Falling in a Grove

The door opens, and a man walks in, tall, but decidedly older and bent over, with curly hair. It's hard to describe him as 'eccentric' looking in this place: that describes everyone they've met today.

He smiles in Alex's general direction and speaks immediately. "Fiona, there you... You're not Fiona." He looks slightly disappointed.

Alex jackknifes upright. "I'm ready! Remind me of the finish! Uh."

His brain catches up with his body, and his eyes pass along a vital message to his brain, which gives some direction to his mouth.

"Whafiona?"

Somewhere in there one of those messages got garbled. He tries again.

"Uh hi? Alex? I mean I'm Alex, not Fiona."

Delta shows her priorities by keeping the rum cup upright as she too startles awake. "...and as you can see, I am not your Fiona, either," she says after Alex finishes speaking. "I won't apologize for not being another, but I hope you find who you seek." She pauses in consideration, then adds, "We're new. The new ones. I'm called Delta."

Just in case this is yet another king or queen, she stands.

"Oh, Fiona isn't mine, she's hers, mostly. I'll find her eventually. Always have." He moves towards the rum and somehow finds a glass that wasn't obviously there when they put the bottle down. "So," he says, "tell me about being the 'new ones'." He grins and it's an infectious, toothy grin. It's easy to imagine him committing all sorts of harmless mischief.

If the older man is pouring, Delta is certainly extending her half-full cup for a topping off.

At this point in the day, she's dressed in the light, comfortable clothes Vere found for her, and her hair is slightly rumpled from her nap. An imprint of the lounge chair's texture marks her cheek.

"Not much to tell, really. Woke up in jail, had a scrap, stepped through air to get here, and was told we're related to half the place." Her tone is light and breezy. It's been quite the day.

If the older man is willing, she'll clink her cup against his - and Alex's, if he's also indulging. "Gods below watch over you. So. Are we family to you, too?"

Alex watches the magical appearing glass thoughtfully.

"Yeah, there was a lot of stabbing in the jail. Got here, met King Random, heard about our heritage, tried to go bar hopping in the harbor, got cruelly waylaidinto a giraffe, and so."

The old man nods and smiles encouragingly, as if this is a normal conversation.

He clinks his glass willingly. "But I figure if they were gonna do something awful they already would have. So who's Huon?"

"Oh, they've done awful things over the years, but I suppose that's what you can expect from royalty. Huon is the King's half-brother and probably also cousin, if your definition of cousin is loose enough. It's a good word, 'cousin'. Not as close as a named relative, but not as generic as 'kinfolk'. Yes, cousins."

He turns to Delta. "We're probably family, I'm related to almost everyone. I blame my children, they were all very keen on having their own children and didn't really know when to stop."

He recalls that he hasn't introduced himself. "I'm the court magician, or I was, and I may be that again, perhaps. It was a favorite occupation of mine." He grins his big floppy grin and drinks off about half his tumbler. If anyone needs a refill, he's there with it.

"Corwin--the big one with all the black and silver and the sword, you may've met him? Anyway, Corwin used to wonder what your generation would be like. I wonder what he thinks of you all. I don't think you came out like he expected."

"What," says Alex rather dryly, "Did he expect us to be humble or something?"

Delta's barks a laugh at Alex's comment. "Is that a family trait, Magician?" she asks of the still-unnamed elder. It's a teasing sort of question, offered with no particular deference. "We haven't met the man in question, I don't think -- though there were many people crammed into that one room.

"In any event, will you tell us more of your magics? Is it like the stepping through air?" As she asks about the Trumps, she pats her own deck -- hidden safely within an interior pocket of her leather jerkin -- through the leather, as if reassuring herself that it's there.

He runs his fingers through his hair. He needs a haircut, and apparently has for some time. "I'd be delighted to tell you more, although it requires a bit of maths. Are you good at those? And stepping through air is not that difficult. So many people do it without even thinking about it. Now, thinking about it is a different trick...."

He stops and his very animated face seem to have switched to 'inquisitive mode'. He looks at Delta. "What have you got in your pockets, Delta? May I see?"

Alex grins softly. "Stepping through air, that's no big deal. It's the landing that's tricky...."

He turns his attention to Delta, still somewhat owlish.

Delta flicks Alex a confused look before focusing once again on the Magician's request. "Plenty," she says in a light, agreeable tone. "Most of it's none of your business. But." She twists in her chair so neither man can see her unfastening the hidden pocket or drawing forth her cards.

When she twists back to face the men, she's cradling the deck in her hands like a precious object -- which, to her, they are. "What are these?" she asks. "How do I use them?" She fans the deck, showing bright, skillfully painted portraits, some of which she could probably name by now if she wasn't otherwise distracted. She does not hand the cards to the Magician, or look ready to do so.

"Oh, those are Trumps. I make those. A few others can, too." He looks at her deck without reaching out, then smiles slightly. "Touch the card, feel how it's cold to the touch. That's caused by an infinitesimal gap created between the card and the subject of the card. Although, it's technically not a card. It's really just a flat shortcut. The top card there, Random, that's not really Random, but it is."

The old magician seems closer and more distant at the same time. It would be a great stage-magic effect, if that was what he was trying for. Alex might find it useful in the ring, for example.

"If you stare at it, if you really look hard and concentrate so that it's all you're looking at, and you will yourself to believe that it's really young Random, you'll be able to contact him and, if you want, you can go through to him or he can come to you. Perhaps that can wait until the dinner bell is rung, though, unless you have a pressing desire to speak to him before then.

"It's all frightfully convenient, although it was really an unexpected side effect of them. They work with places, as well, although you should never try to bring a place to you. Very dangerous, two places in the same place..."

Delta's brows furrow. "Touch them? I've touched them for --" She cuts off her question after the momentary distortion the Magician causes -- both distant and near at the same time.

When he finishes speaking, she glances at the cards in her hand. She has no magic, no Pattern, but perhaps the Magician is right, and a touch with intent will reveal the chill he describes. She sets all the Trumps back into their pouch except one, which bears a face she has not yet met. That one, she sets on the no doubt giraffe-festooned table before her. She sets her palm carefully on the picture.

Delta sets her palm on the card, and really stares at it. A fiery beard, flame-crowned man, dressed all in red and orange, with a sword in his right hand and a goblet of wine in his left. His blue eyes dance with mischief or adventure and while his hand is bedecked in jeweled rings, he looks as if he knows how to use that sword well.

"Concentrate," the wizard says. "Your will alone will make it work. Reach for him, as if he were here and you were there, in front of him." It's almost hypnotic talk.

The card is cold, which is shocking enough. The voice in her hand is another shock. "Why hello," says the redhead, his voice sounding exactly as she imagined it would. "I don't think I've had the pleasure." He's the same man, dressed a bit differently, and without the wine and weaponry. Delta imagines that she can smell salt air, as if he's aboard ship somehwere. He waits for her to answer.

"Wait, what was the intentional effect? I mean, if the teleportation was just something that happened out of the blue, what the hell did you intend? Also, if I lick -- no, don't answer that last one, first question first."

The magician holds up his hand and speaks quietly but urgently. "Let her finish, you can try next."

Delta's hand twitches at the cold, but the words from the redhead draw a laugh of unfettered delight. "Gods below! Alex, can you hear him?"

She takes a deep breath of that salty air and gives the redheaded man a hand-over-heart salute. "Hail to you!" she says. "I hope the winds are being kind to you today. There's a Magician here, who showed me the way to you." The capital M on 'Magician' is nearly audible.

He laughs. "Of course he did. I assume that if you needed a rescue, you'd've said so already, but I should ask...."

Unless Delta asks for one, or reaches out her hand to him, he continues. "Winds are fair and steady and it's a damn sight less wintery than Xanadu, so there's that. What's the news where you are? He's clearly enjoying the sail.

"Alex, isn't it? If you put your hand on her shoulder you'll be in the conversation, too," the Magician says to Alex.

Alex cocks an eyebrow. "What'd he say? I couldn't hear him."

He vaults down from his perch, not quite tripping on the landing, and comes over to Delta. Rather tentatively, he puts his hand on her shoulder.

Alex suddenly sees, at the distance of a close conversation, the person Delta is talking to, as real as if he were in the room. Behind him is the prow of a sailing ship, and he smells salt air. The sky has a blue-green tinge to it, and the water looks like wine. The redheaded stranger notices Alex and smiles.

Delta barely seems to notice the hand on her shoulder. There's a purr in her voice as she answers the redheaded sailor. "Ah, too much to tell, and most of it unbelievable to anyone but the family that claims to--"

She stops suddenly, and a fleeting grimace crosses her expression before she speaks again. This time, the flirtatious undertone is nowhere to be heard - after all, this one's probably family too. "It's been an odd day. No rescue needed, though I'd give much to step through air and crew a good ship. If we weren't scheduled for dinner with a King...

"I'm called Delta, by the way." She inclines her head slightly, toward where Alex has perhaps appeared. "This is Alex. We're newly found, it seems." The words are wry.

Bleys grins and his eyes are merry. "Welcome Delta and Alex, I'm Bleys and we're probably all related. If you want to join me on deck, take my hand. I'll get you back in time for dinner, which will hopefully live up to your expectations. It's not really dangerous here, at the moment. Except to Corsairs."

He offers his hand.

Without a moment's hesitation, Alex takes it. His grip is strong but measured, as if he's unsure how strong he'll have to be, thus keeping some power in reserve.

Bleys' grip is powerful but not competitive. He has calluses from years of sword training. "Come, then..." he says, pulling without tugging at the proffered hand.

Delta seems about ready to do the same. She pauses to look away from the card, to grin at the Magician. "It's a rude thing, giving up a conversation for a ship -- care to join us, to combine the two? You seem fine company." She extends a hand toward the elderly man. "All good things happen on the waves."

The Magician laughs and takes her hand.

The room disappears as Bleys pulls them forward towards him. The step is short and an incalculable distance at the same time, and is followed by a bright flash of colored lights.

Once through, it's clear they've travelled again. The sea rolls under the deck and the ship is a beauty, although she's clearly been in a fight recently. Sailors are making repairs while underway, as best they can. Delta can see a half dozen additional ships, and her feeling is that there was a naval battle here recently. The sky has a reddish evening tinge and the water reflects it and looks like wine.

The redheaded man, Bleys, bows towards them. He looks fresher than the sailors, and also is keeping an eye on the horizon. "You, as well, then 'Old Magician'?" That worthy chuckles.

"My friends, and possibly my cousins, if you've been identified as relatives of the King, I am Prince Bleys, brother to Random, and before you is our father's former Court Magician, who goes by the name of Dworkin."

He looks out at the coastline. "We've picked off the rear elements of a fleet that's attacking Avalon's coast, but the real action will be when we catch the main body, preferably when they're reeling from failing there. Timing is unfortunate, the battle would definitely interrupt your dinner plans, and I certainly will need to be here for the fight."

"I could fix that..." Dworkin says, interrupting.

He turns to the wizened old magician. "No, thank you, Master. I'd like it to go as it goes." He turns back to the newcomers.

"In any case, there's nothing to fight for the next little while, and I'd love to hear the story of who you are and how my brother found two new relatives at the same time. You may not realize it, but you're rare people individually, and even more unlikely in groups."

Alex lands gracefully, although it's clear from his subsequent stutter-step that he hasn't spent much time on the water. "Cousins, yep! People keep saying we're rare but there were a dozen of us in a crowded office... oh, god, it's only a few hours ago still. But I'm getting ahead of myself."

A tentative step or two, just to see how the deck moves under his feet, and he nods to himself.

"I come from, um, someplace with computers? Airplanes? How the hell do people narrow this down? Anyhow, I'm a wrestler, nothing special but it's a living. The other night I got really drunk and I woke up in a jail cell with some guy from, um, Rebma. Tomas? Something like that. It felt a little worse than the usual thing where the local sheriff tosses you in jail and milks a fine out of you, so I kind of broke out and what do you know, escape friend Delta here was in the cell next door."

He grins cheerfully at Delta. "I was going to revoke escape friend because she wouldn't go check out the docks with me but I guess we're here now.

"We also picked up Misao, another cousin, who was also in this place. Then we picked up the aforementioned dozen cousins, who came to help. Is help always blow up the whole place? It was this time. I've been told that there was, uh, Doctor Chew? Klybesians? Some sort of illuminati conspiracy monks? Everyone seemed annoyed and since I was being held without so much as a lawyer I tend to agree with that."

Delta slips through space and alights gracefully onto the deck. She lets go of the hands she holds and darts for the rail to look out over the red-tinged sea. She's quiet as Alex speaks, with her face tipped so it catches the occasional spray from frothy waves. "He tells the truth of it," she says when Alex is quiet again. "Not that I understand half of what he says. Whose fleet harries Avalon's coasts? The same that held us prisoner?"

She pushes back from the rail and heads to Dworkin, holding out her hand for the card she inadvertently left behind.

Dworkin hands her the card.

The redhead listens along, nodding and making approving or disapproving noises at appropriate points.

"My father lived for uncounted centuries and had somewhere between 21 and 47 children, depending on who you ask." He holds up a shushing hand towards the magician. "On the order of the population of the every shadow in all the worlds, we hardly show up as a rounding error. But we have an outsized influence on things, because we have mastery over shadow.

"These aren't Klybesians, or not exactly. A consequence of being extremely long-lived and short-sighted was that my father bottled up a lot of his political and social problems and did not make any plans for what would happen to his kingdom when he died. I don't think he anticipated dying, really."

The magician looks up. "It could've worked as a deterrent, perhaps. No one in their right mind should've wanted the throne, because it would come with a collection of unbound troubles."

Bleys smiles at him. "If only my father had thought to tell anyone about his deterrent measures."

He waves over the horizon. "These corsairs are foes of my brother Benedict, and also enemies of a people close to us, the Maghees of the Silver Towers. They provoked the corsairs by existing, and the corsairs attacked en masse, but fled in the face of sorcerous opposition. They are trying to force a landing on the northern shore of Avalon to get food." He pauses. "It's complicated, I suppose, is the easiest answer. But if they are related to Klybesians, it would be good to know."

"Apparently," Alex says sadly, "not everything revolves around me. So I don't know that they're likely to be the same as the people who captured us. I guess if you want you could tie me to a mast and see if any of the other side gets excited?"

He looks up at the mast, then keeps looking up till he gets to the top.

"Belay that, bad idea. Belay? Is that right, Delta?"

"What? As a word, it'll do," Delta says. "So dramatic, with your mast-tying." She grins at Alex before turning again to Dworkin and Bleys. Her question seems unrelated to the conversation at hand, but she asks it earnestly. "How far does Shadow go? How far can any of us travel, to get to the edge of what is?"

"Shadow exists until there is no longer light nor a surface for it be cast upon," says Bleys, and the Magician nods, as if his star pupil has just recited a truism.

"But how do you want to measure 'nearness' and 'farness', Delta? What does it mean to cross the distance between shadows where none within the shadow can follow you, but you can move in an instant?" He looks across the sea at the ships that are preparing for the repulsed attack boats to be ambushed by his fleet. "All is in order. Let me show you.

"Helmsman! Bring us about, all speed towards The Silver Towers." The crew, reassuringly, follows his commands. "'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows". It sounds as if he's reciting a poem.

"We'll take the long route. Look out there to starboard. A Rock will be there, shaped like a flame." And there is. "From behind, a petrel takes to the sky."

"Mother Carey's Chicken!", says the Magician, enjoying himself.

"Clouds clear, and the sun is larger than before, and redder. The weather is more springlike than it was. A pod of dolphins off the port side blow near the ship." All of these things happen just after Bleys says them.

"On the horizon, a ship, and behind it a mountain, an island that wasn't there before. Perfectly circular and smooth, with snow on the top even this late in the year." Bleys stops concentrating. The volcano has a city at the base, and a lot of fishing boats sailing around it. On the island are trees that are broad and wide-leaved and don't look like anything Delta or Alex have ever seen, outside of dreams. Bleys smiles. "Welcome to somewhere else."

The Magician looks. "All those things, they weren't in the Shadow we were in, in Avalon. They weren't even together, Bleys took us to them, past them, and to other places. That is what control over shadows does."

Alex informs the waves, "I'm dramatic about everything. It's the tool of my trade, when you get right down to it."

The magician nods solemnly.

He starts to do something athletic and demonstrative of the point just when the ship rolls, at which point he thinks better of it. He was, apparently, also paying attention to Bleys:

"That's amazing," with nothing frivolous in his tone at all now. "Do you have to narrate it? Do you have to be moving to do that?"

Delta says nothing, considering that Alex's questions are excellent ones. But some aspect of this new power seems to have struck her deeply -- tears suddenly glitter in her dark eyes, and she doesn't bother to mask them. She wipes her face with her sleeve while listening to whatever answer may come.

The magician holds the rail and lets the breeze blow his floppy hair. While old, he's still wild-maned. "No, but you wouldn't have known what he was doing if he didn't. He's a passable teacher."

Bleys looks concernedly at Delta. His voice is soft and doesn't carry beyond the four of them. "What's wrong? Overwhelmed by it all?"

Delta wipes her eyes again. "No. Yes. Most washes off my back, eh? Life's short enough--" She stops there, winces, and goes on a few awkward seconds later. "For most, life's short enough. But what's the thrill of life, of chasing the sunsets and riding the winds, if you're creating all of it as it unfolds? It's just..." She glances over at Alex and lowers her voice in an attempt to not offend her theatrical recent companion. "It's just pantomime. A dancer with too few veils." She looks Bleys in the eyes. "What mysteries remain if you make them all?"

He nods. "Well, it's hard to say if we are moving between related places or creating places as we go. I can make it so that I sail towards an island, but I can't tell you if my sister Fiona is on that island."

"She's not," interjects the magician.

He grins. "Thank you, Dworkin. Did I create it from nothing? With history, inhabitants, trade patterns, weather, erosion, literature, and all that might exist in the world? Did I create all that by sailing over the horizon towards a peak that looks like a particular saddle ridge I imagined in my mind? What if I found my sister here? Would I have created it, or somehow navigated to her imagining?

"It's down to your favorite flavor of objectivist philosophy. Is it a bundled model, where a thing is only the traits we observe and it doesn't exist when it is unobserved, it does not? Is there an actual substance to things, that can exist regardless of the interaction with an observer?" The ship approaches the harbor, and Alex and Delta can see that it has flags flying with 3 leopard's heads emblazoned on them.

"We have a lot of evidence for the latter, but the former suggests we might be ascribing continuity and reality to things based on incorrect understanding of their bundled properties."

Bleys looks at the waves, and the sunlight on them, and feels the breeze.

"We all go through a lot of philosophical positions as we come to grips with our existence and our place in everything. Solipsism is not an unusual stance, given the ability of our minds to bring us to things. Or even a weird variant of it like Familism, where only the family exists."

He looks at Alex and Delta to see how they're reacting. "You can choose to believe it all doesn't really exist, and you could've done that before meeting us. Or you can choose to be a wanderer in a world that may just be of your own making, or of mine or Dworkin's," he says looking towards the magician.

"For me, in the end, it doesn't matter. If all the worlds we live in are worlds we make, they are amazing and limitless and worth exploring, filled with Surprises and Wonders, Sunrises and Waterfalls, Dragons and Dragonflies." He seems happy with his summing up.

"And Beer," adds Dworkin, and hands a can to Alex. He didn't have the can a moment ago.

Alex looks like he's a bit lost, but nonetheless game. "Like... maybe it's all already there, we're just choosing what to find? But..."

He gestures, reaching for words and concepts he doesn't have, but all he finds in his hand is a beer. He sighs and opens it, and drinks. Abandoning his unproductive line of thought, and speaking more to Delta now:

"I guess do you explore to see new things, or to see a thing nobody could have... but both ways maybe. Um," and back to Bleys, "So how much do you get surprised by what you find?"

Much of what Bleys says sails right over Delta's head -- talk of solipsism and objectivism and the rest. But the gist of it comes through clearly at the end, and if not soothed, Delta's expression at least grows less upset.

Alex's question draws her attention right after. "Neither competition nor glory drive me," she says. "Just ...newness. The world of the everyday can be so very small. A horizon is a promise, yes? There's something past it, and past myself." Her soft snort of laughter is a rueful one. "Gods below, how ponderous I sound."

It's obviously a great relief that Alex turns his questions next toward Bleys. In the meantime, she keeps her gaze trained on the harbor flags with their triple-leopard device.

Bleys shrugs, although it's not clear at which statement. "You find what you want to find. Battles to fight, wrongs to right, wonders, wars, sex, music, puzzles, problems, pizza, people you can save and people you can't." He pauses and looks at the shore. "And people you need to do something about. This is a neutral port, or supposedly. And that is a ship of the Northern Confederation, which shouldn't be here.

"I can send you back to Xanadu and Random, or we can make things happen."

Dworkin steps in. "Thank you, my boy, but I must be getting back. Still must find your sister. I wonder if she's at the strange tower of hers..."

He pulls out a card deck, considerably older than Delta's.

"Oh, do you want to come back with me?"

A ship that should not be where it is means no more pleasant conversation. Pleasant or melancholy, in Delta's case.

"Gods below speed your vessel, kinsman," Delta says as she bows with a flourish. "Let me walk the family maze, and I'll come back stronger than before." It's said with no special confidence, just as a fact that's as predictable as the sun's rising.

She looks at Dworkin. "I'd be grateful for the journey back." She cocks her head and asks Alex, "Coming?"

Alex pulls a face. "There it is; the maze thing is too good to miss out on. But it is, so yes, but next time..."

He glances over at the mystery ship, and says authoritatively, in a suddenly thicker Southern accent, "This ain't your ring, and this ain't your time, but because you had the grit to show your face here I'm not gonna crush you myself. I have things to do, places to be, people to be there with, and it ain't on today's list to teach the likes of you the lesson you oughta be learnin'.

"But it just so happens that the Crimson Blaze, here? Why, he was telling me not five minutes ago that he was downright bored today and he was hopin' something would happen along to fix that particular problem. And look at that! Here you are, and here he is, and I just hope you don't come out of here wishin' it was my lesson you learned. His might be worse."

Alex folds his muscled arms across his chest. "And all of that, every little last speck of it, one hundred percent of it -- is true."

He tips an imaginary hat to Bleys and drops out of the thicker accent. To Bleys: "Thank you, though."

Bleys gives Alex a full bow with a flourish. "Well spoken, milord Alex, and I do look forward to our next meeting with a tale of Crimson Blaze and his accomplishments. And, milady Delta, I hope I shall have a chance to discuss philosophy again soon. Magician, should I see my sister, I will tell her you have called for her." The light expression momentarily fades and more serious Bleys shows through. "Be gentle with her; she has struggled against a deadly foe and has scars to show for it."

Dworkin, who has been shuffling through his ancient deck, nods. "I will keep it in mind." Then he moves to take Delta's hand, gesturing to Alex to take hers, and, "Farewell the ship--"

--and steps through.

They've arrived in a grove on a mountainside, which, if they get a good look down, is above the city of Xanadu. The castle is probably somewhere inside the mountain below them. There's a pool in the middle of the grove.

To the extent that Delta and Alex recognize holiness, this is a holy place.

"Ah, yes," Dworkin says, smiling toothily, "she's been here recently." He's very pleased about that.

If holiness is to be found, it's in water. Delta walks right over to the pool's edge after dropping the others' hands and orienting herself to the new mountainside location. "What is this place?" she asks.

"It's the Pool of the Unicorn," Dworkin says. "The Unicorn is a very important being. She's the protectress of your line, in large part because she's your ancestor." He flashes Delta and Alex a huge smile. "And she likes all of you.

"Where we are physically, is on the mountain where the castle is. Above it. The castle was created in a cave on the side of the mountain. There's an overhang for defensive purposes because Random thinks that way, poor lad. But we have a way to walk down and we'll take it in a bit."

"I like the way you just threw in the mythical beast as ancestor, there. I bet you five bucks that's not a metaphor, or maybe metaphors and reality are just hopelessly entangled. Much like that time I woke up in Birmingham in the middle of a fist fight, but that's another story."

The humor's masking something, there.

"What does created in a cave mean? Is the castle, did someone walk to it the way Bleys was doing?"

It's an interesting question, and were Delta paying attention, she'd still probably not speak, the better to hear the answer. At the moment, though, she's dipping her fingers into the pool. From her expression, she's not really expecting anything to happen -- she's just happy to dreamily trail her fingers through lovely, clean water for a moment or two.

"No, not quite like walking to it. He made this place; it was prepared for him because the universe works like that, but he scribed the reality of it, and had to sleep afterwards, and the castle is what he dreamed. There was a time when we didn't have to dream of wars." Disappointment echoes in the old man's rich voice. "But this is also a kind place. Your grandmare did well in choosing him.

"She really is your grandmare. Or great-grandmare, or one or two generations further." Dworkin looks at Delta. "I can't always tell how far out. You're both strong enough when the time comes that you should do well on the Pattern, though. And for what it's worth, we're both shapeshifters, or were, so it's not like she was a unicorn all the time. She just is now. It was the price she paid for reshaping the universe."

"Shape-shifting!" Delta exclaims from her place by the edge of the pool. "Gods below, the wonders never cease." With that, she stands and wipes her hands on her trousers. "We have tales back home about Islanders who miss the sea so much when they're on land that they eventually grow fins and tails, and have to take to the waters as merfolk for all their long lives." Her smile titls up on one side. "My mother liked to try that one on me. Didn't take. Maybe my ...grandmother... would have counseled me differently." She looks again at the pool, and then to the position of the sun in the sky. "Should we start the long walk down? I'd like to hear more of her as we go. If Alex doesn't mind, or you."

"Fills out the family tree, and I always wondered about that half of it. Grandpa." He smirks.

Dworkin beams.

"Well, I might be dreaming all this in a coma... I bet like half of us say that at some point, right? But I don't see any reason to act like it wasn't real, because maybe so. I might dream up something as pretty as some of the stuff I've seen, but I don't think I would have invented all of this. Not much like where I usually go."

"We can go down if you're ready." Dworkin comes over to offer Delta a hand, the way one might with a young child. "Tell me about where you usually go, grandson, and then we can talk about Rebma."

Alex rolls his shoulders. "I keep assuming this is weird, but who knows? Maybe most worlds have pro wrestling. Maybe the ones that don't, should."

He starts to pick his way down the mountain, a little bit gingerly, taking extra care.

"So I grew up in a lot of crappy parts of a lot of crappy towns, but I had two things going for me. I'm pretty good at making people laugh and gasp and pay attention to me, and I'm stronger than I look. Three things going for me: I was too smart to believe I'd make it as a football player. So what I did was I decided I was going to be a professional wrestler.

"Now, what that means on my earth is that I get in, it's like a boxing ring? I get in the ring with someone else and we fight. It's got to be real enough to let people agree to be fooled into thinking it's real, but you don't want to hurt anyone. Mostly. The end of the fight, that's decided in advance. And you're telling the audience a story. Like, oh, what I did with Bleys? That's what we do, we make up stories and we do things to make people more interested in them.

"Sometimes I'm a bad guy. I cheat and hit people with brass knuckles when the referee isn't looking, and make everyone boo me and hate me and want to see me lose." He seems remarkably cheerful about this. "Sometimes, good guy, and I'm an underdog and I gotta make people want to see me win despite the three guys cheating to beat me.

"Now, because it's all fake and people like to sneer at it, we're kind of working in a shady business. Like I've had to strong-arm my pay out of people more than once. We have our own slang. I don't mostly trust people who aren't in the biz."

Aside: "Breaking out of jail with me counts as being in the business, though, it's cool.

"So yeah. I go to high school gymnasiums and shadowy warehouses and sleep in cheap motels and fight guys who're twice my size. But I do it on my own terms, where I want, when I want. I coulda made it into the big leagues but I didn't much like the contract."

Delta gives Dworkin a crooked grin when he offers his hand, but takes it nonetheless. That same grin is turned Alex's way when he includes her in his 'the biz' comment.

When he finishes, she says, "I don't understand much of what you say, Alex, but I admire that you keep to your own path. Follow your own ways. The freedom in that is worth a thousand luxuries." She barks a laugh. "Not that she minds luxuries, she says, as she walks the rocky path to the castle." She winks at Dworkin, and if he's still offering courtly escort, she's still happy to take it.

Dworkin is happy to keep hold of Delta. Hard to tell whether he's holding her hand like she's a child or whether he's the grandfather who needs her for balance.

"I too admire your goal of being free. I think there's no true freedom but what you make or take, unfortunately," he tells Alex mournfully. "And for people like us, less than others. I've never been in any kind of business at all. And I try to be trustworthy when I'm myself, but sometimes people do things that drive me out of my mind and then you'd be right not to trust me.

"But I promise I'm really taking you back to the castle. Now, Delta, what do you want to know about Rebma? I don't usually go there, but I do know a lot about it."

The words tumble out of Delta's mouth without any more urging. "Did Huon truly try to destroy it? Why'd my grandmother -- my ...uh, other grandmother, Coral -- go mournful after her last time there? Is my sire from there?" She shakes her head. "No, broader first. Celina, she's Queen there, aye? Is it different entirely from here, from Random's rule? How do you breathe underwater? Is it someone's created Shadow, or a place from which people like us are made?" Given the wide array of questions, she gives Dworkin another of those crooked smiles. "There. Now you've plenty of answers to choose from."

Alex says, thoughtfully, "That sense of responsibility, or is it privilege?"

Otherwise he's quiet, although his attention sharpens at the mention of Huon.

"Privilege and responsibility are two sides of the same coin for us," Dworkin tells Alex by way of answering his not-question.

Then he starts on the long list of questions from Delta. "Now Rebma--I didn't make it. My daughter did. She's gone now. Dead, I mean. Celina is one of her descendants, and while I can't tell in that kind of detail, it sounds as though your foremother Coral and you, Delta, are too. I don't know Celina very well, if at all, but she doesn't seem to be doing it wrong.

"The water in Rebma is breathable. It's not something you do, it's something done with the water. You'll find out when you go. It's very different, but very similar. Women are in charge there, and because some people can't imagine women being in charge unless there's something special, a lot of people used to think it was the mirror of Amber. Probably I should have disillusioned them about that," he adds as something of an aside.

"But it's its own place, as Xanadu is, as Amber was. Sometime we'll go." Dworkin flashes one of those broad, tall smiles. "But don't wait for me, because when I go away, I may not have time to come back as quickly as I like. You can tell me all the answers to your questions then.

"Huon did something that could have destroyed Rebma. Whether he meant to do it or was simply not paying attention because Rebma was in the way of what he wanted, now that's a better question about him. I don't know the answer to that one yet."

Alex listens with interest as the group picks their way down the mountain. Towards the end of Dworkin's explanations, he frowns, and ventures:

"Someone maybe told me already but I'm really tired, so. Who's Huon's, uh, special parent?"

"Oh, he's Oberon's. Probably your uncle, but in the half blood, with a different mother," Dworkin says absently. He seems clearer on this part of the story than more current dealings.

Delta keeps picking her way down the hillside. "Suppose I'll ask him when I see him," she says. "And as soon as I've walked your maze, I think I'll be heading to Rebma to see how many of my grandmother's stories were true. And how many of my own questions I can answer." There's a wistful note to her voice. She glances at each man in turn. "Where do you go when you 'go away,' Dworkin? And Alex, gods below. Where do you think you'll go first, when we've come into power?"

"I have a nice cave that I stay in, Delta, with tons of art supplies. I can make more pretties like your cards." Another high-wattage grin from Dworkin and he adds, "And I have a friend there called Wixer who watches me when I'm mad. But I haven't been mad since the end of the war, which is very nice."

Alex pulls a face. "Had ultimate power thrust upon me, thanks. I dunno. I sort of want to talk to the bits of the family that aren't hugging each other, get a better lay of the land. Maybe this Paris place. Or just go incognito in the dive bars for a while. I don't really think I have stable enough footing yet to decide where I wanna jump, you know?"

"More cards!" Delta says in delight at Dworkin's words. "...wait, are these hard to get? How'd my grandmother get them, then?" She shakes her head. "Thinking aloud. I hardly expect you to know. I wish you well in your refuge."

She follows Alex's words with an immediate nod. "It's still...gods, below. It's been less than a day since we woke up in those cells. How are we even still awake?" She barks a laugh. "You know, I won't be at all startled if I'm shaken awake in my hammock, and all this turns out to be a smoke-wreathed dream."

Dworkin answers them both. "Nothing you choose has to be permanent, but I assure you that if you are anyone's dream, it is mine, and it isn't." He shakes his head as they walk along. "It's good to stretch my legs. Not literally, I am content with how tall I am.

"The advice given to every new child of the lineage is the same: 'seek what you will and use it to learn and grow'." He smiles again, as if he knows something.

"It's terrible advice and no one follows it, but it's the best advice I have."

"Thanks, Grandfather." Alex seems serious enough, there. "Sounds pretty good for a starter, and I'm pretty good at improvising anyway." He's content to fall silent as the trio walks, now.

"He bashes through iron bars," says Delta to Dworkin, with a respectful bow of her head toward Alex. "You should have seen it. So. Last night, I was in a card game, mostly winning, and choking down the second-worst smoke you can buy out of Three-Palms Bay. And then..." As they continue down the mountain, Delta will tell the tale of their rescue and escape. In the mode of a tavern storyteller, Delta uses creative license with abandon. "...I was shot by a metal tube, straight through my side..." "...glass shattered and a storm rushed in, fierce as a gale but cold like I've never felt. Never! I'd read about ice, but to have it pelt your body like a thousand daggers..."

She's having a grand time.

They continue in this vein for some time while Dworkin guides them around and down and toward the castle gates. When they present themselves, the guards don't seem to know who any of them are, and they send off for the King and receive in return one Gilt Winter, who is a tall, thin fellow with a grey mustache and a luxurious white ponytail who seems to be in the King's immediate service. And he recognizes all three of Dworkin, Alex, and Delta.

Winter personally leads Dworkin off to find Fiona, leaving Alex and Delta under the guidance of the pages. They can go back to their rooms or anywhere they like, although the pages tell them that Prince Gerard would like to speak with them if they're willing.

"Sure," says Alex cheerfully, "Why not? Umm. Gerard is the gentleman in the, uh, chair?" He mimes a wheelchair in a reasonably convincing manner.

"Gilt like gold or Guilt like feeling shame? Cool name either way."

"Gilt as in gold," the page says, and sounds like there might be a story there. "And yes, Prince Gerard was injured badly in the Sundering in Amber, and hasn't walked since. The castle here was built to accommodate him.

"He's acting as Regent right now; the King has been called away briefly. They're asking all the family members to an informal dinner," the page adds cheerfully. "I'm Max, by the way. I'm your cousin too."

Alex promptly fistbumps Max, or at least offers one. "Hey, cousin Max, nice to meet you. Secret called away, or there's an invasion somewhere he needs to deal with? Do you, uh, we, always have as many armies and navies running around as I've seen so far?" He's happy to walk as he talks.

Max doesn't know what a fist bump is but he rapidly figures it out. Max is about 12 or so, maybe, as Alex would judge ages.

Delta has been oddly quiet since they parted ways with Dworkin, though she nods and introduces herself to Max. While Alex is obviously fine with walking and talking, Delta comes to a sudden halt in the corridor.

"Can't," she finally says. "Just...can't." She points at her head. "It's all ballast and no space left in the hold. I need to go rest, aye?" She offers Max a little half-bow and then playfully slugs Alex on the shoulder. Lightly. "We'll create merry havoc in the dockside taverns another day, eh? This one has to end sometime."

With any luck, another page is available to take a drooping Delta back to her room for pre-dinner rest.

There is always another page somewhere around and one takes Delta back to her (still huge and luxurious) chamber, where there are some fresh clothes already. Someone has been spending a lot of time and effort to make her comfortable.