Garrett wakes suddenly from a dream he can't entirely remember. Something about roots and trees and being bound by growing branches. The sun is rising, so he does as well. On his way to wash up, he notices the probable source of his nocturnal unrest - a rough sketch he had started last night of a family tree, listing the known children of Amber, and their children, and theirs. It had gotten very complicated very quickly, despite his experience helping Donovan trace breeding records in the stables. He had finally given up and gone to bed.
Too many relatives in too many shadows in too many timelines with too many unknowns. Garrett sighs and shoves the crisp page into a desk drawer. In the back of his mind, he had planned to try to track down unknown Children of Amber, to keep them safe from enemies. He felt a kinship with them, being unknown himself for his entire childhood. Yesterday's events with the Klybesians and the newcomers proved to him exactly how futile such a task would be. Too many enemies too, apparently.
He dresses in typical Garrett style - dark pants, loose-fitting linen shirt, belt, boots - and heads out to look for one of the castle guards to inquire about Sebastian, the monk.
There's a message from Random waiting for Garrett with a request to come see him this morning. There is a page available to send to find out about Sebastian as well. Almost like the pages are hovering around to wait for the King's son.
Of course they're hovering. That's what pages do, thinks Garrett with a slight knowing smile. He thanks the page for the message and asks him to inquire with the guards about the monk and bring word to him in the King's chambers. Then he heads off to Random's quarters, knocking politely if the door is closed when he arrives.
Random comes to the door, wearing an outfit he has previously described as "my drumming pants".
Random asks the page to bring him some breakfast and to tell Gilt he's up, but to wait 10 minutes on the latter, as he'd like to get stuff done before he needs to get stuff done.
He invites Garrett in and sits on the drum throne with his back to the drum kit. "So, yesterday was something else. What happened when I wasn't there?"
Garrett snorts in amused agreement. "Where do you want me to start? While you were being revived or after the group came in from the Land of Elsewhere?"
Random snorts back. It's remarkable how similar the gesture is. It's possible that when he's Random's age, Garrett will look a lot like his father does now.
A page arrives with a cart with breakfast beverages and foods on it. "Let's have bacon and coffee and you can tell me as many stories and you think are useful from either of those periods."
Random follows his own advice and starts eating.
Garrett does not have to be told twice. He grabs a cup of black coffee and fills his plate with bacon, sausages, eggs, and toast. Being careful not to set the coffee down on anything that looks important or expensive, he finds a seat and takes several bites before speaking.
"Well. The most useful - or maybe concerning - thing was finding out what they were doing to our people in that shadow they came in from," Garrett begins. "Fletcher and I talked to the monk they captured and he told us about some kind of cloning operation they've got, or HAD, going on down there. Somehow they snatched all the newcomers out of their home shadows without them ever knowing what happened. I've spoken with Misao - she's Lucas's - and Delta and their stories pretty much agree. Haven't had a chance to talk to Alex yet." He pauses to take another forkful of food.
"Yeah, I really do want to get a handle on how they found the three of them at once. I'm also interested in why they chose to round them all up; it's not clear how that helped them, in this case.
"Caine has a theory," Random doesn't say "naturally" out loud, but he doesn't need to. "Caine is concerned that they let us find and rescue these kids, and one of them is a plant. It's a bit paranoid, but it's not impossible, which seems to be a sweet spot for Caine these days. I'm not going to spread that theory very far, but you can take it as you will."
Garrett gives a dubious shrug. He's not on board with Caine's theory, but is not discounting it completely.
"I'm not sure if they all came into the lab at once or if some had been there longer than others," Garrett explains. "Sebastian said the Order has mercenaries in lots of shadows though. He mentioned Gateway, Pearl Islands, Bellum, and Misao's homeland but I'm sure there's more, all working simultaneously. They identified the targets, drugged them and brought them to the lab. He said the mercenaries generally used established shadow paths, though it does sound like they sometimes traveled with 'priests' who had access to trumps of some sort."
"Didn't we capture one of their books with Trumps in it when we got Reid's body back? We may have one. And by 'we', I mean 'it's around here somewhere, I think'. Anyway, we want to know how they identified the targets. I wouldn't have guessed any of them if I didn't already know. Also, it might be nice to rescue the next one before they get drugged and dragged off to the lab for alien probings."
Random picks over the breakfast tray. "Hey, we probably should also ask Huon how he knew, if you don't mind. I know how I know, but I don't know how he knows."
Garrett looks surprised. "Did we get one of their books? I didn't know that. Yeah, we should look for it.
"As for identifying the targets, I want to know that too," Garrett continues. "I mean, I've thought a lot about that even before now, as someone who was unknown for a long time myself. I knew I couldn't be the only one, and this proves that out. But yeah, how DO you track these people down? I know Brita can smell it, and I reckon the redheads can figure it out magically, but..." he shrugs to finish the thought. "How do YOU know, if you don't mind me asking?"
Random shrugs. "If I didn't want to tell you, I wouldn't tell you." He pauses dramatically, takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "I don't know. I have no flipping idea, and I don't think anyone else does, either. Maybe Dworkin. Maybe. Sometimes I think he's making it all up as he goes along, and then making whatever he says be the truth. Which we'd never know about, really, so it's a good theory."
Random taps the empty plate in a short pattern. He may not even know he's drumming. "My theory is that Brita interprets it as 'smelling', but it's really got nothing to do with her nose. The fact that it works in Rebma is a clue there, by the way.
"Ask Jerod about the books. Or Ossian. One of them told me about it, I think."
Garrett nods, noting it in his mental 'to do' list, as he takes another bite of breakfast. After he swallows, he continues the tale. "Anyway, Sebastian said the goal of the experiments was to figure out what makes us 'gods' - his word, not mine - and how they might be able to use genetics to give themselves similar powers. He talked about their 'pathmaker' being someone called the Turcopolier, also known as Sir Sinbad, and that this person sometimes 'donated' genetic material to the cause." Garrett can't hold back the disgusted look before drowning it in another sip of black coffee.
"You know the story of the Goose that Laid the Golden Egg? We're the goose in their story..."
At that moment, Gilt Winter enters and Random gives him some sort of hand sign, since his mouth is full of a giant cinnamon roll at the moment. "Your pardon, Your Majesty, but you asked me to tell you when Fletcher came in for breakfast. He is there now."
Random gets up. "So I did. He's going to take a special walk and I am going to take him down there. You can come with, if you'd like to watch what it looks like from the outside, and we can talk more..."
Garrett hadn't planned to observe Fletcher's walk, but since his father has offered the invitation, he takes it. "Sounds good," he says as he rises, snatches a cinnamon roll, and follows Random.
Fletcher wakes up in his chamber in Xanadu and immediately begins thinking of all the ways today will be different from other Patterns. He's learned a frustratingly small amount in walking the three previous Patterns, but he's confident his hard-won experience will pay off eventually. He's scarcely out of bed before his scabbard finds its way into his hands. Fletcher dress himself in a suit and tie that might not have been acceptable in his youth at the Court of Amber, but is certainly fine enough in this new Xanadu, and he has other places to go too. He sets his sword aside, relying on a lesser blade to shave his stubble. Ready to face the day, he marches forth to breakfast.
He greets his relatives and enjoys a hearty meal. He announces his intent to walk the Pattern, and invites any relatives present who wish to bear witness to accompany him as soon as Random is ready.
Random walks in, dressed casually in a doublet of ridiculously bright colors. "I'm gonna want a report on anything you learn when you tap-dance across my brain...."
Garrett follows Random in, still munching on a cinnamon roll that must be the remains of an offsite breakfast. He chuckles at Random's comment, but otherwise waits for Fletcher to take the lead.
Fletcher nods agreeably as he prepares to follow the King.
Random says "Have either of you seen my pattern yet? It's like the other one, except redder where Amber's is a bluer color.
"I keep telling myself it's a bad idea to decorate the ceilings with mirrored disco balls and put in a juke box, but I'll have to wait until there are juke boxes to finally decide not to do that."
The stairs go down a long way, and somewhere off of them the side chambers stop being lit and inviting and become dark openings.
At the bottom of the stairs are a number of lanterns with flint and steel lighters. "We should be able to electrify this eventually."
The path to the pattern chamber runs through the requisite natural caverns and ends in a perfectly normal door, which Random opens with a key.
The pattern lies on the floor, dauntingly silent. Random holds the door for his son and nephew to enter.
In the red light of the Pattern Fletcher reflects on the nuances of the Patterns he's walked. Their nature is in his bones, but he's been told that one musician doesn't play the same piece exactly the same way twice, and he is still growing into his story even after all this time. This time he has a bit more of an idea of what to look for.
He opens his mind and his senses as he approaches the Pattern... and is rewarded with the sound of brushes on copper. As he steps onto the Pattern the brushes crescendo and become a syncopated cadence. He presses forward as the possibilities swirling around this particular watchtower along the Faella-bionin resolve into a single line. The same will with which he has carved pathways and shaped probabilities strains to keep him moving. He moves forward one syncopated step at a time, adhering to the grand design inspired by the Unicorn.
The sparks rise around Fletcher and the resistance he faces is at least as terrible as it ever was. He begins to sweat, stepping in rhythm with Pattern on this narrow dance floor. The Pattern guides the way, until the music suddenly stops and he hits a wall of silence pushing back even harder than before. The music is in his blood and echoes in his bones now and throwing himself forward he practically skips along to the imagined beat for a moment and he is past the first veil.
The reprieve is as deceptive as ever and Fletcher is once more leaning forward as the even greater force of the second veil pushes back along the line from its position ahead of him. His focus is on this moment though, and concerns of where the next step leads. There is only one path, and it is still evident despite the sparks rising around him in the darkness. As he presses forward, he is assailed by memories of other times he's seen only one path to follow. Such is the way hundreds of years of his life were spent. Seeing how much his uncles and his new cousins have accomplished in the same amount of time has of late made him question whether he was truly taking the only path or if he was simply taking the easiest path. It is to these doubts that the Pattern reaches now, asking if he truly wants to do this. This path is laid out for him, but he doesn't have to follow it. On this occasion the path he follows is the Pattern, the one path he knows is true. He will follow it and learn from it the true inspiration of order. He will come closer to understanding its power and use that knowledge to further the causes he knows to be right and just. The phantom drum set crescendos as he strides through the second veil.
A bass line creeps into the background as pressure eases once again in the lee of the veil. The forces opposing his progress take the form of doubts. This challenge he is more than ready for, and walks the line facing down questions of whether anything he does will really matter compared to the achievements of others, the ultimate end that even managed to overtake his grandfather, how there will always be another battle to fight, another struggle. His pace doesn't waver as the third veil nears. And then...
"What if you're wrong? About how the universe works. About the role of your family? So much that you were taught has turned out to be incomplete," the voices seem to ask. He can feel his pace slowing, and for a moment his thoughts process the logic of the words. This is the third veil, and reason is not enough to carry him through. Before he can stop altogether, his faith in what he believes to be right, that which inspires his sense of purpose takes over and carries him forward.
Just like that he is through and in the distance the center of the Pattern beckons. All he needs to do is make it the last few steps. He almost believes this, but even as a chorus of muted horns fill the background he knows that time spent dealing with family, philosophy, and faith are never enough. There comes a time for action. And that time is now. He draws his sword, running its tip along the line, ready to pierce the fourth veil. A shadowy form appears in his way. He raises his sword and charges. Though the struggle only takes moments, the effort involved is immense.
Finally, he emerges victorious at the center of the Pattern, ready to continue his mission. He is also ready for a nap. He settles for kneeling and catching his breath there at the center for some time. Later, he stands and commands the Pattern to take him back to the tunnel system he discovered under that 'hospital' the monks had been operating.
Garrett had grown quiet as they descended to the bottom of the tunnels and entered the Pattern Chamber, lost in his own memories and again hearing the minor-chord strumming guitar in his mind. He watches his elder cousin intently as Fletcher moves through the veils and curves, willing every bit of strength to him, though certain that Fletcher will not need it. He is an expert at this.
When Fletcher disappears at the center, Garrett finally lets out the breath he didn't know he had been holding and allows his tensed muscles to relax. "Whoa. Now I know why you don't let the uninitiated watch this," he breathes quietly to his father.
"It's intimidating. It plays head games like a redhead and you can psyche yourself into making a mistake. There's a sweet spot between ignorance and panic that actually helps."
Random looks at the lines glowing on the floor. Or one line, really, that crosses and recrosses itself. "I know I was pretty intimidated the first time I saw it, and I had guides.
"You walked it younger than I did, which is pretty impressive. How'd you feel when you opened the door and saw the line on the floor?"
Garrett looks up in surprise that he could have possibly impressed Random. He smiles and answers, "I had heard what it looked like, though I didn't reckon it to be quite so big." He pauses, searching for words. "I knew I was strong. Physically. And I thought I was ready. But you're right. I didn't expect the head games. Or at least not to the level that it played them. It really had me questioning why I was worthy. And feeling awful about tearing my family apart." He sighs and gazes across the glowing lines, shaking his head. "It took all I had to push through it."
Random nods. "It's easy to consider it a living thing, and the decisions it makes arbitrary. But it's just the world, and it's not actually hostile, just dangerous. It's like living in a sawmill or a cannon factory. It can cut or blow your arm off, but it's necessary to what we do."
He doesn't seem very happy. "It's killed more people who are important to me than anything else in the universe, and yet I made a new copy to keep in my basement."
Still gazing at the Pattern, Garrett nods at the comment about necessity, but at Random's troubled tone, he turns to look at his father. "So how does that work then?" he asks quietly, blue eyes dark with concern in the glowing shadows. "Was it something that compelled you once you were named King? Or something else? Who did it kill?"
Random shrugs. "It's not a thing I have words for, or maybe I should have mathematical equations for it, but I'm not Bleys. I learned this when I was doing a little studying in shadow a few years ago. 'All models are wrong, some are useful'. Does that make sense?"
Garrett nods.
"Here's my wrong model. If you're attuned to the Gem, it's like you're sewn to something, but the thread hasn't been tied off. You can still unravel and it won't stop until you're gone. That's what Corwin figures happened to Eric, by the way. Writing a pattern ties off the loose end.
"So, don't use the jewel for anything more ambitious than controlling the weather."
The comment about Eric brings a brief look of confusion to Garrett's face, but he lets it pass. For now.
Random pauses. "My sister, and indirectly my mother. Martin's mother. I have a complex relationship with it, for all that it's an inanimate object and/or a reflection of your grandfather's brain. Cambina, Khela, and whatever ate Vialle. I've got a long and unpleasant history there.
"Vialle might've been not right beforehand," he admits.
"We know more of the costs and risks of the power we gain from it than most in our family. And why it's hard for me to say 'yes' when someone asks to walk it."
Garrett nods again, understanding completely and hoping his own pattern journey didn't cause Random too much worry. "I'm sorry about your sister and mother. I wish I could have met them," Garrett says. "As for Vialle, there was something wrong there ever since we rescued her. Sometimes I wonder if it was a rescue or a means of placing a spy in our midst."
Random nods. "Did you know her much before? Or of her? When you were in the stables and she was in the castle, either before or after I got back? Everybody wanted her to be 'a good influence' on me, and assumed she was, because I was not the same jackass I was when I was the youngest son. I feel like what I heard was a lot of projection." He watches the faint, intermittent sparks on the pattern. "Or maybe that’s the part where I’m trying to rationalize things."
"I can't say I knew her _well_*,*" Garrett explains, "but I met her. When everything fell apart during the Sundering, she stitched my head back up when I got kicked by a horse. She seemed kind. Gentle. She talked to me some, but nothing special." He chuckles and continues,"She told me to go home and rest. Like that could happen, with no roof on the house and the stable in ruins.
"Anyway, I don't recall speaking with her again until sometime after I found out who I was. I don't remember the exact conversation. The thing was, she was definitely blind. That was my point. During the rescue, she SAW me. Looked at me and spoke to me. And it was a bit after that that you started acting...different. Being very protective of her and all. I've wondered since if...maybe we brought back the wrong queen."
"So your theory is that it's not that some nebulous that, who is the Queen of Air and Darkness, tricked us into bringing back the wrong Queen, not that the Queen made a deal with her counterpart and was the same outside but not inslde.
"I'm not sure I believe it. Even if we were only married for a decade and I was gone for half of it, I think I'd've noticed that. But maybe suppressing my ability to notice was the first job.
"Awfully unfortunate if we did bring back a changeling. That... almost helps. Except for the whole 'Did you not notice?' And 'So, now you're going to go find her, right? ...Right?' parts of it."
Random looks over at the pattern chamber door, just visible inside. It occurs to Garrett that he's never walked out of this room by the door before. Random seems willing to stay here and talk to him, unless Garrett makes a move to leave.
"What's the best way to find out if that's true, do you think?"
Garrett looks pained. "I'm not sure a 'changeling' is what I mean, exactly." He pauses, gazing out across the tracery, while he gathers his words. "I think 'nebulous' IS the right word. My thought is that the Queen of Air and Darkness DID somehow take over Vialle, rather than change into a copy of her because, yeah, you would notice that. It's like that story of the Trojan Horse from out in Shadow. I think the enemy was hidden inside her - mentally or...or physically somehow - and came back with her when we brought her back.
He looks over at Random. "I'm just not convinced that Vialle was a willing part of the plot. But I'll admit you know her and her background better than I do. Did she do something or say something before this all happened that made you suspicious?"
Random waves his hands vaguely about. "It was always a marriage of convenience. It was convenient for me not to be killed by Moire and it was convenient for Vialle to not be blind in the Rebman court. It was convenient for Moire to solve two problems with one Prince, too.
"She wasn't well-liked in Rebma, and she was perfectly happy to get out when she did, even if it meant coming to Amber and prison with me. She didn't tell me everything, like she didn't really mention her prior involvement with Martin. Just 'I knew him when we were both in Court'." He laughs, but not in a 'that's funny' kind of way.
"She wasn't a bad wife, at first, but she wasn't a good queen, if you know what I mean? She wanted a child really badly, so that she could cement her hold on me, but that's not the way it works. She wanted everyone to believe that she was solely responsible for me becoming responsible and taking up Kinging in a proper way. She spent a lot of the last year afraid I'd get rid of her."
The hand gestures accelerate as Random illustrates his point. "And the truth is I probably would've, eventually, if only because it became miserable to be with her when she was always trying to keep me from getting rid of her. Self-fulfulling prophesy and all that.
"Anyway, that's why I'm willing to believe that she struck a deal with the Queen of Air and Darkness. But the relationship is pretty well soured now and it's easy to see the worst of it from here."
OOC: Quick question for clarification. What has the servant gossip been around Vialle over the years, particularly in Amber? Garrett would have heard more before he came out as a prince than now, but have there been recent rumblings as well?
OOC: It's... complicated. If you weren't close to her, butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. If you worked directly for her, she was always polite, but she did make sure your supervisor knew of anything that displeased her. She went through ladies in waiting quickly, once she was queen. There were always new girls looking to get ahead by working for her, and they didn't stay for long.
It got worse when she started suspecting that Random was sleeping with women of the court. Random was sleeping with women of the court, but perhaps not everyone that Vialle was suspicious of. He didn't have that kind of free time. But some of that might've been after she came back.
If you were going to describe the relationship between her and the staff, "she was best-loved at a certain distance, or in the abstract."
Garrett doesn't interrupt and nods thoughtfully as Random finishes. "Fair enough," he says. "Again, I never knew her well, but I gather from people I knew who worked inside that she could be... difficult... to work with. She always seemed polite, but apparently heads would roll if you crossed her."
Garrett sighs. "I haven't been around much lately though, being out in Shadow and all, and I likely wouldn't have seen the turn for the worse. I know Folly never cared for her, and I trust her judgement," and here he adds a smirk, "though I did always think there might have been a TINY element of jealousy there."
Random laughs. "She'd own right up to it, but also harbor a secret feeling that it shouldn't be true because she didn't want it to be. Ask her about being an artist sometime. Or ask Lord Ash. He'll probably have a cogent and highly scatalogical description of the required insight and corresponding blind spots required to be artistic and human at the same time. Soren would probably just set your questions to music. I'm convinced he doesn't have a single conversation that isn't internally set to music in his head.
"Vialle probably knew from the moment we came here from Amber. This is a pattern and city I built without her being foremost in my mind."
"Yeah, it shows," Garrett says in a tone that indicates that's not a bad thing.
The resulting mental comparison to the remains of Amber brings up a question. "Hey. You said earlier that Corwin thought Eric died because he didn't make a Pattern. I thought he died in battle. My mates and I saw them bring the body back when we were just bairns. We climbed trees to get a good look."
"There's a fine hobby for growing stablehands, 'corpse watching'. I was in the castle that day, myself, which beat being in the dungeon by a long haul. Eric's wounds wouldn't have been fatal if he hadn't already been unravelling. He poured himself into the battle and there wasn't enough of him left afterwards. So, both.
"Fiona says that Eric and his curse defeated Brand, which is not to say that Caine and his arrow, or Corwin and his pattern didn't also defeat Brand. It doesn't have to be one thing."
Garrett ponders this for a moment with a barely audible "hmm." Then he shakes his head and says with a rueful chuckle. "There's so much I never knew. Never even suspected."
Random laughs, and it echos through the room. "Tell me about it, my boy. I spent centuries thinking 'we really don’t have kids in our family.' And here I am, going on three with three different mothers. As long as you and Martin don’t become Eric and Corwin, I'll be doing at least a little better than my Father did."
Garrett laughs and the sound echoes again.
Random looks at the Garrett, running through a list of things not to say. Finally he settles on "Have you talked to Martin since I came back?"
"Briefly," Garrett answers, looking more serious. "We talked at dinner, mostly about the situation in Shadow and the 'conversation' Fletcher and I had with the prisoner. We were going to go back and speak with Sebastian more after dinner, but Martin left in a rush when Edan arrived. He said it was a 'matter of honor.'"
Random looks up, not at anything in particular. Definitely not rolling his eyes. "I think that's about Marius, who I hear is not pleased with the state of the worlds. I heard he was upset, or perhaps 'lost his shit' was accurate."
Random sighs. "We should go, you don't want to get a pattern-glow artificial tan. Wouldn't look good on you. And since I'm picking your brain, what's your take on Marius?"
"He seems awfully enamored of Vialle," Garrett replies immediately as he rustles himself out of his relaxed state and prepares to move toward the chamber door. "At our meeting, he was having none of the idea that Vialle was anything but an innocent victim. I reckon he's not gonna be the only one, especially in Rebma.
"For this tour you want me to do, what's the official line? About that and about Folly's new role?" Garrett asks. He seems to have an idea but just wants the Official Royal Executive Summary.
"I'm not sure we talk about Folly's role. She's always been effectively Special Advisor to the King, because she's in the band. Tjaden and Ash and Haven and Soren also have that status. 'Bandmate' isn't an official title of nobility, but it might be moreso than some actual titles, if you get what I mean."
Random opens the door, moving it effortlessly, despite the massive size and apparent age of the thing. "This wasn't here when I made the pattern," he tells Garrett.
"Whoa. It's still evolving then," Garrett observes, stepping through the door.
"If you're asking if you're getting a new wicked step-mother, I don't think that's in the cards. A little brother or sister, yeah." Random pauses. "I don't recall if I mentioned that one yet. I'm still working through that myself. First time I've learned about it before the kid was well, nearly your age."
Garrett nods. This seems to confirm what he already suspected.
"But some of it is listening to see if anyone wants to mess with us over it. Sending you and not Caine or Gerard is a lighter-weight version of the message. Just you going is a message, of course."
"Of course," Garrett concurs.
After the two men depart from the chamber, Random re-locks it and takes the lantern down from the hook. It's just bright enough to see a dozen or so feet ahead of them. Random moves through the path back effortlessly.
"But if someone want to know why you're there, it's to reassure our friends that we are still us, I am still King, and offending us by striking at the throne is the reason that Carthage was razed to the ground and the fields in a 10 mile radius were salted to prevent it from being inhabitable for generations.
"You can keep that last bit out of it, if you want to be from the softer side, but crossing Xanadu is not something we want anyone to thing can be done lightly."
"Got it," Garrett says, following just behind his father. "You have any preference where you want me to start, or is that prince's prerogative?"
"No preference at all, and I'm curious to see what your list will be. You might want to check with some people here to see who they’re worried about."
He looks at his son, as they walk. "How big a processional do you want to have? Some of these places only pay attention if you appear riding on a flying elephant, leading a fleet of flying elephants."
Garrett's head whips around to stare at Random, astonished. "Seriously?!"
He turns back and shakes his head as if to clear it. "Whoa. I'm going to have to think about that. I reckoned I'd just go talk to the ambassadors, like I talked to Droit when I was in Rebma." He chuckles. "I grew up learning to be unseen. This whole 'making a splash' is so foreign that I don't even think about it. But you're right. It's what's required."
"As serious as I get, kiddo. Show up riding a tank with a Strat and a Marshall stack and people will remember you. Think about your Uncles, or your Aunts. Or Martin. If one of them came to some pissant shadow to discuss Amber, how do you think they'd arrive?"
"Mmm," Garrett nods thoughtfully. Random might guess that he's running down the roster of said aunts, uncles, and brother and not finding any of those styles a match
Random turns down a side passage, it doesn't seem like one they came down. "Hey, have you looked around down here? This one leads to an underground lake."
Garrett looks up. "Yeah, I remember the lake," he replies. "I found it the day I walked. Wouldn't have been able to find it again though." He checks the wall at the next corner to see if the marks that he made with his crossbow bolt are still here. "I remember seeing tracks of something that was pretty big and decided to try a different route."
There might be a mark, but it's not like he was carving permanent blaze marks for a trail. He thinks this is definitely a passage he'd marked.
"The other reason we don't want anyone coming down here unsupervised is that we don't want kids drowning or being dragged off by beasties. I don't want poor Max to have someone's death on his hands at his age."
Random looks down the passage. "I didn't know there was a real monster down there when I told that to Max. I'm not sure if we should try to find it or just let sleeping monsters in the depths of the caverns lie."
Garrett peers after him, squinting into the darkness. "Well, I reckon if it was roaming around hungry, someone else would have seen it or heard it by now," he says, not sounding concerned. "There's likely some other passage where it's getting its food. You haven't explored them all, have you?"
"In my copious free time? It turns out I have not. First of all, I have no idea what might be here. Second of all, I have a sneaking suspicion that they might just change over time. And last of all, if they're some kind of actual or metaphorical representation of my own brain, I don't want anyone leaving muddy footprints in the few remaining clean areas -- including, and perhaps especially, me."
Garrett laughs.
Random looks over a Garrett. "But if you want to go on a fishing expedition or a fishing expedition, let me know. After you get back."
"No, I reckon there'll be plenty of other things to do first." This appears to have reminded Garrett of something. "Oh. What do you want me to do with Sebastian The Monk? Right now, he's in a guarded guest room with orders to treat him well, but not let him out of the guard's sight. I don't recall us having a prison cell or any secure place to hold him, but I don't think we want him just walking around."
"Who? Oh, the one you dragged back from the Klybesian jail when you rescued the kids? Let's see. Normally, that would be up to Huon and Alex/Delta/Misao, because they're the ones he offended, but anyone who he shot at during the rescue, or Celina for the Rebmans, could be take precedence.
"OK, here's the best bet. Give him to Ash's men to lock up. We have Ash give him two options. First, He tells us everything and we impress him into the Xanadhavian Navy for a term of twenty years. Impression is usually a good plan. Desertion from the Amber Navy is not so easy. How good an assignment he gets depends on how cooperative he is.
"Or 'B', we turn him loose, and he had to deal with Huon, Alex, Delta, Misao, Celina, Jerod, Brennan, you, Fletcher, Celina, Merlin, Jerod's girlfriend, and anyone else who has a beef with them." Random smiles. "It should be an easy decision." Random pauses. "'C' is 'all of the above', if he lies to us."
"All right. I'll talk to Ash," Garrett says. "I think everyone else is busy and if they decide they have other plans for him later, it should be easy enough to find him. As for lying, he seemed sincere. Actually, he seemed scared to death and ready to jump out of his skin to tell me what he knew."
"Weird. I mean, not that weird. They totally have to know that we are all a lot more powerful than they are. So, if you're mice, trying to bell the cat, you just roll over and play dead if they catch you. Might not work. But it might. They don't want to bring themselves to our attention.
"Or they didn't. And then they caught Huon. Learning why they changed tactics and swept him up will be very useful. It doesn't make sense, not in parallel to the rest of what they've done."
Random look at the stairs, which they've reached. "It's like they've just had a succession crisis and now have some young, untried King and nobody is sure if he’ll do smart things or dumb things."
"It's almost like you're projecting across the shadows or something," Garrett laughs.
Before they start ascending the stairs, Garrett stops and cocks his head. "Wait. Before we go up, I just remembered something from the last time I was down here. There's a room here somewhere that I stumbled upon." He lowers his voice. "It had guns in it. And bullets. I didn't really know what they were at the time, but I saw some while I was traveling. Did you know those were down here or is that something else that just showed up?"
Random feigns deep thought. "Hmmm... Do the crates say 'Property of Prince Martin, do not open until New Year's?' I think he took charge of them. Did you test them to see if they work here?"
"No," Garrett answers. "At the time, I was focused on other things, and now, I only just remembered they were here." He pauses, then asks, "Do you think they wouldn't work?"
"Do you know what they call guns on Flora's shadow Earth? 'The Great Equalizer'. Well, they call lots of things 'The Great Equalizer', education, famine, death, but also guns. Because they make all people potentially equally dangerous to each other. Asthmatic teenage punks are no match for giant bruisers, but with a gun, any old neighborhood psycho is a threat. It elevates the threat of the weak against the strong.
"We are naturally against equalization, since we're already stronger, faster, and better trained than almost anyone we meet who isn't us or the few beings who are our peers. And we have the Pattern as well.
"So, having guns work isn't really what we'd want." He pauses, but not long enough for Garrett to reply.
"If you're asking 'why does it matter what we want?', I’ll tell you." He looks at the stairs and back down the corridor as if to make sure no one else is here.
"If I don't want them to work, they won't. It's not a conscious thing, but it was part of making the pattern here. I wanted a particular city, and it's a mix of Texorami and Amber, and New York, and a lot of other places I've loved. It will eventually have music recordings, because I do want that. It'll have some form of electricity, but it won't have guns, because they would make the city something other than I wanted."
He pauses. "I don't know if gunpowder, or some powder, works in Paris. Corwin based his city on a vision of Paris he loved. They had guns."
Garrett nods slowly as he listens. After a pause, a sly smile grows across his face. "I like your vision better. Corwin doesn't need to know what's down here," he says.
"I like my vision better, too. I'm trying to make an amazing city." He smiles, and leads the way up the stairs.
The return invitation calls for an early breakfast, closer to sunrise than Alex might have expected. The pages direct him to a terrace high on the castle, near the roof. It's quite a climb.
When Alex arrives, Huon is sitting with a book, reading in the first light. The terrace overlooks the upper of two waterfalls next to the castle.
It's the kind of scene that would've looked great in a painting, but is somewhat impractical in a real castle.
Huon looks up from his book. "Hello, Alex. How have they been treating you?"
Alex has good cardio: he arrives undaunted by the climb.
"Hello, escape pal Huon! Everyone wants to know if I have any questions, but nobody wants to say which questions I should ask. I have maybe a lead on figuring out who my mysterious parent is, and the food is great. It beats jail, so I owe you at least one or two for showing up when you did."
He finds a place to perch on a parapet, if there is one; he's at ease balancing above a fall.
"I've gathered from a couple of questions I did know to ask that you don't normally live around here. Doesn't sound like the various bits of the family are, you know, fighting actively or anything but I'm not sure everyone's totally friendly either. So I figured I'd come check in with you before you headed off to parts unknown, deliver my thank you in person, all that good stuff.
"And how have they been treating you?"
"Well, you know, I'm technically a prisoner, but that was my own fault. But I prefer my current prison and the terms of my parole to the one I found you in, so there's that. My role for the foreseeable future is 'esteemed relative who is serving his debt to society'. Despite that, it's nice to have the occasional trip to Xanadu where I can see the sunrise."
Huon puts down his book and a page appears from behind a column with a tray large enough to hold a whole boar. The lad places it on the table and removes the cover revealing breakfast foods. "I'll be just outside, my Lords," he says, and departs.
"Please, help yourself. Since you'll be at liberty soon enough, I'll extend an open invitation to visit me in Rebma whenever you like. It is a comfortable, if underlit, jail."
"Man, there are a lot of technical prisoners around here. Can't quite decide if that's reassuringly civilized or what. You're right, though, the food is better here."
He picks up a croissant, absent-mindedly, and finds some butter to spread on it.
"So -- and sorry if you said this but the day's kind of a blur -- how'd you know it was worth doing a prison break in that particular jail? You got three of us, that's a pretty good haul."
"Well, even here, Civilization is a thin veneer on top of raw power and violence. But it's better for the veneer. It's probably not on the top of anyone's list to tell you about, but a Prince of Amber can and will utter a terrible death curse that can destroy kingdoms and entire peoples. The death of a near-immortal is a thing that changes the world.
"Add that to Father swearing that no Fratricide would ever sit on the throne of Amber, and we set a limit on ourselves to only kill each other if it's really important.
"As to how I knew there were more of you there, I found out by listening to Misao's guards discuss her as 'the third prisoner.' I made some polite inquiries about the other two and learned that you were there and why.
"Random, like Father before him, says he can just tell. So you have my educated guess followed by his whatever from being King."
He looks out over the waterfall, and is lost in his own thoughts.
Upon arriving at the Castle and saying goodbye to Delta, Misao asks the nearest page to direct them to where Gerard might be.
Gerard is in his chambers, and after several exchanges with pages and other servants and following people around the castle to his quarters, Misao is led there. His suite includes an office, and he is working there.
Corvis is seated in the open area that is common to the entire suite. Its windows open over the bay. She rises to greet Misao as they come in. "Welcome, Misao. I hope the day finds you well."
Misao bows, formally, "Konnichi wa, Korvisu-dono. I am well today. I hope you are well also?"
Corvis makes a neck bow which seems to be equally formal in her own native idiom. "I am well, Misao," she says by way of completing the circle of greeting. "How may we help you?"
"I was hoping to speak with Gerardo-ooji, if he is available. I was unfortunately unable to attend last night's dinner, so I wished to pay my respects and ask a few questions, if I might."
"Of course. He's right in there--" Corvis indicates the door "--and will be glad to see you. The custom here is to rap on the door, though people who have come from other lands sometimes use scratching on the door instead to get the attention of the person within. We are among family here, so you don't have to have a page announce you or any such thing," she explains. "Might I send for any tea or food?"
Misao nods politely. "Thank you very much. I will gratefully take tea, if it pleases Gerardo-ooji and yourself."
They move to the door and knock politely but loudly enough to be heard.
"Aye, who's there?" Gerard asks. "Come in. You can open the door."
Misao responds with their name, and then opens the door.
"Oh, hullo, Misao. How are you?" Gerard seems to have picked up on the appropriate exchange on greeting. He's sitting at the desk in the office, which is across from the door, and gives him the opportunity to look both at the door and the window that opens out onto the harbor below. There are bookcases opposite the window and they're all low enough that Gerard can reach them.
Misao closes the door and bows. "I am well, Gerardo-ooji; I hope you are well?"
"Well enough, thank you. Come sit down, and tell me what you need."
Misao sits gracefully in the indicated chair.
"First, I must apologize for my absence last night. My... experiences... at the hospital left me feeling polluted, and I wished to cleanse myself before I could truly embark upon my new life here. I hope you will excuse my rudeness."
They bow deeply, still seated.
"Of course, lass, and of course we know you've had a shock finding out about your father. No one thinks anything of it." Gerard thinks about this for a moment and adds, more formally, "I accept your apology."
Misao shifts uncomfortably in their seat. "Thank you..." a pause and then, "I do not wish to cause offense, Ooki-oji-sama, but I am not a 'lass'. I am yokai, and as many of my kind do, I have many forms, not all of which are female."
Gerard frowns, which seems more of a confused expression than anything else. "Not lad either, then, I reckon. Child doesn't seem right either; you're too old for that. I'll figure summat out to call you. Anyroad, I'm sorry for calling you wrongly."
Misao bows again. "Thank you, Ooki-oji-sama, I appreciate your understanding. My father had somewhat of the same problem, at first. 'Child' is acceptable to me."
They take a deep breath. "What I came to see you for. Yesterday I was taken prisoner and I discovered that my father is dead. So now, as I see it, I have two things I must do. One, I must return to Hikariguni and reassure my mother that I am alive and unhurt. Two, I must mourn my father and meet his family."
"As I understand what has been explained to me, my father's family lives in Paris. I do not know where that is, or how to travel there. I would ask your help."
Misao bows again.
"It's hard to explain how to get somewhere through Shadow to someone who hasn't taken the Pattern," Gerard says, "but fortunately we don't have to do that to get you there. I have a Trump of Corwin, who should be there, and I can send you through to him if he's willing. I also have a Trump of your grandmother, but Paris is Corwin's place and she lives there, so family etiquette is that I should send you to him, not her. Is that acceptable?"
Misao nods. "I will gladly follow etiquette. Please, though, who is Corwin? I don't think I've heard his name yet."
"Corwin is the second eldest of my surviving brothers. He is King in Paris as Random is King here, though Random is the head of the family overall. Dad was married five times, maybe more, and had mistresses on top of that. Rumor has it he had close to fifty children, but there aren't so many you'll have to learn. Maybe about twenty, and their children, and of those twenty, seven are dead now," Gerard explains.
Misao nods. "Yes, I have much to learn. Thank you, Okii-oji-sama."
If Misao seems interested, Gerard will discuss the family tree for a bit with them, explaining the major branches of the family and the members they have encountered who belong to each branch: the Faiellans, the Clarissi (redheads), the Rilgans, the Rebmans, Random's family, and last but not least the descent line from Florimel (Lucas, his children, and possibly Silhouette). In case it has not been made clear to Misao before, this information will include the speculation that Solace is the daughter of Eric.
Misao listens attentively and thanks him for the information and his time.
After that he sends Misao away to pack and will send a message when he's arranged a time with Corwin for Misao to arrive in Paris. He advises Misao on family etiquette for meeting with relatives, specifically that Corwin is entitled by family rules to ask for news, as the elder and higher rank member of the family. Also there's a bit of preparation for dealing with Solace, who is still mourning her husband.
Sometime later in the day, Gerard will send a page to notify Misao that Corwin will bring Misao to Paris that evening before dinner. A time is arranged, and at the appointed hour, Gerard opens a Trump contact to Corwin. He extends his hand to Misao.
Misao arrives, carrying their small trunk. They take Gerard's hand when invited to do so.
Corwin is a very powerful presence in the Trump. Misao has not encountered the like before, not even with their own father. It's not that Corwin seems like he's skilled in Trump; more like he's a mountain that would be difficult to assail.
"Hello," Corwin says. "Will you come through to Paris?”
"If it pleases you, Korwinu-kokuoo. Thank you again, Gerardo-ooji."
Misao steps through.
Some days later, as Alex has begun to catch his breath and take the measure of the castle and its inhabitants, he receives a politely worded invitation from Prince Gerard that it's hard not to read as a command performance. Probably Gerard doesn't mean it that way, but Alex has figured out that the Princes are very used to being obeyed, even by the younger generations. It's basically afternoon tea, which sounds something like getting to know you but with food and drink, in one of what seems like dozens of color-named parlors, which are a definite upgrade on conference rooms in that they're more comfortable, not made of particle-board, and come with better food.
The page waits for the return answer that is clearly going to be 'yes'.
Alex says yes, of course. He's clearly acclimated well to his new environment; on the way to the parlor, he has an encouraging word about some dilemma or other the kid's been struggling with. He knows how to make friends. If nothing else it's a preventative measure against boredom, and anyone watching Alex for the last few days knows that he's subject to that malady in spades. So he's been getting to know people. There was one incident where he tried to help in the kitchen but even if that's kosher for a relative, he's not a very good cook.
It really isn't kosher for a family member to do anything more than make a sandwich, but Alex won't be the first who tried and probably won't be the last either. The kitchen staff puts up with him with longsuffering grace.
When the page arrived, Alex had the bed in the back room. That hasn't been entirely consistent -- he moves things around from time to time, thump thump thump, until he finds a place he likes. The key elements of the rooms are the bed, which is big enough so that he can thrash around in it a lot without falling off; the window, which has had a couple of different chair and table arrangements in front of it, all of which allow him to watch the world easily; and the gym, which is as good as he can arrange. Weights seem easy enough, a rug with padding will do for a yoga mat, resistance bands would be great, a punching bag is important, and if there's any way to get a rowing machine or a stationary bike in this world, nice!
If anyone brought him a training dummy for swordplay, he was amused but willing to gently explain that he's more of a fisticuffs guy.
Nobody will bring Alex a fencing dummy but they do direct him to the salle, which is where the fencing dummies (and fencing teachers) hang out. There are no rowing machines, just actual boats, and there are actually bikes that resemble the things Alex is used to, as opposed to, say, pennyfarthings, but not stationary bikes. Resistance bands are unknown, but the page takes a description and it goes on some list with a promise that someone will get a resistance band made or imported as soon as possible, but regretfully that may be some time.
The equipment to fake a yoga mat is readily available, as is a punching bag made of canvas. This is something the staff expects Alex to use in a more public area (it's part of the larger salle complex in the castle) but they provide one for his rooms.
He dresses to blend in. A smart observer can tell it's still a costume for him, not regular clothing, but he wants to wear the same kind of thing any of his cousins would wear. He tends towards dark greens and blacks by choice, usually with at least one randomly colorful element to set it off.
Color seems to be an identifier here, and Gerard's colors (and that of his household) seem to be blue and grey. Also, as mentioned, all the parlors are decorated in particular color schemes and that seems to be the way the castle was designed. Most of the furnishings here really make Alex think of the IKEA equivalent in his home, except that maybe it's more fancy Scandi design, in that the colors are all light wood and the furniture pieces are generally minimalist/not adorned in style, but everything is made of natural fibers and real wood (not even MDF). It's the kind of thing where really rich people pay a lot of money to look normal, except it's more like a lot of the plastic stuff just doesn't exist here.
Gerard is in the green parlor today and he's got a spread waiting when Alex arrives, one that suggests he asked the kitchen what Alex likes.
"Come sit down, nephew, and let's talk. I know right now everyone is busy and nobody is answering questions, and you must have a million of 'em. Let's eat and drink and you can ask away."
Alex grins. "Thank you, your Majesty. It's okay, I've been settling in and asking for weird things and that's kept me pretty busy. Also probably good for me to take a couple of days to recover from whatever those monks dosed me with. And this is a great place to relax."
He picks up a plate of food, with some focus on protein, and does a little inquisitive eyebrow thing to ask Gerard if he can bring him anything.
Gerard shakes his head slightly, and as soon as Alex steps away, Gerard rolls over and prepares his own plate. The sideboard on which the food is sitting is low enough that Gerard can get what he needs easily. As a matter of fact, now that Alex thinks about it, the castle is surprisingly friendly to a guy in a wheelchair. Alex's history lessons in school didn't suggest that castles had wide hallways and low tables and other accommodations.
"Maybe I start with the answers I think I have first and you can tell me where I'm wrong? And then I have a new question, I've been thinking about it."
As Gerard rolls back to his seat, he nods, saying, "Aye, that sounds like a good plan. But I warn you, there's a lot to be wrong about here."
Alex chuckles, very wryly. "I'm used to dropping into cultures I don't understand on my world and figuring them out on the fly. But there I'm just... a performer, and there aren't many ways for me to mess up that can't be easily fixed. Here, I'm descended from a unicorn and all, plus some day I might wind up with ridiculous powers. The stakes are a bit different, and obviously people cut me some slack because I'm new but there's no way that lasts forever."
He frowns. "I don't know, maybe it does. I bet I could be the dumb eccentric weird kid who never leaves this castle for a while. But I'd get bored."
He takes his own plate and sits, forgoing any perching for the nonce. He also forgoes the usual grin.
"So, your Majesty. There is a family. I don't think we're the only people with great power out there, although we're unique in the specifics. We also can't just brawl through any problem with our abilities. We tend to win fights but it's not guaranteed? We care enough about diplomacy so that we treat people like First to the Fray with respect.
"More importantly, we aren't always pals with each other. I kind of hinted around a bit early on and I didn't get the feeling that I need to worry about a cousin shooting me in the back. Nobody freaked out when me and Delta went off to talk to, uh, Bleys? But that doesn't mean we're all friends, and I noticed that Huon didn't stick around long. So I bet now and again things kinda heat up.
"In other words, this isn't a fantasy land where everyone's hugs and kisses."
He studies Gerard. "How'm I doing so far? That's part one."
"Well, first, I'm not Your Majesty, that's only for Random and maybe Corwin, and only if they're in public. Technically I'm 'your highness', but Uncle is fine unless we've got to be formal for some reason, like in Court." Gerard says that with the kind of emphasis that indicates a capital letter and probably doesn't mean dealing with traffic tickets.
"Second, we've got power and gifts. You may hear the words Substance and Shadow thrown around. They're a good first approximation but we're not the only people who have some sort of substance or reality or what you will. We have the Pattern, and the gifts that come with it, but we don't have the gifts the Moonriders have, and we don't wield raw Chaos the way actual Chaosians do. And for the most part, even when we can wreak havoc on things and people, it's easier to trade and make deals. Amber wasn't a military power exactly, for all that she had two navies, mine and Caine's, and the Rangers and knightly orders to boot. She prospered because we used our Pattern gifts to forge the paths between the double-dozen seas, and used that for money and leverage.
"That's how we understood things before the war," Gerard says.
"The war was a little complicated, and we couldn't always tell who was on what side. We thought Dad was dead, then he came back in disguise--shapeshifting disguise--and then he really did die. It looked like Corwin might have been causing it all--we thought he was dead too for a long time--but it turned out it was mostly Brand and Bleys and Fiona, and then even Bleys and Fiona turned their backs on Brand. We didn't know he was conspiring with the Courts of Chaos to make himself King after Dad, and we certainly didn't know he'd tried to sacrifice Martin to rewrite the universe in his own image. Anyroad, we won, and Caine killed Brand and Brand took Deirdre with him, Unicorn rest her, and also in the war we lost Eric, who died fighting Chaos. And Dad.
"Bleys and Fiona swore to Random. I'm not quite sure what the situation with Huon was, but when things all changed, he got loose from wherever Bleys had stowed him on Dad's orders and made war against Bleys and Rebma. Which considering that the redheads all don't like Rebma because of Llewella, is strange, but--anyroad, Huon did some terrible things and he's paying them off, and that's why nobody's happy with him.
"There's a lot more family history than that, but it's a good start, and I think goes a long way toward confirming what you thought you knew," Gerard concludes.
Alex takes a moment to take it in, and nods. "Chaosians is new to me, but yeah, that makes sense. Thanks on the title correction, too, um, Uncle. I'm sorry about your Dad, and... wow. I guess my grand-something." He takes another moment. Later on, he's going to need to ask someone for a big illustrated family tree to put on the wall of his room.
Then: "Wait, 'rewrite the universe in his own image?' Like, all the universes, not just one of the worlds? Okay. I think that's my lead-in to part two...
"So y'all don't know me other than that I'm related to you, and I spent the first chunk of my life off learning God knows what. I guess it's not a big time, thirty years doesn't seem like that much compared to a thousand, but still. This is great hospitality here and I imagine it's partially because hey, I'm family, and I haven't done the whatchacallit so I'm not a pillar of the universe or anything. But it's also because those monks wanted me and Delta and Misao for a reason. And evidence says I don't know how to take care of myself yet.
"So that's part two. Like I said, maybe I could stick around here and eat great food and trade wrestling holds with people forever, but ugh. I don't know what's typical for someone in my boots, or I guess what's expected? No, that's not it either... I don't know what's hoped for. But 'a nice permanent cheerful guest' can't be the best outcome."
He pauses, studying Gerard, a bit anxious.
"It's not," Gerard agrees. "In my generation, we all have work to do, and it seems to be the same with yours. Even before you take the Pattern, there will be things you can do. But you might have noticed everyone scattered after your arrival. They all had work to do and went off to do it, with a few exceptions. Some people have work here, like Hannah, who's just had a baby.
"What kind of work would you like to do? Or do you even have enough of an idea to know? Because there's no going to an office and shuffling papers for our kin."
Alex tilts his head back and laughs, surprised and unrestrained. "Ah, damn it, I had this worked out! My next move, I was going to ask you for a job. And you're one step ahead."
He shakes his head, and settles back into sobriety. "Yeah, I want to work. What I know how to do, I'm either an actor who knows how to convincingly stage a fight or I'm a wrestler who knows how to make sure the bar's sympathy is with him instead of the other guy. The stuff I do -- I guess used to do -- for a living is scripted but it's still real. I can handle myself in a bare-knuckles fight. Not yet so much with the swords everyone carries.
"I make friends well. I imagine you know that already, I've been doing it. I mean, I like people, it's not calculated, but it still comes easy. I'm not scared of anything I understand, because I've been beat up and I don't have to worry that I can't handle it. I got out of that cell on my own and probably I wouldn't have gotten much further without Huon showing up, but you know, me and Delta together just might have managed something."
He scowls. "The problem with learning to be a professional wrestler is that it's a weird set of skills and I don't want to start selling real estate, which is traditional after you retire. You oughta drop me off somewhere you need to learn about, but you don't want them knowing you sent someone, because I'm still an unknown. I said actor, right? Part of what I used to do is putting on a new schtick, a new persona, every six months or so. I'm used to showing everyone an Alex who isn't really me.
"But I'm flexible. If the job takes being strong and being talkative, I'm up for trying it."
He cocks an eyebrow. "Hey, Uncle, can I have a job?"
Gerard nods enthusiastically. "I'll find you something.
"Probably one of your first jobs, alongside whatever else you do, is going to be learning swordsmanship. You're not a child, but you're still young, so you should pick it up easily. And the reason is this: when you travel in Shadow, you may run into places where a gun fails you in whatever trouble you're up against. A sword works pretty much anywhere, so it's better than a gun or some other technological gadget that might fail.
"Beyond that, if you're up for sailing, I'd suggest a berth in the Navy for a time. All the lads in my generation did it and some in yours. Dad wasn't having any of that for the girls, more's the pity. I'd say we could send you to Julian but he's got Robin and Pen, and truth be told I'd not have sent Pen out there without taking the Pattern first if she'd not been set on going. I suppose you could go to Broceliande and work with Paige, but--" he hesitates "--I think that's not wise either.
"If there were more cousins here, I'd call on one of them to take you with them to get an idea of what it's like out there. That's how we did it during the Regency: those with Pattern partnered with those without. Made it easier to be sure you'd all get home," Gerard finishes the thought.
Alex lets the tension drain out of his shoulders at Gerard's nod, and that shows in his expression as well.
"Asking me to learn a new physical skill is about as good a job as you could give me; I'll get on that. I can use a knife well enough -- submission holds are great but sometimes you need to intimidate, and sometimes the guy across from you with a knife knows how to use it -- but I bet it's not really the same. Honestly swords look interesting.
"The navy sounds good too. I met Bleys, he has a ship, is that an option or is that an iffy idea?"
"I wouldn't," Gerard says, "but mostly because Bleys does interesting but dangerous things, and without having walked the Pattern, it would be too dangerous for you. Proven candidates, or even those Random thinks will prove themselves, are less rare than they used to be but they're still precious. I've got another idea, though, if you're interested in it, but it might mean leaving right now." He raises his eyebrows questioningly.
"Sure," Alex says, without hesitation. "Walk out the door and get on a horse, or pack a bag and be on my way by nightfall?"
"Send someone to pack you a sea chest and bring it right now, or to bring one from storage. It won't have your personal things in it, nor any clothes, but you'll have what you need," Gerard says.
Gerard rolls to the door and sends one of the pages waiting nearby to fetch the chest for Alex.
After he's closed the door, Gerard continues, "What I'm going to do is send you to Martin. He's on an easy trip right now, easy enough that his daughter is with him, but with two of you on board things will get a little more interesting. It'll be a chance for you to see how a young man of our family carries himself with others, what a working royal looks like, and understand some of the things you've heard about in a practical way. There's no privacy on a ship, really, so be careful if you want to ask about the Pattern or something else detailed about the use of the royal gifts, as we call them."
Alex nods, thanking the page who's going to be packing a chest from his room. He's been keeping an anonymous ticket stub from his wallet with him, perhaps as an anchor of sorts, and he wants to bring it with him.
"That sounds perfect. Um, 'more interesting,' that means ... do we sort of attract interesting things, or do interesting things hunt us, or both?
"Also um. Do you have paper and pen handy? I wanted to drop a note to Delta and maybe First."
"I'll send for some. But I don't know if she can read your language, so you might do well to give the message to a page, if it's not too personal," Gerard suggests. He rolls to the door and sends another page for the writing materials.
"As for interesting things--we attract them, mostly, or they're attracted to us. Sometimes people and things hunt us, the way that happened to you, but Martin's come into his gifts and he's canny, so I don't worry about you being along. Also the ship he's on is one of the largest in the old Amber navy, so you'll have plenty of support."
A moment later and the page is back with pen and paper for Alex to write his note.
Alex scribbles down a note, fairly quickly, and hands it off to the page.
It's written on a lovely creamy sheet of paper. The penmanship does not live up to the material. From the available evidence, Alex is not adept with fountain pens.
"Hey, Delta! I'm getting shipped off to a ship with cousin Martin, so I can get my feet wet as a member of the family. I don't know how mail works but write me if you get a chance. You owe me a dockside bar and a bar fight. Good luck getting mobile."
And it's signed, in a loopy stylized signature that looks way better than the rest of the letter.
"That to Delta, thank you. And could you tell, uh, First to the Fray that I will have to delay that wrestling match a bit and my apologies? Thank you again."
He squares his shoulders and turns back to Gerard. "OK, I'm as ready as I'm going to be, I think. Anything else you need me to do, other than paying attention and learning?"
"That's plenty, other than swordsmanship. And sea legs." Gerard pulls out his Trump deck and shuffles out the card that belongs to the young man Alex recognizes as Lark's father: Martin.
He touches the card and after a few moments, speaks to it. "Hello, Martin? It's Gerard.”
There's a pause.
"I've got your cousin Alex here. He's looking for something to do and I thought you might take him on if you're not too busy.”
Another pause, this one somewhat longer.
Gerard shakes his head in the negative. "Nay. Is there a problem?”
Another longer pause.
"Aye and aye." Gerard takes Alex's hand, and Alex can see Martin, who's standing on what looks to Alex like the deck of a very large reproduction sailing vessel that fancy folks like to go on to get the experience of sailing like their ancestors did. He's dressed in something that Alex reads as a slightly modern update on the fancy clothes of the right era, maybe like he's the rich guy on the boat a pirate might take. All Martin's clothes are that same natural fabrics thing that Alex has noted in Xanadu. And, like all of Alex's new clothes, they fit him personally like a glove and are decorated with lots of fancy embroidery.
Martin reaches out to Alex and says, "Come on through."
The keep has been quiet these last few days. Delta has spent little of it in her chambers -- instead, she's walked the length and breadth of the castle, prowled the town, walked along the shores and dipped her feet in the waters -- all while mulling over everything she's heard so far.
Finally she uses someone's office -- Gods only know whose -- to pen a brief note to the Archivists who were rescued alongside her.
Carina of Rebma,
I have questions about your land, and my place in it. May we speak soon? I'm new family.
Delta
That seems good enough to her, and off the message departs in the hands of a dutiful page.
A return note sets up a meeting later that day in a parlor near the infirmary. Apparently Carina is still recovering from some injuries suffered in her own rescue from the Klybesians.
Carina proves to be a pretty young woman, but her eyes are older than the look of the woman who bears them. She is dressed in what Delta has been warned is something like the Rebman style, although in an adaptation to Xanadu mores, her chains are covered by a dress and her breasts are not bare. (The pages were scandalized in the way only young adolescents can be by Rebman dress.)
When Delta arrives to meet her, she rises from her chair, but a bit slowly. "I'm Carina," she tells Delta. "And I took a blow to the head in my escape, so please pardon me for anything I have trouble calling to mind. I understand you're one of Prince Jerod's many cousins? And you have some family connections in Rebma, you think?"
Delta shows up in her typical attire, loose linen cinched in by a snug leather jerkin. She's bearing a bottle of rum procured from a page, and she sets it down on a side table with a clunk, as proud as any guest bringing a fine host-gift. "Delta. And sit, sit, you look stiff as a plank."
With some relief, Carina follows that suggestion.
Delta drags a chair over and sits cross-legged, facing Carina. "That was a day, eh? Sorry you got the blow to the noggin. And I'm one of the many cousins, true enough. As for Rebma...aye. My grandmother's been traveling back and forth to there for years upon years, and I don't know a damn thing about her, turns out."
She tilts her head as she follows up with, "So 'Coral' is a bastard name, eh?"
"I don't know of anyone by that name in the court histories, if that's what you mean," Carina agrees. "But it's not a surprise that someone of the royal Rebman blood would take a use-name out of Rebma. Things in Rebma have been--let us say 'complicated' for a long time in the court. How much do you know about Rebma, Delta?"
"Old tales. Steps leading down from sand. Mirrors and water without end. Pearls and silver chains, a queen under the sea." Delta shakes her head. "And pride. My gran is -- was -- fiercely proud of the place. But she's not royal, eh? I'm part of this sprawling mess of a family thanks to my sire, not my mother's line."
As if it might help, she adds, "Coral's a woman of sixty, say? She'd never reveal the number. A traveler who leaves often. I take after her in the face, it's said. She loves sparkling things, like a curious bird." Her tone grows more and more fond as she speaks.
"But now she suffers, now she looks her age. And Celina told me of Huon's attack, the change in leadership. I don't even know where to start, eh? But I want to help my grandmother."
"The best way I could help her is to meet her and find out what her story is in person," Carina answers. Her expression reads to Delta as something like 'troubled'. "Rebma is in the midst of a civil war. Many years ago Queen Moins, who founded the city, much as Oberon founded Amber, died. There was an interregnum, after which Queen Moire, her daughter, assumed rule. But she left the city as the army of Khela, her sister-daughter, approached, and at the same time, separately, the city was attacked by Huon. Khela and the forces of Amber--your cousins--defended the city and defeated Huon. Khela meant to assume the throne, but she took the test of royal blood and perished, as did many candidates during the interregnum. Celina has passed the test, and she is queen now. But Moire is still abroad, and her purpose is unknown.
"Moire is in poor standing with the Amber family. In addition to what she did to Khela, who is daughter to Llewella and thus your aunt on the father's side as well as sister-daughter to Moire and sister-cousin to Celina, she also killed Lucas, who is the son of Florimel of Amber. I think she killed him for some form of lèse-majesté but it's still not entirely clear to me what happened.
"So if your grandmother is a secret visitor to the court in these times, and something has happened to her--she is swimming in deep waters, Delta. Deep waters full of sharks and krakens." Carina makes a graceful gesture with her hands, palms up, that accompanies the end of her explanation.
Delta listens intently to Carina's words, with a visible wince when the death of Lucas -- Misao's father -- is mentioned. "Celina told me a bit, eh? About Khela and the defense of the city. But -- gods below, Carina. Huon rescued us from jail. What makes a man attack a city and then rescue some of its archivists?" Her dark brows are furrowed; she sits forward in her chair in anticipation of Carina's answer.
"He was caught, and as punishment for his crimes and reconciliation to the Amber royals, Huon is serving Queen Celina. He is our guard for now, and was leading our ship to Paris, whence we were to return to Rebma," Carina explains. "He was coming to Rebma to find Lir's blade, which he hoped to use against Prince Bleys; his vendetta against Bleys was over Bleys imprisoning him in Shadow at their father Oberon's command. This was many centuries ago; Huon was only freed during the Black Trench War by the disruptions in Shadow, I think."
Delta sits back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. "I understand half of that, but I don't suppose all of it pertains to my current quandary, eh? They still at each other's throats, Bleys and Huon? Has Huon let the matter go, do you think? Is he biding time until Celina relaxes her grasp, or do you think his penance is sincere?"
"It's not clear to me where Huon's true loyalties lie, other than, as with all the Princes of Amber, to himself," Carina explains. "There are details that are unclear, but I believe something happened during his assault on Rebma that, in the aftermath, disturbed him. So I think he's broken with his partners in that assault and sincerely regrets whatever that was. Huon has sworn to forgo his vendetta against Bleys as part of his amends and swearing to Random, but if I were Bleys I still wouldn't turn my back on him."
"Eh, my loyalties lie with myself, too," Delta says in a wry tone. "Or whoever's paying at the time, until the job's done. The disturbing thing he saw -- that I'll wonder about, I suppose, but that part can wait."
She shakes her head and mutters, "This would be a damn sight easier if I could just talk to whoever bedded my mother to make me, but only the gods below seem to know that one." She huffs a sigh, straightens her back, and says, "Right. So, I've got this mystery on my mind, and my grandmother probably has a few things to say that an archivist might want to hear, eh?" She offers Carina a crooked smile. "Want to come visit an island? The weather's hot, but the nights are sugarcane sweet."
"If the Queen permits, I will do so gladly," Carina says. "But do you have a picture of your mother? It might be easier to ask each of them if they know her. The men of Amber are notorious for, what is the Amber phrase?" Her brow furrows. "I think they would say spreading their seed on the wind. We have a phrase about fish and eggs. You know what I mean, I think."
Delta's laugh is a full-on hoot of amusement. "I do know what you mean. If the men of Amber are known for their vigor, what of the women? Are they as equally prone to joy?" Her amusement seems to fade slightly, though, as she contemplates Carina's first question. "A portrait...of my mother? I don't think one has ever been made. There aren't so many paintings made of book-keepers."
"I think the princesses of Amber enjoy company where they will, but for the most part they seem to bear only when they want to," Carina says. "Certainly there are fewer known children of the daughters of Oberon than of the sons. But--let us see if we can make a picture of your mother, and perhaps we can find pictures enough of the sons and grandsons of Oberon to learn from your mother which of them sired you."
"I am no painter," Delta says. "But I expect someone around here must be. I've already looked at these -- " She slips a hand into the pouch at her side and pulls forth a colorful deck of Trumps. She fans it on a table beside her. "None of these look so much like me. Or me like them. But I know full well that a sire's child doesn't necessarily resemble him." Unless Carina moves to examine the cards, Delta puts them away nearly as quickly as she brought them out. Her protectiveness over them is obvious.
Carina moves to look at them but seems to know better than to touch them.
"I care far more about my grandmother than a man's random bed-hopping. But if it all twines together, then I suppose I have two mysteries to solve."
"Those are Trumps, are they not? How did you come by them?" Carina asks. It isn't a casual question.
Delta pauses in her move to gather up the cards again, and instead lets Carina look her fill. "From her, my grandmother. From Rebma. Picture cards, she said. To be kept close and safe." Her fingertips drift over the image of one of her uncles' faces. One she hasn't met. "I don't care much for things. Never have. But when she said keep them close, I knew she meant it."
"They're valuable. And they're not a Rebman art. Even sealed, they'd be damaged underwater. When Princess Llewella and Queen Celina and her brother Prince Merlin use them, it's in air-sealed rooms. So you're linked with Amber of old through your grandmother as well," Carina explains.
"Not just through my mother's bed-sport? Gods below." Delta rubs her palm over her forehead and lets out a small sigh. "I love a mystery, eh? But this one is twisty indeed. So...if I go to Rebma, my cards might be damaged. And I might be stepping in shit that isn't of my own making, based on whoever my grandmother might actually be."
She squares her shoulders. "All right. Who among my kinfolk can draw portraiture? And is here, and who might enjoy a sojourn to a very hot island in its hottest months? Not as if I know how to get home. Nor do I expect you to know the answer to all those questions."
Carina shakes her head, then winces as if that hadn't been a good idea, what with her head injury. "I'm sorry, I don't know the answers to those questions. Huon might take you, if it's permitted, but I don't know if he has the art of making the cards. It's--not a closely guarded secret, necessarily, but I think it's something special to your family, and not something even close outsiders like myself know. But if you ask one of your cousins, you should be able to find out. If Jerod were here, we could go to him, but he has left for Shadow.
"But we can protect the cards. I know they are wrapped in oilskin by your family when they travel to Rebma, and if you trust them to the safety of the air-rooms, they shouldn't be damaged at all."
"Ahh, don't bestir yourself," Delta says in concern. "Blazes, what am I doing pestering you this way?" She tilts her head. "And why do --" She lets out a small laugh. "Sorry sorry. No more questions. You need rest more than you need me barking in your ear. I'll find myself some oilskin for the journey, eh? That's helpful, as all of this has been."
She pats Carina on the knee, unless the archivist flinches away or looks otherwise disturbed at potential contact. "You rest, and I'll pester a page to take me to the next interrogation victim." Her mouth curves into a crooked smile.
Carina accepts the pat on the knee as if it's a common thing among Rebmans. "I don't mind, truly. It's part of my job to know things, and for all that I wish I were with the Queen, keeping the record of her deeds, I think this matter is well worthy of my attention. Will you tell me what you find out? Even if only you and I and Celina know, it will be a good story."
Last modified: 23 October 2022