Triton Ambush

Celina sleeps poorly, feeling an urgent oppressiveness in her dreams, but one that flees her waking thoughts. It is the shadow of the predator far above, the sweep of cold water from a shark's fin, but she cannot pinpoint it at all.

[ooc: sharks, why does it always have to be sharks?]

[GM-Michael]
[OOC:It is a killer Manta Ray, based entirely on my childhood fascination with Aquaman.]

After she rises, she enters her ante-chamber and finds that Orseas is just now arriving. He looks worried.

Celina keeps brushing her hair. "Good morn, fair Orseas. What puts a wrinkle on your face today?" She pulls her hair back and up into a lazy version of the court style and slides a loop of copper through it. She smiles. "If it's bad news, tell me now before breakfast."

Orseas smiles thinly and shakes his head. Breakfast is provided with his usual efficiency and Celina suspects that he is now attempting not to let his concerns show.

The Lady of the Royal Bedchamber sighs, attends to her breakfast and ponders the Tritons, in their full number, and in the specific of one handsome, if obstinate Orseas. And pacing herself, she broils her curiousity, adds seasoning from her dreams, and stirs repeatedly.

"Orseas," Celina uses a very low and mellow tone, "we should talk about things, to include Sir William Roth and our tour of fair Rebma today."

She proceeds to allow Orseas to see her vision of the tour, knowing that cityfolk will gawk, but discreetly, and knowing that some brassy merchant or 'privileged' character might try to catch her eye or get a chance to have a few words with the mystery man from Paris despite the mantel of Royal Displeasure implied by Celina's escort of Sir William.

All this seems aimed at allowing Orseas to make the most of his duty to follow-on the walking tour, and be prepared to look after anyone that gets out of line---and of course, it is. For soon enough, they will be off to escort Sir William.

And just before that, Celina catches Orseas with a hand, intelacing her fingers with his own. "You don't have to tell me things for it to be clear that you have troubles. You don't have to speak for me to hear your worry." She squeezes his hand--meaningless to his great strength. "If we are to be partners, I will expect an accounting between us of things that make the water colder and more difficult to swim."

Celina releases his hand and gestures to the door..."When you are ready, of course."

And if he pretends the one thing means the other... so be it. She knows which is which.

He looks at her, and nods. It could mean many things, of course.

[ooc: I'm quite flexible about skipping the tour--if the GMs so desire and staying with main plot timing.]

Oh, not at all! interesting things will happen on the tour. Mr. Roth is all ready to go.

Celina glides to Sir William's quarters through the busy galleries.

Arriving, she passes him a copy of the official 'Sir William has arrived' post that Celina sent off last night (off scene).

"Good morn, Sir William," Celina opens, "I hope your sleep settled well. Today we can travel the palace district, perhaps make a few forays into the trade district depending on crowds."

Bill agrees, and is more interested in the trade districts and the lower city than the upper.

Moving through the glassine corridors to the city. Celina makes small-talk, casually asking if Sir William had any questions about breakfast. If he asks about foods or takes the time to show he's having trouble with eating--Celina will smoothe this over and start up some bright chatter about lunch plans.

He thinks he's picked up the knack.

Getting him back on the dolphin, so to speak.

Once exited the palace, Celina talks about the grounds, various histories of when this particular addition to the palace was done, how the grounds are tended, and some sense of the history of Rebma's seat of government.

Then they are off the palace grounds and into the city.

Celina knows there shouldn't be any trouble... yet something natters away in the back of her mind--perhaps her dream from last night is echoing. Behind her smile, she's calculating what would be required in throwing herself bodily in front or behind Sir William to prevent anything from spoiling the day.

Indeed.

She spares a glance for Orseas trailing behind.

And Celina starts in about the three dimensional nature of the city streets. Walkers, swimmers, and those who pass above the rooftops through more athletic efforts.

Bill seems most interested in the older parts of the city and especially old monuments. "It's a hobby," he explains. "I always find it interesting to see what previous generations have wanted to memorialize about themselves and how time and intervening generations have treated those memorials."

This stops her for a moment. She laughs. "That's almost something my friend, Khela, might have said." She squeezes his arm. "A friend from out in the seas beyond Rebma. She was always tasting layers of a place, looking for what folks were ignoring about things around them."

Celina nods. "Certainly. I don't know the city that well, but we can get guidance and some maps. Memorials are in many of the plazas. In a city this old, you get a lot of bits of history. I'd love to take a longer look at some of them myself. Let's do that. I'll do some work getting maps together when our day concludes."

"Alice always said that Lawyers shouldn't spend time in cemeteries, but I guess I'm a politician now." He smiles.

"Well, Alice makes sense. Rebman cemetaries have some of those war monuments. Though I'd have to ask for permissions to get into any cemetaries. The lands are mostly family-owned if I remember correctly."

Bill points out a Triton swimming in the distance. "The King didn't really tell me to expect people like that," he says. "Do you think I could meet one?"

"Tritons?" Celina feels a shiver of shadow pass over her head. She looks up, then back at William. "I suppose it could be arranged. Yes. When we pause for lunch. I'll ask Orseas to join us. I have to tell you though, the Tritons do not speak unless something stressful or dangerous compels them." Celina looks William in the face. "I don't command Orseas casually. I was a member of the working class not so long ago. So if he begs off--I'll have to allow him to. That's all right, isn't it? He may not like the idea of sitting down with us."

Sir William nods. "No, I certainly wouldn't want to make him unhappy."

Celina laughs. "Well said."

Celina makes no effort to explain who Orseas is or where he is--mainly as an interest in whether William is trying to flank her on the issue or strangely in-tune with her own thoughts.

[Bill's thoughts are his own, and access to them is billed at $200/hour...]

The tour continues and Bill has a sharp eye for amusing plaques on buildings and out-of-the way monuments. You find yourself further downhill than you normally go, and notice that Orseas is staying closer than he does when you are in the upper city. At lunchtime, Sir William suggests that you find something local in the vicinity.

"This part of the city is not as familiar to me." Celina admits to William. She scouts as they move along, judging and testing her assumptions about the eateries she spots.

At some point, she makes a choice, banners outside move slowly in the waters, and a lively game of chess, with excited spectators, is happening in the tables set up outside the main door. She nods to the facade, "There. Sir William, I think I'll introduce you to marlin chowder if they have a good recipe. Let's find a seat here at the street tables."

Her hand naturally falls behind Sir William's shoulder blades, escorting her 'man' towards the quaint eatery named the "Horrible Hornpipe". She uses the shield of William's back to signal Orseas that lunch is about to be served. Here. Now.

"William, does this too, remind you of Paris?" She brightly asks.

"A little," he says. "Something about the cafes, maybe. But there's no smell of chestnuts in Rebma."

Celina mentally stumbles over the smell of a chest of nuts, then rearranges the whole thing again with the more probable meaning. She smiles and nods, thinking herself fortunate that she doesn't have to figure out an answer.

And taking tables, she then signals Orseas to join them, instead of standing a watch on the street.

And under the table, she crosses the fingers of her other hand.

Orseas joins Celina and Sir William at the table, to the annoyance of the proprietor. It's not quite "we don't serve his kind here", but it's uncomfortable. On the other hand, Celina is clearly a great lady, or she wouldn't have a triton in her train.

Celina smothers her irritation under a cool current of genial goodwill.

Sir William pretty obviously disapproves of the proprietor's disapproval. He mutters something under his breath about woolworths and triton sit-ins that makes no sense at all. [Celina recalls that wool is used for garments in Amber, but has no idea what sort of job a woolworth might do.]

[Celina assumes that it is a merchant who selects grades of wool or makes decisions about fabric weaves and such. Some middleman to the process.]

Trying to recall if she's ever seen a Triton sitting in anything--she chats about the possible delicacies of the menu. She's also a fair warning for those things spicy or extremely oily to the palate. If Sir William decides to adventure on anything she will join him--hoping for her own stomach that he doesn't decide to mix spicy and oily.

She still has nightmares about it.

Sir William accepts her advice on the menu.

The lunch is acceptable, but not what Celina is used to at the palace. Sir William is pleasant with minimal condescension to Orseas, and accepts that Orseas doesn't speak to him without comment. Orseas does answer direct questions with a nod or a shake of the head. He looks to Celina occasionally to be sure it's all right to answer a question.

Thinking Orseas is being a bit more proper than wise, Celina engages in this "may I?" byplay. She's not thrilled to be in this position, but she's so delighted that Orseas is bending a bit here that she won't fuss over why he would make it appear she might 'filter' his answers.

Then finds herself thinking: Well, Orseas must think I would filter him. So what does that say about me? Spiny cuttles. Have I adapted to court too well?

When Sir William asks about the Tritons, Orseas becomes reluctant to answer, but Sir William senses it too and changes the topic before Celina feels the need to speak up. Something about the whole business has Sir William a little angry, but he doesn't say what's bothering him.

Celina finds herself appreciating the man's sincerity, and lack of airs even more. She doesn't pry, trying instead to guess what about the prim Orseas has irritated him. Is it the silence, the manners, or the fact that Orseas is twice as enigmatic to someone from outside? Or none of these things? Little starfish, it nearly bewitches her into studying William's face like a lover, looking for clues and maps of his intentions.

She has it a game of sorts by the time the meal ends.

After the meal, Celina and Sir William continue their stroll around downtown. At one point when Orseas has dropped back out of immediate hearing, he says to Celina, "What's the deal with the Tritons?"

"Deal?" Celina tilts her head in William's direction. "Arrangement? Barter? You don't mean you want buy his time for something I hope? I don't think that would work at all." She leans closer. "Not that--. No, wait. Please help me understand what you're asking."

As Celina gives her answer, she notices that two tritons are approaching her. Orseas swims forward, past her and Sir William. She catches sight of a third triton out of the corner of one eye. All three of them are masked.

The street is suddenly deserted, except for the four tritons and two humans.

Her first thought on seeing the masked Tritons: There's a lovely day gone to whaleshit.

Her second wild thought: Was this what William meant about 'deal with the Tritons'?

The next moment she finds herself going a bit brazen. "Sir William, I don't like the looks of these masked fellows. Please get behind me." Celina stills her mind and resigns herself to be punished horribly by a Triton four times her size and sixteen times her weight.

"You men. Explain yourselves." This is so going to hurt.

[ooc: Celina will try speed and dancing defense. She will not let them touch William without a serious fight--though she doesn't want one. And she plans to bite, kick, and claw as it takes to see her will done.]

Sir William starts to protest, then realizes that he and Celina are surrounded, and says, "Back to back." Then he pauses, and adds, "If that makes sense, even."

She doesn't think it does, but then again, she's not going to waste water telling him so. There are too many things running through Celina's mind for that.

The masked tritons start to close in. The tip of Orseas' tail lashes angrily, and he prepares to meet the two before Celina and Sir William. Celina circles to meet the third. He's a rough fellow, compact for a triton, and very muscular. There's a chunk torn, or perhaps bitten, out of his tail-fin.

Celina marks this immediately--thinking that it will come up later.

A shadow passes over everyone's head, and everyone looks up, reflexively. It's another triton, a very large one, carrying a trident. He says, "Stop," which is so unusual that all the tritons do.

In the moment that everyone hesitates, Celina gets a good look at the newcomer. He is an older triton, and he isn't wearing a mask. His name is Atrios. He is retired now, but in decades and centuries past, he served both Prince Martin and his mother, the Princess Morganthe.

A rush of energy still pounding between her ears, Celina reacts first as if this is a distraction. Then she recognizes Atrios and discards the assumption. A dark shadow swimming above her. She swallows hard. The dream.

"Honored Atrios," Celina steadies her delivery pitching her voice as if asked to speak in court. "These tritons threatened us during our walk. I don't believe we were doing any harm to them or these precincts." She thinks quickly, "Ask what you might of me, but at least see my friend, Sir William, safely back to the palace, please."

Celina expects some protest from William, but she's more comfortable not asking the old triton to get into a brawl--and perhaps with William away--she and Orseas aren't as interesting a target.

Atrios looks at the masked tritons and makes some sort of hand gestures at them. Sign language, Celina guesses, that allows them to communicate without violating vows of silence. She's never seen such a thing in her years in the palace.

Curiousity flares. For half a moment she's pondering why silent philosophers would bend the tenets of their mystery by communicating through another medium. Adherance to silence being thwarted by a sign language. Is there something physical about not using their voices? Then the thought is gone to pressing matters.

Sir William leans down and whispers in her ear, "They're arguing." And if Celina looks, she can see that the masked tritons are. Orseas seems wary and ready to defend Celina and Sir William.

They want something--and Atrios has the power to deny them.

After a tense minute or two in which the outcome seems uncertain, the masked tritons depart, angrily flicking their tails. Atrios floats down next to Celina. He may be the largest triton Celina has ever seen; stretched out, he'd be close to 25' long.

Orseas and Sir William are both looking to Celina for their cue.

"Your timely arrival is much appreciated, Honored Atrios." Celina inclines her head to the immense triton. "A visitor to our city at least can carry away a model of honor to go along with the sordid business he has seen here in the streets of Rebma. Please take my thanks. Is there anything that I might do to show my gratitude for your kindness?"

Celina doesn't want to lose eye contact with Atrios. She hopes to see something in his face about what has just happened, or her response to it. She expects Orseas to be watchful of other matters and security. If she sees that Orseas is stunned or curious about Atrios' arrival, she'll have to watch for any other hotheads approaching--especially masked types.

Orseas drops back respectfully to give the elder room to approach Celina. Atrios is apparently ignoring the younger triton and the other human, or perhaps they're simply not interesting to him at the moment. Sir William is mildly perturbed, but since this triton doesn't seem to be a threat, and besides there's not much Sir William could do if he were, he is simply watching--and keeping an eye out in case the others come back in force.

Taking respectful care of the etiquette of the situation is next. Celina will be brief. "Atrios, this is Sir William of Paris. William, our rescuer is Atrios, retired from service to the court of Queen Moire. Perhaps we should move uptown. Would you are to glide with us, Atrios? I don't wish to impose if we've interrupted other business...."

Atrios waits until Celina's words have run out. He moves up to inspect her, and after doing so, takes her chin in his hand. She has not lost eye contact with the old triton yet.

Atrios' voice is a little rusty from disuse. He says, "You are not safe. Leave Rebma."

Celina feels honored and bitterly amused in equal measure. She stares back into the aged depths of Atrios' vision. "I'm not safe elsewhere, honored sir. Safety and I have only a passing acquaintance." Her voice has gone a shade deeper without her knowledge. "You are not safe. Will you leave Rebma?"

The old triton shakes his head once. After a moment, he speaks again. "You are our hope. Go. Learn. Return."

His voice is quiet enough that Celina suspects that neither Orseas nor Sir William can hear his words. The former looks agitated, his tail twitching in the current, and the latter looks like he trusts this situation about as far as he can throw it.

Celina is suddenly chilled as if she were standing in a city where she fears if she just turned around she would find it empty of anyone but the four of them. The notion persists until her arms and legs are tingling with grouperbumps.

The lady swallows. Celina has a half-moment to throw a laugh in Atrios' face--to make a deprecating comment that would be the envy of Moire's court.

The moment passes, oh, so quickly.

Clearing her throat, Celina reaches out and takes the triton's chin. Now the pair are bookends to each other--staring into dark-eyed futures. Her voice is now a whisper, as befits the dangerous deeds she contemplates. "I am pledged to the Queen. What you propose is a kind of treason, old one. If I could leave, it would have to be with her permission--lest I be unable to return. To gain that permission, I would have to explain myself as the 'hope of Atrios'--a concept few would believe.

"What then should I say to Queen Moire? Will you petition the Queen? What am I to learn and how soon does Rebma need this information? Why have you not sought me out sooner if Rebma is---." She pauses. If she says another word, her credibility in this whole conversation might just snap.

Atrios shakes his head and starts to speak again. He says, "Khela--" and then the flashing white lights that indicate a watchman in the area has summoned help come visible down the road.

Celina's skin tingles with electric pleasure at the name, even as a rush of prickly cold current follows on its heels. -Khela?-

The old triton touches Celina's forehead gently, as if in benediction, and shakes free of her hand with gentle but definite strength. He moves more swiftly than Celina imagined possible, his length and bulk disappearing between two buildings before the arrival of the watch.

Reaching after him, Celina takes a half-step. Her curiosity impels her that far before she remembers her duty and place.

Sir William watches him go, and starts to say something that sounds like "What the devil?" but he stops that thought before the arrival of the watch.

The watch is male, as befits menial labor, but it is led by a woman. "My lady," she says, taking note of the triton who establishes Celina's great estate, "are you all right? What happened?" She spares a glance at Celina's male companion, but of course it is only the lady's word that will carry significant weight.

Celina tears her eyes from the dark space between buildings where Atrios left. She faces the officer. "Some street ruffians questioned our right to pass through. Luckily, an old friend of my triton, Orseas, happened by and the little men bolted. There were three of them but the nuisance of it is past. I think we'll be moving uptown now. Blessings on you for your quick and stout service to your duty."

"We'll look for them, my lady," says the watchleader. "If you'd like an officer to walk you up, I can spare him." It would be gilding the lily, with Orseas to see to them, but it is the officer's duty to ask.

Celina nods and gives the officer the curtesy of thinking about this--though the answer is clear to her. "No, thank you. We will manage. Please send message to Lady Celina if you find out any more."

A hand signal, and Celina lets Orseas take the lead in moving back uptown. She knows that Sir William has questions. She certainly does. Debating what exactly to share with him is the question. He's sincere and seems sharp. He is also curious and needs to be discreet to earn his liege's trust. She turns to him after a few blocks. "May I call you William as a matter of course? I'm puzzled by what just happened--and very upset that you might have been put out in any way. This is not the way things happen here.

"Even that business with the cafe owner nettles me. What can be going on in the downtown blocks?" Realizing just how silly asking even a rhetorical question of a stranger appears to be, she shrugs to show William that she's quite beside herself.

"William is what my mother called me when I was in trouble. Call me Bill," says Bill, who has fallen into step beside her. "I'd ask you what the devil is going on, but you don't seem to know any more than I do. This all smacks of the sort of strangeness Carl--Corwin--used to get up to."

"Bill." Celina muses the sound of it. It seems too short for so solid a man. "I'm flattered by the comparison to your King in any respect. Greater minds than mine will have to wrestle this riddle--perhaps even King Corwin is involved in some way, though I understand you aren't suggesting that in any way." Celina is quiet for a few more blocks. "At least," she smiles, "I can report I gave you an interesting tour."

"When I show you Paris, I hope it is more interesting and less exciting. We don't have gendarmes close enough to call in case of troubles. Or we didn't when I left."

The young lady considers this answer quite an accomplishment: insightful, sincere, including even more flavor of Paris, yet being supportive of her mishandling of the day. Celina gives Bill a grateful smile and lapses into thought.

The waters of Celina's mind churn as they re-enter the palace. 'Hope.'
'Leave Rebma.'
'Return.'

Before she really understands the depth of her quiet, they are at William's-- no Bill's--doorway. Celina looks about and gives Orseas a stark nod, eyeing the opposite side of the large hallway. The opposite wall shows the usual arcade motifs cut into the glassine walls of emerald. "Watch," she says softly. Then taking Bill's hand, she moves into his rooms, stopping only to twist the cover of a lantern to half-light. She scans the room twice, listening to her Llaya....

Celina turns on Bill. "I can't quite begin to guess what has happened today. I believe you know no more of it than I, but there are things I may know and fail to see--as yet. This is the way of the Deep. I will promise you this, explanations shall be made. You were endangered while under my care." She puts a hand to his arm. "I take that very seriously. Please seek me out if you learn anything that seems related, or you suspect something else is not right-- even though much of Rebma is strange to you. Please?"

"Oh, Parisians are tougher than we look, even the lawyers. I don't think those old boys were interested in me. But I will keep my eyes open for other unusual sights." He sighs. "If I'm allowed to see any more. Do you think I'm likely to be restricted to the palace because of this?"

Celina can very much imagine something of the kind from inscrutable Moire. "I'll make every effort to see that doesn't happen. However, the Queen may need to show Her displeasure at my leading you into such trouble. If you don't see me for a few days--I might be keeping to the sandy floor, or doing some pennance for the public eye." Celina shrugs to give him some idea that these politics are a small worry. She studies his eyes.

"Tell me why you don't think they were after you? That's the assumption I'd have to believe..."

Bill shrugs. "Two things. First off, I didn't think they moved like they were after me. And second, your Giant Rescuer didn't talk about me and I don't believe he was coincidentally on the scene."

It is all she can do not to squint at these statments as Celina reviews the positions of the men in her memory. Like dance partners--were they bearing on her and not Bill? She struggles with this for a moment--and her thoughts slip to Atrios' words again.

"How foolish of me--of course you are right." She clasps her hands together quickly when they start to tremble. Visions of political demonstrations against the Queen being made on her person slash through her head. That triton strength, that focused intent---those tritons could have done anything to her and what would Bill or Orseas have done but give their lives in a narrow chance of slowing them down.

Then her mind is racing past dark thoughts of personal violation to look at the foundations of what they could hope to achieve. Moire would never deal with splinter groups through trade for her person. Did they think the Queen so soft-hearted? Did anyone?

Khela.

A shiver spread from her hands up her arms. Who was Khela that Atrios would work to her tune? Who was Khela that a friend named Celina would be a valuable hostage?

Who was Khela? Her teacher. Her friend?

Celina took a sharp breath and broke out of the fugue. She glanced an apology at Bill. "I must go. I suppose you will be safe now. I'll try and make sure the Queen understands. She will no doubt assign you another escort--and that is very sad even if I agree with the sentiment." Celina curtseys. "It has been a pleasure. One I can only hope to repeat sometime in less dangerous waters."

Bill bows, a formal bow with calf presented and arms spread. "While the Queen may decide as she wills, I have been eminently satisfied with your escort and I still hope to show you Paris, my Lady."