Still-Life With Invasion

When Brita arrives back in her room after her painting session with Conner is finished, she finds that a note has been left for her.

Dear Brita,

I spoke with King Random this evening and he has agreed to take me to Xanadu to walk his Pattern. When I am done, I will return to Amber. I hope we can have the discussion that I seem to have missed after the memorial.

Yours,
Ambrose

It is late in the afternoon, almost evening, when a page comes to find Brita and ask her if Lord Ambrose may join her.

Of course, and Brita asks the page to bring some snacks from the kitchen once he is done relaying the welcome message. At this point, Brita is back in her room - still working on sketches and the trump.

A few minutes later, Ambrose comes in. He looks freshly bathed and like he's slept, but probably not long enough, after strenuous exercise. His clothes are Amber-made rather than the linens of Uxmal, and probably borrowed from someone's wardrobe. With some exercise of the Pattern skills he hasn't had time to master in practical application, Ambrose could fix them.

"Cousin," Ambrose says a little breathlessly, and smiles. "I took oath to King Random, and he let me come into my birthright."

"That is Great, Cousin! Welcome. Did you Learn much from your Walk? Mine was Revealing." Brita motions Ambrose over to chair theSilly. That isn't what Trump really is. near the small table and takes her own seat on the bed. (there is not much furniture) "I've asked the page to bring some refreshment."

"Thank you, Cousin. My walk was--most interesting. Perhaps we can discuss it after we've eaten," Ambrose suggests.

[Brita makes small talk until the Page has come and gone.]

Ambrose inquires about her burns and who has been tending them.

Some time later, the page has brought a plate of small meat sandwiches for them to share.

"What are your Plans now? How is Priestess Tayanna and Shadow Uxmali?"

"My mother continues much the same. Things are stable in Uxmal, although my enemies deflect my attempts to scry them out with fire. With the power of my heritage, though, I will have a great weapon against them--against her--that she cannot easily overcome." Ambrose's confidence sounds prescriptive rather than descriptive.

"Plans--mine are not firm, other than to bring my new powers to bear in Uxmal. My brother has suggested a way to cement my status in the family. He suggested at one time that you might also be involved. Has he spoken to you about Dara?"

"Not to any Extent of late. I assume our Knight God Brennan suggests a Visit. If it includes Taking Out _clef_, Count me In," Brita says quickly, then she cocks her head to the side as she remembers," although I do have Travels to attend to with My Brother."

"Brennan didn't speak of Cleph, but I assume he's not safe from the fate intended for Dara," Ambrose replies. "He's a terrible enemy, though. Corwin bested him and thought him destroyed when he slew Borel, and yet he returned as Cleph. It will take a clever plan to prevent him from spawning and returning again if you kill him, Cousin." His tone is concerned.

Brita hums agreement, "Killing may not be the Best Way, but then Imprisoning doesn't seem to Work Well, either, given our Longevity. Perhaps your Brother or Mine will have Other Ideas." She thinks for a minute. "What is the Fate you and your Brother have Devised for the other and When do you Plan to Weave that Fate?"

"It's Brennan's plan. I've tentatively agreed to join in, but I'm concerned. You see, the crime my father died for committing was an unprovoked near-fatal assault on the King's son. And Dara was the lover of Corwin, and the mother of his son. I'm less worried now that I've taken the Pattern, but I don't want to make an enemy of Corwin. What do you think, Brita?"

Ambrose takes a small bite of his sandwich as he listens to her reply.

Brita has been through one sandwich and is working on a second. "Dara is a Liability that Must be Dealt With. We can Ask Cousin Merlin or Uncle Corwin their thoughts on the matter, but I'm Certain they Understand that Amber's Parthenon will be After her given her Brazen Attack. If they have Something to Say in the matter, they should Say it Now."

"That assumes Brennan is willing to mention the matter in advance instead of asking their forgiveness later, which, in light of his history, seems unlikely." Ambrose quirks the corners of his mouth into a smile. "Do you think killing her is necessary? Or should we consider merely teaching her a lesson and rubbing her nose in it?"

"Yes, it is Unlikely Cousin Brennan has Asking First as part of his Current Policy, but Asking First does tend to prevent Issues Later. As to Killing Dara, that is Not my Primary Choice, but sometimes, when the Water has Gotten so Fouled by Filth, the only option to Clean it is to Boil it All Away." Brita has finished her third sandwich. It's a good thing the Page brought plenty.

Ambrose finishes his first sandwich and begins working on his second. "Yes, and it's difficult to imagine what the alternatives would be. I've got a similar problem back in Uxmal. My father sired a daughter by one of the goddesses, and she seeks to claim his place. I don't want to kill my own sister, but if she takes power in Uxmal, she will kill my mother. And if she learns she could take a power like the Pattern--she could easily make the same mistake I did and with less preparation in case her gamble goes wrong."

"Can you not Speak with her? In Shadow Asgard, we have a Full Parthenon of Gods and Goddesses, each with his or her Own Responsibilities. You and Cousin Brennan are Sharing; Why not Include Your Sister? Granted, Talking Sense is not always Easy or Initially Heard, but have you Tried? Your Walking Experiences could Help you Be Heard."

Ambrose shakes his head in the negative. "She views me as an enemy to be dislodged, not a potential ally. The gods of Uxmal are rarely true allies. And our father was not just a god, but a god above gods. That's the role she wants. I'm in her way."

"Hm. That makes it Difficult," Brita notes.

He frowns and takes a bite of his sandwich. When he's chewed and swallowed, he adds, "She's a powerful magician. She has a sign of fire that she uses to block my scrying. That worries me."

"Fire can be circumvented with Water," Brita notes. "Has Cousin Brennan seen this Sign? Is it On her or something she Carriers or Creates?" Brita awaits Ambrose's response.

"Do you Know much about her? Do you Think you can Change her Opinion? Are you going to Try?" Brita asks. She appears to be holding back on further comments.

"Did you Dream of her on your Walk?" she asks before he can respond to her other questions.

"I saw her at one of the Veils," Ambrose admits, pausing in his sandwich consumption. "She tried to drive me off the Pattern." He flushes slightly, the color more visible on his pale skin than it would be on someone darker.

He continues after a moment: "She's my father's daughter by one of the minor goddesses. He sired her while he was estranged from my mother. Fire seems to be her innate power. I think she's older than I am. When my father became distracted by his business with Amber, he left Uxmal. Even before we knew of his death, she claimed that she was his heir and began to consolidate her position. She's made several attacks on the temple complex, the most recent of which Brennan and I threw back together when we returned to Uxmal after the picnic at Clarissa. I've spoken to her directly twice, once with Brennan when we fought her, and once when she came to lay claim to Uxmal the first time. I don't count on her opinion being changeable.

"I don't want to kill her, but if it's her or my mother, I'd do almost anything to keep my mother alive." A frown follows that last admission, and he returns his attention to his sandwich.

Brita is silent for as she thinks on what Ambrose has said. "A Choice between Family..." she shakes her head. "I will Help as I can. Would the Priestess ever leave Uxmal?"

"She might," Ambrose says, "if she could. But she's mortal, not a goddess as you and I are gods, Brita. She had an allotted span. My father wove the tale of her years into Uxmal with Pattern and Sorcery. It's why I had to take the Pattern, to see if I could shore up the workings now that he's gone."

His jaw clenches and he looks down for a moment. "It's failing slowly. She's dying."

Brita reaches out a hand to his shoulder and finds his eyes with her own, "My Father's Tale was also Woven into the Shadow Asgard. The Recent Ragnarok was not his Time per that Tale, but it was still... Worrysome."

Ambrose meets her gaze and nods, understanding.

Brita sits back. "Have you Spoken with Uncle- King Random about Shadow Uxmal's Tapestry for its Priestess? Or my Mother? Perhaps one with More Wisdom in Pattern and Sorcery could Lengthen Priestess Tayanna's Threads."

He starts to answer, but she continues.

"But tell me of your Walk. How do you Feel now?"

The change of subject seems to hearten Ambrose. "Exhausted, mostly. Confused by the experience. Trying to determine what's changed about me. My father told me some things about what I might expect and what might be different. I think--I think he planned for me to walk a different Pattern. Tell me, Brita, how many veils were there when you walked?"

"Four. The Fourth was Trying Enough to Turn my hair Red," She says as she fingers the one remaining blond lock in her red mane. "Did you have anything Physical that Changed or are you trying to determine if something Else has Changed?"

Ambrose shakes his head in the negative. "I haven't looked very hard, but I don't know what to look for. As far as I can tell my body is unchanged, but it doesn't have a lot of things to change, I'd imagine. I know I must be marked, but how?

"And he only told me of three veils on the Pattern, but the Xanadu Pattern has four."

"'He', as in Uncle Random or as in Your Father?"

"My father," Ambrose clarifies.

"I feel Each Pattern Reflects the Weave of its Maker and the Veils are the Snarls or Trials in the Makers Life. Each Pattern is Personal to the Maker and, potentially, to each of Us that Walks it. Had I Walked a Different Pattern, my Views may have been Different. My Hair may still have been blond." Brita cocks her head to the side and examines Ambrose. "Your Change may be Internal or may Manifest later." Does he smell any different?

Ambrose doesn't smell any different to Brita, other than freshly bathed and maybe a little nervous.

He frowns. "It must be internal. Or maybe it hasn't manifested yet." He picks out another sandwich from the nearly-exhausted plate. "I am to speak with our uncle the King before I leave Amber. I'm deeply in his debt; he's likely to ask some favor of me. Do you have any idea of what task he might set for me?"

"Besides Ending all the Wars we seem to be in?" Brita starts to shake her head, then pauses and looks into the middle distance. "King Random might ask for Your Aid in the Transition to Reality Xanadu. I'm Certain all who have Walked will be Needed in some fashion."

Ambrose nods and looks up from contemplation of the last of his lunch. "Do you know of any task that needs to be done? One that I might aid you with?"

"Aid _me_ with? Well, I...," Brita uncharacteristically blushes, "...I could probably Use a few more Sketches of you." She gets up from the bed and moves to a small shelf where she has a few books and papers. She pulls down a book and carefully opens it, pulling out several papers - one card sized, the others all slightly larger. She returns to the bed and sits down, looking at the papers in her hand as she actually begins to babble, "I Know I never Asked and I Probably Should Have, but We were Always so Busy with Lessons and I Truly Didn't Think of It until I was back in my Room and then the Family came and I was back Here and Walking." Brita finally takes a breath and looks up, "Anyways, I did some sketches of you, and then I did two Sketches of You. I thought maybe one could go in the Trump Booth for now. If you Sit for me, I can work on creating a Trump for you to give to Whomever - maybe the King or Your Brother." She blushes again, "I also have this Trump..." and she hands Ambrose a Trump of herself.

Ambrose takes it as if she's handed him something rare and precious. "Thank you," he says softly, then, more formally, "I don't have a gift to offer you in return, but I will gladly sit for you. I am in your debt, Cousin." He's colored slightly, but he's smiling.

"As I am in Your's for Your Aid in my Sorcerous Education," Brita smiles back.

In the late afternoon (on the day after the funeral) a page comes with a short note for Meg. It says

Dear Meg,
I would greatly appreciate your help in creating the way back to Abford. I will be in my room, working on it most of the day.

Yours,
Ossian

Meg has found her way to the gardens. Not the formal gardens, but the kitchen gardens. She sits facing the aging sun, with neat rows of beds before her, and her eyes closed against the light.

She opens her eyes when the page approaches.

She reads the note and looks up at the page with a tired smile.

"Thank-you, lad. Can I ask you to led me to Ossian's room? I'm still learning my way about."

The same page arrives at Ossian's room, and, if Ossian is in, announces that Meg is here. Meg comes in, dressed in local wear but with her head still covered.

"Ossian," she greets him. "How long until we can go back to my home?"

Ossian's room is as much a studio as a room. It is surprisingly tidy; there are several large cabinets with tinted glass doors, containing rolls and piles of sketches and drawings. An unfinished painting stants on an easel near the window, with a cloth covering it. In one corner, on a pedestal, Ossian has an unfinished stone sculpture.

On another smaller easel and on his desk lies several sketches most of them showing the yard of the orphanage, and one Meg herself. The quality of the work is very likely the best Meg has ever seen. There are several chairs and stools, none of them matching in style or even height. There is also a bed in the corner, a rather comfy looking couch and a thick soft rug on the floor.

Near the window is a sandbox with a small box and a model of a tree in it.

Ossian smiles. "Meg. Welcome in. You have to understand. This is art, not science. I cannot give an exact answer to your question.

"But hopefully I will be finished some time tomorrow."

Meg's underlying tension goes up at notch.

"Has Marius told you about Trump?"

[OOC: GMs! How long does Ossian think a sketch of the yard of the orphanage will take to make?]

"I doubt it," replies Meg. "I suspect it's not something that can be explained in ten minutes. I don't know how you're getting us back to Abford, just that you are. And I don't know how I can help you, just that you say I can."

She grins, but underneath lies a deep worry and tension.

"Today I have learnt that I don't know an awful lot. How can I help?"

"We are going to use a painting to get there. A Trump." Ossian says. "That is what I've been working on." He gestures at the orphanage sketches.

Meg gives him a long look, as though this is one more unbelievable thing in an unbelievable day, and she's not willing to discount anything yet.

"Well, it's not a normal painting of course. It has to be very accurate, and I've had some trouble with that here, as I'm working from memory alone.

"Most of my memories are rather old now. That's where you come in.

"Look at these sketches. What is wrong? Any detail you notice would help."

Meg goes up to the sketches and leans in close to look. Straight to business.

"Those shutters on the second floor got replaced 15 years ago," she points at a sketch.

"Oh yes. Now I remember." Ossian takes a small paper and starts sketching a few seconds later he has a rough sketch of the new shutters. "Something like this?"

"That's not a dormitory any more. Sister Obedience keeps her books stacked in that window."

"Ah. That's going to help a lot."

She looks further. "Um. Something's wrong with this one, but I'm not sure what." She taps the tree in the sketch. "Something about the tree, though it's the right shape."

Ossian nods. "I have had problems with that. I think it is something with the light. This helped a bit." He gestures at the sand box.

She steps back. "It's a form of magic, is it? This picture you're making? You make a picture, and then it becomes real?" She seems to be genuinely trying to understand rather than attacking.

Ossian has already picked up his sketch book, and started on a new sketch, using the new information. He smiles weakly. "Something like that. With lots of training, some of us can make them. Of people and places."

"Marius used one of me when we left Abford..."

Suddenly someone knocks on Ossian's door. Ossian sighs and shouts "Come in!"

Meg turns to look at the doorway.

The door opens and a woman enters. She is tall (6'2"), slender, and has red hair plaited into two braids hanging down her back. She has on black boots, black pants, and a long red jacket over a white shirt. Her jacket is trimmed in white fur. She is carrying a book with several papers stuck in it and a small case [pencil case-sized]. "Cousin Ossian," she begins as she enters and then she sees Meg and takes in the two of them huddles over a painting. "Oh, I did not Realize you were Busy. I just..." She has steps forward into the room but stops rather abruptly in the draft created between the window and the open door. She cocks her head to one side and takes a breath, her gaze locking onto Meg. "Cousin." she states, and it is clear she means Meg.

Ossian grins and looks Up at Brita "Oh, come in, cousin Brita! I'm discussing Trumps with our newfound... cousin Meg here."

Next to Ossian, and turning to face the door, is a woman who is below average height. She's dressed in Amber-style clothes, except for a headscarf covering her hair completely. Her eyes are light coloured and look to Brita warily.

"Hello," she says. She seems a little startled by Brita. "You are Fiona's... daughter?" she asks cautiously.

Ossian looks amused. Meg is catching up fast.

"Yes," Brita recovers, "and Sister to Lord Conner. I Hail from Shadow Asgard. And You, Cousin Meg? How have You Come to Reality Amber?"

Meg shoots Ossian an amused look and he can probably tell she's going to say something he won't like.

"Well, I was sort of kidnapped," she says, her eyes twinkling. "I'm afraid I don't know where Shadow Asgard is. Until yesterday I didn't know about other worlds or Shadows at all. I come from the same orphanage as Ossian. When he came looking for who might have left him there, the town came under attack. I'm sorry to inform you that in such a situation he bullied me and two innocent nuns into going through a Trump, and I found myself in Amber.

"But Ossian is going to get me home and help me against the attackers." She smiles cheerfully at Ossian.

"That's pretty much a correct description of what happened." Ossian says with a smile and a shrug.

"More Attackers? I will be Willing to Help you Regain your Home, if You Would Accept my Aid," Brita bows slightly to Meg. "There may be Another to Help as well." Brita notes.

Meg's eyes widen.

[How does [Meg] smell? Anything interesting?]

She smells like she's washed today!

[actually, that was a question to the GMs - it's specific to blood...]

[I figured, but just wanted to convey that she'd be most indignant at the thought Brita was thinking such things. *grin*]

To Brita, she also smells like Family.

[No Chaos, Green, or Rebman, I assume.]

Meg has no scent of Green and doesn't smell like Cleph or Grandmother Clarissa, so not Chaos. She smells of Family and other things that could be her shadow heritage.

Being Rebman doesn't have the same sort of blood scent about it that Family or Chaos or Green does, as far as Brita can tell.

Brita turns to Ossian, "I did not Intend to Interrupt, Cousin Ossian, but I have some Sketches for the Trump Booth."

"That's excellent!" Ossian says "Who?"

"I have one of myself, one of Cousin Ambrose, and one of my Brother Conner."

"Splendid" Ossian says, nodding. Does Brita give him ths sketches?

Brita takes the Sketches from the book she is carrying and hands them to Ossian.

Ossian examines the skethces, humming to himself. He seems satisfied.

"Are you serious about helping?" Meg asks with gratitude and a little disbelief. "What would you want in return."

Ossian watches Brita, to see what she is going to answer.

Brita turns back to Meg, "Want? I Want nothing," she shrugs. "You are In Need. I will Help." She shrugs again. "I have Waited enough anyways and Must now Seek Out Our Enemies instead of just Reacting when they come at Us."

"Thank-you," Meg reaches out to take Brita's hand, and if she permits it, gives it a heartfelt squeeze. "Thank-you indeed." She lets go of Brita's hand.

Brita is a little startled by the gesture, but allows it.

"We'll be going when Ossian has made a trump," she indicates the sketches they were looking at. "And Marius is in charge." She shrugs. "I don't know anything of military matters, just the little laneways and hidden routes kids use in the city.

"When you have time, can we go discuss it with Marius?"

Ossian looks rather serious: "Brita, you should know about who we are going to fight. Or rather not fight if we can avoid it. Our first priority is to get Meg's family out.

"But we are going up against one of our uncles."

"Probably Huon," Meg adds. "He upset King Oberon years ago, and Bleys dealt with him. But it looks like he's making trouble again."

Brita's eyebrow goes up at the rapid fire revelation. Her eyes glaze slightly as she thinks back. "I don't remember Master Reid Mentioning an Uncle Huon. Perhaps He came after Master Reid left; or Master Reid did not think him Worth Mentioning." Brita turns to Ossian. "So far, None of Our Known Uncles have Attacked One of Us. They are Playing Nice since Brand. I have No Issue with Ensuring Peace and Protecting Innocents. Shadow Family have a Right to Protection."

Ossian's eyes shine. "Well, the impression I have is that we should not count on Huon playing nice. As far as we know he does not even know that that Brand is dead, or even about Brand's treachery." It does not sound like Ossian thinks this is a bad thing only.

"But I'm sure Marius has a cunning plan. With your help we are much better off.

"Who is the other person you are bringing. Is it Conner?"

Meg listens.

"Actually, it is our Cousin Ambrose. I will ask My Brother about his Plans, but he may be Busy with Other Matters."

A sly grin spreads on Ossian's face. "Interesting." he says. "Ambrose is very welcome."

"He is Brand's son, yes?" Meg asks. "Does that cause problems for him?"

Brita turns to Meg, "Problems? Not at the Moment. You may not Know, but Cousin Ambrose was One of three who Attacked the Coronation Ball. I was... Taken." Brita has problems getting that out, but she continues, "I Awoke in Shadow Uxmal - the Home Shadow of Cousin Ambrose and Cousin Brennan. Discourse with Cousin Ambrose brought Us to an Understanding. His Actions have been to Aid His Home Shadow. He will be able to Relate to Your Predicament."

"Still, being the son of Brand is a liability in most circles these days." Ossian says with a shrug. "So is being my uncle" he adds with a smile.

"Learnt that yesterday night."

Meg turns from Brita to Ossian. "Who is?" Meg asks, "Ambrose?"

Ossian nods.

Brita's eyebrow goes back up at Ossian's revelation. She seems to examine him a little closer before she shakes her head. Her eyes move to the Sketches in progress. "This is Shadow Abford?" Her question is mostly rhetorical as she examines the Sketch briefly. "I will leave you to your Work. Alert me when you Wish to Meet with Cousin Marius. I will send a message to Cousin Ambrose too see if he will Join Us."

"Good," agrees Meg. "I'll try and arrange it for tomorrow morning," she looks to Ossian. "Will you need to be working all day tomorrow as well?"

Ossian shakes his head. "About mid-day tomorrow it should be good enough.

"I hope.

"Hm. If you want me in Abford too, I suggest we hold the meeting here, so I can continue my paint work."

Brita will send the message to Ambrose via a page once she leaves.

When Brita has left Ossian turns to Meg. "You have been of great help, even if you don't realise it. It would have taken me hours to figure out those details by myself." he points at the sketches.

Ossian opens his Trump case, removes one card, and gives it to Meg. "This is for you. If we get separated." he hands Meg a card with a picture of himself in it.

"Thank-you," Meg takes the card but doesn't look at it. "So Brennan's your father? Or does Ambrose have other siblings?" She smiles. "I'm glad you've found out."

"Brennan is my father. At least according to Brand. But it fits too good to not be true." Ossian smiles. "And while I and Brennan have not been exactly friendly to each other in the past, things could have been much worse.

"If Ambrose have other siblings, I do not know.

"I'd still like to find out who my mother is, though. And your parents. It could be very important." Ossian is dead serious.

"It could be," Meg agrees lightly. "Do you think your mother may be in Abford, or surrounds?"

"She may. She may also be dead. Brennan says he does not know who she is. He did not recognise Abford either, so it seems likely she is from somewhere else.

"In that case she had a way to get to Abford. Some power.

"Or do you have any more leads?"

"I'll need to see what I can find when I get home," Meg explains. "I spoke to Benedict earlier, and he says the most likely explanation is that we didn't end up in the same place by chance, but it is possible. I'll have to talk to Brennan and see if he could be my father." Meg shrugs. That's a matter for tomorrow, or later.

Ossian nods "I talked to him about you too, yesterday night. He didn't know then. Or he didn't want to tell me."

"How could your mother have come to Abford? These cards?" she nods to Ossian's sketches, "the walking between worlds that you do, or something else? I do not know all the magics you use."

Ossian shakes his head "Not the cards. I think. Then someone who has been to Abford would have made a card of for her. Not impossible, of course, but improbable."

It's probably clear to Ossian that she doesn't understand what he means.

He smiles a little "Neither the cards, nor the family gift of walking between the worlds are technically magic, although they may seem so to you. She could have used the family gift, or someone could have walked her there."

"So she's family, or able to get family to help her?"

Ossian shrugs. "That's very likely. Not necessarily, though.

"But there are other ways of travelling between the worlds too, although I am not very familiar with them. Magic. Godly powers. It's safe to say, though, that anyone who can do it can be dangerous."

"Oh," Meg looks disappointed. "There's more possibilities than I thought?"

"Yeah. I have learnt to expect to be surprised." Ossian grins "I am no expert on these things. We will have to be careful. But I can tell you about the cards.

"Anyone can use them. It's not difficult. Making them is another thing though. It's my art, and Brand's. Reid is also a skilled artist. Brita a bit less so, and others as well." Ossian says these things matter-of-factly, without boasting.

"They can picture places. And members of our family, but not other people, as far as I know.

"I gave you my card. I think you should try it now, so you know how it works."

Meg's still puzzling over how she and Ossian could have got to Abford, but when Ossian mentions it, she looks down at the card she's still holding in her hand.

"Thank-you for that. How do I use it?" she asks. She frowns suddenly and Ossian has seen her frown enough to know that this is a confused frown rather than an angry one. "Why do you create powerful magic that anyone can use?"

With an intense and deliberate voice Ossian says: "Art without an audience is pointless." Then he is quiet for what feels like a long while...

Meg doesn't say anything to fill the silence. She looks again at the card in her hand.

...before he continues:

"That's not the whole story, of course. I don't know how to make a card so that just specific persons could use it. Don't know if it's possible, even." Ossian shrugs.

"Ayway, the cards are most dangerous to the person portrayed on them. There are ways to hurt someone through the contact."

Meg suddenly smiles bright and wicked. "And you give one to the woman who almost stabbed you yesterday? You go far to find a point for your art!" She chuckles, then looks at the card again and her expression falls still. "Have you ever been attacked through a card?"

Ossian shakes his head. "Nope."

Then he grins. "If you want to hurt me I suggest you use your knife. Then you are at an advantage. Not so with the Trump, I think."

Meg lifts her eyebrows.

"Maybe I am a fool, but I don't think I am in any great danger from you. Additionally, I think I owe you some assistance. The card is part of it. It can potentially make us much more effective in Abford."

"I wasn't suggesting I was going to attack you with it, just trying to understand the problems I might need to know about. If you were attacked now in such a fashion I wouldn't know what it looked like, or how to help you. But," Meg taps her open palm with the Trump of Ossian, "I don't suppose one of these for Huon exists?"

"To be honest, I am not sure how it would look like either. I guess I would look a bit absent, like I was in Abford, when I was talking to both you and Marius at the same time." Ossian chuckles.

"Regarding Huon's Trump, I don't know. I guess Oberon ordered all trumps of the guy destroyed, but I would not be surprised if one or two exists among our uncles and aunts. I doubt we could get our hands on one, though, and it would probably not help much if we did.

"I wonder if he and Brand was in contact. Then Huon could have my card. That's a scary thought."

"So he could attack you?" Meg leans forward and frowns.

Ossian nods "On the other hand, he hasn't attacked me yet. Don't worry about that; I'm known to speculate about things I don't know."

He smiles again. "Let's try the card I gave you instead. It works like this." Ossian takes a blank card from a drawer.

"You touch the card surface and concentrate on my picture. Hopefully I will answer. Then you will see the picture come alive and sort of leave the card. Don't be scared by that.

"Then we can talk, or take the other one through to the place where we stand.

"Most people prefer not to be in the same room as the one they are talking to the first time they do this. Shall I get out in the corridor?"

Meg nods. "Yes, and I'll try."

When Ossian has stepped out. She takes a few moments to sticky beak around his room, though without touching anything.

Then she turns her attention to the card and focuses on the image.

Ossian feels the tickle of an incoming trump contact.

Ossian opens the contact, trying to do it projecting confidence. The touch of Ossian's brain is very light, but cold and precise. When the the contact opens he is smiling.

"So. I hope this is not too scary."

"Compared to what else has been happening?" Meg asks. A corner of her mouth curves up and she raises one eyebrow.

Meg holds the contact with a little uncertainty, but it is more from unfamiliarity rather than lack of confidence.

"So how will this help us?"

Ossian's smile widens: "If we get separated we can still communicate, at least one way. It is also a handy way of getting out of tight spots." He stretches ou his hand towards her. "You can pull me back into the room."

Meg reaches out a hand and then withdraws it again. "How?"

Ossian does not move to take Meg's hand, he still has his hand stretched out towards her, though "Just take my hand and pull. You don't need force."

Meg nods slowly, and then reaches out her hand again. "Ready," she says, and takes his hand.

Meg is able to take Ossian's hand as though they were in the room together.

She pulls him through, and moves half a step forward as he arrives. Their faces end up only a few centimetres apart. With her other hand, she still holds the trump of Ossian, held straight out, almost touching Ossian's stomach with a point.

Then she steps back and drops both her hands to her sides. "That simple, hey?" She grins.

Ossian grins back. "It is simple, and relatively safe. That's why it's so useful."

[I think we can go EOT here. Ossian will want Meg to try the Trump some more, and then he wants to return to his sketching.]

[Yup. Meg practices the Trump without any further efforts to determine the practicality of stabbing someone in the stomach with a palmed knife while pulling them through a trump. Then heads off.]