Stable Unstable


Garrett breathes the dewy morning air deeply as he comes out of the stable and unties Bet. He checks the pouch once again, making sure it's not going anywhere. The horse prances, but Garrett knows his rhythms and mounts effortlessly, despite the height of the stirrups. He wheels Bet around and is off at a run down the mountain.

He lets Bet run at top speed for a time, allowing him to spend some of his pent-up energy. This has always been Garrett's favorite part of the job. At this speed, the forest seems to warp around him as he concentrates on nothing but the horse and the road. He moves in perfect rhythm with Bet, his knees in the tight stirrups bending and flexing with the gait. Even his breathing matches his mount's. When the switchbacks begin, Garrett slows Bet to a more controlled run, carefully guiding him around the twists and stones in the road. The last thing he needs now is an injured horse.

At a stream just before the clearing that surrounds the city proper, Garrett draws rein. He dismounts and leads his sweaty but happy horse off the road and down the bank to drink. After taking a drink himself, he stands up and reaches into his pocket, taking out the bent nail. While he waits for Bet to rest and drink his fill, Garrett twists the nail around his little finger, trying to shape it into one of Pritchel's rings. The first attempt comes out rough and lopsided, but with the second nail, Garrett does much better. This one is relatively smooth and almost circular. Smiling, he puts the nails back in his pocket.

When Bet is rested, Garrett leads him back up to the road. "All right, mate. Showtime," he says as he remounts. "Let's make it look good."

Garrett urges his horse into a run. The journey up the mountain is harder, but Bet enjoys the challenge. They take the switchbacks as fast as Garrett dares and fly when the road straightens out. In less than an hour, they arrive back at the castle, both horse and rider sweaty and dusty. Garrett ties Bet to a hitching post outside of the servants entrance. He checks the pouch again, ensuring that the note is still exactly where he left it. Not that he thought it wouldn't be. He strides officially to His Majesty's office.

While not commonplace, a messenger from town is also not unheard of. Garrett is not questioned overmuch as he goes through the palace. No one stops him until he approaches his father's office. Volume, an assistant to the Steward, approaches. The tall, thin man looks at Garrett, as if he is not wasting words on a mere stable boy. He looks more like a well-dressed scarecrow than any man has a right to look.

Garrett draws himself up to his full not-so-tall height as he approaches Volume. "I have an urgent message for His Majesty, sir," he says in the official delivery messenger voice.

Volume holds out his hand.

"Me orders were to give this directly to the King and only the King, sir," Garrett responds, showing no indication of handing over the message.

Volume raises his eyebrows. "And this supposed message is from whom? My instructions are not to interrupt His Majesty before breakfast on the whims of impertinent stable boys."

"It's from Sir Archer. I'll wait," Garrett answers, his posture changing to parade rest.

"The bench on your left," says Volume. He returns to his desk and the papers in front of him.

Garrett sits on the indicated bench, resting the pouch next to him. He had come prepared to wait all day if that was what it took.

It's around fifteen minutes later that Gilt Winter walks out of the King's office. His hair is full and silvery and longer than is the fashion amongst men in Amber. He moves very fluidly up to Volume's desk. "He's had his coffee. What's on fire?"

"These messages have arrived," says Volume, handing the man a stack of papers. "And a messenger from Sir Archer Halfhand." Volume points at Garrett.

Gilt looks over at Garrett. "Are you waiting for a reply, or is this verbal message?," he asks.

"It's written, but I was ordered to await His Majesty's response, sir," Garrett responds officially.

Gilt is leafing through the papers that Volume handed to him. He indicates the office door to Garrett.

Garrett rises from the bench and picks up the pouch. He strides over to the office door and, jaw set to conceal his nerves, pulls the handle, and enters.

Random is sitting on the corner of his desk, wearing tight denim pants and a close-fitting undershirt. He looks at Garrett as the young man enters, but doesn't say anything. "Messenger from Sir Archer," says Gilt, who is closing the door behind the two of them.

Still holding the official posture, Garrett waits for the door to close. He pulls the note out of the pouch and with a simple "Your Majesty," hands the note to the King.

Random takes the paper from the lad.

Your Majesty

Im The son Dame Lily told you
about yesterdy
Can we talk privitly pleese?

Garrett

Random looks up from the paper. "Thank you, Gilt. I need to ask the lad a few questions. Can you go see if the queen will be ready to have breakfast soon?"

"Sire," says Gilt. The tall man opens a side door to the office and slips away into a hallway.

Random looks at Garrett. "Your spelling sucks."

"Uh...Yes, Your Majesty. I know," Garrett responds, not sure what else to say. He studies Random, his jaw still set. Yes, the resemblance, the blue eyes are there.

"So, Lilly did speak to me yesterday. Now it's your turn. Tell me what it is you think you need to tell me."

"First, you need to know I didn't ask Dame Lilly to tell you about me. I thought she only meant to get me an audience with you. I do not get others to do me dirty work," says Garrett, a certain pride showing in the set of his chin.

"Good," says Random. "and bad. Sometimes it's the right thing to do to have others do things. Sometimes not. It depends on the thing." He stands up from the desk and walks over to the drums that are set up near the window. He lies down on the floor and reaches inside an opening cut into the head of a large drum and searches for something. "While I won't let anyone but me tune my drums, I like having stable hands in the stables to take care of the horses."

"Uh,...Yes, Your Majesty," says Garrett hesitantly. "I've done that for many years."

"It's a matter of knowing what's what," Random replies. He stands up, having apparently found what he was looking for in his drum. A slender, golden chain from which one of the crown jewels dangles is between his fingers. He slips the chain over his head and the jewel beneath his shirt.

"Tell me about your mother," he says.

Garrett watches the jewel with interest. He looks back at Random as he begins. "Me Mum's name is Anna. She was a maid here about twenty years or so ago. Dark hair, really pretty, prob'ly rather persistent, I reckon. She left the castle abruptly when she found out she was pregnant with me. It was only recently that I learned the real reason why. Apparently she, uh, knew you rather...intimately," Garrett explains, his cheeks turning pink. He takes a deep breath and says quickly, "She says you're me real father."

"And do you think I am?"

Garrett continues to study him - his eyes, his build, his voice. "Yes," he answers. "I do. I'm just not sure what to do about it."

Random cocks his head. "What do you think it means to be my son?"

Garrett sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. "I reckon it means a lot of things are gonna change when people find out. That is, if you want them to find out. I know this is gonna put you - hells, everyone - in an awkward position." Garrett pauses. "I won't be offended if you don't want to acknowledge me." he says softly.

Random smiles. "Everyone will find out. Last week two people knew. Now it's six. That's too many to keep a secret." He opens his desk drawer and pulls out a wooden box. From it he takes a cigarette and a match. "Smoke?" he asks.

"No, thanks," says Garrett.

Random shrugs and lights himself a cigarette. "Being my son or being the son of any of my brothers is more than just a heritage of position and power in Amber. I have always thought it was well known in the city and amongst the castle staff that we're really all sorcerors, capable of inhuman feats. We live forever, we control magics beyond human ken, and we have neither hearts nor souls."

Garrett starts to look a little worried.

"Those are the stories, Garrett I know already if you're one of us. I want to know what you want to be."

Garrett hesitates, thinking. "Truthfully?" he says finally. "I don't really care about being a royal. Me life was a lot less complicated before I found out. But I do want to know what I am. I mean, I know I'm stronger and faster than almost anyone I've ever met. I know I heal way faster than a person should. And I've heard that I'm likely 'near immortal.' Beyond that, I know nothing. And I do want to know."

"OK, here it is. You are one of us. Most likely mine, but could also be any of my brothers. Or my father's for that matter. If my son Martin had been in Amber at the right time, I'd've put him in as a dark-horse. You look like him."

"He looks like you, Sire," says Garrett matter-of-factly.

Random takes a drag off his cigarette. "Being that you are one of us, there's a lot you need to know. You do have the inherent powers we all inherited from my father, although they're not active in you. You will be able to go anywhere you want, to control how things happen around you, to make trade paths into shadow. You'll always be faster and stronger than the people around you, and unless you get in the way of something fatal, you're not going to die. Heck, you're not even going to age much more. Some, yes, but not that much more."

Garrett considers this. So far it all matches what Lilly said the night before. It also reminds him that he has more questions to ask.

Random points towards Garrett with his cigarette. "And that's just the physical differences. You're a Prince of Amber by blood. That makes you a power in places you've never heard of. And it means that people will try to use your power, or the power they think you have, for their ends. There's a lot that you need to learn, kid, and I need you to learn it quick, too. We don't want you ending up like Brennan's brother."

Garrett raises his eyebrows quizzically. Sir Brennan has a brother?

Random ignores non-verbal questions asked by eyebrows. If he managed to learn to ignore Julian's eyebrow, he can ignore Garrett's.

"I've been thinking about you, and what we'd do if it turned out you were one of us. Given that it's going to come out, how do you want to prepare for it? Do you want to stay with the stables and/or the library for a bit, do you want to move up to the castle immediately? Do we want to get you a tutor and send you off on an educational tour? I lean towards the first option, but there's something to be said for the others."

Garrett looks a little less tense. "Well, Sire, I reckon I agree. Keeping things as they are for now, at least until more people know, seems the best bet. Mum'd pitch a fit if I packed up and moved into the castle and that wouldn't do much for keeping it quiet. Her memories of you are...less than fond, to put it mildly."

"Cherish your mother, lad. You won't have her forever. But you don't have to do anything because of what she'll say or do."

Garrett smiles for the first time since entering the office. "I'm not, Sire. If I were, I wouldn't be here speaking with you now."

Random nods, evidently satisfied with the reply.

"There's something I want to ask, though, Your Majesty. You said I have 'inherent powers' but they're not active. Why not?" Garrett asks, making every effort not to show that anyone has discussed this with him.

Random runs his fingers through his hair.

"In order to answer that question, I'll need something from you, Garrett. You've already given your oath of loyalty to the King, but now that you're Garrett, son of Random, it's a different matter."

A slight smile tugs at the corner of Garrett's lips.

"We don't have to do the formal bit now, in fact we might save it for later, or never get around to it. Fact is, at this level the oath is a matter of what I can enforce, but it will affect what I'm willing to tell you. So, are you willing to re-take the Oath of Allegiance to the King?"

In his mind, Garrett flashes back to the first time he took it. He was standing in full livery on the driver's seat of a carriage at the edge of a sea of people on Coronation Day. He never forgot the feeling of power as the crowd knelt as one, and he along with it, to pledge allegiance to the King. He never would forget.

Garrett looks the King in the eye and hesitates for only a moment, just long enough for Random to know that he takes this seriously. Then Garrett nods, once.

"Good enough. There is, for wont of a better word, a magical ordeal that you have to undergo in order to control the power that you have. Before you do so, you may use it or it may use you but it will be uncontrolled and dangerous. Afterwards, you will be able to master the family heritage of control over shadow. You'll be able to walk to a place of your desiring and to affect probability to match your will.

"Completing the ritual, which we call 'walking the pattern' for reasons you will find self-evident at a later time, is a test of your will not just to complete the task but to survive. It kills those who do not pass the test.

"Oberon decreed that no one should take it until after his thirtieth year."

"Thirty?!" Garrett exclaims, all decorum aside. "Then how come--" he clamps his mouth shut quickly and takes a deep breath. "Sorry, Sire," he says more calmly, though Random can tell it's an effort. "Is that your rule, too, now that you're the King?"

"Technically, 'after thirty', which is to say, 'thirty-one'," corrects Random, unhelpfully.

Garrett looks pained.

"It's instant death to do it wrong. There are no second chances. You wouldn't even leave a corpse to bury. It's one thing to know you have a nonzero chance of not losing, it's another to actually play the hand.

"I don't have a rule, but I can't say when you'll be ready. It's on the 'to be discovered' list."

Garrett looks at the floor, disappointment showing on his face. "But Sire, how--"

There's a knock on the door.

Garrett's frustration at the interruption is obvious.

"Enter!," bellows Random. "We'll talk later," he says in his normal voice.

The door opens and Gilt is there. "Your pardon, sire..."

"Not at all, Gilt, we're done here."

Garrett clenches his jaw as he resumes formal posture. He's far from done here, but he's a skilled enough servant to know when to keep his mouth shut in the presence of the King.

"A note from the Prince your son."

Random nods and reaches for it. "Show the lad out. He's to be allowed in to see me again if he requests it."

Hastily before being escorted out, Garrett says in his official delivery voice, "Your Majesty, do you wish me to inform Prince Martin of the news or would you prefer to tell him yourself?"

Random thinks about this for a moment.

Gilt gives the note to Random, who puts it down on a table next to him. Gilt then leads Garrett out the door.

"Don't worry about the Prince, I'll burn that bridge when it comes up."

"Very good, Sire," Garrett pauses to nod dutifully, then continues out.

"Oh, and Gilt?" says Random to the tall man's back, "have someone send for Horsemaster Bailey."

Garrett quickly looks over his shoulder as Gilt leads him out, terror written on the lad's face.

Random taps his finger aside his nose, thrice.


As they leave the room, Gilt says to the man in the outer chamber. "Volume, his majesty informs me that young master Garrett here is to be allowed in to see the King if he returns. Please make sure that it known."

He turns to Garrett. "Do you know your way out, lad?", he says, not unkindly.

"Yessir," answers Garrett, with a sudden tightness in his voice. He starts to leave the outer office, then turns back to Gilt Winter. "Sir, I'm on me way back to the stables. I'll deliver the message to the Horsemaster," Garrett offers, managing to sound official.

"Please do," says Gilt, and turns back to Volume. It's clearly a dismissal.

Garrett weaves his way through the castle at a fast walk, fighting the urge to run. Perhaps he wants to talk to him about, oh, stable stuff, he tries to convince himself. Or perhaps he just wants to talk about me privately. Or...Damn! Garrett silently spews a frigate's worth of curses, certain that what the King has in mind for his father is far, far worse.

As Garrett unties Bet and mounts up, he briefly considers just riding, far and fast, and not stopping until he gets to Arden. No, beyond Arden. But the part of him that was raised by Donovan Bailey sends him back to the stables. Back where I belong, he thinks wryly. I should have listened to Mum.

At the stable, Garrett releases Bet into a paddock with hay and water, then goes looking for Donovan.

Donovan is in his office. "Well?" he says to Garrett. The stud book sits open on his desk; Garrett can see that it has not been added to since he left the office before.

Garrett closes the door that leads into the stable. As he turns back, he shrugs. "I'm still here." He pulls a straight chair from the corner and sits on it backward, crossing his arms on the top of the back.

"I got in without much trouble, once the aide realized I wasn't leaving. I gave the king me note and he sent Gilt on an errand so we could talk. He asked me a bunch of questions - did I think Mum was right, what does it mean to be his son, what do I think we should do. I answered them as best I could, but, I don't know...sometimes it seemed like he was talking in a whole 'nother conversation. I asked about what I am. And why their powers aren't active in me. He explained it, but I reckon I'll have to hear it again to get it all. I had to promise to take the oath again before he'd tell me.

"Then he said I prob'ly couldn't activate it 'til I'm at least thirty anyway," Garrett grouses. "Gilt came back about then, so we couldn't talk more. We left it that I'd work down here and in the lib'ry and live at home 'til it comes time to do otherwise. Mum'll be happy about that." Garrett pauses, but Donovan can tell there's more.

Garrett squirms in the chair and stares firmly at the floor. "He didn't seem upset, and he told Gilt I could come back if I wanted to," he says, as if reassuring himself. Garrett chews his lip and looks back up at his father. "Then he said to have you sent up to his office." To anyone else, Garrett's voice is level, but Donovan, who knows him best, can hear a slight quiver of fear in his words.

Donovan listens to Garrett's recitation of his adventures, nodding here and there as the story seems to require it. When Garrett talks about active powers, he seems mildly confused.

Garrett shrugs apologetically at the confused look. He doesn't understand that part well enough to explain it any better.

"Well, I guess I have to go then," Donovan says at the end of the tale. He sounds more resigned than afraid. "Have you thought about what you're going to tell your ma?"

"The usual," Garrett answers truthfully. "As little as possible unless she asks me a direct question, like 'Did you go and speak with the ratfink about your future education?'" His imitation of his mother is dead on.

"You'll have to tell her sometime," Donovan says, still sounding resigned.

"I know," Garrett sighs. "But you know how she gets. Whenever I mention his name, she throws up the wall. I'll tell her eventually, but I want to hold off her worries as long as I can.

"Really, though," he continues optimistically, "since he wants me to stay down here, it's prob'ly not gonna be much of an issue, at least not right away.

"I've gotta get to work," Garrett says as he rises and puts the chair back in the corner. "You'll let me know when you're back, right?" he asks apprehensively.

Donovan, also rising, nods. "We'll talk over whatever he has to say. It'll work out, you know that, Garrett?" He comes and gives his son a fierce embrace.

Garrett nods, not trusting his voice to speak. He returns the embrace with nearly rib-crunching strength, clenching his teeth and squeezing his eyes tightly shut in a mostly successful effort to hold back tears. "Luck," Garrett says as he lets his father go.

Then [Donovan] leaves and heads up to the keep. If Garrett watches, he can see Donovan glancing back down at him, or perhaps the stables, occasionally.

Garrett pokes around the office. He feels like he should be doing something, but he's not sure what. Everything is so familiar, but now suddenly so empty. After tidying some papers on the desk and putting away the stud book, he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks around again. His right hand touches the horseshoe-nail ring. He pulls it out and studies it. "Heh. Strength," he smiles ruefully. Though he made it for someone else, he's pretty sure she won't mind if he borrows it for a while. With a deep sigh, he slips the ring on the little finger of his left hand and leaves the office, closing the door behind him.


As Ossian and Marius make their mutual retreat, Marius returns to his room. He stands around, looking at the sparse decor for a while, before sitting at his desk and taking out his letter-writing material.

Dear Cousin Jovian,
I must admit that I do not expect you to understand, let alone appreciate my methods, but I hope you hesitate in condemning me before learning that I have the best of intentions. Motive, after all--

Marius stops and sighs. He leaves the letter there, uncompleted, and instead begins writing a list of things to prepare. He steps outside his door long enough to have the list sent for delivery to Sir Xenial with, "Can you recommend a valet for me?" note inserted inside. Xenial knew many of Princess Deirdre's servants; perhaps one of them will be appropriate. Marius knows he can trust his man to get these things done.

[the list will include everything discussed with Ossian - horse made ready, some stores prepared, - and more. Mostly, though, he's hoping to travel as light as possible - Marius knows how to prepare for a journey perhaps better than I do, so I am leaving him in charge of the list]

He pens one more letter, this one to his Uncle Caine. [contents will be described provided it ever gets delivered] He folds it up and puts it into his vest. With this done, he looks back at his letter to Jovian and shakes his head after rereading it. He stands up and straps on his sword. He prepares to leave the room, extinguishing extra candles and the like.

He leaves to find Ce'e. He will start in Aisling's quarters.

Aisling's quarters are locked and a guard is there. Unusually, it's a sailor, not a member of the Royal Guard. He inquires as to Marius' business.

[Assuming Marius tells the guard he's looking for Ce'e]

The guard points him at a nearby chamber. It's not coincidental that the guard can see both doors easily from his station, Marius thinks.

"Thank you," Marius notes, carefully. If he knows the sailor, he'll spend a moment inquiring about how things have been for him. He adds, "Has anyone been in to see Ce'e?" very casually. He figures it's a sailor and not royal guard because Caine's on top of it.

"No one that I've seen, sir."

"Ah." Marius thanks the guard for his assistance.

His first action will be to approach slowly, observing Ce'e's apparent health and well-being with any skills and/or abilities he may have to do so. He does not think of Ce'e as a _person_, even less so than he considered Aisling, so he doesn't mind looking rude. He will hail Ce'e quietly. His next move is really dependent on how "healthy" Ce'e appears, so...

Ce'e is sitting in the unlit chamber in a chair. His appearance has not changed significantly since the last time Marius saw him. He still looks sort of like a badly-cast model of a man.

Ce'e is not moving at all. He's unnaturally still. When Marius hails him, his eyes move, but nothing else.

"You do not look well, Knight Ce'e," he says, carefully. "Are you in discomfort?" he asks, sounding as sympathetic as he can.

"The Order of this place forces me to be unchanging. I am ... what I am now." Ce'e is speaking slowly, as if the concepts in his speech are difficult for him.

"Is my Lord?"

Marius translates that as best he can to his (potentially naive) notions of what might be happening and runs with his own conclusions. Just like you thought he would. "Our evidence is that your lord still exists, but we do not know in what condition." He takes the literal meaning of "is." He pauses, thinking rapidly. "Need you your Lord to survive in this place?"

"It is Ordered. I am not ordered. I do not know how to survive without a Lord. Will you be my Lord? I have proven ability to serve in this realm and I was useful to your Lord in The Fixed Place." Ce'e says, sounding almost hopeful. It is the most energetic Ce'e has seemed since Marius entered the room.

Marius considers, his thoughts moving at full speed, trying to weigh the positives and the negatives. He does not want to answer in haste, for while he suspects much he knows little, and that lack of knowledge could prove harmful to the both of them. He does not find caution an answer in itself, however, and would prefer to take his chances in exactly this kind of gamble. (He doesn't abhor card playing, just doesn't see social exercise as a real reason.)

"If I knew how, for the opportunity to have so many of my questions answered, I would gladly be your Lord." He is aware that he has taken on a responsibility, either way, but it is not entirely an unexpected one. It is a more peaceful solution to his dilemma. "I fear it may not merely be the matter of swearing fealty, but a matter of blood and magics I am unprepared to initiate." Hopefully his patient explanation will be sufficient for Ce'e.

"You are a power, even if your power is tainted by Order. I will become Ordered." Ce'e suddenly sounds like he's enthusiastic about this. "How may I serve you, Lord?"

"Yep, I am a power," Marius buffs his lapel and struts around the room, nodding to the invisible audience and pointing to himself, mouthing, "Power."

Erm.

Nevermind.

Marius may have his reservations as to how exciting becoming Ordered is, but reflects that the enthusiasm Ce'e has for change is certainly a positive force in itself. He values that enthusiasm, it being a rare commodity in the jaded halls of Amber. "You may serve me immediately in observation and patience," he says. "I must make the proper arrangements," his brief smile turns wry as he mentally composes the note to Ossian, "Oh, and by the way, we've got a Chaosian chaperone." It becomes more wringer than wry when he thinks of how he's going to explain it to his Uncle(s). Ah well. He takes a breath. "I will need to bring you on a journey," he says. "I will come for you in the morning. In the meantime, do you have any needs that I may arrange for provision?"

"Only to serve you, Lord," Ce'e says, with remarkable enthusiasm.

Marius is a little taken aback by this. "You are well-equipped for sustenance, I assume?" he asks.

Once he has taken care of Ce'e he will be returning to his quarters. He glances ruefully at the note left for Jovian, and leaves it there with a self-indulgent smile. After all, he might need that opener later. He pens a quick but careful message to Ossian.

Dear Cousin --
I may have introduced a complication. I have taken our resident creature of Chaos, Ce'e, under my authority. I have faith that this will prove more a blessing than a burden, for I am certain he has unique talents that may benefit us. I hope I have not overstepped the bounds in inviting another on our journey, and if this proves completely distasteful I hope you will let me know in time for me to make other arrangements. -- Marius

With that finished, he steps outside long enough to pass it on to a messenger before returning.

A few minutes later a note arrives from Ossian:

Marius,
bringing Ce'e will not be a problem. In fact some of the cousins who have my Trump have talked about joining later. --Ossian

He lays down on his bed for a moment, thinking about who he should ask permission of to have Ce'e released to his authority. After a moment he laughs, and stands back up. He's going searching for Caine.


A page informs Marius that Caine is in his office. When Marius arrives, he's greeted by one of Caine's junior officers and ushered in.

"Marius," Caine says, rising to greet his nephew. "Come in. Sit down."

Marius' smile for his favourite Uncle is not in the slightest way feigned. (Not that he's the type to broadcast his feelings or anything.) He follows Caine's instructions, but while his smile suggests a lazy sprawl, he's too disciplined to sit so casually. "Sir," he says, and then stops with a chuckle. He realizes he was about to report, and that there are few nautical terms for what had been going through his head. He shakes his head and begins again. "Am I correct," he starts, "in thinking that the Aisling puzzle has been left for your solution? I may have a complication or a Gordion consummation."

"Effectively, although that's apparently a mostly-closed book, due to my former step-mother. What pieces are still on the table?"

"That narrows it down little more than saying, 'Due to one of my brothers,'" Marius points out. "But that's more news than I had," he admits. He gives a bit of a rolling shrug. "Knight Ce'e," he answers, "Who is, I believe, now mine to explore." He chuckles, almost unwillingly, as if it were pulled out of him. "Which complicates my plans to leave a little, but only in that I don't know how well he will travel with Ossian and myself." That should answer about half a dozen related questions.

Caine nods. "Yours, personally, or as a member of the Knights of the Order of the Ruby? And are you sure he's yours and not someone else's on loan to you until it is convenient to them to betray your trust?"

"Its words," he clarifies, "were something of the sort of Lords with capital letters and powers of Order which enthused `him,' but Ce'e was already of the Knights." He takes a breath and then continues, "I am taking responsibility for him." No quotation marks, but it's not an important pronoun. "A journey out of Amber may prove educational in ways Aisling's masters weren't expecting, but I hope to learn much from Ce'e. It removes a potential danger from both the plans for the exodus from one fading Reality to the next, and the usual assassinations. I am not immune to such an attempt, but I am merely opportune compared to some of the targets."

Caine shrugs.. "That is a risk I'm prepared to let you take, nephew, as long as you take it by your own choice. I know of no way to test the loyalties of it, nor do I wish to waste it in a simple test. You are, I assume, aware of how the yeoman peasantry of Amber would respond to finding a shapeshifting chaosian in their midst?"

"Much the same as I would, I hope," Marius says with a pert and not entirely friendly smile.

Caine replies immediately, with a much more sour smile and a raised eyebrow. "I expect they would tear the Chaosian to pieces and drag the remains off to Halfhand in hopes of a reward, which he would probably provide. Is that how you would respond?"

"We have not ushered in an era of peace and prosperity with our rivals, have we?" Marius asks in a rhetorical, "Did I miss the memo?" tone which I think qualifies as "only a minor reply," because he means, "Basically, yes."

"Sir Archer wouldn't give you a reward," Caine replies.

Marius persists in not chuckling at this (although his player gigglesnorted) but there's some feral mirth in his expression.

"As for loyalty, I was thinking of something Aisling said. `Being touched by Order makes it harder for bits of you to be prised off; it also makes it harder for you to be precise in your prising.' It was in reference to the ability of those of Chaos to eat the memories and will of another. Wait." He puts his hand up in a 'pause' motion. "Crazy thought. Could they use that eating and create a being similar to the creature they ate in the strange reproduction of theirs?" He doesn't really expect an answer from Caine - he's just thinking aloud. He shakes his head and continues. "I am aware of the potential of being used for bait. I don't know if Ossian is, but I think in some part that is why we travel together, whether the King directly intended that or not." It's a wry and feral smile, now.

Caine lets a few thoughts percolate through his head. "How would you know if Ossian had secretly had his brain replaced with a Chaosian's?"

"Without being flippant, sir, I am not certain entirely how one would, should my supposition be correct. What was it that was said? Ah yes, 'There was a second Cambina.' There are a thousand thousand little things that each person does of significance to their own psyche, and yet, do I know Ossian well enough to make the determination? No, there are few I would feel I could assess sufficiently. For that matter, would _he_ know? If you were to make a duplicate of myself from my memories and experiences, would it not suffice for me?" He smiles. "Or do I entertain my notions past the point of the rational?"

"Could your memories and experiences manipulate the basic order of the universe or answer a trump call? It's a pity that trumps are so damnedly hard to obtain. In some ways they act as perfect identifiers."

"It's that first part which makes me wonder if perhaps being a Lord of Order," he pronounces the capitals with only the slightest hint of sarcasm, "is indeed the protection Ce'e suggests it is. Ossian is offering to lead: I assume those of Chaos do not manipulate the currents the same way, so perhaps that is a decent test, if yet insufficient for all of our extended kin. Was Aisling an initiate?" He shrugs. "I do not know the exact connection between blood and power." Power meaning `magic.' "When I do," definitely a `when,' not an `if,' "I will be able to suggest better answers, Uncle."

"I don't think you'll ever know the exact connection, but I suspect that the exercise will be worthwhile nonetheless."

"If there is a common denominator, I will likely be satisfied with that," Marius says. Ah, the benefits of a higher education. "I suspect rumours of our adventures will fly to you, but I will be in contact as necessary," he smiles. "Have you any advice on what directions we should avoid or seek specifically? I am not quite content to go as the wind would blow."

Caine glances out the window. "All roads once led to Amber, but now do not. For those of our lineage, the direction of the wind is often as good as any other. I have not been abroad since we returned, so I am limited in the practical advice I can provide, but you should avoid Arden, as Brother Julian has closed it. Have you looked to trumps for guidance?"

Marius looks uncomfortable for a moment, but then shrugs it off with a grin. "I had not considered their wisdom." He stands up. "I'll try not to worry you too much, Uncle." What he really means, of course, is that it's been nice to talk to him and he doesn't want Caine to be stagnant here on land when the breezes bring the scent of the ocean up to the castle.

If Caine can smell the sea through the thickness of the glass, it doesn't show in his face. He nods at Marius. "I'm not the worrying type, so don't concern yourself on my behalf. But don't be so careless as to get yourself killed, either. Call me if you find anything interesting."

Marius smothers a chuckle with a more sober nod.

There's a knock on the door. Caine says, "Enter," and a midshipman comes in. The young man hands Caine a sealed dispatch, nods at Marius, and departs, closing the door behind him again.

"I think that's all, Uncle," Marius says, moving towards the door. "I will tell you if there is anything...interesting." His tone quite clearly suggests that his idea of interesting may differ, but that he'll put what he knows of Caine's interests into the reporting.


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Last modified: 22 October 2004