Shortly after tea, Aisling is conducted into Lucas's presence. She's (still) wearing the high-necked somber purple lace gown, with a scarf draped down to cover the bared patches of skin on her back, and her blonde-orange hair swept up. I don't think Lucas has seen her looking fully human, yet; it's clearly her, though, just with the loss of all the purple bits save the eyes.
She bows a bit, every inch graceful, with a slight smile. "Lord Lucas St. Cyr," she greets him, pronouncing the last name "sear". "I must compliment you on your sources of rumor. I could hardly have dreamed that you would hear the dull kind bits amongst the rest."
"Oh, you wrong me," says Lucas with a faint smile. "I find anything concerning my personal well being utterly fascinating."
He is sitting in a wing chair to one side of the hearth. As he indicated he would to Flora, he is wearing a loose robe of softest leather, trimmed with fur, and a dark cap that hides the mutilated top of his ear. He looks pale - but then Lucas made pallor fashionable long before the attack. Hope is sprawled on the hearthrug, seemingly hosting a small tea party (the formalities of which she is anxious that her three dolls should observe nevertheless. This is, after all, Flora's grand-daughter).
"And Lady Hope," Aisling greets his daughter with a smile less reserved, "I am very pleased to meet you."
Hope rises and advances confidently for a kiss. Whatever jaundiced view Lucas has of life, it is clear Hope does not share this.
It wants to be kissed?! Ummm....... Ok...
Aisling gracefully lowers herself and gives Hope a peck on the cheek, with no dimming of her brightness due to cultural inconsistencies.
"Hello-I-am-very-pleased-to-meet-you," Hope says all in a breath. She is regarding Aisling with bright-eyed, unalarmed curiousity.
"I am Dame Aisling. Last night I was dressed as a moth when I tried to help your father," Aisling offers some information to the little girl as evidence of goodwill.
Hope considers this carefully, and shoots a slightly troubled look at her father. Lucas give her a solemn nod in response.
"Thank you very much," she says, and then returns to her dolls.
Well, if the little girl had been spying on the Masque, that would have made perfect sense, Aisling chastises herself. She smiles at Hope, and then rises.
"Won't you have a seat?" Lucas makes a languid gesture that encompasses a similar wing chair to his own, a chaise longue in classical style, a plain wooden bench, and a seat with so many knobs and protrusions that it seems to resemble an instrument of torture rather than a comfortable piece of seating. Aisling, it seems, has a choice.
Aisling observes the options without changing her expression, and lightly comes to rest in the wing chair, having unclasped her swordbelt and hung it from the back. Now that she's closer, Lucas can see that she somehow looks older, a bit more lined, than she did at the Excruciating Cocktail Hour. Perhaps she's just tired.
"Would you care for some refreshment?" he asks. "What I am permitted to consume is, at present, depressingly limited. This austerity need not, however, extend to those kind enough to visit me."
"I would enjoy sharing with you some of whatever you are permitted," she replies, inclining her head and smiling.
"Oh, I really wouldn't advise it," says Lucas with complete sincerity. "My mother spent far too long on Shadow Earth than was wholly good for her. It led to her gaining an implausible set of food cravings that she likes to take out on me on those thankfully rare occasions when she has me at her mercy. Now, for example, I am being given the choice of some particularly noxious health drink that seems to contain half the herbs of the Eastern hemisphere, or a Scottish drink known as Irn Bru, that is manufactured with the boast that its prime ingredient is iron girders.
"Please, let me get you some wine. Or some tea. I have some very nice single estate Assam."
Aisling's smile hangs up for a half moment, Does he intend to poison me? It wouldn't be a necessarily bad move... Still, I'd hazard he wouldn't have a strong enough dose... Better be the wine, then, I know the taste. Pity about the tea.
But the moment is barely detectable, "Some wine, then, thank you."
"I hope," he says, leaning forward condfidentially, "you will permit me to take a sip from your glass. I am really not permitted any more."
It is hard to tell whether this is genuine, or whether it is a way of reassuring her. Lucas is, after all, famed for his perspicacity. He is, on the other hand, famed for self indulgence too.
Aisling's smile flickers to "bright" for a moment. So he has been raised correctly. She leans forward a bit herself, "Gladly I will, but in return you must forgo mentioning this indulgence to your Lady Mother... I would not wish to give her even more reason for concern about our meeting."
"Something that I will happy second," agrees Lucas. "My Mother displays a creative refinement in her methods of signalling her displeasure than amounts to nothing less than an art form."
Now he rings a small bell stationed beside his chair and the lugubrious valet appears once more. "Wine," says Lucas, with a smile at Aisling. "Something robust. Full-bodied. I think. Do we still have any of the Mercurey in the cellar, Gaston?"
"I shall do my best to ascertain, m'sieur," says Gaston, and he leaves again. Within a couple of minutes he returns, carefully carrying a bottle of red wine - a French wine - the promised Mercurey. He uncorks it and pours a glass for Aisling, letting her sample it before filling the glass.
He then withdraws, setting the bottle close to Aisling, and beyond Lucas' reach.
Lucas frowns.
Aisling does offer him the glass.
He takes it rolls it a little between his hands, lowering his dark head and inhaling appreciatively before he finally sips.
"A fine vintage," he tells her. "Thank you." He sets the glass down so that she might drink.
"I thank you for your prompt action," he adds. "Although I am as yet a little unclear as to its precise nature."
He raised an interrogative eyebrow.
"Its nature was not precise," only a twinkle at the back of her eyes betrays Aisling's enjoyment of the wordplay, before settling into explanatory mode. "I have attained excellent mastery of form, which extends to such things as returning my form to rights..." she waggles her bit-o-hand, "when last we spoke, I had only half of a wrist. Lately, I'd been working on trying to extend this mastery to others. Last night, I took a few moments to try to pass to you some general righting ability..." She glances at his hat, "I am very pleased to see that you had not suffered a serious head wound."
"A sentiment I fully share, believe me," agrees Lucas wryly. He regards her closely. "This ... righting ability - when you say you 'passed' it to me, you mean in the sense that you exerted it on me? Or were you able to transfer it to me so that I could now use it myself, on myself?"
Aisling thinks for a moment on how to put it, and her answer is forestalled by the arrival of a new being in the room.
A tall austere woman appears at this juncture and drops a small, tight curtsey to Lucas and Aisling, her lips seemingly set in disapproval. Whether this is with Lucas, Aisling, or arises from general weltschmerz is unclear.
Aisling smiles at her, almost even a touch Bleys-like.
"Ah, Nanny Starch," says Lucas with tepid enthusiasm. "You've come to take Hope?"
"Her bath-time, my Lord," returns the nurse, and her face relaxes into a smile as she holds out her hand towards Hope, who is already rising obediently.
"Nanny Starch is Solace's old nanny," says Lucas, "and with such proof of the delightful results of her early training, how could I wish for anyone better for Hope or Phillipe? Such, at any rate, was my mother-in-law's reasoning, and who I am to fault it?""
Nanny Starch and Lucas exchange the slightly edged looks of opponents who have taken each other's measure and do not care to come to cuffs too often, unless they are wholly sure of their ground.
Aisling fades into the background.
Hope and her nanny have departed, followed by a maid bearing away Hope's toys, before Lucas addresses Aisling again.
"My sources of information also lead me to believe that you and Martin have quarrelled. The fact was relayed to me, but not the reason."
"I have been discouraged from attempting to understand Martin's psyche," Aisling offers for an answer.
"Oh yes," agrees Lucas. "Far too tedious to do that. Martin has always been quite inexplicable to all of us. I was rather hoping to ascertain your side of the story. Your impressions, as it were, unclouded by any attempt to ... now what is that phrase? ... 'see where Martin's coming from'. Yes, I think that's it.
"A metaphor," he adds, by way of explanation. "I presume you have such things in the language of Choas? After all, some have argued that your ... erm ... life choices are, in fact, a serious of vivid metaphors made, as it were, flesh."
"The ability to right yourself..." she continues from the conversation before Starch, swirling her wine in her glass a bit, "It is more of an infusion. For the previous people I have aided in this way, it wore off soon enough. But none of them were the grandsons of great Lords of Chaos."
"There is that," agrees Lucas.
Aisling hadn't thought Oberon's background so well-known, but merely files away her surprise.
Lucas remains seemingly oblivious, although he reaches out and takes a small sip of a rather virulently coloured drink set on the occasional table by his right hand.
"So ... if I wished to set about this ... righting myself - by means of the infusion ... how would I do that, I wonder?"
"You could, perhaps, enhance the effect I left you with by focusing your will on healing yourself; a matter of spending time, whenever you find it, forcefully concentrating on the shape you please, and your desire to return to it.
Lucas nods thoughtfully. "That sounds a possibility," he says, "and not too deblilitating to accomplish. Thank you. I shall certainly try that."
He smiles suddenly. "And, as a method, it does open up enchanting possibilities. Could one, for example, re-sculpt one's ear? And create a divine new shape? Perhaps ... a little point - enough to disturb ... "
He smiles. "A devil's ear, rather than a demon's." he explains.
Aisling arches her brows. "A fine beginning."
"I quite enjoy metaphors; they are the ponds full of koi in the dusty borderlands of conversation," Aisling says with a slight smirk. "I feel that shifting is a separate art, however. I could no doubt have a fascinating conversation with your theorists on the subject...?" she asks, inviting him to discuss his sources, and smiling to let him know that she's partly doing it out of deviltry and doesn't need an answer.
"As for Martin, it is truly a tragedy that you were unconscious. You might have found the fight entertaining... The Prince claimed that I was currently betraying Amber, and associated me with the messy end of the Masque. I was rather... incandescent in my rebuttal."
"Ah," says Lucas. He reclines back in his chair. "To challenge a Prince of Amber in open court. To act with all the pride and power of the Heir Presumptive. How very ... impetutous of you both ..."
"It appears that I will not be taking part in any 'cloyingly cheerful jam sessions'," Aisling mocks herself (telling the truth all the while), "my lovely voice for harmony must needs remain a secret." She looks him in the eyes with a small smile, "In what other ways do people of our family while away their time?" She's not so much asking a question as she is subtly feeling him out on a mild alliance.
"Oh, much as in the Courts, I suspect," says Lucas. "We eat, we drink - lord how some of us drink! - we drug ourselves into pleasurable states, we whore, we plot, we scheme, some of us lurk and some of us learn - some of us contrive to do both together. Some indulge in vigorous physical activity - huntin', shooting' - no, no, shooting is out in Amber - but fishing is a definite possibility .... Some of us prefer to hunt other game - I myself like to specialise in fishing for compliments.
"Then there's the vigorous mental activity - the attempts to acquire knowledge both pedestrian and arcane.
"But beyond this, and most fascinating for us all - there's the gossip. Who's out, who's in, who's up. who's down, who's slighted whom, who's bedded whom, which bellies swell, which minds decline. We look for strengths to admire and suborn, we look for weaknesses to probe, we look for vulnerablities to exploit."
He takes a sip of the vile drink again.
"I, of course, escape all this. You see me as I am, the contented family man, at home with my dearest wife and children, my modest efforts laid at the service of Amber ...
"Above all, of course, we lie."
He reaches out and pours Aisling another glass of wine.
"I would be remiss in my ideals if I did not mention that my previous engagement in Amber's affairs lead me to observations that in many ways align with your words," Aisling says, retrieving the wine glass.
"Yes, I find my cousins' rather endearing openness about it all one of their most delightful features, don't you?"
Aisling offers him a querying look, _I'm sorry, I don't think I quite grasped your meaning, there?_
"Their almost child-like pride in their foibles," explains Lucas, smiling faintly. "I was speaking with irony - it may be outside your cultural norms."
Aisling answers, light and oblique, "Oh, I appreciate openness."
"Don't we all?" sighs Lucas. "So ... endearing, somehow."
Aisling smiles in cautious agreement.
"This challenge with Martin," he says musingly. "He is awfully good you know. Experienced duellist too - I've been out with him on misty dawns several times myself - although one does avoid it wherever possible. So ruinous for the complexion.
"How much have your knightly friends told you about duels?"
"Is there anything in particular they should have told me?"
"Well, a basic guide to the rules would be a start," says Lucas. "The who, what, why, when, where and how of it. Weapons used. The rules governing their use - and there have been several fat little volumes written on the subject - remind me to lend you a couple if you're interested. The need for seconds. The need, heaven help us, for a doctor - although with your rather interesting powers that might be somewhat less of a necessity. However, perhaps I should point out that if you were able to wound Martin, the duel terminates there and should not be continued into the healing process. None of us would be much amused were Martin to recover with, say, an extra eye or - depending on your sense of what was fitting or perhaps fun - shrivelled gonads or a broad yellow stripe down his back."
His sharp edged smile invite her to take his words as a joke, but there is nothing amused about the dark eyes resting on her face.
Aisling smiles politely, clouds scudding by quickly in the gray day behind her violet eyes. She has not yet determined an appropriate response when Lucas continues,
"A lot of this depends," he says quietly, "on how much you want to kill Martin."
Aisling frowns, the lines in her face deepening, and her brows draw together as her eyes turn off to the side for a moment, making sure her kneejerk response is the truth, before she looks back to Lucas.
Lucas watches her almost lazily.
"Not at all. It would be a criminal waste. ...Don't think that life is cheap, son of Amber." She pauses longer, and then, "If I had not the capacity to hope that things would be better, I would not be here."
"Life is very expensive," says Lucas. "I speak as one who has paid to preserve it on occasion ... and on occasion ... " He shrugs.
"So - you are here to make life better - and you challenge the Heir Presumptive in open court ... Your friends really have been neglecting your training, haven't they? How fortunate that you have laid me under some fashion of blood debt to you - do you have that custom in Chaos? I think, all things considered, that I probably do not owe you a life ... but there is definitely an obligation that should probably be something more dramatic than suggesting your eyes would look very fine above a robe of rich green silk."
Aisling, who was looking neutral, blinks at this last and looks away from Lucas's face, to the door, then around the rest of the room. "You are under no obligation. I have little desire to offer my aid where it is not wanted. Please don't be under any apprehension, either. While I can direct the energy I offer, I don't have enough leverage to warp you out of your chosen form. If your gonads change size, it will be solely due to your own will," she regards him clinically.
"You put my mind at ease," murmurs Lucas. "And your aid was most ... appreciated."
"If some lucky whim should entice you to help even so, I could surely use advice on how to handle future slander. For, of course, the Prince sets the fashion."
"I think," says Lucas musingly, "your future position much depends on this duel. And the conduct of the two participants ... and the circumstances. Who are you proposing to have as your second?"
"Let us propose that, while I have been grievously wounded, I am the sort of being that would prefer solving the problem to exacting my revenge. With this amusing set of constraints in mind, who would my choice be?"
"Someone who will accept the honour," says Lucas a little drily. "Nothing could do you cause as much harm as being forced to go cap in hand - do you wear a cap, by the way? I have so little idea of the sartorial imperatives of Chaosians that it really is quite shame-making .... but let that pass. Nothing could be so bad for your position in Amber as trailing to a series of relatives and pleading with them to act as your second if they then turn you down. Of course, the Knights may well feel honour bound to support you. But ... to cross the Heir Presumptive? The degree of their hesitation would be fascinating to witness ...
"Have you asked anyone already? More to the point, perhaps, has anyone rushed to volunteer?"
"Since, as you have so cleverly hinted, anyone desirous of seconding me may incur the resentment of the Prince, and a lack of seconds would further weaken me, answering your question would be certain to cause damage, and so I must regretfully decline. I wonder, though, if we are starting in the correct place in this discussion... Do the rules of honor in Amber declare that in a situation such as this there must be at least one duel?"
"Certainly not," says Lucas. "In some cases the matter might be peacefully resolved. An apology, a friendly drink. In others, it may be resolved by seconds. Their role is not only to step up if their principal is unable to make the event, you know. Their first duty - if it proves at all possible, if to seek a recounciliation between both parties.
"You do have time to ponder the issues. I understand no challenge has actually been issued yet - by either party. It is possible, if you conduct yourself in certain ways, no challenge will be issued ... "
"Do tell," Aisling prompts, a tiny bit dry.
"Grovelling would probably work," says Lucas. "Complete and utter abasement - although I imagine as a policy it would rather stick in the craw - do you have a craw, by the way? I must admit, I've never been too sure of the location of mine, although I have a lurking suspicion that it's somewhere at the back of the throat. However, I imagine that's a suggestion that you don't just want to cast to the ground, but would want to leap upon and dance vigorously all over it."
"It is my understanding that to fail to respond to certain insults demonstrates to the eyes of Amber that one is a being without honor, one to be casually spit at by all. It is my suspicion that accusations of treason and conspiracy to murder are among the insults that your society will not allow to pass."
"I would say that was a fair reading of the situation," murmurs Lucas, with the air of one giving the matter judicial consideration.
A tiny sigh escapes Aisling, but she continues then in the same tone, "Additionally, while grovelling would be an interesting exercise in personality shifting, I suspect it would weaken my position much like begging for seconds would. And it does not address the insult to the king," Aisling concludes her stomping of the idea with a slight dry smile of acknowledgement.
Lucas bows his head as if in acknowledgement.
"Failing that, negotiation seems the best way, possibly at one remove. A go-between, who could bring you together. Someone well-versed in the exigencies of court life, who would gain a sympathetic hearing from the Prince. Someone well known for their peaceful nature, who no-one who suspect of chicanery or ulterior motives because, well, their honesty and good will is transparent and generally accepted. Who will, indeed, deal honestly with you and Martin, because to do otherwise is simply not in their nature."
He was watching Aisling, almost with amusement.
"I'd recommend my wife."
Aisling raises her brows. "Why would your wife wish to embroil herself in this mess? I would, of course, be greatful to have someone sensible and neutral attempt to resolve this; but my impression of Martin is that he does not feel that he has wronged me, and so would view an attempt to negotiate by anyone other than a close friend of his as an attack on himself."
"My wife would do a great deal to oblige one who she regards as helping to preserve my existence," says Lucas with serene certainty. "You might almost see her as acting under the same sense of obligation as I feel myself.
"As for the rest ... You are falling into the vulgarity of common error as regards my wife. People will say that Martin was groomsman at my wedding. Incorrect. Martin was groomsman at my and Solace's wedding. He likes Solace. He likes our children. He brings them presents and plays with them. You're underestimating Martin if you just buy into the playboy image and see him as unable to have a relationship with a woman that rises above her waist."
Aisling's brows arch at this. _Not a view I'd considered..._
"He has a relationship with Solace that probably has something to do with the fact that my wife is a great listener. You may say that this is sine qua non in any woman married to moi, for I am indisputably a great talker. Indeed, I attribute the felicity of our relationship to this great concurrence between us. But when a woman is usually silent, people listen when she speaks. I listen when she speaks - and I am sure Martin does as well.
"But, if you really prefer to make one of the bullet-headed bonewits your negotiator, be my guest."
"Heavens, I hardly know any bullet-headed bonewits," Aisling says with a small smile.
"How very generous you are," sighs Lucas.
"Now, we have established that, barring intervention from their Majesties, I shall be forced to challenge Martin to a duel. It is my understanding that this must follow shortly upon his reappearance. I do not feel it is possible for there to be enough time prior to this for diplomacy to work her sweet wiles, and I would not ask the Lady Solace to undertake such a foolish risk..." Aisling trails off, regarding him with bright eyes. She is making sure there will be no misunderstanding and heartbreak before she clasps this idea (it does sound so nice) to her. The two options are that Solace could be an independent negotiator, between challenge and duel... Or she could be Aisling's second. Which is Lucas suggesting?
"On the contrary," says Lucas, very dryly, "I don't think we've established your premise at all. And in parenthesis, I should add that I hardly see why asking my wife to have a quiet word with an old friend should be construed as a foolish risk.
"To return to the main thrust of you assertion ... from all I have been told of the encounter, I wasn't really expecting to hear of your challenging Martin - although I grant that is a possibility.
"No, I was expecting him to challenge you."
"I don't expect most people are of the opinion that it is of any consequence to accuse a Chaosite of something vile." Aisling shrugs.
Lucas gives a very Gallic shrug, of the kind that can only be properly achieved by one born on the soil of France and nurtured on her kindly cheeses can truly manage. "Mais bien sur. We have just concluded a war against Chaos after all."
Aisling smiles. "You have grasped my predicament."
"I think," says Lucas, "that I perceived it from the start. How very obtuse you must think me ... "
"Not at all," Aisling states easily. "I find it wondrously refreshing to converse with one alive to nuance. But you are correct; this is not a joking matter."
She sighs, "I have not had much skill lately at conveying my thoughts to others. I am deeply touched that you have suggested that your aid and that of your wife may be forthcoming. It would be unfair to ask her to mediate and then to throw in without warning the curve of a challenge... It might make her mission impossible. Then she would have strained her relations with her friend for nothing, an ungrateful incendiary lady once of Chaos. I have likely misjudged how much his view of a negotiator would darken...?" It's almost not a question, easily ignorable. She offers him a fleeting smile, _It would be nice if you confirmed the stain won't spread._
"Again ... you under-estimate," says Lucas. "Martin is capable of listening to my wife argue a case he may be hostile towards without desiring to do anything more harsh than correct her gently but firmly and then agreeing to disagree. I would hope for better results than that, however."
Aisling nods, looking properly chastened. (That is, not much. "I am chastened, but I will not emphasize this because it would look weak, and because you might be embarrassed to have gone overboard and caused such a reaction." Some chastenment leaking out from under a neutral expression. Nuanced. ;) )
Lucas, with superb aplomb, appears not to notice.
"It was my thought that if both Martin and I felt that we had to make a point of honor, then there would be two duels."
Lucas smiles. "My dear Chaosian ... if you and Martin fight once, the need for a second challenge becomes ... somewhat otiose. For one of you will assuredly not be in a condition to fight. Or even to breathe, for that matter.
"Unless you find someone prepared to mediate."
Aisling's brows arch again. "You think he will wish to duel to the death? I had presumed he had more political aptitude than that. He is a Rebman."
"He's also proud and jealous of his honour," says Lucas. "He bellieves you questioned his honour in open Court. He may well believe you are a traitor and a spy. Removing you from the scene in a duel would be a quick and relatively unquestioned way of disposing of the problem. Oh, he might have to cool his heels for a few decades in Shadow. But so what? We are, after all, immortal.
"But you're probably right. Martin will probably settle for a duel to first blood and I am being over solicitous for your well-being.
"Just remember - he's a Prince of Amber ... something none of the rest of his generation - except perhaps Jerod - can lay claim to. In terms of power ... well, he's up there with the sons of the late King. And, given the chance, do you think they would hesitate to kill you, of they had any doubts at all about your probity?"
Aisling gazes at the ceiling, "One of the chief qualities that attracted me to the Princes of Amber was their qualms about murder."
Lucas' dark eyebrows lift. "Dear me, you have been badly misinformed. Do you think Caine would have qualms about murder? Or Bleys? Random? Corwin might have qualms later, but I don't see it stopping him for one minute if he saw it as necessary."
Dropping her gaze back to a lower level of business, "But we can't deal with All of my folly today. I would be vastly honored to discuss with your wife and yourself how she would like to go about defusing this situation."
"That sounds an excellent plan," says Lucas warmly, "although not, perhaps today. Solace is resting - she had precious little sleep last night. And physically - she is still not strong, you know.
Aisling nods, understanding. "Send me a note with a time; or I could host you."
"Alas," says Lucas, "If my dear Mother and Gerard have their way, I am likely to be confined to my chambers for several days yet. I think we should meet here - I shall notify you of the time - but please feel free to adjust if it does not suit yoyu. I imagine I shall have more time at leisure than you for the next few days.
Aisling hesitates, then smiles and nods.
"But it seems to be the sort of plan to which Grandfather would have given his blessing ... do tell - I have no idea of how time works in Chaos, other than the general appellation of 'strangely' - but were you around when he was in his Great Lord of Chaos days, or was he merely a legend of the distant past?"
"I... don't think so," Aisling answers softly.
"He might have been a legend in some Courts... I wouldn't know. The Courts aren't a continent... Each is a separate bubble floating amidst the Chaos. It's easy for there to be no commerce between them at all. Where I came from, there was only me, my father, and his-- people.
"I learned of King Oberon's past only when he mentioned it to me himself."
"Ah," says Lucas enlightened. "So it was the old man himself who told you all about Amber and the qualms of her Princes. Did you meet him in Chaos or elsewhere? And .... erm .... how did you conclude that his tale of being a Great Lord of Chaos was true? You didn't think ... erm, how shall I put this, that he might have been prone to be economical with la verite, did you?"
Aisling smiles faintly at some private joke. She answers, "The king did demonstrate his shifting ability to me. But most of all, there was recognition... Like that which a rose noble warm from someone's pocket might have for a towering crucible of molten gold.
She regards Lucas with large eyes, "But you must know, Lord Lucas, that I was a spy in Amber. I would not wish you to misunderstand this. It is likely that I know more of the customs of Amber than any of my fellow knights save Sir Marius; and any opinions I may have formed about Amber and her people are solely due to my own observations.
"I met King Oberon just before the Battle of the Edge, here in Amber, when he sent Martin and Dara to roust me out of my hole and bring me to him."
"So you were a spy for Chaos in Amber before the Battle," says Lucas slowly. "In shapeshifted form? How did you appear at that time?
"And I was not aware that you had met Martin then. It does, I feel, put a rather different complexion on this matter. I think, if Solace and I are to be able to help you, you had best tell me all. I will not let my wife go to Martin to attempt to resolve this knowing only half the facts."
Aisling looks like she might make some demurral, and then instead sighs, and pours herself another glassful of the wine. "I arrived some months before King Eric's coronation, and stayed almost entirely in and about Amber until King Oberon sent me off to help Prince Benedict at the Edge. In that time, I had heard about Martin, for his name tended to come up when people were gossiping about Random... Nothing more than the gossip you yourself have no doubt heard."
Lucas smiled thinly. "No doubt. And this was the substance of your reports back to Chaos? Or did you concern yourself with weighter matters? And you still have not answered my question - what form did you take?"
Aisling regards him over the wineglass with hooded eyes. "I have not answered your question of form, your lordship, because you have done me the honor of addressing me again before I could answer even one of your questions." Then she smirks slightly, her words having amused herself, at least, and as such willing to give Lucas a pass. "I used many forms; birds, people I invented, things that could travel though the rat holes in the walls. Also, be aware that there is no "Chaos". Everything is individual there, and I served an individual whose interests may or may not have meshed with those of the individuals who sent the things you may have seen on the battlefield."
"I stand - or rather sit - chastised," murmurs Lucas.
"Shall I continue the tale of my previous interactions with Martin?"
He waves a hand. "Please ... if you would be so good."
"Very well," Aisling smiles a bit.
"About three weeks before I left, Dara somehow came with Corwin and his gunmen, and walked the Pattern and made her proclamation. The first time I met either her or Martin was the morning everyone heard that Oberon had returned, when she sorcerously popped up in the forgotten cranny of the castle where I was living, and told me that she was there to bring me to Oberon. She then attempted to make me jump for this treat, and I did not feel that she would risk his wrath by failing to present me alive -- Martin popped up sorcerously, then. She might have been about to attack," Aisling shrugs with a small strange smile.
"So," says Lucas. "You had infiltrated the Castle. Would you mind telling me where?
"I will show you some day if you are struck with the desire to scamper through the dust and birds' droppings on the roof of the servant's quarters."
"That sounds more like a job for Pert, my wife's page. I'm sure he will be delighted to accompany you. Just watch your pockets though. We haven't yet entirely broken him of the habit of picking people's pockets - although he is getting much better at handing things back.
"But I really do need to know you means of egress ..."
"Egress? I fear that I do not take your meaning. I left the castle either through the normal doors, or through the sky."
"As one does," murmurs Lucas.
Aisling tilts her head slightly, faintly baffled.
"You might wonder at my questions, but ... "
"It's Gaston, you know. If he suspects spies are getting in and out, he's give notice - again. And then I shall have to raise his wages because I've never found another valet who can get such a shine on my riding boots. I suspect he uses champagne in the blacking. But, alas, he has a thing about finding unexpected spies in the closet or under my bed, or even materialising in the middle of the room with a whiff of suphurous smoke ... you do use sulphurus smoke when you do that, I hope ... One does have to preserve the decencies ... "
"I'm afraid I have not the sorcerer's skill. I suppose I could drop down from the ceiling some day, scented of sulphur, if you desire it. When did Gaston give notice before?"
"Weekly," says Lucas gloomily. "At least. And certainly every time that Harmony Vesper comes to call. On particularly bad days, he'll give notice both before and after her visit."
Aisling smiles, a bit shy to find herself actually enjoying Lucas's witticisms.
"Martin took me to Oberon, seemed loathe to acquiesce to the King's request for a private talk with me, but then left."
"I wonder why the reluctance," says Lucas sotto voce.
"Oh-- Martin and Dara had been watching me write a letter to my father-- that's how we sent information back and forth--
"How quaint," murmurs Lucas. "I was assuming stranger deformed entities that flickered back and forth to Chaos. It is so nice to know that traditional methods have their place ... "
"Your insight is tremendous, Lord Lucas," Aisling says, a twinge dryly, "The letters were carried by a bird made of blood."
"Oh good!" says Lucas, seemingly much cheered by this. "One does like to feel that the conventions of the genre are being respected. Spying by the Amber Royal Mail Service seems a little ... dull."
"So, Dara chose to make her presence known when I threw the draft I was composing on the fire."
"The nook where I lived was completely cleaned out when I checked as soon as I got back here after the war."
"Well, springcleaning," says Lucas. "We did have five years, you know. And leaving even er ... nooks for five years would have had my Mother pulling on her white gloves and a grim look."
"There were..." Aisling pauses to think, "only three things in there that I think would be really interesting. I had one of Corwin's rifles and some bullets. I had a nonpareil collection of poisons."
"But of course," murmurs Lucas. "What spy in her right senses would be without them?"
"And I'd saved some of the letters my father had sent me.
"From the way recent events have fallen out, I suspect that Martin does not have these, or knowledge of them, although they were well-hidden and I would not have supposed Dara had the time to pick them out. Still; what I wanted were the letters, because a sorcerer could use them to get in touch with my father. So the day after that first family dinner, I sent Martin a note requesting that we meet to discuss the things I left behind. That was my second contact with him; I've heard nothing from it.
"...This is a secondary. --There have been only three times I've made direct contact with Martin, the last at the... Last night. Oh, and at the dinner he did end up having to escort me from the library. So I suppose last night was the fourth. I'm sorry that this is such a poor report, Lord Lucas." Aisling looks very tired, and pauses to rub her eyes, leaving the alluded-to secondary contact with Martin hanging.
"You are tired," says Lucas penitently. "And it is I am meant to be the one not over-taxing my strength."
"You were not among those most damaged by my cousin's attack. I was up all night with one less lucky."
Lucas looks slightly surprised,. "I might not have been most damaged," he says, with the superb arrogance of the ancien regime, "but I was assuredly the most significant."
"You will note that I attended to you first," Aisling says, good humor peeking through her weariness.
"There is that," allows Lucas, and Aisling sees him smile slightly. Whether it's in amusement at her response or a self-satisfied preening that his status was recognised is a little hard to tell.
"What you have told me has been most helpful...
"Oh ... one last thing, if you would be so kind.
"What exactly did you say to Martin to provoke him?"
Aisling looks withdrawn, face lined. After a few moments, she says, "Do you have the letters from my father that I left in the cubby where I lived here?" She fixes Lucas with an eye, "That was the first thing I spoke to him, after excusing myself momentarily to Solange, who had just joined him, there where he stood near his father with his naked blade singing. Everything he spoke to me after that was either foundations for an attack, or an attack."
Lucas blinks.
"Let me see if I have this straight," he says, "for it is quite possible my mind is still mazed.
"There was a deadly attack on Amber by the forces of Chaos. They managed to penetrate not just our borders, but into our very heart, our very core ... The King's life was threatened. All of us seemed in peril at a moment when we were most vulnerable. It concludes with a sorcerous attack - the kidnapping of our Cousin Brita - and the trick with the cards which damages an awful lot of people, including myself and - as you've pointed out - many who were worse injured. Martin dives on his father to defend him, and they both narrowly escape injury and even death. We are left with a scene of appalling destruction and - well, chaos. And it is at this point that you wander over and ask if he's got some letters you misplaced five years ago?
"Does that about sum it up?"
Aisling's head is resting on her hand shielding her closed eyes, which are almost certainly leaking. "It was an enormous mistake, one I'll be paying for for centuries. I-- He'd been avoiding me, and then when I stood up from you and turned around, he was right there... I should have explained right then how it would help him, but I wanted to make it quick since he didn't like me, but I didn't think he'd assume I was an idiot, or that I didn't care about the death, or I thought he'd ask, or know about sorcery--"
Aisling's hand-less arm wraps tightly around herself as her halting voice fails for a moment, which Lucas is no doubt smart enough not to interrupt. "I-- It's my father." She tries to not let the indrawn breath sound like a sob. "All the blood and guards at the coronation, but there's no one to look out for my father but me. I haven't heard from him since the funeral, I haven't been able to call the bird of blood that his magic sustained... When I left him he was so wrung out and tired, and Dara-- She'd called him her least favorite uncle, and he had information about Amber she'd want, and--" One attempt at clarity in all this shuddering lachrymose mess, "She may have just ripped it from his corpse."
"Thank you," says Lucas quietly. "No matter how hard that was for you, know that you have just given me the information that makes this whole thing viable. Not easy ... but viable."
He sighs. "I'll talk to Solace, and we shall see you at your convenience. I can see the path of the peacemaker is going to be just golden.
"But - we shall do all we can to help."
Aisling nods, having bestirred herself enough to retrieve her handkercheif and wipe her eyes. "There is more to be said, but... Later, please. ...With Solace." She moves her hands so she can actually look at him (and her eyes are not quite as pretty when red with tears, so Lucas at least has the comfort of knowing that she's not some long-lost sister of his). "Thank you, Lucas. Your kindness means a great deal to me."
"I am delighted to hear it," says Lucas drily, "for the vast majority of my family will tell you that it is rarely bestowed.
"I shall speak to Solace. And perhaps we may meet all three in the near future, where you are at liberty."
"I will look forward to it." Aisling tucks away her handkerchief with a few blinks, and stands gracefully. "You have my best wishes for an easy recovery, Lord Lucas, and I hope that your restorative rest prove not overmuch a trial in itself," she murmurs, re-donning her sword belt, and then exits, leaving Lucas once more in peace.
Last modified: 19 October 2003