A Long-Lost Son Returns to Amber


With some help from Folly and particularly from Martin, who's clearly not a newcomer at guiding ships back to Amber, Fletcher's ship arrives at Amber. They arrive in the harbor and the Harbormaster comes out to meet them. He's extremely deferential to Martin and Folly, and a bit less so to Fletcher (not rude, just not as deferential as he is to His Highness Prince Martin).

If he's paying attention Fletcher will notice that while the bigwigs are deferential to Martin, the sailors and dock workers are particularly friendly to Folly, who is well-known and apparently popular among them.

The Harbormaster reports that Caine is in residence and serving as Regent. Folly, who knows Martin well, can tell he's not pleased, but he arranges for transport up to the Castle anyway. They also arrange to unload Martin's goods and have them brought up to the Castle and places for Fletcher's men to stay.

As they came into port, Fletcher could clearly see the Castle with his spyglass. It's bigger than he remembers but one of the older towers has suffered some serious damage and is under repairs.

[I am ready. Please clarify one point though (this need not hold us up): did Fletcher observe Folly using the Pattern?]

[That's a question for Karen A to answer. Quite possibly yes but I don't want to say either way for her. I don't think she has the reflexive habit of using it the way Martin does and Fletcher probably does too. On the other hand, Martin may be using the journey to teach her Shadow transitions, which would be pretty obvious.]

[I think the real question you're asking is whether Fletcher can figure out that Folly is Family -- which will become obvious when she gives him that family tree she promised him. She appears on it as Julian's great-granddaughter. She doesn't include her own paternity. As for pattern-use, she lets Martin do most of the heavy lifting of Shadow-shifting, but she did spend some of the trip learning from him about it.

[[And now I've got a question of my own: Are Soren and Haven still with them, or are we assuming that they (and Random's stuff) got trumped to Xanadu at some point during the journey?]

Fletcher remains very observant of the feel of Shadow and the presence (or lack) of Pattern. He ponders whether perhaps Amber is now somewhere "between" the two new Patterns. Along the way he'll have used the Pattern to adjust his clothes into something a bit more snazzily formal for arrival in Amber, perhaps a neatly pressed suit and hat similar to shadow Earth upscale city/outdoor wear circa 1910.

Martin sighs and puts away his rubber-soled tennis shoes in favor of leather boots.

Upon arrival in Amber Fletcher gladly defers to Martin, stepping in only to sort out details of his ship and crew. He takes in the changed city, occasionally asking about minor points of interest. In what seems like no time at all, he finds himself arriving home at the old family rock pile with his newfound cousins.

On the way up to the Castle, Martin points out several items of interest, including a very odd public monument to the Sundering. "Ossian designed it," he says, as if that should explain everything.

Folly nods in cheerful agreement.

They're ushered toward Caine's office as soon as they arrive. Folly pulls Martin aside for a brief moment of whispered conversation, then politely excuses herself, leaving the two men to their appointment with their uncle the Regent.

Fletcher greets Caine warmly. "Martin here tells me you're Regent now. Congratulations are in order. But then Martin's told me a great many things. If you can vouch for him that will do for now. I've brought news of the moonriders."

Fletcher looks for signs that this really is Caine.

Caine moves to offer Fletcher a friendly, avuncular clasp. "Fletcher. I had no idea you were still alive after all these years out of contact. I'm surprised Dad hadn't put a monument up for you next to Corwin's." He turns to Martin. "Have you told Ben about this?"

Martin gives a single shake of his head in the negative. "I thought I'd wait until I talked to you. Someone should do that, though. If you'll excuse me, I'll take care of it now." Looking at Fletcher, he adds, "No offense, cousin."

Fletcher nods to Martin. "Of course." Turning his attention back to Caine, Fletcher continues. "Well, there's out of contact and then there's out of contact. I'd always assumed that if something seriously bad came up Grandad would use the trumps to call me home." He pauses for a moment and his features take on a more pained expression. "It's true then, about Grandad?"

Martin, having made his excuses, departs.

Caine nods. "Father has been dead for months or years, depending on where you were when it happened. We attended his funeral in Chaos, where he returned to the living void. While I have my own opinions on the question of whether some part of him lives on, those sorts of questions have not been welcome in Amber for some time.

"The city, as I am sure you noted, is diminished, but still spectacular. I have no doubt that one day, sheperds will graze sheep on the hillock covering the ruins of the clothsellers grand guildhall, if the bay doesn't silt up over it.

"Until we abandon it, this city is protected and those who leave it will do so in an orderly fashion, as the King has decreed."

Caine stops for a second, leaning against the window frame, bathed in the multi-colored glow from the stained glass window. "Enough about us. What brings you here, besides the King's firstborn?"

Glad to change the topic however briefly, Fletcher answers. "I was sought. Far out in what I think of as the far sideshadows, but that can wait. The ones who sought me and chased me through shadow were Moonriders. I know I wasn't here when they attacked Amber, but you can be sure I was about related crown business at the time and I know them when I see them. They've turned their eyes toward Amber again, and this time they're saying that Bleys tried to arrange some unpleasantness for their Marshall and he failed. They also mentioned something about, a "Stealer of Brothers" trying to pluck a "Silver Rose" and failing. The allegory is, as always, ominous, and the fact that they chased me across shadows just to ask me to deliver the message to Amber doesn't exactly make me optimistic. I wrote down the details, but that's the gist of it."

"What a pleasant missive to hear. Doubtless you shall entertain the King with this tale as well. The Marshall was at Father's funeral. He caused no offense there, but met with Prince Bleys and Sir Brennan along the journey back, and it did not go well."

Caine listens quietly, looking at a paper in front of him. At particularly interesting parts, Caine makes short notes in the margins. He turns back to Fletcher. "Speaking of offense at the funeral, do you know who Dara is?"

"Based on the family tree Lady Folly was kind enough to sketch out, I believe you mean my niece rather than my... illegitimate half-sister. I've never actually been introduced. I take it from your expression she's a problem?"

"Grand-niece, if my sources are correct. She attempted to kidnap her son and kill a fair number of people at Random's coronation. Look out for her. She's the bad news in the family these days."

Caine pauses. "I can't decide if you'll find the new order more accommodating than the old, but it's not the same. You saw the city, you can tell."

"I've seen Amber, but I haven't seen Xanadu yet or Paris for that matter. You're right that things here feel different. However the surface order may have changed, I can feel that on some level the Inspiration of True Order remains, and each of us are still its symbols. I'm told people are fleeing Amber, but it is still home. I would still do all I can to help. There's a lot I don't know, and probably introductions to be made. I don't even know where the moonriders intend to hit, but wherever they do we show them that the light of Order has not gone out. Sadly my own status seems to be seen as more apocryphal than legendary. That much, at least, I would change. You've done well. Any advice on navigating the new order?"

"Materially changed, Fletcher," replies Caine. "In the bottom of that dusty crate of books we will find a starfruit, a rare foodstuff that came in by boat this week. Doubtless some worker who was moving the crate dropped it from his lunch.

"I'm absolutely certain it is there, even though I've never seen inside that box."

Fletcher feels the telltale signs of pattern manipulation. He knows what Caine is about.

Caine opens the box and reaches in blindly. He pulls out the fruit, a star-shaped, juicy thing, and takes a bite. "Want some?", the Regent asks.

Fletcher declines politely.

"The most important thing to know is that Xanadu is the new Amber and Random is the new King, better in some ways than Father, but worse in others. Make no mistakes about the order of Order, Fletcher. While some things are the same, you will find much different, including the Princes, old and new."

"I understand that order need not be stasis. These differences...who am I likely to meet in the near future? Are others in residence here? Who is likely to be interested in the news about the moonriders, other than the new King? I assume some of the family are still tasked with the defense of Am...the realm."

"Few are in residence here, for reasons of policy and to encourage the migration to Xanadu. Julian keeps Arden, I ward Amber, Benedict and Corwin have their places, Llewella has just installed her daughter in Rebma, and very few of us do not serve, in some way, at the King's pleasure." Caine pauses.

"Some more satisfactorily than others, of course. The Moonriders are a threat, so are many others, including Dara, including Huon. We seem to be more troubled by relatives than we do by neighbors, but I'd hate to see the Moonriders working with our other foes."

Caine puts the fruit down and crosses his arms. "We don't really have the luxury of having idle princes these days. My advice to you is that if you wish to stay in the realm, expect to be put to work, somehow. If that does not meet with your expectations and desires, then you should head back out into shadow for a few more centuries."

"For the last few years I've been waiting to be put to work, waiting for a summons that I now know will never come. With what I know now I can't just turn my back on my responsibilities as a knight. You know I had my reasons for leaving. That was another time and my time away has been...educational. I suppose my first order of business should be to meet the new King. Then again, I've only just arrived here, and I would like to take a closer look around before taking off. I'd at least like to see the damage to the Pattern with my own eyes."

Caine nods. "Seventh opening on the left. Don't get lost. Come back here afterwards and I'll trump you to Xanadu. Or you can go back with his highness the Prince."

Fletchers nods. "Thank you, your highness." His tone runs the gamut from respect to congratulations to mourning.

A short while later finds Fletcher shining a pair of lanterns around the Pattern room deep beneath the castle. He sets one by the door and carries the other around the circumference of the room, inspecting the damage. Completing his physical inspection, he sets his lantern down and sits near the edge of the Pattern. He recalls that when walking the Pattern, one moves forward but leaves a glowing trail of what has passed. He summons the Pattern within him to the front of his consciousness, savoring its Reality and feeling its ebb and flow on the metaphysical tide of shadows. Fletcher extends it, tracing the broken line and probing the cracked earth before him seeking not to control or alter but to understand the reality of this place. He spends a watch doing so in a quest to answer his questions: Is this truly Amber, somehow broken and humbled? Is this shadow now adrift, or is it being acted upon by the unbroken Patterns in Xanadu, Paris, Rebma, or even the Primal Order Martin mentioned? Does any trace linger of Amber's connection to the Faella-Bionin? Or any hint of Oberon whose hand last touched the living Pattern?

When finished Fletcher takes a sip from his flask, pours the rest of his flask out onto the cracks in the Pattern, and carries whatever answers he may have found up the long climb toward the castle's more comfortable regions and a much bigger drink.

Seeing the future has always been a gift of the family of Oberon, and the use of tools like cards and Tir Na'Ogth merely aid in the concentration and focus. On the other hand, self-delusion has also always been a gift of the family. The shadows lie well for those who fly the Unicorn banner.

Despite this, and despite knowing this, Fletcher is convinced. This is what was and is no longer real, not as Fletcher knew it and its reality so long ago. Fletcher has no doubt that he is where he thinks he is, and it is no longer the source of shadows, or even the first shadow, as Martin implied, but one of many, notable for history and not much else.

But it is hard to be in this place, under this mountain with the castle nestled in her arms and think that Oberon and Amber are truly gone. Amber, of which all other places are but shadow, may have been brought low--many places are, somewhere in shadow. Nevertheless, it is here and is not totally destroyed, so how could Oberon the King, the living embodiment of Amber be totally gone?

There is no sign of him, but he must exist somewhere outside of Prince Martin's eyes.

Arriving in the above-ground portions of the castle, Fletcher goes in search of liquor. With the aid of a member of the castle staff, he finds a suitable selection. He pours himself a tumbler of something appropriately brown, quickly downs it, and contemplates his next move. He needs to find Martin and/or Folly to see if they need a ship-ride to Xanadu or if he can hitch a trump ride with them. Then he needs to see Caine, to offer his farewell, offer Caine the use of his ship in the migration to Xanadu, and quite possibly bum a trump-ride if Martin isn't going soon.

Het sets his glass down, and sets off at a determined pace.

Then he quickly returns to the liquor, refills his flask, and sets off again.

Fletcher sits in the red ante-room, named for the color of the decor. As he sits contemplating his drink, Caine walks in.

"Well?", his father's brother asks, abruptly, "convinced?"

Fletcher rises. "Yeah. I'm convinced. I'd better wrap things up and head to Xanadu. I've got a ship and a crew in port, but you mentioned a trump? I gather the trumps are used a lot more frequently these days, and I suppose I should report to the king sooner rather than later. I imagine you could find a use for the ship and crew in the general migration from here to there." Remembering that he'd rather not have to explain how he came to 'lose' his father's trump, he adds, "Speaking of which, are there any spare trumps about? My deck is incomplete, even by the standards of when I left."

Caine shakes his head. "All of them were taken to Xanadu when we shipped the library there. I'll put your ship at the First Admiral's disposal and he can add it to one of the voyages going to Xanadu."

Caine pauses briefly. "You can borrow one of mine, if you wish to use it before I send you to the King." He lets the question hang for Fletcher to answer.

Fletcher pauses to think for about half a second. "No thanks, I should probably get this done. Please just let Martin know I've gone on to Xanadu if you see him. Thanks for your help. It would be nice to catch up on family news some more. If it looks like I'll be around more maybe we can catch up sometime."

Caine nods absently and replies "perhaps at a funeral sometime soon."

Caine pulls out his trump deck and expertly turns over the top card with his thumb. The well-worn card on the top was a young man, hardly full-grown, with straw colored hair in a doublet and hose. He could've been Martin's younger brother, but Fletcher could guess, even though he'd never met him, that this was Random, now King.

Caine holds up a finger, requesting that Fletcher wait. He concentrates on the card and in a moment, confirms Fletcher's suspicions. "Your Majesty, I am here with Fletcher, Benedict's son. May I present him to you?"

Caine reaches for Fletcher's hand.

[Assuming Fletcher takes it...]

The trump contact is instantaneous, and has the odd familiarity of an old habit not recently practiced. Fletcher looks at the man, now older but not particularly more regal than his trump.

"Your majesty, Fletcher," Caine's introduction is as succinct as he can possibly make it. While Caine doesn't seem unhappy, he does not seem inclined to prolong his role in the proceedings.

"Fletcher! My son told me about you. You took the long way home, I hear."

"Yes indeed your majesty. All this time I figured home would be here waiting. I understand that nearly wasn't the case. It seems proper I should pay my respects in person, and I'd very much like to see Xanadu. As you probably know I have news of the moonriders to share. I am at your service immediately, or could await your convenience here in Amber if need be." Fletcher holds out a hand, inviting Random to bring him through from Caine.

Random reaches out and takes his hand. "Thank you Prince Caine, Tell my son it looks like we're a tennight away from the services, assuming his cousins can be reached."

With that he pulls Fletcher to Xanadu. The King, and therefore the ancient Knight from Amber, are on a great flagstone balcony overlooking a lake. The lake is fed by a mighty waterfall and in turn feeds another. It is reasonably noisy, but beautiful. Behind the king is a great house; a palace, not a castle. It is built into the very rock of the cliffside.

"Welcome to Xanadu, the home of happiness. And of me. My historian doesn't know who you are, by the way."

"Oh, that makes this awkward. I'm here to offer you my oath of fealty. Would you like to hear my story first?"

"Well, as King of almost everything, or at least almost everything important, I'm qualified to take your oath of fealty. It'll probably go better at the end of a story, though." Random turns to a nearby servant. "Two, no make that four beers. The good stuff, not that swill Ash makes."

When the man leaves Random gestures towards a pair of large, low chairs that look as if they have no internal supports whatsoever. "Sit, get comfortable, and tell me about yourself. Where've you been?"

Fletcher removes his scabbard and overcoat and sets them on the floor near the indicated chair. After waiting for the King to sit, he plops down himself.

"I'll try to sketch out the historical part first. I don't know how well you know my father but I'm given to understand he was something of a handful for granddad to deal with, especially after he divorced my grandmother. I never quite got all the details but among other things he was hanging out with the wrong crowd, unsavory influences, that sort of thing. Granddad's solution to that and a number of other problems was to bring in my mother, Lady Emerald, to keep my father in line. So a grand wedding was held in Amber and in due course I arrived on the scene. This was when Corwin was young, a little before Caine's time.

"I grew up at court, with my education overseen by my mother and granddad. I spent some time sailing with the ships of Amber, laying down trade routes, and that sort of thing. I was inducted in the Order of the Unicorn, and was later named a Knight Commander of that same order. At Court, I was named Defender of the Faith. It was a job at court principally dealing with spiritual and ecclesiastical matters. In those days people in Amber were more spiritual than they are now, and religious too. Organized religions had a lot of clout back then, which was double-edged sword. Faith, morality, and purpose are vital to civilization. The Order our family embodies makes such things possible. Without it we'd all be Chaos creatures running around randomly eating anyone smaller or weaker than us. Some shadow gods are still like that, dominating their followers, which is not the kind of belief I'm talking about. At the same time, good ideas change and not always for the better. Religious institutions gained...too much influence in Amber. It helped Amber grow, but their thinking wasn't always in line with granddad's.

"I ran into some trouble with church hierarchy and things got ugly. While we were wrestling with that, the Queen - Faiella - died, which through the court out of whack in a lot of ways. I decided I needed some time away. I took my trump deck, such as it was, and began a tour of Shadow." Fletcher pauses to gauge the King's reaction and sample the beer that has arrived.

The beer is carbonated, a trick that requires refrigeration and bottles that seal well. A Maibock, it has a rich amber color and almost no hops at all.

"Fascinating. We know very little of Ben's rebel days. Although, it makes some sense of stuff like Reid. Did you know Reid? Osric's kid? For that matter did you know your father's older brothers?"

The King drinks about half of his beer and wipes off a foam moustache with his forearm.

"No, I never met any of them. They were gone before I was born. From the notes Lady Folly gave me I saw that Reid did return at some point though. There are some gaps in my knowledge of events while I was away. Most of my news came from the occasional trump contact with granddad, or secondhand reports. Of course, I lost contact entirely when he died, and everything out in shadow got turned around quite a bit. I was still trying to make sense of it when I ran into the moonriders. But I'm getting ahead of myself there. For most of the time I was traveling around. There's a lot to see, and I took advantage to learn what I could of options that are available in shadow. Although technology is different, some areas of knowledge are somewhat more advanced than they were in Amber, at least in my time."

"I'd be pretty damn concerned if you hadn't lost contact when he died, let me tell you." Random shakes his head. "I am, by your standards, by Reid's, by Caine and Corwins, even, a young punk. I didn't really bother learning how to King because of the whole 'last son' thing. I expected that I'd be able to bum around amusing shadows forever, if it suited me. And it did.

"But now that I'm in charge, this part of the cosmos is in my image, not Dad's. I happen to like electric lights and electric guitars, so we have them."

Random stirs in his seat. "Tell me what you did for Dad. And what oaths you gave him."

"In general terms you could say I was an explorer, sometimes a courier and problem solver. And that's not a euphemism for 'hit-man'. I was far enough out in shadow that things got pretty exotic. Sometimes 'exotic' meant 'interesting' and sometimes it meant 'strange shadow entities who we don't want messing with Amber down the road.' I'm not really sure how granddad found out about some of them. Sometimes I'd find something weird and call it in, like 'hey, there's a black hole the seems to be collapsing dimension around it' and sometimes he'd call me and tell me where to go. It wasn't exactly a full-time job. As for oaths... there were four. The oath of fealty, the oath of loyalty as a knight, the oath to serve in the office of a knight commander, and my promise not to lose my sword, which was a gift from him." Fletcher indicates the sword and scabbard next to him. If properly cleaned, the term 'priceless antique' might apply.

Random listens closely. "Most of our problems are closer to home right now," he observes. "Well, I'll leave you to your own recognizance on the sword thing, and take your fealty again. That's a fine thing to do in public, of course. In private the old oath still holds, unless Oberon changed it in the past few centuries.

"Now tell me about your order of knights. You may be a Commander of an order of one at the moment."

"I suppose on a strict seniority basis I may have advanced considerably." Fletcher smiles. "I am a K-C-O-U, Knight Commander of the Order of the Unicorn. In my youth it was the most senior of the three principal orders of chivalry in Amber. If I read the family tree correctly, I see that there are at least a few more orders that have been introduced. I must confess I'm not up to date on matters of precedence and protocol in Amber, or for that matter how or if they translate into precedence in Xanadu. So I have no idea how the hierarchy of the Order of the Unicorn currently stands. It wasn't exactly my highest priority, either, though it was on the list. How does all that work these days?"

"As far as I can tell, 'about like it used to', which is to say that there's a defined policy and people who care a lot about it, but at the royal level things work out by what you can get everyone to acquiesce to." Random nods. "If you can convince your Uncles and Aunts that you should be called 'Fletcher, Lord of the Underworld' and that they should defer to you in all matters related to Sewers, then that's your title and domain. Let me know if that's you're life's dream, by the way, because I can make it happen.

"Now I don't know if this is a change, but I tend to use Knighthoods to reward service, and to show people that I reward it. I consider it binding, but I make an effort not to make it chafing. Mostly what I'm looking for is the ability to call on you if I need to go to war and the ability to tell you to knock it off if you're doing something I think hurts the interest of Amber and Xanadu. Things like destroying the universe, that sort of thing.

"That's the minimum. If that's out of the question, then we're not really talking about an oath of fealty. You still in?" Random raises one eyebrow and sits back in his chair.

Fletcher responds immediately. "Of course. And although it's important I don't have a particular urge to claim suzerainty over the sewer system. As for protocol, from what you've said I'm guessing that you're considering Amber and Xanadu to be one kingdom officially as well as in practicality, so for now I'll assume most of the old rules and modes of address apply. I've apparently got a lot of family to meet and I'd hate to make a bad first impression by offending them. Are my uncles considered Princes of Amber and Xanadu, or just Princes of Amber?"

Random shakes his head. "As you may expect, it's not that simple. Your uncles are, as usual, reserving judgement on how they wish to style themselves, but I'm tagging my children 'Princes of Xanadu', so their pride and reticence serves me well."

"Regardless, I don't know how the Order of the Unicorn is currently occupied, or how they're currently distributed between Amber and Xanadu. I'm here to help, and if that's where you need me to get involved, I can. One does wonder, based solely on Caine's descriptions of affairs in Amber and the view of the Xanadu from your window, how much defensive force could be marshaled in the event of a Moonrider attack. I don't know how serious that possibility is. But something is going on. A couple of them gave me a message for Bleys. "

Fletcher leans forward and offers Random his notes on the Moonriders' message.

Random looks over the note. "How interesting. Any idea what in the all the drippy, unpleasant Rebman hells he was talking about?" Random looks at Fletcher for a second. "I suppose that's more of a question for the Prince of Princes. Have you met Bleys? I'm told you and the redheads are more closely related than most of us."

Fletcher looks a bit surprised. "I only know Bleys by reputation. I couldn't get any more details out of the accusers about what actually happened. How am I more closely related to the redheads? Do they have ties to house Chantris?"

Fletcher takes a sip of his beer.

"Other side of the family. Their mother is your father's granddaughter. Was this not in the briefing? I'd avoid calling Bleys 'Grand-nephew', because he's also your uncle. Is there even a term for that? Nephuncle? " Random finishes his beer. "We'll ask Brita, her father's people probably have words for that, they're gods. She's your cousiniece, by the way. Hmm. She's cousin on two sides, so I'm sure it's worse than that."

The king takes the second beer and immediately drinks half of it. "Welcome back to the family."

"Brita was in the briefing. . . . . . Clarissa was not." Fletcher's expression might indicate that his beer has a sour after-taste. "I'd heard of Borel and Madoc, at least that they exist. I was not aware that Lintra had other grandchildren. How public is this information?" Fletcher takes an unhealthy gulp of his beer. Perhaps the beer isn't the cause of his expression.

Random waves the half-empty beer bottle around like a conductor's baton. "Hell if I know. I know it, which means it's not a redhead above-top-secret secret. We met her at Dad's funeral, where she showed up in mourning colors. She doesn't look a thing like Fiona, or only in passing, but she seemed familiar. The best I can tell, the redheads got the way they were because she was their mother. Sort of a trial by fire."

Random shakes his head. "It's nice, once in a while, to find some remnant of the Amber of old and not have it be out to destroy us all. Hey, that reminds me, where were you when the pattern got fixed? Reid and Brita said they thought they were going to be engulfed and erased by a black rain, then everything when white, or spangles, or flying puppies or something, then they were just in some shadow they hadn't been in before. Different or like that?"

"I've been thinking about that. From what Martin and Folly told me I think I've figured out when that was in my own personal timeline. It translated into very bad weather like that. I was on the move at the time, so I wasn't totally sure (at the time) that it wasn't something normal to the place I was passing through. The earth jiggled and there was lots of lightning. The rain looked like dollops of liquid darkness (well dimness anyway) falling out of the sky. It was quite unpleasant. I'm glad it's passed. Any idea what our next big crisis will be?"

"Like that? Hopefully, nothing soon. Less epochal? The contested Kingship of Rebma is still a brangle, the Moonriders are restless, there's a dragon in the woodpile, I've got two relatives to bury this week, a brother who used to be forgotten who is being unforgettably homicidal, Corwin's former girlfriend showed up at the coronation and tried to kill everyone, again, and we've got a state wedding on the horizon.

"So, no idea." Random finishes his beer.

"Well, weddings can be nice, and usually less lethal. Who's this girlfriend of Corwin's? Sorry I'm so out of date on all the latest gossip. I don't suppose someone's capitalized on the opportunity and produced a series of trashy romance novels about our family, have they? That would be a quick way to catch up. But hold that thought. The knight in me feels I simply must ask: what dragon is in what woodpile?"

"Julian's dragon was Corwin's dragon was Finndo's dragon, fighting Princes of Amber from Arcadia in the center of Arden for centuries. In our time, a cold war, because Finndo and Julian did things to make it slumber.

"It's stirring, like so much after the recent unpleasantness. Cambina used to tell me there wasn't really a dragon, that it was a personification, or draconification, if you will, of the underlying Chaos locked into static form by the Pattern. 'Et in Arcadia Ego', the pimento mori says. As there is death even in paradise, there is Chaos even in Order."

Random leans back in his chair, pushing the front legs off the ground. "Given what it did to Daeon, I'm pretty sure Cambina was wrong."

Fletcher leans forward, and for a moment the ancient casually disinterested tourist finds itself doing battle with the inventively idealistic knight of old. "Well, I obviously don't know the details, but whether it's a force or a being or both, there are some possibilities for dealing with it. If it's free to move about now maybe we...it can be broken up into manageable pieces and spread out. It's my understanding that that is an effective way to deal with the lords from Chaos. Is it still focused on Arden, or is it shifting attention to Xanadu? And if Corwin's ex-girlfriend is the same magnitude of threat as that... I hesitate to ask what Corwin's been up to."

"Well, lots. He made his own Pattern--in Paris of course. I think he's gearing up to get stupid in a war between an ex-lover and his daughter by her. We haven't found any old new kids he's sired, so that front has been sorta quiet, and I issued a Family Decree that Corwin is no longer allowed to date.

"I think Corwin's feelings are hurt because Julian picked up on Finndo's old trick of sleeping with the Dragon and its descendants to keep it quiet. When he was Warden of Arden, he missed his chance, apparently."

Random leans in. "I'd like you to talk to Paige sometime. I appointed her warden of my forest of Broceliande, and if you have ideas of moving the Dragon, she should hear them."

"Not Julian? OK. I'll look her up. Does she have a headquarters somewhere? From what I've seen use of the trumps is a lot more common these days. The only trumps I have are no good for reaching anybody anymore. Who makes your trumps anyway? Folly? She's definitely an improvement over Dworkin. I suppose I'll meet a bunch of relatives at the funerals you mentioned. I'm assuming the funerals are related to some of the other problems you mentioned?"

Random holds up three fingers. "Two funerals and a wedding coming up. Oh, and if you want there may be a coronation in Rebma. Dead are Lucas, daughter of Florimel, and Cambina, Eric's daughter." Two fingers tick down. You've met my son and his betrothed. And Khela's managed to boot Moire from Rebma. If that sticks, it'll be a hell of a party down there. You'll want to meet Lilly, too. You have heard of her, right?"

"Yes, Martin told me about her. I should track her down soon. I just hope there's time before another problem pops up. It seems like the family is pretty spread out. On the matter of Khela... her claim to the throne of Rebma runs through Llewella doesn't it? Is Llewella still in the picture?" Fletcher is clearly trying to piece together the bits and pieces he's heard and mesh them with the family tree he's memorized.

"I don't get what's going on there. She's around, but not taking the throne herself, for some reason. Maybe because she'd be a lousy queen, or thinks she would, maybe because she has enemies or problems I don't get. Maybe she's just uninterested.

"Or, I dunno, maybe it's some weird reflection-of-Amber thing and she can't because Corwin didn't, if you see what I mean. Not that it's really a reflection, but there are a lot of correspondences.

He snorts. "I wonder if it'll become more like Xanadu or Paris going forward? Was it always like Amber?"

"As far as I know there was always a physical resemblance. Travel was not completely unrestricted between the two cities. I gather in recent times it was useful to be able to have anybody simply walk from Amber down the stairs to Rebma. It used to be a somwhat chancier proposition, and sometimes required sorcerors. So trips required a bit more organization. That meant the flow of information could be regulated. Some elements of the 'natural reflection' story didn't seem to fit. I figure there's a will behind it somewhere. How are relations between Rebma and Xanadu? You mentioned things are bit tense in Paris. Does that in any way extend here? Are you considering recognizing the new Queen?"

"For a few hundred years, only fear of Oberon kept Rebmans from acting on the death sentence Moire had issued for my crimes. I am no friend of the old Queen." He turns.

"One of the coolest things about being King is that every now and then, you get to do what you want. Yeah, I'm gonna recognize her. She can't be any worse than her predecessor. First I have to try to barter our recognition for favorable trade policy or some such dreck, but it's basically a done deal.

"I'm going to need a neutral third party to go down there and negotiate it," He adds.

Fletcher chooses not to ask about Random's crimes against Rebma. "Well, if my long absence can be construed as neutrality I'd be happy to help in any way I can, my liege. I'd be a bit handicapped in knowing the extent of the current trade situation. Rebma connects to Paris now, doesn't it? The lack of a shadow path between Xanadu and Paris must put a crimp in trade right now. Any idea if some version of magical stairs will start to form between Xanadu and Paris?"

"Paris to Rebma? Already started. You go downriver a bit, and there's a cave, and you can walk to Rebma. Vere's done it, so have others. What's really interesting is the new cave at the bottom of Rebma, which did not used to be there. It leads somewhere quite different."

Random turns towards him. "And, yeah, let's send you there after the funerals. That way we have a while to figure out who cares."

"Right. I guess I should bone up on Rebman etiquette. And I'd like to talk to someone who's seen that second cave. But what I was really curious about was if anything has started to form between here and Paris."

"Vere's your best bet for that. I think he's in Paris, so we'll see him at the funeral. He's a bit too friendly with the recently deceased to skip that..."

Random looks about. "As to Paris, why do you think it should?" He's not denying it does.

"Well, I don't want to sound like a poindexter but really the spirit of Order demands there be such a connection. The Faiella-Bionin which connected the Patterns of old served more than one purpose, and its power (therefore its shape) was not static. It was my belief that the Patterns were joined together as a bulwark against Chaos, and that this bulwark allowed a more primal Order to exist undisturbed, which in turn strengthened the influence the Patterns had across Shadow. You've been through a period of transition, but now that other connections are starting to appear, I'd expect one between the two new Patterns to appear. Unless of course there's another Pattern between them, but I'd think that you would know about such a thing by now."

Random raises his eyebrow. "If there was a secret fifth pattern on the Faiella-Bionin, then there would be a second connection to it from two of the cities we have. And it would have the "no pattern inside city limits" regulations that the others have. And someone would've noticed it by now, wouldn't they? Who do you think might have one?"

Fletcher scratches his head. "The fact that no one's noticed another new Pattern suggests that no one has one. That's why I'd expect a connection to form between Paris and Xanadu. Unless somehow Tir na Nog'th or Rebma are positioned between Xanadu and Paris. Such things might have an impact on trade agreements with Rebma."

"Assuming they could see their noses in front of their faces, yup, sure would. You have my permission to find one if it's there, although I reserve the right to name the paths myself."

Random touches his nose and nods, "I'll have to decide if I can't do better than 'The Random Path' or I can't do worse..."

"Well, I'll poke around a bit when I get chance, after studying up on the Rebma trade situation, giving Paige suggestions about dragons, and meeting the new relatives. Who coordinates things here in Xanadu? Is there a steward or castellan or vizier I should look up later?"

Random claps his hands together and listens to the echo. "Yes! I have two. My right-brained man is Soren Daniels. He is the Court Bard. My left-brained man is Gilt Winter. He's my secretary. If you need anything secreted, see him."

"Soren I met in Texorami. I'll introduce myself to Gilt Winter presently. I'm guessing I'm in for a month of introductions at least. In the meantime, you said something about oaths being taken in public. How public were you thinking?"

Random smiles. "Good question," replies the King. "Public enough that no one can say 'I had no idea he was your vassal and you'd be mad' after they attack you. I'm thinking a 'welcome to court' and swearing. Soon. After you talk to your Dad."

"Oh. Is he around?" Fletcher asks, "I haven't really been in touch. I used to have a trump of him."

Random nods. "Ever hear of Avalon? If he somehow doesn't come here for the funeral, you'll go there."

"I can hardly wait. In the meantime I'd like to see the sights around here though." Fletcher says, implying he wants to see something more fundamental that waterfalls and harbors.

Random raises an eyebrow. "There's a lovely waterfall and a lake and a harbor and a growing town. I can show you what will become the recording studio of which all others are but shadow, if you like.

"But," he says, "the order of operations is Benedict, swearing, pattern. If you're in a hurry, I'll loan you a trump."

"I'm not in a huge hurry. I can wait until he's in town for the funeral. How fast is the town growing?"

"As fast as I can make it, which is considerable fast. I've got plans to accelerate it, too. You should definitely have a look around, since you're planning on staying in touch better for a while. Definitely worth mingling."

Random looks down at the growing town below. Finding his hands on the low railing, he beats a quick tattoo on it, slapping the stone hard enough to produce a good tone and probably a bit of pain.

"Do you play any musical instruments?"

"I do. I'd only claim true competency on the pianoforte, but I've noodled around a variety. How's that studio you're working on coming? The local construction industry must be booming."

"I've never tried to play the variety. Is it difficult?" Random sighs, and a moment later looks over the edge. "We're more like Amber than Texorami in that sense. We don't have industries per se, but we do things. Xanadu is destined, because of where it sits in the Faella-Bionin, to be a trading hub of shadows, a place where mercantilism rather than production is the source of wealth.

"That's what I want, so that's how it's going to be. Just enough industry to make and disseminate recorded songs that people can play back, enough wealth to have them be able to buy 'em, enough bars to have them have a place to drink listening to 'em, and enough leisure to take the time to enjoy 'em."

Random looks down and shakes his head. "All this bustle is OK to get the city started, but people need to be able to live a life with music in it. That's what Xanadu stands for."

"That sounds great, as long as the moonriders, rebmans, dragons and whoever else don't ruin the mood. I ran a bar for a while. It can be pretty entertaining. Have you thought about defenses to ensure the serenity of Xanadu?"

Random nods vigorously. "Oh, naturally. I plan to place several 'No Trespassing' and 'Keep of the Lawn' signs at strategic points."

Random turns and faces the water. "Tell me about this bar you ran."

Fletcher rambles slightly as he calls up his memories. "I think of it as a medium-sized place. You've been to Texorami so you can probably picture it as a place like Texorami where they got electricity sooner for whatever reason and technology got ahead of the maturity level of the civilization. That was great for things like refrigeration and bubbly drinks but also meant that even an upper-class place needed to have a couple of discreet bouncers on hand to keep the zapping to a minimum. I called it 'the Moo' because it was supposed to specialize 'milk of the lily' drinks, and I thought it sounded clever at the time." Explaining it to Random, Fletcher ponders that it probably wasn't all that clever. "Anyway it worked out well because, as it turned out, a nice quiet place that served real drinks and girly drinks happened to be in demand at the time. Which is not to say that the clientele was entirely...respectable, but they were at least well-behaved. One writer summed it up as 'a quiet, dimly lit place, which is about all you can ask'. Dark places tended to be anything but 'quiet', you see."

"I was going to guess that it either had lots of fights or none at all. Sounds like the latter. Anyway, don't feel too bad about the name. When I first got to Texorami, I panicked and told people my name was 'Siddartha'."


After excusing herself from the meeting with Caine, Folly makes her way toward her quarters, looking out along the way for a page or a maid to help her with the things she needs to do next. The castle staff seems much diminished in the few months since she was last in Amber; but she eventually tracks down an eager page to help Soren and Haven find the kitchens and whatever else they need to freshen up, and a young chambermaid whose discretion she trusts to help Folly in packing up her quarters.

Folly sets the girl to sorting her closet into things to be packed and brought to Xanadu, and things to be given to the poor -- the latter mostly the relatively conservative everyday dresses in the Amber style that she reckons she would not get much wear out of in Xanadu. As the girl works, Folly selects a dark dress for herself, changes out of the clothes she'd worn on her voyage to Amber, and pins up her hair in a style appropriate to mourning her cousin.

That it also suggests the style recently favored by young married women in Amber is not lost on her.

Leaving the maid to the sorting and packing for a few moments, Folly moves to the desk in the small sitting-room to write letters. It doesn't take long: one of them is short enough that a barely-literate page could memorize it and recite it to the barely-literate addressee; the other she's already written in her mind so many times that it's like scribing the lyrics to a song she knows by heart.

Then it's out to find another page to go first to the Grouse to deliver her brief message for Ever -- that she is back in Amber, will be at the Grouse that evening, and wants to talk to him -- and then on to Red Mill to deliver the second message. Folly gives the page explicit instructions to wait to escort the recipient of the second message back to the castle, or to bring her reply if she will not come.

Then she settles back to wait in her sitting-room with a beloved and dearly-missed grey cat in her lap.

Rumbling purrs tell Folly that she has also been missed. Making up for lost time carries her through until the page returns. When she calls to allow the boy to be admitted, he says, "Lady Folly, the, uh, lady is in Rilga's parlor."

"Oh, good, thank you," Folly says, rising with the cat still in her arms. "If you would, could you have tea sent up for us? And when Prince Martin is done with his meeting, let him know where I am." She dismisses the page with a smile and then takes just a moment to pluck some of the more egregious patches of cat-hair from the front of her dress before making her way to the parlor.

She announces her arrival by rapping her knuckles lightly and rhythmically against the doorframe before entering. "Hullo, Violet?" she asks, extending her hand -- carefully, since she's still balancing a cat -- to greet the woman within. "I'm so glad you could come -- it's nice to meet you, finally. I'm Folly."

Violet is tall and olive-skinned, with long dark hair that she's put up in a respectable style for this visit. Her clothes are relatively modest, but well-made and of rich, if somewhat dated, fabrics. Someone has an eye for value and color and Folly suspects it's not Martin. She's made up, but hastily, as if she hadn't been expecting a call to the Castle.

She doesn't reach for Folly's hand immediately, as if it takes her a moment to realize what Folly is offering. Her clasp is a bit tentative. "Yes, I'm Violet. You sent for me, my lady?" Her accent is foreign to Amber, but not one that Folly can trivially identify.

This does not appear to be the conversation Violet was expecting to have, whatever this is.

Folly's return clasp is warm, firm, and reassuring. "I did," she says with a nod. "I wanted to talk with you about your plans for the future."

She gestures toward a grouping of chairs around a low table. "Please, sit, make yourself comfortable; I've sent for tea, and I hope Martin will be able to join us presently, once he's done with his current meeting."

Violet takes one of the indicated chairs and seats herself carefully and precisely.

Folly settles into a chair herself, carefully, and waits just a moment for Fathom to situate himself comfortably before continuing: "I suppose you're aware that the new king intends to make the seat of his power a new city far from Amber -- a young city that is still growing. And as that city grows, Amber will fade -- as it has already begun to do -- until it is but a dim shadow of its former self."

She leans a little forward and regards Violet with an air of friendly curiosity. "Have you given much thought to what you might want to do next, if Red Mill goes as the city goes?"

This seems closer to the conversation Violet was expecting. She looks a bit warily at Folly, and replies, "I have some ideas, but nothing definite."

Folly can guess she's reluctant to say what those ideas are, probably because they involve Martin.

Folly's smile is wry with perhaps a faint trace of amusement. "It's all right, Violet; you may speak freely and frankly. Of course I expect that you are in love with Martin -- what woman wouldn't be? -- and would prefer a future in which you continue to get to spend time with him. I also know that he cares about you; and anyone who is dear to him is also dear to me. I have no objection to your continuing to be a part of his life -- although since his father has gone and gotten himself made king, we may need to handle it with some discretion. I hope that you will feel free to share with me your hopes and your expectations, so that we can try to work out a circumstance that is as mutually agreeable to all of us as we can make it."

Violet looks like she's swallowed a bug. It takes her a moment to decide what to say, and when she does, it's a question. "My lady, did His Highness ask you to send for me?"

"Well, no, not exactly -- that is to say, I think I was the one who first brought up the subject of how best to accommodate you in the relocation from Amber, and he wisely suggested that perhaps I should meet you and talk to you about it before we made any decisions." If this is supposed to be some kind of a trap, Folly is an exceptional actress; by all appearances, her candidness is genuine.

The door opens, Martin walks in, and Violet's eyes get even bigger, if possible. Martin comes over to give Folly a kiss and then moves to give Violet an affectionate squeeze, which she really doesn't know what to make of. "How are my two favorite girls getting along, then?"

It's clear that Folly is going to have to be the one to answer that question.

"I think we're still in the 'You--- He--- We--- You mean--- What?' phase," Folly replies brightly. "Quite understandable, really. Any sane woman steeped in the traditions of Amber would be wondering by now whether I were half-mad or simply toying with her." She makes a slight gesture for Martin to take a seat closer to Violet than to herself; she figures the other woman is in far greater need of the reassurance of his presence.

To Violet, she says, "If it helps, where I'm from this sort of thing is... well, it's still far from commonplace, but it's not nearly as scandalous as it is here. Things there are more egalitarian, less... less patriarchal, among other things. There's a bit more freedom in how one can define one's relationships." She smiles, gently, almost apologetically. "Where I'm from, a woman deciding to see to the well-being of her lover's other lover would certainly be considered eccentric, but it's far from unheard-of."

Martin settles safely between the two women, letting Folly carry the conversation for the moment.

Violet looks at him, and he nods.

"As it happens," he says, after a moment of silence, "I'm in dire need of a trustworthy secretary." Martin's gaze comes to rest on Folly for a moment, and he raises his eyebrows slightly.

She nods slightly, and then turns her gaze to Violet. "Might you be interested? Martin already trusts you, and your discretion -- points that speak very highly in your favor." She looks for a moment as if she might be about to say more, but she waits for Violet to respond first.

Violet looks back and forth between Martin and Folly. Her gaze ends up resting on Martin. "If this is what you want." It's not exactly a question.

"The Heir Presumptive rarely gets exactly what he wants, but in this case, yes, it is what I want," Martin says firmly.

"Then I will do it." Violet bows her head. "What do I need to do next?"

"We'll be remaining in Amber for at least the next day or two," Folly replies. "How long will it take you to gather your personal effects and be ready to depart?"

Folly meets Martin's gaze. "And do you think it best if she moved to a room here until we're ready to go?" she asks with an obvious undercurrent of concern. Part of the reason for making Violet part of the household, after all, is to keep her safe from Martin's enemies.

"I do. I'll send word down to Red Mill. Silken can pack your things, Violet. I have a message I have to send her anyway." Which, Folly intuits, is a subject Martin would rather not discuss just yet, and also one weighing on his mind. He comes to his feet and uses the bell pull to summon a page, and instructs him to have a room prepared for Violet and that there will be messages sent to Red Mill.

Violet is still wary, but seems to be willing to let events carry her where they will. Martin's presence has reassured her somewhat, but she can tell that something is a bit off.

"And if you have any messages you need to send yourself, we'll find you some paper and a quiet place to write," Folly says to Violet. "But first, tea," she adds, as a servant arrives bearing the requested tray of refreshments. Clearly the kitchen staff were well aware Martin might be joining the party: the tray is laden with rather more sandwiches than even two very hungry people might reasonably be expected to eat.

As the servant gets the food situated, Folly catches Martin's eye and, with a slight nod of her head, lets her know she's following his lead now. She can tell he's got something on his mind, but she's leaving it up to him whether he wants to bring any part of it up now or wait until Violet is better settled and they can speak more privately.

He waits until after the light meal--and it's clear that Violet is more than used to his appetite--and Violet has been excused to the guest chamber where she'll be staying for the next few days to broach the subject.

"I talked to Dad. I have a metric shitload of news and it's all bad. Get comfortable and let me find you a cat, 'cos you're gonna need it," he suggests. Martin starts looking around for said feline.

"Oh, dear. That does sound bad." Folly hands Martin a little plate on which she's saved back a few scraps of sandwich meat, and nods toward a little side table: its long ruffled covering sways gently in the absence of any obvious draft, as if it were being nudged from behind by a tail or a paw.

Martin scoops the feline out from under the tablecloth without needing the lure, almost as if he decided it was improbable that Fathom would resist him. He hands the cat to Folly and lets her curl up with it, leaving the tidbits with her for possible feeding later.

Then he sits down in the chair Violet vacated. "I don't even know where to start or end, so I'm just going to lay it out.

"Lucas is dead. It looks like my grandmother murdered him through a mirror, because he was making a trump of her. She was in Paris at the time because she was fleeing from the civil war, which it looks like Khela may have won because she was in the right place to lead the defense against Huon. Now she's missing.

"Huon, meanwhile tried some sort of funky trick involving blood bombs and the Rebman Pattern. Between some luck and some cooperation and some magic that I don't understand, Jerod, Conner, and Brennan foiled him. But he got away with Khela's sword, which looks to be the Rebman equivalent of Werewindle, and ended up with half the family giving chase and getting into a massive clusterfuck of a fight with a nest of dragon-things. Net result: they chased Huon down, disarmed him, and Robin dumped him through into the courtyard with no instructions, so he ended up getting away before Caine and everybody else in the fight got back."

Martin really ought to be stopping here, but apparently there's more even after that.

"And Solange stole Cambina's body so she could get Vere to talk to her and tell her what happened to Vialle, and Gerard had to exile her over it."

As Martin runs through the litany of misfortune, Folly listens in concern... then alarm... then horror. At his last remark, she closes her eyes and breathes out a plaintive sigh. "I should've called her," she mutters ruefully; she knew Solange and Gerard had quarrelled over that very question, but she'd had no notion Solange would actually go through with such a contemptuous plan.

Ah, well, nothing for it now. Folly leans her face against Fathom's fur while she regains her composure, and turns her attention to the more pressing matters in Martin's litany.

"I'm sorry about Lucas," she says softly. "I know you two were close." She meets Martin's gaze. "Did you know he could draw trumps? I didn't." Something in her expression, her tone, suggests that she is working her way along a disturbing train of thought.

"No," Martin says very flatly. "I didn't know that. I would have handled a number of things very differently if I had. Apparently he had a trump he'd made of Solange somewhere in his things. It's missing, which means he's got a stash somewhere that we haven't found. Who knows what trumps we might find there. He could have made sketches of anyone he knew reasonably well."

Martin looks at her meaningfully. "Anyone he knew well. And they could be in my grandmother's hands."

Folly pales, but presses on: "Was the trump made with Solange's knowledge, or secretly? And was it known to work? I just can't help but suppose that your grandmother could have arranged to make it look as though Lucas were skilled in that art -- to make it look as though she'd had to kill him in self-defense, if she had a reason to want him dead. It certainly wouldn't be out-of-character for her." Her lips press together in a thin, grim line. "Still. I'll know better than to accept any unexpected trump calls for a while."

She frowns for a moment, thinking. "Your grandmother has never walked a pattern, correct? Do you know whether she had trumps of her own, or knew how to use them? And if she didn't, what other route would she have out of Corwin's shadow, besides the stair?" Now it's her turn to give Martin a meaningful look. "Of course, if she really does have Lucas's trumps, and knows how to use them, that's probably her best ticket out. And it narrows down where she's likely to end up next."

Martin listens to Folly all the way out, although something she said early on clearly didn't sit right with him. "How she gets out is easy. A mirror. She doesn't need Trumps for that. But there are limited places she could pass between the mirrors too. And--" he sighs "--we're sure about Lucas. Solange knew about the Trump because apparently she asked for it. She was in on the dirty little secret."

This thought clearly doesn't sit any better with him than Lucas' having the secret in the first place.

It clearly doesn't sit well with Folly, either, but she's not yet ready to sort through all the implications. Not unless it becomes apparent that Solange's role in all or any of this was actually sinister rather than merely foolhardy.

"I don't think I ever realized mirrors could be used for transport as well as communication," she says instead. "Or if I did, I forgot, and I blame Pregnancy Brain." She offers up a halfhearted smirk that falls after only a moment; she doesn't feel much like smiling. "And I suppose that brings us to Huon. Do we know yet what he is or was after, ultimately? To screw Rebma? To screw Rebma so he could take their magic sword? And do what with it?"

"He's got a grudge against Bleys and he seems to want the sword to even his odds. But that doesn't explain him threatening what he did, so---" Martin shrugs. He takes a few moments to dredge up another piece of information: "Your mother was with Bleys when they rode after him. She's OK as far as I know, and Dad would have mentioned it if she'd been seriously hurt."

"...and I suppose it's also safe to assume that he didn't mention, or perhaps no-one thought to mention to him, how she and Huon reacted to seeing one another?" Folly thinks about that a moment, and then snorts. "Although if the answer is '...and she immediately jumped to his side', that would have come up in even the short version of the report, too."

Her thoughts return to the question of Huon's ends and means. She stares into the middle distance and says, slowly, as if she's still piecing the idea together, "The sword Huon took -- you said it was 'like Werewindle'... meaning that it's linked to a Pattern, yes? Your father said... something about swords like that coming with a price. No, not a price -- a cost. An obligation. Maybe that attempt on Rebma's pattern was because Huon wanted the sword without the obligation. Which," and now Folly does smile, wryly, "I suppose makes him sort of the opposite of me."

Martin shrugs and pulls outs a few strands of his hair between two fingers. "Still not red. That could be it, or it could be something he, or someone he was working with, did. Or any of about a thousand other things. I don't know. I just know I took some private time with you and the world fell apart and went crazy. And I'm going to do it again after this funeral, somewhere that we can hang long enough to for you to have our daughter.

"But first we're going to hang in Xanadu long enough for everyone to see you're pregnant and hear us call each other husband and wife. Because I can't solve every problem in Amber and Xanadu, but I can solve the stupid wedding problem. If Dad wants a big party, he can do it for the naming instead."

Folly cocks her head and regards Martin with a little smile. "I sent word to Ever that I'd be at the Grouse tonight. We should stop in for rings on our way down. If there's still a decent jeweler in Amber, that is."

"I'd say something about how you should have grabbed something from the family homestead on your way here, but ... no." Martin grimaces at the very idea, but the expression morphs into something more thoughtful. "You know, technically everything here is Dad's, and I can probably lay claim to some of it. Do you want me to have Vent look into where the royal jewelry is? Because we can probably solve the ring problem that way without even leaving the house."

He thinks about that for a moment before adding, "I'll understand if that's a bit too--" and he leaves the last word unspoken, knowing Folly will understand.

"Well, I'm not after anything too showy," Folly says; whether in rejection of her mother's taste in jewelry, or the likely selection in the royal treasury of heirlooms -- or both -- isn't entirely clear.

"On the other hand.... In light of recent news, it might be politic to lay stronger claim to my distaff heritage, you know?" She leaves unspoken the paternal heritage from which such a move would implicitly distance her. Her gaze shifts to a watercolor painting on the far wall of a woman in late middle age reading to a cherubic group of barefoot ragamuffins rendered in soft-focus romanticism, a portrait of the woman in whose parlor they now sit. "If there is anything left here of Rilga's... I suppose it wouldn't hurt to look, at least. If we find anything suitable, I'll ask Gerard and Julian whether they'd mind if I wore it."

"I can't imagine they would. And I figure that's a better answer than me digging in my mother's jewelry right now for something for you. Speaking of unfortunate parental associations and all." Martin makes a face.

Folly nods in grim agreement.

"Let me ask Vent about that and getting Violet settled and then we can clean up and go down into the city. I need to get Violet's things from Red Mill. And tell Silken about Lucas." Martin looks like that's the last thing he wants to do.

"All right," Folly says; her soothing tone makes it almost sound like an abbreviation of everything will be all right. She sets Fathom down for a moment to enjoy the plate of sandwich-scraps while she moves to offer her husband a hand-up that turns into a hug.


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Last modified: 6 April 2010