Calling Cards

After the initial conversation with Corwin, Brennan retreats to something of a vacation mode and settles down into a loose pattern. From later afternoon onward belongs to Cambina, and is taken up in all the vacationy, touristy activities of a couple enjoying their own company: excursions to the finer cafes and restaurants, sight-seeing, touring the emerging cultural centers and in general soaking up the atmosphere. If Cambina will indulge in Brennan's penchant for musing about the defense of a place like Paris, Brennan will likewise indulge Cambina's musings.

But then, he would, anyway.

So would Cambina, although she might well indulge herself in the luxury of sharp commentary. Which she does anyway, on a variety of subjects, including Corwin's annoying penchant for patronizing her, Aunt Flora and her control over Cambina's putative sister and putative niece and nephew, and, after a particularly trying tea with Flora and Solace, the question of how a creature as passive as Solace could possibly be Eric's daughter.

Brennan not only indulges, but engages. Relations with Flora, mercifully, is not an issue that occupies the top of Brennan's mind. But it is a relief to think about something other than Huon, Dara, and the Dragon. And besides, it is important to Cambina.

It is important to Cambina to vent about the requirements of family courtesy, at least.

The mornings are given over, according to Brennan's whims, to either exercising or writing. For Brennan, exercise means either keeping his sword arm in practice (alone or with a sparring partner) or re-acquainting himself with the finer points of firearms. Writing, by contrast, usually means several hours of near meditative concentration over the neo-Uxmali writing-ball he brought with him followed, if he's lucky, with the deft grease pencil sketch of one of the 40 primary sentential centers on that writing-ball. These writing exercises take place in the solitude of Brennan's guest quarters.

Sparring partners are available, including Lancelot, who seems to be the head of the Royal Guard, Lord Rein, and Corwin himself on occasion.

Brennan would be pleased to spar with any of them, and honored to spar with Corwin. Is he better than Bleys? If he spars with Greyswandir, Brennan uses a disposable blade.

Corwin uses Greyswandir, yes. Hard to tell if he's better than Bleys. They're both better than Brennan, which is to say amazingly good. Bleys is flashier, but Corwin, legend has it, fought all the way up Kolvir.

And the early afternoons are often spent in a public area of the castle, either reading or more often, carefully carving the three-fist-high lump of stone he has taken from the Pattern chamber. The carving is now unambiguously a male figure, high, and wide, and thick, though the features are not yet clear. There is, however, a flaw in the stone, across the chest of the man. The carving work proceeds slowly, because even though Brennan's hand is sure and practiced, the material is difficult to work with and Brennan is meticulous in his work. He will not get a second chance at this.

If anyone wants to seek Brennan out, he is most easily found in the early afternoons.

Perhaps two days after Cambina's trying tea with Flora, a servant presents himself to Brennan with a card from his aunt. It bears a very proper note suggesting luncheon in the gardens on the morrow. The servant has been directed to wait for an answer from the gentleman if he is ready to give one at once.

The gentleman requests ink and paper, to make a proper reply. When it is provided, the gentleman smoothes off the Uxmali influence from his script, as best he can, and replies:

Fairest Aunt,

I have been remiss in my responsibilities as a dutiful nephew. I shall be delighted to join you in the gardens tomorrow.

Your nephew, humbled,
Sir Brennan, KCOR

Brennan shows up at the appointed hour, adjusted impeccably for the unwritten social rules of Paris, bearing flowers which will suit Flora's coloring perfectly, and greets her with a handkiss and by twining the flowers into her hair if she seems amenable.

(Brennan mercifully does not expect Cambina to come with.)

(Mercifully for all parties, Cambina does not.)

Flora is entirely amenable to having flowers twined in her lovely blonde hair by a handsome young nephew. In fact, she is generally very amenable, restricting luncheon topics to those that will not disturb a gentleman's digestion: trifles of gossip, mostly anecdotes, about Flora's friends and acquaintances in court, the weather, the best cafes and shopping in Paris, and the like.

The food is excellent. Either she has her own chef or she's capable of getting more out of Corwin's chef than Corwin ever does. For all that it's light luncheon fare, it's also served in quantity and courses enough to satisfy Brennan's appetite. Flora doesn't keep up with him, but she has some of every course. If Brennan were indiscreet, he might wonder how she keeps her figure.

In this matter, even Paris would lie for Flora, if it were ever necessary.

One will hope that Flora finds Brennan a perfectly acceptable dining companion-- though he will not pretend to Flora's expertise in the social graces, he is not entirely unschooled. Moreover, the common knowledge of Flora's history leads Brennan to believe that she is, perhaps in spite of herself, drawn toward the decisive, martial men of action in the family. While dalliance with Flora is quite the last thing on Brennan's mind, he will not make what he perceives as the mistake of playing down those same elements of his personality.

For Flora, he is still a solider. Merely a soldier with manners and some acceptable level of grace. He holds up his end of the conversation easily, and eats his fill.

After dessert, as they sit on terrace enjoying the lovely early-afternoon weather, Brennan realizes it's time for discussion to turn to more serious topics. For all that his aunt issued the invitation, suggesting an agenda of her own, family custom and etiquette suggest that it's Brennan's to speak first and Flora's to speak second. After all, she is the hostess.

And when the final compliments to the chef and inquiries as to the recipes are completed, Brennan will play the role of dutiful nephew. This is not a game whose rules he can easily change... yet.

"I would bring you news of your son, but I have very little of it. He left Amber not long after Daeon's funeral, as I recall, and has not been heard from since. But there have been new arrivals: Bleys has a boy, Edan. He seems young, and is definitely exotic. Hannah you may have seen or heard of, but her lineage is unknown. And there is now Meg, whom my son brought back from Shadow and who has been confirmed as a member of the Family by Random."

Flora inclines her head. "Jovian was present at the funeral and I saw Hannah briefly through his eyes. Corwin tells me she's taken Gerard's case in hand, to the point of being willing to discuss the more sordid aspects of his imprisonment with him." She frowns slightly and changes the subject.

A rigourous examination of Flora's first sentence might, conceivably, threaten Brennan's otherwise volcanic digestive processes. He does file away the outlines of a sketch of the implications for later, though. Perhaps if he wishes to see how Cambina looks with a Rebman complexion at some other date.

"Your dear uncle Bleys mentioned his son when last we talked, and the girl Meg as well. He said something about a piece of jewelry that she'd had. If I'd been able to see it, I might have been able to identify the jeweller. I spent some time in Rebma as a girl, during the wars."

"She's gone back with a surprisingly large contingent of cousins who found themselves at loose ends," Brennan says, "with motives including the recovery of just that bracelet for just that reason. I understand she may meet a long lost brother of yours, if she hurries."

"Huon." Flora's perfect smile fades. "My least favorite brother. Corwin is cross. He mentioned that a trump of him had been found among your father's effects. It was a shock to find out your father could make trumps, you know. I suppose he was too afraid of Huon's skill at arms to find him a tempting target for his purposes."

"Brand was, for all his infinite faults, not a stupid man," Brennan says. "What I haven't understood is, why bother to hold and hide such a Trump if you're too afraid of the subject to bother to use it?"

Flora nods. "That's a very good question. But do we know that it was fear that stilled his hand? With Brand, one never quite followed what drove him to do things. Why, for instance, Martin, and not any of your other cousins he knew."

Brennan gives an expansive shrug. "It's not even clear to me just how many of my cousins he knew, or knew of. The common thread between Martin and Huon, I would have thought, is that neither would be missed... perhaps he might even have thought that neither would have anyone to go to if they survived the attempt."

"I suppose I should be flattered he might have thought I'd be effective in protecting Lucas against him," Flora murmurs.

Brennan considers that for a protracted beat, then murmurs in return, "Perhaps so." If Flora has at all made a concession to Brennan's palate for the meal, they will at this stage be savoring a fine coffee, and so Brennan raises his mug, saying, "To ambitions thwarted," and takes a swallow.

Flora raises hers also, joining him in the toast.

Then, "But I fear I've been remiss. I've not heard from Lucas in quite some time, and yet here I've failed to ask after him and his family."

"Solace is as well as can be expected. Whatever her condition is, it seems to be holding stable, for now." Flora sets her coffee cup back down on the table. "The children are very well. Time differentials are such that they've grown quite a bit. You'll hardly recognize them. But I would have thought Cambina would have told you that." Her perfect lips curve in a slight smile.

For Cambina to have mentioned that would have required her to admit your existence as a member of the Family, Brennan doesn't say. "It's only polite to inquire directly, after all. And Lucas himself? Keeping busy in Amber, or Xanadu?"

"Ah, Lucas." Flora's smile grows a touch arch. "I have not heard much from him since he sent dear Solace and the children to me just after the funeral. My sources tell me he took ship from Amber with your fellow knight, Dame Lilly, and Dame Solange. One does wonder where he would be going with such a crew of Amazons, but wherever it is, I have not been advised."

Lilly and Solange, Brennan mouths, intrigued. "Wherever it is, I'm sure he simply did not want to worry his cherished mother with the dangerous details. It is good to hear that Solace is, at least, not worsening. Perhaps it's the solidity of Paris itself that helps her. How have the children settled into their new home?"

Mention of the grandchildren turns Flora's smile more genuine. "Delightfully, particularly in Hope's case. They and their mother are staying in the palace for the nonce. I'm arranging for an hotel for Lucas, as he asked me to do, but I doubt Solace will be up to the demands of managing it on her own without Lucas there. He sent some of his people, and they are useful, but it's not the same, you know. Lady Hardwind, whom you may remember from Amber--she's Solange's foster-mother's sister--is helping Solace and the children settle in."

Flora takes a delicate sip of coffee from her cup, looking at Brennan over the rim.

Brennan nods as though that vital information were available off the very top of his head.

As she sets it back on the table, she adds, "I will admit to wondering what Lucas is doing and when he'll visit her. But, as long as Solace doesn't worsen, there's no concern. Fortunately, he's been there both times she's had these attacks."

"Quite," Brennan muses. "And if her condition has stabilized, then with luck there will be no more attacks, even while he is away. Has anyone else been with her when these attacks occurred? Has their nature been determined, at all?"

Flora shakes her head in the negative. "Solace tells me that Corwin's son Merlin examined her sorcerously after the first attack, and said that her--" there's a wrinkle of that delicate brow "--channels were clear and her chakras were unblocked, which he seems to think is all to the good. That if she'd been attacked, the spell left no signs."

She looks at Brennan, and her gaze settles on the ring of the Order of the Ruby. "Are any of your knights magicians, such that they could verify Merlin's information?"

"It's a Order militant, Flora," he reminds her. "We chose them for their skill at arms. If any of my Knights are wizards, they haven't spoken it to me. I could ask my brother, though, if you think the King will allow him here after the... regrettable misunderstandings... at the Coronation."

Those blue, blue eyes come up to meet Brennan's gaze. "I could speak to Corwin, if you thought your brother might be able to provide us with some insight."

"To be honest," Brennan flashes a Bleysing smile, knowing how the word sounds among Family, "it would probably do Ambrose more good than anyone else, to be given a measure of trust in this court, on this matter. I assume they're both competent magi-- pride in my brother aside, I have nothing to recommend the skills of one over the other."

Flora nods.

Despite himself, Brennan slouches in his chair, ever so slightly, as he turns the issue over in his mind, looking for the neglected angle. "It may simply not be magic, at least not of the sort Ambrose and Merlin practice. If so," he shrugs, to indicate the speculation, "it might be that neither of them will ever return more than Merlin has already told you."

"Without disparaging Merlin's skills, which I'm sure are considerable, a second opinion seems warranted. Particularly since there has now been a second attack," Flora explains.

Brennan shrugs, conceding a point that meant little to him, anyway.

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for? Any other witnesses to the events othr than Lucas?"

Flora shakes her head. "Not according to Solace. I'm worried for her. I just want her to be well, her and the children. If there's some flaw in the bloodline ... Dara walked the Pattern, and she's some generations removed from Benedict. But if Solace's blood is too thin .... you understand my concern?"

Brennan's eyes narrow slightly, then relax, then narrow again more deeply. "You worry about your grandchildren, I'm sure," he says, almost distractedly. "But you should have little worry there-- Ossian is healthy enough to have survived his Walk, after all. For Solace, though... forgive my indiscretion, but certain rumors have reached even my ears, and I'm far from the circles in which such gossip travels. How much is suspected, and how much is known?"

"Eric's fondness for married women is well-known. He has had other dalliances--most notably Rilsa of Rebma, who was married to Demond Harga'rel when they met." Perhaps out of courtesy to present company, Flora omits Eric's other well-known married paramour.

Brennan smiles faintly into the pause.

"Harmony Marsh certainly threw herself at Eric before she married Lord Vesper. She wasn't above doing it again after she married him. That my brother succumbed to her charms seems likely enough. But there's no proof positive, and given dear Solace's health, it seems unlikely there ever will be."

"Even in perfect health, I would hardly recommend the surefire method unless she herself were both convinced and eager to prove it," Brennan says. "The consequences of failure..." he spreads his hands and changes the topic ever so slightly. "Still, Brita is said to have a knack for detecting Family members. And Brand certainly had a preternatural knack for discovering us as well..."

Flora nods at the mention of Brita, perhaps filing that away for future reference.

For a brief moment, Brennan's eyes turn inward and reflective in memory, then back outward. "As Lucas certainly discovered, no?"

"He did," Flora says, a sudden frown marring that perfect face. "I did not approve, even before we all knew exactly how dangerous he had become. It was hiding his interest in Lucas that concerned me. If Brand had come to me openly and let me know he'd met my son, I might have felt differently. Instead he met Lucas in secret." She lets Brennan follow that train of thought to its conclusion.

"Yes," Brennan says, deep in thought. "And Paige. And Ossian." It is traditional for Brennan to grind his teeth at the thought of Brand and Ossian in the same sentence. He honors that tradition, and his traditional thinking slouch deepens, comparing and contrasting those names. Some missed detail is pressing on his mind...

Instead Brennan feels a pressure in his mind that he recognizes as the beginnings of a Trump contact.

His scowl deepens, then he understands.

"Trump," he says, to Flora, then rises from his slouch in a single, powerful fluid motion. "Please excuse me for a moment," and he moves with a careful grace to a spot out of the way and out of easy earshot. Flora might not notice until he moves away that he's palmed a knife in his right hand. Brennan might not have noticed he did it even then. He keeps the scowl.

Flora rises and politely moves away in the other direction, giving Brennan distance and privacy.

After Brennan completes the Trump call with Paige, he inspects the Trump she gave him, briefly, then puts it in his case. Drawing a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and using the same gesture to take the perspiration off his forehead, he turns back in Flora's direction.

If she's still there, he re-approaches her saying, apologetically, "Trump call. Nothing dire, but a conversation that needed to take place, and I had no good way of contacting her. She sends her best, and to Solace and the children."

"She?" Flora says politely, delicate eyebrows arching.

"Paige," Brennan says.

"Ah," Flora nods, understanding. "I shall have to extend her thanks, on my own behalf and theirs. I'm pleased to hear that thing are--not dire--with her. Her children are well?"

Brennan visibly chooses his words with care: "Her children are unchanged since last I saw them, which is as much as one might ask, under the circumstances. I will not be surprised to find her one of the first to establish a permanent residence in either Paris or Xanadu."

From there, Brennan is content to lapse into small talk, familiarize himself with any Parisian gossip that might be worth knowing, and in general continues to pass a pleasant afternoon with Flora.

Of his future plans, he makes no secret that he'll be returning to Amber in the near future, likely with Cambina. For longer range plans than that, he mentions errands according to an agenda set by Random, but deftly turns detailed queries aside.

The evening after Brennan's separate conversations with both Flora and Paige, Brennan arranges for a second, and almost certainly final meeting with Corwin, at least for this visit. The meeting includes Cambina and its purpose, as Brennan reminds Corwin, is to perform the best type of divination they can: a Trump casting by Cambina on the blade of Greyswandir itself, or at least in its presence.

Brennan and Cambina arrive at the time and place Corwin so desires, their Trumps in hand. To Cambina's vintage set, Brennan adds those of Uxmal, which he devoutly hopes will not show up in this reading, and Paige. If for some reason they are needed, Brennan also has Trumps of Caine, Bleys, Fiona, and Amber, though he does not volunteer any of them unless they are missing from Cambina's deck.

Corwin uses a map room in the Louvre. It's near his study, but unlike the study, has a large conference table that they can use to cast the cards.

He has laid a map of Paris on the table.

When all is ready, when Cambina so indicates, Brennan speaks the question:

"Where lies the fastest route to Weyland the Smith of Greyswandir?"

Bottom row:

Fearing Shadows

Deirdre (reversed)

Drowning in Armor (reversed)

Middle row

Autumn

The Smith (reversed)

Top card

The Fish (sideways)

As Cambina lays the cards, Corwin lays the blade flat on the table and spins it. He whispers a word, which Brennan can't hear, but from the pattern of sound, Brennan suspects it's in Mabrahoring rather than Thari. The tracery of silver on the blade flares and the sword suddenly stops moving.

Brennan, who has already made a quick but critical study of the map's depiction of Paris, gives Corwin a half-surprised, half-intrigued look, both at the language and the actions.

When the sword stops its motion, Brennan sees where it is pointing, scowls, commits it to memory, then evidently reaches an internal decision of some sort. He glances at Cambina, back to the sword, and nods.

When Corwin isn't looking, she wiggles her fingers and rolls her eyes.

Brennan catches her eye, stifles a smirk even though Corwin isn't looking, and shoots her an amused glance in return: not bad-- considering it's in a heart of Order.

"That's your road out of Paris," Corwin says, and comes over to look at Cambina's cards. "Now let's see what lies in your path."

It seems to be traditional, although perhaps the tradition is new, for the querant to give the first interpretation. The card spread occupies Brennan's thoughtful attention for several long moments, then.

"Interesting. I never expect anything specific out of these readings, and I still never get what I expect." Proceeding through the cards in order, he begins, "Fearing Shadows. The traditional, non-literal reading is that the past is filed with unnecessary or overblown fears. Since the goal here is to find something that can combat the Dragon, and that the Dragon has already slain Daeon and tried to affinate his children, I think I'll dispute that. The more literal meaning would indicate that I fear something out of Shadow, which is... possible." He glances at Corwin, saying, "I don't think the Dragon is a Shadow of anything, but it is locked in a place of Shadow, certainly. I could be optimistic and think that my fears of the consequences of the war against it are overblown but I think I'll pass on that, for now, as well.

"The present-- Deirdre, reversed. What Deirdre could have to do with this, I have no idea," he muses, almost to himself. He looks to Corwin for some insight there. "Or Marius, perhaps?

"The future-- drowning in armor, reversed. I think I'll just pat myself on the back there and take that to mean that precautions are genuinely warranted. It's also a good reason to ignore the traditional meaning of the Past card and go with something more literal.

"Virtue and Fault, Autumn upright and the Smith reversed. A rather forceful pairing. We have what we need to complete the task-- find Weyland and procure a tool to deal with the Dragon-- but that along the way, there is the strong potential for innocents to be harmed." He sighs, "It is going to be a war, and all roads lead to destruction in Shadow.

"And the Fate to be decided: The Fish. Wisdom and perception versus shallow impulses." Brennan closes his eyes in a painful frown. "Yeah, that's just about right." Whatever he sees beyond that, he does not share aloud.

"I..." says Cambina. "I think the thing about shadows is what might be in them. We may be fearing what might be exposed. Some shadows are made by those who want to hide things from the light." Her fingers cross that card and trace over to the Deirdre card. "Reversed. Why? What trait or aspect did she have which is negated in the present state of the world and our path? It can't be something simple." She shakes her head and her fingertips glide to the right. True prudence. A warning not to let our guard down? Prudence can only be true if there is danger."

Once Cambina starts speaking, Brennan never takes his eyes off hers, even though she's focussed on the cards. He does not interrupt, but nods slightly when she validates his interpretation of the Past, frowns when she, too, fails to understand Deirdre.

She takes her other hand and touches the second row, both cards at once. "This spread always appears to me as 'the competitors', so I'll read it that way. I'd look for fruition of plans, and the danger of consequences afterwards." She shakes her head.

Again, Brennan nods, but does not interrupt. He can understand the principle and the warning, but there's nothing for it to go forward.

"The Fish tells us nothing, so we're missing the message or else we're assuming that it means something more than it means and missing the essential shallowness. I hate this card. It's almost as bad as "Overlooking the Diamond" for meaninglessness in this position. And it always tells me I've overlooked something important." She looks up.

When she does, she'll see that Brennan disagrees about the Fish. It clearly means something to him, and he just as clearly doesn't want to say it, at least not in front of Corwin.

"Mocked by pieces of paper. Is it any wonder that fortune tellers are universally scorned?"

"Not while I live," Brennan says, giving her hand a squeeze.

Then, turning to Corwin, "Majesty, thank you for your time and your blade. Will you offer an interpretation? Final advice, final requests?"

Corwin has remained silent through Cambina's and Brennan's interpretations of the cards, betraying little by his expression. It's almost as if he didn't want to taint their opinions by offering his own. Now he nods, slowly.

"You are driven by your fear of that which comes out of Shadow. Make sure the enemy you'd strike with the blade you'd ask Weyland to forge is the true enemy you must defeat. Deirdre's place in this matter disturbs me, and I cannot speak of it, but I will tell you this: her greataxe was of Weyland's forging. I've always wondered what she paid for it. And you'll be wise to take precautions dealing with Weyland. Not all of his magicks come from this side of Ygg."

At the mention of Deirdre's axe being Wey-forged, Brennan's eyebrows go up. That, he certainly had not known, and it's an altogether new and unfamiliar piece in his mental puzzle box.

"If the next two cards are Virtue and Fault, call the one an excess of interest in Weyland and the latter an excess of interest in his blades. And of the Fish--" he smiles, and the Witch-King of Avalon and Paris melts away in favor of the man "--check the price tag before he rings up your purchases."

Brennan gives one of his rare smiles to Corwin in return. "Thank you, Majesty, on my behalf and that of others." If it's not too much of a broach of etiquette-- and in private company, he expects it is not-- he will shake the King's hand as they depart, after the necessary small-talk of departure.

After leaving Corwin's presence, Brennan and Cambina spend a last day and night-- two, at the outside-- in Paris, with the imminence of their departure and probable separation adding a last bit of fuel to Brennan's desire to relax and indulge in vacation-like activities. If Cambina had a favorite cozy spot for dinner, they'll go there.

But in the end, there are things Brennan needs to do, and surely things that Cambina needs to do as well. And so, shortly after the meeting with Corwin, they depart. Brennan's plan is to depart Paris by the road indicated by Greyswandir, then loop around back to the port so that Brennan can keep his promise to Cambina of a sea trip back to Amber, keeping to the letter of Corwin's omen if not, perhaps, the strict intent of it. Perhaps when Brennan sets out for real, he'll pass back through Paris and depart by that route again.

Cambina clearly indulges your whim on this, with exactly the forbearance you'd expect.

Which is to say, with slashing, acerbic commentary and all rights fully reserved to remind Brennan why things don't go the way he planned, no doubt.

As it is, the sea voyage is hopefully peaceful, lasting somewhere between the limit of Cambina's patience for secluded trips and a few days before the time of arrival that Brennan indicated for Amber-- he has a few things he wants to do before he is ready for Paige, anyway.

Cambina is going back to Xanadu, where she's got something she's planning to do. If you don't bring her back there, she can get there herself from whereever you take her. She won't want to be away at sea so long that she's not back by the full moon.

Since it's Brennan's boat (perhaps owned nominally by the Knights, but functionally Brennan's) and since time is rather pliable for Brennan as long as he's not in Paris or Xanadu, it will be his pleasure to bring her to Xanadu before returning himself to Amber by boat.

As she departs, Brennan takes her hand, then transfers his grip to her waist, and pulls her close for a lasting kiss. He brings his lips close to her ear, whispering: "Come back to me safe."

It is, rarely, neither a request nor a suggestion.

"Normally I'm the one who predicts my death. You, on the other hand, are trying something dangerous. No getting wounded, loverboy. I don't want Paige having to nurse you back to health."

Brennan refuses to even let the ramifications of that form in his mind. "Nothing so dangerous as telling you what to do," he says, punctuating with a kiss and, reluctantly, letting her go.

[T]he very next part of Brennan's master plan is to supplement the Ordered divination of the Trumps with a rather... less Ordered divination of Brennan's devising. Knowing that Cambina is not the greatest fan of Sorcery in Amber, he asks Cambina whether she wants to be present for it, or whether she would just as happily be delivered safely to the docks of Amber before Brennan departs for a location some tens of miles up or down the coast, or perhaps behind some uninhabited island out in the Sea of Amber, away from prying eyes for a few days. The process, he explains, will probably take a few days in addition to travel time. But it shouldn't be dangerous.

Nope, places to go, stairs to climb.

He might have preferred to try this in Paris and leave directly from there after his own divination, but there are reasons and more reasons he will not attempt it in Paris or Xanadu except under the gravest duress.

Sure, we know just the island to send you to, currently uninhabited...

So, If I understand correctly, your plan is to do the above, then call Paige and figure out how to head across America, seeking the soul of the country on your battle-hardened motorbikes? If so, start a thread with Brennan sailing up the coast in a one-man boat...

But of course.