Folly gathers up the sketches spread across the desk in her Paris guest room. She has a good idea of the direction she wants to go with Celina's trump, and is well on her way to an initial working sketch -- but other needs press.
From the desk drawer, she takes a sheet of tasteful stationery -- Flora's doing, she's sure -- and scrawls a handful of lines in her angular hand. She folds the note over and over into a little square, like she's going to slip it to someone in class, and writes "READ LATER" on the outside.
She has long since discarded her gown in favor of lounging about in her (modest-ish) underthings, but even without pockets her Trumps are still close to hand. She thumbs one out, kicks her bare feet up on the desk, and concentrates on the face of her husband.
There's the usual resistance that Martin offers to a Trump call, maybe more than usual. Folly has the sense his mind is somewhat busy at the moment--not like Hellriding, where she'd probably just slide off him, but his concentration may be on other things.
It takes a moment for him to shake loose enough to decide to accept the contact. "Who is it?" he says, because he's not the sort to know in advance like Fiona. His surroundings coalesce and he's in the dark somewhere a little more jungle-like than Lauderdale was. Vaguely familiar, even. "And where are you, and can you bring us through if we need to?"
"It's Folly," Folly replies quickly, "I'm still in Paris, and I can bring you through." She holds her free hand at the ready, visible to Martin through the contact. "You need to come now? Some of my news might be easier if you did."
"Nope, not Paris. Still not bringing Lark there. Lark, darling, it's your mama. Come say hello." Martin brings her into the contact. She's a bit older than Folly remembers, but they do grow fast at that age.
"Hello mama," says Lark. "We're on holiday!"
"Hello, sweetheart," Folly says brightly. "I'm sorry I'm missing it -- you'll have to tell me all about it. Are you at the place with the estate house and the boat?" Martin can probably tell, even if Lark cannot, that she's leaving out names on purpose.
"Yes! Auntie Solange is here and she showed me how to shoot a crossbow from horseback. I'm helping Daddy make silver bolts by melting the candelabra." Lark clearly thinks whatever the adventure they seem to be having is, it's fun and not dangerous.
Martin smiles weakly at that set of revelations. "Dad knows we found Solange. I don't think she's welcome in Paris right now and I don't want to leave her here either. We have a minor problem."
"Well, if you or Solange have got Corwin's card, perhaps I should come to you to talk," Folly offers; without taking her eyes from the trump, she's already reaching for another piece of stationery to leave a note about her whereabouts. To Lark, she adds with a twinkle, "And see your handiwork with the candelabra."
"Before you do that you should maybe think about how you feel about zombie apocalypses, or at least some combination of shadow medical tech and magic that approximates a zombie apocalypse." There's a long beat before Martin remembers to add, "We're personally immune."
Folly can't quite hide a flash of a scowl. "Well. Definitely not my first choice of milieu, but it's kind of important. If you're secure enough that we can have a few minutes of mostly non-bitey conversation, that is." She's already scrawling a quick note -- 'Talking to husband offsite, will call back soon' -- without taking her eyes from the trump. "Anything I can grab quickly that I should bring through? Er, besides shoes?" Because immune or not, walking barefoot through entrails and other assorted zombie carnage seems like a bad idea.
"Anything silver that Corwin wouldn't mind losing? I'm pretty sure his sword would do a number on these things but I don't think it would be a good idea for him to show up." Martin glances over his shoulder and shouts, "It's Folly. Do we need anything she can grab from Paris?"
"I lost my favorite stuffie," Lark says. "Can you bring it from Paris?"
"Mama will find it," Martin reassures her. "Or I will. Aunt Solange isn't great at looking for stuffies." He makes an awkward face at Folly that says something like she doesn't know what it looks like.
"Yes, we'll find it," Folly agrees. Still with her eyes on the trump, she goes to the armoire and pulls out the sturdy bag she's been using to tote her art supplies (and whatever other odds and ends may have collected there). She slings the bag across her shoulders and steps into a pair of shoes that will be almost practical once she gets a chance to tie the laces. "I think the desk set is partly silver, but that's not much--- oh!" Folly quickly crosses the room, removes the large silver tray from beneath the china tea-set, and offers it through to Martin.
Then, "Pull me through?" she asks.
Martin grunts, and if she didn't know him so well, Folly wouldn't know what a bad idea he thinks this is. "Solange," he calls over his shoulder, "Folly's coming through. With silver." He pulls Folly through into the decrepit, aging house. The air smells heavy with moisture and rot--plant, at least, not human--and Folly can feel the heat and humidity on her skin.
"Mama!" Lark cries, and throws her arms around Folly's midsection as best she can. Martin quirks an awkward smile at her but doesn't interfere, instead leaning in to peck her on the cheek.
Folly tilts her face toward him to accept the kiss and give him a quick one in return. She hands off the silver tray and the folded-up note before scooping her daughter up to carry on her hip. "My goodness, you've gotten big!" she exclaims -- and indeed, Lark seems weirdly heavier than she did just a few days ago.
To Martin, she says, "Since we're not speaking through a trump you can go ahead and read it now, although it's not the main reason I called. Is this, like, a may-need-to-run-at-any-moment situation, or have we hopefully got a few minutes to talk?"
Then, "Hi, Solange!" she says, peering over her husband's shoulder to see how her cousin is doing.
The note, if Martin chooses to read it now, says: "Watch out for Klybesians. We think they are trying to figure out how to become like us. They had Reid's body, and also Dr Chew is one. Corwin and Flora think Caine could be affiliated with them, and he can spy on trump conversations, so be careful what you say over those channels."
"Well, shit," Martin says.
Solange comes in to greet Folly. Her hair is cut short and ragged, as if either Martin did it for her recently (and Folly has reason to know haircuts are not one of his skills) or she'd had it cut a while ago and not trimmed since. She's dressed in local garb, like a boy, having given completely up on the long skirts, apparently. She sweeps Folly up into a hug. "I'm glad you're here. Even given the circumstances."
When Folly lets go of Solange, she turns her attention to Martin. "What's wrong?"
He hands her the note. "So if someone is looking for eternal life, like we have," Martin adds, for everybody's benefit, "and they fucked it up with magic, that would certainly be one way to get a zombie apocalypse."
"I'm surprised you came," Solange says, "given the general summons."
"Which we're not done arguing about," says Martin. "You're taking the amnesty. Folly, tell her she has to take the amnesty." There's about a half-second pause in which Martin's expression shifts and Folly can tell he's realized something and he doesn't like it. "You don't know. I thought you were going to try to change my mind but Dad hasn't talked to you, has he?"
Solange is starting to back out of the room. "I shouldn't be here for this. Neither should Lark." She reaches for Lark's hand. "Mama and Daddy have something important to talk about."
"No!" Lark dodges her and clings to Folly.
Martin shakes his head. "Folly," he says, taking her hands, "it's like this: Vialle's pregnant."
Folly frowns. "Is it--" she begins, but bites back the rest of the question as she seems to figure out a better way to phrase it, or maybe a better question to ask. "How far along?"
This is clearly the first she's heard of the news. Martin can tell she's sorting quickly through a whole pile of additional questions. From the look on her face, the effort is making her dizzy. She pulls one of her hands away from Martin's grasp to stroke Lark's hair. With the other she continues to hold his hand, a little too tightly.
There's the sound of Solange's feet retreating into another room. Apparently she really doesn't want to be here for this conversation. (Who can blame her?)
"Must be pretty recent because I think it was news to Dad." Martin moves to pull Folly into his arms. "I'm sorry to break it to you this way but we have a lot of things to work out and not a lot of time."
Lark pipes up, "Mama--" and doesn't seem to know what to say next.
"We'll work it all out, kiddo," Martin says, and it's not clear, maybe even not to him, which of them he's talking to.
"But things that happen in Xanadu shouldn't---" Folly is still frowning, but it is a thinking, calculating expression; any underlying upset is being tamped down, hard.
She shakes her head a little as if to clear it. "Yes, we'll work it out," she agrees, soothingly, mostly to Lark. To Martin, she adds, "You talked to him? Did he seem... happy?" She hesitates, processing some of the rest of what he said. "And what am I changing your mind about?"
Martin is moving to ease both of them, Folly and Lark, into a chair. "He wasn't very happy, no, but that was mostly because he was trying to tell me to do something that he knew perfectly well I have no intention of doing. One of the few things I have no intention of doing if asked." His eyes drop to Lark for a moment, and his jaw tightens. "Which is what Solange thinks I need convincing to do. Otherwise, hard to say. What's he going to say to me about how happy he is under the circumstances?"
"Yes, I do rather see your point," Folly agrees with a sigh as she settles into the chair with Lark. Catching his glance at their daughter, Folly unslings her satchel and, making sure she's still holding her pack of trumps and fortunes, offers the bag to Lark. "Pumpkin, why don't you see if your stuffie ended up in Mama's bag by mistake?" she suggests gently, sure that there's an excellent chance it contains at least a couple of toys.
Lark starts digging in the bag to see if the stuffie she wants is in the bag. (While, technically, there's no way it could be, Lark doesn't know that.)
With Lark's attention at least partly diverted, Folly asks, "He wants you to be present, or to present?" She inclines her head minutely toward their daughter at that last. She keeps her tone lightly conversational to keep from re-attracting the attention of her sensitive child with too much naked emotion.
"You know Dad. Why think small and go for one when you can go for both?" Martin follows her lead and keeps his own tone light, even though she can see from the crinkles around the corners of his eyes and his flat expression that he's not happy. He continues, "It's a general amnesty, Folly, and the family gathering is all adult hands. It's not just Solange whose exile is being revoked. You understand that includes everyone? Even prisoners of war?" He doesn't say the name but he's clearly thinking of someone specific.
Folly spares the briefest glance at her daughter to make sure she's staring into the bag before she allows her lips to compress, just for a moment, into a thin line. What she says, though, is, "You know what? Bring it on."
She lifts a finger to forestall any immediate complaint before adding, "And yes, I understand all your reasonable and very pragmatic concerns, but if we're going to have a kinder, gentler extended family than what came before" --and she knows she also doesn't have to name any names, there -- "let's fuckin' DO it. That's what I want for Xanadu.
"Plus," and now she can't quite quelch a mad twinkle in her eye, "I'd love to see my mum try to take him out if he tried anything."
"Your mother will need to get in line," Martin says, and he doesn't sound like he's joking. "She's not fast enough, and unless Dad revokes it in a fit of pique, I still have the right of arms in court. But that doesn't solve the other problem of family business." He tilts his head to indicate their daughter, who's still engaged in looking for her stuffie.
"Well, I have to go, either way," Folly says, as if that is self-evident. "By my count, we've still got about four months, Xanadu time, on the timeline he originally gave us barring emergencies -- of which I think this is one. A really, really non-ideal one."
She blows out a breath. "Any chance we could just pop in to do the thing and then disappear again for another few months?" Which, at their current relative time, would probably work out to something closer to six years, for Lark. "I know it wasn't our original plan, but... I mean, zombie apocalypse training probably isn't the worst preparation for it, you know?" She offers up a wry smile.
"There's also the slight problem of abandoning the people here in the middle of a zombie apocalypse," Martin reminds her gently. "Just because we're immune doesn't mean the rest of the people sheltering here are. If we leave, this whole place will be overrun, not just my estate, but everything in the whole shadow. And this isn't something we -- the family -- wants to have spreading across the worlds."
Folly nods in grim agreement. "Maybe you should back up and tell me how you ended up here -- did you come because of the zombies, or for something else and found the zombies -- and what your plan was before I called. At least the executive summary."
Martin looks to Lark to make sure she's involved with her stuffy before settling in to tell this story. "Solange came to get me in Lauderdale, saying that she'd run across something really wrong and bad and that we needed to bail before things got worse. I'd seen enough troubling signs of things that I already had the go-bag ready--you know I travel light--so we hellrode, or at least helldrove, for it, and honestly I think it was a good thing. I haven't been back since. The thing is, they're here too, and maybe they followed us here or maybe they're all over Shadow, but whatever it is, this is bad. And they definitely fit the classical mode: they bite people and the people die and get up as mindless zombies and try to kill you."
Folly lets out a couple of choice expletives; clearly she was not expecting the cross-shadow part. "So, best guess, given that we ran into these guys -- Klybesians, I mean -- in a high-tech medical environment is that if this is from them, it's biological-crossed- with-metaphysical. Who's our best Pattern-virologist? Fiona?" She has gone quite pale, but her expression is determined, perhaps even a bit dangerous; Martin may suspect she's laser-focused on solving the problem at hand to avoid other unpleasant thoughts. "Do you have a feel for what it would take to contain it while we figure out how to eradicate it?
"And I suppose we're going to need a blood sample."
"Maybe we should bring a whole head. In a box, or a muzzle, though." Martin makes a face that's half ew and half considering the idea, clearly having forgotten their daughter's presence in the room.
Lark is paying attention to them despite her interest in stuffies. "Don't bring it to Amber, Daddy," she opines with all the forceful opinion a small child can bring to bear on a question.
"You're probably right, kiddo." He glances from Lark to Folly. "Blood sample's going to be hard unless we take it off a weapon. But not out of the question. And virology--might be Fiona. I'd have to ask around. Solange's got the tech experience but not the advanced biology for this, I don't think. And we're not going back into random tech Shadows. Not after last time. They were looking for us and probably still are."
"As I understand it," Folly muses, "at least half of your father's generation have got advanced medical training of some sort, but most of it may be too practically-focused for what we're after -- or if they did have a strong theoretical basis, it could be obsolete...."
She trails off, then thunks herself lightly on the head with her fist, as if she's an idiot. "Or there's Solange's friend, Kyril. Although we'd want him as a consultant from a nice, safe distance, since he'd be susceptible."
Because she's not one to discount the intuition of children -- particularly children who pay attention to a lot more than they pretend to -- she asks Lark, "Why not Amber, sweetheart?"
"It's not safe, mama," Lark says with the absolute confidence of a small child.
Martin gives her a side-eye which is less doubtful of her words than scrutinizing his daughter and figuring out what she knows that he doesn't that makes her that confident of the statement, and how seriously he ought to take it. After a couple of seconds, he shrugs and looks back at Folly.
She acknowledges his look with a slight tilt of her head, but keeps her eyes on her daughter. "I've been thinking that, too," she agrees, "but I'm not sure how to put it in words. Why do you think it's not safe? And what's not safe about it?"
"It's not safe," Lark repeats, and has to stop and think about the rest of it. Finally she comes up with, "Because people might get sick."
Martin meets Folly's gaze and it's clear to her that he doesn't like the sound of that one bit. "Do you think it's safe to take Jim with us to Amber?"
"Don't go to Amber," Lark says. "Go to grandad."
"In Xanadu?" Folly asks, just to make sure they're on the same page.
Then, quietly, she asks Martin, "Jim's been exposed? More than just whatever's airborne?"
"Grandad will be in Xanadu. I think," Lark says, sounding less certain about that. "But not Amber."
Over her head, Martin's shaking his head in the negative to Folly's question to him. "The people in the house haven't been exposed beyond airborne," he says, which Folly suspects covers some hard decisions.
Folly nods. To Lark, she says, "Grandad is traveling right now, but he's supposed to be back in Xanadu very soon, and I think that's where I'll be going next, too. You think I should take Jim with me when I go? Even if Grandad isn't quite back yet?"
"Take him home to Grandad. That's where it'll be safe." Lark, having made that pronouncement, goes back to playing with her stuffie and ignoring her parents, who are being silly.
Martin shrugs and holds out a few strands of his blond hair. Then he pokes a finger at Folly as if to say "this is from your side of the family".
Folly can't help but grin at that, but grows more serious as she continues thinking about their immediate plans. "So I'll go to Xanadu and either bring your people through with me, or send for them once your father returns. What's the incubation time between blood exposure and visible onset of symptoms?" Martin can tell she's working out the quarantine protocol, just to be on the safe side.
"Meanwhile, you do what you can to contain the situation here, get a properly-packaged biological sample, and/or gather more information about the extent of the apocalypse -- and if you can't join the family conclave in person, perhaps we could try to work it out for you to join via trump?" She grins again, but with a wicked glint in her eye. "That would make a particular dramatic way to present the sample. 'I've got Martin on the line, and he's brought us a present!'"
She does not yet broach the subject of the attendance-or-not of the other members of this party, but Martin can probably sense it's coming next.
"Quarantine protocol is--" Martin draws a finger across his throat. "Bite infection appears to be 100%--contagious. Unless you're me or Solange, or you. We don't have very long after bite to onset, on the order of minutes. It's do-able. But if she's going," Martin looks down at Lark, "I need to go."
Folly arches her brows, inviting him to elaborate. She can think of a couple of very good arguments herself, both political and personal, but she wants to hear his thoughts -- and whether there's anything she's missing.
Martin's own eyebrows go up. "You think I want her in that shark tank without me?"
"Fair point," Folly says with a wry smile. "But I'd be there, and there'll also be other people there I would trust to have her back. The conclave itself might be a bit of a challenge, though, unless it's unexpectedly open to the under-five contingent."
Martin shakes his head. "If she's old enough to go at all, she's old enough for that. She's a potential heir to two kingdoms and she'll need to know who's who and what's what early. Even if she can't follow the discussion, she'll get an idea of who to trust, and she'll need that. If we're doing it, we're not doing it by halves.
"Besides," he says, having apparently made up his mind that this is the moment, and if he's going to do it Folly's way, he's going to find the silver lining, "it solves the problem about her public debut in a big way. Dad's big news will overshadow everything else and that'll be the end of the public whatever about her." He gestures to Lark with a tilt of his head, and she stops what she's doing to smile at him.
"One can hope," Folly agrees; but there's something in the twist of her lips, the spark in her eyes as she smiles, that says she expects their daughter will be a Big Deal regardless.
"It's just down to logistics, then," she continues. "All of us wait until the last possible minute to venture to Xanadu, so we can work on understanding and containing the situation here? Or something else?"
Martin frowns, but it's more of an I'm-thinking frown than an annoyed one. "You two go on through and take Solange so she doesn't duck out at the last moment. And also Jim and the rest of the refugees in the house. And I'll get the sample we need and then torch the place. I think it's the best I think we can do at short notice."
Folly nods. "That works. You've got my card, or if I don't hear from you before the powwow starts, I've got yours."
She casts a quick glance at their daughter, then adds, "And if you've got a couple of minutes before I go, perhaps I should tell you the almost-certainly-not-zombie-apocalypse-related reason I called?" Her tone is light -- but almost immediately after she says it, a decidedly un-light look crosses her face, as if she'd just thought of something a bit unnerving.
"Yeah, go on," Martin says, because after everything else, what's one more piece of bad news? But he moves over to Lark and kneels beside her, in case there's something he needs to shelter her from or he needs to be there to hug her.
"Well," Folly says, slowly, "I'd been considering trying to track down your grandmother while you two were safely Elsewhere. Technically I did tell her I would come talk to her, if that letter ever got to her. And it turns out her former henchwoman is a guest in one of Corwin's basement rooms; I thought she might provide a lead."
She pauses there to give Martin a chance to react, although he can tell from her tone that she hasn't got to the potentially disturbing part yet.
It turns out that Martin is just possibly the one wanting the comfort of touching Lark, who stops playing with the stuffie to lean against him. "Is this where I say 'that's a terrible idea' or do I need to wait until you've actually told me what the full terrible idea is? Because I did kill her brother and she's not above killing you to get back at me."
"Aaand there it is," Folly says with a wry smile. "It's not the plan itself, but part of the 'why' of the plan. Brennan is in the vicinity of Avalon investigating the activity of an 'Admiral Stratum' and his mother, the 'War-Leader Syke'. Everyone he's encountered who has encountered either one of them has had some kind of memory geas placed on them that makes it hard for them to remember their faces, but he's trying to get that unraveled with the help of some local hedge wizards. He suspects this Syke might be your gradmother -- and it turns out that Stratum looks just like her henchwoman's dead brother, if maybe a bit older.
"So I figured, if there's something that's supposed to be rotten but isn't in the state of Avalon, maybe actually talking to your grandmother would help us figure out what's actually going on. And I figured I'd have a better chance than most of accomplishing that through more-or-less diplomatic channels, before a vengeful cousin or auntie tries to exact their own flavor of justice."
"And if Bend finalizes you, the Rebman way of thinking is that they'll get at my daughter with no mother to protect her. That's sadly underestimating my capability for both parenting and homicide, but it's how Bend thinks. Not to mention my grandmother. But if we're all going to some family thing, we can talk to Brennan--" which thought makes Martin blow a dissatisfied gust of air out of his pursed lips, a gesture which really makes him resemble Lark, or perhaps vice versa "--and find out what we've actually got in terms of this Syke and Stratum. Not to mention what Celina may think, because I'm not interested in doing this behind her back."
Folly nods. "Celina was in Paris, briefly, so she's aware of my intentions, at least in broad strokes -- those being the only ones that have been filled in so far -- and I've got an idea of her interests, as well. We'll see how much the family conclave changes those ideas."
She leans over to kiss her daughter's forehead, and then Martin's. "Shall we go gather Solange and your people and get us sent through to Xanadu?"
"I'm as ready as I'm going to get," says Martin, but he moves to open the door and call for Solange and the others. It takes them a few minutes and while Martin and Solange are gathering them, Folly has time to choose which Trump she's going to choose and who will bring them to Xanadu.
To Folly, the choice is immediate and obvious: she takes Random's trump and concentrates, willing a connection...
...and concentrates harder, as she feels -- or thinks she feels, or maybe just hopes she feels -- what might be the first faint stirrings on the other end of the line...
...and then nothing. She frowns and breathes out a quiet, mild expletive under her breath, then thumbs through the other small number of trumps she worked on during her long hiatus. Traveling, traveling....
Yes. That should do nicely, she hopes. She smiles down at Garrett's image, and concentrates.
Edan wanders over from talking to Corwin and Julian. "Cousins," he says, with a slight smile. At least he hopes it's a slight smile, because when he sees Hannah he feels like he's grinning from ear to ear.
"Edan!" Garrett startles, his attention having been on the scene across the room and the implications of the blood streaks. He holds out his hand, "It's good to see you. How have you been?"
Edan takes the hand, and it's obvious he's gotten over the hesitation that he used to have from skin-to-skin contact. "Prince Garrett. I have been very well. As you can imagine," he says with a smile, indicating the room around them to refer to the presence of the new Order. "Donovan has been wanting me to talk to you. I'm thinking of breeding Aramsham, and everyone says you are the expert on that subject in Xanadu."
Hannah smiles, starts to say something, and decides that she'd rather not make both men blush. Instead, she drinks her water.
Garrett smirks, his eyes twinkling. "Do they now," he chuckles, but doesn't deny the compliment. "I'll have to give it some thought. I've only just returned to Xanadu myself and I'm sure the stock has changed since I left. Do you have any preferences?"
Edan makes a wry expression. "I don't know any of the horses here except the one I rode to town last year or before. Aramsham has an impressive Asil history, but I am afraid the sweet temperament has been bred right out of his line. Or perhaps it is that I chose a stallion to raise as a warhorse. Everyone told me to train a mare instead."
Hannah smiles. "You'll just have to go in search of suitable mares for him to cover. My people ride small horses, so I don't think Papa will be able to help, but don't forget the forest horses, Paige has with her Rangers."
"Those would be a possibility," Garrett acknowledges. "Do you have a specific purpose in mind for the get?" he asks Edan. "Knowing your future plans for the foal might help in the selection."
"If the craziness around us settles, an opportunity arises, I would race them," Edan says. "Aramsham won the Race to Madness, which might not be such a big name here, but it would get attention towards the Tree."
"I am looking forward to riding again. It's not the baby, but the shadows we've been in were so mechanical. Everything was predictable and nothing was alive." Hannah frowns. "I hope Random doesn't intend to introduce motorcars to Xanadu. It's almost too much now."
Garrett feels a presence in his head, one that requires his attention.
"I wonder if Random knows what works here and what doesn't. I wonder what they have to experiment on," Edan says in response.
Garrett appears distracted in what the others would probably recognize as a reaction to a trump call. A wide grin spreads across his face as he responds, "Will you look who's here?!" He holds out his hand...
"Hey, it worked!" Folly says brightly through the contact, but Garrett might detect a hint of strain in her voice. "You're in Xanadu, it looks like? Are you somewhere you can bring a dozen-ish people through?"
If those people are in the same state as Folly, they're not really dressed for dinner. Or possibly even for being out in public.
"I can be. Hold on," Garrett says, his tone now more serious in response to Folly's demeanor. He glances over at Edan and Hannah, excuses himself quickly, and walks back toward the hallway, his face still holding a look of concentration. He is NOT losing this connection.
Garrett retreats to a sitting room off the main hallway, still concentrating hard to maintain the trump connection with Folly. "This should be big enough," he says finally, and adds with concern, "Are you all right?"
"We're all right," Folly reassures him, "we've just got a bit of a... situation here and need to evacuate some people. Are you ready for us?"
Even with his movement to another room, the trump connection stays strong. Garrett can hear Folly saying a few words quietly as an aside to someone just out of view -- brief instructions on what to do and what to expect, and something about... chance's brother, maybe? Then there's someone else in the contact: a tall, dark-skinned man wearing plain clothes and a wary expression. Folly passes him through with a firm, steady hand, followed by other men and women -- and a couple of children -- who all have the look of laborers and house staff. Well, all but the last: blonder and fairer-skinned than the others, with her hair cut short, Solange is momentarily unrecognizable until she beams at Garrett.
Garrett beams back.
Then Folly herself is stepping through the contact with a wide-eyed toddler on her hip and hugging Garrett with her free arm. "Thanks for the help," she says. "We should get these folks settled, and then... er, what's happening here?"
From Folly's hip the wiggly toddler is also reaching out for a hug. "Unca Garrett!" she says, half launching herself from her mother's hip so that neither Folly nor Garrett truly has her.
Garrett, accustomed to the sudden movements of young children, is able to get an arm under the child before she hits the floor. "Hold on there, Sunshine," he says with a grin as he lowers her to her feet.
Solange waits a moment and says "Thanks for the trump-through. I need to see my father, the King, and Kyril, in that order. Where do I start?"
Gilt Winter shows up, following a page. "Highness," he says to Garrett, "how can I help with these... new guests?"
"They'll need a group of rooms together. Consider them guests of Prince Martin," Garrett explains, making assumptions without knowing if they're true. "And food! They'll need food." He nods at Gilt in finality before turning back to the rest of the group and scooping the youngster up under one arm. He holds her around the waist above the floor, hopefully giggling, as he turns to her mother and Solange.
"Your father will be at dinner, if he isn't already," he says to Solange, unable to stop smiling at this unexpected reunion with some of his favorite people. "We're all waiting for the King, so get in line, and Kyril is...somewhere 'round here." He shrugs playfully and turns to Folly.
Solange squares her shoulders and looks for somewhere to clean up. Gilt directs her to a small office with a basin and a towel in it.
"Dinner. And other things," he replies to Folly's question with a bit more seriousness. "I reckon we'll all find out soon enough." He leans down to speak to the rumpled little girl under his arm. "And you are...?" he drawls the exaggerated question as much to Folly as to the child.
"I'm Lark!", Lark says, giggling. "We came home."
Folly, who had turned aside for a moment to check in with Martin's people and offer a few more words to Gilt about how best to accommodate them, grins at Garrett and her daughter. "We did indeed," she says. She looks in the direction Solange headed, and then down at her own current state, which will require a bit more than a basin and towel to remedy: she's wearing nothing but what appear to be modest...ish undergarments and a pair of boots.
"Lark," she says, "would you like to play 'hot-or-cold' with your Uncle Garrett to try to find our room?" Garrett might get the idea Folly is conducting some kind of experiment, here. "It won't take long, and then we can meet everyone else at dinner."
Garrett sets Lark back on her feet.
Lark takes Garrett by the hand. "C'mon, Unca Garrett. I wanna see the cassle." She smiles and introduces herself to several pairs of guards as she leads the way.
Lark leads them through a long corridor into the family wing and a gallery full of portraits. She proudly calls out the names of each Aunt and Uncle. The few Folly hasn't drawn for her, she asks about.
There's some quality in the answers Folly gives -- something about the rhythm or the word choice -- that makes them sound almost like part of a fairy tale, or snippets of an old ballad. Garrett might well imagine Lark has heard some colorful tales of her relatives. (Colorful, but still accurate.)
The girl stops in front of an obscure picture, low and not in the main line of ancestors. It's one neither Folly nor Garrett has seen before, a young woman in moonlight, or perhaps on a dark night. It's not labelled, but it has an "M" where the artist's signature would be. Lark looks at it for a long time. After a few beats, she sighs and leads the trio onward.
Folly examines the picture as they pass to see if she recognizes the style from any of the family artists she knows -- or the woman by any resemblance to known family members.
Folly's best guess, based on style, is that it's a self-portrait. There's something odd about the light, like it's very diffuse.
It's not obvious who she is.
"Huh. That's new," Garrett comments, but he has no recognition of the woman either.
(It might be new, but it doesn't look it. Maybe he just hadn't noticed it before. This isn't on his normal routes around the castle.)
They pass by another pair of guards, who manage to look both tired and sharp at the same time, they salute the Prince and Princess and allow them into the royal wing.
Lark stops perhaps halfway down the hall, and seems like she's about to say something, but shakes her head and continues.
Folly notices something too. It's like a lingering odor, as if something is about to develop a stubborn case of mildew but hasn't yet, except it's not really an odor, just a feeling.
Folly breathes out a mild oath and mutters under her breath, "So something IS rotten in the realm of Xanadu...." She glances at Garrett to see if he notices it, too.
If he does, he doesn't seem to react to it. His attention appears to be on keeping Lark out of trouble.
As they make their way through the castle, Folly asks Garrett, "Have the Rebman contingent arrived yet? And their... ah... guest of the state?"
Garrett thinks for a moment as they walk. "Mmm... I saw Celina and Merlin. And Conner. Jerod showed up later, with Brita and someone I didn't recognize. No one else that I would associate with Rebma particularly. Guest of the State?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow with the question.
"She means Bad Grandpa," Lark says, giggling. "Is this our rooms?" she says, coming to Martin's door.
"Yes indeed," Folly says, probably answering Lark's question, but maybe also confirming Lark's answer to Garrett's question. She holds up a finger, opens the door a hand's breadth, and peeks inside to make sure nothing is amiss before inviting Garrett and her daughter inside. Garrett almost gets the sense she's sniffing the air.
"Our Elders' formerly estranged brother is being rehabilitated in Rebma, as I understand it," she says by way of further explanation. "There was some thought he might be included in the upcoming family gathering."
In the absence of anything startlingly unexpected in the room, she opens the door fully and gestures Garrett and Lark inside.
"You mean Hu...," Garrett pauses, uncertain about how much Lark knows, or how much Folly wants her to know. Obviously the girl knows the basics though, so in a quieter tone, he continues, "Yeah, I heard he was coming for breakfast tomorrow, but I didn't hear anything about tonight."
Realization dawns and Garrett's eyes widen in surprise. "Wait. You mean you and..." he says softly, pointing from her to a point vaguely in the direction of the family gathering.
Lark goes straight through the outer room and opens Folly's wardrobe and starts going through the clothes she left here.
Folly nods. "He's apparently my... well, 'father' is hardly accurate, so let's call him my sperm donor, although I take it he accomplished that the old-fashinoned way." She shares this news matter-of-factly. "I've never met him, so I'm not carrying any particular baggage about him beyond the usual 'oh-by-the-way-your-sire-is-a-fratricidal-former- enemy-of-the-state'. My mother, on the other hand...." She offers up a wry smile. "So I'm trying to work out the right window of opportunity to make this introduction" -- she nods in the direction of her daughter -- "before that particular excrement hits the rotating blades. Sounds like that better be this evening, if Mum is in the castle."
"Mmm," Garrett nods with a grimace. "Timing will be tight on that one."
She waits a moment to see what her daughter picks out, either for herself or for Folly. There's not much that's properly kid-sized, but given Folly's penchant for avant garde styles, there may be a sparkly top or scarf or something that could be fashioned into a makeshift dress, beach cover-up style, to go with her daughter's pink trainers and only slightly grubby leggings with mermaids on them.
Lark immediately gravitates to the swan-dress. It's short enough that it isn't too long, although the neck is too long. Lark loops it twice around her neck.
Folly holds her hand up to her mouth like she's thinking; but from the twinkle in her eyes Garrett is pretty sure she's stifling a grin. Well, at least everyone will know immediately whose kid this is.
The castle staff must have stored a lot of the more fashionable scarves and tops somewhere else, because Folly feels like about half of what she left here is missing. She can put something together, but none of it would be her first choices.
For family dinner, she's sure she'll be forgiven for arriving suddenly in a bit of disarray. She'll worry later about tracking down the rest of her things and finding something a bit more presentable. In the meantime she selects a simple but colorful dress, more Texorami-style than Amber-style, that she can slip on over what she's already wearing. (She keeps the boots, on the off chance she might suddenly need to kick a zombie in the head.)
It'll do for a buffet. As long as the paparazzi don't show up. Then Folly might have to take physical action...
Garrett stays in the background while the girls look for clothing. Fashion isn't his forte. While he waits, he asks, "Will Martin be coming in for breakfast?" Knowing Garrett as she does, Folly may hear the underlying wariness in the otherwise benign question. It's a mix of 'happy to see him' and 'am I gonna have to clean up blood?'
"He's got a little bit of business to take care of on his end," Folly says, "but he'll definitely be here no later than the family meeting, because if he hasn't arrived on his own by then I'll be giving him a call." She pauses, thinks about what he said, then asks, "Is the big family conclave a breakfast meeting? I'm afraid I'm a bit sketchy on the details. And if it's over breakfast... that could make Martin's bit of business a bit... ah...."
Instead of finishing that thought, Folly asks, "How have things been around here? Any weirdnesses that you're aware of?" It doesn't sound entirely like a non sequitur. She moves to a dressing-table, runs a brush through her hair, and begins twisting it up into a bunch of little knots, but she's clearly listening attentively to Garrett's answer.
"To be honest, I haven't been here much since I last saw you in Paris," Garrett says. "I traveled in Shadow a bit. Testing my skills in different worlds and all that. Anything I know, I've only heard since I came back. On the timing, Gerard said the exhibition of Edan's new Knights would be tonight, and that the family meeting would be in the morning."
Garrett glances over at the Swan Princess and smiles, hoping she'll stay distracted for the rest. "As for weirdness," he continues, his head turned away from Lark to keep his voice for Folly's ears only, "Vere, Fletcher and Gerard spoke of some trouble in Avalon and Gateway, and mentioned Moonriders, Assirians and Klybesians, in no particular order. I think there's still speculation about where everything fits together. Everyone's anxious for the chance to compare stories."
"Understatement!" Folly agrees with a grin. More seriously, she adds, "Martin's business touches on the Klybesians, we think."
Lark is talking to the swan's head. One of them is laughing.
Folly turns to look at her daughter, but Garrett is certain she's talking to him when she asks, "Do you know what 'zombies' are? And how they behave, at least in most folklore I know?"
Lark smiles, looks at her mother, and flops the swan's head over and then mimes attacking her own neck.
She bursts out laughing after that.
Garrett can't help but chuckle too. As the girl plays, he says quietly, "Some. I spent some time on ships and the seamen tell stories about ghost ships and the crews that sail them. How the he..." he pauses with a shudder, glancing over at Lark, then continues, "uh, how did Martin get involved in that?"
"I don't know the full story, because we didn't have much time before I had to come here, but it sounds like evidence of them showed up in the place we were staying," Folly says. "So Martin relocated to another of his safe havens, and they were there, too." Her lips press together in a thin line at the magnitude of that problem. "We know the Klybesians have been trying to unlock the secrets of our family's power -- including, presumably, our longevity. We suspect the sudden appearance of zombies could be a side-effect of an experiment gone wrong. Martin is trying to collect an appropriately contained biological sample to help us understand and figure out how to deal with the problem."
Garrett, frowning, makes a vague grunt of displeasure.
She finishes pinning up her hair, picks up the brush again, and crooks a finger at her daughter to beckon her over.
Lark comes over, but slowly. "My hair's fine. Daddy and I did it this morning." If that's true, Martin must've been aiming at 'rat's nest'. "You always pull too hard when you're in a hurry."
"Lemme try, sweetheart," Garrett offers. He scans the dressing table and, after selecting a large-toothed comb, kneels down and motions the little girl to turn her back to him. Assuming she and Folly let him, he picks gently but effectively at the tangles, explaining to Lark in detail how he once had to braid the mane of one of the stables' prized ponies for her grandda's coronation. Folly would clearly recognize the "soothing the skittish horse" voice he employs to distract his niece from the task at hand.
If Garrett can finish the job, Lark will end up with two perfect French braids, joined in the back with a pretty ribbon in Lark's choice of color.
Lark picks yellow, which is conveniently crammed into the dresser drawer. It goes with the Swan's beak. The swan's name is Swanhilde, in case anyone was dying to know.
Folly watches Garrett work on Lark's hair with a little smile. She waits until it's clear Lark is sufficiently distracted (or at least sufficiently un-complainey while her newly-beloved uncle is in charge) and then asks her daughter, "Will you tell me the story of the girl in the moonlight that we saw in the hall? I didn't recognize that picture."
Lark starts to shrug, and stops when she pulls her own hair against the comb. "I don't know. She was really pretty." While she was striking, neither Folly not Garrett would describe her as 'pretty'. "We'll ask Grandpa Syd. He'll know."
"Indeed he will," Garrett concurs while tying the yellow ribbon into Lark's hair. He glances back at Folly and shakes his head slightly with a vague shrug. He's got no more than Lark does on that subject.
"...Whenever he gets here," Folly adds with a smile that is just the faintest bit tight around the edges. "Lark, you and Swanhilde look lovely. Would you like to go on down to dinner with your Uncle Garrett? I'll catch up in a few minutes -- I want to see if your Grammie Brij is here," she says cheerfully, then adds under her breath, "(...And if she borrowed half my clothes)."
Last modified: 30 May 2017