Needle leads Marius to the command tent, where they find that Admiral Worth has, indeed, some distracting business. Needle presses his lips together in some disapproval, and there's a certain merriment in the way the sailors at the command tent respond to that, as well as to the idea of Admiral Worth's distraction on its own.
The men offer directions to the place where the sailors have pitched their tents, and Needle begins to lead Marius in that direction. Once they are out of earshot, Needle says, "I'm sorry, Lord Marius. It just makes me angry, that's all."
"There is no apology where there is reason," Marius begins, remembering the lessons of his mother, "but I would be curious as to your disapproval. I gathered it was gossip extraordinary, rather than the sort that's often spawned when men camp in mud?"
Needle takes a moment to think about this, and says, "It's really not my place to say, sir. But your lordship will hear of it one way or another; best you hear it from someone who has no interest in speaking ill of the Admiral."
He presses his lips together. "The Admiral's lady friend was, was, caught in a compromising position by Prince Julian and Prince Caine earlier today." Needle is indignant at the idea.
Marius takes a moment to parse that in such a way that she was not caught in a compromising position WITH Prince Julian and Prince Caine. [grin] The thought boggles the mind.
"A terribly low sort of humour, that," he decides. "Alas that a man of honour is ever tarnished by the acts of those he calls friends." He sighs. "Still, where stout friends harbor, a ship may relax its guard."
He pauses on the threshhold. "And so I am docked safely. Thank you for your services, Ranger Needle. I am in your debt."
"Thank you, your Lordship. Should you have need of me or of the Admiral, send to the command tent," Needle says.
He'll let any closing words be said, and then enter the appropriate camp.
The camp is not so much a camp as an area a bit separated from the other parts of the larger camp. There are Rangers in twos and threes all over the greater camp, and Marius suspects they are there to keep tension down and trouble out. In this part that belongs to Amber's navy, though, they are fewer and far between.
Within the camp, there are tents and such, fires where men might play at dice or cards, or enjoy company, and perhaps even snatches of sailor's music in the air. It is hard to tell whether the figures Marius sees or the voices he hears are truly familiar, or fragments of some half-remembered dream.
Some of the men nearby look up from their business at a campfire to see Marius as he approaches.
Marius considers a number of greetings, but the echoes and wishes of countless ghosts distract him. He stands and simply feels, for the moment, looking, perhaps, as if he, himself, were but a ghost.
"Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan, And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets," he mutters to himself. He shakes himself out of his reverie and goes to join the men.
"Hail and well met," he says. He focuses on their faces, trying to work his memory on their names.
"Captain Ranges?" he tries the name, sounding a little bit less tentative. "Sailor Goodman. I am afraid," he allows himself a smile, "I do not recall your name, young sir," he says it in a kindly, "not a royal" fashion to the gentleman Ranger next to them. "May I join you?"
Ranges looks up in some surprise. "Captain Marius. Excellent to see you up and about, sir."
"More excellent to be up and about," he admits. "And home." He emphasizes it the way only someone with Amber in his blood the way the Family has, _can_.
He nods and offers you some drink. It is probably reasonably strong.
Marius accepts with a courtesy and seems suitably impressed. He doesn't take seconds.
Assuming there is no negative outcry (perhaps he somewhat wishes that he would be recognized and thought back from the dead, in which case there will be a lot of handshaking and clapping of hands on the back and overall good cheer shared) he will pull up a rock (so to speak) and join them around the campfire in a comradely sort of fashion.
His next topic of conversation would be, in turn, "In case you were wondering, men, I feel a little like flotsam myself." He grins a conspiratorial grin. "I hear tell, though, that while time may have passed and taken its toll, there are ships a'plenty for our endeavours." He nods, expecting that to be good news.
Ranges smiles at that. "The Admiral is working on that, we hear." Ranges was always one of Caine's supporters. "No doubt they'll ship us all off in short order and we'll be done with land that sails through space by magic, at least for the nonce."
"What a ship that must have been!" Marius exclaims, making it sound more wistful than surprised.
[Ranges]
"The alehouse lawyers will argue for shore leave
after five years away, but I don't think it'll be more than reflexive
moaning,"
"Some orders may be faster to receive than others," he says, in a mock-conspiratorial tone. A, "If'n you know what I mean," sort of style, really.
He seems about to say something else, and then stops to hear Ranges' question.
[Ranges] stops for a moment. "You have heard about Prince Gerard?"
"No," he says, sensing that it must be something of importance. "I have been overwhelmed with news of family whose faces are as unfamiliar to me as the places we've travelled..." and if any around were sensitive enough, "And no dearer," might have been a consideration. "What news of our friend _name of naval rank which is probably some other kind of admiral but I'm just going to leave to be filled in..._?" said all the world like he is Not Family, but that he and Captain Ranges are equals in this.
For all anyone knows, that's truly how he feels.
[Like many things, there are admirals and Admirals. Gerard is an Admiral. So is Worth. Gerard is a more important Admiral that Worth. At organizational levels above Captain (and for that matter, below Captain), things can be pretty haphazard.]
"They say he's in a wheelchair. Lost his legs when the Castle collapsed. They say he was buried alive." Ranges shudders.
"Say it is not so!" Marius exclaims, grandiloquently. It's a little louder than expected. He ignores the glances his way, and continues, albeit much quieter. "There are many things a man can do aboard a ship without his legs, but he is too much of a good man to leave half behind." He is genuinely shocked. Angry, really, in that kind of shaking- his-fist-at-the-universe fashion.
"I had thought..." he is silent for a long time. He picks it up after a few minutes. "Nah, it is not for this time and place. Now that we are back, we shall set things to rights. Castles, Admirals, and all," he says, with a heartier emphasis than the sadness behind his eyes could prove. He stands and gives the appropriate salute / tip of his hat / bow / whatnot. "It has been a pleasure, Captain. Sailor Goodman."
The sailor nods and the Captain acknowledges the s/toh/b/w appropriately.
From there he will spend some time circulating, mostly listening, being supportive. For what it is worth, though, those who were close to him may slowly consider that he is not so much looking to the future as saying goodbye. As the night grows early (far past when night grows late) he will make his way back to the main camp, see who's up, about, and in charge, and will inquire as to if there's a group going up to the castle or the best way there, since Julian hinted fairly strongly that that was his next destination.
You find Captain Worth. He tells you that the valley is remote from the Castle and the city, probably intentionally to prevent the less disciplined from granting themselves shore leave. The Captain says that Brita may be able to provide him transport, but that unless he is prepared to hike a significant distance over some difficult terrain, he may be stuck here. Worth seems to think the camp will be crawling with his relatives in the morning, if Marius can wait that long.
"My priority has been met," Marius says, looking at Worth as if measuring him with clear eyes. It is almost as if he is speaking of a matter of limitless faith, one that has recently given him a reminder of its truth. At the same time, it is nothing close to being healed of the wounds that still lay inside him, and a man such as Worth knows that that strange dichotomy is, at least, dangerous. "Should I be able to find a place of some safety to rest my head, all else is but creature comforts." Of course, someone who is being that interspective (yes, as opposed to introspective) might also read something of the sort of _And I am in no hurry to meet with more Family._
"Your tent is at your disposal, of course, or we could move it if you wish more privacy."
An arched eyebrow, signifying that he's not planning on putting on any airs. He's a worker bee, not a drone. It also says fairly clearly, _These are my people._
"My tent it is then," he says, the enthusiasm drowning out the other, more sardonic interpretations.
He mentions that he has some items which he says are yours that he wants to give you, which are in the command tent.
"It would be my pleasure to receive them," he says, his manner mocking of himself and his station. He will follow or wait at the command tent as necessary.
Worth returns with a bundle of items wrapped in a black silk scarf that you recognize. He says nothing and puts it in your hands. "These were brought to me by a squire."
Marius recognizes them and sorts them by category, shape, colour, and then learns to juggle... oh, wait. Pause on that.
He considers them carefully. "Blessings upon you and the squire," he says, and it's not rude, but still, it's very...flat. (I am, of course, assuming that these are recognizably effects of his mother's, and not just his weapons as asked for earlier. If I'm completely off, we go for, "Thank you muchly, kind sir," and something more dismissive.)
It is indeed the personal effects of Marius' mother.
Worth merely nods.
Whatever his response, he'll pass on a couple words further, and retire to his tent for the evening. He will look through the items, of course.
Worth lets Marius retire without ado.
Among them is a box of particular size and shape, with the expected contents. The others are things Marius knew she had with her. There will probably be more of this sort of thing at the castle, later.
In the morning, he hopes to wake before being awakened, and then he hopes to find Caine.
He will find Caine (and Bleys and Brennan) in another thread, which he may enter at his leisure.
Having excused himself from the after-dinner festivities after the briefing broke up, Lucas has made his way to Red Mill, where his beautiful and talented mistress, Silken, keeps her chambers.
When Lucas arrives at the club, he makes his way up to the wing where the ladies reside. Silken has a suite of her own, with a large sitting room as well as a bedroom and a dressing room. Silken pours Lucas a drink from one of the decanters on the sideboard--his favorite--and sits down next to him.
"Well?" she asks, "How did it go?"
Lucas sips and shrugs. "As well as to be expected. Family functions such as these remind me of why I so dislike family functions."
Silken smiles at Lucas. "You have that luxury, dear. Apparently Martin felt the same way; he sent down to let Violet know he'd be here later. It looks like he's planning to keep her."
Lucas blinks a few times. "Keep her in the legally binding sense? Or just keep her close by so he doesn't have to take a carriage to a gentleman's club?"
Silken laughs once, as if Lucas has made a particularly funny joke. Then she says, more seriously, "It's been a week and Violet had heard nothing. She was afraid he was going to let her go now that he's Heir Presumptive. He could have had most any woman in the city before, but now he's an even better catch. And even if he only keeps her as his mistress for a few years, Violet will be set for life."
"Ah... I hadn't heard about him being gone for a week. I haven't seen much of Martin of late, and I think my time around my cousins is dimming my mental faculties."
Silken says, "I can imagine that. Some of them sound a bit, well, simple based on your descriptions. How do you think the new king will deal with them?"
"At the moment he's sticking everyone with one of his siblings and assigning us jobs. I imagine we're not to be left unsupervised until he seperates wheat from chaff. Then? I don't know. I know that there's been a cut-back on the cutesy 'family fun' activities like the jam sessions. I imagine some of my cousins will be learning some hard lessons in the upcoming weeks and months."
"You think the king will be a hard case, then? That doesn't bode well for Violet. She wants him to be happy-go-lucky and leave his son plenty of time to dally." Silken grins lasciviously to emphasize the last word.
"I imagine some of my cousins would like such a king as well. One who has plenty of time for jam sessions in the Castle." Lucas rolls his eyes and finishes the last of his drink. "Violet may get her wish, though. I imagine Martin's importance to Random will diminish once Vialle squeezes out a squealing new heir apparent."
Silken gets up to pour Lucas another. "It'll be a long time before His Majesty can be sure the new one's up to the standard of the old one, though. I heard the King's own little sister--full one, not half like your mother--died of an illness as a little girl. Small children are so fragile if not properly tended."
She comes back and hands the fresh drink to Lucas. As she continues to speak, she pulls off one of his shoes and sits down on the couch with his foot in her lap, and gives him a foot massage through his stocking.
"If Prince Martin got along with his stepmother, I imagine that's all over now. Which do you think will be a better friend?"
Lucas sighs and part of his attention seems to have shifted to his foot. "If Martin got along with his stepmother, I doubt his life would be as complicated. As it is, I imagine Vialle will be aiming to get a child in the works as soon as she can, and find some way to shove Martin off to some shit job." He pauses to sip. "I don't know who would be a better friend, though. Martin has a big chunk of the city under his thumb, but Vialle will be Queen. Plus... well, Vialle is quite attractive..." Lucas pauses, lost in some thought.
Silken's strong fingers work on Lucas' foot, producing a crack as the tendons, ligaments, and small bones of the ball of his foot realign into a more comfortable, or at least less tense, position.
He takes another sip and finally says, "I don't think I've ever been in such a situation as this. Caught between two people at conflict with each other, both of whom I have a vested interest in. I'm uncertain how I ended up like this. I can't decide if it's that the stakes are higher than I've encountered before, and hence more interesting, or if I've simply grown sentimental in my domesticity and dedication to the city..."
"Sentimental? Never say it, Lucas," Silken says affectionately. "You'll just have to stay friends with them both--if you can."
"Yes, buit what could motivate such a friendship outside of sentimentality."
"On their part or on yours?" Silken asks, and produces another pop that noticeably lessens the tension in Lucas' middle toe.
"The same things as always, I should imagine. Utility, common interests, those high stakes you mentioned. Perhaps the slightest touch of--sentimentality. Or maybe the decision that you're more dangerous alienated than you are not quite on their side."
"Okay, now I'm tipsy and relative-befuddled. I become more dangerous if I'm alienated?"
"If you turn against a former friend. Martin was happy to make friends with you when he realized you brought assets to the friendship," says Silken. "He seems like a shrewd enough fellow, for all that he puts on a front of singing with the happy cousins the way you talk about. He won't want to lose your assets, and he certainly won't want them working on Vialle's behalf against him."
"Point." Lucas broods quietly to himself.
Silken decides she is finished with Lucas' foot, and sets it down on the couch next to her. Then she lifts the other one into her lap, removes the shoe, tosses it playfully over her shoulder, and begins to work the tension out of it.
"I've heard you have yet more new relations, Lucas. Tell me about them," Silken cozens him, perhaps hoping to change his mood. "Do any of them have any promise?"
Lucas shrugs. "I haven't had time to make many impressions regarding them. One of the drawbacks of not being in the military, I suppose. One of the people from Chaos, who I presume is a relative of some sort, seems fuckable in an exotic sort of way. Otherwise, no strong impressions. Unfortunately, I'm also not being teamed with any of the new relations. Simply Paige and Ossian. Whee. But, I get to spend 'quality time' with my beloved mother."
Another pop releases more tension from the ball of Lucas' foot. "Working with Lady Paige ought to be a treat. She has such a way of sticking her foot in her mouth that it should be easy to shine by comparison," Silken says. "Although if you decide to bring some of your new cousins down here to get to know them better, at least she'll feel at home talking to the girls."
"Yes, I imagine there's a certain irony to one of the more prominent judges of the kingdom being both a strident feminist rabble rouser and the owner of a 'gentlemen's club'. Hmmm... I wonder if she's worked both sides of the club..." Lucas smirks with mild amusement and sips more of her drink.
Silken returns the smirk and pops Lucas' foot joint again, releasing more built up tension. "Everybody knows that Michelle does all the work at the Prince. What Paige brings to the bottom line is not managerial skills. But perhaps she'll make it fashionable to be a fancy-woman at court. Violet will certainly be grateful if she does."
The smirk widens into an outright grin, showing pearly-white teeth. "As for me, I'll need to improve my wardrobe if you're to present me to your uncle."
"What? His Majesty?"
Silken drops her eyes flirtatiously. "Well, if it becomes fashionable, of course." Lucas thinks she would not be displeased if that happened.
Silken finishes her work on Lucas's foot and her hands move up his calf, loosening tense muscles. "I've always wondered what it was like to be a judge, especially with Paige's background. Does it influence you for or against a litigant when he's paid you for services rendered?"
Lucas snickers at the question, bordering on maudlin. Then he pauses, a definitely amused smile on his face. "I could see about obtaining you a legal position if you like."
Her hands stop momentarily on his leg, an indication of her real surprise. Then she picks up the pace again.
"Really?" Silken says. "I suppose I have as much background as Paige does. More, really; I doubt she studied as much law as I've had to before she went to court."
"I find great solace in knowing I can occasionally surprise you. I'll see what I can manage when I'm not working on Random's little event."
"You're a prince, Lucas, dear." And her fingers work out a particularly troublesome knot.
"Only in the loosest legal sense."
[I think this is the point at which this conversation fades into activities in which the remainder of the group has no interest.]
Is Lucas staying the night at Red Mill or is he planning to return to the castle? Since he is not attending the tea, what is he doing in the morning?
He'll return to the castle.
Jerod will make his arrival a couple of hours earlier than expected for breakfast with Bleys. He has a few things that he wants to go over as far as planning and he also wants the time to sit and eat without having Bleys (or anyone else) around to bother him. He'll be sure to get a private table away from any others and suitable for discussions. Assuming he gets that time, he'll eat a very large breakfast (cause he's probably going to be busy all day) and then have the kitchen staff prep a breakfast for Bleys based on what his likes and dislikes. Jerod will have something to drink in order to be polite.
He will be dressed in his Court uniform and armed as per regular fashion, the difference being that he is wearing the black and silver now. Kenner will have been left instructions to acquire new clothes for Court based on this coloration now, as opposed to the non-threatening and non-Corwin color scheme - those clothes are being gotten rid of.
Bleys strolls in and puts down a pith helmet and a lantern. He deposits a broadsheet on the table and orders a servant to bring him a small breakfast. He seems to have noticed Jerod's clothing but has not commented on it.
"So, nephew. I have an army and you have a city. How do we put them together? What can the city absorb? And what trouble-spots do you expect?"
"That will depend on how much of the army is left to put together with the city." Jerod says, taking note of the pith helmet and attire (and whether there's any dirt or the like on it). He also notes the broadsheet, wondering which one it is and whether he's read it (he does keep up on them).
"I've got Vere digging through some information to see who got taken with the army. We can compare that to who's still alive and see where we've got big discrepancies. There are going to be problems assimilating troops who left only a short time ago back into a city where five years have passed. And some of them might have other problems besides finding out their wives and sweethearts are remarried and such. Some of them may have just plain vanished."
"Brennan will be with me in the camp, as will Caine with the Navy. They'll have their own headaches, I imagine. Any reason not to have repatriation done by the Coronation? And do you fancy diving in or dipping our toe?"
Jerod looks at him momentarily, his expression vaguely akin to "what the hell are you referring to?"
But he continues onward, reasonably confident that he's got a handle on what Bleys is referring to (and not too concerned if he doesn't because making a mistake in front of Bleys isn't going to bruise Jerod's ego in the slightest).
"I was hoping we could get it in done in time for the Coronation." Jerod says. "There's going to be stress regardless of how we do it...quick or slow. But if we time it right, there will be the usually joyous event of the return of the troops, followed immediately afterwards by an exciting public event. Seeing a King crowned is surely the highlight of a person's career I would suspect. A few of the cousins are pushing that avenue even as we speak. Everyone will be happy, with goodwill and merriment in abundance, stress to a minimum...and breathing room to make decisions for when the problems start to crop up.
"I'm wondering about Uncle Corwin's little furry friends though."
"Wonder no further. I am a firm believer in rewarding the helpful, the great obligations that go with great power, and in repaying my karmic debts. If his majesty has no further use for them, I shall take them to paradise. Certainly a paradise peopled by loyal furry friends of Amber is also useful to the crown."
If Bleys is being the slightest bit ironic, it is in no wise detectable.
Jerod nods at his comments, apparently in agreement to the value of allies.
"We should try to get the bulk of the repatriation done long enough before the coronation that people are not concentrating on their loved ones, but Random. We'll have to suggest some treasury draining happy-making. Tax relief for a year, veteran's benefits, Royal Ego Appreciation Day, things like that. How stands the watch? Can they take the additional turmoil of a bunch of relieved soldiers looking for their wives and/or girlfriends on a two day notice?"
Some time during the middle of Jerod's speech, Brennan is led to the doorway by a page. He's wearing his fairly standard mix of colors, and the clothes are freshly pressed and cleaned, without looking pressed. His hair is very slightly damp. He's also got his swords, and it looks like he's ready to go back into the field when needed.
He doesn't interrupt Jerod; rather, he leans politely against the doorframe until Jerod is finished speaking, and only then does he enter, greet Bleys and Jerod, and sit down.
"The watch is stretched at the moment, but we should be able to get around that." Jerod says. "If we time it properly, we send the groups back based on their locations around the city, and use the nobles that officered them to advantage in helping to control them. The soldiers can still be held to duty standards for a day or two by the officers, assuming that enough battle respect was built up. Let the nobles and officers coming home assist a little in seeing to the return of their men home. No doubt there will be some stress there, but there will also be many thanks bestowed on them for returning sons and fathers to loved ones. It'll balance out."
"We can also see about recruiting a few of the soldiers into the watch for a spell. There are always a few...no family to return to, no one to miss them. We can make the watch and the guard their family, a reward and a steady job for their faithful service. And since they'll know their fellow soldiers, they can understand the stress of return and help with it. Something the watch might not understand."
"I have a meeting after this one with the town watch and marshalls, and Venesch later on. The logistics of integration can be worked out then. I will also be speaking to the Queen and her inner circle of social contacts amongst the nobles. It occurs to me that returning noble sons and husbands can be...persuaded...to assist in this endeavour. A little extra service on their part will make them more eligible for notice at Court. I'm sure the Ladies will be eager to whisper suggestions as needed. Vere will provide you with the city reports as needed to whoever you designate as your contact. My other concern is in regards to communications, in case there are problems that require quick answers."
Brennan absorbs all that, his features telegraphing his opinions of a few things quite well. The mention of the Nobles bearing the brunt of the responsbility gets a raised eyebrow. Carrots and sticks will be needed, as Jerod already realizes. Recruiting the lost and family-abandoned soldiers into the watch gets a thoughtful nod.
"Good morning, Jerod. Bleys."
Jerod nods a reply greeting, motioning for one of the serving staff to adjust the seating accordingly and making sure the refreshments are refilled as needed.
"Nephew. Glad you could join us."
Brennan sketches a wave to both as he takes his seat.
"I'd suggest that there might be some legal disputes coming up, too, with a great many men presumed dead coming back five years later. From what I read in the library yesterday, presumption of death should take more than five years to be legally binding, but I have an overwhelming faith in my fellow man not to let trivialities like law to get in the way.
"But that's just a prelude to the stickier question of whether these soldiers are paid for a few weeks, five years, or some period of time in between. I assume the men already know how long they've been gone. I assuem they've known that since before we finished passing them through to the Vale. They're going to want to know about pay long before the coronation-- before the end of the day, would be my guess. I'd like to have something to tell them.
"I don't have any help to give on the communications issue. I have no Trumps of myself to give out." He doesn't sound incredibly displeased about that, though.
"The stickier question of pay has been noted, though I'm not going to actually get involved with it. I'll leave that to the King and his advisors to sort out, given that they were the ones who actually were on the battlefield, as well as being in charge of the royal purse strings." Jerod replies. "I would suspect that some situation like this has arisen in the distant past so they've got an example to work with. If not, those older and wiser than I can handle it better." and Jerod smiles just a little at that comment.
When Jerod smiles, Brennan responds with the sort of studiously blank expression that indicates that he's not sharing the emotion but is not, for the moment, going to press it.
"As for the legal disputes, they will be one of many problems to arise. The courts will be preparing for their arena. Your daughter..." Jerod says, looking at Bleys. "...has been handling the courts for the last while. Her assistant Loring will be invaluable to her in that regard. I will speak to her later so she can be prepared for this eventuality."
[Bleys]
"Much as we'd both like to leave the sticky question of pay to others, I
need you to find out what the answer is. If we pay them for five years
work, some will gain disproportionately. If we pay them for five weeks,
some will find that it inadequate to meet their obligations. Fairness may
take years to determine and frankly, I do not want it to take family time.
Talk to Vere and my daughter before his majesty. Paige can contact me with
the Revealed Word for the troops."
[Brennan]
"And remember, every hour that passes, each and every one of those men
is going to spend five years' worth of pay in the privacy of his mind
and the public of the campfires. With every telling, they get more
attached to it and convinced it's theirs. If the answer is anything
other than 'Here is your five years of back pay,' then that answer
needs to come fast. Like, today. I expect to be swarmed as soon as
we're back in the Vale.
"Unless you want to tell them all yourself."
[Bleys]
"What other problems are you anticipating and what are we doing to preempt
them?"
"The usual." Jerod replies, answering Bleys' question. "The nobles getting uppity...the ambassadors wanting attention, the merchants demanding new trade routes, the guilds scheming for new protection regulations. All of it will revolve around the King and who gets to see him, and how soon. The trade routes will be the biggest concern, if I read things right. Now that my uncles are back, many will instantly expect things to be back to normal. And insisting on it. Plus the usual scheming to get back into the good graces of those uncles and aunts. It won't be a stampede, but there will definitely be a push on. None of it we can pre-empt. It will go hand in hand with the coronation, with the resumption of trade route reconstruction, and the re-assimilation of the troops. We can see about doing things to restrict access to people at various points like the King, or set objectives such as trade routes ahead of time so that discussion, or argument is limited or nil. We'll see as things arise.
"As for the pay situation, I'll see what Vere and company can come up with. Once I get it, I'll have Paige let you know. Maybe you can have Brennan here deliver the news...good or otherwise, to the troops." Jerod says, smiling at him. "You'll have your answer, when I have it. Until then, you'll just have to figure a way to keep from getting swamped."
[Bleys]
"We shall endeavor to keep our heads above water."
Jerod glances at the window, noting the sun position. "Is there anything else uncle?"
Bleys rises. "Yes, nephew. One more thing. What are you planning to do with the fleet from the Land of Peace?"
Jerod rises as well.
[Brennan]
May as well make it a party. Brennan follows suit. He's got nothing
much to add to the conversation, but he's obviously still paying attention.
"I leave that to the navy, uncle." Jerod replies. "Originally I had not figured upon the return of the family so quickly. It has taken some of the burden from my shoulders. I was of two minds on the issue. Your...associates...they helped Solange and I bring back valuable resources, even if they were not truly merchant ships by design. If all had gone well, I'd have sent them back with some good cargoes, even if I had to go and scrounge it myself for them in shadow. I did promise, after all, to give them good cargoes."
"Had our pirate friends proven...untrustworthy..." and Jerod smiles. "Well, let's just say I'd have made sure that the navy got a batch of new fighting ships for their use. Minus the crews. Either way, we'd have come out on top." Bleys will know that there is nothing pleasant in Jerod's smile concerning the Land of Peace crews.
Bleys smiles back and it is equally plastic. "It sounds as if you have circumstances well in hand. If you need any assistance with them, contact me. I have a personal interest in their well-being."
"I'm sure you do." Jerod replies. "I will bear that in mind, and advise Vere and Conner of your offer of assistance."
Bleys rises (as do some others of the breakfasting crowd).
"If you will excuse us, Brennan and I needs must return to the troops to see about this repatriation scheme."
"Of course. I must be off...the Marshals await." Jerod says, turning slightly to Brennan. "Good luck to you and your endeavours cousin...perhaps we can talk later over dinner one evening...I would be curious as to the battle in Chaos."
"Well, I'm not Benedict, but I'm sure I can run you through the front-line perspective, at least. Bring some of the others, if you like."
"I'll see who's available." Jerod says.
Once Jerod has Brennan's reply, he nod/bows as is his custom and departs, heading out.
Exit Brennan and Bleys, Stage Vale, I'd guess.
Bleys tucks the broadsheet under his arm. "Beastly habit, reading these. But I hear some of them have taken an inappropriate interest in our family business. Have you ever been to a shadow that's come up with a theory of evolution by natural selection? Hard to reconcile with what we know about shadow, but in so many cases a beautiful logical construct."
Brennan nods. "There's a band of Shadow not far from Vacuten, as it happens, that all seem to actually follow some variation on it. There was one where clouds and moonsets followed natural selection, and the fitness parameter was aesthetic beauty. Or so they claimed."
He shakes his head.
"Pretty place, but the people are nuts."
[Bleys]
"In some they
extend it to social constructs, thoughts, and even cultures. I will be
interested to see if the return of my brothers has an impact on Amber's
newly taken liberties."
Brennan snorts.
[Bleys]
He pulls out a deck of familiar playing cards and begins to riff through
it, stopping on the card for Prince Caine. He stares at it for some
moments, finally addressing the empty air. "It is Bleys. Are you in
Heather Vale? We would come through."
He holds out his hand to Brennan.
Which Brennan takes.
Last modified: 20 October 2002