The green sunlight wavers about her and casts rippling shadows of troops swimming by above. She wants to join them in the fight to save Vere's land from oppression, but when she tries to go, she is brought up short. Celina glances down.
A heavy green chain from her ankle to the staircase beneath her binds her in place.
Her eyes snap open. The smell of strange fabrics and odors lies heavy in the bed with her. She screams into her pillow and there is only enough sound for her to hear. She punches at the bed.
Then lies quiet.
Moments later, Celina is leaving her rooms wrapped in bedspread and heading for the baths. She needs it to start the day properly. Her hair is a lot more tangled today than she likes to think about and there is no one who will help her with it.
Perhaps I'll hide in the baths all day.
Opening the door she slips in and holds the lever so it closes softly and quietly. She hums now that the door is closed and pulls the bedspread off to toss it on a bench.
Celina stops. Blinks. Someone is already here. Purple hair? She rolls the names of female cousins around in her head trying to decide quickly whether to stay or go. Curiousity gets the better of that notion and she steps forward. "Good morning. Am I disturbing you?"
The purple-haired girl, submerged up to her chin, turns in the water to face the newcomer. "I thought I heard the acoustics shift," she says with a smile. "Good morning, Celina. Please, come on in."
It isn't entirely clear whether she means 'into the room' or 'into the tub'. Certainly the tub is big enough: it could easily hold a dozen large bodies, many more if they were willing to get cozy.
A warm smile answers Folly's invitation.
Folly continues, "I'm nearly done, if you're looking for a little privacy. Mostly now I'm just teasing my poor cat...." She nods toward one of the benches, under which crouches a small, grey, fluffy creature surveying the rippling water as if trying to decide what to make of it.
Celina steps into the tub as Folly begins to explain. She slides deeper in the water. Her cousin's words echo in a lively manner about the tiled room and Celina misses the head nod to the cat.
And thereby hangs a tale.
"I did that yesterday. I really needed it after the trip," Celina responds. "Why is yours poor? I could make several polite guesses, but I'd rather not, if you'll allow." The Seaward girl allots at least a handspan of separation between her own limbs and Folly's under the water and considers her cousin's expression before carefully admiring her body.
Folly looks at Celina. For a moment, she blinks in confusion.
And then then the corner of her mouth begins to twitch.
Celina notices the quick shifts and licks her lips in anticipation of another complex current arriving.
"No, I... I meant...." Folly hides her mouth behind one wet hand, but her eyes still dance with mirth.
"...I meant the other one. Fathom. Different entity entirely." She points, uncovering a smile that is broad, friendly, and very, very amused. Her skin is pink as pearl.
But there is no one... Her unconscious smile mirrors Folly's amusement. Celina pivots her head about following her cousin's gesture. Under the bench, a small grey fluff blinks at Celina. Cat. The smile melts away. "Oh." Celina's voice is soft. Heat blooms inside from her center and quickly ripples across her skin like a riptide. She turns back slowly speaking carefully. "A different entity entirely."
Celina's emerald eyes look too bright. Her mouth is slightly bent now as if a smile would be a good thing, but the mechanism might be in need of tuning. She licks her lips and tries to imagine explaining that women talk about such things in Rebma. In tubs. Because ...
Which brings a rush of memories about Khela. Another explosion of flush overtakes her. She stops herself from standing and escaping. She shivers. No. Can't. Words follow, "No doubt," she pushes the flight reaction away again, "I'm turning a hot shade of green."
Folly's smile shifts from amusement to gentle concern. "Oh, you needn't worry, love, I'm not offended," she says, and lays her hand for a moment on her cousin's shoulder in reassurance. Her damp fingers are cool against Celina's flushed skin.
Relief is immediate in Celina's eyes. Impulsively, she reaches up to lay her hand lightly over Folly's.
"Please forgive my amusement," Folly continues. "You just caught me by surprise. I suppose I've become too accustomed to living in Amber, where most women are not so... free... in discussing themselves -- not even in the guise of such glorious euphemisms." Her grin regains some of its mirth.
Stirring the water with her off hand, Celina slowly chooses her words to swim through the gaffe. "Nothing to forgive. It was probably the water and the invitation to join you that threw me right back to 'Rebman' thinking. I have been told that the women of Amber are not free to discuss sex except with their partners--and at that behind closed doors. I appreciate your amusement and prefer it to despite of my social blunder. Thank you." Celina's expression is serious. "I resolve three times a day that I will do what I can to not make waves. I'm trothing early today."
"I think it is our nature to make waves," Folly says with a smile that reminds Celina a little of Vere. "The tricky part is doing it on purpose."
The Seaward lass allows curiousity to show in her eyes. "Fathom? Are you a mariner, Folly?"
"Not exactly," Folly replies with a little laugh that echoes pleasantly in the tiled room. "I've always lived by the sea, and Fathom was born down dockside. But mostly I picked the name because he's always poking at things to try to suss them out. Not unlike his furless Mum." She grins.
Celina nods and relaxes backward, opening up a bit more distance so she can start to work her hair. She brings water upward in her hands to run fingers through her tresses.
"Are there... companion animals -- pets -- in Rebma?" she asks. "Or... Seaward. Am I remembering correctly that's where you're from originally?"
"You are," Celina replies. "That's my home." There is nothing for it. Each conversation about her past is like embracing coral without a stitch on. From originally. What irony that I can't answer such a question with any confidence.
She goes on without pause. "The sea isn't very forgiving about 'pets' unless they are removed from the ecosystem and protected. The rich can keep a turtle or certain kinds of adorable tropical fish as long as they are house-bound. With more effort, it's possible to adopt dolphins, but they need their pod family about to be happy. Seaward doesn't have a class of domesticated animals, but some folks do have partners and companions." Celina turns slightly to look at Fathom. "It sounds as if Fathom is a companion. Does she sing?"
Folly opens her mouth to respond, but pauses in further consideration. After a moment she says, "I'm not sure whether this is what you mean but...." She pauses again, and then smiles. "Well, here -- I'll show you...."
She wades to the side of the pool -- she moves through the water with a certain languid grace, but without the practiced ease of one who's dwelt below the waves for any length of time -- and wipes her hands dry on a towel that she probably put there for just that purpose. With soft words, she coaxes Fathom from his hiding place: he steps tentatively at first, but when he gets close enough to sniff Folly's fingers, his whole demeanor changes, and he butts his head against her hand in obvious pleasure.
Folly holds a finger to her lips and looks at Celina. And then Celina hears it -- a sound like a warm spring bubbling up into the surrounding water.
"Like that?" Folly asks quietly.
Celina has turned about and drifted closer. She tilts her head with an expression of curious delight when the sound begins its faint reverb through the baths. Her pupils enlarge as she stares at the fluff of cat.
Her ears drink. Her thoughts trace a secret shape that might someday be turned into a dance celebrating whispered secrets. Celina's fingertips tickle at her knees under the water. "That's beautiful. Yes. Like that. It suggests a shibboleth of narwals. Much more subtle though."
The sea girl seems to relax further and her smile grows. "Thank you, Fathom," she whispers.
"You can pet him, if you want," Folly says, her voice still quiet. Her fingertips trace tiny swirls behind the little cat's ears and under his chin, to his evident delight. "You'll probably want to dry your hands a bit first --" she nods to the towel -- "as like most of his kind he prefers the wet when he can encounter it on his own terms."
Celina smiles. "Him. So he sings best when petted?"
"He makes other sorts of sounds at other times -- little plaintive mewls, and inquisitive meows, and this fantastic sound like he's practicing rolling his r's -- but the happy purring usually comes when he's being petted, yes," Folly replies.
She dims the white of her smile a bit. She moves slowly to the side of the pool. Rising from the water, she uses the nearby towel as Folly did to dry her hands. Then slowly she presents her fingertips to Fathom to see if he will be as open-hearted with her presence as he is with her cousin.
He regards the strange new hand with curiosity and interest, craning his neck forward for closer inspection. When his little nose is almost touching her fingers, he sniffs: Celina can feel the cool air currents against her fingers and hear the new, faster rhythm added to his song.
"This is our cousin Celina," Folly says in a soft, sing-song voice that Fathom seems to know is meant for him. "It's all right...."
Thus reassured, he begins licking Celina's fingers. His tongue rasps against her fingers, not unpleasantly, like a wee pink slip of sharkskin.
"I confess I had imagined cats as being bigger than this." Celina studies the feline with interest. "He's cute."
"He's still just a kitten -- just a few months old -- so he'll get a bit bigger before he's done," Folly replies with a smile. "But not too much bigger. He'll always be lap-sized. There are other varieties of cats that get quite a bit bigger -- bigger than a man -- but they're not generally kept as companion animals."
She regards the little fluffball for a moment and adds, "And I think he's cute too, of course, but I may be biased." She grins. "And now I'm all curious about what sorts of singing companion animals are in Rebma...."
"Dolphins have the best songs of passion," she quickly replies. "But there are devotees to various companions and musics: narwal, humpback, razorback, blue, and sea turtle--though I find their songs put me to sleep. Even orcas are considered good singers by some, though I think most of their music is playing with songs they've heard from other singers. Originality counts for something."
Folly can't help but grin as she imagines orcas as the remixers of the sea, complete with giant turntables on inflatable floaties. But she lets Celina continue uninterrupted:
"Pinnipeds tootle a number of ditties, but most of it is associated with mating. Sometimes I wonder if mating music is really art or not." She looks at Folly.
"I suppose," Folly replies, tilting her head as she considers the issue, "it depends how creative you're willing to be to attract a mate. I've certainly heard a mating call or two that would count as art -- and I've also heard it argued that whole sub-branches of music are nothing more than one big mating call." She smiles, a bit wistfully. "I'm not sure I completely agree, but some days it feels more true than others."
The Seaward girl turns the new idea around and thinks about such worlds. Entire sub-branches of music devoted to passion. She rubs at the bumps on her arms.
"Some days many things are true that could not be considered before," she replies half to herself. Celina considers Folly and Fathom. "I'll be with you all a while. I have to go through a transition from flotsam to navigator." She nods. "Hopefully it won't take months."
Folly, leaning against the side of the pool, regards Celina curiously for a moment, as if working something out. Then, "You've taken the Pattern," she says with a smile; it's somewhere between a question and a statement.
Celina's green eyes darken. She seems surprised.
"So've I," Folly admits in an undertone, and her smile deepens, grows almost conspiratorial. "Just recently. Not many people even know yet." Careful not to splash too much, she hauls herself up onto the tiled pool edge but continues to dangle her feet into the water.
"You know," she says, leaning back and stretching as far as she can to grab the bathrobe wadded up on the bench behind her, "I think some of us are headed for Xanadu soon, probably later today." She pulls the robe around her shoulders, probably more for warmth than modesty, and withdraws a comb from the pocket. "Why don't you come with us? Merlin, too, if he wants. Martin---"
Celina catches the sudden bright spark in Folly's eyes, visible for just an instant before the purple-tressed girl drops her gaze to concentrate on combing out the ends of her hair. "Martin was gonna show me some about... shifting and stuff, I think. You might benefit from that part, too."
"Where I stand," Celina sighs, "I'd benefit from anything and everything." She dunks beneath the water suddenly and stays down until the gray mood that ambushed her washes away.
She rises from the water slowly, a smile firmly planted on her face. After all, this was a new day and it was bound to get better. Wasn't it? Celina begins to soap her body.
"Xanadu is ..." she wrinkles her nose thinking fast. "Sorry. Is what?"
"Oh, sorry--- is the place the king was talking about when we arrived at breakfast yesterday," Folly replies. She regards Celina with an apologetic smile. "Forgive me -- we're throwing a terrible lot at you all at once, aren't we? And you only just got here."
"You're right about many things," Celina laughs. "It's a lot. All at once. Much of it is terrible. I have taken the Pattern. I am worried about my brother, so I'm interested in your offer of asking him to participate in travel, or practice with shadow stuff."
Folly nods sympathetically.
She pauses in soaping her luminous green skin. The light of the bath water flickers on her curves. Celina stares at Folly working her hair. "So the King needs the attention of many Pattern walkers to make this new legend move forward, doesn't he?"
"Something like that, yeah," Folly says with a smile. "Actually, I got the sense that Xanadu's legend would grow all on its own even if you left it alone -- but we'll be there to nudge it in useful directions, if we can."
Celina lifts her chin in Folly's direction. "I'll do your hair if you help with mine."
Folly's smile shows genuine pleasure. "I'd like that," she says, and holds out her hand to invite Celina closer, into the water just in front of Folly.
Celina swooshes down beneath the water and rises as quickly--clean, but leaving a soapy wake. She closes with Folly and reaches for the comb.
The Seaward girl happily sets to clearing tangles and working with the grain of Folly's hair. A few minutes of industry yields wonders. Then Celina combs a bit more in lieu of brushing.
Folly seems to enjoy being petted almost as much as Fathom. She sits mostly still as Celina works, but every now and then a contented sigh or happy shiver escapes her.
"Does Merlin have friends beyond Martin?" Celina asks.
"Well, there's Paige," Folly says, and Celina can tell from her tone there's a story there, or several. "Did he tell you about Paige?"
There is a return nod. "His teacher in Trump arts, he did mention her." Celina smiles. "Nice that a teacher can be a friend as well. That's not often true." Her thoughts swirl about behind her eyes.
Folly glances at Celina, and with a hand gesture offers to swap out and begin working on her hair.
Celina changes position with a nod of thanks. "I'm getting the idea that family does teach family when it comes to some of these esoteric things." She leans back to allow better reach to her long green locks.
"Yeah," Folly agrees, "I think a lot of this stuff only Family knows -- how to draw Trumps, for one." She runs her fingers along and through Celina's hair a few times to get a feel for it, then picks up the comb and begins gently working through it.
Celina closes her eyes and gets very still.
"But Merle and Paige are definitely friends," Folly continues, "although I think he views her more as a parental figure than as a peer. Martin, too. Which makes sense -- they're both a lot older than he is, and I think he met them both when he was very young. Well, I mean, he's still very young, but... you know."
The Seaward girl nods slightly.
Folly continues combing in pensive silence for a moment. "You said you were worried about him. Is he all right?"
How right is right enough? Celina rolls her caution over and examines it. She doesn't understand what Merlin might consider her business in his affairs. With nothing to go on, she eases into truth. "No. I don't think so. He's all right with being back here and among friends. He's not all right with things that are happening."
A pause. "He's not all right with being attacked."
Folly stops combing, though she doesn't seem quite done with Celina's hair yet. "There... haven't been new attacks since the Coronation, have there?" She sounds concerned.
Celina turns slightly and looks up into Folly's gaze. Her words are quiet but hold deeper thoughts just below the surface. "Cousin, how would I know? How could I frame the right question, being so little informed?" She sighs and adds. "Where would I start to unravel the important from the merely strange in this family? I think the answer is 'no' but I'm not sure at all."
There is no heat or debate in Celina's words. She is concerned but obviously feeling poorly positioned to help. "The two attacks that I know of scare me clear through as it is. If there are more, I haven't heard of them yet."
Folly nods. "At least he's protected somewhat from... from what his mother was planning to do... now that he's taken the Walk," she offers; she sounds like she's reassuring herself as much as Celina. "Or so I'm told, anyway -- that that was the most useful thing he could've done to shore up his defenses against her."
There is something in Celina's body language, her reaction to this, that says, "aha!"
Folly smiles, a bit grimly. "I like Merle, but I'm not sure I understand him -- what he is, what he goes through -- any better than you do." She looks thoughtful for a moment, then adds, "What did your father have to say about... about what happened during Merlin's Walk?"
Celina looks languid for a moment, which might be difficult for Folly to see from the hair-tending side. "I truly don't know. The man draws you in only to push you to the side by some inane comment. My guess is that he either brushed Merlin off or didn't think it was very important. Whatever the reaction, my father did nothing to reassure Merlin by whatever counsel he gave ---or Merlin would not still be quite upset about the whole thing."
Folly lets out an undignified snort of exasperation.
Celina adds, coming back to focus on Folly from somewhere, "The brute might even have made things worse by telling Merlin it couldn't possible have happened. He has that way about him."
The Seaward girl chews at her lip, but the set of her shoulders says she knows she is speaking against a king, let alone her father.
"I am beginning to suspect," Folly says tightly, "that our Elders' keen extrapersonal unawareness and lack of foresight are a reflexive defense against their own infinitude. The whole of time and space, taken all at once, would be far too overwhelming -- so they've carefully limited their focus to within three inches of their own noses and ten minutes into the future."
Celina blinks. The clarity and feeling behind the content is full of color, passion and meaning. It is too much to take in all at once, but it thrills with the impact--word after word. She opens her center. Water. Passion. Art.
Folly is an Artist.
[The Artist] sighs, shakes her head, and resumes work on Celina's hair. "But I suppose most of them are quite new to being parents, aren't they? I hold out hope that we can nudge them gently along the way of it."
Hope. Celina nods and makes no effort to hide the smile on her face. "I have a dream of parents. I tongue it when awake like a missing tooth. I chase it dolphin-like when asleep, hoping to bring it back from where it was thrown."
The images Celina paints bring a wistful smile to Folly's face.
The Seaward girl shakes her head. "That was --." Uncalled for. Celina blows out a sigh. "The water is relaxing and you are right. We should hope.
"However... I am not sure Hope exists in the world of the Chaosi. Should we conspire to teach it?" Celina lifts both eyebrows at Folly.
Folly tilts her head as she contemplates the proposal. "You know, Paige once observed to me that the changeable environment of Chaos seems to breed surprisingly orderly denizens. Now all of a sudden I think I get it: if everything around you changes from moment to moment, then the thing that never changes must obviously be unchangeable. Which, depending on your point of view, could either be a great comfort or a source of despair. Perhaps both at once."
"Um," and this noise from Celina seems both agreement and contemplative.
She looks at Celina, gives a decisive nod, and then smiles, warmly. "Yes, I think we should, if we can. At the very least we can teach by example. Well, I s'pose I do that whether I'm trying to or not: It's my nature to be hopeful."
Her touch is a soothing caress as her fingers trail through Celina's green locks in search of stray tangles. "D'you want to wear your hair up or down?" Folly asks after a moment. "It's so thick and strong, I think I could get it to stay up even without pins, if you want. Although it's pretty down, too."
Celina chuckles. "In Seaward, putting the hair up means displaying your neck, spine nubs, your sensitive places and power to the men about you. It is a provocation. It is a dare. I'm not quite ready to dare the men of Amber at anything except to example Hope." Her hands do slide up and back, checking her neck before settling again in the water.
Folly chuckles, too; but it is an effort of will not to lift those green locks to look, to touch.
"Perhaps we will start with pretty and see how things go?"
"Pretty we can do," Folly agrees. Nimbly but gently, she takes a small section of hair at Celina's left temple and begins separating it into strands, twisting it, braiding it, all in a steady rhythm. As she repeats the same process on the right side, she begins humming a slow, pretty melody to match the tempo of her hands. When the braided strands grow long enough, she weaves them together into an intricate knot at the nape of Celina's neck, a lovely ornament against the rest of her free-flowing locks.
"There, how about that?" Folly says when she's done. "---A deceptively decorative lock to keep your power hidden 'til you're ready to display it."
Celina admires the braid work with her fingertips. Her voice shows pleasure. "Oh, it is done well and such a good symbol to wear for a beginner! You are wise and passionate, Folly. This will be a good omen for me." Celina takes Folly's left hand gently and kisses the knuckles.
Folly smiles with delight and gently squeezes Celina's hand.
The Seaward girl adds. "First full day in Amber. First friend. Thank you."
"The pleasure is all mine," Folly says, smiling into Celina's emerald eyes. "You are an unexpected surprise and delight, and I'm glad we will be friends." On impulse, she leans down lays a soft kiss on Celina's forehead, just above her brows.
"But now, alas," she says with a sigh, "I s'pose I should get started on the piles of correspondence I need to catch up on before I leave town again." Folly withdraws her feet from the pool, stands, and pulls her robe more securely about her. Tied properly, it looks a bit too big for her, but she doesn't seem to mind.
"I do hope you'll consider coming with us," she adds sincerely.
"It is a thing to consider," Celina nods. "I need to talk to my brother. Without a beacon, I think he and I will have to sound for each other. Still, if he allows me the time, I would come with you on your trip."
Folly nods, smiling. "I hope it works out. And do please convey to your brother that we would welcome his company, as well."
"Until then."
And a slender hand breaks the water to wave Folly a goodbye.
Folly acknowledges with a little half-bow, then bends the rest of the way down to scoop up a drowsy-looking Fathom from under the bench.
"Until then," she echoes, settling the kitten into the crook of her arm. "Or if you have need of me in the meantime, feel free to seek me out in my quarters. You are always welcome."
And with a friendly parting grin, Folly is on her way.
Around midmorning, while Lucas is reading a particularly tedious broadsheet, there is a staccato rap upon the door. Lucas is not expecting visitors.
Gaston crosses the room to the suite's entrance and Lucas hears the door opening. Rather than the expected query from his retainer, Lucas hears rustling instead.
"Thanks," Lucas hears in a familiar voice, followed by Gaston's rather subdued announcement of "The King and Queen to see you, sir."
Random and Vialle come into the sitting room. She is wearing a classic gown in muted colors. He is wearing jeans and a T-Shirt. "Hallo, Lucas. We were in the neighborhood and thought we'd stop by."
"You're most welcome, your Majesties," says Lucas urbanely, rising to his feet and admirably concealing any surprise he might feel.
He is wearing the same informal garb in which he met Ossian - pale linen trousers and a polo shirt - both of extremely fine cut. A curious ring on one finger bears the insignia of the Yale Skull and Bones Club. Clearly this morning's style is New England preppie.
"Gaston," says Lucas, "refreshments." He turns to the royal couple. "Tea, your Majesties? Coffee? Something stronger? I believe Gouter has baked some of those little lemon cakes that you and my wife like so much, your Majesty." This last is, of course, to Vialle - Lucas has not yet established Random's taste in cakes.
"Coffee would be nice. Gatwegean Honeyed Coffee if you can make it that way."
Whatever they request (or nothing), Lucas dismisses Gaston to go about his duties with a superb gesture. Then he waits for Random and Vialle to be seated (he won't assist Vialle as Random is there) before seating himself once more.
He waits politely for the King to speak - whether it is social pleasantries, or something of more weight.
The King and Queen speak of pleasantries while waiting for Gaston. After inquiring about the health of Solace and the children and commenting on the excellence of the lemon cakes, Random gets to the point.
"I'm quite excited by the prospect of showing Xanadu to you all tonight. It's so full of potential. The double falls into the harbor are amazing." He shakes his head.
"I am all eagerness to see it too," agrees Lucas.
"Xanadu will get all sorts of people, of course. Including its share of fools, con-men, idealists, pragmatists, crooks, failures, gold-rushers, and musicians. Just like any place. But if I'm going to nurture it, I need to help populate it with talented people. I need to find the kind of people who will be driven to succeed and thus improve the city. It's pretty easy to identify who succeeded during the hardship of The Sundering, but it's not so easy to tell who succeeded by luck or family connections, or because an associate propped them up.
"It's not something I need in the form of a list from you. But I want you to think about it when you first come to Xanadu, then think about who might be on such a list.
"We're building here, and we need a good foundation."
"Of fools, con-men, crooks, failures and gold-rushers?" says Lucas with a faint smile. "Certainly, I'd be delighted to give it some thought ..."
Vialle drops her head, and her smile fades.
Lucas gives her a searching glance but continues to Random,
She doesn't hear his glance, and if Random sees it, he ignores it. "I think I can offer you the sort of entrepreneural spirit you are looking for. Animateurs, who can breathe life into projects. Men and - if you wish - women. And some whose gender is somewhat undecided ...
"Are you looking to recruit primarily in Amber, or are you thinking of Shadow too? I ran into a few people who you might want in Xanadu on my travels after the Sundering. A race of hermaphrodites, at one point. Now, they were adapatble."
Random says, "It's a push-pull situation, of course. Xanadu needs people who can build it, and there are people like that in Amber who will need a place to go. We'll get walk-ons from other places, but Amber is where we're going to recruit."
"Then I'll be delighted to offer you my suggestions," says Lucas. "It's a tremendous opportunity to create a city that is a model of beauty and organisation. A starting point for a great realm. Obviously, my suggestions will benefit from seeing Xanadu for myself. You are planning on returning soon, you say? May I ask who you are planning to leave in charge of the city in your absence? And whether you intend to start readying the populace? Rumours are already flying - with all due respect, a strategy for news management might be advisable."
"Well, it's not a wartime situation, and we can return quickly via trump if we need to. But Gerard will be here in case something comes up. It's a pity; he'd like the falls. Maybe we'll swap him in once we get there.
"You all didn't have quite the freedom to travel during the war, did you? I keep forgetting how long it's been here. Two months ago, we were King Eric's noble prisoners."
"Without wishing to denigrate the unpleasantness of your captivity in the least," says Lucas cautiously, "I would say that being one of his unexpected and not entirely welcome houseguests was no sinecure either."
"Hmm. Let me ask another way. Were you in Amber at all during my father's reign?"
"Fleetingly," says Lucas. "My mother decided one day I should walk the Pattern. And once Maman gets an idea into her head ... well, you know how she is. New shoes, new man, new brocade for the drawing room, Lucas walks the Pattern ... We didn't hang around to pay any formal calls. In fact, I doubt Grandpere knew we were here ... " He looks enquiringly at Random.
"That sounds like Flora's style. Come to think of it, it sounds like every single one of my sibs' styles. I was apparently the unsophisticated parent of my generation."
Vialle pats his hand.
"I have travelled since the Sundering. It ... ah ... seemed the thing to do. We needed trade routes." He gives a slight shrug. "It was a poor second to the old methods, I believe. But ... it got things done."
Random nods. "Making shadowpaths is a bitch-and-a-half. What you all did worked. Anyway, my point was that Amber doesn't need me to be here every day, but it may need me to show up any day. That's not the same thing. Amber certainly used to deal with that with Dad. He was very good at just knowing when he needed to be someplace. It was uncanny."
He pauses, as if lost in thought about his father.
Lucas says nothing.
"I've heard from Gerard about how people disappeared during the regency. With patterns in Xanadu and Paris and ways to get to Rebma, that'll become a torrent. It's not just that there's nothing to keep people here, it's as if they're getting pushed out. If we don't look after the people who would end up lost, they'll be strung out across uncountable shadows.
"And a part of looking after them is making sure that the place that they go to is hospitable. You see why I'm looking for who I'm looking for?"
"Indeed," says Lucas. "Yes, I can certainly make some recommendations.
"And ... ah ... would you like my role to be to join in creating this homely and welcoming atmosphere? The maitre d' for Xanadu? Or is it more on the scale of Hausmann in service to Napoleon III - forgive me, you did know Shadow Earth, I believe ... Boulevards and arrondissements ... they have a certain elan, I feel."
He looks at the King with polite enquiry.
"You'll be able to judge some of that better when you've seen it. There's very little that can be offered to a member of our family that could not be attained with very little effort in shadow. Where do you want to apply your talents for the greater good of Xanadu?"
Lucas glances sharply at Vialle - a look that she, of course, is unaware of, but that Random can see.
"I believe," says Lucas, "that I might say with all becoming modesty, that I have done the state some service. And if the reward for a job well done is another job, then I would suggest that you deploy my talents ... and my connections ... in a way that will best contribute to the greater good of Xanadu. Both within the realm and - without."
He smiles faintly. "I believe I am fortunate in having very little of an agenda that will occasion me to defend a homeland or protect external interests. My ... ah ... energies are your Majesty's to command."
Vialle stands. "I should visit with Solace before we leave. Can you have someone escort me there, Lucas?"
"Certainly," agrees Lucas, rising smoothly to his feet. (OOC - I imagine this places us before the Ossian trump scene?) "Solace will be delighted to see you, your Majesty. She is hoping to be strong enough soon to resume her service ... but I should let her tell you all her news for herself."
He does not offer to escort her himself, but moves to the plush bell pull set against the wall. Within a moment, the lugubrious Gaston is among them, and bowing respectfully as he escorts Vialle away.
Random watches the Queen leave.
Lucas waits until he is alone with the King and then says, "I have offered my allegiance to you, your Majesty. The fact that my mother has seemingly chosen another centre of reality can, I feel, be an asset rather than detrimental. I will have occasion to visit her and ... should a visit to her be needed, occasion can assuredly be found."
"I see we understand each other. There will be those who find your presence reassuring." Random looks at Lucas. "A certain continuity will be helpful in convincing people that the new realm is welcoming."
Lucas bows his head in agreement gravely, his dark eyes still watching Random. Then suddenly he smiles.
"To say nothing of my bringing a certain elan," he responds. "If you are creating a new centre of relaity, I suppose someone needs to be there to persuade you that the Strip is a rather tawdry dance, and not a style of urban architecture that you should be using as a model for Xanadu."
"It is a tasty cut of steak, though." He smiles back. "Amber reflected Oberon. His tastes, his desires, his interests and disinterests. It was a reflection of his mental idea of a City. He shaped it for thousands of years. It has Oberon, King of Amber written all over it."
"Xanadu will be the city of my desire, but it will be easier to make it that way if I start off well."
"And I shall do all in my power to aid you in that, Sire," said Lucas gravely. "With, perhaps, a few provisos as regards furnishings."
[Do you have anything else? If not, Vialle returns, a few more pleasantries are exchanged, Lucas is thanked for his hospitality, and they leave...]
(OOC - eeep - I forgot something).
Before the King and Queen leave, Lucas genially suggests they pay a visit to the nursery. Hope, he explains to Random, adores Vialle, and will be desperately hurt to learn that she missed seeing her.
"Certainly," agrees Random agreeably.
"We'd be most pleased to visit your children, Lucas," adds Vialle.
"Kissing babbies is in the job description, after all. Lead on, Nephew mine!"
The children are pleased to see the Royal couple. While Vialle speaks seriously to Hope, Random improvises a small drum for Phillippe. Soon the young lad is banging arrhythmically but very loudly on a box with a wooden stick.
Random and Vialle stay for a few moments, but they make their apologies and move along to their next appointment. Random thanks Lucas and offers to send Phillippe a proper drum, as he seems quite taken with the sound.
Lucas seems delighted by the proposal.
"Just think, Solace, it was only the other say that we were discussing whether we should turn that little room at the far end of the suite into a dressing room for your Mama when she comes to visit, or a music room for the children. And now his Majesty has shown us the way! A music room it shall be."
And Lady Vesper, if she should attempt to sleep in the next room, will have to contend with Phillippe's drumming at ungodly hours - and it will remain to be seen whether (when she realises that the drum is a gift of the King) it will be her desire to protect her hearing, or her appalling snobbery that will triumph. Her son-in-law anticipates enjoying the contest.
"I think Hope should learn the bugle," says Lucas thoughtfully.
The next day a box arrives, containing one small bugle and a small double hand tom. Both are engraved 'The Marquis of St. Cyr's own Drum and Bugle Corps.'
Lucas acquires a new member of staff - a man called Crotchet. Probably employed on a part time basis.
When visiting Lucas, people might hear, in the silence that falls occasionally in Lucas' rooms, a high nasal voice can be heard "Now children ... one! two!" followed by a mad (but thankfully muffled) cacophony in a very distant part of the suite.
Cousins who wish to teach the children too will be very welcome. There's a particular march tune that Lucas hopes they will have the rudiments of ready for the next time Lady Harmony Vesper visits - the children can greet her with it ...
Last modified: 22 October 2004