After leaving Hannah, Solange goes back to Gerard's study. Her plan is to slip in unobtrusively, borrow a few maps that show the northern coast of Amber and surrounding sea, and slip back out with none the wiser.
Gerard has what Solange is looking for and she finds them without trouble.
The maps show a rocky, inhospitable coast running northwards for some way, and then falling away to the west at the top of the continent. There are small islands off the shore, and hills up to the water. Solange knows that the northern reaches are inhospitable, the waters are treacherous, and that the navy has long kept sailors out of the area.
She also knows that, like far Arden, sometimes it's hard to keep from slipping into shadow.
Knowing that the navy has long kept sailors away from the treacherous northern waters will make their story of wanting to blaze a shadowpath to Xanadu through those same waters less plausible. Damn the Paresh anyway.
[Given that it's in a position that mirrors Amber's southern coastline, almost any direction will do. It's a round trip where the start and end points aren't the same.]
Solange rolls the maps back up, gathers them under her arm, and heads down to the harbor. She wants to acquire at the naval offices a list of the crew serving aboard the ship sent to investigate the disappearance of the ship sent to follow the Paresh.
Solange is told at the offices that she needs to speak to the Marquess Maritime. He is, of course, at The Naval Club. The junior midshipmen at the offices want to know if they should send word to him that she is coming.
The frustration of not knowing how to fix her father's legs added to her anger surrounding Adonis's death and her uneasiness over what she's planning to do with the Paresh puts Solange squarely in a mood where she's so not wanting to deal with inane red tape and stupid regulations. She rises on her tiptoes and looks the very junior midshipman in the eye. "No," she says, her voice low and threatening, "I am a member of the Regency Council and a Knight of the Order of the Card. I do not understand why me viewing a crew roster requires the permission of the Marquess, but if that is indeed what is required, then _you_ go to the Naval Club, _you_ get his permission for me, and _you_ be back in fifteen minutes." A silent but very palpable _or else_ hangs on the end of her words.
The young man quails under Solange's verbal onslaught and is about to stammer out something when a more assured baritone voice from the doorway rescues him with a drawl. "Thank you, Midshipman, I will help Lady Solange." Standing in the doorway is Gilt Winter, King Random's Secretary and, coincidentally, the Marquess' son.
Solange turns, recognizes Winter, and feels her face flush as if she was five again and caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"I'm sure what the lad meant was that the records are at the Naval, if they're even written down. It was a secret mission that they undertook for my father at Prince Vere's request. Can I escort you to the Naval? I'm sure the only thing my father will like less than being asked about this by anyone is being asked about this by me." His deadpan is good, but his eyes betray his amusement.
She doesn't want to spend any more time with the King's secretary than necessary for fear he'll start asking awkward questions, but to turn down the invitation of escort would look odd and draw even more attention to herself. Solange gives him a guarded smile and nods. "Of course. Thank you."
He offers her his arm and [assuming she doesn't object] leads her out the door.
Solange resettles the maps under her one arm before courteously slipping the other through Winter's.
The Naval is only a short walk away. "It's a lucky co-incidence that we met, Dame Solange. His majesty had me down here looking for vessels that might be made ready quickly for departure. I am technically, to my father's surprise, still an officer in His Majesty's Navy."
"The sea is a jealous mistress," Solange muses. "Once she's tasted your tears, your blood... You can make your living on dry land, but eventually she'll find someway of bringing you back." She glances at Gilt out the corner of her eye, smiling to let him know she's gently teasing him. "Do you miss sailing? The tang of salt air, the rolling deck, the overabundance of testosterone?"
"I am, I'm afraid, allergic to Grog. I'd say I miss gambling, but now that I gamble with your Uncle, what I miss is winning."
She grins to herself and looks ahead.
He smiles. "Although living in the castle has gotten me used to the redirection."
Redirection. Quite. If she doesn't do a good job of it here, she might find herself being asked to lead one of those ships Winter is down here looking for through shadow to Xanadu--assuming that's what Uncle Random wants the ships for.
Or was Winter hinting that he recognized their current conversation as redirection on her part? The corner of her mouth twitches. Time to say something.
"Redirection?" Again the tone of gentle teasing. "Are you sure he's not just conjuring and cheating?" she asks.
Gilt laughs. "He doesn't need to. I think he chooses his advisors based on who is willing to try to beat him at cards.
"You either learn how to swim with the sharks or you get eaten. It's a very competitive thing.
"And you have to be good at deflecting his misdirection. It's an art."
"I'm sure," Solange agrees. Here it comes, she thinks. If he's going to ask her an awkward question, it's going to have to be soon as their destination isn't that far away.
She discretely scans the crowd around them, looking for a potential distraction, and decides to focus her attention on the upcoming corner that she knows they'll take to get to the Naval...
As you turn the final corner, he asks one more question. "Why the sudden interest in a shipwreck, Dame Solange?" The door to the naval is halfway down the block.
Before Solange can reply, a woman carrying an open jug of port--no, no one carries an open jug of port around while walking in a busy street, but such things can happen around a pattern initiate--trips suddenly as she passes near them, splashing the bright red wine down the front of Winter's shirt and pants.
Sploosh. He is soaked.
He tells the very distressed woman that it's fine, that both he and her ladyship are fine and he lets her run off at the first opportunity.
"Oh, my. How unfortunate." Solange hands Winter a little lace handkerchief, completely ineffectual for the task, and mostly manages to keep a straight face while she's doing it.
He takes it, and uses it to swab a bit of Port from his face. He doesn't bother with the rest.
"Well, then, I suppose my questions can wait. At least I'll go in to the Naval smelling like a sailor." He gestures towards the door, which is being held open by a sailor.
Thank the Unicorn, Winter has provided a release for the nervous laughter bubbling up inside her. Solange laughs, Aunt Felicity would say a bit too heartily for the comment made, and accompanies Winter inside the Naval.
"I'm sure you'd like to go clean up," she remarks once inside. "Perhaps I'll see you later?"
He nods absently and turns to the doorman. "Brazen, please show Dame Solange to the front parlour and inform my father that she is awaiting his pleasure, as I'm sure he already knows. I'll be in the chart room. Tell Snout to send chambermaid and a glass of Port if he's got any left." He turns, trusting Brazen to get the instructions right.
"Dame Solange, Brazen will show you to the parlour. I do hope to see you later."
"Of course," Solange replies politely, although seeing him later is one of the last things she wants to do. She nods a goodbye to Winter and follows Brazen to the parlour.
Brazen does so, and some few minutes later, another servant appears. He asks her to follow him and, assuming she does so, he takes her to a large second-floor room. There is an open terrace and an older man standing on it. She is led outside and he turns.
"Dame Solange. To what does the Naval owe the pleasure of your company?"
Solange deduces that politeness and respect will get her far more points with this man--taking his reputation into consideration--than trying to throw her rank around, so she bows and smiles. "Admiral Winters, I presume? I wish only for a bit of information." She pauses, wondering how much she needs to reveal, then continues, "An investigative endeavor, commissioned by my brother Vere, sailed up north to investigate the disappearance of a ship sent to dog the Paresh ship that left Amber. They found a wreck on the waters and I wish to know the location."
"Why?" answers the old man. "And by that I mean 'I am not in the habit of providing information on the doings of one royal to another, as it violates the policy of the Navy and is a risky precedent. Your brother's expedition is his business, why are you coming to me?'" He looks at her. "I am sure that you would want the same courtesy for any private dealings we have."
"Vere is out in shadow and not available to ask," Solange replies, feeling her cheeks flush under his scrutiny. "It involves a possible solution to the healing of our father's legs, a cause for which Vere is most understandably supportive."
He looks at her for a long moment, saying nothing. "We can, of course, override our established precedent and provide you the information you desire for the King, as we serve at his pleasure. Does your request have royal approval?"
Solange resists the impulse to sigh. She considers flat out lying to him, but is pretty sure she wouldn't be able to pull it off. Kyril could always tell when she wasn't truthful. She should've given this task to Lucas.
Settling on a half-truth, Solange replies, "The King has approved the mission of the ship, which is to forge a shadowway from Amber to Xanadu." At least, that's the story Lucas said he was going to circulate. "We're planning to travel north, possibly near the place where the shipwreck was found. Being aware that the northern waters are treacherous enough on their own accord, it would behoove us to know where the wreck was located so we could avoid that area of water--it could be dangerous."
He blinks twice. "If I wished to verbally spar with you, Dame Solange, I'd offer to provide you with up-to-date navigational charts as the way of meeting your need, but we'd provide that to any ship anyway. That certainly is an unconvincing reason you've offered. Do you have another?"
This is just a little piece of information. Why is this so difficult? Solange asks herself. No, she doesn't officially have 'royal approval' for this venture, and the man in front of her has made it pretty clear that he holds all the aces and she's left with a pair of twos. Appealing to his better nature is not going to get her anywhere. She's not sure he has a better nature.
On the other hand, Solange begrudgingly acknowledges that he's just doing his job, however inconvenient that is for her right now. He's good at it, which is bound to happen when you've been at a particular post since the Utter Dawn of Time.
"Sorry. Tried my true reason initially and it didn't work." She smiles and bows. "Good day, Admiral. Sorry for bothering you."
"Good luck on your voyage, Dame Solange, the Navy looks forward to serving at sea again."
Solange bites her tongue and settles for raising an ironic eyebrow at him.
She turns to leave.
M. watches her depart.
As she comes down the stairs, a young man in the closest thing to what the navy would consider a dress uniform comes up to her. He is wearing white gloves and looks very young. Solange notices that one of the gloves is odd, and decides that the man has had an accident involving his hand.
"Ma'am, message for you." On a silver tray there is, indeed, an envelope.
Solange pauses, eyes the envelope briefly while frowning, then picks it up and opens it.
Inside is a chart and a note. "Is this what you want?" It's signed "Gilt".
Is it the chart she desires?
yep.
"Complements of Captain Winter, ma'am. He's in the chartroom if there's a return message."
"Thanks you, seaman." (OOC: I assume Gerard has taught her what the ranking emblems are.)
(OOC: yep, and the disabled ones who get picked up by the Naval Club don't wear any. It's part charity and part pride).
So much for keeping any part of this upcoming trip a secret. Perhaps next time she'll try a planned disclosure, allowing for certain features to be known upfront so it doesn't look like she's trying to hide anything and thus people won't go digging for more.
On the other hand, she may never want to do another thing like this again, depending on the outcome of the upcoming excursion.
She sighs to herself and heads to the chartroom.
Gilt Winter rises from an overstuffed chair as she enters. "Dame Solange, so glad you could join me. I'm about to return to Castle Amber, you could ride back with me if you'd like. Or would you prefer a glass of Port?"
Solange laughs, feeling her cheeks redden. "I've been a cad to you and yet you're still being polite to me. I'm sorry about the shirt. And thank you for the chart. Your father wasn't going to give it to me."
"My father," replies Gilt, "is interested in the integrity, traditions, and best interests of his service. I, on the other hand, act for the King. In the end, it's the same, but it's often surprising which path is the shortest to a desired goal." He shrugs. "In the end, I think you and your crew can deal with any trouble you find, and am therefore willing to help you get into it."
Solange looks down briefly, wondering if Gilt knew all of what they were planning to do, would he still give her the chart?
"In any case, I think it's very unlikely that my father will decide to have us both killed for this. This time." He drinks from the glass.
"I shall endeavor to be more circumspect next time around. I'd hate for the King to lose the services of such a fine secretary," she smiles wryly. "I'd be happy to take you up on your offer of a ride back to the castle."
Gilt agrees, and leads her to a side door that opens into a carriage yard. A coach is there and takes them to the Castle. Gilt engages in amiable chit-chat on the return trip: it's clear that he knew both her father and her foster-father in the service.
Garrett spends the next morning in sparring practice with a couple of higher-level guards he found on the training ground. Now that he's "His Highness" instead of "His Servantness", he can avail himself of better teachers. Garrett is an eager student. He stops them often for questions and watches them spar with each other to learn defensive tactics. He takes each criticism as an opportunity to improve. At the end of the workout, he thanks them heartily for the lesson and makes an appointment for the same time the next day, if his father doesn't send him elsewhere.
Garrett inquires around at lunchtime and discovers that almost everyone he'd like to talk to is either busy or gone. And though a few people have seen Lilly around the castle, she seems to have a way of being exactly wherever Garrett is not.
"Screw it," he thinks, a bit more forcefully than he feels. Apparently, his more-worldly friend Weed had been right all along. Girls just can't handle it when you use that "L" word before they do. "Scares them off," Weed had always said. Garrett had thought it was all just bluster. After all, though Weed could get girlfriends, he was never able to keep them.
Lilly's reaction, though, seemed to confirm the theory. She had not said a full sentence to him, other than "I'm leaving and it's not you, it's me," since that evening when the word "love" had slipped unbidden from Garrett's lips. And the few times she saw him, when she didn't avoid him altogether, she either ignored him or turned away. "F---ing idiot," he chides himself under his breath. "How could you be so stupid?"
After lunch, Garrett hits the books, or at least the library. He smugly grins a too-sweet "Good afternoon, Mistress Marjoram" as he enters, then finds a table near one of the large windows. He scans the room, but quickly determines that Lilly is not here, at least not that he can see. He gathers parchment and pen and settles in to write a couple of notes.
The first is to Brennan:
Sir Brennan:
Before you left Xanadu, you said we had to talk soon. I agree. I should be in Amber for the next day or so, unless my father sends me elsewhere. I look forward to speaking with you.
Garrett
The second is to the King:
Your Majesty (Father):
I have some ideas about how to complete the move and I'd like to start laying the groundwork for that while I'm here in Amber. Could we please discuss it sometime so I can make sure I'm going in the direcshun you wish? No rush. Whenever you have time is fine.
Thank you,
Garrett
He folds the notes up in his standard style (since he doesn't have his own seal yet) and flags down a page to have them delivered. Then he goes back to his seat, grabs another piece of parchment, and starts writing more notes, this time apparently for himself.
Some while later, Gilt Winter comes in with Garrett's note to Random. It has not been opened. "Your Highness?" he says to Garrett.
Garrett, who had been staring out the window, fingers steepled, his brow creased in thought, almost stands as he turns toward Gilt, but stops himself. It ends up looking more like a shift in posture. "Yes, sir?" he responds out of habit, a combination of ingrained servant manners and respect for his elders winning out over royal priviledge.
Gilt smiles. "Have they pressed you into the Navy, then? If not, you don't have to call me 'sir', your Highness."
Garrett grins sheepishly. "Habit," he apologizes with a shrug.
[Gilt continues,] "The King has returned to his other realm and I may not be able to deliver this message for some days. Is it urgent?"
Garrett shakes his head. "Not really," he responds. "I'll catch him when he gets back, or when he comes to collect me. To be honest, I wouldn't mind hanging around here for a while. I missed the place," he smiles.
Gilt nods, absently. "People are preparing to move, so if you have trouble getting anything you need, send word to me."
"I will. Thank you," Garrett responds, sounding more business-like. "What preparations have been made so far?"
Gilt grins. "A number of people have decided that they are far too important to go, and a number of people have decided that they are far too important to stay. Some few have managed to place themselves mentally in both groups."
Garrett returns the grin. "Typical," he chuckles.
"Steward Vent is handling most of it. Logistics are his specialty." Gilt pauses. "If Your Highness has no further need of me, I'll be off."
"Yeah, I'm all set. Thanks," Garrett dismisses him with a smile.
After Gilt leaves, Garrett shakes his head in amusement and reaches for the top sheet of his notes. With his quill, he makes a prominent check mark next to one item on the list. Yep. He knew it'd work out that way.
Gilt is barely out of sight when an average height woman walks into the library. As she crosses the threshold she stops and stares. Then she collects herself and moves forward with a firm step.
She's dressed in clothing of the local fashion, not servant cut, but rich. And her hair is covered.
[Hey, what is the local fashion? Can anyone tell me?]
Garrett looks up from his papers at the stranger. Her garments indicate she is someone of some importance, but Garrett doesn't recognize her. What he does recognize, however, is her reaction upon entering the library. The feeling is very familiar to him.
She glances around the room, and sees Garrett. From her reaction, she hasn't a clue who he is, either as a stable boy out of place, or the new son of the King.
She looks thoroughly lost and desperately trying to hide it.
Garrett folds his papers and rises from the table. He approaches the lady with a sympathetic smile. "You look a bit overwhelmed. Can I help?" he offers kindly.
To Meg, the lad appears to be not much more than seventeen, with dark brown, collar-length hair and bright blue eyes. He is slight, but his arms, extending from the rolled-up sleeves of his apparently home-spun shirt, appear tanned, strong and wiry. He could almost be taken for a stable boy, except that he seems at home in the Royal Library.
"Oh, thank-you lad," she replies. "Do you work here?"
A hint of amusement sparkles in his eye and his grin widens. "Sort of, yeah," Garrett responds. "Are you looking for something in particular?"
Meg smiles back. "Well, I was looking for a history, but I didn't realise..." She waves a hand at the shelves. "They told me it was a big library and I thought that meant there'd be ten score of books at the most. How do you find anything?"
Some bittersweet thought briefly clouds Garrett's features, but the friendly smile returns just as quickly. "You ask someone," he answers. "That's what I did when I first came in here, looking like you do now. Come with me," he nods toward the nearest set of stairs. "There's some good ones on the second level." He politely indicates ladies first.
Meg heads up the stairs. "I was looking for anything on Prince Huon." She reaches the top of the steps and looks down at Garrett.
"You're not a librarian, are you? I'm sorry, I assumed."
Garrett shrugs casually. "No, ma'am, but that's all right. I was looking for histories too, just a coupla weeks ago. They're up here."
At the top of the stairs, Garrett takes the lead and guides Meg along the railing to the section Lilly pointed out to him. As they go, he chatters quietly, "I've never heard of a Prince Huon. But then, I was never privy to royal doings until recently." He turns back to face Meg. "I'm Garrett, by the way. The infamous Servant-Prince," he grins. It's obvious he's heard the servants' gossip and he's taking it in stride. "And you are...?"
Meg laughs. "So you're the His Highness they told me about." She grins back. "I'm Meg Carper, but that's not the answer that everyone wants. Your dad," she frowns slightly, "the King's your dad, right?"
"So I'm told," Garrett replies good-naturedly.
"King Random says I'm related somehow, but I haven't a clue how. I grew up in an orphanage."
"Really?" Garrett's eyebrows arch in surprise. "How'd you get here?"
"It was the same orphanage Ossian is from. He came looking for anything that might tell him who his parents were. Marius and Cloudius came with him. And Reid came too."
While some of the names are familiar to Garrett, their situations are not. His eyes narrow slightly as he tries to piece events together.
Meg stands very still. "Then my city was attacked by this Huon and they brought me to Amber by a Trump." The word is obviously unfamiliar in Meg's mouth. "But my kids and grandkids are still there."
"Whoa," Garrett breathes sympathetically. "That's...whoa." He seems to want to say something comforting, but can't find the appropriate words. He settles for a shake of the head, then becomes more businesslike. From his own experience in the recent dragon attack, he understands that with her family in danger, she probably wants to _do_ something instead of standing around talking.
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable in here, and I'll find some of the books and bring them in," Garrett offers, indicating a nearby reading room. "Unless you'd rather look with me," he adds as an afterthought.
"I'd rather come with you," she admits. "This is probably a long shot anyway. I gather this Huon really annoyed the last king, who wouldn't have him spoken of or mentioned. He may not be in any of the books."
"Hmm. That's possible," Garrett comments as he searches for the books that Lilly showed him. "Perhaps that's why I've never heard of him." He finds the books he's looking for and starts removing them from the shelves, stacking them on the floor next to him.
He hands Meg a large volume bound in dark green leather with "Eternal Glory by Jewel Harper" written on the spine in silver lettering. "There might be something in this one. It's got some stuff that's not commonly known, but hard to tell how true it all is. Makes for a good read, though. That red one there," he points to a large book entitled The Blood of Amber by Orison Dove, "was good, but I don't remember seeing a Prince Huon in it."
As he scans the shelves some more, he suddenly points to another large volume as if it has given him an idea. "Mistress Carper, have you spoken to Lady Cambina yet?"
"No," says Meg slowly, in a way that obviously means 'who?' "I don't know who is who yet. I got here last night. We spoke to Prince Caine, and they took me to King Random. I know the plan is to go home and rescue my family, but I don't know how soon that can happen." If it was even the next instant it would not be soon enough for Meg.
"Could Lady Cambina tell me something to use against Huon?"
"Well, I don't know how strategically-inclined she is, but according some servants I know, she seems to know everything about everybody," Garrett explains. "Some say it's a little spooky. Her name's on those books up there, which made me think of it."
"Oh, I don't know strategy myself, but if she knows this history, she might know something to make him leave my home alone. Or at least what he wants?" Meg sounds hopeful.
"Perhaps," Garrett replies optimistically. He scoops up the books in the stack and nods toward the nearby reading room. "Shall we?"
"Yes, thank-you," Meg moves to the room he indicated. "Thank-you for your help. Are you sure I'm not taking you away from other things? Princely duties and so on." She smiles "I don't know exactly what a prince does."
"I have some things to do in a glass or so, but I can help you get started at least," Garrett says as he places the books in a stack on the table. He sits across the table, takes one of the books and starts flipping pages, looking for the name "Huon."
Meg sits and takes a book of her own.
"To be honest, Mistress Carper, I don't know exactly what a prince does, either. I'm still learning. I only found out I was a prince several weeks ago. Before that, I worked in the stables," he explains.
"Ah. I know a little of what that must be like." Meg smiles across the table at him. He's not that much younger than her Jacob. "I was a kitchen girl when I was about your age. I learnt to read and write at St Trista's, but who'd take on an orphan with no family to put them forward, when there were others with the same skills? So I scrubbed floors, stood by the hot fire in summer and carried water in winter." She turns a page in her book, but there are too many names for which she has no context. "Then my master's son married. A fine lady from a family with noble connections."
Garrett looks up from his book as her voice takes on the mist of memory.
Meg smiles into the distance with reminiscence. "She was beautiful, with blonde hair, and hands," Meg reaches out and takes Garrett's own hand.
Garrett looks surprised by the gesture, but he doesn't pull away. His hand bears the marks of a stablehand - rein and rope, shovel and pitchfork - though these are gradually being erased by the scrapes and blisters of a new swordsman.
She turns it palm up and runs her fingers over the calluses there. "...hands so soft, you just knew they'd never washed a pot, never ever." She lets his hand go and looks down at her book again. "She asked me to be her own maid, though many would have thought me not good enough. She taught me fine embroidery, and," Meg shrugs, "all sorts of things. A little of how to be a lady."
"Then she died," Meg looks away from Garrett again, and her face is dull, "in childbirth. She made me promise to look after her children for her. So I did. I married her husband, poor man, for he was lost without her, and I raised those kids. And the town hated me at first. Who was I, a servant of no family, to marry a council man? And host his guests? And wear fine clothes and act like I was more than a common scrub?"
Garrett listens raptly, his book forgotten.
Meg looks at Garrett again and smiles. "But I won. I kept my dignity and did what I knew was right. I never let them tell me how I should be. So you decide what you think a prince should do and be, and you do that."
Meg can see in Garrett's eyes that she has somehow said exactly what he needed to hear. By the time she finishes, he is grinning warmly. "Thank you," he says after a moment. "I will.
"Do you want to hear my tale now?" Garrett offers amiably. The choice is hers. If she would prefer to get back to the books, he doesn't appear that he'd be hurt by that.
"Of course," she replies. "Vail and Capture told me you were a servant and only found out the king was your father recently. They're very sympathetic," Meg adds, speaking of two reasonably high in the castle management. She watches to see if he appreciates the possibilities of that.
Garrett doesn't seem surprised that they know. Everyone knows by now. He does raise a surprised eyebrow, though, at their reaction.
"I was hoping to meet you if I was still stuck here after I'd finished my research."
"Now you've done that," Garrett grins. He begins the long story yet again. "Vail and Capture are right. I grew up the son of a groom. Donovan. He's one of the masters of horse here now. I worked down in the stables too, from the time I was ten. I miss that," he smiles wistfully.
Meg nods her understanding.
"Anyway," he shakes himself out of it, "about a week after Random was crowned King, me baby sister started teasing me. Y'know, 'I know something you don't know.' She said she heard me parents say me dad wasn't me real father." He chuckles. "I told her she was daft, but she wouldn't quit. Finally, I asked Mum."
Garrett pauses as that awful moment comes crashing back on him. "From the look on her face, I knew it was true," he continues softly. "Mum used to be a maid here. She told me she'd, um ... spent some time, shall we say... with King Random, back when he was still a prince. She was young and foolish and he... well," Garrett shrugs, avoiding the details. Still too icky.
Meg opens her mouth but then shuts it again. Telling him that truth can wait.
"She broke it off not long after, but found out later he'd got her with child. Donovan was a good friend of hers, and when she told him, he offered to marry her and raise me as his." Garrett smiles fondly. Father or not, it's obvious this Donovan still means a lot to the young prince.
Meg smiles approvingly.
"Anyway, when I was growing up, I noticed I was a lot stronger than anyone I knew. Faster, too. Whenever I asked about it, though, me parents just marked it up to me being healthier than most."
He looks at her with a sudden question. "Mistress Carper, you didn't know your Blood parent either. Did you notice that, too? Unusual strength? Fast healing? That sort of thing?"
Meg turns her hands palms up. "The Goddess provides the strength to do her work," she says. But her mouth turns up at the corners in dissatisfaction with that answer. "I always thought people weren't trying hard enough. Most people don't, you know? They do enough and stop there. Or they didn't have good food to grow strong. But I grew up in an orphanage of the Goddess. If I seemed different, the Sisters just told me I should use that to help others. So I looked after those weaker than me. It's just the way things are.
"Is it better or worse that I'm different because of some royalty from another world?"
Garrett thinks about it and shrugs. "Neither, I reckon. If you're diff'rent, you're diff'rent. Donovan used to tell me something close to that. That everyone had their strengths and those just happened to be mine. Once you get with this family, though, those differences all even out."
"How many are there? I've been told lots, but I've no idea how everyone fits together."
Garrett laughs. "I reckon that would be hard for a new arrival. Hold on." He leans back and grabs parchment and quill from a nearby sideboard, then starts scribbling. He writes a list of names down the left side of the page, then branches other names off those. He adds some notations, scratches things out and squeezes others in. When he finally shows it to Meg, the finished product looks something like this:
X OBERON
Benedict - Lilly
X ERIC - Jerod (Prince), Cambina
Corwin - Merlin, Celina
Caine
X Deirdre - Marios (?)
Bleys - Page
Fiona - Conner, Britta (?)
X Brand - Brennen and another brother, I think
Julian - Jovien, Robin, Adonis-X
Gerard - Solange, Veer
Flora - Lucas (married to Solace, has children)
Llewella
RANDOM - Martin, Garrett (both princes)
Unknown - Ossian, Hannah & Folly
He explains his chicken scratch to Meg. "The ones in capital are the kings. 'X' means dead. All the names on the left are either princes or princesses. Oberon was father to all of them. The names after the dashes are their children." He looks up at Meg to see if she has any questions.
"Huon goes in there somewhere. He's very old, I think."
He glances up apologetically. "Yeah, I know, but I don't know where he fits."
She studies the page.
"I met Benedict." Her voice is tinged with a little awe.
"Did you? I haven't met him yet," Garrett answers with a slight frown.
"You said Cambina knows the histories?" she obviously working her way down the list.
"So I understand. She wrote some of the books out there," he nods toward the bookshelves outside.
"I met Caine last night, he seems a good man."
Garrett chuckles at that. "I reckon so. As long as you don't cross him."
"Does Marius have a brother? I meet a man, Cloudius, who looks very like him. He was travelling with Ossian and Marius."
Garrett narrows his eyes in thought. "I've never met one. Or anyone named Cloudius, for that matter. Perhaps they picked him up along the way?" he suggests.
"And add in Reid, they said he's related too, but I don't know how."
"Oh, that's right," Garrett corrects himself. "I missed him." At the bottom of the page, with the unknowns, he writes "Reed."
Meg reaches the red heads and scrunches up her eyes. "Is Brennan a big man with red hair who lurks about like he's run out of people to kill? I think I saw him. And Brand has a son called Ambrose, I saw him give an oath to the King."
Garrett looks surprised at the description of Brennan, but as he thinks on it, he realizes it could fit for someone who's never met him. "Yeah, that was prob'ly him," he responds. "And thanks. I knew Brennan had a brother, but I didn't know his name." He scratches out his comment and writes "Ambrose" above it.
She gets to the line beginning Random, and taps her finger. She notes that she's talking to Random's second son, but doesn't mention it.
"Does the youngest son become king here after the old king dies?"
Garrett looks alarmed. "Heh. I hope not."
He goes on to explain. "As I understand it, there were special circumstances when my father was chosen. It was after the final battle of the Great War, when the Unicorn rose from the Abyss and granted the Jewel of Judgment to my father, in the presence of all his brothers and sisters. They accepted her choice." His description of the scene has the feel of stories passed on and grown large in the telling. He notices it, too. "Y'know, I should ask him about that," he adds as an afterthought.
"That sounds like a good idea," Meg offers. She pauses, aware she's asking a delicate question. "What's the Unicorn?"
Garrett looks up at her, wondering if she means "what *is* a unicorn" or rather, "what is its significance." He tries to answer both. "The Unicorn is the symbol of the Royal Family of Amber. I think it's about the size of your average goat, but all white, with a single golden horn at its forelock. It's said they're almost too beautiful to behold, but I've never seen one."
Meg listens to him without moving. "Thank-you, Your Highness," she swallows. "I don't know where to start, and you've already answered so many of my questions." She sighs. "I'm sure there's lots of other things you should be doing, but thank-you for sparing me the time. You're a good lad." She smiles.
Garrett grins humbly at the compliment. "It was my pleasure, ma'am. I'm still learning all this meself, so it was a good review."
He leans over to look out the door of the reading room, checks the level of the sun, then rises from his chair. "And you're right. I'm s'posed to be meeting someone soon. Actually, it's the big redhead who looks like he needs someone to kill, so I'd best not be late." He's obviously teasing. Meg can be certain that he's in no actual danger.
"I thought," Meg begins and then stops. "I didn't mean anything by that. It was just nerve-wracking last night."
"I can imagine," Garrett says, nodding sympathetically.
She smiles. "Don't let him boss you around!"
"Actually, I hope that training with him will keep me from being bossed around," he grins back.
She stands but leaves her book open on the table. "Thanks for your help." She extends her hand to shake his.
He shakes her hand, becoming more serious. "Good luck on your research," he says, nodding at the books. "I'd like to meet that family of yours when they get here." He does not allow for the possibility of "if".
Meg doesn't seem entirely at home with this idea yet.
He moves to the door and turns back to give her a final supportive smile. "Be safe," he says as he exits.
"You too," she calls.
Last modified: 18 December 2005