The charter of a ship proves absurdly easy, so much so that Edan wonders whether it was his own tweak of probability, or whether someone else's hand is involved. Either way, with a little extra time on his hands before high tide, he finds himself walking through the gardens off of Amber castle.
He keeps to the gardens closer to the castle, not taking the risk of straying too far and taking too much time. The water gardens are fascinating enough, and Edan stares fascinated at the water splashing merrily out of stone sculptures and into basins. The best suprise, however, is a tall pear tree he discovers on the way back; a slight smile, a glance around, and shortly therafter he finds himself sitting on a branch at head-height, one pear in his mouth and a small collection of its bretheren in the crook of his arm.
While sitting in the tree Edan hears someone walking down the path. Not fast, not slow, more of a meandering walk with occasional pauses.
Soon a blonde-haired woman comes into view, somewhat visible through the branches.
Edan smiles behind his pear, tosses it into the vegetation behind him, swallows, then lands with a thump beside the path. It is a minor miracle that none of his captured pears fall, but also obvious what he has been doing. He does bother to jump quickly, polite enough to give the woman time to react.
She startles and jumps back several paces, hands coming around defensively and eyes wide. Then she registers the pears in the crook of his arm. She blinks and straightens, her arms falling to her sides. She's wearing an old sweatshirt with lettering across the front and a pair of jeans.
"Hi," the woman says cautiously, still eyeing him. "Apparently you like the pears."
"Ah. Yes," Edan says. He's dressed for a long sailing trip, in the style of the Land of Peace. "It will be a long, tiring trip, and these would be small enough recompense." He shifts his arm a little, picks a pear off the top with his other hand and holds it out, palm up.
"Considering the trip," he says, with quite a bit of caution himself, "I did not think Uncle Random or Uncle Caine would mind."
Solange accepts the pear. "Thank you." She narrows her eyes speculatively and asks, "Bleys's son?"
"Indeed," he says, and smiles; the white teeth clash against dark brown skin and irises the color of molten gold. "I am Edan ibn Bleys ibn Oberon, recently arrived from the Dar-es-Salaam." He bows as eloquently as he dares, without upsetting an armful of fruit. "I am afraid you have the advantage of me, though I am guessing from your dress that you are likely family."
"Solange, daughter of Gerard," she smiles back, imitating his bow. "I owe you a debt of gratitude for bringing Kyril in to Xanadu. I heard you had some trouble at the very end and that's when Kyril managed to get himself hit over the top of the head."
"He did," Edan replies. "And in that, I was to blame. There are those who would rather hit me in the head, and I believe Kyril got in the way." He tilts his head. "He is all right, I trust? You have seen him?"
She grins. "Oh yes, I've seen him. He's...just fine." The grin widens and she bites into her pear. "Is that situation all resolved? Those that would rather hit you in the head?"
Edan pauses a moment, then shakes his head and smiles. "I do not think so. But those who have the capacity and opportunity to try a head-bashing have doubtless learned that I am of the blood of Amber. So far, it has been enough to give them pause." Another smile. "I have heard your name, of course, but do not know much about you. You are a ranger in Arden?"
"Was a ranger. Brita took over my duties there and I served elsewhere, on the Regency Council and by helping to re-establish former shadow paths." Solange looks at him curiously. "Were you involved in the Patternfall War?"
"Ah...no. Not as you would think." He inclines his head slightly. "I have been... out of touch, yes. I was in the deserts of my homeland... working to win the freedom of the desert tribes. When the creatures of Chaos came, my war changed completely. After things resolved themselves, that is when I began my walk to Amber... and came upon Xanadu and Kyril instead." He pauses. "Shadow paths? Have you made them? I will be attempting one from here to Xanadu... I will not be able to escort any more ships back and forth."
Solange nods. "Jerod and I made one from Amber to the Land of Peace," she replies. "Laying a shadowpath for others to follow is certainly more efficient in the long run... Why can't you escort any more ships?" She takes another bite of her pear and wipes the juice away with the back of her hand.
"Time has suddenly become limited," Edan says. "After the trip to Xanadu, which would be an effort in itself, I have back-to-back trips planned." He smiles slightly, and looks away. "One must be careful in what one wishes... after years of immersing myself in the problems of my homeland, wishing for travel, suddenly I find myself with nothing but travel, and away from my new-found family."
"We're all immortal--we'll still be here when your travelling is through," Solange smiles, her cheek dimpling. "What is your homeland like?"
"Ahh, I would not have time to properly do justice to the beauty of the Dar-es-Salaam. The sky, the ocean, the awesomeness of the Great Desert..." Edan does go into a short description, however, his voice communicating the complex feelings he has for his homeland, even if his eyes do not. From the jagged mountains, the teeming cities, the blue of the ocean, the huge shifting sea of sand, the total aridness of the desert, down to such things as a nest of desert eagles and the power of the djinn that cross over to interact with the affairs of Men. If not overly long, the story is at least colorful...
Solange listens raptly, not interrupting. As he speaks, her gaze travels to his eyes quite often, transfixed by their unusual color.
"Your description," she says when he's through, "reminds me of the Land of Peace. Your father...spent time there...before the War..." Solange trails off, suddenly uncomfortable.
"For ships and men," Edan agrees. "Against my uncle Eric. And while he was there, he met my mother, Julnar. The Firemaid."
He shifts the pears in his arms with almost a defensive gesture. "My father set events in motion which helped define my own life. The need for ships meant a need for oil, which in turn led to the oppression of my chosen people. Greed and the lust for power saw to that... if you have been to the cities, you must know what I mean. I fought to free them, the tribes of the desert. In that, I was successful." He tilts his head. "My father did what he thought he had to do. I did the same. My father and I... have been at odds over many subjects. But not directly. I am still a dutiful son... and now, brother."
Solange nods. Apparently he's met Paige. "If I may ask, did Bleys know you existed? I mean, before the War? While he was there...for ships and men?"
Edan blinks. "I should say he did," he says. "He has met me, infrequently, since I was a child. Is this... important?"
"I was just...surprised...that he didn't drag you into the War to fight with him, which is what I would've done. But then again, perhaps I wouldn't, perhaps to try to ensure a child of mine wouldn't be associated with what I'd tried to do, in order to protect a child I loved..."
She looks into his eyes briefly, her own narrowing in wonder, then shakes her head and looks away. "I'm sorry--please forgive me. It's not any of my business."
Edan stretches out his hand, palm outwards. "I take no offense," he says. "At the time, I know he wished me to avoid... family. We had had little contact. And I know my father was aware of what I was doing, even though I was working against his own interests. I believe he made the decision to let me fight my own battles."
Solange nods. "Did you win?"
"I am," Edan says with a ghost of a smile, "my father's son."
Solange returns his smile.
He shifts an errant pear at the top of the pile, adds, "Though Chaos intervened at the end, the phenomenon cousins Conner and Brennan called the Black Road. It complicated the war, made things more... difficult."
"Yes...your shadow wasn't alone in that. Black Road manifestations happened elsewhere too. What did they look like? The Black Road creatures?" she asks curiously.
"They were the hamaaj," Edan says. "Demons from an ancient time. They wielded darkness and fire... but they did not expect to meet cannon and pistols." He smiles. "Much like the afriti, they were... but always cloaked in shadow. Darkness was a weapon for them."
"I'm happy to hear you won. Other shadows were not so lucky," she says, thinking of Kyril and Pacifica. "Can I help you with your pears? You're about to lose a few..."
Edan decides not to bow and topple the whole pile. "I would be honored," he said, "unless, of course, it will keep you from your own path..."
"I can make a short detour."
After helping Edan with his pears and feeling sleep still elude her, Solange decides to go looking for Uncle Caine. She wanders down to the Naval Club, figuring that's as good a place to start as any. (She changes clothes first--into a split skirt, blouse, and sandals--figuring her old college sweatshirt is probably not the most appropriate attire for the occasion.)
The doorman asks her business, and informs her that the Regent is in the club, meeting with the Marquis. A functionary offers to take a note up to them, if she'd like to wait in the visitor's salon.
She accepts the doorman's offer and asks for directions to the salon.
The visitor's salon is a well-appointed room just off the entryway. Solange has been asked to wait here before. The majordomo asks her if she would like refreshment and points out a well-stocked writing table. If the message is of a sensitive nature, he offers to convey it personally.
He's not quite unctuous, but it's close.
Lovely. Yes, she remembers the place, and the associated memories aren't exactly pleasant ones--having the majordomo condescendingly attend to her just reinforces her impressions of the establishment.
Solange requests a bottle of whiskey--the smooth 18-year-old stuff, not the 9-year-old rock-gut--and two tumblers, hoping Caine does indeed opt to talk to her. She pens out a quick note asking to speak to her uncle, indicates that it's not an emergency, and signs her name.
Solange hands the note to the majordomo when he returns with the whiskey, then pours herself three-fingers worth of amber liquid and settles in to wait.
After just long enough to impress her that he's in charge and she has to wait on him, Caine walks in. "Niece."
"Uncle." The corner of Solange's mouth quirks in mild amusement.
He takes in at the whiskey and the crystal tumblers as he sits down in a chair across from her. "I didn't expect to see you here. What can I do for you this evening?"
(OOC: I believe it's still night, like maybe around midnight or the wee hours, but anyway...)
Solange pours him a drink and refreshes her own. "I wanted to offer my help with the Great Migration. I met Edan earlier and he told me he was about to embark on a shadow-path-laying expedition, so is there something you need done closer to home? As if the situation in Arden wasn't explosive enough, I hear there's a long-lost uncle headed this way--with guns."
"Yes. I spoke with your father earlier. Apparently Huon is ready to prosecute his vendetta against Dad and Bleys again. Bleys really needs to learn to stop taking half measures." Caine scowls.
Solange wonders briefly how Gerard knew about Huon -- he was suppose to be resting and healing in some magical shadow -- but doesn't ask. Probably the same way she found out, by exchanging gossip with another family member.
Dismissing that problem, he looks at Solange. "There is a thing I need done that you're ideally suited to, however. I need someone to deal with the Rebmans about the death of their man Montage."
"Oh? I've been out of the loop. What happened to him?" she asks.
Caine takes a sip of his whiskey. "He had an unfortunate water-related accident," he says. "By which I mean he accidentally floated to the top of the harbor."
Solange raises her eyebrows. "I see. And was this accident an accidental accident, or an intentional accident? I'm assuming the latter, so I'll also ask if you know who and why?"
Caine shakes his head. "I don't know anything for certain, but Montage was Coldstream Guards and his sister Bend, who is also missing, is, or perhaps was one of Moire's dirty tricks people. So there are a lot of people who could be interested in doing him in. Many of them work for me, or I should say my brother, through me." A beat, then he adds, "As Regent.
"They think Conner did it."
It's at that point that Solange feels the mental tingle that's the precursor of a trump call.
Solange takes a drink of her whiskey as she contemplates whether or not to take the call. Hoping that it's not urgent, she decides not to -- it's almost certainly Lucas, he doesn't wish anyone to know that he created that trump of her, and he has other trumps to use.
She exhales and examines her finger as she runs it along the tabletop, hoping to give the impression she's in Deep Thought about the subject of Montage, and blocks the call.
Caine waits to hear the results of her Deep Thoughts.
No Deep Thoughts per se, but eventually the trump call stops and Solange looks up. "What would you like me to tell them?"
Caine shakes his head at the misunderstanding. "I don't want you to tell them anything, other than the usual lies about the Crown working assiduously to find the murderer. I want you to listen to them. They might take you seriously enough to give something away."
"All right. I can contact the Rebman Embassy in the morning and make the arrangements--unless there's a different channel you'd prefer I go through?" Solange inquires.
[OOC: This is assuming there even is such a thing as a Rebman Embassy. I don't remember it coming up before...]
[OOC:There is, as well as an estate in Garnath. Bleys once advised Lucas to solve his problems by burning it to the ground. In a move designed to annoy Oberon, the Rebmans call it Lir House. Oberon didn't even notice.]
"No, that's the right answer. Ambassador Kaia was recalled after the coronation, but Princess Valeria is here. She's Jerod's sister, and believes in talking to us through the popular press."
"I'm...familiar with her reputation," Solange asserts as she refreshes their drinks. "That'll be an interesting conversation."
She takes a drink from her glass, smiles at the smooth, smoky flavor of the whiskey, and looks up at her uncle. "I talked to Brennan this evening," Solange says, changing the topic of conversation. "He's been using the Knights and the army to organize what resources he can throw at the Migration and he's wondering if the navy is available to help with landside activities--he's concerned about the situations in Acadia and with Huon and wants the army to be able to free itself if needed."
Caine taps the table with his glass. "I dare say he does. However, the Army isn't really that useful. Or existent, for that matter. It's mostly made up of beached sailors and men who couldn't cut it in the Navy. Brennan wants it to be more than it is." He shakes his head.
"Don't bother telling him that, it won't help. Just imagine what it would be like if he left for a decade." He stands. "The only reason it hasn't been disbanded is Random's... eccentricities and Brennan's ambitions."
"Now the knights, they could be something." Caine has reached the bar. "Another?", he asks.
"Sure," Solange replies. The night was young. "The Ruby Knights? Aren't they already 'something'?"
Caine pours two drinks and hands one to Solange. "Depends on your sense of time. How many generations of them have there been? How many have been buried with honors remembering their great service in the long-ago wars? How many children have been raised on the stories of their valor and daring? Jones Falls is more important to Amber, still."
Caine drinks about half of his whiskey. "Brennan's young. He doesn't give anything time."
Solange chuckles--Brennan is much older than she is. "That, I suppose, is something time will fix." She matches Caine and finishes half her drink as well.
"Uncle Caine, in your opinion, what is the future of Amber now that we have Xanadu? Will we always maintain a presence here because of what's left of the old Pattern? Or will someone finish the job and destroy it?"
Caine shrugs. "Ask someone who thinks the cards tell the future. Would you want to save it, Solange?"
She smiles and shakes her head. "I give him the opportunity to expound with an interested audience and he turns me down. Hmmm."
Solange returns her attention to Caine and shrugs. "I think it should be destroyed now that there's a viable Pattern in Xanandu. But I'm less than half a century old. What do I know?"
He shrugs back. "I don't know. It's possible to be a score of centuries old and not know things. Some people are irrationally attached to the idea of Amber, even if the reality of Amber wasn't always what we wanted. I'm one of them."
"Sentimentality aside, it's a loss. Our benefits from maintaining a garrison here to protect a broken Pattern that we, as far as I know, get no return from, gives us a cost benefit ratio of less than one," Solange says, frowning. "The only reason we're here is to keep others from using it against us. I think we should cut our losses and finish the job."
Caine sits for a moment, thinking. "So, you agree with Ossian? There's no value in the architecture or the cemeteries or the memories? The ghosts of Amber will find it hard to sway you." He looks around the Naval. "Not everyone will agree. What will you do with those who don't want to be cut with the losses?"
At the mention of ghosts an interesting expression passes across Solange's face, then is gone. "In my opinion, the liability of guarding a broken Pattern is greater than the value of the architecture, which can be rebuilt. As for those that don't want to be cut with the losses, offer to evacuate them to Xanadu. It's their choice whether or not they accept."
"You should go down to the pattern chamber, Solange. See what you see. See if you can see what is and isn't there." He stands. "Is there anything else? I'm always afraid that if I put off the Marquis, he will die of apoplexy just before telling me something vital."
"No, nothing else," Solange smiles. "Thanks for the drink."
After Caine leaves Solange departs the Naval, making sure to wave at the unctuous majordomo. She walks a few streets away and finds a quiet corner beside a closed food stand. Her back to the wall, she pulls out Lucas's trump and concentrates on it.
As the trump acquires focus in his hand, [Lucas] checks that the street before them is deserted. Satisfied, he reaches out a hand to Detail and brings her through the trump with him.
He lets her catch her breath for a moment and then says cheerfully, "Do you know your own way from here? I'd be the perfect gentleman and escort you home, but I have to see some people."
"I can get home from here. I am home." She looks around and, for the first time, starts to well up in tears. "Thank you, so much, just... thank you."
"My pleasure," responds Lucas with a courtly bow (the one given by a superior to an inferior for whom he has done a kindness and is gracefully acknowledging due thanks). "I am sure that you will be consumed in the giddy joys of being back in Amber for some little while, but, if you should feel inclined to have further encounters with one as loosely attached to the ruling family as myself, or you find yourself in need of further aid ... "
As she is speaking, he is removing a card from his cigarette case - a slightly less concealed area than where he keeps his trumps (although Detail might think it the same place). This holds business cards, and Lucas's long, clever fingers hesitate for a moment ... and then he draws out not the card for Madame Golightly nor the one for her organisation, but that of the most respectable of family newspaper men, Salter.
He scrawls a couple of lines on the back of this, adds the flowing St.Cyr cipher and hands it to Detail.
"Here," he says. "If ever you need help, use this."
He smiles suddenly, his most charming smile. "Not that I believe you will. You strike me as a young woman of considerable resource."
She smiles, thanks him again, and curtseys. Then she turns and leaves.
And when she is well gone he murmurs, under his breath, "And yet people wonder why I married Solace."
He give a faint half-smile and straightens his jacket. Then he heads for the Red Mill with the alacrity of a homing pigeon seeking the coop.
As Lucas emerges from the alley, the first thing he notices is that there are a fair number of young men casually standing in the street where they can watch the Red Mill. It's very clear that someone is trying to intimidate someone else. They note Lucas' emergence from the alley, and seem "alertly casual".
Lucas glances at them. He has enough contacts to know where a wide variety of young bullies fit with the different street gangs, and he's also well placed to know if their intent is more politically charged. And he has, after all, had the pleasure of more than a few good-looking young men in Amber (OOC - does he recognise any of them, or is he able to deduce their provenance?).
There are people who have ready muscle available. Very few of them clean up so nicely. Lucas does not recognize them all, but the ones he does are probably Rodolph Harga'rel's. He is a friend of the Red Mill.
Well. Looks aren't everything, after all. There's a reason why it's known as Rough Trade.
The Red Mill itself is a hive of activity, and there are numerous men of the same stripe inside.
Again ... Luccas, under the mask of smiling bonhomie, checks them out.
Three bartenders seems excessive, although service may be excellent. One of the older women who often acts as hostess comes over when you enter.
"Lord Lucas! What a pleasure it is to see you again. Cartage, please open a bottle of the reserved wine for his Lordship."
"How very kind, Muffin," says Lucas. "And perhaps you'll join me for a glass yourself? Have you heard at all from Silken?"
"Not in a few months. She did write, concerning some business matters, but correspondence is so slow."
He's fairly certain that she hasn't - by now Silken should be well on the way to amassing her first million in Xanadu. Lucas is anticipating a lucrative (and very possibly delightful) return on that particular investment.
He is a little surprised that so many months have passed here in Amber. Clearly, he needs to catch up on the gossip.
When (OOC - If???) Muffin joins him, he talks amusingly for a while until she is relaxed and he is sure that there is no-one unexpected in their vicinity.
Then, without changing his easy, good humoured expression and tone he asks, "So, what has drawn all this attention to the Mill, Muffin?"
"You haven't heard? I'm surprised. It's all over the papers, more's the pity. Someone confronted one of our girls over the murdered Rebman, quite publicly. What we've managed to keep quiet was that it was Violet." Her lips press firmly together.
Lucas's dark eyebrows lift slightly. When he arranged security for Violet in the wake of the raid on Prudenter, he had done so in the belief that Martin would soon be removing her from Amber - as Lucas had removed Silken. Obviously something has gone wrong ...
"I've not read the papers," he says to Muffin. "There was a severe shortage of newsprint on our voyage ... you'd best bring me up to speed. Who is this murdered Rebman? And where's Violet now? Could I see her?"
"Of course," she answers. "The Rebman was one of their Princess' bodyguards. Troublesome chap named 'Mondage' or 'Bondage' or something. Anyway, he was found floating in the harbor and his sister is also missing. Their princess is livid, and making public charges. Not that they're not warranted. Halfhand as much as said he was going to diligently bury the investigation with the body."
Lucas frowns slightly.
"I see I have been away too long. The social niceties such as subtlety and discretion seem to have taken a markedly downward turn in my absence. But unless Violet has undergone a radical personality change while I was away, I fail to see how any Rebman, no matter how much seawater might be clogging their neural passages, could possibly be dense enough to imagine she might in some measure be responsible."
He reaches for his brandy glass and swirls the warm amber liquid around for a moment, considering.
"I'm not entirely sure yet who died and left me his shiny white armour," he says at last, "but I think I'd better see Violet. Privately. My usual room."
He rises and caresses Muffin's cheek. "You've done well," he says. "All of you. Both in protecting Violet and bringing this to my attention."
She offers him a pleased courtesy, and goes off to summon Violet.
Then he heads for his usual room, not hurrying, indolent and arrogant as ever, stopping to exchange a careless word and a jest with those he knows (both guests and employees), coupled with an affectionate caress of a shapely buttock here, a kiss to a softly scented cheek there ... His demeanour suggests a leisurely good-humoured obliviousness to all the tensions within the Mill.
Until he reaches the room that has long been designated his - and Silken's - by custom and discreet payments - now, alas, Silken-less.
Instead, Violet is waiting there. She is a bit above middling height, but not so tall as Martin, and a bit too irregular of feature to be considered pretty. When she smiles, and is happy, she might be called beautiful instead.
Now she is not smiling.
When Lucas enters the room, she rises from the couch and comes to greet him. "Lord Lucas? You bring news?" Her dark eyes cannot quite meet his.
"No," says Lucas. "Not from him. I've been away - travelling. I came back to Amber - I'm en route to Paris ... "
He looks at her closely. "Violet, how long is is since you've seen the Prince?"
She looks at Lucas, briefly, calculating. After a moment, she says, "After my lord dealt with the Rebman. He said he would be back as soon as he could to remove me from Amber, but that it might take some time. Until then, he instructed me to remain in the Mill."
Lucas casts a swift look round the room, looking out for mirrors. As he recalls, he'd been fairly firm with Silken that every last one was removed from their room, including (to his lasting regret) the rather splendid full length one that had been suspended above the bed. He had been inclined to hang on to that - largely on the grounds that whatever activities took place before it (or, more accurately speaking, under it) were not something that he was particularly concerned about people witnessing. Indeed, they might even find it instructive - and most certainly engrossing.
Of course there were disadvantages to banishing every other mirror from the room. Silken complained of the difficults of applying makeup when lying flat on her back and staring up at a reflection ten feet away - Lucas's point that it was equally hard to tie a cravat in that position met with a slightly frosty reception. But eventually even that mirror had been banished.
Still, Violet's words are enough to make Lucas check that no mirror has crept back in by chance.
There are no mirrors in the room.
"I saw some of Harga'rel's men downstairs," he says softly to Violet. "Did the Prince provide for them to be here, or is it Harga'rel's call after you were accosted?"
"Harga'rel has put men into place. My lord said he had men about as well, but that they were--" Violet has to stop and think of Martin's exact word choice, "--subtle."
Lucas nods. He would expect no less. And yet - perhaps he cannot rid himself of a troubled feeling that for Violet to be accosted at all, subtlety seems to be overtaking prudence.
He pours a brandy and benedictine for them both - guaranteed to warm and soothe.
"Tell me exactly what happened," he says.
Violet takes the drink gratefully. "It was a week ago, perhaps ten days. The Mill always has guests about, and even though I entertain no man but my lord, I do grace the downstairs chambers with my presence. My lord does not wish my company to become--stale.
"One of the guests that night was a Rebman, and he became drunk, as sometimes happens, and belligerent. He said that my lord had murdered his brother knight over me, and that he had murdered his brother's sister, and that he--being the drunken man--would repay my lord in kind."
Violet stops, and takes a moment to start her tale again. "It was thought that he meant he would avenge the murders on me. There was a scuffle, and he was removed. I do not know what happened to him afterwards."
"I see," says Lucas thoughtfully. He will have to ask Muffin about that - but presumably Martin's men have done their duty after all. "And since then, there's been no more trouble?"
Violet shakes her head in the negative.
His tone is a little more relaxed now, the tone of one who thinks it looks like a splendid evening can be had after all. The white armour (so much more dashing than Julian's) can be placed back in mothballs; the noble charger can be turned loose to get his oats. And so, hopefully, can Lucas.
"I will see that the Prince is fully informed of all that has happened," he adds encouragingly. "He may have other plans for you now."
"He is well?" Violet asks hopefully. "I worry about him. He does many dangerous things."
"Indeed," says Lucas. "And yes, he was well when last I saw him. But I've been away, you know,sailing perilous seas and ... well, never mind. Travellers' tales can be tedious when you haven't brought back any pictures. I'll alert him to the problems here, as I've said."
Violet makes a graceful neck bow and relaxes slightly. "You are gracious, Lord Lucas. How may I serve you this evening, otherwise?"
Before he can answer, Lucas feels the questioning tendril of an incoming trump call.
lucas registers it, so that the person on the other end is aware they have a response, but then he smiles at Violet.
"Your company is charming, Violet, but I do need to speak again with Muffin. Ask her to join me, please, and ask her to knock."
Once Violet has left (OOC - which, from the GM posts I giess she does so that Solange gets a look in), Lucas opens himself more fully to the trump call, but Solange is still aware of a measure of guardedness in his greeting.
"Solange? You're alone? Where are you?"
"Ambertown. And I'm alone." She looks askance at Lucas and turns her attention more closely to his surroundings. "And where are you...? Not in any distress, it appears..."
"Not distress, no," says Lucas. He relaxes, now that he has confirmed the identity of the speaker. But Solange - from their recent late adventures, if nothing else - can tell that he's uneasy. "I'm at the Red Mill ... I thought I'd wile the time away pleasantly until you were free. What brought you to the town? There's no trouble at the Castle, is there?"
Solange shakes her head and smiles, Lucas catching snatches of recent memories having to do with...hot water? And loofahs?
"No trouble," she replies, "though I did have a disturbing trump reading concerning Floaty Woman, and afterwards the longest conversation I've ever had with our cousin Brennan, and tonight I met a new cousin, Edan.
"Sorry I couldn't reply when you called earlier, but I was talking to Caine." Her eyes narrow. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," says Lucas. "Yes. There's been some trouble here - Martin's belle amie, Violet. Threats were made. Rebmans."
Solange's eyesbrows rise at the mention of Rebma.
"She tells me that Martin has the security sitruation in hand, and he wants her to remain until he fetches her. That should be enough ... And I must say, I'm not overly fond of the idea of dragging Martin's protesting mistress out of the Red Mill on a vague hunch, nor attempting to explain it to him afterwards ...
"But anyway. Brennan ... yes, he's probably the sharpest tool in the bonehead drawer. A certain naive trustfulness in certain departments, especially considering he was spawned on both sides by homicidal maniacs from all I can gather, but generally sound. What of this new cousin, though? A shy, erudite, retiring violet? And did Caine have anything noteworthy to impart that you are permitted to repeat?"
"I enjoyed the conversation with Brennan, thank you, and it was enlightening on a number of different levels," Solange replies. "So is that the type of man you like--shy and retiring and erudite? Because Edan doesn't strike me as shy and retiring, so you can probably forget about him and resettle your attentions on Ossian. That is, if you're done at the Red Mill. I'm sure _your wife_ won't mind all these side excursions."
"Not at all," says Lucas cheerfully. "It always gives us something to discuss over the morning croissants." His dark eyebrows lift a fraction. "In fact you seem far more concerned than Solace about these little ... side excursions. As I'm sure you couldn't possibly be motivated by any feelings of a personal nature, I do have to wonder why you get so indignant on Solace's behalf.
Solange opens her mouth to give an indignant retort, but Lucas continues on.
"But not," he adds swiftly, "at any great length. Sweetest of cousins, I need a favour."
"What?" she asks warily.
"I want to get to Paris and see my family," says Lucas. "There, you see, the virtuous family man."
Solange snorts, but then smiles.
"So I'd like to borrow your trump of my mother, or else come up to the Castle and borrow the one from the trump booth. I was assuming that was where you were, actually."
She shook her head. "No, keep meaning to get there and haven't managed it yet. I don't mind if you borrow Flora's trump."
A minute later, after a bit of contorting and wrestling with her trump deck one-handed, Solange hands the trump to him through the contact, face down. "I'll get it from you next time I talk to you."
"Thank you," says Lucas. "And do you have any plans?" As he speaks, he is slipping the card away in his case for later use. "The Oracles was interesting but not, I fear, of much practical help in your quest."
Solange shrugs. "I didn't expect it to be. That was your quest, not mine. Caine asked me to speak with the Rebmans concerning the recent death of one of their Coldstream Guards. Do you know if that's related to what's going on at the Red Mill? I remember that you mentioned Rebmans."
Lucas seems about to say something, and then hesitates.
"Solange," he says, "I think I'm about to make you an offer that I can truthfully swear I have never made to any woman in my family before.
"Please, join me here at the Red Mill."
He holds out his hand towards her. Despite the mocking tone of the words, his face is grave.
Solange pauses, caught between her surprised laugh at his offer and his serious expression at her previous words. She glances down at his hand, then back up at his face. "All right, if you think it's that important."
She takes his hand and lets him pull her through the trump.
She finds herself in a large room, tastefully furnished. There's a vast fourposter bed with some interesting fitments that one doesn't always see in the average home (although not, alas, the great mirror overhead any more). The sheets aren't silken - just a very fine cream linen. But the bed is but one part of the room. Silken entertained Lucas here, after all, and there are many ways to be entertained. The fine harp standing to one side of the curtain drawn against the night's air - the beautifully designed marquetry bezique table, the corner where they might dine a deux ....
"Come and sit here," says Lucas, indicating two air chairs positioned comfortably either side of the fire. There is a rather splendid rug that looks to be bearskin in front of the fire itself. "It's more secure to talk here than across the trumps."
He speaks with the certainty of one who has made dam' sure that his hideaway is well protected against intrusion ... in various forms.
"First of all ... tell me all you can about this death of a Rebman. I'm getting a nasty feeling things are sliding together, like oil attracted into a larger gloop."
Solange settles herself into the proffered chair and looks up. "I'm sorry, but there's not much to tell. Caine told me his name was Montage and that he turned up dead in the harbor. What do you know?"
"That there have been repercussions here," says Lucas grimly. "Threats have been made against Violet - Martin's girl here. In other words, the Rebmans believe that Martin is responsible."
Solange shakes her head. "That's not what Caine told me. He said that they think it's Conner."
"Interesting," says Lucas. "So ... There's one thing being said through official channels, and quite a different word out on the streets. Rumours here are that Archer is attempting to bury the truth ... which makes one wonder. Is Cousin Conner being offered up as a blood sacrifice, or are the Rebmans seeing the chance to speak two fish with one gaff?"
"I think their chances of spearing a fish here--either Conner or Martin--pretty slim, especially if Archer is already busy taking care of things. Does this situation affect you somehow?" Solange asks curiously.
"Personally?" Lucas shrugs. "I ensured my own mistress was established in Xanadu some little time ago. Actually as she is now a thriving entrepreneur there, I suspect that if we continue as lovers it will be more for auld lang syne than continuing the relationship we enjoyed here. So you could probably say my concern here was relatively altruistic. I like the girls, and I wouldn't like to see them caught up in some Rebman feud. Hell, if I were going through to anyone but Maman, I'd probably take them with me. Le Moulin Rouge has always had a pleasant mellifluousness."
"Are you referring to the sound or the sex? On second thought, nevermind--I don't want to know." Solange waves her hand. "Sometime I'll take you out for a nice supper and you can tell me about the Oracle. In the meantime I'm going to go back to the Castle--this place makes me decidedly uncomfortable."
"Before you go, though," says Lucas, "you might as well have a word with Muffin. She's one of the senior women here - she can fill you in on how the Rebman situation is looking from this end of the telescope. She should be here any moment ... " He looks at Solange quizzically. "Unless you feel that even meeting her would compromise your high moral stance?"
"At least I have morals," Solange replies matter-of-factly. "Talking to Muffin sounds potentially beneficial. Thank you for the suggestion."
"My pleasure," said Lucas at his blandest. "Violet was fetching her - can I offer you a drink while we wait?"
"Certainly. I've already had red wine and whiskey this evening, so something different, please."
"Brandy and benedictine?" suggests Lucas, getting up to mix the drinks with an expert hand. "Well, it comes close ... Ideally this should be the one true Benedictine of which all others are but shadows. And yet ... "
Still, he is smiling as he hands her the aromatic liquid in a balloon glass.
She smiles back--it's hard not to--and accepts the drink.
After some time a woman, handsome but not pretty, comes to the door. "Lord Lucas?", she inquires. She sees Solange and curtseys, but does not address her.
"This is my cousin, Lady Solange," says Lucas. "Muffin, will you join us for a drink?"
"Yes, thank you. Whatever you're having." Muffin waits for a cue to seat herself.
Lucas gesture for her to take a seat and pours a third brandy and benedictine.
When Muffin is settled, Lucas glances at Solange.
Then he speaks. "Muffin, can you tell us everything you know about the threats that were made against Violet - who made them, and what they claimed. I'd like my cousin to hear it directly from you."
He hesitates before adding the next thing. "Violet believes that security here is completely watertight - and I'm using that word advisedly. Muffin, what do you think? Are the girls safe here? Is Violet safe?"
Solange listens to Muffin's reply, sipping her drink and saying nothing.
As Muffins speaks, Lucas doesn't look at her. Instead he moves away to the window, drawing back slightly one of the rich brocade curtains so that he can faze out on the darkened street beyiond. The candles in the room are never bright; it takes little time to adjust to the dakness of the street beyond, even as he listens to Muffin's words.
"First things first," Muffin says. "I believe the Red Mill is as safe as anywhere can be, but anyone can be gotten at, just the same. There have been attempts--" she looks meaningfully at Solange and Lucas "--but none have made it through our security, nor have any of the bribes been accepted. Without being reported, that is."
As she finishes, Lucas is quite still, one white hand still lifting the curtain at an elegant angle.
Is he looking at the street beyond? Or is he seeing his own rooms in the castle, and remembering something that happened some time before?
Lucas swings abruptly from the window, letting the curtain drop back into place with the softest of sighs. There is something about his expression, something about his eyes, that suggests he has reached an inward decision.
But all he does is simply to retrieve his brandy and benedictine and nod equably at Muffin.
"Tell us both about these attempts. And the direct threat."
He glances at Solange to see what his shrewd cousin is making of this.
He finds her bemusedly watching him. When his eyes meet hers, she flicks her attention back to Muffin.
She shrugs. "There's not much to tell. Too little employment in some quarters, cheap gin and overpaid former soldiers and sailors, sensational tales of murders and aggrieved foreign princesses who insinuate things about honest, hardworking courtesans, and it's no surprise that a small riot could be incited.
"We've been lucky. They haven't made the broadsheets and raised popular sentiment against us. That would make those mobs look like patient and polite customers." She blinks, and turns to Solange "begging your pardon, My Lady." It's unclear what part of her speech she decided went over the line.
Solange makes a small gesture of acquiescence.
"And the latter was, as I said, a gentleman patron who turned out to be no gentleman. He insisted on seeing Violet, to confront her about her crimes against Rebma. We declined for her and added more guards."
"Do you know the identity of the man? And what crimes specifically was he claiming?" Solange asks.
Lucas simply watches over the golden rim of his glass.
She purses her lips. It is not her most attractive facial expression. "He blamed her for Bondage's death, but didn't say anything overly specific that I heard. I don't know his name. You may want to talk to Halfh-- Sir Archer for more details. His men took the man away."
"Bondage? Who's Bondage?" Solange asks. "The Rebman who died was named Montage."
Lucas continues to listen attentively.
She nods again. "Of course, My Lady. I am not very good with foreign names."
It's apparent by Solange's expression that she thinks the interview with Muffin is over. She glances over at Lucas.
Lucas nods a dismissal. But a polite one that suggests appreciation for her help.
Once Muffin has left, he says to Solace, "Do you have Martin's trump? I'm starting to think it would be safer for all concerned to pull Violet out of here now. And I believe in this case Martin's paranoia may well ... ah ... trump his dislike of having his orders countermanded."
Solange shakes her head. "No trump of Martin. I think you should leave Violet and the situation here. I know you said you care about the girls here, but why bother getting involved when Martin says he's already taken care of things? It could be taken as an affront.
"It's not worth it, is it? You have the trump of your mother. Contact her and go back to your wife and children."
Lucas sighs. "My sense of vague unease against Martin taking affront at my actions? No contest, really, is it?" He picks up the trump of Flora, and then looks at Solange. "You'll be going back to the Castle? Of course ... you have a trump."
She nods. "I want to see you go first. Then I'll leave."
"Spoilsport," murmurs Lucas. "Still determined there should be no more cakes and ale."
By the slightly smug look on her face, Lucas would guess that he hit the mark. "Solace misses you."
"Would you mind passing the parrot? I believe he's grown quite attached to that hatstand in the corner but he'd best come with me."
And while Solange can risk her fingers retrieving the parrot, Lucas focuses on the trump of Flora.
Solange decides not to risk her fingers on that damn parrot of his and picks up the hatstand instead. She sets it beside him as he concentrates on the trump and retreats to a chair out of line-of-sight for Flora.
After a moment the trump contact opens to reveal Lucas' mother. From her costume, Lucas suspects she is hosting or attending a salon and has retreated somewhere quiet to take the call. "Bonsoir, mon cher. Comment ca va?"
"Tres bien, merci, Maman - et tu?"
"Tres bien aussi."
"As you can see, Maman, home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill too, for that matter, and hoping to rest once more in the comfortable bosom of my family. Besides, I'm running out of neckcloths, and no-one has quite Gaston's way of starching my cravats. Will you bring me through ... or do I need to change first? You are in Paris, I take it? Is Solace there? Or mes enfants?"
"I am in Paris. Solace is asleep at home, as are the children." Flora smiles. "Solace is thriving. She does so well when you're away, mon cher."
Lucas's lizard-like smile meets her own. He has clearly not forgotten his card reading in his cabin on the way to Aesir Island, and the revelation it gave him that his mother was wiser than he had guessed to his subterfuges and plots.
"Then," he says, "we shall have to see if the joy my dear wife feels at our reunion is sufficient to balance the queasiness you feel my presence in the flesh might cause. Me, I think I am perhaps more dangerous to her at a certain distance."
Solange raises an eyebrow.
She offers her hand. "Come through. I can have our hostess sneak you out the back door."
"How very kind," says Lucas, deeply moved (and probably with no intention whatsoever of avoiding a party). "I shall instruct the parrot to be on his very best behaviour."
He reaches to take the bird on one wrist, after the fashion of a hunting falcon (parrots will be worn lower on the arm in Paris, this year), and hold out his other hand to his mother. A last glance around the room ... and who knows how much this room has seen? ... a last rueful smile at Solange, and then Lucas - and parrot - shimmer in rainbow light, as they cross to Paris.
Solange gets the strange feeling that she's not going to see Lucas again for a long time, and as much as he can be annoying and snarky, she'd come to enjoy his banter while they were travelling together. She'll miss him, but she's also looking forward to returning to Kyril's warm presence in her bed.
She regards the place where he stepped through for a moment, the room for a moment longer, then pulls out her trump of the castle and activates it. Barring unforseen circumstances, she steps through.
Solange stands at the castle gates at a spot she knows is watched by Amber's guard. The gate stands open and the lone (visible) gatekeeper bows to her as she approaches. Behind her is the city of Amber. Somehow it looks less magnificent than it used to.
Indeed. Solange turns her back to the city and walks into the castle, nodding back to the gatekkeper as he bows. She strides purposefully up to the trump booth, discovers that it's been moved already to Xanadu (OOC: I believe that's the case--I'll retrofit if not), and sighs in frustration.
She instead turns to her room. Upon finding Kyril still asleep,
[OOC: I'll make this assumption--if you'd instead like to have a conversation with Kyril and Solange I'm happy to oblige.]
she undresses and slides into bed, snuggling up to him to warm her cold hands and feet.
Last modified: 23 January 2007