Unexpected Meetings

In the morning, after the usual round of interferring... Um... Helping daughters-in-law, and the few items of shopping Meg prefers to oversee herself, Meg heads to St Trista's Orphanage.

She greets the sister at the door cheerfully, enquiring after her personal concerns and congratulating her on those of her particular responsibilities that went so smoothly yesterday.

Sister Serenity, the youngest of the nuns, smiles broadly when Meg compliments the special cakes she'd made for the reception afterwards. They were a special recipe she'd brought with her from her hometown, and she was pleased they tasted just the way her grammy's did.

"Don't trouble to bother Mother Humility," she adds. "I'm sure she's terribly busy this morning. I just wanted to check some of the old records. I can just sit quietly in the outer office and be in nobodies way."

"Oh, it's not too much trouble. I'm sure she'll be glad to speak with you," Sister Serenity says helpfully. She starts off down the hall to Mother Humility's new office, eager to assist Meg.

Thank you, dear," replies Meg. She hides a rueful grin and follows after Serenity.

Mother Humility keeps them waiting only long enough that Sister Serenity, and perhaps Meg, get the point that she is in charge. And once they enter what used to be Mother Prudence's workroom, it is clear that Mother Humility has been busy.

"Ah, Mistress Carper," Mother Humility greets her. "How are you? I hope the day finds you well."

"Very well, Mother Humility," returns Meg cheerfully, finding all as she expected, "the Goddess is kind. And you?"

"She is kind to me, and she gives me an abundance of work by which to prove my devotion," Mother Humility replies.

Meg stops for a moment to deliberately survey the changes to the room. "Oh, I like the desk over there by the window. You'll get the good morning light. What a good idea!

"I don't want to take up too much of your time, because I can see you're busy. I wanted to take a quick look at some of the old records. Talking with that Ossian Rand yesterday stirred up memories, so I thought I'd reminisce."

"Ossian Rand?" Mother Humility asks. Then the name sparks her memory. "Yes, the boy Sister Prudence mentioned, who had returned after his uncle came for him." A speculative gleam enters her eye. "I wonder whether his family could take in any orphans, or if there is some way they can help us as we grow. A successful graduate of our home should be celebrated, shouldn't he, Mistress Carper?"

"Of course," replies Meg. "And his family may well be able to help. He didn't mention just what it is they do, what trade they're in and so on, but they seem well off. They could be higher than that, nobility even, since he dressed and spoke like a lord." Meg looks embarrassed. "I didn't like to ask too much, 'cause we knew each other as kids. That sort of question might come better from you, since there's no reason why you'd expect to know the answers."

Mother Humility nods sagely. "A well-considered approach, Mistress Carper. I shall have to arrange to speak with them, if they don't come to me directly. You say you talked to him. Do you know where he's staying?"

"I think he and his companions were heading for the Red Fingers. Or the Watch may know where three visitors are staying?"

Meg relaces her fingers. "If I find details about Master Rand's uncle or family in the records, that could help establish what sort of help they could give."

"Of course," Mother Humility says. "You'll let me know what you find, of course." She moves to the door and calls out, "Sister Serenity, make sure Mistress Carper has any assistance she needs. If one of the older children, someone trustworthy, is free, let the child attend on her and run any errands she needs."

"Yes, Mother," Sister Serenity's voice wafts back in.

Mother Humility turns back to her guest. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Mistress Carper?"

"Oh no, I'm sure you're busy this morning," replies Meg cheerfully. And bidding Mother Humility goodbye, heads off to the archives.

Meg returns to the archives, such as they are. It is a room filled with boxes of papers. They are theoretically organized according to the scheme kept in one particular series of books that are boxed together, but Meg quickly realizes that the older books are not as well-maintained as she thinks they ought to be.

Meg makes a note to mention it to the Sisters responsible, so they can start on sorting it out later.

Is it that the older books are misfiled and not stored in order neatly, or are they where they should be, but in need of maintenance to stop them deteriorating from age?

Some of the books are out of order, and age is beginning to take its toll on the older ones. When she handles them, some of the edges of the pages crumble slightly at her touch. It doesn't endanger the body of the writing, but some of the pages have marginal notes, and those might vanish if the deterioration continues.

What information is Meg looking for, and how does she go about looking for it?

Meg goes about looking for it by sorting through the books as she finds them, putting them in the right order as she goes and making a note of which ones need repairs. When she's got them arranged to her satisfaction, she starts looking through individual books. Unless her search uncovers missing books, in which case she'll do other things.

The books are all there as far as Meg can tell, although it takes her some time to figure that out since they're out of order.

Meg is looking for the entries on Ossian's arrival at the orphanage, and on his departure, particularly any information about him or his uncle. She wants to find them, and then compare them with entries for other children made around the same time to see if anything stands out.

After lunchtime, Meg is able to find the entries on Ossian. The books make him out to be much older than he appears, since he is close to Meg's age. It's unsurprising that someone Mother Prudence's age would remember him; none of the younger people would.

Ossian was a foundling left at St. Trista's anonymously, as so many are. Several years later, a man claiming to be Ossian's uncle came. He proved the relationship to the satisfaction of the then-Mother, although the records don't mention what the proof was, just that it existed. There was a substantial donation to the orphanage that undoubtedly aided matters.

Meg is only a few years older than Ossian. She could look at her own records if she wanted ...

Naturally. She works her way backwards from the entry on Ossian to her own records, just looking for anything out of place or similarly strange to Ossian.

With minor variations, the records between Ossian's and her own tell similar stories. Some are left with foundling gifts to cover the cost of their care, suggesting local parents who know St. Trista's ways, but such a thing is not unheard of. Maids who bear from their master's getting, girls who give in before a ring is on the finger--Meg has known of such cases before. Giving the babe to an orphanage is an option some girls choose. Others go to an herbalist or a midwife and drink poison and sometimes die for their pains.

The record of Meg's own admission to St. Trista's as a foundling is in good order. Whoever left her left a bracelet of gold and dark grey pearls for her keeping, and a note in the margins, partially faded, suggests that is where her name comes from. The pearls sound different from any that Meg has ever seen. They might have come to Abford in trade, but they are not of local origin.

St. Trista's keeps a treasury for such gifts, and there should be records of what happened to the gift if it was sold for her keeping.

Meg puts the record books back into good order before leaving the archives. Then she heads in search of Sister Courage, who teaches the orphans figuring and basic bookkeeping, as well as many of St Trista's own financial records.

She finds instead that the day has got away and it is nearly the dinner hour. Sister Courage is busy, and after dinner will be prayer time. So Meg asks to see her tomorrow, and heads for her own home.

Sister Courage will see her tomorrow.

The day after the trump conversation and reading consists of exploring the town of Abford and learning a bit about the inhabitants and the orphanage. Ossian is unable to get an appointment with the new mother of St. Trista's in the morning, but the sweet-faced nun advises him to come back in the evening.

[I suspect this take place somtime in the late morning of the day of Reid's arrival] Ossian goes to the church, and enters if the doors are unlocked. He is looking for a, preferably elderly, priest or organist or someone like that.

The church is open. A few people are in the front of the church, praying or meditating. There is a side altar with candles before it. A woman has come in and is lighting a candle; she seems to be offering a prayer with it.

An older man in the garb that Ossian recalls as belonging to the priesthood is keeping an eye on the candle altar. Ossian doesn't recognize the man.

"Excuse me, sir? I admire the stained glass window over there; could you tell me who made it?"

The priest looks at Ossian and then up at the window. "The window? The rose window was put in in my grandfather's time, I think. Or do you mean the Wool Guild's window?"

[Ossian recalls the rose window from his boyhood, but the Wool Guild window, the one with the Goddess and sheep, is new.]

Ossian looks at the rose window. "Oh. Both of them are really fine. But yes, I asked about the Wool Guild's one."

[Remember that Ossian has observed what he thinks are some changed tiles in one of the windows (that must have been the Rose window, then...). But there seems to be other interesting stuff to learn from the windows anyway.]

[OOC: Sorry, your GM is a bit of a medieval architecture geek and dragged it off the way that made the most sense.]

"That one was put up about oh, fifteen years ago by the Wool Guild. Master Carper, who was the Master in charge, arranged for the glassmakers in Renady to do the work. See that blue? Our glassmakers can't get color that deep; it's a guild secret in Renady. He had the local guild create a smaller window for one of the chapels off the ambulatory." The priest gestures toward the chancel screen.

Ossian nods enthusiastically "I sometimes mourn the fact that art is restricted by such things as trade secrets. I would gladly have a look at the smaller window, if I may?" he asks.

"By the way, if I recall correctly, some of the tiles in the rose window was of a slightly different nuance, when I was a kid. But that was long time ago."

The priest looks oddly at Ossian. "I wouldn't think you were so old, sir. The Goddess has laid your years kindly on you. There was a storm that damaged the rose window when I came to Abford as a novice priest. Some of the panes had to be replaced. But that's been thirty years ago now."

"Ah, the curse of a boyish face. I was very young when I left Abford." Ossian grins. "Now, how do I find that other window? Your wool guild seems to have very good taste."

A brightening of the priest's expression suggests the diversion has been successful. "Ah, yes, right this way, sir." He leads Ossian to the chancel, opens it, and brings him back into the area that Ossian remembers as being reserved for the priests and the choir. Occasionally the orphans would be brought back to sing.

Further back is the high altar, and behind it a semicircular walk with small chapels off it. One of these is the chapel endowed by the Wool Guild, with a lovely stained glass window showing the Goddess among the sheep.

The art is provincial and probably a little narrow for Ossian's taste, but the technical quality, the materials, and the ostentation suggest that Abford is quite prosperous nowadays. It brings to mind the fact that a nice donation is in order for the privilege of seeing the inner clerical sanctum and the window.

"This is a very fine piece." Ossian says "it must look absolutely fabulous in the early morning. With the light."

"Hm. I think I'd like to make a small donation to the church. Would you take care of it for me, father?" Ossian brings out his purse and finds a somewhat extravagant sum in gold coins. "Use it as wisely as the wool guild." he adds with a smile.

The priest takes the coins and looks up at Ossian. "The Goddess will bless you for your generosity, sir," he says respectfully.

"Say, Master Carper, was he the husband of Meg Carper?"

The weight of the coins is still heavy in the good Father's hand as Ossian speaks. "Mistress Carper is his widow, yes. She's a great benefactress of St. Trista's." Ossian senses a protective note in the fellow's voice.

Ossian nods and smiles "You seem to hold her in high esteem. She definitely deserves that."

"Indeed she does," the priest says, somewhat mollified.

He also shows Ossian the other chapels and some fine windows, as well as the high altar and the finely carved chancel screens, answering any questions Ossian may have about their provenance and techniques used to the best of his ability. Like the window, the styles of these items probably seem a little narrow to Ossian, but again everything is of good quality, even in what Ossian suspects were less prosperous times in the past.

The priest's name is Father Aimery, and he is quite proud of the church and of Abford.

After a bit of an afternoon rest, Ossian and Marius come down for dinner. If Marius directs, Ce'e will join them. As they come into the main part of the inn, they see the innkeeper haggling with a man and a woman, presumably for a night's stay. The woman is a lovely blonde, and unfamiliar to either Marius or Ossian. But the man is Reid, or like enough to him to be his shadow.

Ossian nudges Marius with his elbow and whispers "I always suspected that he likes blondes."

He steps closer to Reid and the innkeeper, preferably behind the back of Reid. "If you give him a better price than you gave us, I'll be very disappointed." he says to the innkeeper, grinning.

"And if this gentleman can't appreciate the value of a good room in a fine establishment such as this, I'll gladly help you move his belongings to the stables where he might be more comfortable." Reid's smile is apparent, but it's equally apparent that he would, in fact, aid in such a relocation without putting up much fuss. The smile he presents as he turns to face his cousin is more congenial though not immediate, and the innkeeper might notice this.

Chegwin, the innkeeper, makes no response to the suggestion, other than to look a little confused for a moment.

One extra coin than what they'd agreed upon might help him forget his confusion...

Marius makes no attempt to hide his brief and surprised snicker as he raises his hands in a, "This is no quarrel of mine," gesture.

"Cousins! I would venture to say it's been quite a while, but I'm not certain either of us could quantify it so easily."

Marius nods. "I am neither a decade older or younger, and smaller passages lose their meaning," he says, as if it is the ending of a recognition-phrase. "What brings you to the city?" without capitals, mostly meaning this city, as if eavesdroppers would notice.

Papillon looks at Reid, waiting for him to introduce her to Marius and Ossian.

"How thoughtless of me," Reid interjects, sidestepping Marius's question for the moment. "Papillon, these two are more of my cousins, Marius and Ossian." Not knowing to what extent his cousins are hiding their nobility, Reid intentionally neglects the use of titles. "Cousins, this is Papillon. She and I have been travelling from Paris of late."

"Ah" Ossian kisses Papillon's hand (if she allows it) "I am indebted to cousin Reid for introducing me to such a lovely woman." Ossian's eyes sparkle.

Papillon flushes prettily and smiles at Ossian as he kisses her hand. "You're very kind," she says. Her voice is a little lower than Ossian expected.

Marius smiles at Papillon, thinking to himself, "That's the way someone rides a horse, isn't it? No, wait, it's a butterfly. Nevermind." His smile does not reveal his mental confusion, however, but it's about as touchy-feely as he's getting. Ossian's the heart breaker, after all. Marius just cuts 'em out and sets them on fire.

Erm.

[She's a butterfly.]

He'll introduce his Chaosian shadow if available. After all, it's rude to eat people to whom you've been introduced.

Since Marius wishes him to be present, Ce'e is. He mimics his lord's response to Papillon rather than Ossian's.

To Reid, Ce'e seems, well--inhuman. He looks a bit like Jovian, a bit like Marius, and a bit like death warmed over.

"Why don't we catch up over a meal and drinks?" Reid suggests.

"That sounds like a splendid idea."

Marius chuckles. As if anyone in this family ever refused food.

When they are seated: "I guess we shouldn't be too surprised that we meet here. Say, Reid, was this a planned visit, or are you just passing through?"

"This was not our original destination. I was following your trail, in fact. My companion and I had left Paris seeking the valley where I was schooled in my youth. We must have gotten there within hours of your departure." Reid eyes both cousins with consideration. "So I turn the question around, if you don't mind. Was your visit to Clervaux planned? Or were you just passing through?"

"That was the name of that ruined place with the tower?" Ossian asks.

Reid nods.

"We certainly didn't plan to go there, as I didn't even know the place existed before I got there. But we got curious when we found it."

Marius splits his attention briefly with a comment to Papillon, "I recommend the stew," he suggests in a friendly fashion. "Papa Red does not overspice or undercook, and the broth is perfect every time." [If you still call stew juice "broth." This is an area not in Meera's expertise.]

"Thank you," Papillon says.

Orders are placed, food is brought, and the innkeeper clears his way out for the group of travellers to converse. Papillon is attentive to her food, and lets Reid do most of the talking. Ce'e, as always, defers to Marius.

Ossian sounds more somber than he usually is. "I hope we didn't intrude on things. Did you expect to find more there than you found, Reid?"

With a sigh, Reid shakes his head. "No, cousin. You didn't intrude. It doesn't seem there was much left to intrude upon. I had gone there for a couple of reasons... some religious types in Paris claim their order had its origin in a neigboring area called Beveland. Their founder was from Clervaux. I'd also hoped to find some signs of the fate of my mother and grandmother. A likeness of my grandmother, or one of her shadows, appeared in the building housing Paris's pattern chamber." Reid keeps his eyes on Ce'e at the mention of this, patterns being state secrets and all, but Reid not being in much mood to care.

Ossian watches Papillon, raising an eyebrow towards Reid.

[OOC: It's OK, they're speaking Thari, in which "pattern chamber" translates as "asylum."]

Marius doesn't look at either of the two non-Pattern types. After all, if their deaths are the cost of secrecy, well, he has knives. He's trying to listen to the undertones of the conversation, the things not being said.

"The tower seemed to be all that was left. Their logs didn't shed too much light on the fate of the town, other than act as a reminder that the timelines of shadows move steadily forward even in our absence," Reid concludes, taking a drink from his cup.

"You found some logs?" Ossian smiles "We didn't find anything. Then of course, you _are_ the crown investigator.

Marius smiles. "I think we were looking for something different," he offers Ossian. "Right now I can only surmise based off of someone I don't know very well the importance of this place," he adds for Reid.

"This might be Beveland, considering that a lot of time has passed. We do suspect there are more relatives around, actually. You might find something. Those religious types, what deity do they follow?"

"Don't know about a particular deity, per se. They established themselves in the teachings of St. Ninian of Clervaux. They also bore more than a passing resemblance to the Paresh that were in Amber a few years back."

"Heh. The religion here has certainly moved a fair bit from the Paresh, I'd say."

Marius asks, "The Paresh?" realizing he knows very little, not that religious matters have been of any high priority in his mind. (Strangely enough, I see him as potentially very pious and passionate, but not of any particular franchise. Maybe the Church of Paige.)

"They were one of the only religions to formally organize in Amber in recent memory. They left when they decided Amber was falling..." Reid replies.

"It was the apocalyptic prophecy kind of religion." Ossian adds.

"Oh," Marius replies, trying to sound very much like, "I see," but really sounding like, "Okay. Freaks." He pauses and looks at Reid. "Left? To go anywhere in particular?"

"Unknown." Reid answers, and pretty much leaves it at that.

"Relatives." Marius repeats the word, making it a mutter. A, "Yeah, it's falling into place," mutter, in fact.

Ossian looks at Marius, looking a bit puzzled.

Marius shakes his head. If he's got more to say, he isn't saying it now.

"Then perhaps you two can get me up to speed. Since we didn't necessarily plan on ending up here, I can't say I paid much attention to my shadow shifting as I followed your tracks. So I'm a bit less prepared than I would be coming into a shadow of my own design. What has drawn you, and why do you suspect a familial presense or influence?" Reid asks, crossing his fingers on the table in front of him.

"Well, the familial influence is certain." Ossian says, frowning. "I spent my first years in this Shadow, in an orphanage not far from here. Before Brand fetched me. We are looking for any traces of my parents.

"We did a reading of the cards yesterday, and maybe the most luminous interpretation was that there is another relative here. And I don't think it would be you, Reid. I have a pretty good guess as to who it is, though.

"This morning I learned that more time has passed here than I thought. I guessed twenty years or so. Apparently it has been at least thirty. Which means Mistress Carper is well preserved indeed, don't you think?" Ossian asks Marius.

Marius chuckles, surprised at the length of time. "Not the words that my impulse set on, but they will suffice," he agrees.

"What can you tell me about this Carper?" Reid asks, curious.

"She grew up at the orphanage at the same time as me; she was few years older. More than that now." Ossian says "I got the impression that she is a widow. Rather well off, it seems, with some influence with the orphanage people, and likely in the city too."

Marius concurs heartily with the influence with the orphanage. "Of course, it may be religious influence as well, given the connections." He lowers his voice, noting, "In some places, that means magic, but so far I haven't seen any evidence of that here."

"I can't remember any magic, at least." Ossian says with a shrug.

"Now, what was Brand looking for in this Beveland?" he checks on the name. "And do we spirit Mistress Carper away or do we try to entice her?"

Reid considers, "I only know of the whole Brand affair from what others have told me, so I'm in no position to speculate."

"I think we need to talk more with the old Mother of the orphanage. She might know more. If Brand had any other interests here than me, I don't know.

"I am trying to add the premises together to come to a rational conclusion," Marius explains. "This gathers some anecdotal weight to the idea that your heritage or skills were important if he left another potential child of the Court untouched. Maybe it was just your amiable nature," he smiles. ["Or the colour of your hair..." he doesn't say aloud.]

[OOC: I imagine Ossian's hair as reddish brown, but not redhead red. But, I'm slightly colour blind.]

"Or he didn't know about her."

"As for spiriting Meg away, I'm against it. I need her as a friend; most likely I'll need to go through her to get the information I need. Besides, it would probably be illegal; I don't want to strain my relationship with the king any more than I already have.

"Enticement would work better. Does anyone of you have any experience in how to enlighten a newfound family member?"

Marius tries not to look too disappointed at the vote against kidnap--spiriting away. "Experience? No. Suggestions? Most likely," Marius says. "Most of all, though, I suspect she will want proof. What kinds of neat tricks impress but do not scare the yokels?"

"Trump contact is always a good one, if you can manage not being burned at the stake as a witch..." Reid smiles. "But since we don't know her ancestry, we should be careful." Reid turns to Ossian. "I was talking with Dworkin recently about the dillution of our family skills by generation. Brita's father, for instance, is Oberon's great-great-grandson, and feels physical pain when trump connections are attempted with him. We know that the grandchildren can possess the abilities. I don't know about Lucas or Paige's children yet. But suffice to say, we should take care when contacting a family member of unknown generation."

"Ah. I've been wanting to talk too you two about that. I've made the same kind of thing myself to a relative...

"Wait" Ossian's eyes grow wide. "You have been talking to Dworkin? How? I'd so like to meet him."

"Hmm? Oh, right. I tend to forget that not everyone versed in the trumps learned from the Master." Reid smiles.

This comment had Marius intrigued, as if he were going to say something, but he either thought better of it, or was distracted by something shiny, like that his player's Save and Send buttons got switched around...

[Reid]
"I have his trump, of course. If you'd like, sometime I can invite him to join us. I can't say for certain that he would, but I can always extend him the offer. Somehow, though, I suspect that doing so now might be a bad idea. The locals might see it as some sort of invasion if too many of us keep showing up here..."

Ossian nods, obviously pretty disappointed that he cannot see Dworkin right away.

Papillon looks up from her rapidly emptying plate and asks, "Who's Dworkin? Is he another artist friend of yours, Reid?"

"That he is, dear. When I was growing up he taught me quite a bit about drawing and painting. Most of my fundamentals were learned at his easel and he taught a handful of my aunts and uncles as well before taking an extended leave from the family. I often think that my own tendency towards teaching may have been inspired by his tutelage. He wasn't always easy to follow, but he was, for the most part, self consistent and always nurturing to those who had a thirst for knowledge."

"He is quite legendary." Ossian adds

"Hm. We still haven't decided on what to do with Meg. So making a Trump is not a good idea. The only other ways I know of determining Amber heritage are even worse. What we can prove to her is that the kind of stuff we talk about exist: we could take her on a Shadow trip, or show her how a Trump works."

Ossian turns towards Marius "One of us should talk to her. Alone, I think. Do you want to try, or shall I do it?"

Marius smiles. "You are the charmer," he suggests, "but I think charm will not get us far with the Mistress." He smiles, and the expression clearly says, 'Save it for the jailors if I fail.' "Would flowers be an appropriate gift to give for an unannounced call? Or should I choose something more..." he flails for a word, "durable?"

"As an honest gift, I think flowers are fine. After all, with both fragrance, shape and colouring they are easy to remember. And memory is maybe the most durable thing we have to offer." Ossian muses "Flowers will be fine.

"And" he lowers his voice. "we can get you out of prison, but it's hard to save you if you get burned at the stake."

Reid seems to have no opinion one way or the other regarding anyone getting burned at the stake.

Or perhaps that is an opinion ... more likely it's the tickle of a trump contact asking to form in the back of Reid's head.

[Ossian and Marius, please go on. Reid, if you take the contact, post in both threads, or you might move somewhere private and start a new thread.]

[If Reid tries to move anywhere private in this shadow, he'll probably be mugged. So answering a trump call in a public space while among family seems about right...]

Reid motions to Ossian and Marius to continue their plans while he takes on a look Ossian recognizes as that of someone going into Trump mode. //Speak.// Reid intones under his breath to his contactor.

"It's Robin," he informs his party in a hushed voice.

"Breeze?" Reid says to his trump contact. "Oh, the person you passed through? He was still breathing last time I saw him, I think. I suppose all of him made it through to the castle. At least I didn't see any bits left behind. I had to deal with him quickly. Local constabulary types, while interrogating a wagon with two riders, don't take kindly to a third being introduced from out of thin air. I would check in with someone at the castle if you'd like to ascertain his current disposition, though.

"Or, if you don't have a way to reach family back home, you could join us in Abford. Ossian, Marius and I seem to be invading the territory and perhaps abducting a possible new relative. We were thinking of inviting Dworkin." Despite his previous comments to his fellows, Reid seems pleased with the idea of bringing the whole family to Abford at once. It almost seems inevitable at this point.

Reid listens intently before replying to his contact.

"Now, now. It's been my experience that the process of one of us realizing that we're part of something bigger is far less painful than the alternative. At least she'll have a support group. We're not, for the most part, out for each others' blood anymore, and I can think of at least a few cousins who are more than capable of aiding in the transition and orientation," Reid suggests.

"One moment," Reid tells his trump contact, then asks his table of compatriots, "Any messages for the Castle? Robin's either heading home or, at least, checking in."

Ossian, who has been smiling since he learned that Robin was at the other end, says, "No, but say hello to Robin from me."

Reid tells Robin, "No messages. Ossian sends his love." Reid anticipates the fluster and confusion this will cause Robin, but decides not to let her off easily. Or maybe he does... "Don't hesitate to contact me again if you have futher concerns. My door is always open, as it were."

And with that, Reid breaks the connection.

Marius looks as if he is about to pounce on the opportunity, and then suddenly, just as the words are about to burst forth, he turns in his seat, looking away, and then back, shaking his head.

[he's a play through - he's mentally considering his approaches to Meg.]

Ossian turns back to Marius "Will you go to Meg tonight? I am thinking of going to the orphanage, and try to talk to some people there."

"Tonight? I think it may be unseemly to call upon her in the dark. I shall do it in the morning."

Ossian nods.

Marius continues with his line of questioning. "Do you think the Pattern will call her out, or should I resort to more mundane methods of inquiry?"

"I think mundane is better. I'm not too keen on using the Pattern around here, actually. We do not know what my master has built into this place." Ossian says. "Besides, how would the Pattern call her out?"

"A thought," Marius agrees, looking concerned for a moment. One of those, "Great, and how are we getting out?" ironic issues. He frowns. "There ought to be a...resonance. How does the Pattern do it?"

"A resonance? Maybe someone with very good Pattern skills could do it. Not I, that's for sure." Ossian frowns "If you feel you would be helped by using the Pattern, feel free to do so. But _be careful_."

Marius shrugs in that fashion which neither allows for Amazing Pattern Powers nor denies them, but suggests that he HAS taken into consideration Ossian's concern.

Ossian seems satisfied with that for a moment.

"What are your plans Reid?"

"Rest. In a bed that isn't directly connected to dirt or rock. It will be a nice change of pace. But if you'd like, we can stay in town a few days and I could join whatever familial reconnaisance, contact or orientation might be necessary. I did, after all, do fairly well bringing Brita into the fold," Reid replies.

"Does that include suggestions of what not to do?" Marius asks, grin quite evident.

"As you see, we kind of count on you to stay." Ossian says, grinning too. "We might need some help."

Meg frowns and chews her lip. She has a couple of councillors and their wives coming to dinner. The kitchen is already filling with the smell of sweet baked pastry and roasting meat as her maid servants make preparations.

Meg goes back to the message drop point to pick some of the last blooming daisies. And to scrawl the thief sign for 'Midnight' on a flat rock and place it there.

When she chances to glance out the kitchen window later in the evening, the rock has been moved and the daisies are gone. The message has been understood.

She overseas the rest of the preparations with her usual efficiency, and entertains her dinner guests in style.

Much later in the evening, after her guests have left, at the appointed hour, Jaimesy is waiting.

Meg opens the kitchen door letting the light spill out behind her. When she seems Jaimsey, she grins.

"Sorry you had to wait, love," she says. "Mistress Heatheral talks even more than she eats."

She stands side of the doorway, so he can come in if he wishes. "There's apple coffins left, if you fancy some supper?"

He does, and Meg can see a grim smile on his face as the light hits it. "I'll trade them for a tale, my daisy, and then I must be on my way. There's work to be done this night." He gives her a peck once the door is closed against prying eyes.

Meg responds and then pulls a stool out for him to sit on.

"I've news about your young friend Ossian Rand."

"Is he a spy?" Meg asks, making up a plate and pouring out small beer as she does so. She places them on the table in front of Jaimsey and then sits down opposite him, elbows on the table and her chin resting in her hands.

Between bites, Jaimesy tells Meg his tale.

"He's something. You know Chegwin's brother Erlend, in the guard? He came on a strange one at the gate this afternoon and routed him to the Red-Fingered Man. The fellow said he was chasing someone who'd cheated him on a gambling debt or some such. Anyway, when I went to talk to Chegwin earlier, he said that while he'd been negotiating the fellow's room-price with him, your friend Ossian Rand had come downstairs. They knew each other, this Reid fellow and Ossian, and they went off to have dinner together."

Jaimesy takes a long swallow of small beer. "Reid's got a lady friend with him. Her name is Papillon. I don't know what to make of that either, but I know better than to underestimate her because she's a woman. You taught me better than that, my daisy."

"More of them?" Meg asks in horror. "Or rivals perhaps? Like merchants far from home feel more in common with their rivals and can behave civil even when they're trying to do each other down."

Meg drums a finger on the table top.

"This is bad. This could be a bigger invasion. Not just Renady, but into the Alliance too." She stops tapping her finger and looks directly at Jaimsey. "What are you going to do?"

"Part of it I am doing: telling people in a position to find out more, or to let slip a word in the right ear. The Council won't listen to such as me, but I know a few ears to drop a good word in about something like this. Other measures, well, they're not the sort of thing you need to hear. But I am taking them.

"Abford needs to be ready to fight, though. That's the first thing. I'm sure the Council has agents in Renady and elsewhere--" and Jaimesy raises his hands "--not that I need to know the details, but they'd be fools not to. Someone needs to find out what those agents hear and direct it into the right ears."

Jaimesy picks up his fork. "Why don't you tell me what you found out in the orphanage records before this" and he indicates the plate with the fork, "gets cold?" And he tucks into the food while Meg answers his question.

"That Ossian Rand is a liar, and I can prove it," Meg replies flatly. "The real Ossian, if he's still alive, will be 46 years come the spring. A man adopted him, and paid a lot of money to be noted down as an uncle and no detail of what proof he offered." Meg steals a scrap of pastry from Jaimsey's plate and pops it into her mouth.

"This was in the bad old days, so he was likely bought as a bum boy," Meg reflects, remembering the times when St Trista's lacked the influence and resources to do more than have good intentions.

Jaimesy has a mouthful of pastry when she says that, but his sneer offers his opinion of either the bad old days or Ossian the bum boy. Or both.

"I'm going to look at the treasury records tomorrow, to see what came in at the same time," says Meg. "There'll be a note of how much, and maybe how it was paid. What coin it was, or anything else." Meg shrugs, aware that it is a long shot. "It might help, you never know."

A nod from Jaimesy agrees.

"I could tell Councillor Cooper that there's a strange man pretending to be an old orphan in town," Meg gazes into space, trying out the idea. "I've had a letter from Peter, saying that there were people asking odd questions in Renady, and then this fraud showed up. Cooper's a sensible man and he can make up his mind when the pressure's on."

Meg looks back at Jaimsey. "Should I try persuade him to round up all five of them tonight? If they're kept separate, and questioned, someone may give something away."

"I don't think a night will kill us," Jaimesy answers, wiping the last of the juice from the pastry from his mouth with his napkin. "And I can set someone to watch what they do tomorrow. If they go about town: what they see, what kind of questions they ask, that kind of thing. It might not help Councillor Cooper decide to arrest them, but it might be useful to know to counter whatever their master is up to."

"I'll talk to Garth then, and get him to speak to Master Cooper with me," Meg gives a satisfied nod. "When we know a little more," she adds.

Jaimesy puts down the napkin. "I also need to have someone go in and find out how many of those coins they're carrying."

Meg smirks. "Ask Mother Humility," she offers. "She's already looking for ways to bleed dry our wealthy returned son, and to my disgrace, I've encouraged her to try." There is not a trace of shame in Meg's tone.

Then Meg's smirk vanishes. "Something's odd though. I told her about him, and she was very interested in him and the large donations she could squeeze out of him. She seemed set to find out more about him as soon as she could." Meg leans forward and continues, "Then when I spoke of him again just this morning, I had to remind her who I was talking about. Like she'd forgotten why she should be interested in the man and his money. I can't..." Meg opens her hands out palm up, "She couldn't be involved."

"Ah, she's probably just forgetful, what with all the work she's doing. You know as well as I do that there's a lot of work to be done, and that's without all this make-work she's doing to kiss up to her so-called betters in Renady." Jaimesy's sneer returns at the thought of those so-called betters.

Meg nods and relaxes.

"Not everyone's as smart as you are, my daisy. I know you love St. Trista's, but I'll be sorry if the Goddess calls you to take the veil and become the Mother there."

"Well, so should I be sorry" Meg quips. "All the work and none of the fun," she laughs. "It would be much too limiting for my tastes. No, I'm better as I am, and I'm sure the Goddess has the sense to see it." She shows no consciousness of any impropriety in placing her own judgment above that of her deity.

As she speaks Meg picks Jaimesy's pocket for a handkerchief with no expectation of hiding her efforts from him, checks is reasonably clean, and wraps up another pie.

"If I thought I'd be poor or lonely in my old age, it'd be different, but I can be in my own house, with family close by," Meg presents him with the wrapped parcel with a formal little curtsey, "and plenty of pies to keep a finger in." She smiles. "For later," she says, passing him the pastry.

Jaimesy grins and takes it, bowing as he does so. It disappears into his coat.

"Now I won't tell you to take care, because I know you. But I didn't like the look of the two men I saw with this Rand. One had the look of a man who'll be sweet as honey right up to the point he wants to beat his woman, and the other had this hungry look. Like he was eating up every detail." Meg thinks. "Or really thick. Rand's a fraudster, but we don't know what the others are."

"If they're the kind of man who works for an invader, they're hard and they'll kill to protect themselves and their secrets," Jaimesy replies. "I know how to deal with men like them. But you leave them alone." He takes her hands and looks into her eyes. His brows draw together in worry, and he repeats himself. "Leave them alone. You're wise in the ways of women and of folk like the Council. These men won't be like that. I don't want you hurt, so stay away from them. Will you do that?"

Meg looks at him with concern.

"I'll try," she says. "I won't go seek them out, I promise." She squeezes his hands. "Rand will likely come asking my help, though. I won't do anything to make him suspicious. And I'll send word to you if any of them approach me," she offers.

But is it enough for Jaimesy?

Jaimesy frowns. "It'll endanger you more if he knows you know what's going on. If you run away from him, he'll be suspicious." He squeezes Meg's hands. "You be careful if they come to you, and send to me when it's safe, to tell me what they said. Promise me?"

Meg nods. "When it's safe, I send to you. And act like I don't know anything more." She squeezes his hands again and leans forward to kiss him.

"Now, don't you worry about me any more. I've delayed you long enough, love."

"All right. I suppose I do have work to do." Jaimesy releases Meg's hands reluctantly, and leans forward to steal another kiss.

"Off with you," Meg shepherds him out the door with a laugh.

When the door closes behind him her expression turns serious. She leans against the door for a moment, one finger tapping her lips.

Then she douses all the lamps but one, takes that up to her room and sits at her desk. By the rush lamp light she draws out a creamy sheet of paper, shakes her ink to mix it well, and writes an account of pertinent details of the past few days. She dries the ink, folds the paper and directs it to her son Peter. She places it in the chest with her account books, undresses for bed, and blows out the lamp.

Meg goes to sleep.

In her dreams, she is in Renady, and Garth is with her. He's been burned, and is desperately ill, but there's no help for him. She is fleeing from someone or something. When she looks behind her, she can see the walls of Renady and the great Cathdral of the Goddess. There are fires all through the city. Dogs bark in the distance, and Meg knows hunters are coming.

The knowledge hits her like heat from the fires. She flinches and then the awareness burns though her outer thoughts to expose a deeper layer.

If they hunt her, she will turn the tables on them. If they hunt, they search for her, while she knows where they are. Hunter can become prey.

And they will pay. For Garth's burns and his pain. For the burning. For making her flee.

She just needs a moment. Just a moment to regain control, take the initiative, and make them pay.

She opens her clenched fists and looks at her palms. She has dug her nails into her flesh and her blood seeps out. She will make them pay for that blood.

When she looks at her hands, Meg realizes they are a man's hands. Familiar, but in that dreamlike way that things sometimes are.

She wakes up sweating, to find it's early morning, and false dawn is already on her.

Meg shudders. She pulls the covers up over her head and huddles in that darkness of her own sweat and the blood thudding in her ears until the sound calms and her shivers stop.

She rises and fetches cold water to wash with. She ignores the luxury of warm water one of the girls could heat for her and splashes away the stains of night without flinching.

Then she is ready to face the day.