Welcome To Clarissa

The two groups of redheads and Osric's son are escorted up the hill by the honor guard of grackleflints. Inside the castle, the non-Euclidean geometry becomes more troublesome; Ambrose and Brita are able to advise the newcomers about the best paths to things. Those with Pattern will find that they can force their way to wherever they're going, but it will take some time to learn that.

There is a formal dinner in one of the dining rooms, with windows that look out on different places. None of the newcomers know the places they are seeing, although Bleys and Fiona, who have obviously been in Clarissa before, make comments that suggest a certain familiarity with the places beyond the glass.

After dinner, at which absolutely nothing of consequence is discussed, each person is shown to his or her chamber. Those arriving from the Sun have had their trunks brought by the servants, which are Not Human. There is also a trunk of fresh clothes for Brita--not that she has lacked any since she got to Clarissa, but her mother thought to bring her her own things.

The next few days find everyone at leisure. Clarissa mentions something about a family picnic she is planning, but her plans will take several days to come to fruition.

Brennan stoically supresses a shudder.

Later that evening, or as close to the term as applies in Clarissa, Brennan seeks out Clarissa. He is dressed much as he had been before, except for the cloak, which is absent.

The Queen's minions direct Brennan to a workroom in one of the towers. It is octagonal, filling the whole of the circumference, and there are eight windows, each of which opens out onto a different vista. Clarissa herself is sorting various items into jars and vials; a sorcerer might know their significance.

Brennan glances at some of the items and vials, but spends more attention looking out the windows, seeing if he recognizes any of the scapes, wondering if he will be able to catch a glimpse of any of the Ships of the Brotherhood of the Starlit Cowls in the distance.

If he finds her alone, he gives her a smile, and says, "Hello, Grandmother," kisses her hand, and holds it. "How long has it been since we spoke?" He is obviously discounting Oberon's funeral as more of a state function and rugby scrum than an occasiona of real conversation... and that reckoning puts it at well over four hundred years, by his internal clock.

He pauses briefly to consider all he's seen, on the way home from the Funeral and on this trip to Clarissa. It's just long enough for her to insert a comment, if she chooses.

"Too long," Clarissa says indulgently.

Then, "I tried to find you. I do not think I failed by much."

"Had things fallen out a little differently ... ah, Brennan." Clarissa takes one of his hands in her own, and pats it with the other hand.

Brennan nods, then nods again and smiles as much to himself as to Clarissa.

"How have you fared? How did you come to Amber at last? You must tell me everything."

He stops as much to remember it all himself, as to start to phrase it into a story.

"I've fared... well, Grandmother. For so many things, the universe is a harsh teacher, but more than adequate.

"I came to Amber... quite a long time ago, actually. Brand and I quarreled often, you know that. I had no talent and little inclination on those few times he tried to teach me anything of his art, and he had little patience for me. It was unpleasant," he understates. Then, more soberly, "His dark moods took him so often. It was actually frightening. It was intolerable. And I knew the properties of the Family Blood, Grandmother."

Clarissa looks moist and sad, and nods mournfully, although at which part of the statement is unclear.

[Brennan]
"So I contrived to take what few Trumps I could, as long as one of them was a Trump of Amber. I would imagine you learned that much from him. I used the Trump. I went to Amber, but only as long as it took to scale Kolvir and wait for the Tir to appear. There, I took our legacy, and slipped into Shadow."

He shrugs.

"It seemed like a reasonable enough plan at the time. Then, once I mastered it to some degree, I came looking for you. I failed, of course, and repeated the effort more than once. The last time was when I discovered the Black Road and I knew that at least one use had been made of the Family Blood. But not all of the creature of the Road were content to let me pass, and I knew just how dangerous the situation was.

The slightest hint of a smile flickers at the corners of Clarissa's mouth.

"I arranged a meeting with Benedict, who I also believed I might trust. I think you know the rest."

He pauses to see how she absorbs that.

If Clarissa takes his full meaning, she doesn't show it.

"But what of you, in all that time? And how did you come to know Ambrose?"

"Oh, I was there to tend on your mother when he was born. He's been a student of mine from an early age," Clarissa says, smiling fondly. "An excellent student, in fact. He's been tutoring your cousin Brita."

"Yes," Brennan says, "I saw Fiona's surprise. I'm sure she'll do well-- Brita's a very sharp young lady."

She frowns. "I should have kept him further away from Borel and Dara. I think they haven't been very good for him."

He sighs in turn, for more than one reason. "Even aside from the Coronation debacle, that's probably true. Dara does not work and play well eith others. Not in Amber, at any rate.

"And that's one of the things for which the universe is really a poor teacher-- history, family and otherwise. I've lived a long time," he gives her a smile, knowing how that would sound to Fiona and extrapolating it to Clarissa in turn, "and picked up scraps here and there, but all those lead to are more questions. Bleys and Fi have filled in some gaps but life in Amber has been... hectic.

"Even the Moonriders felt free to take a potshot on the way back to Amber."

"The Marshall is quite a charming fellow," Clarissa says. "He was--quite kind--at your grandfather's funeral. I'm afraid he does not get on with dear Bleys, however, which reflects badly on his judgement."

Brennan raises a remarkably skeptical eyebrow at that first assessment of the Marshall, then says in an artificially neutral tone, "Well, Bleys and I met him together, so perhaps that's it." Then, "I'm not sure, but I think he almost invited me to Ghenesh. I don't think it was intended to be friendly, though."

Clarissa tsks at that.

He lets her give any reaction to that she may wish, then looks around for any horizontal surface he judges unlikely to actually bite him on the rear, and perches there. The gleam in his eye recalls strongly the fourteen year old youth, sitting at his grandmother's feet, or on her lap. "Tell me about the Moonriders, then. Or tell me about your brothers. Or tell me about Grandfather." With a grin: "Tell me about all three at once, if you can."

Tell me a story, Gram.

"Moonriders are after my time in Amber, dear. Your grandfather and I had parted before they came. I heard some of it from Bleys and Fiona, but that's all secondhand. What sort of a story did you have in mind about your grandfather?" Clarissa bats her lashes in a grandmotherly way at Brennan.

Brennan considers this for a moment, and buys time by saying. "It almost doesn't matter. I'm sorry to say that I never met Grandfather, so I hardly know where to begin."

Then, "Tell me how you met. Tell me about your wedding. Aisling tells me Madoc was present-- two birds with one stone. Was Borel there, too?"

"He was," Clarissa says, a wistful smile crossing her face. "Your grandfather was quite a handsome fellow, you know. There's something about you that reminds me of him. The cheekbones, perhaps." She reaches up and touches Brennan's cheek, gently.

Brennan is just sufficiently pleasantly nonplussed by that, that he forgets to pull back out of fear of cheek-pinch. If she's looking closely, Clarissa might even see him blush.

"Borel didn't approve of the marriage. I think Madoc hoped for more of it than came to be. Grandmother and Borel, though, they were angry, and considered boycotting the wedding."

"Why?" he asks simply. Even dutifully. A mention of Grandmother's grandmother is rare enough to pursue broadly, but carefully.

Clarissa frowns. "Borel was Grandmother's favorite. He was first in all her schemes. And she'd never forgiven your uncle Benedict for the things he'd done in the last war. Loved him and hated him, did Grandmother. Couldn't live with him, and couldn't live without him. He killed her, you know, in the war just past. She's the one who took his arm, near Avalon."

Brennan nods, much more at the latter than the former, since he knows something of that. "Benedict and I have not had as much of a chance to talk as I might like. Not even as much as we're having now.

"So did your wedding to Grandfather somehow set back one of your Grandmother's and Borel's schemes, somehow? You know, I'm hard pressed to think of a time you ever spoke about your own forebears. But I suppose a youngster lacks appreciation for family matters."

"You may be right, Brennan. How remiss of me."

Brennan smiles while his grandmother frowns. "It wasn't a complaint, Grandmother. I was young."

Clarissa frowns, thinking, or perhaps merely digging up memories from some dusty corner of her mental attic. "Grandmother always had some scheme up her sleeve. I don't remember which of them it was that I left home over. But I came past Ygg, and that was when I met your grandfather. What a handsome fellow he was. And so charming. Not like he was later."

Even Brennan can't avoid a widening of the eyes at this. He manages to keep his mouth from hanging open, though. Barely.

"Grandmother!" he says, in a voice half-strangled with bebogglement and faux-admonishing. "Did you... you didn't run away from home...!"

Did you?

"Brennan!" Clarissa exclaims regally. "Queens do not 'run away from home'!"

She tosses her lovely auburn locks, and for a moment, Brennan can see the fiery young beauty his grandfather wooed and won all those centuries ago. "I merely had a strategic disagreement with Grandmother such that it was best for us to part ways for a time. That's all."

Brennan surpresses a grin. Mostly. Or not.

"Of course, grandmother. An error of conjugation, no more." By way of more concrete apology, he hops down from whatever flat surface upon which he had been perched, and kisses her cheek. (Or her hand, if she really puts it out to prevent him.)

She does not. Brennan can tell the gesture delights her, in fact.

Then, taking back his perch, "Tell me about it? Please. I still don't understand why Borel and his line were so hostile to Amber."

"Lintra was made to be, of course. I only vaguely remember Madayag, whose affine she was. And Borel, once mother spawned him, was her chiefest aide. I think he was a little confused about the whole business of sexual reproduction. He really didn't like the idea that Benedict and Grandmother had, well, you know. That's considered a nasty little eccentricity of our courts." Clarissa shakes her head.

"You've never spoken of your mother, either," Brennan says, very gently chiding.

"There's not much to say of her," Clarissa says dismissively.

A comment which gets filed under "Things to find out about later."

[Clarissa]
"I think they resent the powers of order."

"Oh," Brennan says, drily, "Is that all? I think they're going to have to get used to disappointment." If she doesn't hear the scrape of iron seep into his voice unconsciously, then she's not listening.

Presumeably, some time passes while Brennan and Clarissa chitchat about this and that. Then, a thought strikes Brennan, and he changes the subject, either a little or a lot depending on where they were.

"Grandmother, I have someone in Amber I'd like to send a letter to. I don't have a Trump, or I wouldn't ask. Can you help?"

"Mmm. Brennan dear, Trumps don't really work well from there to here. Sorcery would be better. To whom do you need to send the letter? Where in the Castle? Perhaps I can help you send it directly."

"Well, that's what I had in mind, actually. A Trump is what I'd use, if I had one, because a Trump is what I'd have to use." Then he answers the questions: "A cousin, by the name of Cambina. As to where..." he shrugs. "I don't know how it would be done, exactly, except that your brother was evidently keeping in contact with Aisling through letters while she was with us." Brennan frowns very slightly, then it passes.

"So, I took a chance."

"Oh, Madoc would do it differently. You know we all work in our own way," Clarissa says. "Now, I'd probably just Part the Veil to do it, because I know the castle--or I did. Heaven knows what that Rebman wench had your grandfather do after I left, or that flibbertigibbet Dybele. But Madoc doesn't know the castle like that, so he'd use something keyed to Aisling directly."

Brennan grunts, non-commitally. A verbal shrug, if you will. "That may be what happened. It didn't sound like what I've seen of the Veil. Will Madoc be making an appearance while we're here?"

"I hope so. I think I've provided him with the correct inducement. Now if I can just get hold of Merlin--"

A 120 decibel eyebrow rises at that one.

She eyes her grandson with a smile, and Brennan can see where Fiona gets it. "So tell me about this cousin Cambina."

Brennan parries the smile with the glint in his eye-- but this is going to be a friendly match.

"A bright woman. Sharp. She's a scholar, and an historian."

"Whose daughter is she?"

"Eric's. What in the world could you possibly be tempting Madoc with?"

"I could be tempting him with anything, dear. I think you mean to ask me what I am tempting him with. Which you will find out at the picnic."

Brennan's raised eyebrow draws down, taking the other one along with it. "Hardly sporting, Grandmother," he says, but he doesn't press her. One large idea and several smaller ones, none good, flit across the inside of his eyes.

"What are you going to put in that letter to Eric's scholarly, lovely daughter?" Clarissa's smile isn't really hungry, but she does seem to have extra teeth somehow.

Probably she doesn't mean to do that.

Probably she doesn't care....

Probably.

"That we have arrived. That I had a charming visit with my grandmother. That our cousin is safe. That I look forward to having a very long talk with my new long lost brother."

And, having given Clarissa one more token answer than she gave him in the Family Game, Brennan continues, "And if I am to have any strength left for that, and any other of this visit's activities, Grandmother, I really should be getting off to sleep."

He hops down from his perch again, and bends to kiss her on the forehead, extra teeth or no. "Shall I write it out and deliver it tomorrow morning?"

"Yes. And I'll see that it gets delivered. Since I'm sure Madoc will be at the picnic, you can ask him about how he delivers his mail, too." Clarissa accepts the kiss as her due and hugs Brennan.

With that, then, Brennan leaves his Grandmother and walks slowly back to wherever his room is hiding, thinking. When he gets back, he shrugs to himself and mutters, "That could have gone worse. Much, much worse," performs his nightly rituals, and hangs a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on his dreams until the morning.

"This place has more twists that a pretzel factory with the bends." Conner grumbles to himself as he wanders the corridors of Castle Clarissa. "Like walking through treacle." He sighs reaching out with his Pattern senses once more to find his destination. Conner didn't yet feel up to freely exploring the place even if he did have leave to. He trusted Grandmother's hospitality only so far and was more than a little concerned she might have forgotten to hide a stairacse he really shouldn't walk down. So Conner contented himself with seeking out rooms rushed through on his guided way to somewhere else that definitely peaked his interest.

The many vistas of Castle Clarissa were an early diversion but the novelty of the impossible views soon wore off, but these windows still haunted his memory. The room was dim lit by shades of orange, red and deep purples, a twilight rainbow. The source was clear: five windows of stained glass. The smallest was the size of a man's head, the middle three were the size of a large portrait, and the last was huge clearly a cathedral wall stood empty for where this masterwork should have been. The room further stuck in the memory for the walls were in proportion to the glasses. An open space large enough for several people was flanked in a rough triangle by the portraits, then shrunk down to a tiny corner at one end and flew wide open for the cathedral glass at the other. The epic scene of that glass was memorable in and of itself. A huge blue black spire thrusting up in the center spliting the crowds depicted into two sides. Both were vast armies of men and beast and mixes of both charging each other with banner's flying and claws and weapons raised. Two champions met in the center one clad in blue scale with an axe of orange light facing, the other in shell of red blocking the axe with great mace of sapphire. Conner was rushed by it with not even a word. He hesitsted a moment for one last look of it and Conner beheld that the mace and axe were now pushed to the side and coming up for a second swing.

That lingering memory is what led him day and it was with a sigh of relief that Conner finally stepped into the light of the glasses. A quick glance at the cathedral glass told him he had apparently missed quite a bit of the battle for the scene was almost unrecognizable as having the memory as its source. However, Conner's attention was swiftly brought to the small end of the chamber and the figure that stood there watching the tiny glass.

"Good day, cousin." Conner greets Ambrose.

"For varying definitions of the word 'day'," Ambrose agrees. He's still holding a snifter of some after-dinner drink, which he raises to Conner.

"I assumed one of them would apply." Conner nods.

"Your health, cousin Conner." He finishes the last sip and sets his glass aside.

"Thank you." Conner nods. "When next I drink it shall be to yours." He smiles.

Ambrose returns the smile. "Thank you."

He continues: "I'm glad that you've arrived at last. Brita was beginning to worry, and Grandmother had gotten a little impatient. Since bad things can happen when she's impatient, I was beginning to worry."

The scene in the small glass is a giant black cat with several tentacles growing from its sides grappling with a manlike creature in hide armor with a piggish face, greenish skin, and upward-jutting teeth that showed from a substantial underbite. The manlike thing has a long dagger, or perhaps a short sword, of some dark substance, with which it stabs the catlike beast as it struggles with the monster.

"I can only imagine what this place is like when she is in a bad mood." Conner shivers. "Have you known Grandmother long?" Conner asks.

"Oh, all my life. She wandered in and out of Uxmal when I was a boy, and I was brought here for part of my training. Grandmother is a bit of an elemental force; when she decided she wanted me to visit, it was hard for my father to say no."

"Yes, I've gotten a taste of what you mean." Conner agrees.

Ambrose's eyes occasionally flick to the scenes shown in the glasses, as the motion distracts him. Occasionally he moves slightly, as if he's starting a gesture and suppressing it.

"I suppose it would be a bit coy to ask you about Amber."

"Yes I suppose it would be, but why let that stop you?" Conner grins. Then the grin slips a bot as he is distracted by a rain of stained glass meteors falling slowly. "Do you know what these glasses are?" He asks gesturing around them.

"They look onto the realms of other Lords, I believe. Some of them may look on the Amber side of Ygg, but I can't be sure. There are more lords than I can count, so there are a lot of places for the glasses to look.

"There used to be another glass here." The younger redhead indicates a place above the smallest of the existing windows. "It looked on to the realm of Count Nagino. Grandmother became--displeased--with Nagino, and sent the Bronze Legions against it. When she destroyed and consumed Nagino, the glass cracked, and eventually turned to dust."

He changes the subject. "So, tell me about Amber."

"Charming place on the whole." Conner replies with a smile. "Ever cut a tree down and examine the stump and trace out the tree's life by examining the many rings? Amber is very much the same, the castle and the city, and you can see how it grew from military fortress and town to grand palace and cosmopolitan city. But never do you forget that it started as a place of defence and refuge and stands ready to be so again whenever needed. It overlooks the wide ocean to one side and the Forest Arden stretches off to the other. Powerful forces both of those and the view is spectacular from whatever high vantage you can find.

"What impression did you form from your brief visit?" Conner asks.

"I'm afraid I spent most of my time in the depths. From there, it seems to have a bit of a cracked foundation, I'm afraid." Ambrose gives Conner a look whose expression betrays his close kinship to Bleys and Brennan both.

Conner chuckles at that. "On many levels you could make that observation I suppose." Conner looks about. "Everyplace has its problems nowadays it seems. Inevitable when so many guiding principles have gone away."

"And all is overturned, and come to new rule," Ambrose agrees. "Do you know what Random's intentions are for the future?"

"The Poker King holds his cards close to the vest." Conner replies. "He either has a very strong hand or a very clever bluff in mind. How fares your homeland?" Conner asks.

"As you say, the guiding principle is gone. Whether this turns out to be for better or worse depends on the outcome of some events that have not yet come to pass," Ambrose says.

He turns his eyes back to the glass for a moment. The catlike creature has conquered the manlike one and is enjoying its feast. "And on how hungry everyone is," he adds, as if it weren't a pleasant thought.

"Power abhors a vaccuum." Conner agrees. "And there are many spots to fill yet. But one remains filled thanks to you." Conner smiles. "I wanted to thank you for helping Brita."

"Oh, you're quite welcome. I will admit my motives weren't entirely altruistic--I don't think any of us want Cleph to get the idea that a family reunion is a banquet table." Ambrose smiles wryly.

"I'm rather hoping that Grandmother won't invite him to this family picnic she's planning. She's alluded to a surprise guest or two and I don't think inviting that end of the family would sit well with Brita. She did quite a number on Cleph the first time, and I know she's anxious for a rematch when she can beat him."

The younger redhead sounds quite impressed by Brita's prowess, and not a little worried.

"Its the berzerker in her." Conner sighs in understanding. "A powerful force but once unleashed there is little that can call her back." Conner turns his head for a moment distracted by a flash of light from a side glass. "You say Cleph is related to us? From what branch of the tree is he?"

"He's Dara's brother. Last spawn of that wily old b-----d Borel. I think whatever got Borel took the best part of his brains and most of his self-control, because I haven't seen another spawn running Borel, or Dara, or whatever the place is called now."

Ambrose frowns. "I don't think he likes me much either. Probably Borel's memories of my father."

"I see I have much family history to catch up on." Conner smiles. "How did your father and Borel come to be at odds?"

"My father double-crossed him. Borel wanted to unmake the Pattern completely. My father wanted to redraw it in his image. Borel double-crossed him back, though; that's how Dara ended up with Merlin. And, of course, Oberon outflanked them all."

Ambrose smiles, but it's not a pleasant expression. "It's no surprise that our last big family reunion was preceded by a battle."

"Some would say the big family reunions are the battle." Conner murmurs. "But the younger generation seemed to put aside their differences for a little jaunt to Amber. I presume Dara can be rather persuasive when she wants to be." Conner smiles.

"For various values of persuasive, yes." Ambrose makes a bit of a sour face at that.

"I wasn't planning to leave with her. Had things gone according to plan, I would have departed on my own. I didn't know exactly what else she had planned."

"And what exactly was the plan as you knew it?" Conner asks pressing a little.

Ambrose meets Conner's gaze steadily. He thinks about his answer for a moment.

"My plan was to leave via the Pattern and return to Uxmal. I understood their plan was to retrieve Merlin, although I knew they had some backup and distraction in case they were caught. I was aware they might have--other plans--but I will admit to being more concerned about a doublecross in the Pattern chamber. I'm Brand's son. I know what Family blood is good for."

"I can only imagine the look on your faces upon reaching the Pattern chamber." Conner grins but it swiftly fades. "Rather similar to ours I expect." He sighs.

"I imagine mine was, but I had the most to gain. There has to be one somewhere, though. The universe is holding together." Ambrose says. "I'm sure your mother has opinions about that. My father thought as highly of her theoretical work as anyone living."

"My mother has opinions on everything." Conner smiles. "Runs in the family. But I am quite sure there is a Pattern out there as well. I wouldn't be able to travel in Shadow without one. Either that or I currently disprove a long held assumption."

"Which assumption would that be?"

"That you need a Pattern without to sustain the Pattern within." Conner replies. "To prove it one way or the other of course, you would have to destroy every Pattern there is. I'd prefer to argue the abstraction personally." He grins. "Can't say I blame you for trying to claim your birthright. Its not like arriving at the front door with your pedigree would have gotten you far after all."

Ambrose grins in return. "Indeed it wouldn't have. Although Brennan doesn't seem to have done so badly with it." That topic lets a bit of the air out of the young redhead's smile.

"Brennan proved himself in battle against his father at the Abyss." Conner points out. "That got his foot in the door."

"Unfortunately, now I find myself with a bit of a dilemma. I don't think King Random is likely to let me on the Pattern even if he should find himself with a working one--I know I'd be wary of me in his shoes and the sort of guarantees I suspect he wants are a sort I'm not in a position to make. Specifically, I have business in Uxmal that would keep me from rendering him direct service. And yet my lack of mastery over the family gifts is detrimental to my ability to stay out of family affairs, which is what I really want. You see the problem."

"Nothing less than Dara's head on a plate would gain you favor in Random's court and even then..." Conner lets the thought trail off as a thought strikes him. "Which family's affairs do you seek to keep clear of?" Conner asks.

"It's all one in the end, isn't it?" Ambrose asks wryly. "But specifically I've had enough of the less sane end of the family." He looks about, almost as if expecting the walls to sprout ears.

"I'm not sure that answers the question." Conner chuckles but he too looks around as if knowing they tempt fate the shrugs. "Well the odds aren't good for you finding another Pattern anytime soon. You'll have to make do with what you've got, I think."

"I hope that's enough," Ambrose says. "It would certainly be unfortunate if I were left without resources to defend myself from Dara and Cleph in the future. I haven't finished going through my father's papers. Given how much trouble his unfinished projects have already caused, I shudder to think what may be left in his study. I don't suppose His Majesty has a significant number of Uxmali experts on staff, other than my brother, either. Especially not those with the sorcerous experience to know the chaff from the wheat--or the rye from the ergot."

His smile is thin, but it's there.

"So you are devoting yourself to tracking down the loose ends of Brand's experiements with reality." Conner states more than asks.

"If I don't go through it, someone will. For Amber at least, better me than Dara," Ambrose says flatly.

"Indeed." Conner muses. "You certainly have the head start on resources at least. Or at least I hope you do?" Conner half asks.

[Conner]
"I must be slipping. It never occured to me to go looting around the rubble of the old family wing to see what I could see. Is Uxmali difficult to learn? From your tone, it seems a crash course is in order for those willing to help."

"If your mother had the teaching of you, you could probably master it, but not quickly. Uxmali is written in ideoglyphs that can be decoded in many different ways. I have seventeen different code wheels that I use to decipher some of my father's more complex writings. Some of them have different meanings depending on which code wheel I use to decipher them. That's deliberate. My father delighted in linguistic complexity."

Ambrose grins. "It is, of course, a pain in the ass to decipher."

"Sounds like my kind of puzzle." Conner smiles back. "If you decide someone with on the job training is better than no help at all, do let me know. If nothing else, I may be of assistance looking over what you've already translated."

"I will," Ambrose says, and his own smile remains. Then it fades a bit. "My brother will want to look at them, I imagine."

"Undoubtedly." Conner nods. "And considering he is one of the few that read them, its probably not a bad thing. You are truly worried about him aren't you?"

"He's in a position to do a lot of damage. Not to me personally, but to the situation back home." Ambrose eyes Conner for a moment, then comes to some sort of internal decision. "My mother's position is very precarious. The entire situation is extremely precarious. Things that my father kept in check have come loose. There are--unexpected complications. Brennan might be able to avert disaster, or he might, unknowing, bring it on."

"An invidious position." Conner murmurs. "Having so much depend on someone that broke away so long ago." Conner looks with sympathy upon Ambrose. "I know something of seeing one's home decline. You have my sympathies."

"And you have mine. I suspect your task is all the harder." Ambrose smiles ruefully. "I haven't seen the papers that relate to my father's last project. If I find anything with obvious significance to your plight, I'll pass the information on."

Conner just looks at him for a moment. "I've been volunteered for a task have I?" Conner smiles wryly. "Typical. In that case I will need all the help I can get. Thank you."

"You're welcome. But I would have thought the family hair color would get you drafted into the effort to solve your little problem in the basement." Ambrose's eyebrows rise a little. "In fact, I would have thought that would be a priority effort for everyone in Amber, although I certainly understand that getting your sister back would be the first order of business for you and your mother."

He changes the subject. "Your cousin Paige seems to have, ah, well, I didn't realize she was pregnant when I saw her the first time. I know your mother is far more aware of these things than I am, but it would seem to me to be a little risky to advance a pregnancy that way. Do you think she's all right?"

"The children seem to be advancing this pregnancy of their own accord." Conner replies. "It's the influence of the father's line we think. I suspect it will be no more difficult than birth ever is."

"I'm pleased to hear my concerns aren't founded," Ambrose says. "You can use Time to do miracles, but there's always a cost."