Of Dragons And Rebmans

Conner arrives right on time in suitable sparring clothes and his sword.

Jerod will already be there, having spent a few minutes to warm-up and prepare, also dressed in suitable clothing.

"Hello Conner. I trust all is well on the home front." Jerod says, waiting patiently as is his normal routine during sparring for his partners to ready themselves and take their positions.

"Quite well." Conner nods making a few passes with his sword and then taking his position. "I hope the recent unpleasantness hasn't spoiled your family reunion."

Jerod takes up position before beginning. "It's always fun catching up with family. I figured as soon as the Embassy arrived there'd be some problem with regards to your little escape from Rebma. That would necessitate the usual posturing to prove that both sides are serious about protecting their egos...and their family members. Now that it's out of the way, hopefully we can get down to brass tacks."

Jerod conducts his sparring practice in vague silence, working up to speed with Conner, careful not to push over any limits too quickly, but always testing Conner to find those limits. After a reasonable period of time, Jerod probably has Conner working at his absolute best...Jerod does not go beyond that limit but also does not shy from it...if Conner doesn't work to maintain position, he'll get injured.

Conner and Jerod have sparred once before, and it seems Conner has remembered Jerod's style. Conner's best is quite a bit below Jerod's skill level but he stays at his fighting best throughout the session. He looks like he would like to say something at various points but decides to save his breath for sparring.

Jerod says little, though he is clearly waiting for the optimum time to begin. It would seem that Jerod begins to speak about the same time that Conner figures that he's going to have to use most of his effort to keep defending against Jerod...meaning that any significant effort at trying to dissemble or put on a good front (that requires forethought and concentration) might meaning taking a whack or two because of the distraction...

It's also likely that Conner would realize at this point that Jerod called for the sparring match for precisely that reason...on a good day, Conner can lie through his teeth and Jerod couldn't be sure. But not today perhaps...:)

"My sister spoke to me about the situation in Rebma. As well, there was an intelligence update on certain...goings-on. I've got a meeting later today with Thalia as well to ask her some...questions. I think this is the point in the conversation where I say that if there's anything you left out of your original story that you'd now like to change or add...that now would be a good time." Jerod says, pressing the attack momentarily before letting it fade a bit.

"Well, now would be a good time."

"I have told you the truth." Conner grunts back. "Tell me the lies I am accused of."

"What were you, Thalia and Harga'rel up to? You've been under surveillance for some time concerning a smuggling operation."

Conner snorts. "They haven't changed cover story I see." Conner backs a step to regain his balance as Jerod steps up his truth enhancing sparring. "Thalia I dated. Har'garel I never met until the night of Thalia's abduction. The only 'smuggling' I did in Rebma was obtaining Random's favorite liquors on Embassy funds and passing them along during his imprisionment and that ended when he left."

"I presume that can be backed up? What's Thalia been up to?" Jerod asks, adjusting to compensate for Conner's retreat. "The Gatwegians have been up to some strange work of late. Enough to make me nervous."

Conner knows that when Jerod is nervous, that's a bad thing (he's very rarely ever nervous).

"Thalia doesn't talk about work outside the Embassy and I haven't asked." Conner replies. "How did Corwin find the Rebmans?" Conner asks stepping forward again.

"No comment." Jerod says. "Why would the Tritons be pissed with you?"

"I see your idea of free flowing information among the youngers has dried up." Conner comments attempting a disarm move that Jerod counters. "I have no idea why Tritons would be pissed at me. I was under the impression Triton's only acted on orders from Rebman masters."

"Free flowing where the risk to the King and Crown is minimal." Jerod says, reminding Conner of Jerod's precautions. "Until that risk is determined, it stays secret. Don't like it...talk to Corwin or Random. Once it's safe, then I tell people.

"Besides, you've yet to come up with anything to make me think you're not guilty." and Jerod smiles as he spins through the counter to attack and feint. "Don't take it personal. I see both you and my sister as being guilty. You've both got information you're trying to hide...you won't share unless you absolutely have to and you want to get as much from the other as possible. It's practically a genetic characteristic, it's so damned ingrained. And you're both diplomatic types. The whole concept of truth is alien to your job descriptions.

"As for Tritons...Tritons are Tritons - they're very private. Even the nobles who use them don't understand them. Most sneer at them and use very impolite terms about them. I never had one as a servant when I was growing up. They felt more like slaves than anything else. So the fact that you had some looking for you, for whatever reason, means going back will be a very bad idea for you."

"Wasn't planning on going back." Conner nods. "I'm more worried about Rebman's coming here." Conner defends in silence for a moment. "You can believe what you want Jerod. I have no hard evidence to sway your rightly skeptical mind. But the simple fact is that a person with something to hide and a person with nothing to hide both answer, 'I don't know' to incriminating questions. I have answered you truthfully, and the only secrets I have left have nothing to do with my time in Rebma. Unless you count the spying I did on Montage and Bend of course."

"Rebmans aren't stupid." Jerod says. "They'd only try something if they were incredibly desperate. Though I'd be careful if you had some other enemies that might want to ding you and blame the Rebmans for an alibi.

"As for your spying on Montage and Bend, you can tell me all about it." Jerod says. "Montage gave me the briefing on you. And it would seem that he and his sister are joined at the hip. Maybe you pissed them off without realizing it?"

"Sir Montage and Bend are royal troubleshooters, Jerod." Conner replies. "The only reason to include them in a simple break-in is if it wasn't simple, and if the Crown wanted to be sure the right answer was found. I tried to find out the answer on my own so of course I pissed them off. But they only act on orders." Conner fences for a moment. "The first time was right after I got the job to investigate the break-in. Got nothing out of that one except that Montage was to prevent me from finding out anything. No surprise there. The second was after the Tritons attacked me. My man got very little but Montage said, 'If this gets out, we'll have a pogrom on our hands. Who the hell could be stirring them up?'" Conner replies. "Wasn't sure what to make of that."

"So...if they're troubleshooters, and Montage was there to prevent you from finding something...what does all that tell you?" Jerod asks, having confirmed something from Conner's statement.

"That they were protecting a Royal." Conner replies. "Or a Royal secret."

"Or maybe...they don't know." Jerod says. "And don't want to admit it."

"They know more than they are admitting." Conner replies. "But they could be covering their own asses."

"Consider this...hypothetical situation. Random has a bunch of loyal servants who obey him and selected members of the royal family only. Outsider Rebman who is not of royal blood starts digging into something that someone doesn't want looked into.

"Loyal servant goes and faces off with Rebman. Possible scenarios include Random sent loyal servant. So why send a troubleshooter? Random would have Rebman not of royal blood eliminated or dealt with. No reason to send troubleshooter.

"Second scenario is that a family member sent loyal servant to deal with offending Rebman. Same deal as first. Unless Random's interests are threatened, no reason to send troubleshooters. And if it is someone within the family hierarchy, the loyal servants would answer to Random and tell him who of the family was responsible. There's no stigma in obeying the chain of command, etc, etc. If anyone is sent, they go talk to a family member, not to the expendable Rebman flunky.

"Remember, at this time no one knew of your background. You were expendable because you were considered unimportant. Had they known you were Fiona's kid, then Moire wouldn't have sent anyone to go after you. Too dangerous.

"Third scenario is a bit murkier. Someone outside the royal family has access to loyal servants and sent them. Royal troubleshooters sent to find out who's pissing with loyal servants. After all, you can't have someone else having that kind of access. Or, worse yet - loyal servants aren't quite as loyal as one might think. And they're up to something. Enough for them not to respond to the traditional oaths of obedience. And you can't let this out of the bag because it makes you look weak."

"The third scenario seems most likely." Conner replies grateful for the slight reprieve in the sparring as Jerod's devotes so much breath to his theories.

"Well, it certainly helps you." Jerod says. "Whether it's the real scenario remains to be seen."

"True enough." Conner nods. "Jerod, I hesitate to tell you this with a blade in your hand, but here goes." Conner sighs. "My function in Rebma was to pass information about Eric's dealings with Rebma to either my mother or Bleys. I was to take to no action, interfere in no way, just lay low and and let them know what was coming. I would not have jepordized my anonymity by starting up a smuggling ring."

Jerod laughs when Conner mentions this. "Of course you were put there to spy. The instant you came back identified as Fiona's son, that's what I figured. My father certainly wouldn't have put one of her kids there deliberately. Too much risk. The same goes for Paige and her helping daddy dearest. I wouldn't be surprised if she had a hand in the assault on my father or other spying activities. And I expect nothing less from you in whatever you get assigned from Random to do."

Then he turns off the smile and commits to an attack, forcing Conner to use every trick, manuever and ounce of effort to defend. It becomes quite clear that even at Conner's best, he stands no chance against Jerod. Then Jerod lets the attack abate before continuing, having made his point.

A point unneccessary to make, of course, but it never hurts to be reminded.

"And now that you've admitted what I already had suspected, let me be equally forthright. I'm going to be investigating to find out what is up. Random needs me to do it because he can't use Martin - too risky. That's why I'm entertaining my sister and friends right now. It gives me a chance to look into things and to find out what is happening. That means you get a chance to clear your name. You tell your mother and Bleys to keep their fingers out of Rebma while I'm looking. They don't like people screwing with their family and neither do I. Otherwise, my investigation might not be as impartial as I had originally planned."

"They have bigger fish to fry Jerod." Conner replies with a grin. "I'll make sure you're given time. I just hope you find answers you can deal with."

Jerod chuckles. "If I can't, then you've pissed off someone really big. In which case, I can always go to your mom and ask her for help. Cause if I can't handle it, you might not be able to...so she'd have to get involved at some point. Then she can take credit for saving both of us."

Conner chuckles. "She is useful that way." Conner muses for a moment. "If you need a good cop, bad cop approach here in Amber or want to use me as bait let me know." He smiles. "Happy to be of help."

Jerod smiles as he parries once more, locking swords for a moment to allow sparring to end before disengaging, moving far enough away to end the bout (assuming Conner wishes to end).

Conner is grateful for the end of the sparring, and gives Jerod a salute with his sword.

[Jerod]
"Actually...you can do me a favor. Find out what the Gatwegians are doing buying up land in Amber. Thalia's involved in it somewhere. And tell me before you tell your mother what you find out."

"Oh I'm sure she already knows, so that's no problem." Conner replies. "I'll see what I can do."

Regardless of Conner's answer, and assuming the bout is done, Jerod sheaths his sword. "Time for a quick drink I think?"

Conner sheathes his as well. "Agreed. Thank you for the lesson in swordplay. I keep meaning to put more time into learning but things have a way of keeping one busy."

Each of the above-mentioned ladies [Aisling, Brita, Folly, Lilly, Paige, Robin] receives a note by page on the morning of the memorial service, as follows:

Dear [niece's name],

I hope you will join me and some other ladies this evening for a late supper and light entertainment. I realize that this is somewhat short notice, and understand if you have already made other plans.

Please let me know if I can expect you. I look forward to seeing you this evening, or at the Coronation.

Yours,
Vialle

[Those who have been around the household will recognize the handwriting of Vialle's secretary, Ember, who has also worked with Cambina.]

Robin will send an immediate response back with the page in her own handwriting, which is a very solid, easily read block print. With a few ink smudges on the corners of the paper.

Majesty,

You honor me greatly with your invitation and I treasure your consideration. Unfortunately, I am afraid that I must miss what sounds like a wonderful evening. I hope that we will have future opportunities to meet.

Thank you again,
Robin

A reply in what will come to be recognized as Grant's hand comes from Sommmerset House, delivered by Liam...

Your Majesty,

I would be honored to attend you this evening.

My thanks for the promise of an enjoyable companionship in troubled times.

Paige

Folly, faced with a long day of being somber and respectable, can't resist a bit of fun. She sits at her desk and writes:

I can think of no lovelier affair,
'Specially if all my aunts are attending.
Yes, of course! Count on me to be there.
I can think of no lovelier affair --
Nor, indeed, what the fuck I should wear,
For I'm certain I might risk offending....
I can think of no lovelier affair,
'Specially if all my aunts are attending.

She signs the note and finds a page to deliver it, trying hard not to let the mischievous gleam in her eye shine too brightly.

Queen Vialle,

I would be honored to attend.

Brita

Included with the note is a small downy feather from a sparrow's nest.

Aisling's reply reads:

Your Majesty,

I am honored by your invitation, and I shall be delighted to attend.

Sincerely,
Aisling

Lilly will immediately send a return reply:

Your Majesty,

I will be pleased to attend.

Lilly

(...Who evidently inherited her father's gift for words...)

Folly gets two notes back:

Dear Folly,

I am so pleased that you will be joining us this evening. Feel free to dress casually.

Vialle

[Folly is reasonably sure that Vialle's definition of "casual" and her own aren't the same.]

The second has no salutation.

Ember is not as resilient and cosmopolitan as you and I. Please consider the situation you place her in.

Cambina

Folly, chagrined, immediately sends another note:

Dear Ember,

I apologize if my ill-advised attempt at levity embarrassed you or placed you in an awkward situation this morning. It certainly was not my intention to do so. I shall endeavor to be more sensitive in the future.

(Her mind adds, ...when this damnfool apocolyptic Coronation is over, but she resists writing it.)

Warm regards,
Folly

On the morning after he arrives in Amber (which is the day of the memorial service for Oberon and Deirdre), Jovian receives the following note via a page:

Cousin Jovian,

I'm hosting a poker party this evening at Red Mill. It's something of a family custom, so I'm hoping you'll be able to join us. If we miss each other today and you want some advice about local customs, send me a note and I'll make sure you get set up right.

Martin

"Wait for an answer, please," Jovian tells the page, and dashes off this response:

Martin:

Your offer is as gracious as I am grateful to accept. If you are available at

He pauses a moment, realizes he doesn't know which of the myriad confusing time-significators would be meaningful to Martin, scratches out the "at" and continues thus:

when the sun has risen another hand's width, I believe I can reliably find the library.

- Jovian

A return message indicates that Martin will meet Jovian at the appointed time.

When Jovian makes it to the library, he finds Martin consuming the last of some kind of sticky pastry. He starts to offer his hand, realizes it's caked with sugar icing, and shrugs, grinning. "Welcome to Amber," he says. "I'm glad you finally made it."

Martin is dressed in dark formal clothes, probably for the memorial service later in the day.

[For the nonce I'm going to assume that someone has either consulted Jovian re: appropriate styles and found something, or assisted him with a bit of conjuration. Leslie, how long would it take Robin to whomp up a suit of clothes? ;-)]

[It's likely there are local-appropriate clothes ready for Jovian in his rooms. Not a perfect fit, but reasonable.]

Jovian is in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, but otherwise similarly attired, though he tends toward a military sense of style. "Thank you," he replies, bowing from the neck. "It's good to be...back? A funny thing to say since I've never been properly here. We had to take the scenic route - leading others on a hellflight wouldn't have been wise." He shrugs in response. "It was an interesting trip, anyway." There are layers of meaning to 'interesting' that may be a bit tempting for another time.

Martin nods, once, in a way that suggests he's already heard some details.

"For starters, I should probably set your mind at ease - I'm not as hopeless as the note implied," the dragonrider chuckles. "I didn't know whether you'd go by forenoon watch or...what is it, Lauds? Faranth, you guys have weird names for the hours. I'm accustomed to dawn, noon, dusk, midwatch and how many hours after each."

Martin says, "I've been based in Amber for five and a half years local time, and I spent a bunch of that shipboard. These days I'm conversant in both idioms, and a dozen shadowwards besides. You'll get used to it. It can't be half as strange as solar time was to me the first time I was out of Rebma."

"I'll probably end up sounding like a Navy man before long," Jovian shrugs. "The watches are a bit more intuitive."

"As long as they can tell when you want whatever you want, the servants won't care, and the rest of the family certainly won't." Martin grins.

"My timing is usually spot-on anyway," Jovian shrugs, grins - gets for half a second a Hagridesque I-shouldn't-have-said-that look, but recovers nigh immediately.

[Jovian] pauses to look around at tables, sideboards and such, hoping for a klah pot but suspecting he'll have to deal with nasty bitter coffee in its stead. If anyone thought to provide his Lordship's son with such basic amenities, that is.

[Jovian will quickly learn that where there is a Martin, there is generally coffee.]

There is a coffee urn on the sideboard with accoutrements: sugar, milk, and cinnamon sticks. There's also a glass-domed plate of goodies from which the pastry Martin has just finished eating obviously came, and a bunch of rolled napkins.

The cup of black coffee is obviously Martin's. So is the napkin, which he uses to clean up.

"Oh," says Martin, catching the drift of Jovian's glance. "Cuppa joe?" He starts to get a cup for his cousin.

"Thank you," Jovian smiles, surveying the tray of pastries and finding something tasty but not too sticky. "Sugar and plenty of cinnamon, please. Hmm. Barring chocolate, a drop of cream?

Martin loads up the coffee just so. "Some of the girls like hot chocolate in the winter. We'll have to tell Vent to start putting it out if you prefer that."

"I'll wean myself off the additives in time, but a little chocolate and plenty of cinnamon gets it halfway from coffee to klah. Call it comfort food if you like.

"It's the little things that trip you up, isn't it?" [Jovian] reflects, biting into the lemon-poppy pastry. "Like expecting klah, getting coffee, and hiding your reaction to the bitterness. The basic rules don't change much over a decent range, but the details do."

"Yes," says Martin. "Except that if it's not Amber, you can change the details. Or, well, now you can, but we're gonna fix that." He shrugs, mildly discomfited, but shakes it off.

"You can, huh?" This both intrigues and deeply concerns him. "That's not supposed to happen." Experimentally, Jovian decides that while he's not looking, the cup Martin sets before him will have been switched out for real, honest to Faranth klah, rich and smooth and spicy and sweet the way he likes it.

[That's not a workable example. Martin's standing right there and has been messing with the cup; it's beyond improbable that someone could switch the cups out in front of him. It would take a really excellent probability manipulator to do that, and Jovian ain't Random.]

Martin glances about to be sure they're not overheard. "The Thing in the Basement is broken. Has been since about the time you guys left. We think Dworkin's Pattern is still holding the universe together, since we're all still here. Best evidence suggests Rebma's intact. We haven't seen Tir since the Sundering--the earthquake that wrecked the basement--so we have no idea about it."

He adds: "My father has something up his sleeve, though, so I think it's going to all work out."

"Let him know I'm at his disposal," Jovian says soberly. "Canareth and I have some abilities that may be of use to him."

"Thanks," says Martin. "I'll let him know."

[Assuming Jovian doesn't derail right there] Martin says, "So what can I do for you this morning, besides add your request for coffee to my list of things for Vent to fix?"

"Well, you offered guidance on local customs. I'm sure a Coronation around here looks a bit different from a Lord Holder's investiture back home - how about a quick course outline for Introduction to Not Looking Like a Barbarian at Coronation? And if there's anything specific expected of one attending a funeral, that would be helpful too - those two events are not ones my father expected me to attend any time soon." He shakes his head ruefully, with a little sigh.

"I think we're gonna get some last-minute prep tomorrow. I hope so, anyway, or we'll all look like barbarians. I know Dad doesn't want to repeat Eric's coronation, and I know roughly what the order of precedence is going to be: me, the uncles and aunts in order of age, and then you cousins in order of your parents' age. I guess they'll be using the traditional oath Dad and the aunts and uncles took to Grandfather. Other than that, I don't know that much myself," Martin says apologetically. "I've been out of Amber for the last couple of weeks, and I just got back this morning."

"I'll have to look up that oath," the dragonrider nods. "My flying leathers are the closest I have to armor - polished up, I suppose they'd be appropriate for presentation as a knight...?"

"I think it's court clothes, not armor, so it shouldn't be a problem. Dad's trying to get away from the armed-camp feel of Eric's court a little."

"My riders may have no choice but to wear their leathers - who thinks to pack Gather outfits to go to war?" He shrugs offhandedly. "Maybe I can round them up for a shopping trip after the memorial." He snorts a chuckle at this, or maybe at something it reminds him of.

"Send a note to Vialle. She'll have Vent figure something out," Martin suggests.

"I'll do that. For the ones being knighted anyway; whomping up court garb for thirty overnight might be a bit much."

Jovian shrugs, considers. "I know the aunts and uncles by Trump, mainly, and by Dad's brief character sketches. What should I know about the cast of characters?" It's said with a smile, but whether the point is 'for tomorrow's purposes' or 'for my long term safety' is less than perfectly clear.

"Mm," says Martin. "There are thirteen of us on this end. Reid is Osric's son, very old-fashioned, knows things about Amber that Benedict has probably forgotten. Brita's his ward: Fiona's daughter, hell of a swordswoman, works with the Rangers. I'm sure your father will introduce her. She's got a brother, Conner, who was stationed as a diplomat in Rebma and used to work with the Navy."

Jovian nods. "Dad's mentioned her, Robin seems to grudgingly approve of her."

"Backing up in order of parental age: Jerod's just like his father, Eric, they tell me; he's also my cousin on my mother's side. His sister Cambina is the family's resident spook and voted Most Likely to Succeed Fiona by her peers."

[Jovian] nods reflectively. "Introduced at Ygg. She's...different," he says in a way that means both disturbing and fascinating.

Martin grins wryly, nods, and continues: "Redheads: we've covered Fiona's kids. Bleys has a daughter, Paige who--"

"My brother knocked up?" Jovian offers to finish, perhaps a little too eager to help.

Martin pauses for a moment, unreadable, then continues "you'll get to know soon enough, I expect. Headstrong and loyal, if sometimes unpredictable.

"Lucas is Flora's son. Amazingly respectable married father of two, but has a mouth on him that makes his mother sound tame. His kids are both cute as buttons. Gerard's got two kids: Vere, who's forgotten more stuff than most of us know, and will gladly write you a full report on it, and Solange." Martin's face lights slightly at her name. "She used to run with the Rangers before Brita got here. Salt of the earth. And of course, you know your sister.

"And there are two whose parents we don't know. Ossian was tutored by Brand," which name completely removes the sun from Martin's countenance, "and Folly," whose name returns it, "whom Grandfather named as one of us. We don't have a Pattern to prove her on, but she uses it somehow anyway in her music."

He counts on his fingers then, to make sure he's gotten everyone. "There are six of you, I guess, plus Merlin, whom I know. I think you're the last one I hadn't met, at least briefly, but it is getting hard to keep track of the players without a scorecard." _Your turn_, that last reads.

Jovian nods through the rest of these, filing them for future correlation with observations he hasn't made yet.

"Six of us, yes. I guess I can try the precedence thing...." His brow knits a moment before he continues. "Benedict's line first. Lilly, his daughter. Lilly and Brita should get along interestingly, fresh-faced swordmaids but otherwise I gather they're very different. Lilly's too reserved to be caught out at being naive. Aisling is of Benedict's descent, I'm not clear on how far removed. She's...." For a moment Jovian studies invisible equations written on a knee-high bookshelf two points to port. He finds little comfort in them. "She's a bright, fascinating puzzle. I hope to live long enough to understand her. I have trusted her at my back and will continue to do so as necessary."

He counts in his head for a moment. "Marius next, son of Deirdre. Going in, he was driven, focused. With blinders on almost. His footprints reeked ambition. But the impression I've gotten is that he's changed by all this - loss of his mother, and whatever Brand did to him - in ways it may take time to understand.

"Brennan. Another one I'd trust through fog, fire and Fall, there. Don't hold his father against him, he's as diametrically opposite as you can get. There is nothing of bullshit about him. He's fairly quiet, but intense. He gets things done.

"Then comes Daeon. He's very much into his 'godhead,' whatever that means...I more than occasionally think he's got his godhead wedged, but he's my brother, that makes him my asshole. He's some kind of shape shifter that isn't Chaos-driven, and each of his shapes has its own name and, Faranth save us, personality. Adonis? That's him in perpetually drunk and horny mode. Kern? Him again, antlered and bloodthirsty. There may be others." This last makes him shudder a bit, and he stops for a steadying draught of coffee.

"That leaves...umm. Some guy tricked out in leathers with a big damn lizard watching over him. Hell of a nice guy, duty bound, doesn't hide much. Which might make him a vulnerable card player," Jovian teases finally, daring Martin to believe it.

Martin has maintained a neutral demeanor through the recitation of cousins, including Jovian's brother, but cracks a bit of a grin at that last.

[Martin] continues: "The funeral--well, actually I guess it's a memorial--will probably be a lot like the Sundering memorials. Unless you have a speaking role, in which case you'd already know what you were doing, your job is to dress solemnly, look serious, and assure the people by your presence and demeanor that the Royal Family Cares."

Martin grimaces. "I suppose that sounds flippant, but we've all had five and a half years to get used to the idea of Grandfather's death, those of us who knew him, and most of us didn't know Deirdre. And after the Sundering--" He looks at Jovian. "We lost about ten thousand people. We think it was about ten thousand, anyway; we had to burn the dead and we weren't keeping close count. I know you must have lost friends in the war, and I'm grateful for their sacrifice and sorry for your losses. But I'm kind of grieved out."

"I can understand that," Jovian nods. "Everything's still fresh for us...all of it. Not to mention the five years of changes here that are barely sinking in. I wonder how time has passed...elsewhere." A thought crosses his mind visibly, and it haunts him.

Jovian glances up with an 'ah-ha' sort of look. "Another thing. We do have card games that probably bear a similarity to poker, but I could use a primer on the local rules." The quirky twist at the corner of his mouth underlines his anticipation of the evening.

"I don't think Brennan's ever been in Amber, either, so we'll explain the rules, and you can teach us some of yours. We also play hazard, which is a dice game Lucas favors, and we'll explain all that too. And don't worry about the betting stakes: you're getting paid for time served in Amber, so you're flush."

"Hmm." Jovian ponders through a sip of heavily doctored coffee, pleased with his thoughts. "I suppose the game that's developed over time here is like no other - or like every other, depending on your point of view."

Martin nods. "Games of chance are all based on similar principles, involving relieving suckers of their money. The only question is: who's the sucker?" He grins, sharklike, but not unfriendly.

Jovian shows some teeth as well, in a companionable sort of way. "There is a reason why I was chosen to lead groups of huge carnivores," he answers with a snicker.

"Well, then, I'll just have to hope Marius and Brennan are lousy at cards, I suppose. Is there anything else I can help you with this morning? I'd love to find out what it's like to ride one of those huge flying carnivores, but I have about nine million things to do before tonight, not to mention tomorrow, so I don't have the luxury of hearing about it, unfortunately."

"I'll take you up sometime," Jovian grins. "Canareth loves meeting new people. For that matter, if any of your business is down in the city, I could give you a lift - faster than a horse." The offer is sincere, and it's plain that Jovian would enjoy it as much as Martin if not more.

Martin lights up. "Oh, man, I'd love to. Now I wish I had somewhere to go in the city. We'd have to find somewhere where a warehouse burned down to land, though, if what I've heard about the size of the dragons is true. Maybe after the coronation, if you're still around."

"We'll make a point of it," Jovian affirms with obvious pleasure. "Canareth's a little over 150 feet long, but that's almost evenly in thirds, neck-body-tail. He could land on a warehouse if the roof didn't cave under his weight. I'll have to give a thought to managing in town...." He looks like he has a thought, actually, one that makes a corner of his mouth turn up wickedly, but he doesn't share just then.

The look fades, and leaves a hint of consternation. "Everybody's talking like the whole damn world's gonna change by the end of the day tomorrow, Martin. Can you tell me anything about what the shell you all think is going to happen?"

"I wish I knew. All I know at this point is that he has a better poker face than I do," says Martin. "I'm going to be leaving Amber on another job for him after the coronation myself, so I won't be around to witness whatever it is."

Following his confab with Martin, Jovian will inquire as to the best way to enlist the aid of Steward Vent without cluttering Queen Vialle's agenda with trivial details.

His needs are two:

Imprimus, to outfit his five knightly candidates in appropriate clothing to appear before the King at Coronation. Parenthetically, he points out that Dame Kourin is being inducted into a martial Order and her mode of dress should reflect that fact. (IOW: Panniers bad. Divided skirt good.)

Secundus, he will require two barrels of oil, of a quality suitable for polishing fine leather, and 30 stiff, long-handled brushes delivered to the dragons' landing-ledge above the Castle by the sixth bell of forenoon watch on Freeday. The charges are to be billed to whatever passes for Quartermaster of the Army, not Jovian's personal account; category medical supplies, charged to unit Air Corps, King's First & Last. He will also require strapping suitable for securing said materials on dragonback.

It's good to be a Knight.