Reading Between The Lines

Leaving the funeral, Reid leads Papillon to the castle. With a quick trip to his quarters to restock on the local currency, and change into something a little less depressing, he gives his companion the option of resting in the castle or exploring the town. If she chooses the latter, he'll lead her to the shops before leaving her company for a private visit to the Sepia Pawn for an audience with Master Wrack.

Papillon is interested in finding her way around Amber. Fashions for Amber are very different from what a lady would wear in Paris, but Steward Vent sends someone to make some last-minute adjustments to a dress that mostly fits and then Reid and Papillon are off into town.

On recommendation from Vent's seamstress, Reid is able to find Papillon a dressmaker who can outfit her in Amber-appropriate clothing. He leaves her there for fittings and heads down to the docksides and Cuttlefish Way.

The pawnshop has seen better days. Reid remembers some of them.

Lope is, as always, behind the counter. For the appropriate incentive, he announces Reid, and a few minutes later Reid finds himself in Wrack's office, well-supplied with fine whiskey and seated in one of Wrack's comfortable leather chairs. If he desires, a fine cigar can be provided.

"So, Reid, it's been a while. What can a poor pawnbroker do for you?" Wrack asks with a wry smile.

Reid arches his eyebrow. "Poor? Now that would be news indeed." He smiles back. "I've been...away...for a bit. Things have been shifting and changing in ways and means that seem to be making my kin uncomfortable. We're normally the ones doing the shifting and changing, you see. Not terribly polite when someone else is doing it under our noses. Attacks...assaults...murder, and the occasional mayhem. Nobody's asked me to investigate anything yet, which I suppose is a good thing. But I come to you in any case, both for your own valued opinion as well as any tales you've heard tell. Though you are certainly not the man-on-the-street, his concerns undoubtedly weigh heavy upon even you, eventually."

Reid leans back in the chair to watch the twinkle in his companion's eye as he awaits a reply. They both know that where flattery won't get you, coin will. And vice versa.

Wrack nods. "I'm poor only in the sense that everyone in Amber is poor, these days, but I'm rich enough in the kind of information you need. Rumor comes down from sources in the castle that some of your cousins are preparing to leave Amber for good, and after what gossip tells about the deaths in the castle the other day, I think they're not the only ones. The mood in the city is getting a little ugly; people are worried that they'll be left behind.

"And of course there's the mess over at the tobacconist's, and the arson of the fishmonger's that the cognoscenti know the Rebman embassy favors," Wrack continues. "That last is fresh news: happened last night. Nobody died, but it was a near thing."

"And yourself? Are you ready to pack your bags and resettle elsewhere? I could take you...anywhere you might like to go. Of course, if there's something fresh out there, you're better served getting in early and establishing your position, as you well know.

"As to the arson last night. Any particularly odd colors? Either from the flame or the smoke?" Reid recalls the Gatewegian's magic smoke from his previous investigations.

Wrack shakes his head. "None of the witnesses my people have talked to mentioned it. My guess is that the Rebmans have bitten off more than they can chew. Montage, who's one of their people, is just the sort to piss someone off and get his favorite fish shop burned down to teach him his place."

After a moment, he adds, "If you were a man in my position and someone had just made you the offer you just made me, Reid, where would you want to go?"

"The bitter and stubborn part of me would want to dig in and ride out the storm. The businessman side would relish the opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a new market." Reid replies. "Both would suit you. With the promise of new opportunity, I think I'd lean towards following the family. There's bound to be growth in their wake."

Wrack nods slowly. "And is that the direction you're bound, Reid? To this new place, or elsewhere, the way your uncles are supposed to have done? Legends of Corwin's Avalon haven't entirely faded from the city's memory. Will there be such a place mentioned in the same breath as your name, Reid?"

"It is not a decision to take lightly. It may be best to keep the family close, particularly while the direction our enemies might attack from remains unknown. On the other hand, I'm not entirely certain that such a large concentration of our blood in one place leads to any sort of stability. If anything, by our very nature, we may be creating our own undoing by the simple act of sticking together."

Wrack files this information away for later consideration.

"I have no personal ambitions of forging my own land for my own gains. I tend to work best in an advisory capacity, and in doing so, try to insinuate my own needs into the agenda that fits the people best," Reid answers.

"Which is why you and I get along so well." Wrack's smile is genial. He refreshes his own glass, and Reid's as well, if it needs it.

"The best way to get someone else to do what you want is to get him to want it too. The ground floor of a new market appeals to me, and if I go on with your family, we'll still see each other on occasion. I assume that movement on to this new place is what the younger Hardwind interests are all aflutter with. If you're planning to go by ship, you may find you need to make special arrangements."

Reid seems at once both mildly surprised and slightly amused. "I'm not certain a sea voyage is necessary, though perhaps for freight it makes more sense. If the land is the one I'm thinking of, I've travelled there before on foot or by horse, so I really hadn't considered any alternative means. If a caravan doesn't offend your sensabilities, I would be more than happy to lead a land trail along the coast for those of us of similar mind."

"I'm not too proud to ride a wagon," Wrack agrees. "Tell me about this new place, Reid. I'd like to know what I'm getting into here."

Reid certainly notices that Wrack has not, technically, agreed to get into this, but he's at least strongly considering it.

"Well, last time I visited was before anything had been built, so I can only speculate about the current condition of things. This is Random's land, created to suit Random's whim, much the way Amber is and has always been Oberon's land, even after his passing. As such, I have a feeling that things are more free-form there. I imagine a world posed more by improvisation than ridgid structure. Sure, there are likely rules, but I'd wager they form more of a framework and suggestion than a hard-and-fast way of being. There may be some hint of tradition and history, but I wouldn't expect more than a hint... a light fog that casts a shadow on the ways of life, perhaps being that which we, its inhabitants, bring with us more than anything that is inherant of the place itself. I expect fairness, but not strictness. I feel like almost anything could be justified there if framed properly by the right argument under the right light before the king. It's a new land, bringing together both old and new people. Opportunity will, as I've indicated, be there for those wishing to root early and invest the proper resources to establish their network from the ground up. This appeals to both of us equally, I presume. Though it is not safe to think that such actions would necessarily go unnoticed by King or kin. I'm sure they'll all have fingers in the pie as well, so it will either be a matter of cooperation or endurance of the best laid plans." Reid is convincing himself as much as Wrack that this is, indeed, a good opportunity. He seems to be succeeding, at least in winning himself over.

"I've had the opportunity to drink with His Majesty once or twice over the centuries. He seems like the kind of man who would rule with a loose enough hand to suit my purposes," Wrack says. "You're expecting all your relatives to put their fingers into this new pie. I'd hoped I might be lucky enough to avoid--some of them--but there is no opportunity without risk. I'll start making arrangements for the move. When should I plan to close things out here?"

Reid considers that. "I don't know for certain what my current obligations may entail. Just prior to returning to Amber I narrowly avoided a scape that may yet have to be dealt with. I'd prefer to move sooner than later, but don't want to put any undue pressure on you. And I don't wish to imply that your affairs in Amber need to be fully closed out. I have a feeling that things will continue to opporate here for a while...it's just that the shift is on the winds so there's little use in fighting them."

"I haven't built my business by fighting the winds coming down from the castle. Just--knowing which way they blow. I appreciate the advance warning of the change in the weather, and will wind things down toward a departure at an indefinite near-term date." Wrack lifts his glass, and says, "To well-timed departures."

Reid drinks to that. After other, trivial chit chat, and a fond farewell, he departs.

Lucas arises early, quietly, slipping from his bed in the cool grey light the presages the dawn. He takes up a silken dressing gown and wraps it around to protect himself from the bite of the early air. Coldness seeps into stone, and then reflects it back, regardless of season - and the castle has had millennia to hoard its chill, even when rich Gobelin tapestries form a barrier between the stone and all too sensitive flesh. But silk next to the skin warms quickly - Lucas learnt that long ago, perhaps even before his encounters with Paige in Indo-China. Perhaps it was one of those lessons Flora taught him in those long lost chateaux of his childhood, lessons lightly imparted, but with far-reaching implications; the training for the perfect courtier, the acquisition of the perfect mask..

But in the quietness of his rooms, he wears no mask. His face is calm, a little grave, but tranquil as he makes his way to his writing bureau, sit, and draws out one of the hand-made wafers that bear the St.Cyr crest. Some might see it as a small, absurd vanity that as a Lord of Amber, Lucas continues to attach such importance to a long abolished title, a long dead father. Lucas is content they should believe it so, and continues to use his seal, his crest.

He selects a pen and tests the nib on his blotter. Satisfied, he starts to write.

My dear Cousin Solange

I have here with me in Amber the book we spoke of some little while ago - concerning the Paresh. On perusing it again, I have found certain passages that might interest you. I am not sure whether your brother is aware of this - my conversation with him suggests not. I believe further discussion might be useful for ...

He hesitates for a moment, and then sets the pen down carefully in its holder. For a moment he simply gazes at it, as though there is nothing more in his mind than seeing its perfect placement, its balance on the strip of crystal that is the holder, the reflection of light on the crystal, the way the black of the enamel of the pen contrasts with the gold of the nib ...

Abruptly he rises and walks to the window. These rooms have a good aspect ... not the best, of course, but from here he can see the sea. It looks steel grey in the early morning light - but it will deepen into blue as the sun rises, and the day begins.

But Lucas' eyes see not the sea before him. It is another ocean they see ... where a delicate, painted ship sails calmly on, untroubled, he hopes.

Already long streaks of red - the fiery-fingered dawn - are reaching across the sky, reflecting, in dancing light, on the sea below. According to the old adage, it will be a stormy day.

When is it ever anything else, in Amber?

They say Amber is dying ...

Amber is not the only thing dying ...

The delicate painted ship sails calmly on its far distant ocean - and Lucas is back at his desk, writing.

might be useful for us all. Perhaps we might meet, at your earliest convenience?

Lucas ~

He folds the wafer, and lights the sealing wax. A blob - and then the signet pressed against the red. The St Cyr crest. The motto - three words in a tongue that still accents his Thari.

Then he reaches for the small bell on the desk ... and pauses.

Gaston will not come.

He smiles - a slightly cynical smile at his shortcomings, perhaps - and walks to the door of the suite. Opening it, he looks up and down for a page that can be charged with carrying this message to Solange.

Even this early in the morning, there are servants bustling to and fro. Lucas' letter will be delivered, if trusted to the coarse sackcloth pocket of a maid engaged in laying fires before the nobles are stirring. Lucas' nostrils flare slightly, but he hands over the letter with the mildest of injunctions not get ash on it.

Finished with this, he goes back into the room. The leather bound book he found at the temple of the Paresh still lies on the table. Slowly he takes it up and sinks into the leather armchair by the fire. For a moment, his gaze is drawn to the heavy fireguard, pulled in position to protect small hands and faces from the embers ...

Then he opens the book once more, and begins to read.

There is a knock on Lucas's door. Should he answer it, he'll find Solange outside, dressed in split skirts, boots, and fitted blouse.

He does answer it - which is slightly unusual, for normally such menial tasks are relegated to Gaston, or some other member of Lucas' staff.

The last time Solange was here everyone was packing to leave, so the fact that Lucas answered his own door doesn't surprise her.

"I know it's early and I hope this isn't an inconvenient time (OOC: or that Lilly is still here...:-), but may I come in?" she asks. "I'm interested in seeing the book about the Paresh that you mentioned in your note."

"Of course," says Lucas. "Come in."

"Thank you."

He is dressed in dark trousers and a silk smoking jacket, embroidered all over with exotic blooms - lotus and lilies among them - on a dark green ground.

Her eyes linger on the jacket as she steps through the doorway. "I can see Paige in something like that," she remarks, admiring the colors and workmanship.

"Too much red in the flowers," says Lucas. "Paige needs to be kept away from wearing red - with extreme prejudice, if necessary. She usually has the sense to know it but ... " He shakes his head. "I judged it serious when she took the rejection by Martin badly enough to start whoring herself in a red dress." He shakes his head at the memory with a faint shudder. "Should have been green."

Solange swallows a smile. Yes, trust Lucas to focus in on the presentation and ignore everything else. Although she doesn't agree with everything he says, he is amusing to listen to. "Green wouldn't have had the same connotations and impact," she replies as she looks around the room. "Sometimes, in choosing between fashion and statement, you need to choose statement."

"Fashion," says Lucas firmly, "is always the statement. And the statement is always fashion."

Keats himself, pressed to discurse on a Grecian urn, could not have put it more definitively.

Solange's smile widens. She concedes the point.

He closes the door.

"You don't wash up so bad yourself," he adds. "Thar's a nice outfit. You should try a little lace at the wrists and throat - soften the severe, business-like aspect. Hint at the softness of the woman within." He smiles - almost a grin that tells her this is the reflexive-as-breathing flrtation of Lucas. He's clearly serious about the ruffles though.

"I'll take it into consideration," she replies, with no promises.

He leads them through the suite to the lounge.

"There's some coffee if you would like," he continues, indicating a small contraption that is giving off an aroma which suggests a dark and evil brew lurks within.

"You read my mind," Solange smiles as she heads straight for it.

"Is Vere joining us?" He moves towards the table, where a leather bound book with the words, "The Witnessing of Thrift" stamped on the cover is lying.

"No," Solange replies as she pours herself some coffee, "he's gone back to the Isles." Her mouth tightens in a small frown at the thought. She'd rather Vere was at home, but then again, she imagines Vere would rather he was home too. But duty is duty is duty.

Shaking off the train of thought, she picks up the cup and joins Lucas at the table.

"I was perusing this earlier," he continues. There are some passages ... "

Solange cocks her head to read the title of the book.

A beat. Lucas is looking beyond the table to the hearth. A glass stands, empty, on the table beside the armchair there - another lies on its side in the hearth. A little liquid seems to have spilled from it - Solange might see the glint of a flake or two of gold. Lucas is staring, perplexed - not just as though he has never seen the glasses before but more as though they have no right to be in such a place at such an hour of the day.

"That might be of interest to you," he continues, with barely a check.

If Solange has noticed the two empty glasses, she gives no indication. "The Witnessing of the Thrift?" she repeats. "An intriguing title. Any idea what it means?"

"By and large what it says," he tells her. "Thrift was a person - and the book is an account of what he witnessed - or rather saw in his visions."

She nods in understanding. "I don't recognize the name as someone who was in the Paresh community. Do you know any more about him?"

"He lived to be hanged," says Lucas shortly. "There was a splinter group from the Paresh that was subject to an Episcopapy prosecution a century or two ago. Those records are destroyed, but it was news at the time. Many people were banned from Amber and a few priests were hanged for inciting armed defiance of the crown. One of them was Thrift."

"Ah, yes, that prosecution sounds familiar. It came up in a Council meeting. It had something to do with them not paying religious taxes, if I remember right," Solange clarifies.

"At that point - some of the Paresh seemed to be established on an island some way from Amber. The rest - oh, you'll remember this I think - petitioned to join them during the Sundering. We let them go - once they'd handed over a suitably large sum of money. And we sent a ship after them ... both disappeared."

She nods, remembering this as well.

He frowns. "That might have turned up at Xanadu or Paris, but I don't recollect hearing about it. Which is a little strange. Still, But ships are but boards, sailors but men: there be land-rats and water-rats, water-thieves and land-thieves - I mean pirates - and then there is the peril of waters, winds and rocks."

He moves to the table and opens the volume - Solange can see that it has been marked by strips of silk ribbon to enable them more easily to find the key passages.

"What did you find?" Solange asks, sipping her coffee as she watches Lucas.

"It's mostly apocalyptic stuff," says Lucas. "The world will end with bangs, not whimpers. Or, as Thrift saw it, the crashing of water. Or in some cases, the slow but inevitable seepage. A lot of it makes for pretty grim reading."

Lucas indicates certain passages (OOC - which I have no intention of dwelling on here, as they seemingly depict, on a large scale, the sort of post-Katrina stuff we've all been reading in recent weeks).

"A lot of it commonplace to these doomsday cults," says Lucas. "The need for righteous lives, the significance of prayer or meditation and fasting - so that one will be dealt a better hand next time around. There's stuff on the cause of this apocalypse too ... see? Here? The role of the Man of Faith, striking at the very centre of the world. Again and again we have this metaphore of the tree dead at its heart, and the time before it falls." He turns over a few pages and an illustration is revealed - stark and uncompromising, the full horrors of the witnessing, as though drawn by a talented child who had seen and all too vividly rememberd. Lucas flips the page.

"There's a lot more of this stuff. One thing that is odd ... the reader is exhorted to prepare for the next world .... and yet.

"Here and there - you'll find a suggestion that what they're being told to prepare for is a previous one."

He indicates just such a passage.

Solange sets down her cup and studies the passage for a moment, then starts flipping through on her own. She indicates the name on the cover. "Germaine. Elder Germaine was the leader of the Paresh before they left Amber. Vere spent time with him. I assume the drawings and doodling in the margins are Germaine's..."

"Indeed," agrees Lucas.

She pauses, startled, as she finds a drawing on the inside back cover that looks like Vere. "What the...?" she mumbles, staring at it and the stone drawn around his neck. She leans closer to get a better look.

"Interesting, isn't it?" says Lucas, clearly enjoying her surprise. "And an interesting tale attached - which was why I was hoping Vere would join us. Last time he was in Amber, we had a chat about the Paresh."

(Questions:
1. Does the drawing style for the picture of Vere look the same as the drawing style throughout the rest of the book? I was a bit unsure whether the drawings in the book that looked like they were 'drawn by a talented child' were in the original book, or were added later like the doodling in the margins.
2. Are there any more details in the drawing of the stone around Vere's neck?)

"I'm sure Vere would be very interested to see this. I wish he was here," she continues.

"He knows of it," says Lucas. "Apparently, the drawing is by the young Germaine - as are the other sketches in the book. Painted as a result of a vision he had of your brother."

Solange looks up at Lucas sharply.

"The interesting thing is that Vere had a vision of him too - when he explored their Temple after the Paresh had left. He saw Germaine as a child - and Germaine believed him to be a spirit. He told Vere as much, when he met him ... " He puts a hand to his head. "This is where it gets confusing. Vere met Germaine as an old man - at which point Germaine told him of the drawing - and the vision. Subsequently, when the Paresh left Amber, he gave Vere the stone. Later Vere investigated the Temple and saw and was seen by the young Germaine.

"So the child Germaine saw the stone around Vere's neck, and so gave it to him as an old man so that your brother would be wearing it when he saw him earlier ... as I said to your brother, don't you just love time paradoxes? It's fortunate that stone goes with anything in the tones - it could have ripped apart the whole space time continuum if he'd decided it really didn't go with his jacket that particular day."

Solange smiles lightly at his flippancy, then her thoughts turn back to the story. "Strange. What could cause such a time distortion? I don't even know if sorcery could accomplish something like that. And what was the point of such an expenditure of energy? To convince Germaine of something? Or Vere?" She shakes her head.

She closes the back cover thoughtfully and looks up at Lucas. "Upon cursory inspection the content appears like more of the same stuff Vere told us about the Paresh in the Council meetings. The 'next world you're to prepare for is actually a previous one' is an unusual twist on your standard end-of-the-world prophesy. Is this what you found interesting? Any idea what it means?"

Solange pauses, a sudden thought occurring to her. "You said seepage earlier. What if Thrift's 'crashing of water' is a metaphor for something else? Slow seepage could describe Amber's ongoing problems with the disappearance of people, of material goods, of money..."

"Er ... nice thought," says Lucas, "but no. Seepage leading to major flooding and all sorts of associated nasties. Thrift's visions were all aquatically graphic. He could have been big in Rebma, I'm sure, even if he never really caught on this side of the tidal flow."

"Ah. Well, it's not like I believe in any of it, anyway. Their doomsday has come and gone and look, we're still here." Solange holds out her arms and gestures expansively.

"Possibly," says Lucas. "Their grasp of time seems ... not to be quite straightforwardly chronological.

"We've discussed the Hardwind connection, haven't we?"

She nods. "He was shunting money to them."

"This ... is something else. The time paradoxes ...

"Solange ... do you think there might be something there that ... could help your father?"

He is silent for a long minute before he adds softly, almost as though the words have been forced from him ... "And my wife."

She stares at him for a moment. "What are you talking about? Using some sort of time paradox to, say, warn Father so he wasn't in the castle when the Sundering hit?"

She looks at him askance and points to the book. "If they did indeed have access to some sort of time control, then that would explain the strange wording of preparing to go to a _previous_ world. Great Unicorn, Lucas, do you really think this is possible?"

Lucas shrugs. "I don't know," he says frankly. "It could just be the use millennial tosh of an off the wall cult. We could chase after them and find they're scratching a primitive living on some inhospitable shore. We could discover they've all committed suicide in the heady expectation of imminent union with the righteous. And even if - by some miracle - we could move back in time, how could we save your father without disrupting all that has followed? Butterfly wings and all that.

"But if we never looked ... "

Solange's eyes meet Lucas's. "Wanna go to the Temple? Now?"

Lucas shrugs again - well, he is French. "I'm not sure there's be a lot of point to that. Vere and Jerod went through it fairly extensively; Fiona's been and sealed certain areas. I've been over it myself fairly - I hope - exhaustively. The answer isn't there, Solange. Had it been, one of us would have found it."

Her face falls. "Of course. I should've realized."

"No - if we want to find the answer, we'd have to make a rather larger commitment to pursuing the truth. We'd have to follow the Paresh ... to wherever their evacuation took them."

"Do you know where they went?" Solange asks. "I only know that the ship Vere sent to follow them disappeared."

"Vere said they headed north. Following the coast - he judged they weren't planning on venturing far off-shore - so an island not too far out, it would seem. Before the Sundering, it was meant to be no more than six weeks away. Since then ... " He spreads an expressive hand. "Thing have changed, cos."

She frowns and picks her coffee cup back up. "Searching randomly could take a very...long...time."

He turns the pages of the book again, as though an answer might be written there - then suddenly he looks up, straight into her eyes.

"One interesting thing ... when the naval vessel didn't return after seven weeks, Vere sent a small, fast craft to scout along the coast, looking for any signs of a settlement or wreckage. They found signs of a wreck far to the north, almost six weeks travel from Amber.

"But ... the interesting thing - Vere said it was an old wreck." Another shrug. "Of course, it might mean nothing. Ships have doubtless been wrecked along that coast before ... "

"Hmmph. But the placement...six weeks out in the right direction...perhaps it was old due to some time distortion. Regardless, it's the best lead we have so far. We could borrow some of Father's naval maps and get someone who was on that fast ship to point out on the map where the wreck was and see what else is in the area."

"We could also talk to Fiona," says Lucas. "In fact, we might make speedier progress if we divide the tasks ... She might have more information that she'd be willing to share if she knew our objective. And ... I believe I can lay my hands on a ship, if it comes to that."

He speaks with the studied modesty of one who always has an exit strategy in place - the experience of one who has had to leave more than one shadow in a hurry, usually a shirttail ahead of an irate husband or, possibly, wife.

"Are you sure it's wise to talk to Fiona?" Solange asks him. "I'm not sure she'd approve of our ultimate objective."

Lucas' expressive eyebrows lift. "To heal your father? Why would she object to that?"

"I was imprecise. Not the objective, but the method. I'm not sure she'd approve of us looking into matters dealing with time distortions."

"Hmm," says Lucas thoughtfully. "You think, then, that in the midst of our laughter and glee, we should softly and silently vanish away ... it's an idea that has its merits."

Solange smiles in agreement and finishes her coffee. "Random will certainly be wanting people to lay down Shadow paths between here and Xanadu - possibly by several routes. We could be acting as trailblazers ... and Martin will probably be happy to see several Shadows between him and me at present."

"I've heard that forgiveness is easier to obtain than permission. It seems prudent to test the theory in this situation. And I like your shadow-blazing cover," she says as she returns to the table to refill her cup. "So things didn't go well with Martin? By the time I returned to the room, you were gone."

Lucas frowns. "It was not one of my better moments," he allows. "Solange, we are going to need to stick pretty rigidly to the cover. We are, after all, both Knights of the Card ... which I judge will go slightly further than on special occasions getting to wear a rather fetching black velvet robe with one leg of one's breeches rolled up to display a pretty playing card thrust into one's garter ... "

"The deuce of clubs--that's the card I want in my garter. What do you mean by 'stick rigidly to the cover'? Keep our noses clean? Play by the rules? Provide a sterling example for the others?"

"Tick any three of the above?" suggests Lucas, smiling. "We will be trail-blazing ... but our own investigations we shall keep between ourselves, agreed?"

He extends a hand towards her. "Although," he adds thoughtfully, "it could be worth taking one of our more boneheaded cousins to pack some fighting muscle. I'm not sure any are available though ... "

"Agreed on all accounts," Solange replies, taking Lucas's hand firmly in her own and shaking it. "Which of our Ruby cousins did you have in mind to ask?"

Lucas's eyes do not stray to the wine glasses. Oh no. Not ... in the least.

"Lilly," he suggests. "I think she might find that travel broadens the mind."

"One of our female cousins. Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Solange muses rhetorically.

Lucas becomes remarkably interested in removing a piece of lint from the sleeve of his jacket.

She finds a comfortable spot and sits, taking her coffee cup with her. "You'll ask her?" she continues. "I think you probably know her better than I do."

Solange's attention turns inward briefly as she sips her second cup, rethinking over the conversation of the past few minutes. "Lucas, you said you thought the Paresh might hold a answer to Solace's ill health as well." She glances at him. "How?"

"If they do hold the secret of travelling through time," says Lucas slowly, "then it is possible we might be able to learn more about the fate of women who mated with Amberites - and bore them children.

"Solange - have you ever considered how high a proportion of Amberites are motherless? It is, for obvious reasons, not something that ever troubled me ... until Solace became ill."

"Yes, I can understand that," she replies softly. "We aren't very prolific, which is undoubtedly a Good Thing for the cosmos, but there're also the women who just actively avoided becoming mothers through one method or another." She pauses. "It does perhaps seems unusual that Solace bore you two children, and bore them in such quick--by our standards--succession. Are you sure they're yours?"

The look that Lucas turns on her is dangerous.

"Yes," he says shortly. "I'm sure."

This is clearly territory fenced and marked with "Beware of the quicksands".

Well, it appears in this case what's good for the gander is forbidden fruit for the goose. Solange considers briefly what Lucas would look like in a shirt that says "Double Standards R Us"--fashionably done, of course. Women's rights have made commendable progress in some areas in Amber...but stay pitifully behind in others.

She sighs.

"Right. So why do you think a high proportion of Amberites are motherless?" Solange asks, bypassing the touchy issues of paternity and adultery.

"I don't know," says Lucas. "But it seems that something in bearing Amberite children might significant weaken the mothers - as though it drains them. Several of Oberon's wives - and our contemporaries' mothers ... " He looks at her sidelong. "Vere, for example. It was Gerard who gave me the warning about Solace.

Solange looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

"Solace has Amberite blood, Solange, but it doesn't seem to have saved her. There is a reason, it seems, for kin-matings being forbidden. Or at least, kin offspring. After all, Fiona and my mother seem comparatively strong after their excursions into child bearing."

Solange says nothing for a moment, staring into the middle distance between them, her expression troubled. She thinks of her own mother...how if she could travel through time she could meet her, talk to her, find out who her father is, perhaps find out why Ysabeau died giving birth to her...

She must remember to discuss Lucas's theory with Folly, too...

After a brief shake of her head to bring her back to the present, she finishes the coffee in one gulp and rests the empty cup in her lap. "This is a wild shot, Lucas, but what about the Pattern? Perhaps being a Pattern initiate helped Flora and Fiona retain their constitutions after childbearing. It does seem to have a stabilizing affect on us."

"That might be it," agrees Lucas. "And Solace will probably never be strong enough to take the Pattern. Perhaps she never would ... that would be a dilemma, wouldn't it? To go back in time ... would I want her to walk the Pattern to strengthen herself, at the risk of her life ... and risk the possibility that there could be no Phillippe ... no Hope ... "

His expression is bleak for a moment - and then he shakes his head. "We find Shaows where we can be little gods for our amusement. But that which is real ... is irreplaceable."

He looks sidelong at Solange. "Have you ever sensed that, o most cool and composed of cousins?"

Solange snorts in a most unladylike fashion at his appraisal, then smiles quietly as she ponders his question. "That which isn't real can also be irreplaceable, I think. I...dated someone in the shadow where I went to school. I began to have strong feelings for him, so I cooled down the relationship. I was afraid of getting too close to him because I knew he wasn't real, that he would someday grow old and die, and that even if I found a shadow of him, it wouldn't be _him_."

Solange gives a slight shake of her head again, not wanting to bring back all those memories. Kyril was probably old and grey now, with a wife and children, possibly even grandchildren. She turns her attention back to her cousin. "Lucas, you're very gentle and protective of Solace, and it seems obvious to me that your feelings for her are very strong. If we do ever have the opportunity to go back in time and you convince Solace to walk the Pattern and she doesn't survive, then I suppose you can go right back through time again and revert things back to the way they were...maybe...if things work that way..." She trails off.

"And would you do that?" he counters. "Would you push your someone from a Shadow where you went to school on the Pattern, because it might make them stronger - if they didn't fry to a crisp before your eyes? And if it doesn't work ... go back through time and not do it all over, so that you can smile into their face once more? Wouldn't there always be a little bit of you that remember their agony ... the look in their eyes as they died ... and blame yourself?"

He shakes his head. "No ... whatever the solution is that we might find ... I think we will not be re-writing history again and again until it matches our tastes."

Having nothing to say to that, Solange lowers her eyes and studies her empty cup. "I'll go track down someone who knows where that wreck was. You'll talk to Lilly?"

"Certainly," says Lucas. "And give her our cover story?"

Solange nods.

"I can also organise a ship."

"Very good," she replies as she stands up.

Solange sets the cup down on a nearby table and then turns to face her cousin. "You're right, Lucas," she says softly. "We should not rewrite history over and over. Should not. But given the opportunity, I can't promise I won't."

She turns to leave.