Weekly Update

After Folly slips out of the meeting with the Rebman delegation, she heads straight back to her room to trump Martin. She doesn't even bother changing out of her nice clothes first; she just plops onto the couch, retrieves the Trump from the little velvet pouch tied to her wrist, and concentrates.

Martin accepts the contact, although not with the remarkable speed he did before.

"Hi, sweetie, it's Folly," she says. "Got a minute?" There's a great deal of joy at seeing him evident in her tone, but it's accompanied by a sense of urgency. "There's some interesting shit going down around here that you'll probably want to know about sooner rather than later."

"Yeah," says Martin, "same here." His voice is low and quiet.

"Shit," Folly says softly. "I'll just give you the short version, then: We've got Rebmans -- Duchess Valeria and an entourage of about a dozen. Corwin brought them back. We were all just summoned for a brief audience, the highlight of which was Valeria accusing Conner of murdering all the people who fled Rebma with him. Finding out the alleged victims are still alive didn't seem to improve her opinion of him any, though."

She pauses, then adds, "I figured you'd want to know before you got back here."

"Shit. Yeah. Thanks for the warning," says Martin. "Valeria--she's the older one, isn't she? I haven't met either one of Jerod's sisters."

Folly shrugs. "I didn't stick around long enough to get properly introduced. But the 'sister' part was totally obvious, the way she and Jerod were shooting looks at each other."

"Do the Rebmans know I'm around?"

"Dunno for sure," Folly replies, "but they will soon enough."

Martin nods, once.

"They're staying for the Coronation, which-- I don't know whether you've been keeping track, but we're down to three days and counting on this end. How're things on your end?"

"On track to bring five years' worth of pay for the armory back within 36 hours, Amber time." Martin draws a presentation case out of his jacket pocket and passes it through to Folly. "Those are samples of the coin I'm bringing back. The silver are shilling denominations; the gold are guineas. Show them to Dad; I won't have time to talk to him until I Trump him to come back in."

"Will do," Folly replies, setting the case in her lap.

He pauses then, thinking. "Did they say anything about Merle when Corwin came back?"

"No, they didn't," Folly says, frowning, "and he wasn't at the thing, either. As far as I know, no one here has heard anything from him since the day before you left. I'd assumed he was with his father."

"Has Benedict turned back up? What about Fiona?"

"No sign of Benedict," Folly replies, "but Fiona got back a few days ago. She, uh, didn't find what she was looking for." Folly frowns again. "She was blocked from reaching it, somehow. All further attempts are being postponed 'til after the Coronation."

She hesitates, then adds, "I think your father may have some sort of back-up plan, but I don't know what it is."

"Oh," says Martin, "I think I have an idea."

He continues, "Merle's with me; he'll be coming back for the coronation. He came in on my Trump a few days ago telling the wildest story. Apparently Corwin took him somewhere--his descriptions aren't clear where--and wherever it was they went, Merle took the Walk." Martin pauses to let the significance of that sink in.

Folly's expression quickly shifts from relief to amazement and mild consternation.

"He said something about Benedict trying to stop him, and Corwin fighting Benedict. That's insane--you don't do that while someone's trying to walk--but I don't think he's lying. I'm hoping he misunderstood or something," Martin says, not particularly hopefully.

"When he finished, he went somewhere he knew and Trumped me. I've been watching over him since then; he's terrified Ben's going kill him. Someone's been trying his Trump, and he's been blocking it. I've warned him to be wary of our uncles, but now I wonder if I overdid it. Especially with his mother encouraging him to be completely paranoid." Martin shakes his head.

"Anyway, Merlin doesn't want all this spread around, for obvious reasons. But somebody needs to know that he's OK and will be back for the coronation. And I need to talk to Dad about this, too, but it's not the sort of thing you want to go into detail about on a Trump connection."

Folly nods. "How much of this do you want me to tell him?"

"Just that Merle's OK and will be coming back for the coronation, and that I have a bunch of important stuff to tell him. Like I said, I have a feeling he already knows about the other thing; he and Corwin are pretty tight these days," Martin says. "I'll catch him before the coronation, or at worst during the masquerade, and I can tell him the rest.

"Speaking of the masquerade, I have our costumes. You want me to pass them through?"

"Oooh, yeah!" Folly says, grinning. "I mean, that's two less things you'll have to worry about carting home, then, right?"

It is of course completely clear that her enthusiasm at the prospect really has nothing to do with transportation issues.

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to lose them," says Martin, amused and happy.

First he passes through a hanging suit-carrier made of plastic and an overtall hatbox. "These are mine," he says. "I've got shoes that will do in the castle already."

Then he passes through a sequence of boxes for Folly, explaining that they're shoes, a mask, gloves, a petticoat (a large box) and finally a hanging dress bag that Karen would describe as the right size to hold a wedding dress with a very short train.

Folly lays the packages on the couch as they're passed through, her eyes widening in wonder at the sheer magnitude of it all. She's grinning and giddy and boggled as a two-year-old on Christmas morning.

"I was originally thinking nightingales, but I couldn't find any that I liked. And then I thought of the lyrics of a song I like that always makes me think of you and I knew this was perfect. I hope you like it," Martin says, flushing slightly.

"Well, as long as it's not 'I'm a Little Teapot,' we're good," Folly cracks, but the joke doesn't hide the fact that she's blushing, too.

Martin cracks a grin of his own in response, but shakes his head, still looking a little pink.

If she can manage it without breaking contact, she peeks into the box holding her mask.

Folly starts to slide the box open, but the contact begins wavering and Martin says "Nuh-uh. No peeking, at least not until we're done. Or shall I let you get to opening your boxes?" His tone is teasing.

"No way!" Folly replies, mock-indignant, emphatically turning her full attention back to the trump contact. "Instant gratification is overrated."

She grins, then, and adds, "But not by much."

Hastily, before the implications make her blush, she moves on. "Is Merlin going to need help getting a costume together?"

Folly can almost feel Martin wondering if he should make whatever flirtatious comment came to his mind or not and deciding against.

"I got him a costume at the same time I got ours. They're machine-made, so they won't last, but they'll see us through the masquerade. I'd pass his through, too, but that'd be hard to explain, and you may have enough explaining to do."

Folly grins.

Martin casts about for a change of subject that's safe. "How's the great secretary-hunt going?"

"Not too bad," Folly replies. "I've got a couple of good leads. Cambina suggested Leonardo Kaliq, whom I'm surprised I didn't think of myself. And Jerod...."

That conversation comes rushing back to her, and she bites her bottom lip. "Jerod had just all kinds of interesting things to say," she says, a bit sheepishly.

"Like what?" says Martin, torn between curiosity and concern.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he adds.

"No, it's OK," Folly replies quickly, sensing his concern. "He... uh...."

She blushes, and then spits it out. "Like he asked if you're in love with me, pretty much out of the blue. And then he asked it the other way 'round. He was surprisingly cool about the answer." She smiles thoughtfully as she remembers. "All I can say is, whoever she is, she must be something."

"Well, I think she's the most beautiful, fascinating, and all-around amazing woman I've ever met," says Martin.

After a moment's pause he says, "Oh, you mean Jerod's ladylove," and grins at Folly.

Folly sticks out her tongue, but then returns the grin.

"I know there's someone. Jerod doesn't talk about it much, but from what he has said, I get the impression he was pretty serious about it, enough that his father had to make his obligations to Amber clear to him. Eric apparently had some decided opinions about marriage." A hint of some emotion, perhaps more than one, flits across Martin's face, then it's gone.

He adds: "Now that Eric's gone, Jerod's free to marry where he will."

Folly ponders this a moment, then asks, "Eric himself never married, did he? And he was against the idea for his kids, too?" She frowns, as if the conclusion doesn't quite feel right to her.

"He was against the wrong marriage for his kids, I think," Martin says. "But that's a topic for another time, when we can speak more privately."

Folly nods.

Changing the subject: "Hiring Kaliq's an interesting idea; I don't know if he'd be willing to give up the Thrush Pack for Red Mill, though, and he'd pretty much have to, if he took the job. Who else?"

"Jerod's most promising suggestion was someone called Concord, who is a student of Barenthkov's. Jerod hasn't met the guy himself, but says that Barenthkov complains he'll never be a proper bard. The way I see it, someone who fails to live up to Barenthkov's bardic standards maybe has a chance of not being an ass." Folly grins.

"And then Vere suggested Loring, on the grounds that he might be a target for Octave's ire toward Paige and Jerod if he were to remain in the judicial system. I haven't run the idea past Paige, though."

"In other words, there's nobody that anyone whose opinion I'd trust on the matter can recommend who doesn't come with baggage," Martin says, rolling his eyes. "That's about what I expected. The whole bardic thing is trouble, although everyone who know me knows that to the extent I care about Barenthkov and Rein, I think you can play rings around both of 'em. Loring, well, that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish. Vere's right that he's a safe target for Octave's cronies, though."

He adds, "It's probably worthwhile for me to talk to all three of them."

"Yeah, probably," Folly agrees. "And I'll let you know if any other good options suddenly occur to me."

Something else suddenly occurs to her instead, though. "Hey, I almost forgot -- did I tell you Gerard offered to adopt me?"

"No," says Martin, breaking out in a smile. "That's great. It would solve a lot of problems for you--"

He pauses, and it's obvious his attention is elsewhere for a moment. "Listen, I hear Merle, so I've gotta go. I love you, babe, always. I'll see you when I get home, m'kay?"

Folly smiles. "'Kay. Be safe. I love you." With a touch of reluctance, she passes her hand in front of the card, breaking the contact.

Once the Trump is safely back in its case, she turns her attention to the impressive pile of packages on her couch. She fishes out the presentation case containing the coins and looks inside before setting it safely out of the way on her desk.

There are several coins using the two different sketches she provided for the obverse. Reverse is a unicorn rampant.

Then she turns her attention to the costumes, peeking into each box and bag just enough to get the idea of what's in them without messing up the packing job too much.

[To the surprise of absolutely nobody, it's a swan costume. The mask has little wings.]

Once she's finished with the inspection, she stashes the costume boxes and bags in her closet, trying to make them as inconspicuous as possible. She doesn't want one of the castle staff poking around in them and spoiling the surprise. Then, figuring a little misdirection couldn't hurt, she fishes out her backup costume -- a gauzy sundress and a pair of silk-and-wire fairy wings -- and hangs them on the hook on the door of the closet.

All this peeking and organizing, of course, has given her time to think about the important thing -- how she should pass along this news to Random. She sits at her desk and writes:

Stop by or send for me when you get three free minutes today. I've got a bit of news to pass along. I'll be here 'til about Sext, back again in the early evening.

There's something about her script on the word "news" -- some subtle emphasis, perhaps -- that, to the sufficiently sensitive (or the sufficiently familiar with Folly's handwriting) implies "super-secret interesting stuff" rather than merely "information".

She signs the note, seals it, and finds a page to deliver it to the king.