Raven follows Garrett, steering Sebastian along by the hand fisted in his shirt. "Thanks," she says. "Probably ought to search him at some point too, just in case, but we haven't had the chance yet."
Fletcher follows Garrett, pausing along the way to make sure everyone got out of the hospital ok and that there's no more pressing combat or medical emergencies.
According to Corwin, they are the last group left outstanding. Garrett can find whatever kind of spot he likes. If he'd like the dungeons, they don't really exist, except for a "cell" that Kyril was assigned to, which became a spare bed for the infirmary and music studio...
Corwin says, "Let's not take him to the pavilion." (Which is where the other hospital guards and staff were taken, but he's not saying that in front of Sebastian.)
Sebastian is looking around and listening; it's not hard to conclude he's filing this away for later use when and if he gets free to go back to his comrades.
"Right," Garrett replies, heeding his uncle's advice. He leads the group down and around to a windowless storage room not far from the servants quarters. Spare furniture, mattresses, rolled-up carpets, and shelves of blankets and linens line the walls, muffling the potential escape of sound. He opens the door and allows everyone else to enter. When he closes the door behind them, he leans back against it casually. "This'll do for questioning," Garrett says for Sebastian's benefit. "Where you end up afterwards depends on what you tell us."
Raven picks up a chair with one hand on her way past one, and deposits it in the middle of the room and Brother Sebastian in front of it. "All yours," she says as she turns around and heads for the door. "But begging your pardons, Your Majesty and Your Highness, I got somewhere to be any time now, and I'm hoping to get a few minutes to wipe my face off and maybe grab some gear before then. So I'm off."
"Thank you, Captain," Garrett says as he opens the door for Raven to leave. He closes it again and resumes his position.
With a nod to Raven, Fletcher pulls out a pen and a notebook. "Alright. I'm Sir Fletcher. I do have some specific questions for you, but let's begin with the basics. Who are you? What was going on back at that hospital? What was your roll in it? And if you expect to be ransomed we'll need to know how to contact your people."
"I am Brother Sebastian, assistant to Brother Hannibal. The hospital was a work of our order, as we are commanded to spread health and welfare where we go. That specific project was led by Brother Hannibal, who is known in that Shadow as Dr Chew. He is cross-referencing the genetics of the so-called gods to determine what makes them gods," Brother Sebastian calmly explains.
Fletchers nodes and makes a few notes. "I see. And your group operates across multiples shadows? Does that involve power similar to that of these 'gods' you mentioned?"
Garrett frowns at the mention of Dr. Chew. He's heard it before. "And that Dr. Chew," Garrett asks, still leaning against the door. "How long has he been working in that shadow?"
"A few decades," Sebastian answers Garrett. "He doesn't spend all his time on any single project." He cranes his head and looks around at Fletcher. "Oh, we have our own path-maker."
Corwin's expression says he has a very nasty suspicion; he excuses himself quietly and slides out the door, shutting it heavily behind him.
"You do, huh?" Garrett barks, hands folded across his chest. "Who might that be?"
"The Turcopolier, of course," Sebastian says.
"Does this 'Turcopolier' go by any other name?" Garrett asks. "And what results have these decades of experiments produced?"
"He doesn't like us to use his given name," Sebastian says, and for the first time it sounds like he might be a little afraid. But not of Garrett or Fletcher, of the Turcopolier. Seeing the expression on Garret's face, though, he hesitates, and finally bows his head. "Before he was given his title, he was known as Sir Sinbad."
Garrett glances at Fletcher to see if the name sounds familiar to him.
If Fletcher has nothing to add, he continues, "And what about the experiments? What have you all learned?"
Fletcher notes down the name, pretending not to recognize it. "When did you last see this 'Turcopolier' character?" he asks. "Where is he now? Was he part of the experimental program?"
Garrett has a suspicion Fletcher knows more than he's telling, but the interrogation isn't place to let on what he knows.
"I don't know where the Turcopolier is. We don't, usually; he's often on military maneuvers. Which are over my head and even the Father doesn't speak to me about them."
Apparently Sebastian decides that he's not going to be able to put off dealing with the question of the experiments any longer. "He wasn't part of the program--let me rephrase: he gave to the program, early on, but he's not a result of it."
"Gave to the program how? Money? Time? Blood? Something else?" Garrett asks.
"Genetic material," Sebastian clarifies. "Blood and hair and... you know."
Fletcher asks, "How long ago was this? How was contact made with him initially?"
"He was already in place by the time I was recruited as a young man." It's hard to say how old Sebastian is. He might be middle aged or even older, but length of life in Shadow varies quite a bit.
Garrett glances up at Fletcher, then continues his own questioning. "So those three who came out of your...lab...just now," Garrett says with a grimace, "how did they come to be there? Were they taken prisoner somehow? Or is there another explanation?"
Fletcher half-pays attention to Garret's question. He wracks his brain trying to remember if there was any sign of the Klybesians looking to subvert Amberites before he left Amber. It was so long ago the subtle details escape him. He ponders re-arranging his schedule to fit in a visit to Amber.
There was always a variety of religious orders trying to obtain royal patronage when Fletcher was young. Some of them even succeeded. But yes, that was a long time ago and Fletcher would have to spend some time remembering and probably in the library or with his uncles to recall more of the details.
"Oh, no," Sebastian says. "We didn't grow any of them. They were acquired by our resources. Mercenaries."
"Mercenaries from where?" Garrett demands.
"In Shadow, wherever they could be found. Bellum. Gateway. Reme. Hamakaido. The Pearl Islands. Any of those sorts of places. I'm a scientist brother, though, not a warrior. Father Hannibal has other people who make those arrangements for him, and for the Order at large, that sort of recruitment runs through the Turcopolier," Sebastian explains.
Fletcher interjects a follow up question. "How mobile are these mercenaries. Do they vanish using books like the one we saw when you were captured?"
"Not unless they have a priest travelling with them who has a book of cards. They travel along the known paths we've found or been taught," Sebastian answers Fletcher.
"Does every priest have one of these books of cards?" Garrett asks. "How many books are there, would you guess?"
Fletcher tries to remember the lessons Dworkin gave about the Trumps. Not everyone can use the them, and psychic contact can be dangerous. But if these are location trumps are the risks lesser? How many of these people might be able to use them? Or even make them? Fletcher supposes he'll find out the answers shortly, and keeps an eye on the prisoner. He'll have to figure out what he should do about this 'Turcopolier' business.
As far as cards of persons go, Fletcher only ever remembers cards of his father's siblings, Oberon, and Dworkin. And Dworkin was the only person he knew who could make them. (Obviously that is no longer true.)
Other people could use the cards, even if they were not family. It wasn't common for people to have the cards, other than Fletcher's family as depicted on the cards, or occasionally their immediate associates. Place cards were things Fletcher knew of but hadn't seen a lot of and hadn't used a lot, so he doesn't know what it takes to make them.
"Most don't. A very few do have them. Father Hannibal's got the most," Sebastian explains. "Probably a couple dozen."
Garrett sighs and nods. He glances over at Fletcher briefly to see if he wants to pursue this line of questioning further.
Fletcher shakes his head. "How were the current batch of prisoners identified?"
"I only know about the Rebman girl," Sebastian explains. "Our agents had identified her maternal line from Rebma, but we were unable to get hold of her or her mother. So we paid someone to drug her and took her to our hospital."
"Who did you pay? And what was planned for her once she got to the hospital?" Garrett asks.
"Locals. The Pearl Islands are full of people who'd cut your throat for a coin and sink your body. All we asked was that they drug her--we supplied the drug--and hand her over to our agents. Then we brought her to Greenwood. After that we hoped to recruit her."
Garrett's eyes narrow. "Recruit her to find more of us or to donate bodily fluids for your ...research?" His tone is derisive.
"No. To help us," Sebastian explains. "To show us why we're different, to find out why you're the way you are and what would make us the same."
Garrett heaves a sharp sigh and looks at Fletcher to see if he has more questions.
Fletcher starts. "The same in what way? What do you know of our purpose?"
"I know nothing of your purpose. Just your power." Sebastian starts to look actually excited at the idea of a purpose for Amberites. "Will you tell me your purpose?"
"No," Garrett says flatly, shaking his head. "Anything else we want to know?" he asks Fletcher.
Fletcher looks surprised. "There was a time when your order knew quite a bit about our purpose. I suppose your group's thinking has drifted. Perhaps we can discuss it again one day soon. For now, I suppose we should make some longer-term arrangements for your accommodation." He takes a step toward the door and looks to Garrett questioningly.
Sebastian's whole face lights up with interest at Fletcher's words. "I'll be waiting."
Fletcher opens the door and gestures two guards into the room. He pauses for Garrett to give the guards their instructions.
The two guards wait for Garrett to give them whatever instructions he intends to give them.
"Find him a room," Garrett tells the guards. "Comfortable, but easily guarded, and don't let him out until I hear more from the King. Make sure he's fed though. Reckon he hasn't eaten in some time."
The guards move to fulfill Prince Garrett's orders.
Garrett turns to Fletcher. "What do you think? Your view is longer than mine," he says, with no indication of a dig at Fletcher's age. The young prince values the voice of experience.
Fletcher pauses, clearly conflicted. Stepping off to on side to speak privately, he replies, "This information needs to be held closely. There are aspects that should not be announced to the family in general. There seems to be a long term plan in place and I wonder if Oberon knew about it. I would suggest a private in-person conversation with Random and my dad. Then we could bring Corwin into it if they agree." Fletcher pulls out his trump deck. "I will contrive to get dad to come here for a face to face. If you can arrange a private chat with your father, I'm hoping we can move quickly on this."
Garrett nods and glances over his shoulder toward where the guards and their charge are departing.
Jerod has moved off to the bar as the new cousins depart, refilling his glass as Signy makes her report and listening to the King's response, only moderately curious it seems as to this enemy royal who is a guess in the kingdom. But beyond leaning on the bar and sipping his drink, he is silent, waiting for the current conversation to conclude.
There's a very nominal knock on the door and it opens to reveal Corwin. "Random, we need to talk--" he looks around to see who's in the room with them and is apparently pleased or at least relieved to find it's Ossian, Signy, and Jerod. "I think we're about to have a potentially very real problem in Amber."
Random looks over at his brother. "Well, it's good to know our current imaginary problems aren't going to get lonely. Do you want to tell me in private? I trust my niblings slightly more than brothers..."
"Why don't you clear your business with them first," Corwin suggests, "And then we can discuss it?"
Random looks surprised. "Oooo-kay. Jerod, Signy, Ossian, what do you need? Corwin and I have cloak-and-dagger business after that, so ask away and then he gets my full attention."
Faced with a "use it or lose it" moment, the son of Eric does pretty much what got drilled into him to do. He gets right to the point.
"I want permission to walk your Pattern, Uncle," Jerod says to Random.
Ossian lets out a low whistle and shakes his head. "I guess I'll depart and see if I can break into that computer."
Random nods to Ossian. "Talk to Soren about power and such," then he turns back to Jerod.
"I'd ask 'why', but I'm sure you've thought this out. The advice is what it's always been. Get a good night's sleep and don't go onto it tired or wearing snowshoes. Take some snacks for eating when you're done, and remember to hydrate. Also, go to the bathroom before you start. Nothing worse than trying to walk the pattern on a full bladder.
"And I changed by mind. Why?"
"The logical argument? Because we're surrounded with lots of threats coming out of the woodwork." Jerod says. "Threats that require we up our game, be able to track them, identify them, and to use that nice, neutral phrase....neutralize them.
"And the big thread around most of these is Pattern...lots of different Patterns, drawn by people that no one remembers and that we don't know how they operate. I'm sure you'll have discerned some of that discussion from eavesdropping on our oh-so super secret meeting today." he says, smiling slightly.
"So we need to learn more about Pattern to learn more about what we're facing. Besides Moonriders who can time hop, for example. Now, if I had a century to practice and no pressure, then walking it wouldn't be a priority. But time isn't a luxury we have. So that necessitates some risks.
"The personal reason?" Jerod says, and his expression hardens slightly. "Cause I've lost enough with all the crap going on....you'd have heard that too from the meeting. And I'm tired of losing...tired of digging graves...tired of reviewing and evaluating and planning. And knowing the enemy, whomever that might be...isn't waiting. They're acting. And that means, like the logical argument, stepping up my game.
"I'm not looking to go and burn up on your Pattern. I know one or two people who might be vaguely displeased if I turn into an ash heap and I'm really not looking to disappoint them. I've also considered too what it might mean to you....given that it's your Pattern and the whole *king and the land are one deal*. Guessing that might not be something a Pattern owner would want to carry around for several milenia.
"I've weighed the risks, and the benefits...I've got things I want to keep around for awhile...people I want to keep around so I'm asking you to let me do it. And don't take this the wrong way Uncle...but we can't rely on aunts and uncles to save us anymore."
Ossian finds this dialogue intriguing, and stays around. He wants a word with Jerod before departing.
Random sighs. "You really can't. And you can't even really rely on yourselves, although you're at least self-interested. It's not always easy to protect the ones we love, and sometimes what we think is protecting someone doesn't, or causes more problems than we expected. And sometimes you find yourself standing in front of a court full of people who hate you because of lies they've told themselves and who have said for centuries that they will kill you if they catch you and you have to be ready to die knowing your brothers will say 'he acquitted himself as befits a Prince of Amber'.
"For what it's worh not only do I not want you to die on my pattern, I don't want you to die at all, not even if you acquit yourself as befits a Prince. Don't try to save everyone, not even Gerard's shoulders are that broad. And don't beat yourself up for not being able to do so." Random sounds a bit as if he's in need of his own advice.
Jerod of course says nothing as the King speaks. But he hears what is said, and what isn't, and he nods slightly at both.
"Anyway, walk, as long as you do it safely. I don't know what you'll learn. I didn't learn much from subsequent walks, but maybe you're more attuned to such things than I was. I usually just wanted to be done and then nap, because it was the hardest thing I ever did."
Random is still deciding if he's done talking when he door opens and Robin is there, with a page who has led her through the stairways and portrait-lined corridors. "Sir Robin", the page announces, in case anyone inside didn't see her entrance.
Jerod notes the arrival of Robin for the briefest moment before returning his attention to Random. "Thank you Uncle. I will let you know once I am prepared." he says.
Signy listens to Jerod's request, and the King's reply, but her brain siezes on the notion that each Pattern may in fact be a unique experience and not just copies of the other, and considers it the way she considers the form of an object hiding in a raw ingot.
She looks briefly at the two Kings, before deciding to take a chance on interrupting whatever it is that they want to go discuss.
"Excuse me, Uncles, but I can't help but wonder if anyone knows which Patterns my father may have walked."
Random holds up a finger, "I guess he must have, but we don't really know how he's related. You'll probably need to ask Dworkin, and then you'll need a stiff drink or two to try to understand his response."
Signy nods resignedly. It was an admitted long shot, but at least worth the try.
Robin seems a little surprised at the number of people in the room and absentmindedly strokes Peep's back as she nods to the room's occupants. Then she unsubtly tries to catch Corwin's eye.
The extremely unsubtle eye catch is definitely caught by Jerod who smiles slightly, oddly amused for some reason mostly related to vague Court protocols that only people schooled in that would find amusing.
He does however, find it an appropriate moment to depart. "With your permission Uncle, there is someone from Rebma I need to check up on," he says to Random, with a slight bow before departing.
Random gives him the Royal Lazy Wave of Dismissal.
Signy offers the two Kings a sketchy if servicable bow from the waist, before following Jerod and anyone else leaving out the door.
Corwin is an expert in "unsubtle", so he catches it. "Hello Robin. Do you need something from us?"
"From you, Uncle," Robin says respectfully, "Two things. One, I have two ancient beings that I rescued from an old fortification whom I think would do well to relocate to Paris. But, of course, I'd like your permission first. Second, when I was in the Silver Tower I had a vision that Prince Bleys thinks I should tell you about. But it's private."
"As long as they're willing to accept me as king and abide by my laws, I welcome them in Paris. Present them to your Aunt Florimel as my Regent when they arrive, and if she's unavailable, to Bill Roth. As for the other--"
Robin, and presumably Corwin, notice a page waiting in the wings at a respectable distance from the pair. It's obvious enough that the two are discussing something that doesn't need eavesdroppers, and like all pages, this one has mastered the art of being conspicuously seen while also being outside any plausible listening range. If they glance at him, he'll indicate by eye contact and posture that he has a message for Robin. It's sealed with Brennan's signet, but it's addressed from Brennan with no titles. If they don't, he'll do what pages do-- wait patiently until they've concluded their business, and if they disappear into a scintillating rainbow effect or otherwise make plain that deliveries are not being accepted today, he'll leave it where her correspondence usually gets left.
Corwin sighs. "Take the letter, if you will, and let's retire into the studio proper for privacy. Or if you're willing to speak in front of Random, we can just do it here. If it's something to do with the Kingdoms at large, Random may need to know anyway."
Robin gives a little bow to King Corwin. "Thank you. I will pass on your words to Lady Laudine and Sir Ywain at first opportunity."
Robin then extends her hand to the page.
The page hands Robin the letter, and is evidently not expecting her to respond to it or even read it immediately. He indicates this by withdrawing slightly, although does not depart until either dismissed or they depart.
Cousin Robin,
I was heartened to find any support at all for the project I mentioned in the meeting at the gazebo.
I understand from that meeting that you will be departing soon to speak with Prince Julian on matters of Arden, Arcadia, and the Dragon therein and that time is short. So it is for me, as I must return to escorting the Moonriders back to Ghenesh. I suspect that the matter of the Dragon will affect that project, though I fear our schedules will not permit our meeting today. I am here long enough to find Raven, who will be accompanying me to Ghenesh, and there may or may not be time to report in person to the King.
But we have other matters to discuss, too, I think, which merit more attention and privacy than the present circumstances permit.
At our mutual convenience, I think we should talk. I have not the slightest idea how long the journey to Ghenesh will last, because I do not know the time differential or even the remaining distance. But most of the Artists in the family have a Trump of me, and permission to make more should the need arise. So I propose that we try to meet or call one another as best we can.
I look forward to our next opportunity to meet.
Your Cousin,
Brennan
Corwin may notice that Robin is a slow reader but at least her lips don't move. When she has finished, she nods, folds up the letter and sticks it in a pocket. She then waves a hand to the page to indicate there will be no response. Returning her attention to Corwin, she says, "The study will be fine. My vision does not involve the Kingdoms at all."
As Robin walks toward the studio, she hopes that there will be windows or at least another door. Because she's not entirely sure that Bleys was kidding about having a quick retreat route when she relayed her vision to Corwin and Benedict.
The studio has a(n engineering) booth by the door (where equipment that currently doesn't work in Xanadu will eventually go, one supposes) and Robin could stay between Corwin and the door, but the whole place is covered in materials that Robin can tell change the quality of the sound. It's not really Robin's thing but she can tell by the sound of their footsteps on the flooring that the room is designed for that purpose. The glass-enclosed booth would silence any noises coming from within it.
Corwin shuts the door behind them but he does move into the open chamber, politely allowing Robin more room (and, conveniently, access to the door without having to pass him by). "Okay, let's hear it." He doesn't seem particularly worried.
Robin is momentarily distracted by the quality of sound within the studio. She's not sure if she likes it or not. It's restful, but it's also disturbing to be away from all the little sounds that anchor her in place. But she's keeping a King waiting so she snaps out of it as quickly as possible.
As she begins her tale, she is torn between her own strong dislike of Corwin and her remembered exultation at this vision. But she does her best to keep the telling neutral and factual. Whether she succeeds or not, Robin is unsure.
"I was alone, sir, above a great hall of a silver tower. It was submerged at the time, but the water was breathable. And there was a tracery on the floor that was very reminiscent of the Pattern. I heard a noise, footsteps maybe. When I looked down into the hall, the vision took me. For an instant I could not move as I watched Merlin walk the Pattern, with red sparks rising from his feet."
Corwin is frowning.
"I saw another man emerge from the darkness; Prince Benedict with two arms. His sword was drawn and he spoke of Merlin defying his wishes. Merlin drew his own sword and Benedict stepped back. He was standing on the tracery with no ill effect.
"Merlin then called for his Father to aid him and my paralysis was gone. I leapt to his defense, landing between him and Benedict, still on the tracery.
"When... suddenly I wasn't me. I was you." Robin blushes. "I was wielding Greyswandir in all its glory against Prince Benedict in all his glory." Okay, so a little exultation leaks out there.
Corwin's eyebrows are rising. He's still frowning.
"Prince Benedict asked if I was yourself or Carol but indicated he would fight regardless. The confrontation went on until Merlin reached the final Veil, when both combatants agreed to step back. And the vision ended.
"Only Prince Bleys knows of this and he indicated that it was something I should keep very private but felt strongly that I should tell both you and Prince Benedict. I am telling you now and I will tell Prince Benedict the next time I see him. Whenever that might be."
Robin finishes with a shrug but makes sure she knows where the door is.
Corwin is still frowning, but his eyebrows have retreated to their usual position. His body language reads not so much angry but definitely confused: the reflexive reach for Grayswandir isn't to draw it but to reassure himself it's still there. "Thank you for telling me this," Corwin says. "It sounds like a Tir vision of some sort. And a lot like the business with Ben and his silver arm, where Dad arranged for me to cut it off Benedict with Grayswandir and then it was cut off by Grayswandir later. I watched the second time--but I wasn't there. Just the sword. This sounds different, but in some ways very similar."
Robin nods her understanding. The comparison to a Tir vision is apt and she wonders how the Silver Tower may be related to Tir.
"I'd be careful telling Benedict about it, but I think Bleys was right: he should know. Thanks for telling me this story, Robin."
"You're welcome." Robin says with a slight bow. "And thank you for your time."
Robin makes a gesture toward the door, but waits for the King to decide whether it's time to leave or not.
Corwin bows in return and gestures toward the door in a way that Robin has no trouble reading as 'after you'.
Robin nods and heads out of the studio.
Random is sitting in the same chair, thumbing his way through some sort of book.
Robin pauses a little and nods to the King, making sure that if Random wants to speak to her he has the opportunity. But if there is nothing from Random, she will continue on out the door to the hallway.
Random nods back. "Good to see you, Robin. If you're off to Julian and the wars, I've a thing I'd like you to do.
"I've been wondering if the Klybesians have anything to do with stirring up the Dragon. I'm not sure it's anything to do with anything but it all seems too closely timed to just be our bad luck. See if you can find any evidence of our enemies working together."
Robin thinks back to the 'painting' she's claimed. "I know there is at least a leak from Arden to the Klybesians. But I'll check about stirring up the Dragon." Robin nods again.
Random waves a casual dismissal and returns his attention to the book.
Robin bows slightly and departs for the corridors and whatever hapless page she can stir up.
Ossian follows Jerod out. "All the Patterns?" he exclaims "One was quite the ordeal.
"Well, no-one is going to stop you. I'm just wondering, does this mean I go looking for that rutter by myself? Or is the Pattern-walking your long game?"
"Long game. And yeah, all of them if I can do. I blame my parents for making me an over-achiever." Jerod says.
"The Queen hasn't given her approval yet on Rebma so that won't happen until they're done with the Paris raid and that all gets sorted out. Not sure what kind of mess of turtles that is going to unleash.
"As for the rutter, I'm still in for that, subject to if you think it's feasible. We just blew the hell out of one of their outposts. You think they might up their security, or move what you're looking for? Also, what about that drive you want to crack...how long do you think that will take? What's the priority on it in comparison to the rutter?"
Ossian grins. "I think the rutter is higher priority. They know I have accessed their system. As far as we know they do not know of our possession of the rutter. My mother stole it and has hidden it somewhere- that's where we are going.
"If there's information on that hard drive we can access it later. But I wonder if I shouldn't put the computer somewhere handy if we need a terminal to tap into their network somewhere.
"The monks may be regrouping. I think we should keep them on the move by finding the rutter and then hit again."
"I have two things to do before that." Jerod says. "One involves Martin. He's going to be heading away for a bit, given all the crap that happened previously. I need to speak to him before he vanishes, because there's no idea when he'll be back.
"Once that's done, we'll head out."
Ossian nods. "Great. I'll see what I can do about the computer in the mean time. But it's likely it won't start up here."
"Agreed." Jerod says simply, nodding once before heading out.
When Ossian has left Jerod, he follows Random's advice, and goes looking for Soren to see what can be done about power to the computer, if it is possible to run it at all in Xanadu. (But it is Klybesian cross-shadow tech, so you never know.)
Soren has not, as Random had expected, retreated to the Studio. He's with Gilt in Gilt's office and he's happy to try to help. The castle has electricity, but he's not sure of the polarity required on the device and he's absolutely sure that there's no such thing as a combination power conditioner/voltage regulator in all of Xanadu. So, he's knowledgeable, and willing to help, but low on tools.
"Do you think we could take a trip to Texorami? Either for my gear, or to investigate it there?"
Ossian thinks. "We could. How far is that?"
Soren opens his mouth, and then closes it. "How do you even measure that? It's where Folly and I are from, amongst others. Syd tells me 'it's not far', but it's not like there's a map with Texorami and Xanadu on it. At least not one made by a sober mapmaker."
Ossian laughs. "Oh, I would measure it in days or something like that. I think I will have to let that be for the moment, but appreciate the offer. Maybe we could try it later."
Soren nods. "If I'm free when you are, I'm happy to go along."
Ossian takes the computer and pulls out a Trump he has not used for a long time. The Trump of his equipment stash. (Among Ossian's starting Trumps, never used in the game I believe.)
A small room somewhere out in shadow with a few nice items. A rapier, a loaded gun, some hard bread and some assorted papers, pens, pencils, brushes and small bottles of paint. Ossian placed the things there some time ago, to always have them handy. He haven't checked if the things are there still.
He will open it to see if the room looks untouched.
Ossian looks at the room until the image jumps to life. The room is darkened, and things are about where Ossian remembers them. It seems as if it hasn't been disturbed, except the bread's gone.
Ossian hesitates for a moment, then places the computer in the room. Then he closes the Trump contact, and goes to find some travelling gear.
Last modified: 20 July 2021