"...there yet?"
Edan leads them both at a good pace towards the practice rooms off of the armory. He looks at Tricksey. "You said you use knives? And a pointy stick? And rebar? I’ve seen rebar. I think we can find a much better weapon for you."
As they walk, Tricksey drifts back and forth across the corridor. She touches and explores things important and insignificant alike, delighted by this strange world and all it has to offer. She jerks a nod to Edan, "Samurai films. Crow Girl watch lots of holos. Like swords. Momma wielded naginata. Tricksey too young. But watch."
She spins around, falling into a gunslinger's stance. "Tyrell use guns. Pew-pew. But like swords better. Rule of cool."
Resuming her circling, she offhandedly says, "How many die on Pattern?"
"Hmm," Edan says. "I don't know, exactly. My father told me that it has happened. He also laid out an equation for the chance of survival, but I think he was trolling me. It looked like he just smooshed the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle and the Sitnikov Problem together."
Tricksey shrugs, "Sounds celestial mechanics meets Schrödinger's Chinchilla. Think King buried lede. But Crow Girl want timey-wimey stuff. So put up with." A broad grin follows, "Plus getting stabbies and shinies."
She turns, walking-skipping backwards so she can look Edan in the eyes. "You walk Pattern. If go anywhere, why here? Edan more than guard. Tricksey see. That chin could travel far."
Edan pulls down a few swords from the walls. It looks like he’s finding one for himself, too, and being extremely picky at it.
"That's a really good question. You're absolutely right, I could go anywhere. Even go back home and take it over. But it's not the same, you see, it's all Shadow. But this, this is Real."
Tricksey hears the capitalization behind the word "Real". Edan is clearly related to Brita. She has noticed something about Xanadu and it does feel somehow different; like everything done here matters and the place is central to things working. Even the most malign monk in their stupid pyramid was a side note compared to this place. It makes Tricksey want to be here, where things happen.
Edan shakes his head. "It's kind of hard to explain. But there's also that I'm needed here. And Hannah and I have a baby, and this is a very safe place now." He holds out a long, light straight sword. "Try this for size. Or did you want a naginata? There are a few blades on sticks, if you're into that."
Tricksey takes the sword, swinging it, spinning it, barely avoiding self-injury. She switches hands, repeating the chaos, grinning brightly.
She changes hands again. And something odd happens. The swings and thrusts become more controlled. Powerfully focused. Shockingly fast. For all her previous insanity, the girl has natural skills, her style something akin to Jukendo. Also, it's likely apparent to someone as skilled as Edan that Tricksey is also using her offhand. Purposefully putting herself at a disadvantage to learn faster.
"Crow Girl take this one," Tricksey says.
She nods, "Protect nest. Build home. Serve people. Tricksey understand." Her head tilts, "Chick how old?"
Edan doesn't answer, instead he holds up a hand, palm out, and shakes his head.
The next search takes longer; but eventually he finds another sword with the same width of blade but a much longer hilt, almost like a zhanmajian, but smaller and lighter. He twirls it with two fingers near the guard to show how good the balance is, also to demonstrate it's just as easy to use with one hand as two. "Try that. Let me see you with your good hand."
For himself, he picks from the collected blades of the Land of Peace, a longer curved saber and a shorter sian for parrying. Both blades have a Damascus pattern to them.
Only then does he say, "a few days old. And the Order of the Lamp that the king has given me, that is new, too. I have a lot of work to do. Want to spar? Try not to stab me."
Tricksey follows behind Edan, watching curiously as he picks out the new weapon. She takes the blade, testing its weight and balance, nodding. As instructed, she keeps it in her good hand, raising the edge in front of her - mimicking the salutes she's seen in holovids. "Crow Girl wants sparring, yes."
She slips back into a loose stance, both hands on the hilt. A concerned expression darkens her features, "Days?! Why spar Tricksey? Be with chick. Crow Girl not be bothersome."
Despite this apparent worry, she launches her attack. No finesse. No wasted movements. Just brutal offense. The girl is all street-fighter.
Edan is more curious; he's fought bayonets before, but a whole fighting style based on this is new. He mostly works to contain and deflect thrusts, until he finds an opening to get inside Tricksey's guard. Maybe a lunge of his own doing a forward split and an attack from below, if she overextends herself.
He says while he spars, "We have so much going now...ow... Hannah is wiser than I in these things, she has a schedule worked out for the both of us, I think it works very well. There's time to do this, then... oof... I will have some time with him before I ride out in the morning."
Edan is a master swordsman, better than the best Tricksey has ever seen, much less fought, and the sword and Edan seem to be as one. Tricksey is amazingly good for someone who hasn't dedicated years to the craft.
It is a duel between a virtuoso and a chainsaw. She just keeps coming at him, and Edan thinks that if she had a better balance of defense and offense, she might just outlast him in a fight. As it is, he has several opportunities to end the fight early. Shortly, one comes that won't require him to hurt Tricksey. He can disarm her or put a touch on her sword arm. If he wanted to hurt her, he could cut her arm. He has to make an instantaneous decision.
Tricksey is having fun. Capital 'F' Fun. Happy hack n slash Fun. It's rare for someone to best her. Test her. Make her learn. The thrill is addictive. And she craves more. Maybe too much so. She grins through the breathing. Feeling the fire in her arm and lungs. Savoring it.
"You go away?" she says, lunging again. "But just met. Tricksey like. WIll be sad. Miss Edan. She help Hannah if need. She good with chicks. Spoil rotten."
Another calculated - if crude - attack, "Where go?"
Edan doesn't talk, but instead slips in past Tricksey's guard. She's fired up enough a sword touch might not be enough, and he certainly doesn't want to hurt her prior to a Pattern walk. So, step-beat-beat-envelop, and he lets good technique spin the sword out of her hands.
"No, no, just a patrol. I want to see what's around the mountain. The Lamp needs to expand its coverage. I'll be back."
Tricksey watches the sword slip from her fingers and clatter to the floor. She blinks at it mute for a moment. Processing. And then she jumps, giggling with glee, spinning, and hugging herself. In a blink, she (if allowed) sweeps Edan into a rib-groaning, organ pulping hug of elation and revelry. "Beat Crow-Girl! You good. Very good. You teach Tricksey more!"
Upon depositing him, she deftly kick-flips the blade back up into her hand, swishing it back and forth. "SO much stabby!"
"Are Monks here? Or more enemies?" she says, crow-mimicking Edan's previous movements. "Patrols mean danger. Who we fight?"
Edan rubs his arm. If he's bothered by the hug, he doesn't show it "Wow, that's a good grip. No, this place is fairly new, like you've seen. It needs to be better scouted. There are whole armies to the northeast that protect this place, but not enough known what's closer to the castle. Monks are possible, but it would be foolish for them to attack directly. I'm more worried about the Moonriders. Have you heard of them?"
That gives Tricksey pause. "If new, how is Real? Did King make Real? Then can make other place Realer?" Returning attention to her sword, she tries another series of stabby-stabbies, thrusty-thrusts, and a swingy-swing for good measure.
"Crow Girl not know Moonriders. Sound cool. Like K-Pop band." A sweeping gesture to the sky follows, "MooooonRiiiiders."
"First off, it's Real, because it is. It's a terrible answer, but I think you'll understand it better after you walk the Pattern. That's the most important thing for you right now.
"And the Moonriders, they're an old enemy with special abilities related to Time. They used to be in a truce with us, but no longer. Their Queen has committed grave affronts against us since Random has become King, and I don’t know right now how it will go."
"Sound bad queen. Like Rock Star King," Tricksey replies, finishing her series of mimicked moves. "So many capital letter words here. Crow Girl not used to. But try understand. And help. What we do.
"Why Queen turn? Always reason. Unless Fox. Not true friend."
"Which Queen? The Queen of the Moonriders, our our Queen, Vialle?" Edan suddenly looks very tired. "The answer may be the same."
Tricksey pauses. frowning with concern. "There two evil Queens?" She thinks on this, "First, tell Crow Girl about K-Pop Queen. Moonriders."
"There are different realms. Each has a Pattern and a Ruler, except for Amber, whose Pattern is broken and it is slowly dying. Technically, Random is over all of them but one, since their rulers are Family and swore fealty to him after the war with Chaos and the death of Oberon, your... great-Grandfather. Now, Tir-na Nog'th is a realm in the sky and is revealed by the full moon, and that realm is ruled by your K-pop Queen, the Queen of Air and Darkness. She possessed Random's Queen Vialle and was working on Random himself when we stopped her."
Tricksey resumes her sword swinging, hopping around the floor like a frantic magpie. "One in same? Need exorcist. Shaman. Maybe dance off. To the death." Swish-swing-stab.
She pauses, gesturing to Edan's weapon, as if in invitation. "Was this war killed papa? Family not liked. Many wars it seems. We make enemies easily?"
Edan picks up his sword again, but this time he flows into the movements of a form he knows for swords with a two-handed grip. The slow-motion dance is perfectly executed and timed. "You could say that. Nowadays, I would rather leave well enough alone, but we're probably not going to get the chance." A step back, another posture. "Adonis didn't die in the war. It was the Dragon of Arden, and I'm afraid I don't know many details. Robin would know more, or Julian."
Tricksey resumes her attacks, albeit more calculated and controlled now. A quick learner and mimic, she adjusts her posture and technique accordingly. Not aggressive, but studying, learning. "Robin," she says. "Another bird name. Crow Girl must meet. And grandfather. Can Tricksey Trump them? She need cards. Or booth. Can you hear me now?"
She suddenly shifts her tactics, trying to score a light hit under Edan's elegant guard. "Do we kill or all or make peace? Tricksey saw clinic. Seemed overkill. Were foxes, so understand. But tempers blind. Grudges bleed. Dead enemies make more enemies. If Moonriders once friends, can be so again." The latter sounds like both question and statement.
"I don't think they were ever friends," Edan says. "But we could not be enemies. I think less about the monks; they have done egregious things to Family and I think too many of us are not inclined to forgive them."
Now that he's got the hang of it, he shows Tricksey a few series of moves to practice on her own.
Tricksey grins brightly, immediately sensing what Edan's up to. She gathers up these new moves like a crow finding precious shinies. She learns fast. Voraciously fast.
"Not like Monks. Foxes all. Not trust new cousin," she says firmly. "Able smiles too right. Too often. Has Fox blood, Tricksey think."
She tests her new acquisitions, tentatively attacking Edan. "How should Crow Girl help Family? Edan wise. She listen."
Edan smiles a little as he finds himself on the defensive. "I don't know about wise. I'm wise enough to tell you I'm not the person to ask. But I can say this, you're vulnerable in ways you don't even realize yet. The first step is to take the Pattern, like Random was saying. And you'll want to be rested and ready before you do."
Tricksey continues her assault, the attacks focusing more on strength than speed this time. She's probably testing how to incorporate her close-combat training into sword fighting. "Will rest after Edan teach. But Crow Girl get room? Noodles? No such thing as free lunch."
Another attack, then retreat. "Should talk with Grandfather? Pay homage? Tricksey not have Trump thingie though."
"Does he know who you are, yet? Knowing how the Family gossips, if he hasn't, he'll probably learn by tomorrow. But in any event, we have a collection of Trumps in the castle to reach him. Julian is very... controlled. Very stoic. But no one likes a surprise, and the down side to Trumps is that you don't know who's calling until the connection is made.
"Of course there will be a room for you. After this, we can run down a page and get you set up." Edan tries the same enveloping trick, gets rebuffed, and nods. "Good. Very good. That two-handed style is really going to help you."
Tricksey takes some pride in this praise, smiling brightly. "Edan good teacher. Crow Girl learn. Hope for more lessons. "Maybe best Tricksey speak to Grandfather and Robin together. Not wish shock them. Will be upset enough. And Trumps strange. Only tried when people in room with her."
She repeats the previous movements, trying to solidify what Edan's taught her in mind and body. "Will Crow Girl get Trump? Brita say 'sketch' us, but sense something... more. Do all Family have Trumps?"
Edan keeps his smile, but a little of the golden light fades in his eyes. "No, not at all. Some of us can make Trumps, including my sister, but a proper Trump takes a long time to make. Those with the skill can also make a faster sketch, I understand, which may work a couple of times and then fade out. That's what Brita was referring to. Someone came up with a brilliant idea to keep many of our Trumps together here in Xanadu, in a place called a 'Trump booth', I don't know why. It's actually a room.
"There are whole decks of these things around, mostly kept by our Elders, and consist of the older Family and at least a couple Trumps of places, like Amber. They are an amazing resource and advantage, used for communication and travel and fortune-telling. And sometimes, escape."
Tricksey shifts back on her foot, then launches forward, trying to force Edan back. Steady, precise, and strong. "Hope Brita capture Crow Girl's good side. Hate bad picture. Too pretty."
She changes positions, trying to turn him. Keep him reacting. "Tricksey see history in Trumps. Muddled. Many emotions. Very strange. They connected to Pattern? If reach People. Places. And Pattern does same. But different. Sound like reflect the Real."
Edan is very difficult to maneuver around; he's got a swordsman's footwork and a dancer's physique. He gives ground during the press, but Tricksey pays for it with an arm-numbing exercise in defensive movements with practically every step.
"I...don't know, really. I was taught how to use them, and what not to do when I'm not, but I don't know that much about the connection."
"Want see Pattern soon," Tricksey says. "And Trumps. Graffiti Trumps for Crow Girl." This intensely brilliant idea makes her smile to herself.
Despite the taxing effort required, Tricksey keeps up the assault. With a final burst of speed, she presses forward, fluid and fast, trying to bind Edan and then topple him through pure strength. It's inelegant and brutal, but obviously what she's best at.
Edan smiles as he lets the bind come. If he had had any scars, they would come from Werewyndle doing the same thing. Already Bleys's voice hammered in his head: 'If you spend ninety percent of your fighting time avoiding a bind, you'll never know what to do when you get one. Now get up and try again.'
Sure, he was being pushed back, but Tricksey was going in a straight line. He has the balance and the footing to hop backwards and mostly keep his posture. He also has way more experience feeling her movements and intentions through the edge-on-edge contact; he doesn't really need his eyes any more. 'Eyes can be deceived. Now get up. Again.'
She's going hard. Edan goes soft. The parry is in quinte. He feints with a shoulder, shoves his blade up and forward so the contact is more towards the hilt, and uses that extra leverage to wind the top of Tricksey's blade high and to her off hand. Normally he would follow with a thrust at his opponent's face with a second blade, but he tries to spin out of the rush on the opposite side and break the contact completely.
Edan spins away and Tricksey finds no resistance to her headlong rush. She slams into the wall that Edan had been backed toward hard. It doesn't knock the wind out of her, but it's a wake up call.
Edan is just a superior swordsman.
Tricksey isn't sure if she could beat him in a martial arts competition, but it would definitely be closer.
For Edan, he's winded. If he had any doubt that Tricksey was a member of the family, it's clear to him that she's got endurance, strength, speed and some great instincts with the blade. If she could've made the fight last longer, she might've worn him down.
Tricksey rubs her shoulder, grinning brightly. It's not the expression of someone defeated, but truly excited. As if blessed with something special, to be cherished, and remembered. "Edan better than Crow Girl think. Been too long. Used to many at once. But this fun. Actually learn. Not yawn."
She sheathes her blade, as if claiming it. And perhaps she has. A memory to hold onto. "Hope not bore Edan. Tricksey wants to do again. Maybe after Pattern? And no baby duty."
Edan brings his sword up, then down in a serpentine salute that looks much like crackling flames at the edge of a campfire.
"Not boring at all. And no baby duty. I'm often here or out in the big exercise yard away from the falls. If you want someone to practice with, I'm happy to oblige."
Tricksey mimicks a bow; practiced at first, devolving into something comical and limb-tangled. "Tricksey think Edan cool. Make her work. Teach her things. Is grateful Crow-Girl."
The bow ends, her posture returning to something akin to normal. "But now noodles. And nest. Maybe both at same time. Where Crow-Girl go?"
She looks at the various exits, blinking.
Edan takes them both out through the exit in Vent's general direction, ready to ask a page for a little guidance if they run across one.
Tricksey circles Edan again, skipping, "Crow Girl owe Edan. Until next we meet. Hope soon! Hug baby and partner for Tricksey."
She follows the page. Little does the young fellow realize the chaos that's been bestowed upon him.
Folly sits on the floor and concentrates on the sketch.
Ambrose answers and they exchange greetings and bona fides. He's shipboard somewhere. "What can I do for you, cousin?"
For the benefit of Random and Brita, Folly holds up a high thumbs-up without looking away from the sketch. "Mostly just checking on your well-being. I'm here with the king and Brita, who is currently taking a call from her brother, the contents of which raised a bit of concern for anyone who might be out and about by themselves." Ambrose can likely infer that Folly thinks Brita's particular concern is more specific than general. "How goes your quest so far?"
"Fine, thank you," Ambrose says, sounding not at all concerned about himself. "We're still en route; the rutter is giving me enough information to make the shifts. I'm still familiarizing myself with the trade documents Gilt pulled for me, so I'm not ready for negotiations, but I will be by the time we get there. This is routine business in the old Golden Circle, so I don't expect much trouble, though I'm aware there are threats out there.
"I left a note for Brita," he adds. "Do you know whether she got it?"
"Well, it looks like she did just come from her quarters," Folly says, "so I'm guessing that's what prompted her to ask after you. Routine or not, do keep your guard up; per Brita's report from her recent travels that at least one member of that organization that's been causing us trouble is actually Family, although it sounds like he was not involved in the recent abductions. Still, if he's a resource for them, they'll know the places we frequent and may have means to get there. What options do you have for calling for backup -- or an escape route -- if you need it?"
"I have sorcery for an escape route," Ambrose answers. "If there's a family member about with strong enough gifts to block that, I do have some cards. If His Majesty wants to send someone else to join me, I wouldn't be sorry for the company. But barring military or sorcerous opposition on a significant scale, I think I should be all right. I planned to touch base before I went ashore," he adds.
Over the top of the card, Folly sees Lark moving to get between her and something, her back to Folly. There are a lot more people who've arrived by Trump and they're all talking and it's hard to keep concentration on the call she's on.
But Syd hasn't given her the "time to panic" cue, so he must think it's under control.
"Well, best bring them all here. But Misao took the pattern outta here, so that's not going to make anyone happy. Unless she left a trump, we're just assuming she'll show back up.
"Let me become properly oriented." Random pulls himself to the normal vertical self and stands beside the throne.
"Bring in the first Mrs. Lucas, and please don't forget to introduce us. And make sure I know which one is Chew."
Random holds out his hand, and Rowen appears in the expected flash of light and color. She's carrying Dr. Chew, who is bleeding and unconscious.
"Welcome back Rowen, dump the monk on the ugly carpet over there."
Once there's a body draped over the shoulders, there's really no graceful way to get out of it. Rather than brusquely drop the man like a three large tubers in a trenchcoat, though, she goes down to a knee at the edge of the rug and then drops him off her shoulders as she rolls across to the other side.
The carpet looks no less ugly when it's half-covered by a bleeding, unconscious monk.
Hannah slips in from the kitchens when she hears the noise level change. She notes more new people, and Rowen's maneuver catches her eye. She heads over to the injured person to start a medical evaluation.
Random holds out his hand again and another young woman comes through. She's pale and wearing black lace and has a parasol over her arm. Strangest to Brita, she doesn't smell like a woman. She may be family. She may be dead. She may be a draugr. It's not clear what she is, but it's disturbing.
"Hello, Miss," he says to Cordelia, "please stand a bit aside."
Random starts to laugh uncontrollably. Eventually he catches his breath and holds out his hand. "Hello, Kim. Do you want me to call him after I bring you through?"
Kimiko takes Random's hand. "That will not be necessary, Your Majesty. I am here to find my youngest chlid."
Random shrugs. "Welcome to Xanadu, then."
He pulls through a tall woman, dressed in an elaborate, multi-layered robe that does not seem to impede or restrict her movements. It is decorated with wolf motifs. She looks both dignified and fierce.
Jerod steps through the Trump, nodding to the everyone not part of the Trump call as he puts away his card.
"Uncle." he says to Random, his familial term laced with just the right amount of courtesy that Kim will have no trouble seeing Jerod respects the king's position.
He does pick up on a few pieces of information during the call naturally and adjusts his order of introductions accordingly.
"Introductions I believe your majesty? Kim appears to already be known so I won't bother on that front, and same with my new sister Rowen." he says. Jerod seems quite pleased to be saying that.
He glosses over the unconscious monk sack on the floor as he continues. "This is my daughter, Cordelia." he says, motioning to her, encompassing the room but primarily including Random and Brita. "Cordelia, my cousin the Lady Brita, Goddess of Asgard. His majesty, King Random of Xanadu and head of the family. The one sitting on the floor is Lady Folly...she appears to be busy and she's definitely someone you want to be friends with."
"And last but not least, my favorite niece...Lark." as he looks at her, waiting to see if there is a hug and a search for chocolate in his coat pockets.
Lark is standing between her mother and Dr Chew. She has a little knife in hand.
Hovering over Dr. Chew, Rowen makes sure that his bindings are secure. No doubt, Vere did a good job of it when he tied him up. She floats a wink over at Lark as she goes about her work, reapplying the gag to make sure Chew can't utter a sound or see a thing. As best she can, she also plugs his ears to minimize his ability to hear. There didn't seem to be the right tools around to properly seal that off completely.
Brita can tell without too much effort that Jerod seems inordinately pleased to be introducing Cordelia....she could almost swear he's happy.
Brita has been relaying the proceedings to Conner. "Uncle Random is Taking Another's Call. They have Caught chew and are Bringing him Here!" She rises from the steps at this point. And as they come through, "Cousin Rowen with chew - unconscious. A Lady... Kin?" Brita gets an odd look and both her brow and nose wrinkle a bit as she tries to sort what she is scenting. Then her expression goes to shocked, "Our Uncle is Laughing At Someone...Uh, A Lady Kim. " Brita tries to see if she can get a sense of this person as Kin or not around the confusing smells of the previous one. "And Cousin Jerod..."
The environment is chaotic and there are so many new people that Brita isn't sure. She smells blood and Cordelia and her various kin, and the smell of wolves, and a touch of rapidly melting snow. The only thing she's very sure about is that Kim is angry. Perhaps furious. She is suppressing her feelings, but her blood is hot.
When Jerod comes through and makes his introductions, Brita grows a wide grin, her green eyes dancing, and says, "It is a Pleasure to Meet You, Cousin Cordelia, Daughter of Prince Jerod, and You, Lady Kim, Mother of Misao. We are Honored to Make Your Acquaintance." Brita is a tall woman dressed in a white shirt, soft brown pants, and a long fur trimmed red coat. Her red hair, plaited and hanging down her back, shows one streak of blond. "Misao was Well the Last I Saw of Them."
She turns her smile to the card in her hand. "My Brother Conner will be Happy to Meet You When He Returns from Shadow Tyrell. Cousin Folly is Speaking with Our Cousin Ambrose who is Also Away."
Cordelia turns to her father. "I will need a list of our relatives. Or perhaps a diagram."
"I'd like one, too," Rowen adds.
Kim nods serenely to Brita. To Random, she says "Where is my child, now?"
Random raises a finger, then two as he makes his points. "One, Misao left the castle by magical means known to our family, so they could be anywhere. But Two, realistically, they don't know a lot of places to go, so I'd expect they're not too far from the nest, as it were. They should be fine.
"And 'C'," he adds, ticking off another finger, "Can we get you anything? Snacks, something to drink, bloodstain remover for your robes?"
Kim looks down to where she'd gotten a bit of Chew's blood on her. She shakes her head. "No, thank you. I am here for Misao and no one else."
Random raises an eyebrow and says "Gotcha, no water for now." He turns to Cordelia.
"Cordelia, welcome, Jerod never told us he had a daughter. We are mostly informal here, amongst family and close friends."
Cordelia curtseys and murmers "Your majesty."
Random looks at everyone and picks Jerod. "OK, start far enough back to give me some context."
"After Bend became our guest in Paris, we had leads on a lost daughter of Rebma. Celina and Merlin decided to chase that down after our not so super-secret meeting, while I headed out with Ossian to track down a monk's rutter that his mom had hidden away.
"Of course, just before that we had our little side trek to collect Misao and the others from the monks which went off swimmingly at the hospital, along with Huon and the archivists.
"Once we got the rutter, Ossian and I were in Paris studying it when Merlin and Celina showed up with Cordelia. They found her in a mausoleum underneath Paris...way underneath Paris if you get my meaning uncle, where a monk's outpost was also located. The monks were trying to kidnap Cordelia, no doubt for experimentation and she was teaching them the error of their ways. How they knew about her is a question I need to figure out since her mother Marissa died before Cordelia was even born, and I never told anyone...never even wrote it down.
"We neutralized that outpost later and tracked some escaping monks. Merlin, Celina and Vere went after some items they were carrying that we found to be trumps. Cordelia, Ossian and myself tracked the actual monks and found their trail in an abbey in Orleans where we also figured out how they are moving around so easily, using place trumps.
"Uncle Corwin was advised of this and he was asked to bring you and others up to speed on that if we didn't get back in time. We also have the place-trump from Orleans for study...Ossian has access to it in Paris. We were able to confirm that it is tied to Abel which Vere was also able to confirm tied back to the trumps he found with Celina and Merlin. Per uncle Corwin's advice, we won't be mentioning Abel to Caine anytime soon...leaving that to others.
"After that, we used it to back track through the travel network the monks use, see about what we could find. Vere joined Cordelia and I for that and we came across an isolated monastery and Elder Germaine of all of people...doing research on the family and looking for information from the monks. Vere spoke to him and we found out Chew was there having a meeting with other monks...there some question as to the content of the meeting as it seemed to be of very a contentious nature.
"From there I called Martin to let him know and he came through with Rowen. We went to collect Chew and found Kim ready to eat him while he was doing his sorcerous best to avoid that fate. Chew was captured, nobody got eaten and then we came here. Martin and Vere are taking care of the remaining monks at the monastery.
"That's the summary uncle. Others can add bits I might have missed." Jerod says. "Plus I'll need to discuss family magic with you privately at your convenience."
Random nods.
"One, please do not ask my brother Corwin to do things in a timely fashion. The man was literally a hundred and twenty years late to his own funeral. Two, noted. Three, I want to know what you propose to do with the body on my carpet. Four, " he says, turning to Kim. "You were going to eat him?"
Kimiko shakes her head. "No, Your Highness. I was going cripple him so he could still tell me where my child was before I killed him. I still intend to kill him."
Random says nothing for an uncomfortable moment. "We'll see. He's in my castle now."
Kimiko doesn't seem inclined to either argue or give up her claim.
Hannah takes a few minutes investigating the monk's injuries and determining if it is safe to move him to the infirmary.
Chew has had a rough time of it. Blunt object trauma to the head. That would be Jerod. What looks like an animal attack. He's not in danger of bleeding to death, but he has several days of serious rest before engaging in normal daily activities. The bleeding at this point is mostly stopped, but he'll probably need stitches and antibiotics. And something for the pain.
If he's still unconscious, it's a blessing. He could be brought on a stretcher or a chair to the infirmary. Or carried like a sack of potatoes.
Only after her brain is done processing that does Hannah really look at him. "I know you," she whispers. She looks at Rowen, motions to her to come close. "Where did you find him?" she asks quietly.
Rowen comes over and leans in. "They called him Dr. Chew and... we found him in a monastery." Offering a somewhat wry smile, she adds, "I couldn't begin to tell you where the monastery was, though. One that, uh, Elder Germaine knew of and had access to?"
Her lips press each other and then slide a bit to the left, and she shrugs. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. He's the guy. He formulated a pharmacutical for Prince Gerard and I. This is... disappointing. I assume he's part of the cloning nonsense." She double checks she hasn't loosened any of Rowen's careful work, then stands.
Lowering her voice to not disturb other conversations--or so that only Hannah can hear--Rowen asks, "I'm not familiar with that word. What is 'cloning'?"
Jerod smiles slightly at the interplay of "Eat, not eat" between Random and Kimiko but says nothing until an opportune moment.
"Interrogation of Chew would be advised to track down his various working locations and other place spots so we can neutralize them. I doubt we will get them all but it will give us some benefit, and questioning him will tell us his relationship to Able. The more we know there, the better."
"Once we have what we figure we can reasonably obtain from him..." and Jerod shrugs at this point. "...then we figure out what to do with him. I have no doubt there will be many interested parties seeking Chew's demise."
"I would be happy to volunteer for the medical care and feeding step, with someone along for appropriate security, and see if being kind gets us any answers," Hannah offers. "I do have some un-inhibiting drugs for after that, too."
Hannah might notice that Rowen has a reaction to "drugs" similar to "cloning," but refrains from asking, this time. "I am new to this realm and do not know any of the protocols, but if I may be of assistance, I am available." Unsaid, what else is she going to do?
Random nods. "Sounds good to me. Hannah, you and Rowen take him to wherever it is you've got an infirmary and get him awake and see how he does. Grab one of the red-cloaked guards to stand outside the door looking menacing. Don't tell them he once tried to experiment on Folly unless you want your prisoner to be unconscious again."
"Brita, can you and Prince Jerod take the Lady Kimiko to see Misao's room? I need to see what we can do about finding Misao, if indeed there's anything that can be done. You all can go to the gardens after that."
Kim nods. "That will be acceptable."
Random turns to his granddaughter. "Lark, gimmie." He holds out his hand.
Lark doesn't have to ask, but hands Random the dagger. "You have to be Jerod's age to be allowed to carry knives in the presence of the king." He casually starts twirling the dagger like a drumstick.
Jerod chuckles a little as he nods a bow to Random before turning to collect the others in heading out to Misao's room.
Brita also bows to the King and then bows to Lady Kimiko with a fist to the hand holding Conner's Trump held out in front her. She says, "Kimiko-san, Dozo, Kudasai." as she sweeps her free hand towards Jerod's retreating back.
Taking her cues from the others, Rowen also bows to the king before kneeling to scoop the unconscious Chew in her arms. When she has risen to her feet, she looks to Hannah for direction.
Random's dispersal orders are followed quickly and soon the room is back to Folly, Lark and Syd. Folly hears the commotion as people leave nearly as fast as they arrived and Syd is behind her, not quite touching her and joining the trump call with Ambrose, but close enough that she could pull him in if she wanted to.
She feels his breath in her ear. "Things just happened," he murmers. "Wrap up there?" She's confident that he'll pick up any hand gesture or motion she makes. And also confident that he'll wait.
"So, Alouette, tell me about finding Captain Harsh," he says.
Lark lauches into an improbably Lark-centric discussion of how their latest cousin was found and brought on-board the ship.
She holds up a finger, just slightly. "Yes, do reach out again before you make land," she says to Ambrose; he can feel that after a momentary wavering, as if at some unpleasant distraction, she is now focusing hard on the contact. Her breathing has changed. "Several of our cousins just arrived through another contact -- I didn't catch all of it, but we may have relevant news to share when you're closer to your destination. Or possibly cousins looking to join you, depending on what's going on here." She smiles, a little.
Ambrose asks if he's needed back in Xanadu, but is easy to convince to stay on his task. He'll expect a call when things are more settled or unsettled.
"Safe travels," she says, and carefully closes the contact and tucks the sketch safely away to return to Brita later.
Then she closes her eyes, sags not quite bonelessly against the wall, and holds out her hand instinctively toward Random without interrupting the flow of Lark's story -- the only thing keeping her grounded right now.
Random takes her hand and starts beating out a complicated rhythm on her palm with two of his fingers. It's switching time signatures. Syd will probably call it something like "six and three quarters-fifths" or something like that. It's a focusing tactic.
Folly thinks the song that goes with that beat wouldn't be a pop hit, but would have fans for the deep structure of it.
Syd asks Lark a few questions about Harsh and the trip by ship, and Rowen. It's a delaying tactic, the broken-string-drum-solo trick.
The pressure of his fingers, the rhythm, the sound of her daughter's voice -- slowly, Folly begins to relax. Her breathing slows and deepens.
At a lull in Lark's story, she opens her eyes. "Hey, kiddo, thanks for looking out for me. That's supposed to be my job -- sorry I froze. It probably would've been different if he'd been...." Threatening you. "...Conscious." She holds out her free arm to her daughter, inviting a hug.
Lark comes over. "He's a bad man." She lets her mother hug her, but wiggles out quickly. "But Uncle Jerod took him away."
"He is a bad man," Folly agrees. Her tone is vehement.
To Syd, she says in a low voice, "Once I saw him it was all I could do to hold on to my trump call. What happened -- and what happens now?"
Syd shrugs, and keeps up the rhythm, adjusting it as she moves. "Jerod hit him with something and brought him back. Along with Benedict's ex-girlfriend who is apparently Misao's mother. I need to trump Benedict, to let him know."
Folly presses the back of her free hand to her mouth, but it doesn't quite hide her smirk, much less the twinkle in her eyes. "Well, he certainly has a type, doesn't he?"
Random nods. "Well at least this one didn't chop off his arm."
He sighs. "He's going to the infirmary with Hannah and our new weyr-neice, who is Cambina's sister. Jerod wants to have an extended Q&A session with him. After that?" He pauses, "We figure out what to do with him. If I put out word that he was outside of my protection, there are plenty of family members who would bid for the right to kill him. Dr. Chew doesn't have any staunch supporters around here. It's a question of justice vs. turning a blind eye to who exactly kills him."
"Well, I can't say that I'm particularly inclined to plead for mercy in his case either," Folly says, and shivers. "I mean, maybe that extended Q&A would reveal something to change our minds, but...." She shakes her head doubtfully. "I won't be bidding to put a knife in him, but I might throw up on him. Involuntarily, I mean, if I'm in the same room with him again."
"Got it. He was more dangerous when we didn't know who he was, but we can't guarantee that there aren't any of us left who don't know who he was. That makes him an ongoing threat."
Folly visibly ticks through the triple negative, and nods.
Lark climbs up on the throne, and starts trying to figure out how best to climb the back of it and lurk, above it all.
Folly keeps an eye on her in her peripheral vision but does not make any immediate move to stop her. She frowns, and is struck by another thought. "Hey, who was the goth ghost girl? Or did I hallucinate that as, like, an omen or something?"
"In the 'annals of unexpected events,' she's Jerod's daughter. Which leads us back to people who have a type..."
Folly opens her mouth, closes it, purses her lips, and then says, "No, too many questions. Hopefully I'll get an introduction from him later. I should let you get to that trump call; it seems like maybe the sort of thing Benedict should know sooner than later. And perhaps Lark and I should go help some of these new relatives get settled in?"
He looks relieved. "That'd be great. I've got another round of 'so you won the lottery, or maybe lost it.' Intros to give, but it goes better after a pre-explanation explanation.
"And I'm not sure if it surprises me more that Jerod sought out vampires is shadows or that he knocked one up. Given his father's werewolf girlfriend, I guess it makes a certain sense."
He pauses, and looks over to Lark. Lark is, like a determined cat, looking to see if she can leap from the top of the throne to the light fixture above it. Random looks back to Folly. "Did Cambina ever talk about her family with you? I'm not really sure I knew she was a weir, until her sister showed up."
Folly shakes her head. "She was much more likely to talk about the future than the past, usually in the spookiest way possible. Which... maybe that also fed into her brother's proclivities, y'know?" She steps closer to the throne and pats her shoulders for Lark to step on -- not that it will help her daughter reach the light fixture (Folly is not that tall), but it might at least keep her from making a leap for it. "You said the Weir and the Moonriders were related, yeah? I guess that must be where Cambina got her 'talking about the future' thing. I wonder how much she knew about that history?" She frowns, and adds, "The librarians implied that Vialle had her writings checked out. Any idea where they might've ended up?"
He scrunches up his face. "Nope. I have no idea where Vialle had those books taken, or what she was doing with them. Either her secretary knows, or they're propping up the fishtanks in her quarters, or she threw the books into the lake.
"Yeah, I'd meant to ask Ember when I spoke with her, but I was mostly focused on making sure she and her mother were ok, so I forgot." Folly sighs.
"I guess we need to clean out her quarters and office. If I give that task to Vent, he'll have twenty questions that need my attention, like 'should we keep the elephant-foot umbrella stand' and if so 'where should it go'?"
Syd does a pretty passable imitation of Steward Vent.
It's Folly's turn to scrunch up her face. "I suppose it's too late to give it back to the poor elephant.... I suppose my volunteering to oversee the cleanup would be... politically dicey, let's say. But... with your permission, may I see if I can find the missing writings among her things? I'll also send a note to Ember to see if she has any knowledge or insights."
"Elephantine Necromancy never works out in the end. Someone always ends up getting crushed by a possessed foot while in flagrante delicto. Check with Fiona or Vere before doing anything with Ghost Elephants."
He's probably trying to decide if he should name a song or a band Ghost Elephants.
[OOC: yes. https://rollingstoneindia.com/hear-ghost-elephants-soaring-debut-single-the-system/]
Folly smiles.
"I'm not sure there's anything you can do that someone who really wants to make a stink over something can't make a stink over and I don't think you're going to do nothing, which would also be something."
He sighs. "So if you're going to do something, you might as well do something.
"Got it," Folly says.
Lark stretches upwards. "Stay still, Mama, I'm going to need to climb on your head."
The door slides open and a page looks in, waiting on permission. Random grants it. Apparently, Kimiko and Brita are returning to have an audience with the King.
"Here, Kiddo, stand on my head. Let's see if she manages to keep her bluff up through that."
Lark climbs over onto Random's shoulders.
"Can you go trump Benedict and him that she's here? I'd rather that happened before she leaves and I'm not gonna be in a position to do so, shortly."
"Sure," Folly says. "Can I borrow your trump, or should I find one in the booth?" She looks ready to pick his pocket for his trump case, if needed, while his hands are full of Lark's ankles.
Random grins, and makes sure the child stays vertical. "Borrow mine, they're in my pocket. Try not to tickle anything too ticklish while I have Lark on high post."
"Ah, yes, you make a good point," Folly says, returning the grin. "I'll try to avoid making another one." She reaches delicately into his pocket, pulls out his trumps, sorts out Benedict's card, and returns the rest of the deck to his pocket. "I'll bring this right back -- I don't expect this will take long. I'll just go--" she gestures toward where she expects the nearest empty room to be "--so if you need to have a semi-serious conversation without a wee acrobat standing on your head or hanging from your lights, you can send her that way. Back in a few -- I'll let you know how it goes."
And unless he needs to hand Lark back immediately, she heads to the nearest empty room and attempts to contact Benedict.
Folly can retreat to what Random calls "the green room", despite it being painted lavender. There is no green at all within it, but it does have a sitting area, a table with snacks, and a desk. Random uses it as a working office behind the throne room.
As she departs, she hears Random speaking to Lark. "See if you can bow to the very serious lady when she comes back in. I'm gonna pretend you're not up there."
Folly grins. Well, if Lark is going to be exposed to court life, that seems like the way to do it.
She enters the lavender Green Room, takes a seat at the desk, and concentrates on Benedict's card.
After Harsh, Gerard, and Hannah have finished their tea and snacks, Gerard heads off to speak to Corvis; Hannah goes to take care of other business; and someone has been sent for the King's Steward, Gilt Winter.
Gilt proves to be a tall, white-haired man, a bit of a dandy, perhaps, after the sort of Albic historical style they seem to favor in Xanadu. His hair is in a long ponytail that extends past his shoulders, which is unusually long for men of Xanadu. He comes to Harsh at the table and bows. "Lord Harsh? I am Gilt Winter, in the King's service. I've begun the arrangements for you to have a suite in the royal wing of the castle, and for fittings for new clothes and the like. I'm sure you have a number of questions, and I can answer quite a few of them, though there are some things you'll need to ask the King directly. Shall we find somewhere private to sort out what you need?"
The address of "Lord" hits Harsh's ear very strangely indeed, and he stifles the automatic urge to correct Gilt.
"Er-- yes. Please." A deep breath. "Besides the necessities, I'll also need someone to take a message to my men-- the Golcondan sailors who came here with me."
"Of course," Gilt says, as if this is all sort of normal. Maybe it is for him. "I know you won't need a staff on the level of Prince Gerard's for any number of reasons, but we'll assign some pages to you to see to your needs, and if you want to take any of your colleagues on as personal staff--a secretary or whatever you may require--I can arrange for that as well. Many of the members of the family who are in residence have staff members, and some who aren't have secretaries to handle anything that might arise while they're away," he explains.
"I'll have to talk to the men to see what they want," Harsh says, "hence the message." He smiles a little. "The size of the staff you mention suggests a great deal of business."
"As a navy man, even if not attached to the Royal Navy just yet, I expect you to fall into the latter category. My father is the secondary head of Naval Intelligence, after Prince Caine, so I have some insight into the Navy." Gilt's smile is amused, but Harsh also reads it as complicated. "Would you rather walk in the gardens, such as they are, or visit the library?"
"Gardens for now, I think," Harsh says. "I could do with a breath of fresh air."
"Of course, your Lordship--or do you prefer another title? Some of your cousins have knightly titles, others go by their rank in the armed forces. Those of us who came here from Amber tend to go by Amber-style titles but it's early days here, and His Majesty hasn't started handing out peerages and offices beyond the necessary," Gilt clarifies.
He's leading the two of them through the public halls of the castle, clearly with a destination in mind. They're on a lower level than the family suite where Harsh arrived on Gerard's Trump. Based on the view of the windows, though, Harsh is still high above the city and the shoreline.
Harsh is visibly disconcerted by the matter of titles; he was quite all right with his old title of Commander, but it doesn't sit well now that he knows he has some kind of place within the hierarchy of Amber.
"'Your Lordship' will do ... or to be perfectly honest, 'sir' will do more often than not." He hopes he doesn't look as lost as he feels. "Clearly I have much to learn about the customs and etiquette of Amber."
"Of course, sir. You'll work your way through it," Gilt says with absolute confidence. "When the King's late father was on the throne, he shaped Amber to his will. The King himself, for reasons on which he does not elaborate, moved the seat of his power here to Xanadu. It's been an adjustment for those of us who joined him and for the members of the family who've been discovered since the late war began." He offers Harsh a smile that would probably be considered smug on a lot of men but Harsh doesn't sense any harm in him. "Everyone is making something new of themselves. You're not alone in that."
Gilt opens what looked like it might have been a set of glass windows but is actually a door and gestures Harsh out into the garden. They're at one end of the castle and there are some chairs and tables that were clearly designed for outdoor usage sitting on the lawn. It hadn't really been clear to Harsh before but the whole castle, or palace, or whatever it is, sits in a cave, and part of it is behind the waterfall. Closer to the edge he'll have a great view of the city below and the harbor.
Harsh gravitates rather quickly toward the edge, and immediately his entire demeanour changes. All the nervousness and uncertainty fades and his expression lights up with delight at the view -- the waterfall, the city, the harbour and its ships.
"What a magnificent place," he says. "It's not often I say this, but I dare say some of the cities of Golconda would look on this with envy." He smiles. "I was raised in the city of Kolkata and I always loved the ports. Inevitable that I'd go to sea, I suppose."
"Prince Gerard was the Admiral of Amber's Southern Fleet until his accident," Gilt says, letting that settle between them for a moment.
Harsh did know that about Gerard -- heard whilst on the Vialle -- but that intelligence lands somewhat differently now.
"Well," he says quietly, and then can't think of anything more to add.
Then Gilt adds, "The King hasn't formally created an admiralty for Xanadu. Though he will at some point. Prince Caine, one of the King's brothers, who is Regent in Amber, holds the Northern Fleet of Amber."
"So Xanadu is a relatively... new nation, then?"
"Only a few years, yes, for all that it seems older. I don't know all the details, of course," because it seems clear that there are a lot of royal secrets to which someone like Gilt isn't privy, or if he is, he knows enough to keep his mouth shut about them, "but I'm given to understand that for reasons related to the Royal Gifts, the King removed the family here after the late war. Perhaps the Unicorn led him here." Gilt looks down to the city below. "All of this is new construction.
"Speaking of, did anyone mention about Tir-na Nog'th?" Gilt asks.
"Tir-na--" Harsh tries to repeat the name but the last syllable confounds him a bit. "Should they have? It's entirely possible that someone did and it got lost amid all the other new information that has overstuffed my brain."
He says it lightly enough, but honestly, so much that he's learned has been pushed aside by the whole "so this is my father" thing.
"Tir-na Nog'th is the mystical city that appears in the sky at the full moon. There are the beginnings of a stairway at the top of the mountains, and when the city appears, it's possible to walk up the stairs and explore the city. However, if the moonlight on the city fails, you will fall to the waters below," Gilt explains gravely. "The custom is that when someone goes up, there is a watcher with a Trump who can bring them through quickly in such an emergency. But for now, that's irrelevant; by the King's command, Tir-na Nog'th is forbidden. One of your cousins died by falling from Tir, and until that matter is resolved to the King's satisfaction, no one is permitted to visit it.
"You don't seem like the sort to wander up moonlight stairs," Gilt adds, "but it occurred to me that I should mention the ban."
A lot you know, Harsh thinks with some amusement at Gilt's last comment, because he was already wondering what would be involved in getting permission to visit the city.
"Fair enough -- and thank you for the warning," he says. "What manner of resolution is being sought by the King, anyway?"
As he says it, he wonders if this has something to do with they diplomatic marriage Hannah was joking (?) about.
"That's a long story. We're not a hundred percent certain who was responsible for the Lady Cambina's death. But the King's justice will deal with whoever it proves out to be. Lady Cambina was well loved, and her brother Prince Jerod is the sort who has a long memory, even if he's not old enough to have proved that yet. Even if the King were inclined to forgive, which I don't think he is, Prince Jerod will not be."
Cambina, Harsh recalls, is the name of the sister that Rowen and Reynart mentioned. They at least shared the same mother, and as best Harsh recalls, the suggestion is that the difference between them, the one that marked her as a Royal, was paternity.
In the quick version of the family unit that Harsh had from his father (his father!) Cambina and Jerod were the children of Gerard's older brother Eric, who reigned briefly as King of Amber during the war. Rowen was added to the genealogy, and was presumably also Eric's.
Harsh, in fact, discreetly pulls out his notes from earlier to remind himself of Cambina's place in the whole scheme, and nods. He is quiet for a moment, looking out into the harbour and organising his thoughts.
After a moment he says, "If I may be plain... I am still attempting to understand what it is I'm meant to do, now. I see that many of the—many of my cousins--" good grief does that word feel strange in his mouth, "--are embroiled in the matters of Tir-na Noth." He winces a little, knowing he's not quite got the pronunciation right. "And others are wrapped up in the affairs regarding the monks who, I understand, took several of them as prisoners. As yet neither of these affairs has touched me or Golconda -- as far as I know. I feel I ought to act somehow, but apart from wanting to bring home those of my men who still wish to return, I... I don't know what to do."
He looks away, embarrassed at having said so much to a stranger, and feeling more like a fraud than he has done in some time.
Gilt doesn't seem to note the mispronunciation. Instead he gives Harsh a moment to recover himself before saying, "I'm not royal myself but I've been around the members of your family enough to know that your uncertainty is normal for those who find out who they are in adult life. Most members of King Random's generation knew who and what they were. In the younger generation, that's not the case.
"Most of your cousins work for the kingdom, or the kingdoms collectively, if you will, in one way or another. There are tasks that require the mastery of Shadow that your family alone possesses. Those are how you'll probably occupy yourself. Travelling in Shadow, acting as a diplomat or military commander or whatever is needed. For now, though, you're a student learning his place in a new school, as it were. You don't have to do anything other than learn."
Well, that's a liberating prospect. And a little frightening, if he's honest with himself, but -- isn't that what he's always truly wanted? The freedom to choose a path, unencumbered by the fear of discovery?
"It's a great deal of freedom for people who are used to nothing but duty and responsibility. The King can tell you more. Would you like me to set a private appointment with him for you to discuss what you can be doing?"
"I--yes. I would be very grateful," Harsh says. "I've spoken with Prince Martin on this matter as well, I should say. But when the King has a moment, I am at his disposal."
"Of course. I'll make the arrangements once we're finished here. The King is a busy man, but he makes time for his nephews and nieces." Gilt leans in and says, as if imparting a bit of particular wisdom, "If you have any interest in music, that's usually an easy way to make a connection with him. He's a musician and interested in the varieties and intricacies of music in different Shadows."
Harsh can just about carry a tune in a sturdy bucket, but his familiarity with the intricacies of Golcondan music are limited at best. He chuckles. "How does he feel about sailor songs?"
"Like all of the Princes, he's served his turn on Amber Navy ships, so he'll be interested in new songs you bring to him. He's also asked people to dance if they're inclined, so that's another possibility if you don't play or sing."
It takes Gilt a moment to decide to add the next bit. "If your interview with him is completely private, you may find he's interested in any stories you can tell him about Prince Martin. But that's not a subject he prefers to discuss in front of others."
In Golconda, Harsh would consider asking "why" and then immediately decide not to, because to pry -- about family in particular -- would be unspeakably rude.
This being Xanadu, with a king very unlike any monarch Harsh has ever imagined meeting, he considers and then says, carefully, "Why is that? If I may be so bold as to ask."
"That's a very long and complicated story, but the piece that I know goes like this: the King, as a young man, sired Martin and then either parted or was parted from Martin's mother, who was a princess of Rebma, an underwater kingdom. Not long after Martin's birth, Martin's mother died, and Martin was raised by his grandmother, who has always blamed Random for her daughter's death. The King didn't know that he had a son for some years and only met him after--" another pause, then Gilt goes with "The King met him during the recent war, after someone now dead made an attempt on Martin's life. They've reconciled, but obviously it's a complicated relationship. The King is always interested in knowing his son better."
Harsh recalls, on hearing this story, a shanty about the son of the keeper of the Cabra lighthouse that Martin led on deck one night, to much approval of the crew.
The shanty has been accumulating all sorts of interesting context, Harsh reflects.
"The Prince told me some of that," he says. "The truth is that I've quite enjoyed his company, and that of his daughter, on the voyage. I should be happy to sail with him again."
"That's something you can easily tell His Majesty, then," Gilt says with evident pleasure. Either he's very good at the courtier thing or he genuinely is Random's friend.
Last modified: 16 January 2024