At an inappropriately early hour of the morning, a time Lucas frequently reserves for nursing hangovers, he finds himself unexpectedly confronted with his mother-in-law.
"Good morning, Lucas. I see you haven't let your injuries keep you from your usual breakneck pace of industriousness."
She is carrying Hope, behind her Gaston looks dolorous.
"Belle mere," says Lucas flatly, with no emotion whatsoever in his voice. "But what a joy."
He is, for a wonder at this hour, dressed, in black jeans and black poloneck sweater (very existentialist), his hair tousled (but beautifully) from an early shower.
"Gaston," he adds. "I am sure you are longing to serve breakfast in the summer parlour to us all. And I am equally sure we can rustle up some extra kippers for my dearest belle mere. And Madame la Marquise. I depend on my wife to dispense my morning coffee.
"I have decided to make it my life's work," he informs Lady Vesper as they move towards the sunny breakfast parlour, "to find a good expresso machine that actually works in Amber. The simple principles of gravity permit one to draw an acceptable brew from a small cafetiere I picked up in a street market in a place called Tuscany, but it misses the evil darkness that the true afficiando desires."
There is a fair measure of evil darkness, however, in the gaze he shoots at her back as she proceeds him into the room. But when she turns, he is once more insouciant charm.
[Lady Vesper]
"Was that why you were so interested in the visitors from the Land of
Peace? I was wondering if your fancy had turned to female pirates in
pants. You have always been interested in....novelty."
"Indeed," agrees Lucas blithely. "I feel it keeps me young, you know. Always fresh and interesting. An amusing companion to confront over the breakfast table, as you have clearly decided yourself.
"Although those breeches were quite ... something, don't you think? One would look quite good in them onself ... all that tight black leather."
He takes a sip of coffee. "Perhaps I should just buy Solace some for her birthday. I'm sure she would look magnificent."
Lady Vesper's facial expression would indicate that she may not be in full agreement.
She puts Hope down and sits with the sun pouring onto her back. "Just fruit for me, Gaston, I am not in the mood for kippers."
"Kidneys, then?" suggests Lucas, ever-helpful. "Devilled, perhaps?"
Hope runs across the room to hug the leg of Solace, who has arrived at the door. Solace's hand goes down to pet her daughter's hair. She stops at a look from her mother.
Lucas notes the exchange of gesture and glance but, for the moment, makes no response.
Instead he asks, "And to what do we owe this unexpected treat, belle mere? Is it simply for the pleasure of breakfasting en famille, or are there more pressing concerns that draw you into our happy little family circle once more?"
"While I, of course, consider it both a pleasure and a responsibility to see to my grandchildren as frequently as I can, I will admit to mixing business with pleasure. I believe that the castle is somewhat distracted, Lord Lucas. Lady Hardwind, who has suffered so, is being pressed by her awful step-daughter, Opal. It's an outrage, and ill-treatment of a widow and a friend of so many of us. Something needs to be done."
"Is she?" said Lucas sympathetically. "Solace did go the the funeral - have you enquired since, my darling?"
He selects a pain au chocolat from the warm napkins. "How is she being pressed, belle mere? I understood that an investigation is underway into Lord Hardwind's business details. Rumour has it that financial irregularities have been uncovered ... these family squabbles are always so dreadfully sordid, don't you think?
"What, precisely, do you think needs to be done? I hope you are not suggesting that financial improprieties should be overlooked ... I am sure dear Lady Hardwind is as anxious as any of us to have those cleared up.
"But if her step-daughter is bullying her, then steps must certainly be taken." He sips his coffee again. "I detest the sight of women bullying those they believe weaker than themselves. It makes them look so unattractive, don't you think, belle mere?"
She arches an eyebrow. "Is it then a commendable trait in men? Is it not considered the natural order of things when men impose their will on the weaker sex?"
Lucas looks mildly surprised that Lady Vesper is questioning this, as though she has suddenly started to deplore the fact that Rebmans breathe water or that the castle stands halfway up Kolvir.
[Maybe she read a book...]
[Surely not - not when she keeps an indigent poor relation to bully and have read aloud to her]
[Perhaps she's coming out in favor of the natural rights of the bully to his/her bullying...]
[Lady Vesper]
"Opal Hardwind is dictating to her poor step-mother what she
can and cannot spend. She has suggested that her servants should take the
place of the men who have so loyally served Felicity and the late Lord
Hardwind for all these years. As if she should have any say in how poor
Felicity runs her affairs."
"Shocking," agrees Lucas mildly. "I daresay the terms of her father's Will has given the wretched woman all sorts of mistaken ideas."
"He should've had the backbone to marry her advantageously, but I daresay he had trouble finding takers for her. She's no prize. She is a dreadful woman, really. I'm not surprised that you do not know of her, she is unwelcome in so many fashionable places."
"Trade," says Lucas dismissively. "Smells of the shop, sans doute."
"There are a multitude of flaws that one may have that do not make one unwelcome in society, Lord Lucas. However, flaws multiply and what might be forgiven in a cousin or considered idiosyncratic in the child of a dear friend may not be so acceptable in an outsider.
"Opal Hardwind has long considered herself her father's equal and acted the part. She has been known to speak ill of those who do not treat her as if she were Lord Hardwind and she generally blames Lady Felicity. She is unwelcome because she made herself so, long before her father's death.
"It is a pity, because she does so reinforce all the dreadful stereotypes about tradesmen who wish to rise above their station. She gives honest social climbers a bad name."
"Gold-plated bath taps," says Lucas with a faint shudder. "Colour co-ordinating the kitchen range."
"Lady Felicity needs our solidarity. She is, after all, one of us. I am sure you can determine the right course of action, Lord Lucas. I know that merely bringing this to your attention will prove adequate to provide a satisfactory conclusion to the whole affair."
"Of a certainty, belle mere," agrees Lucas. "Now that you have brought it to my attention, I find I simply must take notice. Solace, mon ange, invite dear Lady Hardwind to tea."
Solace says "Of course," she looks somewhat worriedly at her mother.
Lady Vesper neither says nor does anything. It's unclear if she is satisfied or not.
Lucas is serenely untroubled. If she were to be satisfied with her daughter and son-in-law it would, of course, be a notable first, worthy of record in the popular almanacs of Amber.
"So, belle mere," says Lucas, "what gossip wags the tails of the pedigree breeds of Amber these days? My lamentable injuries, you know, have abandoned me in the dry deserts of ignorance regarding the latest 'on dits'. I must depend on you to offer me at least the mirage of news."
She nods, as if she should be the only source he has for key news. "It's very difficult, as you can imagine. The Harga'rels are in an utter state of confusion, and it's a surprise that they haven't started burning down the city in their effort to find Demond's killer. The poor man. He was the kind of social climber all should aspire to be, and now his family is more intent on revenge than on keeping hold of what he made for them.
Lucas nods. "Perhaps, belle mere, they feel that noblisse oblige," he remarks. "Having attained such a position, you should protest all the more vigorously when the cruel hand of Fate yanks the rug of social acceptance from beneath your feet."
The look on her face suggests otherwise, but she does not contradict Lucas.
"People are complaining that it's impossible to keep the help: people are quitting or just disappearing every day. Some people, those whose tongues are too loose after some drink, for the most part, blame the King for paying the troops. There is concern about Royal favoritism, but most people are quiet, because they think we shall be going back to war."
"Oh," says Lucas, "who with? Revenge for the attack on the Masquerade, do you suppose? The War of Lucas's Ear has a ring to it, but only in the way that over-filled cash registers ring at sale time. Disproportionate for the effort involved by all parties."
"I'm sure your ear enters into it for some limited circle of outrage that is aware of the concern, but no one expects King Random to fail to respond to the attack upon his person and his son.
"Our friends from Garnath are concerned that they will be imposed upon by Prince Julian, but that's not new."
Lucas merely nods, and offers Hope a slice of bread and honey.
"Other than that, the gossip concerns who has fathered children upon whose wives and who shall be married at swordspoint and such. Terribly dull details that I shall not bore you with, Lord Lucas."
"Belle mere," responds Lucas reproachfully, "how could you imagine that you could possibly bore me? You know I just dote on every last detail."
"Sadly, dear Lucas, I have to depart. Perhaps your kept woman in town can fill you in on the more mundane comings and goings?"
"But of course," agrees Lucas. "However, she lacks your unique perspective on such matters, belle mere. But if other matters drive you away from the bosom of your family, far be it from me to interfere."
He rises, all politeness, and moves to kiss her on both cheeks. "Such a joy to see you as ever."
She stands, accepting the gesture. "I can always find time for my grandchildren and favorite son-in-law, Lucas. We should consider how we can improve their education in a more healthy atmosphere, come spring. Now that you have assigned the task to my dear daughter, I'm sure it will not fall through the cracks of good intentions."
"But of course," says Lucas. "I look forward, as ever, to hearing your ideas on the subject."
"Solace, would you see me out?"
"And come straight back, my sweet," says Lucas. "You know I depend upon you to add the cream to my third cup of coffee. No-one else," he adds to Lady Vesper, "ever manages to get it =quite= right. Not even Gaston, although, heaven knows, he tries. And is paid handsomely enough for his attempts."
Something in Gaston's expression suggests that he is about to be even more handsomely paid.
Lucas remains smiling until Lady Vesper has vanished - then the smile disappears. He reseats himself and addresses his attention the the broadsheets that have been left for his perusal (OOC - anything of interest?) and periodically discussing with Hope the greenness of grass, the blueness of sky, the changeability of the ocean and why cows give us milk until Solace returns. (Lucas' answers to Hope's questions are of a careful complexity designed to keep her mulling over thoughts for ten minutes between questions, so he gets to read the newspapers as well).
Hope is a perfect angel.
When Solace returns, Lucas looks up enquiringly.
"Well? What was it? Something about the children, or further demands that I exert myself about the Hardwinds? Or my shortcomings in general? Or did she find something else to bully you on?"
"Actually," Solace says, "it was about your mother."
"Mon Dieu," says Lucas. "They've officially incorporated as a coven."
"Lucas ..." Solace sounds like she'd like to throw up her hands, but restrains herself. "She's anxious for a family dinner."
"What a treat," says Lucas flatly. "You don't happen to know which of them came up with this hedonistic plan for our enjoyment? Is it your mother's sole plot, or has Maman thrown some ingredients into the cauldron too?"
He connsiders for a moment.
"On the other hand, watching our respective mothers together is indubitably one of my favourite spectator bloodsports. As long as we can keep them off the topic of the shortcomings of their children - a vanishingly small hope, I fully acknowledge. Are we expected to supply any other guests to be frozen with fascinated horror at the furore, or is this expected to be a cosy family occasion?"
"I think Mother just wants to have family dinner with your mother and us. And the children." Solace nibbles her lower lip in that way she has when she's worried something will displease Lucas. "I don't think it's your mother's idea, Lucas. I think she doesn't like my mother."
"I think the feeling is mutual, although your mother tries to hide her sentiments behind a painfully thin veneer of toadying," Lucas replies. "Why don't you ask Maman to choose an evening suitable for us all?"
Solace nods. Lucas can tell she's troubled by the business, but is burying it.
He reaches over, takes one of her hands and lifts it to his lips. "You know I rely on you to organise the prosaic details.
"One does wonder at your mother though. I suppose there is something admirable in insisting on the importance of family dinners when all about us is declining into anarchy. Rather like the captain going down with his ship.
"However, just to prove myself a dutiful son-in-law, I intend to poke my nose into the Hardwind estate business. Did you ever manage to make those condolence visits to the bereaved ladies, as I asked you to? What sort of reception did you get?"
"Yes, I did. You know I'm always glad to see Felicity. Felicity was very kind, and happy to see me, as happy as she could be under the circumstances. Admiral Worth, well, he's Lord Worth now, since the coronation, was there too. I wonder if he might not marry her in the end--since he and Paige seem to be over with. It's odd, once she and I talked about marriage, and I thought she might go as low as a life peer, and now the man she loved is one, and they're not together any more." Solace looks up at Lucas through lowered lashes, clearly not willing to speak of the other man Paige loves.
"Anyway," she says after a moment, "Felicity was very kind. Opal was a bit cold, but I don't think she likes people who were Felicity's friends first. I don't care for her. Everything was very proper, if a bit, well, she's not our kind, dear."
"Gold plated taps in the bathrooms and a colour co-ordinated kitchen range?" says Lucas sympathetically. "But, my angel, there are so very few people like us. And even if Opal Hardwind does smell of the shop, people do say she has a good eye for a bargain. So you see, even sows' ears might sometimes perform a useful function.
"I think I shall use that scrumptuously wide brief granted to me by her Madge and see if I can stick my probiscus into this affair. See what sort of ordure is flying and where it's sticking."
He looks at Solace thoughtfully. "Something about this dinner is troubling you, isn't it, my angel? What is it? It seems more than the prospect of enduring a hellish evening with our respective belle meres ... "
Solace flushes slightly. "It's nothing important, darling. I wouldn't want you to worry that I can't get on with your mother, or have a family affair with both our mothers in the room. It's just--some things she's said lately have me a little flustered, that's all."
Lucas plants a kiss on Hope's head, places an apple in her hand, and sends her off with an injunction to find Nanny Starch. Then he gives his full attention to Solace.
"You know better than to worry me with trivialities," he says. "Tell me."
Solace looks down for a moment, then back at Lucas. "She was suggesting that, well, that my father, isn't."
Lucas looks at her thoughtfully. He has never - to his recollection (OOC - help me out here) discussed with Solace the speculation about her parentage. That does not mean that he doesn't know about it - or that he doesn't have his own theories (one of which is appalled fascination with some of his uncle's taste in bedwarmers). He has never really known whether Solace too was aware of the rumours.
"So," he says slowly, "were you able to put her fears to rest? Or has she, rather, disturbed your own mind?"
[OOC: Lucas has not discussed it with Solace, no]
"Well, I mean--it doesn't really matter to me. Daddy has always been my daddy, and it's not like any of the princes ever took an interest in me. And I don't think I could have been more warmly welcomed by your cousins if I'd been one of them. But the rumors, Lucas, they could hurt you."
Solace looks quite agitated.
Lucas frowns slightly. "Solace, you are the wife of the Marquis de St Cyr, a Lord of Amber. We've been married in a highly respectable fashion - which is more than can be said for many of my cousins - and their parents, for that matter. One can have too much respectability, you know. A whiff of a bar sinister in your background adds mystery and an interesting frisson. We are gossiped about without having to go to the fatigue of actually having to do something in order to to be gossiped about. Money, you might say, for jam.
"As you said, Lord Vesper played a father's role with regard to you. If it were to prove that your biological father was indeed one of the Princes, I hardly see that as something that would disadvantage you, or hurt me. After all, the closest we could be is half cousins. You're not going to turn out to be my sibling ... "
He frowns again, thinking this over.
"Well, not unless Maman has taking some rather perverse decisions in the relatively recent past," he concedes. "And kept them very quiet."
"Lucas!" Solace squeaks.
Lucas laughs - a sound that Solace and the children are rather more familiar with than the rest of the family.
She recovers her composure after a moment. "I don't care what people say if you don't, of course." Perhaps that's prescriptive rather than descriptive.
"Well, that is not quite the point," says Lucas. "I do care what people say, of course. Otherwise would I reject six cravats in a morning just to make sure I have precisely the right degree of crease?
"But this particular rumour ... intrigues me. And that Maman is using it against you intrigues me even more. What exactly has she been saying to you?"
"I, I broached the subject of family dinner with her yesterday, my mother's been asking me to, and I just want everything to be well between them, and she asked whether my father would be attending, and it wasn't anything she said, just her tone of voice." Solace suddenly looks very distraught again.
"Solace, on a bad morning Maman can pack a withering critique into her tone when she merely asks if one slept well. Her words will imply that one has either slept too long, too little, kept the entire household awake with snores, or behaved with an impropriety in coming to the breakfast table fully dressed instead of in a fine silk dressing gown or vice versa. When she works up a good head of steam, Maman can find fault for little reason - or for no reason at all. All this you know. Why is it troubling you so much now?"
"I don't know," Solace says, and she frowns. "Perhaps it's just all the upheaval with the King coming and going, and everyone leaving or being out of sorts. Or that the Queen seems to depend on her so much."
Lucas' eyes narrow. "Solace," he says coldly, "if this is a long and convoluted way of asking me to have a word with my mother, you are wasting both your time and mine. If I want to engage in fruitless argument, I can take myself to the kitchens and deliver a monologue to the chef on how to make a decent cup of tea. Let it suffice to say that his methods are not mine - and until we can venture far enough into Shadow to hire someone with his skill with soufflis, I imagine we are to be stuck drinking ditchwater.
"Arguing with my mother, however, is an even more redundant form of intellectual exercise. If I go to her and whinge, "Why must you be so nasty to poor Solace?' then, like the scorpion on the frog's back, she will turn to me and say, 'It's my nature'. Well, she won't just say that. She will spend several minutes - possibly amounting to a half hour in total, giving me a meticulously precise point-by-point analysis of all that she objects to in my nature, my morals, my lifestyle and my marriage. But, in effect, it will all amount to no more than 'it's my nature'. And I have no wish to wallow in the flood-tide of her vituperation.
"On the other hand, I must agree that I am growing rather weary of seeing my wife treated as a verbal punching bag by our respective Mamas. You have a rapier of your own, my darling, but I understand your reluctance to employ it on those two.
"However, now that Philip is weaned, perhaps the time has come for you to step out of the shadows a little more. Perhaps to a more public role. The Queen might currently depend on my mother, but given the choice between someone who is gentle, kind and helpful, and a beautiful virago with inflexible Views on almost every subject relating to manners, morals and meals under the sun, I suspect that Vialle would welcome you to her inner circle as a lady in waiting with something like a howl of relief."
Solace ponders this idea, examining it from several different angles. Finally, she says, "I will see what I can do to offer her my help. I would anyway, of course, but a more formal public role will certainly have some advantages for us and for the children. They're in an excellent position to be playmates of Random's first child, which we can only assume Vialle is anxious to produce."
She takes Lucas' hand and squeezes it.
"Quite," says Lucas, returning the pressure, and clearly pleased by this. "I shall mention this too to her Madge.
"In the mean-time," he adds, rising from the table, "I shall leave you to organise this delightful soiree your mother desires. I think we should omit the conjurors and the marachi band on this occasion. Likewise the karaoke session. They never really enter into the spirit of things, do they, our respective Mamas?
"I presume your mother is being strict about - one hesitates to say intimate - close family only and depriving me of the innocent pleasure of deciding which of my hapless cousins I should subject to an evening of social torment." His expression momentarily becomes abstracted, as though contemplating this enjoyable prospect. Then he smiles, bends over Solace, and kissed the top of her head. "Well, my day begins. I shall see you later unless tedious problems keep me in town. If that's the case, I'll send word."
"I'll see you at dinner, then." And Solace smiles at him, her good nature and equanimity completely restored.
Gerard and Flora keep a close eye on Lucas' progress. He seems to be making a marvelously easy recovery. After the first day, he and Solace receive many visitors.
It is a week before Gerard clears Lucas to leave the castle, and after that he may travel into the city. Such visits are tiring, he finds, but the entire business of being injured is vexatious and that his first efforts at business in the city are exhausting is no surprise. The first night, he finds himself too tired to return to the Castle and must avail himself of the comforts of his home away from home, Red Mill.
Lucas disptaches a message to the Castle so Solace will not worry (and, more imprtantly, so his mother and Gerard won't send out searching paties), and repairs to the Red Mill. His weariness is not particularly noticeable as he saunters through the doors, bestows casual kisses on a couple of delighted denizens (young, female and comely). Then, as he strips his gloves off, he glances around for cousins and, more significantly, Silken.
He stops for a word with the club porter.
"Any family in tonight?" he asks. "And tell Bitter I'll be wanting to dine in a little while. Something piquant, I fancy, although the woodcock in redcurrant and bitter chocolate sauce may not be quite the thing, delicious though it undeniably is."
The arrangements are made. No family members are in, but that's unsurprising, given that the other regular is out of the city, and it's not clear whether the King plans to take his membership up again.
He makes his easy way to the Salle.
Silken finds him there, with a glass of his favorite already in hand.
Lucas smiles.
"You'll join me for dinner?" he asks. "It will give you the opportunity to make all those solicitous enquiries after my health that I see hovering around those very beautiful lips, and only being currently supressed with a heart-palpitating effort.
"And I shall, in response, tell you of my death-defying encounter with a playing card. You know, Silken, on the whole, I think we might play scrabble tonight."
Silken gives Lucas a predatory smile. "I can beat you at cards, dice, or scrabble, as well you know, my dear. But do take this fortifying beverage first."
Lucas raises an eyebrow and directs a look at her.
"The only fortifying beverage I require from you, my beautiful Silken, is nectar of a rather different kind. And that will taste better as a digestif than an apperitif this evening, I believe."
"Had I known you were coming, I would have had some champagne ready. Of course, that might be an unpleasant reminder for some of your cousins too, from what I've heard."
"And so we limit our pleasures," sighs Lucas. "Playing cards ... champagne ... what will we choose as a method of destruction next, I wonder? Beaten to death with opium pipes?"
"Better bored to death with one of Heap's chapbooks," Silken says with a secret smile.
"If we are to foreswear all this because of the recent unfortunate events, our pleasures will become good hearty country walks and pints of honest ale consumed in cheery wayside taverns." He gives a little shiver. "Or some absurd game where the possession and position of some spherical piece of leather is held to be of quite breathtaking importance. And really, the spirit does quail a little at such a prospect."
She leads Lucas into a secluded booth, and tells the waiter that they'll want to enjoy their drinks before the chef prepares dinner for them.
"A martini," Lucas says to the waiter. "Ah ... just bring the triple distilled vodka, the ice and the olives. Silken will breathe the word 'vermouth' over the glass, and all will be perfection."
"So," she says, "I see the stories that have you half-dead are untrue. You remain yourself, and determined to set a new trend. And full of the most delicious gossip, I'm sure."
"I do not have to determine to set a new trend," says Lucas loftily. "One is simply moi, and the trend follows meekly in one's footsteps. As for gossip - your pauvre Lucas has been starved, positively starved this last week. A cruel reducing diet, Silken, that has me panting to hear all those delicious tit-bits I am utterly sure you have hoarded for me.
Indeed, Silken has more than a few choice morsels of gossip. Hardwinds and Harga'rels, leClaires and Laurels, Worths and Wonders, and more. Silken's scathing wit makes light of many of Amber's most noted citizens. As well, she has news of goings-on at Red Mill, including word of a recent meeting of the board of the club wondering what the King's position will be on the club decrees of the Regency.
And, of course, Violet is asking after Martin, since the rumor is that he took a wound during the Masquerade. This last is said with an amused shake of the head, as if Silken can't quite believe what's gotten into the other woman.
"It is most affecting," drawls Lucas, "to hear of such affection. Loyalty is so rarely to be encountered ...
"You can tell her that Martin is away from Amber at present, but will indubitably return in the near future. I believe he has a somewhat pressing engagement."
Silken's lips twitch with amusement as she nods at Lucas.
"As for the King's position ... well, we shall just have to wait and see. I would not be too hopeful, Silken. There's no ruler so strict as a reformed rake. And the worse the rake ... the fiercer the striving for sanctity."
He takes a leisurely sip of his martini.
"You had better hope that I never reform myself." he tells her, smiling faintly.
"The Red Mill would never survive such a fashion for reform," Silken opines. "The reform of the king, we might hope to survive that. But the trend for sobriety that you would surely set, my dear Lucas, would be the death of us all. I should have to turn to legitimate business, and then where would I be?"
"Undoubtedly the wealthiest and most powerful woman in Amber," says Lucas unhesitatingly. "You have talents, Silken, that have little to do with your undeniable physical charms. You have a brain and wits as sharp as your wit, the skill to manipulate, and the talent to let your manipulation stay hidden. You would succeed in any profession you turned those lovely elegant hands to - to say nothing of that peerless mind. And under it all is the naked ambition to excel."
He looks around the room, smiling faintly, his eyes half-closed.
"The rest ... their chances would be variable. But you, Silken ... you would be glorious.
"Why else would I choose you for my mistress?"
"Because you cannot have me for your wife."
Lucas' smile is his most lizard-like.
Silken considers the other ladies in the room. "Of course, I suppose that your cousin Paige's efforts at married women's property reforms might make marriage a tad less unattractive. Unless you think the new King's reformed tone will usher in an era of female propriety such that any woman of business would be mistaken for one in mine."
"I think that ... less likely," says Lucas. "I would not go so far as to put it as 'unlikely' - in this, you see, I hedge my bets. But ... yes, definitely less likely. So many strong-minded women in the family now - and so many have risen to positions of importance - among the Stayers, and the Warriors. It might be a little harder to cram them all back in the box.
"As for the lower levels of society ... " His dark eyes meet Silken's mockingly. "Women have always ruled there, don't you think?"
"Clever people have always ruled, regardless of their sex," says Silken, She shifts a little in her chair, catlike.
"Now ... shall we see what gastronomic delights Bitter has prepared? We really need to bring a new ingredient into fashion - remember how we positively exhausted the market for cranberries last autumn? Not that there was much of a market then ...
"I think ... herbs. Or perhaps a spice. Something with a suitably mellifluous name, and a delicate, subtle flavour, to be enjoyed only by the cognoscenti. Cardomon? The name pleases ... the flavour less so. Nutmeg? A wholly delightful spice ... but the name is so full in the mouth, it almost feels you held one of those hard little balls. Nut ... meg. No ... perhaps it should be cinnamon ... but cinnamon has been done to death. La, the trials of fashion. For assuredly there is a fashion in all things, my lovely Silken, even duelling."
The dark eyes regard her impassively. "Perhaps ... especially duelling."
"What is the new fashion in dueling to be, then? The rumors that reach us of events in the Castle suggest that the Heir Presumptive intends it to be the done thing." Silken's gaze meets Lucas, and she smiles, ever-so-slightly.
The faint smile Lucas gives her in return is just lightly edged.
"And has his princely example inspired many imitations yet? Or are they all waiting with bated breath to see the outcome of this delectable little contretemps? And what state is the betting book in on who wins, who loses, who's up and who's down?"
(OOC - does Lucas know by this point that Aisling has disappeared? If he does, he's testing to see how much is known in the city. If he doesn't, the question can be taken at face value)
[OOC: this is day seven, so it's known at the castle and Lucas should be aware, yes.]
"Most people know better than to trifle in Royal affairs, my dear Lucas. The odds are considered to be highly in his young highness' favor, if only because so many people have seen Prince Martin put haughty fellows who like to say their mistresses are prettier than Violet in their place. There have been a few duels between Returnees and Stayers so far."
"A state of affiars," says Lucas drily, "that doubtless all right-minded citizens would wish to see continue."
She takes up her own martini glass and looks at Lucas over its rim, her long-fringed eyelashes demurely hiding the wicked gleam in her eye. "It could get a lot worse."
"And does that lend a certain piquancy to the thought of an engagement?" drawls Lucas. "Or does it rather create a sense of ennui among the clientele who frequent these hallowed halls?
"If, for some reason, the populace were deprived of their bread and circuses this time, would they be all the more eager for the next prospect of bloodletting? Or do they, worthy citizens all, hope piously that we will all learn to live together in peace and harmony?"
"That depends on when you ask, and who asks them," Silken says archly. "There are those who stand to profit by harmony, and they hope for it fervently. Some young men who missed the call to go to war are anxious to prove their honor; the new King's appreciation for the Returnees has not gone unnoticed. There is a certain resentment in some quarters. The expected thrashing of the foreign knight is much anticipated."
She takes a sip of her drink. "Most of those who anticipate it will shrug and move onwards if their pleasure is denied them. There are those who will find a different outlet." She leans forward and whispers, "Is the Queen thinking of forbidding the duel?"
"Alas," says Lucas, "I am only able to offer my delicate little slivers of advice. It is for the Queen to choose whether or not to nibble at them."
"But the Queen is your friend," says Silken, neutrally enough that Lucas could take it any number of ways. Jealousy, it should be noted, is not reasonably among them.
"Personally, I would be of the camp to favour the duel going ahead - within certain strict limitations. Honour should be satisfied in such matters. Bloodlust ... I think not. Feed the populus with the raw meat it roars for, and very soon it will hunger again. Train the beast to eat broth - and you may sleep in peace for a good many nights.
"I am interested," he says slowly, "in how you judge the temper of the beast now ... especially these malcontents you spoke of."
"I think they are a small group, but they keenly feel what they feel to be the subtle slights attending on them for not having gone to the wars. You know the hardships people in Amber have suffered these last few years as well as anyone. Suddenly these swaggering fellows come in with five years' pay when everyone else has been watching their pennies, and it's hard for people who've been scrimping to smile at their good fortune."
Silken leans forward again. "It's not so bad here, but in the Naval, where the Returnees and the Stayers are crammed up against each other, it's very awkward."
"And what is true in the Navy will also be true in the docks." says Lucas thoughtfully. "Once group of men with enough money to pay the whores, and another group who've had to go without all but the most pox ridden for several years forced to watch. And the same for taverns ... even a distinction between the family men; this one wealthy, this one reduced to poverty - and yet both serving Amber.
"Of course, the money will trickle through the system eventually as the Returnees spend and the Stayers produce. But that, of course, is not apparent to the man who must forgo his whore and his beer tonight, and still less to the family man who sees his children drink weak broth again while the smell of roasting pork drifts over from his neighbours house. And the neighbour looks at the man's two good arms and two good legs, and does not notice or care about the rags they are clad in...
"So ... what cure for Amber's ills do you see, Silken? Circuses, as well as bread? Like the duel as a lancet to a particularly unpleasant boil? Perhaps that is what we need - safety valves... "
Silken has been nodding throughout Lucas' recitation. "It's going to be rough sailing for a while," she agrees.
"The best cure would have been for the King not to pay his men for five years' service. But that's nothing you can influence or amend. As for where we go from here, I'm less sure," she confesses. "Redistribution will happen, and the clever will end up with all the money, as usual, but it may take longer this time. I think the surest bet is to reopen trade as quickly as possible, and get some of the poor out there earning. Do you see that happening soon?"
"Not without some private investment," says Lucas thoughtfully. "I've never thought of economic regeneration as my metier, but a programme of large-scale public works, or works undertaken in the public interest, would actually start to relieve some of the problems. The construction industry and allied trades would actually absorb a lot of energy, and would pay wages ...
"Silken - ignoring the Castle, what would you say were the most prominent public buildings destroyed in the Sundering? I mean buildings that the general populace would most like to see replaced? And that haven't been yet?"
Silken considers the question. "Most of the ones that haven't been replaced haven't really needed replacing. Some of the trading floors will eventually need to be rebuilt, but they're not public per se. I'd think replacing them would be a matter for the trading concerns, the ones that survive, or are built up with this new money from the Returnees--oh." She pauses to follow that line of thought.
Lucas watches, drinking his martini, with some amusement and much interest as Silken follows this line of thought.
When he judges she has had long enough, he says, over the rim of the glass, "Well?"
"It's a stopgap, Lucas, nothing more. It'll feed people, but they'll still resent being paid by the Returnees. Perhaps it will buy enough time to lay down some new trade routes, but that's all. I can't understand what the King meant by offering the Returnees five years' pay. It's almost as if he wanted them to be flush, and didn't care what it did to the city." Silken sounds disgruntled and a little confused. It's a novel experience for her, and one she doesn't seem to care for.
"It may be that he wanted to honour those who fought with him. 'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers'. That sort of thing.
"And certainly those who were abed in Amber now do think themselves accursed they were not there," he adds drily. "They may not envy the glory, but they certainly miss the hard coin."
A sip of her drink, and she composes her face. "It's better than any other plan I've heard so far. In fact, it's the only sign I've heard so far that the castle has noticed the problem."
"Actually," says Lucas, "I was thinking of avoiding anything so crude as the Returnees paying the Stayers. I agree that would lead to resentment as a straight exhange. What I had in mind, initially, was something more in the nature of a joint stock company. Only with a slight twist.
"Those who can, invest cash. Those who can't, invest labour. Not all their labour, of course - otherwise they'd be working for no pay - which would help no-one. But one day's free labour a week would secure them stock - an investment for the future. And Returnees could invest their cash in stock - can feed in other benefits ... short term ... and also build in - for want of a better word - pleasure ... "
He is frowning.
"Perhaps," he says, "an arena. More - a stadium. For ... events. Jousts. Music. Large enough to be a major public work. Stockholders - have seats - as well as sharing the profits - that should draw more investors on both sides."
He looks at her. "This is, of course, largely speculative. But - among other peerless talents, you are an excellent sounding board. What do you think?"
"The plan is sound, at least as far as it goes. Amber was built on trade, and until trade resume, she'll be poor. Stock companies for public buildings won't change that, and we both know it." The courtesan leans in, and beckons to Lucas to do the same.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she says, "My other objection comes from inside information. Violet said Martin talked to her the night before he left. He's been planning to buy out her contract and get her a townhouse. He said that there had been a slight change of plans when he spoke to her just before the coronation, though. His father, Martin said, had told him not to buy any real estate just yet."
Silken looks significantly at Lucas. "Now what do you think the king might have meant by that?"
"Any number of things," says Lucas, his voice also very soft, "from moving the capital to another location, to introducing a series of swingeing land reforms designed to outlaw property speculation. In the absence of Random, we could take a number of guesses ...
"And I wouldn't exclude the possibility that Martin has changed his mind ..."
Silken looks vaguely disappointed by that thought, but doesn't comment on it.
"But none of them will be an answer to the problems we face here - and now. Something needs to be started to keep the population from tearing each other's throats out while Random decides whether he is going to move his political position somewhere to the right of 'Whopee!'
"Although, in the light of what you say, it might be worth thinking about short term leases. With the option to buy at a later date ..."
"I'm not sure how that would work for a massive construction project. But a small project to start, with a short-term lease--a test bed, let's say--that might work. And it wouldn't seem as likely that you had inside information, if it proves out that Martin was playing straight with Violet. It would merely be the prudent investment of a wise prince." Silken gives a pleased smile, having found a satisfactory answer.
"A small project," says Lucas. "Something that will be popular ... will amuse the masses and serve the public good ... a public baths, perhaps. Something of that nature. A combination of sport, recreation and hygeine for those who lack even basic facilities ... "
He leans back in his chair and takes a long, thoughtful sip of his martini.
"I seem to recall hearing some talk about another construction job. One of my cousins. I'll need to ask around ... "
His eyes suddenly focus on Silken, sitting opposite.
"Silken, do you want to be bought out of your contract?"
Lucas does not often surprise Silken, but it seems that he has this time. She looks down into her drink, and says, "I hadn't really thought about it," which Lucas feels is a white lie.
Lucas is silent, waiting to see if she will add any more. For all his easy conversation, he is fully aware that silence can sometimes be more probing than any three questions ...
Silken looks over the rim of her drink glass at Lucas, and the moment stretches on. Just as the silence seems to be unbearable, she finally says, "I want to buy out my own contract."
Lucas simply nods, fully appreciating the difference.
"And should my part simply be to act as a paying customer?" he asks. "Or would you appreciate business opportunities in different contexts being put your way? That might speed up the process - and provide you with something to support you ... afterwards.
"Unless, of course, your ambition is to be a kept woman," he adds. "But somehow - I don't think your desire is to go from one contract to a more exclusive one of the same kind.
"Or is it?"
"Not even with you, Lucas," Silken says, with a somewhat apologetic smile. "And I don't want the deal that Michelle got with your cousin Paige, either. I want out. I want to be able to pick and choose whether I have a lover, not just who he is."
"Very flattering to my amour propre," says Lucas drily. "Don't you think you ought to be fawning a little more on your best paying customer - the one who is offering to help you to achieve the financial independence you desire?"
It's possible that Lucas is speaking ironically here. He's half-French, after all, and has few illusions about the nature of sexual transactions between men and women. He stopped believing in the whore with a heart of gold very shortly after he lost faith in Saint Nicholas (i.e. Santa Claus).
"No, I think we know each other well enough that you'd prefer me to be honest." Silken assesses Lucas through her lashes, and begins to stir her drink languidly with her finger.
"Don't overplay that hand, Silken," says Lucas. "To flatter me by declaring we are honest with each other is only two rungs down from calling me 'big boy' and telling me that I make the earth move in ways that no-one else can."
Silken looks a touch petulant, but recovers immediately.
Lucas reaches out and takes her hand.
"I prefer honesty, Silken. "But we are lovers and - moreover - we are who we are and must be. Completely honesty ... is perhaps a little beyond us."
"What kinds of business opportunities did you have in mind?" The finger, still damp with the traces of her own martini, comes up and touches the center of her lower lip. She daintily licks the errant drop off her own fingertip as she waits for Lucas' answer.
"Financial management," says Lucas promptly. "The ability to move money around rapidly to areas where it's needed. The more prudent of the returnees will need to invest. The more entrepreneurial of all the population will want to start up businesses. You, my sweet, are in an excellent position to know who has money and who has need. Who has ideas and who has capital. You bring the two together - and charge a commission.
"You also have what makes you a certain success - the shrewdness to know who is reliable, and who is not. And the spirit to take risks when needed.
"You may need a front man to do the job, at least at first. I'll help seed the enterprise - and offer advice.
"Of course, if this strikes you as dull, an alternative would be to open a beauty parlour. After the long years of deprivation, I'm sure most women in Amber would pay handsomely to look as lovely as you invariably do - even if they do pretend to disapprove of your lifestyle. The same offer from me is open - and I take care of the interior design too."
"I've had enough of women chattering about their looks to last me a lifetime, Lucas dear. Thank you, but the financial management sounds infinitely preferable. Besides, I need to keep some secrets if I want to keep my favorite gentlemen coming back."
Silken's finger dips back into her martini. This time, she lifts it to Lucas' lips.
Lucas leans forward and takes the finger in his mouth. For a long second his tongue caresses it, stroking along the length, his mouth sliding forward, taking it deeper ...
And then he gives a sharp nip to her finger and abruptly withdraws.
"Don't take me for granted, Silken. I'll help you ... but there will inevitably be a price to pay. Let's discuss it over dinner ... or better yet, in the privacy of your rooms."
Silken examines her finger, making sure Lucas has drawn no blood, before she looks up at him. "Oh, Lucas," she says with a bitterly amused smile, "there's nothing in life that comes without price. If you like, I'll tell Bitter to send dinner up for us."
Lucas nods.
"That, I think, will be best. I feel the need to dine en deshabille, reclining on a couch as we eat languidly and talk busily ....
"I also expect commiserations over my injuries. Let me warn you now, my most beautiful Silken ... too much honesty on that subject would be remiss."
"You've reminded me of the limits of my honesty, Lucas." She bows her head, and by the time he can see her face full on, Silken's expression is composed completely. "I won't forget the lesson."
And she takes Lucas' hand and leads him up to her chamber.
Last modified: 7 February 2004