The sailors come through into the Captain's cabin, most looking somewhat wide-eyed around themselves as they drip. The more astute members of the party leave the cabin quickly.
Tallow makes to do so, and the Captain speaks to him. "Mister Tallow, see that your men are dried out and sent to their stations. And send a party to clean this mess up."
Tallow nods and makes to leave. Kyril grins at this, but says nothing.
Lucas arrives last. From here, he can see that the storm hasn't reached the ship, which rides at anchor across from the island.
"I don't think we're the ones who slipped," Solange states as she puts away Lucas's trump. "Slippage requires movement, and we haven't moved, as you can see. You, however, have been moving all over the place."
"We walked to a beach and inspected a wreck," says Lucas, wandering to the railing to look back at the island. "We walked back - well, scampered - to that ridge there when we had word that the ship had gone. Then we took shelter on this side of the islannd in a cave - I wonder if you can make it out through the foliage - around there. All appearances and rumours to the contrary, I'm not incompetent - I shouldn't slip in the course of a simple stroll. Not unless something else is happening; something untoward. A more powerful will than mine operating on the island. And that, whatever cheap jibes you may have heard, limits the field considerably. I have a feeling ... "
He stops and shakes his head. "Once the storm has passed, we should return and retrieve the longboat. Presumably with this sized crew, we have a second - or some smaller vessel. After that irritating business with the Titanic, I do believe one should have plenty of options for escape."
Solange gazes out at the island as well. "I don't think you'd just slip on your own, either, which points to something untoward apparently happening. So what could it be? It's either a natural phenomena or man-made. If man-made, for what purpose? We're out here in the middle of nowhere."
"How loosely are you using the term 'man'?" reponds Lucas. "In this context, it wouldn't apply to any of us. Or to the Chaosians. It strikes me that this could be an excellent jumping off point for Amber, if you preferred the physical plane for your journey. A portal ... but how? And to what?"
The captain speaks up. "Excuse me, my Lords. At this distance from Amber, I'd have been surprised if we didn't depart Amber's seas. The instability out this way is why we don't have good charts. There aren't any paths on the Golden Circle that start this far from the City."
Kyril looks at him. "So you don't come this way because..."
The Captain's bland delivery continues "Because if we don't have royalty with us, we might not be able to come back."
Solange glances at Kyril to gauge his reaction to that proclamation.
"We have an anamoly here," Solange continues. "Burning question: do we stay and investigate, or do we continue on in our search for the Paresh?"
"The fire of your burning question, sweet cos, will shortly be drowned out in the downpour," says Lucas. "I say we wait out the storm at a safe distance from shore. After it has passed, we recover the longboat and then, based on what - if anything - we discover then, we explore further here or we press on."
He inspects his jacket disparagingly. "Actually," he adds, "I think I did not come off wholly unscathed from our expedition. I believe - indeed, I am convinced of it - I have a water stain on my sleeve. I must change at once. Do feel free to join me for a drink and civilised conversation once the charming novelty of watching the rain fall wears off."
And, unless detained, Lucas will head for his cabin.
Solange looks after him as he departs. Her expression, rather than annoyed or angry, is merely...thoughtful.
After half a moment or so, she turns to the captain. "We'll wait out the storm--move the ship to avoid it if you want, whatever you need to do in your best judgment--and then we'll go retrieve your longboat."
The captain nods. "Yes, Ma'am. If we lose the boat, we'll get or make another."
She nods a farewell to the captain, then smiles an invitation for Kyril to join her if he likes as she also leaves the cabin.
Kyril does. "If I knew of a harmless compound that would cause your cousin to sweat profusely and stain all his own clothing, I should keep it to myself, shouldn't I?"
Solange smiles and reaches up to touch his cheek, then lets her hand drop. "I think he wanted to talk to me privately. You know, most people would just excuse themselves politely and ask on the way out. Lucas, for whatever reason, likes to hide behind that haughty peevishness of his. I don't believe he means it.
"That's not an excuse," she continues, holding up a hand. "Merely an observation from someone who has seen him be both amazingly charming and amazingly an asshole and believes both extremes are an act."
Kyril shrugs. "Maybe, but if it's not worth anyone's effort to pierce the veil to see his inner buddha nature, no one will. What's the difference between acting like a jerk all your life and being a jerk?"
"Your motivations for doing it, perhaps?" Solange ventures, then shakes her head. "Enough with psychoanalyzing Lucas. And this waiting is driving me insane." From the emotion she puts into the last statement, Kyril may guess she's referring to more than just the present situation. "Let me go talk to my cousin and find out what the hell he wants."
"I thought we'd expanded our scope to everyone. I'm not convinced that intentions, good or bad, matter as much as outcomes. If I intend to save someone's life and I don't know how to operate properly, they're still dead on the table. At some level the actor is the Actor." It's a philosophy Kyril has espoused to Solange before, although usually he has a drink in hand when it comes up.
"The road to hell and all that?" Solange says, then shrugs. He has a point, but this isn't the time to debate it. No drinks in their hands, for starters.
She reaches out and gives Kyril's hand a quick squeeze. "I'll get a straighter answer if you don't come. He acts up more when we're together around him."
"Is that it? Well he'll have to just suffer, preferably in silence. Go. Come back soon."
"Always," she replies solemnly, then smiles.
Solange leaves Kyril and heads to Lucas's cabin.
Lucas saunters into his cabin, under the baleful eye of the parrot.
"Hello, sexy," says Lucas to the parrot.
"I," says the parrot coldly, "am the very model of a modern major general."
Lucas ignores the bird, and instead walks over to the bureau where stands a framed portrait. Solace - and the children. No trump this, but Lucas stares at it for a long time as though willing it into moving, breathing life.
"Hello, gorgeous," he says absently. He does not seem to be addressing the portrait.
The parrot seems to feel that some sort of response to this is called for, and ruffles its feathers.
"A wandering minstrel I," it observes. "A thing of shreds and patches."
Lucas turns and fixes the parrot with a steady eye.
"As some day it may happen that a victim must be found, I've got a little list--I've got a little list," he says evenly.
The parrot, miffed, puts its head under its wing rather ostentatiously.
Lucas sighs and walks to his berth. He sits down upon it and stares at the opposite wall.
From this angle, and from this angle only, it is possible to see that there is a narrow path between Lucas's multifarious belongings and the opposite wall. A corridor of clear space.
Lucas leans over and reaches under his pillow to retrieve two objects - something that looks rather like a baseball mitt and a firm leather ball. He sits upright and throws it so that it follows a trajectory of floor, wall, Lucas's mitted hand.
Floor, wall, hand. Floor, wall, hand.
The parrot raises its head above its wing to watch.
Floor, wall, hand. Floor, wall, hand.
By and by, the parrot starts to whistle a catchy little ditty.
By and by a little longer Lucas hears a knock on his cabin door. "Lucas? It's me," says Solange. "Can I come in?"
"Come in!" responds Lucas.
When she enters, the parrots breaks off from the tune he was whistling, gives an appropriate wolf whistle and proclaims, "Hiya, sexy!"
The inflection in its voice seems to be Lucas's.
Solange startles briefly. "That's new. I've not heard him say that before."
Lucas shoots a suprirsed, but approving look at the bird. He is standing in the middle of the room, calm and composed (although the eagle-eyes might spot a bump under his pillow). Unless he has several jackets all of the same cut and colour (not an impossibility, knowing Lucas), he has not changed.
"Cousin," he says warmly. "No escort?"
Solange waves a hand. "Let's pass on the verbal sparring and get right to it. Was there something you wanted to say to me privately?"
"Spoilsport," says Lucas without rancour. "I was hoping to borrow your cards ... for a reading. Perhaps they can tell us more about the island."
She raises an eyebrow--apparently this wasn't what she was expecting Lucas to want--then nods. "All right. You'll probably just get a bunch of ambiguous crap, but sure, why not?"
Solange takes her trump deck out of her pocket, pauses ever so slightly, then hands it over to Lucas. The trumps are in a hinged wooden case painted with a geometric design.
"Have you ever had enough trumps to do one of these before?" she asks curiously.
Lucas grins as he opens the box. "Now," he says, "let's not be petty."
Solange returns his grin. "I didn't think so. I'm not being petty, just...inquisitive."
He shuffles the cards with the ease of someone who has earned several respectable livings in his time on a varierty of craft dedicated to the pleasures of the gambling table, such as steamers plying the Mississippi, small intense junks moored in the harbours off Indo-China, and those attractive if idiosyncratic craft that traffick beatween the gamma bands off Episilon Five. Of course, there the cards have fourteen irregular sides and so are a little harder to shuffle ...
He seats himself at the table and nods to Solange to do likewise.
She straddles the other chair and rests her chin on the back. Solange proceeds to watch Lucas and her trumps intently.
He sets out the cards before him in the pattern known, in some Shadows, as a Celtic Cross. And in others, of course, as a Keltic Kross. And in some Shadows not at all.
[For thos e not familiar with the tarot, this is the spread Lucas is using:]
1: The Griffin
2: Spring
3: Death (reversed)
4: The Phoenix
5: Striking the Dragon's Tail
6: Florimel
7: The Fool
8: Brand (reversed)
9: The Defender
10: The Priestess
Lucas does not feel that this reading has much bearing on the island.
[OOC: With the exception of the two elders, which I subbed in, I drew this cold. The cards aren't just talking to Lucas. They're SCREAMING.]
Lucas starts to turn them, murmuring under his breath. Solance can hear the words, as he does so, almost like a children's rhyme, interspersed with Lucan asides.
"This covers me ... really? This crosses me ... This crowns me .... ah. This is beneath me ... This is behind me .... This is before me - oh, what a joy! And yes, yes, this is me. So surprise me. This is my house - ah. Hmmmm. My hopes and fears .... and what will come."
A long silence.
"Oh," says Lucas. "Oh my paws and whiskers."
He looks up at Solange. "You know, I don't think this is about the island at all."
Solange frowns and cocks her head as she studies the cards. "They look to me as if they're talking about your hopes and fears of being tied down to Solace and your kids." She looks up at Lucas to gauge his reaction.
"That might be one way of reading it," says Lucas. He steeples his fingers, looking down at the cards. "There are others."
"I am the Fool. And reading this, I begin to think that I might have been a fool in truth, with no piety about my licence to amuse.
"Bravery ... what bravery? Crossed. My plans for a new life, for new hope, dragged down by the heavy hand of the past. I attempt a rebirth ... a new life, but I take a false step, a dangerous step, and I confront ... Maman. I become the Fool indeed, a prisoner of my past. I've put Brand behind me, reverse him, taken him out of my life - but his poison affects me still, like the filthy exhaust from a badly tuned engine as it drives away. My hope is to protect my family, my fears are for them ... yes. But the Priestess? What have I to do with the Priestess, or she with me? How can I stand between the magical and the mundane?
"My head ... hurts."
He raises his hands to either side of his head, and his fingers sink into his dark hair, clenching till the knuckles show white.
"This is why I don't do trump readings," Solange states.
"She knows. Dam' it. She knows."
"Who knows? What?" Solange rests her chin in her hand, her elbow on the back of the chair.
"My mother," says Lucas. "The trumps - well. That would not take the longest of stretches. Doubtless Maman has had her suspicions for some time. But I believe that she's worked out my heavy-handed attempts to contact Solace."
Solange looks down at Brand's card thoughtfully.
He stands up suddenly, as though he can no longer hold himself in, and starts to pace, watched by an interested parrot.
"Fool! No, no, idiot! And I hand them all over to her. 'Keep them safe, Maman.' Of course, my sweet.' Idiot!"
"Lucas...calm down..." Solange says, sitting up in some alarm. "Flora is not going to do anything to those kids. They're her grandchildren."
Lucas merely turns and looks at her - a look redolent of a certain cynicism that is as French as pate de fois gras.
She pauses briefly to reconsider things, then continues. "Even if, from a very machiavellian standpoint they're still collateral. She's not going to do anything to them if she thinks she can use them to control you. And as long as you don't do something rash and force her hand, everything will be status quo. So calm down."
"She won't harm the children," says Lucas with certainty. "But she will have no such scruples about Solace, unless she believes their mother's well-being is essential to the children. Oh, she won't kill her. Maman's attitude will be that she need not strive officiously to keep alive ma pauvre Solace."
Solange runs a hand over her face. "Why would she let Solace die? What would it gain her?" she asks reasonably, trying to diffuse the situation. "I can think of more reasons for Flora to keep her alive."
"She let my father die," says Lucas. "Tant pis. He was no longer amusing to her. So.
"Solace she has never found amusing."
Solange has nothing to say to that. She switches the subject.
"Okay...question for you...why does it matter so much if she knows you can create trumps?"
"It's not the creating," says Lucas. "It's what I might do with them." He shakes his head. "She sees them as something that I had from Brand and that, in itself, is dangerous."
He seems to be calming for the expolsive outburst, but it is just that the temperature of his mood has gone from hot to cold. The anger is still there.
Solange spreads her hands. "Paige learned to draw trumps from Brand too, but no one's organized a posse to hunt her down. What does Flora think you're planning to do with trumps you've created that is so dangerous from what anyone else who has the skill to create trumps has done?"
Lucas hesitates for a moment in the middle of the room, and then lifts a hand, running it through his dark hair and pushing it back from his face.
"Because she knows ... I could have used a trump when the children were in danger, and I chose not to. Doubtless she thinks she can do better." He shrugs. "Perhaps she can. But I would prefer not to have my children raised by her."
From Lucas's tone, that seems to be something of a studied understatement.
Solange exhales. "She's not said anything to you. It could be that she doesn't know. You're basing this sudden paranoia on interpreting an ambiguous card reading.
"But whether she knows or not, it's apparent to me watching you pace back and forth that you need to talk to her about it. Figure out what stance you want to take and be the first to bring it up. You'll be coming in with a stronger position if _you_ bring it up than if _she_ brings it up."
"You're suggesting that I tell my mother anything?" says Lucas, his voice blank with disbelief. "Of my own free will?"
"Yes, I am," Solange replies seriously. "I'm not saying to divulge your every secret to her, but telling her bits and pieces will give you more latitude and control in your relationship with her than if you never tell her anything."
"I'll take it under advisement," says Lucas. "I must consider, after all, that the cards might be telling me what would happen if I abandoned my customary habit of being economical with la verite, and told my mother anything like the truth.
"Now, shall I ply you with alcohol, or shall we go on deck and see what the storm is doing?"
"Phwwwwoar," suggests the parrot, salaciously.
"Storm," Solange says, giving the parrot the hairy eyeball. She gathers up her trumps, counts the cards to make sure they're all there, then replaces them in their case. Lucas's trump goes on top and Gerard's is second.
"Although I'm happy for you for all the deep insights the cards provided into your own life, I have to admit disappointment that there was nothing to apply to the situation at hand," Solange states, looking up from placing the trump case in an inner pocket.
"We can try again later," says Lucas. He massages the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. "Oddly enough, the expenditure of comparatively little physical effort is nonetheless taxing."
"If you wish.
"Shall we?" She waves to the door and precedes Lucas out onto deck. Once there, she looks for Kyril and for the current state of the storm.
Kyril is standing at the rail, talking to Tallow.
The storm is pressing closer. It's now raining on the island, and if it keeps up this pace, it will reach the ship in minutes. The storm seems to have an unusually distinct leading edge. It's raining hard behind it, but not before it. There are sailors moving quickly on deck and above.
"Interesting," says Lucas, after watching it for a moment or two. "Are you sufficently recovered from the exertions of bringing us aboard to try shifting us away from it? Or, if you prefer, it away from us?"
He gives a sudden smile. "Bet you tuppence that you can't."
"Heh. The storm does look unusual. I hope you're wrong." Solange waves to Kyril, then leaves Lucas to walk over to the captain.
He strolls forward to where Kyril and Tallow are standing.
"So," he says. "What do you make of this, eh?"
A somewhat grandoise gesture indicates the approaching storm.
The two men turn towards Lucas, but keep an eye on the weather.
Kyril shrugs. "I think it's atmospheric condensation, a natural phenomenon brought about by convection patterns in a generalized hydrologic cycle. Tallow thinks it has to do with the storm in a nearby parallel place called a shadow, and speculates that there's a natural path between them that we're near."
"Yes," says Lucas to Kyril, with something of the gentle pleasure of a Victorian anthropologist listening to a remote tribe describing their first encounter with Western artefacts in terms of existing cultural phenomenon and fully meeting his expectations, "I thought you might think something like that."
Kyril smiles, thinly.
"A ship could be very, very lost near here, My Lord," says Tallow. "If naught else, we'll be under what we were sheltering from a bit ago."
Lucas nods, taking this - to him - far more practical view of the situation in his stride.
"My cousin is going to try and move it away from us. But it might be advisable to batten down the hatches in any case."
"I'll inform the Captain, My Lord." Tallow makes to leave, assuming he's been dismissed.
If he can see advantages in being lost, he does not mention them to Tallow. Instead he addresses Kyril once more.
"It might be advisable to take some rudimentary precautions, though. I have a sou'wester in my stateroom you can borrow. It is a rather unfortunate shade - I believe the words 'day-glo pink' were banded about when I purchased it. But any port in a storm, eh? Or indeed, any sou'wester."
He turns his eyes back to the leading edge of the storm. "I wonder," he says softly, "what port this storm might show."
"One with our missing ship, perhaps? What you all found doesn't match up with the ship that went missing, according to Mister Tallow."
"Indeed," says Lucas. "Indeed."
He stares at the storm for a moment longer, and then smiles. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen. I must slip into something more durable."
He heads for his cabin [and subsequently the Solange post].
Solange walks up to the bridge. She addresses whomever she finds, Captain or the Officer on Deck.
"I want to try to get rid of the storm coming up on us. That would require the Fairwind to lift anchor, go ahead of it aways, and skirt along the edge while I do my thing. Question for you. If I'm not successful, is it going to be a problem riding out that storm while not anchored?"
[OOC: Did the Captain ever get a name? I looked but didn't find anything.]
[Yes, but nobody asked. It's Captain Lamprey. ]
"That depends on the wind and the rocks, Lady Solange. We're fine with anything that doesn't run us aground. Also, we're likely to end up somewhere we don't expect, but that's fine, we can get back with your help from that."
Solange nods.
"We can prepare sea anchors if need be to slow us if we can't find protected shallows to anchor in. If it gets bad enough to break us apart on the open sea, it'd do so here as well."
"Preferably I'd like to remain in the area and dispell the storm or, barring that, ride it out. If it gets bad enough to break the Fairwinds apart, we'll take us out of here," Solange assures him.
"Lift anchor if you would, Captain Lamprey, and I'll see if I can dispell it."
The captain says "Yes, My Lady." He turns to a sailor at the wheel. "Have Fort weigh anchor, and set a course directly away from the island." He turns back to Solange. "We'll sail away for a bit and when you're ready, we can start turning her, and you can raise the wind behind us. We'll go on light sails then..."
The ship gets underway, moving out of the rain and away from the unnamed island. Shortly Solange has it back on an Eastward course and headed towards or past the island where Lucas left the Ship's Gig.
Things are going well, and Solange thinks she's got the ship moving back towards the clear-skied vista she came by in the first place, when the ship almost lurches into shadow. It's as if the Fairwind was pulled somewhere, against her will, or as if it was sliding through shadow on its own. The sea is very rough and it's a very good thing the hatches have been battened down.
The rain is torrential, and it's driving from the North now, pushing the ship directly at Lucas' Island. The crew is working feverishly and it seems as if they will manage to change her heading enough to not run aground.
With a sickening ripping sound, the Fairwind shudders. The treacherous reefs below the surface must have changed with the shadows as well, and the ship begins to list to port. Maybe running aground would have been safer.
The ship may founder shortly in this storm. And it'll never make it back to Amber. What do you do?
[For the Everwegians in the crowd, Law (reversed) was a very bad draw...]
[Heh. It was indeed.]
"Dàirich," Solange curses, utterly soaked and squinting against the sheets of rain.
She tries to abruptly shift back to the clear-skied vista. She's done abrupt shifts like this before (i.e. turning the corner in a certain hospital) and will put all her fire into it.
[Fascinatingly, we've hit a thing we've never had in the rules. We drew your fate card, "Drowning in Armor", for this shift. We shall now attempt to have you meet your fate.]
You reach for it, and it comes with a massive crack, a blinding flash, and the smell of ozone. The momentary dazzlement of the senses that is required to move quickly comes with a blast of lightning, and then the ship is elsewhere.
Lucas is standing close by. He's dressed in appropriately wet weather gear, and he has a card in his hand, protected from the worst of the elements by the curl of his fingers.
Neither of you can see, but you can smell smoke, and the deck is tilting beneath your feet.
"Dàirich," Solange repeats. She flails out a hand to steady herself and strikes someone's arm, which she then grabs. "I can't see a blessed thing. Lucas, is that you?"
"Yes," says Lucas, his voice remarkably steady, even if the words come urgently - the bored patrician drawl is gone; Solange has never heard his Thari so little accented. "I've got a trump of my room in Amber here - I lost the connection when I was blinded by the lightning." A beat. "Solange - do you know where you shifted us to? Because I don't want to make a idiot of myself here if we're already snug in a children's paddling pool in downtown Xanadu."
There is a growing tension in his voice, as though he is focusing.
"I tried to shift us back to the clear skies we departed from," she replies, her tone puzzled. Her grip tightens. "This isn't what I was envisioning. At all. You ever experience something like this?"
"Since we're both blinded - I hope - temporarily, and you have not the faintest idea of where you shifted us, I'm sure you'll not be surprised to learn that my answer is a provisional 'no'," says Lucas.
She can feel the muscles of the arm she holds tensing under her grip.
"If your little plaything comes lumbering in our general direction," he goes on, "I'd be much obliged if you could fend him off. I'm going to try a rather more gentle shift - a sandbar to wedge us on. And may there be no moaning of the bar either, please."
"'Little plaything'? He's larger than you, I'm sure," Solange mumbles, irritated, though she doesn't let go of his arm. She raises her voice. "Captain Lamprey? Kyril? Anyone else about?"
"Lovely," mutters Lucas. "Invite them all. Throw a party, why don't you? We can all play blind man's bluff together. Or pin the tail on the donkey - I could get really creative with that. Solange - it might have escaped your defecit attention, but I'm currently trying to save all our lives, and my task would be a dam' sight easier if you didn't do your best to ensue half the crew stumbles into me with merry cries of, 'Oops, sorry, didn't see you there!'"
He draws a breath and she feels him tensing once again ...
"Get over yourself, Lucas!" Solange snaps back, completely breaking his concentration. "I smell smoke and I want to make sure they're all right. We're not in any immediate danger that I can see... I mean, determine. Gawds, my kingdom for a working flashlight right now!"
"It's not going to do a lot of good if we're flash-blinded," says Lucas. "But we can test that easily enough."
He reaches his hand into his jacket pocket and withdraws his tinderbox which he presses into Solange's hand (as she is still holding his sleeve).
Solange takes the object as she lets go of his sleeve. "What...?"
"Try and get a spark from that," he suggests. "I'm going to concentrate on finding a sand bar ... just to make sure the danger doesn't become any more immediate than it already is ... "
"All right," Solange replies, realizing the object must be his tinderbox. She drops cross-legged to the ground, opens up the lid, and fumbles through the contents, looking to start a spark.
As Solange drops to the deck, she feels that it is unsteady, tilting, and not in the slow way associated with rolling seas. She hears the fire now and it doesn't sound like it's subsiding, and the shouts of the sailors. They say they're launching the ships boat. Solange feels a hand on her shoulder. "It's Sailor Tallow! Can you see? Come get in the boat, we're sinking!"
Lucas feels someone bounce off of his shoulder, then a hand grabs it. "Who's there? Are you blind, too?"
Another voice, deep and gravelly, interrupts. "This way, Captain, to the boat!"
For what it's worth, you aren't getting any wetter, and maybe the warmth on your skins is from the sun.
[Do you let them lead you?]
Solange lets Tallow lead her away. She keeps her grip on the inderbox. "Tallow, where's Kyril?" she asks urgently. "You were talking to him by the railing when the storm hit..."
"Overboard! He's either safe on his own or not, my Lady."
"What?!" Solange snaps back. "Dàirich," she says for a third time, this time the most vehemently. She fumes, knowing there's not a damn thing she can do about it until she can see again.
"Did lightning strike the ship? Is that why it's on fire?" she asks Tallow. "Are we back where we started? I think I feel sun on my face."
As Tallow leads her away, she strains to see even the faintest glimpse of light.
"Yes, Lady, yes. The mast split and there's a fire on the foredeck. The ship's going down and we're getting off. I don't know where we are!" He puts her hand on a wooden rail. "Climb over, my Lady, it's the boat."
Solange isn't allowed to climb over, as she's pulled bodily aboard by sailors.
"Go," says Lucas to the Captain. "I'll follow."
He rests his hand on the Captain's shoulder as the man starts to follow the speaker. But his touch here is light, and his other hand is moving along the inside of the deck, feeling for an opening or a door handle that he can use to slip inside away and be concealed.
Of course, he is fully aware of the inherent absurdity of a blind man trying to hide - it would be just his luck to be attempting a sneaky manoeuvre here when half the crew is watching, open-mouthed.
[The crew is abandoning ship. Lucas could do the naked weasel war dance and most would just go past him more quickly...]
Lucas finds the opening of the hatchway below, and steps down into it. His foot is submerged to the ankle in water. It is shockingly warm.
"Mmmmm," says Lucas with the pleasure of one who has missed the really decent Turkish baths of Shadow.
He waits for a few minutes in the darkness to see if the water is rising and if so, how fast. Anything above knee-high and he's outta there. He checks, however, if the water is salty - sea-water. And the presumed darkness will be soothing for his eyes.
[OOC - So the length of his sojourn there will depend on the behaviour of the water]
[Must've been unclear here. The first step is ankle deep in water. Belowdecks is already swamped. No going below without swimming, immediately.]
Lucas waits, and the captain's shoulder moves on. "Someone get Lord Lucas!" shouts the Captain. Lucas feels hands on his waist and he finds himself being picked up and handed, like valuable cargo, from one sailor to another.
Shortly, both Lucas and Solange are aboard and the boat casts off. It seems very heavily loaded. After perhaps 10 minutes of Tallow calling cadence for the rowers, the boat stops and drifts. Both Solange and Lucas are starting to see patches of darkness and light now, and it's very likely that vision will return shortly.
Both Solange and Lucas have killer headaches.
The first time that Solange needs his professional services and Kyril has inconveniently gotten himself thrown overboard. "Are you sure Kyril isn't in one of the boats?" Solange asks Tallow hopefully, then, "Can you describe where we are?"
"There's only the one boat, my Lady. We left the other one," says a strange voice.
"So we did. I'd temporarily spaced that," Solange admits.
Tallow speaks up. "He's probably fine, if he can swim. We're in a lagoon. The ship is sinking in a bay." He snorts. "It looks like we got to safety, but only just."
Lucas makes himself as comfortable as he can and waits.
The captain is giving orders. "My Lord, My Lady, we'll be going ashore in a few moments, but I want the men to have another look for anyone tossed overboard."
[assuming they don't object, the boat rows around for a bit].
[Heh. Solange doesn't object at all.]
[OOC - and do they find any swimmers? Or, alternatively, bodies?]
[No, they see the men on shore, but they don't have a spyglass and they're waiting for the ship to sink (in case there are more survivors) before they go check them out.]
Eventually, sight returns to both Lucas and Solange, although the headaches remain. They are in a placid bay, with a central mountain behind them. There are people on the beach, and the crew expresses hope it's the two men who went overboard.
Lucas directs the men to looks for flotsam, and to drag towards the boat any of his boxes that are bobbing about - and then rope them to the back of the boat. There should (by the laws of probablity that operate in the general area of Lucas) be one or two at least, one with a malevolent-looking and slightly damp parrot perched on the higher end. (OOC - if not, let me know. But Lucas will need a change of clothes or five, after all. One has a reputation to maintain).
The parrot and the clothes are found. The parrot knows more French than Lucas expected. One hopes it did not teach this to the children.
Eh bien. It's always useful to have a parrot who can quote your favourite sections of Rabelais. Lucas can't think how he managed without one all these years.
Solange is happy to let Lucas fuss about his belongings. If she needs something later she can always find it in his stuff. She nurses her headache instead and mentally sings praises to the Powers That Be that she has her sight back.
He also takes a look at the man with the strange voice to see if he recognises him, for he should know all the sailors by now. (OOC - is it the man who's strange or just his voice?)
[His voice was strange to Solange.] It's sailor Oboe. He's wounded.
Tallow frowns, and speaks quietly to the royals and the captain. "I recognize this island. I recognize that volcano."
The captain looks at him questioningly.
Tallow says one word. "Asir."
"Lovely," says Lucas. "You know, cos, I think, embarrassment aside, I might have preferred shifting into that paddling pool in Amber."
"It wasn't my intention to shift us here," she defends herself. "I'm not sure why it happened."
She looks at Tallow. "What is this place? I notice with some trepidation that you're not smiling..."
"Asir Island. Bad luck. Things aren't right here."
"What fun," says Lucas in a voice devoid of any amusement.
[Lucas] reaches inside his jacket and withdraws a folding telescope which he snaps into useability, and then courteously hands to Solange.
"Thanks." She takes it and immediately looks to the beach. Is one of the men there Kyril?
Yes. The one lying down. The other is a sailor and he's waving at the boat. Apparently he can see the spyglass.
A worst-case scenario rises unbidden in Solange's suddenly active imagination. She waves back perfunctorily to let the sailor onshore know he's been seen, then silently returns the telescope to Lucas and turns away.
"Now," he says to Tallow and the Captain, "unless we are about to undertake some supremely stupendous maritime feat and row to the next nearest island, I imagine we will, perforce, be going ashore here. So let's bring her in."
"Head 'er about lads, as his Lordship says."
Lucas scans the ocean with the spyglass to see if he can spot any remains of the ship - or more flotsam or even jetsam.
The ship is on the bottom of a lagoon. While the water is somewhat murky, you can see that she's on her side and no more than 10-15 feet below. There is some floating debris, but not much that looks useful.
Then he turns his attention to the landward side as they come in. His interest is less on Kyril and his companion than on questions of the defensibility of their position, and whether they are likely to be attacked - and by what - in the near future. He is also looking for signs of habitation. After all, somewhere on this island there's a place that - according to Tallow - built the ship that they found on the other island. They're not going to be playing Robinson Crusoe here. Or even Swiss Family Robinson.
If it's Asir Island, it's known to be inhabited.
Lord of the Flies remains a distinct possibility, of course.
(OOC - so what does he see?)
The island is verdant, although the central peak is clearly volcanic.
The rowers turn the boat in the placid pool and aim at the coast. Shortly the men recognize the sailor that Solange saw with the glass and seem happy about it. The boat comes into the gentle waves of the beach and Solange can see that Kyril is still lying in the sand. He's not moving.
Solange jumps out of the boat as soon as it's feasible to do so and rushes the beach toward Kyril. Once there, she drops to her knees in the sand beside him and assesses his condition.
Unconscious. Breathing. There's a headwound, but it's not bleeding much.
Solange exhales in obvious relief that he's not dead, as she first feared. She probes the area of the headwound gingerly to determine whether or not he has a skull fracture.
"Again?" she chides as she probes, though she knows he can't hear. "What is it with you and getting knocked on the head?"
Kyril groans and bats ineffectually at her hand. "What's it with your family and getting me knocked on the head? Should I open my eyes, or is that as bad an idea as it seems?"
"Yes," she replies emphatically. "Stay still and rest, dammit. There are a few wounded, but I believe you're the worst off right now."
She kisses him lightly on the lips before standing.
Solange orders a couple of nearby sailors to set up a lean-to to protect Kyril from the sun for she doesn't want him moved unless necessary. She tells them to keep a watch on him and inform her immediately if his condition changes.
"Don't. Get. Up," she orders Kyril sternly, then turns to leave. "Back in ten."
Lucas follows in a more leisurely fashion, pausing to direct the men to bring his luggage ashore and pointing out the one more likely to contain medical supplies, and the one that could contain some weapons - or things that could be utilised as weapons.
(One could do some nasty damage with that cocktail shaker, after all)
The men begin opening Lucas' luggage, digging wet clothes out and generally working for speed rather than neatness.
The captain pulls Lucas aside. "Can you get us home, your Lordship?"
Solange joins them. "We can send everyone back through my Amber trump," she suggests to Lucas. "We've lost the ship. I don't see any reason to continue our current quest."
Lucas appears to hesitate for a moment, and then formally bows his head.
"If such is your desire, coz, then please go ahead. Doubtless it will be best for the wounded. For my part, I intend to remain here for a little - with any of the crew who wish to accompany me. But the choice shall be theirs."
Solange nods. "All right. We can send whoever wants to go back home through the Amber trump, but I want to take Kyril to see Father. I don't have a degree in medicine, but I do know that it's dangerous to get a concussion again before you've completely healed from a previous one."
She pauses, then reaches into her trump case and hands Lucas her Amber trump. "So you don't have to use yours," she explains. "I'll want it back later and I'll keep the trump of you in the meantime."
"Thank you," says Lucas. "I'll keep it safe. And first, before we make any elaborate arrangements ... let's see if it works here."
He focuses upon the trump.
The cold trump feels good in his hands, a stark difference from the tropical morning around him. Amber of the trump lies before him, and soon, the real Amber is an unmeasurable closeness away.
It's raining outside the castle gates. Lightly.
Lucas looks up.
"All right. We can do this. Captain, see which of your men wish to go - and if any are prepared to stay with me. Solange - I'll pass you through first, and then you can receive the wounded, yes?"
"Can you see if you can just pass them through?" she requests with a glance up the beach in Kyril's direction. "I really don't want to leave. If that doesn't work, I'll go through and receive them."
"I'll try," says Lucas. "Captain, will you organise your men? And let's have a first volunteer ... "
The captain does so. The men are instructed in how to act when they appear suddenly near a crowd of excitable soldiers. The captain needs to report the loss of his vessel to the admiralty, and so has to go back, duty overriding desire.
Tallow volunteers to stay, and asks how many men Lucas wants. If it's a reasonable number, he finds them.
"Three," says Lucas. "Strong, steady, uninjured ... and unmarried. In addition to yourself."
He looks closely at Tallow. "Are you sure you are prepared to stay?" he says bluntly. "You have expressed the greatest concerns about Aesir. I will have no-one who does not truly want to stay and explore this mystery with me though it's true your experience would be welcome."
"The Navy prides itself on not losing members of the royal family, your Lordship. I'd be hard pressed to explain my choices to my not-particularly-secret superiors if I didn't. Besides, the sailors have an established worldview that requires officers, petty officers, and themselves. They'd be unhappy taking your orders without me parroting them."
"Very well then," says Lucas, never one to pass up the opportunity for an excellent straight man.
Last modified: 16 May 2006