes much warmer, but there is also a small line of worry on his brow.

"Is that you, Brita?" he asks, pointing at the child.

Brita looks back at the sketch with an arched brow of surprise, as if she didn't notice the small figure. "I suppose it Could be, although I Tend to Sketch myself with Plaits." The child in the sketch has slightly longer than shoulder length hair. Brita examines the sketch; while quick, it has some details in the background - an axe on one wall, an odd spotted gray skin on the ground behind the chair Fiona sits in. He brow suddenly clears. "I Remember this," she says. "Mother had Returned with the Snows the Year I gained Four Summers. This," she taps the axe," Father broke this the Next Spring in an Argument with Uncle Loki. Uncle Thor had trapped this Ebon Tiger in Svartalfheim - the Realm of the Dark Elves - earlier that Summer. Modi had been a Pest all Autumn, saying I could not be a True Goddess of Asgard since my Mother was not Of Shadow Asgard. He had said Something about Mother not Even Existing and She Appeared the Next Day. It was almost as if She Knew."

She grins. "It is Not Me. It is actually my Cousin Thrud. Mother had just Mentioned that the Color of Cousin Thrud's Hair - a bright Cherry Red - proved Beyond a Doubt that She was Destined for Greatness. I think Mother was a Little Startled at the Reaction she Received. Cousin Magni and Modi - Brothers to Cousin Thrud - had hair the Color of Dirty Rushes." There is a slight twinkle in Brita's eye as she glances back up at Ossian.

Ossian nods "That's good. That's quite good indeed..."

Morris comes in at this point to tell them that Meg has returned.

Ossian changes tone to a much more business-oriented one, and rises from his chair "Let's find out what she wants us to do, then. Hopefully we can complete the sketch later.

"By the way, Brita. It's very nice to work with you."

"And you, Cousin Ossian," Brita returns as she puts away her sketch pad and moves to follow him.

"And you, Cousin Ossian," Brita returns as she puts away her sketch pad and moves to follow him.

Meg is back in the kitchen with her hand still resting on her basket as she asks a small boy about a beggar.

She turns as Ossian comes in, and smiles at him and Brita as she recognises them.

"How did you get on?" she asks.

Ossian almost scowls. "I should be able to talk to Merlin. Except he is busy. We" he nods at Brita "are trying to contact Celina instead. It will take some time.

"Brita has been doing some research..."

Brita nods, "Masters Fawkner and Fuller Explained that they were making Rifles - Projectile Weapons - for Uncle Huon. They are Supposed to Provide Samples of the Chemicals used to Power these Weapons. We will have to Relay this Info to Uncle Random."

Meg frowns slightly at the idea of projectile weapons that need chemicals, but doesn't stop to ask.

"Yes," Meg agrees. "At least to someone who can tell the King." She seems twitchy. "There are things I need to do here, but I think they will have to wait. I've seen that you'll get help looking for answers about your mother afterwards, though," she speaks directly to Ossian, and then continues generally. "Huon isn't here, he's got these rifle weapons and is off somewhere to use them. Call me selfish, but my boy is out there ready to be smashed between Huon and whoever he runs up against. And I can't think of a way to get him out."

Ossian nods, and smiles when Meg mentions his mother. "So what now? Give us a few more hours and we can possibly get hold of Celina. Or try Merlin again.

"If you think we are more in a hurry than that, I suggest we try to contact Random, and then Huon himself.

"If you rather want to sneak, Brita thinks she might be able to follow Huon."

"We will need to Speak with Cousin Ambrose, First, but I Should be able to Track our Uncle." Brita glances at Meg, "However, if You Wish to get there Faster, the Trump would be Better - Risky, unless Cousins Merlin and Celina have Information we can Use, but Better. Of course, with Cousin Ambrose's Help, I may be able to Speed Up my Tracking."

Meg sighs. "I'm just sick of not being able to do anything. I think we should talk to Celina and Merlin, and also send word to the King, and then see if it looks better."

Ossian nods and turns to Brita. "We can hope that Folly is in Xanadu, I have a working sketch of her, I believe. So we can reach the king through her, I mean. Have we any other means of reaching him quickly? Other than painting a new sketch?"

"Folly may Not be in Xanadu. She was Not when we Left. I have My Mother's Trump and will Call Her," Brita says as she pulls out her trump of Fiona and begins to Concentrate on the card.

Meg watches her for a second, and then looks at Ossian. "How long until we can talk to Celina? Will you introduce me?"

"Of course I will introduce you.

"I and Brita need to work a bit longer on the sketch, though. A few more hours, I think." Ossian says "Let's see what Fiona says, before making further decisions."

"Yes," agrees Meg. "I can't see any way I can help you, can you? What about Ambrose? Can his magics help?"

"Nah." Ossian says "His art and mine do not mix well. We would need to do experiments to know the consequences, I think. Unless we could ask Merlin, of course.

"And Ambrose seems to need preparation before attempting anything. Although I guess he has a way or another of contacting Celina, I don't think it will be much faster than mine.

"But I think you should talk to him on other matters. He is also very new in the family. Didn't start as well as you did, though."

Meg raises an eyebrow and gives Ossian a long look. "True," she says finally. "A party that didn't go well, I heard. If you have what you need, I'll let you get on with it then."

She looks at Brita to judge how her conversation is going.

Once, by common consent, they get down to business, Brennan lays out his concerns to Fiona. The first is that, by virtue of recent experience with Corwin, he believes he has discovered a glaring hole in his education-- the ignorance of Mabrahoring which he hopes to remedy.

Fiona smiles sweetly and reminds him that his grandmother would be glad to teach him Mabrahoring.

Which would no doubt leave her to brag after Brennan's diligence to Brita and Conner and anyone else who would listen, which is not a complication Brennan welcomes at this moment. (And he leaves unsaid that the fewer visits Brita and Conner make to Clarissa, the better.)

Fiona would be more concerned that she would brag to Ossian, who would be less immune to such pressure from Clarissa, and insufficiently knowledgeable to deal with her.

This also is a concern, to which possibility Brennan can only shudder in agreement. All the more reason not to go that route and let Clarissa hopefully forget all about his interest in Things Arcane-- or at worst, believe it a boyish fad put aside in favor of the blade.

Then has asks quite plainly if Fiona already knows that Ossian is his son.

[For reference, I don't remember Brennan having mentioned that to either Fiona or Bleys, yet, but mainly for lack of opportunity. It is reasonable for word to have gotten back to her at this point through any number of channels. I am also sleep deprived.]

Corwin mentioned it when last they spoke, yes. She does not seem displeased to have the news through other channels.

Nevertheless, Brennan regrets her not knowing earlier, and from him. But Ossian had the right to know first, and from there, Brennan had his reasons for doing as he did.

He had also mentioned in his letter to Fiona that he would be embarking on a trip that he would not commit to paper. In Fiona's presence, he will fill in the details of his preparations to find Weyland so far, both his Trump casting with Corwin, and his own divinations down the coast which point him toward Avalon.

What, exactly, did Bleys say or advise about this? Fiona wants to know.

Bleys has not, for the simple reason that Brennan comes first to his mentor for advice about Sorcery, not to anyone else. And the nature of his questions here do focus on the Sorcery and the metaphysics, first, and the object of the trip, second. He will consult with Bleys if she requires it.

The consultation that may be in order is not about the sorcery. The principles used were apparently sound, and there is no reason to doubt the results of the scrying. It is the seeking of Weyland that Fiona wishes to know Bleys' advice about.

Brennan has not yet had the opportunity to seek Bleys' council since he decided to go search.

His third topic of business is his interpretation of the threat to Arcadia, Arden, and possibly beyond. Brennan lays out his current understanding and speculations about how the Dragon is "real enough" and has been in the same place long enough that it has warped the local topology of Shadow, and that it's death might be just as catastrophic as its eventual freedom. He includes footnoes of conversations with Benedict and Corwin, and gosh wouldn't it be nice if Brennan had the language to speak precisely on this topic?

Mabrahoring doesn't have exactly the words he wants for this.

Not yet, anyway. Does any language? Or do he and Fiona (and possibly Bleys) need to sit down and extend an existing one or create a new one? Brennan has an increasing interest and proficiency in specialty languages; this actually sounds like fun. Fiona may note that Brennan has an odd idea of fun, as he also mentions various preliminary sketches of ways to confound both Ordered and Chaosi spies with integrated approaches as, in his words, "An interesting puzzle in applied higher order paradox theory."

There is no language of which Fiona is aware that has the technical terms he is looking for. His father or hers might have had a jargon. Dworkin has some loose terminology that roughly matches what he's using, but there are limits to his reliability on these subjects, as she has learned. Advanced linguistics, like advanced everything, is generally self-study.

Does that include Mabrahoring? Brennan is fine with self-study, but....

Brennan's not asking how to fix this, per se. For the moment, he's just asking if he has a proper understanding of the problem.

Brennan's observations jibe with Fiona's understanding of the problem, both from her own work and from her discussions with Julian.

Excellent; Brennan thanks her very much.

And his final point of interest-- unless Fiona has more-- is this: What can Brennan do to help with the Conner situation, or help satisfy her that Conner is all right, if Fiona is still worried about him?

If he is to search for Weyland, it is unlikely, but she appreciates the offer. Conner knows to watch for trouble.

"What do you make of Edan?" Fiona asks.

Since speaking to Fiona is as good as speaking to Bleys in this regard, Brennan does not give the first answer to occur to him. "That is a young man acting like he has something to prove. Planning to investigate the Moonriders? By actually going to Ghenesh? I value any concern Bleys may have for me in my self-appointed task, but I think his concern is best spent on Edan."

Fiona starts to answer him, but then she stops and raises a hand and says, "Bide." Then, after a moment she smiles and says, "Brita. Where are you?"

Brennan, by expression, seems mildly surprised to hear from Brita even at this remove. He puts his hand down on the table, palm up, so that when and if Fiona chooses to bring him into the conversation, she may do so.

There's a pause and then Fiona says ,"Oh, I'll definitely tell Random about that. Brennan is with me. He'll want all your news as well, and to speak with Ossian, I'm sure." Her hand is already reaching for Brennan's.

Fiona resolves on a balcony, from the look of things in Amber. The corners of her mouth turn up slightly when she recognizes her daughter. "Brita. Where are you?" she asks.

"Mother," Brita grins wide at the sight of Fiona, but the smile fades into seriousness. She is obviously indoors. "I am in Shadow Abford, Mother, with Cousins Meg, Ossian, and Ambrose. We need to Relay to King Random that Uncle Huon is Marching on Former Reality Amber armed with Rifles. Conner suggested I Send Samples of the Powders used in the Rifles and I should have Those Shortly. Is there anything Else that King Random might Want us to Do Here, Mother? We are Going to Retrieve one of Cousin Meg's Son."

"Oh, I'll definitely tell Random about that," Fiona says. "Brennan is with me. He'll want all your news as well, and to speak with Ossian, I'm sure." Her hand is already reaching for Brennan's.

Brennan joins the contact, his mind crisp, clear, and focussed. "What happens in Abford?"

Brita reaches out to include Ossian in the Trump and nods for him to include Meg, then reiterates, "Cousin Brennan, we have Found that Uncle Huon is Marching on Former Reality Amber armed with Rifles. He left Shadow Abford approximately Three Months ago, Shadow-time. He Took with him Men from Shadow Abford, including One of Cousin Meg's Family. I will have the Rifle Powders to Provide for Analysis Shortly."

Ossian whispers to Meg. "She wants us to join the conversation. Take my hand."

Meg nods, and takes his hand.

When he gets Meg's hand he takes Brita's (It's no use trying to peek over Brita's shoulder, which otherwise seems to be the traditional way of doing this...)

"Aunt Fiona. Father. This is Cousin Meg."

Meg looks curiously through and at the trump connection. She smiles slightly on recognising Brennan, an amused smile at what must be a private joke. "Hello. We want to pass word to the King of what we have learnt so far."

"Yes," says Fiona. Fiona is an awesome presence in the trump connection; for all that she is the smallest, physically, of those joined together, it seems that she is a giantess like those reputed to be in Brita's ancestry. It's as if she could rip your mind open like paper and spill out all of your secrets without even trying. Brita is used to the effect, but the others may well find it a bit disconcerting.

"Have you a trump of Bleys? He must hear of this as soon as possible, and I would prefer he got word from the source. He will have questions of his own."

Brennan nods at Ossian and Meg as they come into the link, trying not to let them distract him. He gives Fiona a long troubled look, physically, as his mind moves that information around, flips it over, moves it around some more almost mechanically, looking for the best fit.

"I do," Brennan answers, and he fishes it out to place it face down on the table. Then he turns his attention back to Brita and the others, pondering. "Let's assume our lost uncle is not an utter fool, and therefore has good reason to believe that his weapons will work in Amber. He's either known about his powder since before he was imprisoned, in which case, why not use it then? Or he's learned of it only recently, in which case, where did he learn about it? Nothing Bleys or Corwin or Caine have said about him leads me to expect him to pull that type of a rabbit out of his that that quickly." He glances at Fiona for her first-hand opinion; his dendritic tree of suppositions, potential causes and hypothetical effects goes a lot deeper than that, but be can only prune it so quickly.

[Meg]
"Bleys knows Huon has artillery, since I told him so myself, but we did not know about the rifles then."

Brennan follows up with a few direct questions: "When can you get that powder? Can you get one of the rifles, too? And do you know he is moving on Amber or do you merely suspect it?"

"The Rifle Powders will be Available Today in Shadow Abford Time. I can Only Assume that the Time will be Less on your End. The Rifles themselves are No Longer Available. We Suspect Uncle Huon's Motives. What else Can One do with an Uncle? Cousins Merlin and Celina actually Spoke to him, but We do not Know what was Said." Brita rattles off her answers quickly.

Ossian smiles grimly. "I hope to be able to speak with Merlin or Celina soon. I have not had any reasons to distrust any of them, but I have only talked with Celina at a few short instances. Any idea if we can trust them?" he asks Brennan and Fiona.

Meg watches and listens.

Fiona says, "Merlin is Chaosi and Celina is of Rebma," as if this should answer these questions.

None of which really pares down Brennan's mental structure. If anything, there's a horrible game of chess encoded in that branching structure, but it's not the only one Brennan is watching or playing. With his right hand still in Fiona's to maintain the trump contact, he idly dips an index finger of his left in the bacon grease from their prior breakfast.

"And one of them may be predictable, but pulled by tides not aligned with ours," Brennan says, "and the other may not be predictable at all. Take heed in your conversations with them."

Ossian's eyes narrows "We will try."

"This may be an insulting question, but has anyone there tried conjuring one, or manipulating probability to find one that has been lost or discarded?" Brennan frowns a moment, remembering the timing. "That might be difficult at three months remove against something that's already either happened, or not. Perhaps Ambrose can work something out through less conventional means." On the table in front of Fiona, Brennan's left index finger idly traces out an ideoglyph for 'brother,' with decorations possessed and possessing.

Brita looks a little sheepish. "I had not Thought of Finding a Rifle. I am Sure there Must have been a Few Discarded in the Chaos of the March Out of Shadow Abford. Uncle Huon's Army would be New to Weapons and More Likely to Forget one at a Rest Stop."

"If Huon left with an army, even three months ago, can that trail still be followed?" Brennan's finger traces a symbol for a hunting horn.

"I am Already Working on a Possible Method of Tracking the Army. I only Await Consultation with One, Like Cousin Ambrose, More Knowledgeable."

"And have any of you created a Trump of me, yet?" Brennan connects the two symbols on the table with a central symbol for a Trump card.

Brita shakes her head as she turns to Ossian with a questioning raised brow. "I Do have a Couple of Sketches I have Started, but they are Not Complete."

Ossian shakes his head, and looks somewhat tired. "I'm sorry. My painting time seems to be full of emergencies lately."

Meg sighs and bites her tongue.

My brother possesses a Trump of Huon. Brennan is loathe to send either his son or Fiona's daughter haring off into that sort of situation on a whim, not to mention Meg; he trusts Fiona to control the background and keep attention away from his drawing hand, not that he thinks anyone else can read them other than Fiona.

"I would very much like to see both those rifles and the ammunition. I'm troubled at the suggestion that they work in Abford and that we believe they'll also work in Amber. Something here doesn't make sense." Brennan glances over at Fiona, asking, "How transitive can this be? If we test Corwin's rifles there, and they work, does that give us useful information?"

"I doubt we could learn anything from them here, or does the powder explode here?"

Fiona considers them all. When she speaks, it is with the tone of a woman used to being obeyed, and through the trump call, with the force to make that happen.

"I believe that should be your question to answer, Meg. When you have an answer, please let us know so we can relay that news to the King."

Meg nods, and a slight frown creases her face.

"Brita, please consult with Ambrose and determine how you will follow Huon. I would like to speak with Ambrose before you depart, as I'm sure Brennan would." Her eyes flick to Brennan and she smiles slightly. "Ossian, please speak to Bleys and advise him of the situation. If you need a trump of Bleys, you may borrow mine, and return it by way of Ambrose."

Ossian shakes his head "I don't have a Trump of Bleys, so please."

She continues, "Brennan and I will tell Random that Huon is on the march with guns that may work in Amber. We will let you know anything he has to say when Ambrose speaks with us."

Brita watches as Fiona hands Ossian a Trump and checks to make sure that all are done with the conversation.

Brita then turns back to look into her mother's eyes and, with an almost military nod, she closes the trump.