As the tour winds down, Folly makes her way over to Brennan. "I haven't had a chance to properly welcome you back to this side of the Universe," she says with a smile. "I, ah, I hope your errand was successful...?"
She would probably extend a hand in greeting if her arms weren't quite so full of cat.
"Well enough, in one sense," Brennan says. "We did retrieve Brita, none the worse for wear. She's back in Amber, right now."
Folly lets out an audible sigh of relief.
"On the other hand, we received confirmation of Aisling's death, too." He shakes his head, still baffled and irate at the way that situation spun completely out of hand.
Folly looks at Brennan, and her expression shifts to sadness mixed with concern. "Um... confirmation?" she asks quietly. "What kind of confirmation?"
"We spoke briefly with her daughter," Brennan says, looking to see if Folly knows the score on that point, or if he needs to walk her through it.
Brennan reaches out to rub the kitty between the ears.
The kitty responds with a mellow, eyes-half-closed stare and a low rusty purr.
Folly, on the other hand, looks decidedly less Zen. She has gone a little pale. "And I - I take it she... ah, didn't spawn... on purpose?"
Brennan shakes his head, "Anything but, I'm afraid. Grandmother thought she was doing her and Madoc a favor by wrenching her out of her prison. Her perspective is... unique," he says flatly.
Brennan slides the finger from between the kitty's ears around, and down under its chin.
The kitty stretches out his neck obligingly to accommodate the petting. The motion draws Folly's attention, and she shakes her head with a little laugh. "Forgive me, where are my manners? Thelonious," she says, obviously addressing the cat, "this is our cousin Brennan. Brennan, this is Thelonious."
Brennan foregoes kissing the cat's paw in greeting. "Charmed, I'm sure." He continues absently chucking its chin.
If Brennan has seen Fathom, he probably finds Thelonious different in almost every particular except for his obvious cat-ness. Whereas Fathom is small and grey and fluffy and insatiably playful, Thelonious is sleek and mostly black and almost comically large in Folly's arms. He is far past kittenhood, but the aloofness that marks his age is more laid-back than curmudgeonly. He would probably be content spending his twilight years perched on a nice warm amp or a puddle of sun, keeping an eye on his people.
Folly watches Brennan's eyes as he makes the cat's acquaintance. It is completely obvious to Brennan that she is using this brief interlude to keep hold of her composure and sort out her thoughts. After a moment she says in a low voice, "Gerard told me when I came back to Amber that she was gone, and almost certainly dead. But it still---"
She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. Instead, she says, "Do -- do you know what she remembers?"
Somewhere behind his eyes, Brennan is probably replaying an abbreviated version of the events that led up to it all. Again. "Some," Brennan says, "but I don't know how much. One often wears running shoes to Grandmother's social events, for the inevitable departure. This one was no different-- Madoc was extremely distressed at his," Brennan rapidly changes phrasing in mid stream, "daughter's transformation."
"Yeah, I'll bet," Folly says grimly. She seems to be turning several unpleasant-to-dire possible scenarios over in her head, examining them from multiple angles.
After a moment, she says, "I admit I have very little real idea how these things work, just little bits and pieces from some of Merlin's comments, and Paige's, and Martin's, but ---" She frowns, and seems to choose her next few words carefully: "-- do you know whose... purpose, whose will, would have... shaped the daughter? Aisling's? Your grandmother's? Or would she just have... spontaneously coalesced... from whatever your grandmother happened to grab?" Folly winces as she tries not to think too hard on that last bit.
Folly can probably feel her stock going up in Brennan's eyes-- he's the sort of man that appreciates artful paranoia, up to a point. "There's just no good way to tell, that I know of. I've turned it over in my head, and while I don't doubt that Grandmother might have... nudged the process, a little, it would be a dangerous thing if Madoc twigged to it. If she did, and he doesn't, then one must immediately wonder what direction she nudged. And why."
Folly nods slowly. "And I suppose at this point we'll just have to wait and see, and keep our fingers crossed that Aisling's daughter inherited at least some of the sympathetic-to-Amber bits. And not so many of the bad memories." She does not sound overly optimistic on that point, though.
"Caine was asking me whether I thought Madoc and Saeth were worth cultivating as allies, or at least as sources. My answer was yes, but that repairing the damage done after this latest debacle was a pretty tall order. Your name made my short list of people who might be able to pull it off." Brennan shrugs at that last, almost in apology.
Folly doesn't especially relish the idea of being on any short-list in Caine's possession, but she offers a little half-smile. "Saeth," she says, rolling the name around on her tongue to get a feel for it. Then, "I suspect my duties will keep me here for the next little while; and if I suddenly announced I was off to make friends on the far side of the universe---" Her smile grows wry, "--well, I'll bet I can name at least one kinsman who'd have a few things to say about that. But I'll do what I can, if it comes to that. I still believe her intentions were good, even if her methods... weren't."
"It's mostly a moot point, now. But I think she was designed from the essence out as a spy. Even once she stopped being one," Brennan gives credit for a fact not in evidence, "I don't think it occurred to her that she could stop acting like one."
Folly nods, and sighs sadly. "I liked Aisling, I really did. Do - do the Ruby Knights have any plans for a memorial?"
"Nothing formal, yet. I've asked Random that she be remembered with honor, at least formally, and I'll back anything reasonable that Jove comes up."
Folly gives Brennan a grateful smile. "I'd hoped to speak with Jovian before I came here, but there wasn't time. He's got my support, too, for what it's worth, in whatever he decides. I - I think he probably has the proper sense of symbol, y'know? Though getting even the three of us to the same place to talk about it might be a bit of a challenge. We really have all just been running pell-mell through all creation since the Coronation, haven't we?"
"He's still running pell-mell. He's off with Vere, at the moment," Brennan says. "But we'll have to make time."
Folly looks puzzled, but curious. "Off with Vere? In Rebma?"
Brennan looks at her, and revises his estimate of how far he needs to backtrack to get Folly up to speed on the latest and greatest. "No, Vere came back from Rebma not long ago, with a warband of Rebman men, but without Jerod-- at least as far as I know. He and Jovian subsequently left, with the Dragons, as part of an intervention in Vere's home Shadow."
Folly opens her mouth, but closes it again as a few things seem to click into place behind her eyes. "Oh," she says, and frowns, a bit sadly. "Now I'm really sorry I missed him." She files that away as another thing to talk to Gerard about, later.
Brennan's got nothing effective to say to that, so he doesn't.
She falls into thoughtful silence for a moment, then asks, a bit hesitantly, "Did Paige come back to Amber with you?"
Brennan thinks he knows where this conversation is going to lead, but all he says is, "Yup."
Folly looks up at him as if trying to read him. After a moment, she asks, concerned, "Is she--- How is she?"
There's a mildly sardonic expression and a pause of Brennan's own, then he says, "She and the Twins were fine, last I checked. Brooke and Leif."
Folly's eyes widen. "Twins?! Already?" She thinks about this a moment, then, still sounding a bit shocked, asks, "How long were you gone, your-time?"
"A while, but not that long a while. Informed speculation has this tied to the course of seasons, which varies quite a bit from place to place even if the time rate is staying constant. But the seasons don't stay constant in Clarissa." Brennan lets those connections be made, then drops the next one. "Last I saw them, they were standing by pulling themselves up on whatever was handy, and trying to speak. If we're right about the seasonality thing, their growth will have settled down." Brennan's clearly had some time to get used to the idea.
In Folly's arms, Thelonious make a low not-quite-meow of protest, as if Folly had just accidentally squeezed him a little too tightly. She blinks herself out of her reverie and drops a quick kiss on his furry black head.
"You know," she says after a moment, "when I was a girl we used to have this list of questions you were supposed to ask before agreeing to sleep with someone. You know, like, 'Are you married?' and 'Do you have any of this long litany of communicable diseases I'd rather not deal with?' But I think now 'Are you a fertility god?' goes straight to the top." She smiles wryly and shakes her head.
"Thanks for the update, cousin." Folly looks up at Brennan, and the warmth returns to her expression. "I can see now that I've got at least one Trump call to make tonight...."
"Couldn't hurt," Brennan says. And after a perfectly timed pause, he says, "I hope she'll still be in Amber when you call."
"Oh?" Folly asks, almost too casually. "Was she going somewhere?" But the arch of her brow adds, '...that she ought not go?'
"She has expressed a strong desire to have her children meet their father," Brennan says. "Immediately, if not sooner. Considering everything going on in Arden and Arcadia right now, which is where I last heard he was...."
Brennan doesn't bother to fill in the thought. It's clear that he thinks that's somewhere between seven and eight on his scale of poentially bad ideas.
Judging from the suddenly-thin line of Folly's mouth, she doesn't disagree.
"I think she and Merlin have been convinced to consult with Corwin, first, on the grounds that he's the best expert on the region that they've got access to. It was the best advice I could think to give them, other than a flat refusal."
Folly nods. "It's a good start. Also in our favor: Paige may be... single-minded, at times ---" Brennan gets the impression she rapidly rejected several other adjectives before settling on that one, "but she's not stupid. One trusts that before she goes dragging her children off into a war-zone, she'll recall that it is in fact possible to make men come to her...." She smiles, but it's a grim humor.
With a sigh, Folly adds, "And if I can raise her on her Trump, I'll try to get an update on her plans -- and gently steer her away from any that might lead to death and/or dismemberment."
Brennan snorts. "I don't think she was planning on bringing the children with her," he says. "This time. And I seem to spend a lot of time telling people what you just told me-- she's headstrong, but not stupid or incompetent. Apparently, I don't believe what I'm telling people."
He thinks about that for a few strides, then adds, "No, that's not it. I believe it, and I believe that being a mother has... is changing her. I just don't know if it's been enough. If I knew, one way or the other, things would be much easier in some respects. As it is, all I can do presently is hope my advice fell on receptive ears and trust her." Which, judging by whatever clause Brennan amputated from the end of that sentence, is manifestly not easy for him.
"Trust, yes," agrees Folly with a wryly sympathetic smile. "It's a tricky thing, isn't it? Because I do trust Paige -- to do what she thinks is right. But unfortunately there are no guarantees that her own... inscrutable logic... will bring her to what I think is right." She grins and shrugs. "So we stack the deck with our impeccable advice and hope she proves us right."
"Trust is a very overloaded word," Brennan mutters, "and my track record on advice is less than perfect, lately. Trust that someone will do what they think is right is... not the same as trust that someone won't make a tense situation worse. All tactics, no strategy. But, yes, what little I can do, I've already done."
Brennan looks at her. "Word on the street has it that you have some congratulations coming your way on your own walk: Thus, congratulations. Eye-opening, isn't it?"
Folly grins broadly. "Eye-opening, mind-expanding -- it was a total trip, and I hope I never have to do it again." She makes a tiny bow in acceptance of his congratulations. "I'm told I am now the master of my power, but... I think I still need some practice. Are there, like, common rookie mistakes of Shadow Shifting and Conjuration that I should watch out for?"
"Don't conjure scissors while Hellriding," Brennan shoots back, immediately. The words might just as well have been spoken by Random, but only Brennan could drawl them so deadpan.
Folly grins. "No riding with scissors. Check."
More seriously: "For me, the effort behind conjury tended to keep me from doing immensely stupid things, when I was young. For Walking... well. 'Know thyself' comes to mind as a shockingly good aphorism. Don't let your subconscious trap you somewhere you don't really want to be."
The grimace, almost playful, that follows looks like the expression of someone who'd done just that, a long time ago, but came through it wiser. Or at least, less immensely stupid.
Folly thinks about that for a moment, and her eyes widen. "Ooookay, yeah, I think I see how that could suck. My subconscious... doesn't always act like it's on my side, y'know? Excellent advice, and good nightmare fodder to boot. Thanks ever-so." Her smile is wry but good-natured.
After another moment's thought, she asks, "Where did you Walk, Brennan?"
"The Pattern? Tir-na Nog'th, a bloody long time ago. I came in on a stolen Trump and ran like a rabbit for the Mountain, sure that Brand was just a step behind me. And I had shorter legs than him, at the time. And if that was running through my head when I was climbing the Mountain, you can almost imagine what the actual Walk must have been like. Or did you mean, where did I walk afterwards?"
Folly smiles. "No, I meant where you walked the Pattern. This is the first time I've ever even been somewhere with a working Pattern, and I'm still trying to wrap my head around whether it feels like this because of the Pattern, or because it's the Pattern I walked, or... maybe some other reason. I dunno. Did you feel... more connected to Tir-na Nog'th, somehow, after Walking there? Or maybe you didn't stick around long enough to find out -- 'cos man, sounds like your Walk was WAY trippier than mine...." She grins.
Brennan considers that for a little bit, then says, "I think it's subjective. On the one hand, yes, I do think of the place often. But then, I saw things there that I'd like to forget. And I didn't stay around long enough to do anything other than walk the Pattern and jump out of Dodge-- even if I wasn't worried about who might be following me, it's best not to stay up there too long, lest it disappear around you when the moonlight goes away.
"Or maybe I just don't have the training. Xanadu feels different, too, and I've never even seen its Pattern. Amber felt this way once, too."
Folly nods slowly, and then smiles. "Clearly, I need to visit more Patterns. Research purposes, and all."
"Did you get the lecture about how the Pattern Is Not A Toy?" Brennan asks.
"I'm not sure I need the lecture -- I've already had the lab." Folly smiles. "Don't worry, I don't plan to go poking them, and I certainly won't walk any more unless I absolutely have to. I just wanna see what the space around them feels like, and if it's any different from here."
"Hey, does Tir-na show up here? Dworkin said it still existed, he just didn't bother to tell me how to get there."
"You mean Dworkin-the-artist Dworkin?" Folly asks, sounding as impressed-bordering-on-awed as if Brennan had casually mentioned he'd had tea that afternoon with Jimi Hendrix. "Yeah, I've got it on good authority that it's here. Complete with stairs." She smiles, and her eyes dance with eager curiosity.
"Yeah, that Dworkin. I'm not ready to contemplate the idea that there could be more than one. I take it that means you didn't see it with your own eyes?"
"Sadly, no," Folly replies, shaking her head. "I was in and out too quickly before. And now we're just past Full, so we've got almost a WHOLE MONTH to wait...." Her tone carries all the giddy impatience of a child waiting for Christmas; Brennan can almost imagine her making a paper-chain to count off the days.
"I think this is the point where I, the theoretically older and wiser cousin, am supposed to warn you away from that place, on the grounds that it's spooky, and dangerous, and even perplexed Brand with its various existence, right? Well, that'd make me a hypocrite, probably, so I'll let it pass with a paralepsis. Just so I can say I said something about it later on."
Folly grins. "'Preciate it. 'Course, as I understand it, we're talking about a place built largely of myth and symbol. Good- friggin'-luck keeping the songwriter from wanting to checking it out...."
Brennan spreads his hands-- that's Martin's job, not Brennan's, if it comes down to it. "Sounds like I want to be here for the next New Moon, though. Any idea if there are any Trumps in the works?"
"Trumps of here? Probably not yet -- last I knew, all of our Artists were either still in Amber or setting out for parts-not-Here." Folly thinks about the situation for a moment, then adds, "But Paige told me she'd show me how to paint them eventually -- so maybe she can whip one out while she's waiting for me to bumble my way through my first attempts...." Another pause, and she adds, "And I'd give you one of me, but I don't think any of those exist yet, either...."
Something in her tone suggests she's not making that statement lightly. If she impressed Brennan with her mild paranoia, something in his manner has apparently impressed her, as well. Perhaps it's his way with felines.
Brennan catches the implications with eye contact and a nod, but addresses them only obliquely. "There's a shortage of Trumps of me," he says. "Actually, a complete absence so far, but I've been meaning to have that rectified. One for Cambina. One for baby brother. One more shouldn't be too hard to arrange."
Folly arches an eyebrow. "Baby brother?" She pauses, as if she's searching her memories for something. After a moment her other eyebrow joins the first one. "That would be this... Ambrose person?"
She does not add, 'So I take it he's not on the "mortal enemies of the realm" list?' but Brennan can tell she's thinking it.
"That would be that Ambrose person," Brennan allows. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask anyone to trust him, just yet. I'll just have to find a way for him to demonstrate trustworthiness, in a fashion that leaves very few doubts."
Folly nods, slowly and thoughtfully, as if she finds that an interesting problem and is filing it away to ponder more fully later.
After a moment, she asks, "Do you trust him?"
Brennan considers that question through a thousand-yard stare, as they walk, then: "I'll trust him more when he burns some bridges behind him."
Folly considers that for a long moment, until suddenly the loose puzzle-pieces she's been handed over the last few weeks all snap neatly, simultaneously into place. "The other fellow who was with them -- the one that grabbed Brita -- who is he? Don't tell me we've yet another place to set at the kids' table...?"
"We might, but not him. He's what's left of Borel," Brennan says.
"Oh. Well. Isn't that interesting," Folly says flatly; it's clear she means 'interesting' the way a multi-car pile-up or a botched surgical procedure is interesting. Suddenly she really gets what Brennan means about burning bridges. She continues, "I'm a bit surprised Dara didn't... absorb him, or whatever-it-is she wanted to do to Merlin. Isn't she the Borel Grand Poobah now? Did I understand that right?"
Brennan shrugs. "You understand it the way I do, at least. As for why, I couldn't tell you. Could be she's not strong enough to do it-- in which case, taking Merlin could be a bid to become that strong. But in which case," Brennan continues, "Cleph would be a fool to assist her. So it probably isn't that."
He loses himself in a happy thought for a moment. "Sure would be convenient. And useful. But nothing is ever that simple, so it's probably something I just don't understand. Yet."
"Well, do keep us posted if you figure it out." Folly smiles.
Noticing that the tour group seems to have broken up and most of their cousins wandered off to stake out accommodations, she adds, "And thank you so much for the update. This has been most... educational."
Brennan quirks his lips into a lopsided smirk. If she wants lessons in paranoia and (barely) enlightened familial power politics, she's come to the right place. But then, she's also got Martin.
Her smile, which lights up her eyes, manages to look sincere and amused at the same time. "We really should do this more often. Will you be sticking around Xanadu for a while, or have you even decided yet?"
"Haven't decided. This place has its definite charm, but Amber isn't unimportant either and I really don't like leaving the place so devoid-- relatively-- of Family. What are His Majesty's plans for this place, do you know?"
"Well, I think he's still making up the details as he goes along," Folly says, "but I believe the plan is to move as much of Amber to here as we can. I don't know what time frame we're looking at, but he doesn't think the Pattern-free, Shadowpath-free infrastructure of Amber is sufficient to sustain the city in even its current state for much longer. I'll probably be back and forth between there and here some, myself, coordinating part of the relocation -- although if the continuing arrival of ships to Xanadu is any indication, some of it's gonna happen without any intervention."
Brennan thinks about that. He doesn't seem surprised, but Folly can probably guess that no one-- or at least Random hasn't-- said it out loud to him, yet as an actual plan.
"Then two immediate questions come to mind. Has he thought about Paris trying to do the same thing, intentionally or involuntarily? And has he thought about the fate of Amber afterward? I'm not sure I like the idea of it being left as a metaphysical barrow, left to be colonized by whatever wayward things wander in."
"I wondered the very same thing about Paris, actually," Folly says. "When I asked, he explained that there's something about the... the intent of the place, I guess... that will make Xanadu but not Paris the replacement for Amber. Like, that's what the Unicorn meant for him to do, so that's the way it's gonna work." She looks up at Brennan and gives a little shrug. "I don't know enough about the metaphysics of it all to know if that even makes sense. But I trust his gut.
Brennan grunts. "Yeah, but there's Paris the metaphysical construct, and there's Paris the government, which I expect is an extension of Corwin's will. Mostly, anyway. Seen Corwin offering any cabinet-level posts to his siblings, yet?"
"Well, there was Flora's little---" Folly begins, but then remembers, "Oh, hey, you weren't back yet for that. Flora announced at breakfast on the day the king made his announcement about this shiny new place that she's off to be Corwin's style council or chatelaine or something."
She sounds as if she doesn't consider that such a huge loss for the home team.
Brennan smiles faintly to himself, remembering one of the rare times when he was right and Bleys was wrong.
"That's the only thing I've heard along those lines," she continues, "but of course I haven't seen most of our aunts and uncles since the Coronation." She shrugs.
"So I heard," he says. "More of the same would not surprise me at all, but most of us are cagier than to declare immediately."
"As for the other question...." Folly begins to look a little wistful. "I don't know as much about that. It seems a shame to leave her as a ghost-city, doesn't it? But she can't really support even a tenth of her inhabitants without serious Shadow trade, and -- as I understand it -- she can't get her trade-routes back without a Pattern to anchor them. So I don't know what kinds of options that leaves us."
She chews her bottom lip thoughtfully. "When you've got a place like that that's been the seat of great metaphysical power for years and years, is there... I dunno, residual traces of power, or something, that are left behind? Are you worried that an abandoned Amber might attract particular sorts of power-seeking beasties?"
"I'd expect the answers to all those questions and more are 'Yes,'" Brennan says. "But I don't actually know for certain. And then there's this nonsense with Arcadia-- do we really want to just abandon the place to Daeon's strange relations, if it still echoes strongly with ours? I'm a pretty territorial fellow," he says, "So that doesn't sit well with me at a gut level, alone."
Folly nods, but she looks troubled. "Is that the war everybody keeps talking about that Julian is fighting in Arden? He's fighting his son's family?"
"Well, somebody's fighting somebody, out there. Maybe everybody's fighting everybody. I'm not convinced anyone really has a good handle on the situation except Julian."
After Solange finishes talking to Lucas, she'll look around for the other person here she didn't know besides Garrett, the girl with the green hair and skin. Perhaps this is the other new cousin Lucas mentioned earlier. If she's still here, Solange will approach her.
"Hello," Solange greets her. Solange's smile is friendly, and her gaze is confident. "You're new to me, so I thought I'd introduce myself. My name is Solange. I'm Gerard's daughter."
Remembering Hannah's earlier grace, Celina does a half bow to Solange with a hand tucked near her waist. "Pleased. My name is Celina. I'm very new, from the Seaward by way of Rebma and Paris. It is said that I am daughter to Moire and Corwin."
Solange's eyebrows raise a fraction. Her first thought is: Moire doesn't know for sure who sired you? A second, more subdued thought follows: Or perhaps it's just that she didn't want anyone to know.
The thoughts remain unvoiced. "Celina. That's a beautiful name," Solange continues. "Where is Seaward?"
"Thank you, cousin. The Seaward is the alliance of countries in favor with the Sapphire throne." Celina picks up brightly, as if she is glad of the chance to explain.
Solange is attentive, soaking in the explanation.
"First it was a trade association, and then a defense pact, and it eventually became hard to tell that the many Seaward lands were not colonies of Rebman culture, though some of the Seaward is not below the waves, but actual coastal lands."
Celina pauses. "Amber's Golden Circle is considered a watery reflection of the Seaward Kingdoms, since the Circle isn't quite as large or as---dominated by Amber as the Seaward relates to Rebma. I'm sure Amber considers the Seaward a reflection of the Circle." She grins.
Solange grins back, amused. "It does. Perception is everything."
"At any rate, I grew up there in a place where I was looked after until my adulthood. Then, a scholarship brought me to Rebma a few years ago. I became known as a royal a few weeks back."
"What happened? How did you find out you were part of the Family?" Solange asks, genuinely curious. Then she holds up her hands and shakes her head. "Don't feel you have to answer that if it's too much a private matter. I'm sometimes overly inquisitive."
"Ah?" Celina glances past Solange's shoulders left and right. "Well." The Seaward cousin leans a bit closer. "We shall have to be careful then. I'm sometimes overly effusive. We might get cohered in some way that would make everyone discomfited."
"Embarrassed? This family? They're usually pretty unflappable," Solange smiles. "However, we might make a decent good cop/bad cop team."
Her left eyebrow makes a vain attempt to not twitch a question. Celina makes a note to ask some other time.
Celina leans back. "I was the figurehead of the Rebma trade delegation to Paris. Part of my duty was delivering messages from the Sapphire throne to King Corwin. The message contained the assurance that I was Corwin's daughter." She makes a small gesture turning her palms up. "Which landed me a father, brother, nephews and cousins in an instant, and then a trip to Amber. Now there are uncles and a new country."
"A whirlwind of events, enough to overwhelm anyone! How are you holding up?"
Celina smothers a grin and answers straight. "Compared to a comedy, not so well. Likened to a tragedy, I'm right as sunshine on coral. Be that as may, I am getting used to playing catch-up. It must be harder for you who have weathered all this---." She smooths a hand away to her right and her palm describes the castle, the bay, the distant horizon, and infinite shadow.
Solange's eyes follow Celina's gesture. She sighs softly. "I was just thinking about this last night while talking to Hannah. She also discovered very suddenly that she belonged in the Family portraits, and I was comparing my experience of always knowing to her experience at suddenly finding out. I think it's harder on both of you, suddenly finding out and having your lives turned upside down and right-side out."
She looks back at Celina and smiles. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do for you. I hope you've received a warm welcome from everyone."
"The suddeness of finding out was a shock. I hope Hannah does better than I did." Celina considers Solange's generous sincerity and decides. "Thank you. The warm welcomes from those who have will more than overshadow those who have not."
A flash of annoyance passes over Solange's face. She looks like she very much wants to ask who wasn't welcoming to Celina, but curbs the curiosity and instead frowns and shakes her head. "I'm sorry about that. Some things never change."
Celina takes this comment with Seaward inscrutability.
Solange's face then brightens and she continues, "Would you like to go into town this evening, after Lilly's Patternwalk? I could ask the other girls to come with us and we could all take the town by storm."
A shiver passes over her bare arms at the mention of Patternwalk. Celina nods. "That would be choice. Getting to know the town a bit now will help know it better later when it is mature. I hope this will be a casual visit? More fun?"
"That's certainly my intent," Solange assures her, grinning.
"Then let the storm banners be raised. I'd love to." Celina nods.
Hannah's easy, she just would like a room with a window, or a room close to a room with a window.
That's swingable, especially if it's not a big room.
For what it's worth, the castle is situated on the eastern face of a cliffside. Sunrise is large and pleasant over the sea, but sunset is on the order of 2PM, when the shadow of the clifftop covers the top of the castle. This may be why it has electric lights.
Based on what I'm hearing, Celina already has a suite on the eastern side, but not a corner room.
Folly doesn't so much pick her room as find it. She walks to where she knew it would be, and there it is, cat-door and all, right at the point where the castle dives into the cliff-face: the sitting room has a few tall, narrow windows, but the bedroom behind it is surrounded by rock, almost as if her room knew better than to expose her to sunrise first thing in the morning.
Except for the lack of a kitchen, the layout and furnishings are so eerily reminiscent of her flat in Texorami that Folly half-expects to hear her old upstairs neighbor dishing to his boyfriend on the phone over the din of his favorite disco records. The comfy couch piled with pillows, the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves -- there's even an empty space along one wall right where the stereo should go. Thelonious looks around for a few moments and then goes straight for his favorite windowsill.
Folly just stands there, grinning.
Lucas stakes out a suite of rooms on one of the higher levels, with a wide terraced balcony, positioned at an interesting angle; it should catch the best of the morning sun (for breakfasts en famille) while also offering an excellent view of sunsets as one enjoys a pre-dinner martini.
As the castle is on an east-facing cliffside, sunset is around 2PM. One could have a post-lunch martini, if one had such a balcony.
There are four rooms that fit the description (corners with wraparound balconies). Two of them are in what is apparently the King's wing and have been claimed by Random and Martin.
While Garrett was looking around earlier, he found the Royal wing where Martin's and Random's suites are located. He can choose from one of a number of rooms in that wing on two floors. Apparently the castle thinks he's going to have brothers and sisters.
Garrett claims a two-room suite in the same corridor as Random and Martin, but not directly next to either of them. The rooms face downhill toward the marketplace and the sea beyond. Furnishings are standard castle-issue, which is still more luxurious than Garrett has ever seen in his life.
Bleys claims the third [corner balcony room] and he and Caine pointedly comment that the fourth would be perfect for Gerard.
Solange will look for rooms next door to Gerard, wherever he ends up.
(Lucas will want sufficient rooms for a day and night nursery, living room, bedroom for him and Solace, dressing rooms for them both, and a study. Possibly a small kitchen for heating morning croissants etc). On the other hand, he's still planning a main residence outside the castle, so his territorial demands aren't excessive. However, he'll make sure there are a few empty rooms close by that he can expand into if the out-of-castle option looks impossible. Presumably the fact that he has two small children who have so-very-recently demonstrated their willing and readiness to demonstrate their skills with fife and drum (well, bugle and drum, actually) will assist here.
Castle living is not hotel living. Most living space is public. Most people have two rooms, or at most three. There are no private kitchens and servants live in quarters. Bedrooms have doors, but not locks. Public rooms usually do not have doors. There are lots of long galleries with sitting areas. The area described as "the studio" has doors, and they're soundproofed. But it has doors because of the soundproofing.
Castle Xanadu is much more regular in its form than Castle Amber, but it hasn't accreted outbuildings for 3000 years.
Lucas takes a room, wherever, no wraparound balcony, for himself and Solace, and one next to it for the children. His own room will have a nice view for whenever Solace is stuck within the palace being ill.
(OOC - sorry; I was working on the Kensington Palace principle, where you have a bunch of royals living together, and everyone gets their own apartments)
After that, he heads for the nascent city (or town), making his way down to the harbour.
(OOC - does he need to walk or ride, or are there other forms of transport - e.g. the Royal Funicular?)
There's a great Funicular shortage. Castle X is about the same distance up the cliff face that Castle Amber is on Kolvir (funny, that). If there were good roads, like in Amber, it would be about a 45 minute ride. As it is, it's a good 90 minute walk, or a bit faster if one exercises one's superhuman fire and earth.
It is possible to use Martin's method of getting to the harbor quickly, which should take less than 45 seconds. And it's also possible, if one is suitably accoutered in the playing card department, to return promptly.
If Lucas can borrow a trump (OOC - does anyone have one available? He does ask nicely), he'll walk down to the town and start to explore. If not, he forgoes the walk and hangs around the Castle.
He'll also be willing to accept company on the trip, although not particularly inviting - The words, "I'm going into town," may be heard ... the words, "Hey guys! Anyone want to hit the bars before dinner?" remain unuttered.)
Martin will walk down with him. While there are no trumps of Xanadu in his deck, he does have cards of several people present, and a couple of people (Folly and Random) have cards of him.
For the first part of the walk, Lucas is uncharacteristically silent, concentrating on looking around at this new lands, and assessing the size and nature of the town they are approaching. (OOC - Is it O-Pioneers!, a Las Vegas strip, a civilised colonial town? Portofino? (well, we can all dream))
It's a tent city right now, but some wooden buildings are starting to come up. Stone buildings will take a while, Lucas thinks, but they will come.
When they are about halfway down, Lucas stops at a gleaming white stone belvedere, of a kind that could be easily fortified if necessary (is this ok?), and moves on to the rampart to look at the view below while taking out his cigarette case. He offers a cigarette to Martin.
Martin takes it and lights it with a Zippo that he has in his pocket, which he also offers to Lucas. It's chrome, with a logo that Lucas doesn't recognize on it.
"Enjoy," he says. "It may be the last I'm in a position to offer for a while. Prudenter's cover's been blown. A dead groom was shoved into his shop - a rather graphic billet doux in response to your own."
He takes a long draw on his cigarette. "Hard to say how much of my network has been compromised. Or yours, for that matter. We're into damage limitation here. Eyelet was removed from our ken - before we were able to grab her.
"There is information gathering, and there is message sending. Normally I would hesitate to suggest that you might have confused the two. On this occasion ... " He shrugs. "I've ratched up security. Violet is as safe as I can make her in Amber, but you might want to move her into Shadow."
Martin stares out into the lagoon. "I'm going to move her here as soon as there's enough of a Xanadu to move her to, but an intermediate stop may be in order. You need to get your man out of Amber, too. If they've decided he's mine, he'll be the next target, after I do what needs to be done next. This was a love-tap by Rebman standards. Now things get messy."
"I'm less worried about Prudenter, useful though he is, than I am about Solace and the children," says Lucas frankly. "I plan to bring them all through as soon as possible."
Martin turns his attention back to Lucas. "I had thought it would be here or Paris. Are we any closer to establishing what happened to Solace?" Lucas does not feel that Martin perceives this to be entirely a change of subject.
"No," says Lucas. "And you know more than most." He shakes his head. "I realise I'm not without enemies, but I wouldn't have put the Rebmans particularly high on the list. Until now. I think it came from another source."
He stubs out the cigarette against the wall with particular intensity.
Martin nods, once. "I'd rather rule it out than not."
"Shall we see what the town has to offer?"
"Let's do that. You'll find it uncivilized at this stage of its development, I think, based on my brief observations this afternoon. I was somewhat preoccupied, so I may have missed something. In fact, I know I did." Martin frowns, and his attention moves down to the harbor for a moment.
"Oh?" says Lucas.
"I want to check out that supply ship." Martin's eyes narrow. "I think I recognize that flag."
"Certainly," says Lucas obligingly.
[Lucas]
"Do you know how your father is distributing land?" he says. "Rent,
leasehold or freehold? My own preference would be the long term lease.
Nine hundred and ninety nine years of peppercorn rent makes for stability,
and commitment to the land. And the King needs to build that quickly - more
than he needs the income from ground rent, I'd say."
"He hasn't said anything yet. There's to be court tomorrow at noon to handle market disputes. I suspect some sort of arrangement will come on the table by then. They already know who the king is," Martin says. "They mistook me for him when we rode in."
"Interesting," says Lucas, thoughtfully. "Not many natives of Amber, then? I was wondering if some of our Missing would be turning up here."
"The other ship in Harbor is the Swan. She was on the list of missing ships from the Sundering," Martin says, looking at Lucas significantly.
"I'd be interested in learning the route she took," says Lucas slowly. "Let's hope they've a better shadow map than, 'Well, we ran into the most enormous storm and then woke up and found ourselves here.' We're going to be looking for good trade routes soon."
Martin nods.
As they walk into the town, Lucas makes a point of talking to the new Xanadians. He uses his considerable powers of charm to talk about their lives, hopes, plans in this new world. His ready interest and sympathy should win him friends, as in the city in Amber. His man seems unhurried, but he covers a good deal of ground, and he asks a great man questions.
He's interested more in issues of civil engineering and infrastructure rather than architecture - which might seem unexpected to those who see Lucas as primarily interested in surface things. However, the creator of fashion knows that appearance is nothing if seams are badlt set, or one's high collar wilts through lack of starch halfway through the ball.
At this point there's not a lot of architecture or civil engineering. Most of the "buildings" are tents and makeshift stalls, although there are some partially constructed wooden buildings and the beginnings of a street layout.
Therefore he's interested to learn who is looking after such municipal matters as drains and sewers, what power systems and sources they are able to deploy (i.e. is electricity going to be the reseve of the Castle?), whether there is a town planning system in place that will allow zoning, or whether people are just building higgledy piggledy. If there are civil engineers and town planners around, he'll happily talk to them.
Drains and sewers are barely on the agenda. There is no planning yet, although some of the citizens expect the King to take that up in court tomorrow. While there are no official town planners, Lucas encounters a few people who seem to have Ideas, whom he suspects will be movers and shakers in the city's future.
Lucas unobtrusively notes their names. This might be in a notebook - however, he is equally likely just to commit them to memory.
Martin introduces Lucas to Bulwark, a stout older fellow who seems to have the job, if not the formal office, of mayor. While Lucas is chatting with him and some of the other local notables, Martin wanders off to take a look at the supply ship.
If the opportunity offers, [Lucas will] look out a site where he might site his own townhouse.
"The better end of town," he observes to Martin, looking over the howling wilderness. "At least, it will be once I stake my claim - as I believe the expression has it."
And, being Lucas, he will also be interested in checking out the incipient inns, cafes and brothels.
"Not that I think Silken will wish to take up residence in any such hostelry," he observes to Martin. "Clearly, there are fortunes to be made for any one with an entrepreneurial spirit and half a brain. And Silken has far more than that."
"The place is a little raw for the ladies yet," Martin agrees. "I think a midpoint shadow would be a good place for them to take up residence in the meantime."
"I'll leave the choice to Silken," says Lucas. "My belief is that she'll be making her way here on her feet rather than on her back. And she might want the advantage an early start can give her. And Madame Golightly will certainly see the advantages of heading here with a small stable of her more entrepreneurial girls. D'you have any idea whjen your father is planning on starting the evacuation?
"Did you find anything out about the ship?"
"Yes," Martin says, "but keep it to yourself, please. It's from where Benedict was living when I stayed with him as a boy. They were lost, like the Swan. Keep that to yourself, please: Lilly's family is from there and I don't want the news to come to her until afterwards."
"You may trust my discretion," says Lucas. "Do they have any news of Benedict?"
Martin shakes his head. "None more recent than the Swan has of Amber. I'm beginning to worry about Ben. With Lilly about to do what she's about to do, you'd think he'd want to be there. But I tried him this afternoon, before you arrived, and got nothing. Either he's not answering or he can't."
Lucas nods thoughtfully, but does not speculate aloud.
Lucas and Martin do a little more exploring, and when they have looked the town over to their satisfaction, Martin trumps his father for a lift back to the castle.
After speaking with Hannah, Garrett decides to sneak away for a few moments of solitude, to clean up and get his head together before dinner. Before he has to parade in front of the new relatives again. In his rooms, he changes into the clothes the page left him - black slacks, a comfortable blue button-down shirt and short black leather boots. He had asked for a razor too, but the thing they brought didn't look like any razor he'd ever seen - tiny blades in some kind of metallic T-looking thing. He sets it aside and just washes up without shaving. As he examines his sparse beard in the mirror while combing his hair, he mutters to himself, "Heck, perhaps I should just let it grow."
When he's finished, Garrett leans against his window frame, staring down the mountain at the distant lights beginning to twinkle in the marketplace. He had noticed during the tour that being around the elder princes, and even his father, made him edgy. So far, he had managed to avoid speaking with any of them, but he knows that won't last forever. All his life, he had been drilled in servant deference. Yes, Your Highness. No, m'lady. May I help you, sir? Even though the princes are now his uncles, he can't get past the feeling that speaking with them casually is somehow impertinent. And his mother's grand scene in the King's office certainly didn't help matters.
As he stares through the glass, he tries to think of other things - how his horse is doing down there, how Lilly's bearing up, what the purpose of that room with the weird instruments is. Eventually, the smells of what must be a magnificent dinner make their way up to him and he realizes that it's almost time to eat. With a heavy sigh, he leaves his window, buckles on his sword belt, and starts for the dining room.
As he turns a corner in the hallway, he sees Gerard just ending a conversation with one of the guards. Garrett pauses, ready to bolt, then remembers - Dad likes Gerard. He stands up straight as he approaches his uncle. "Good evening, Your Highness. May I walk with you to dinner?" Garrett's voice is polite and cheerful, but Gerard's physician's ear can probably detect the nerves under the surface.
"Certainly, Garrett," Gerard says cheerfully. "I suppose I should call you 'Your Highness' now, but that seems so formal between kin. I hope you'll call me Uncle, as your brother does."
"I'd like that. Thank you," Garrett says with a relieved smile.
Garrett can remember seeing Gerard as a boy, when Eric was king. He's a giant of a man, and he rode great horses. Like most of the war-trained steeds, they were ridden away when the armies left, and Gerard hasn't come down to the stables often since then. Normally, when he's gone into the city, it has been in a carriage.
Although Garrett has seen him behind a desk many times, this is the first time he's had a chance to see up close what the collapse of the castle did to Gerard's legs and lower body.
Garrett saw the damage as he walked up, so he tries not to look when he gets close. It's hard, though. "And I'm just Garrett, Uncle," Garrett smiles. "When people call me 'Highness', I usually turn around and look for Martin."
"He does that too," Gerard comments.
He starts down the hall in the direction of the dining room, matching his pace to whatever Gerard is comfortable with. "I hope I'm not underdressed. I've never been to one of these family dinners before," he says nervously, smoothing a wrinkle on his shirt sleeve.
"People show up in what they show up in. This is private among family, so you're likely to see costumes from many different shadow peoples. Some are more comfortable in the clothes of their home. Others like to make statements with their clothes, even if the statement they make is 'I'm too interested in clothes for my own good'." Gerard's eyes twinkle with good humor that suggests the jest isn't meant harshly.
Garrett chuckles, then shakes his head. "Shadows," he muses with wonder. "I didn't know they existed until Martin dragged me along on this trip. Back in the stables, when people would show up dressed strangely, we'd just say they came from 'Far From Here', like it was a real place or something."
"They're real places," Gerard says. "Real enough, even if they're not Real. D'ye remember all the troubles we had when the trade routes were cut off? If places weren't real enough to be important, we'd hardly have cared about that, would we?"
"That's true," Garrett acknowledges with a nod. "I know the places we came through to get here were real 'cause we couldn't've been there if they weren't. I reckon I just always thought the ports on the trade routes would've been on the same nautical chart as Amber if the chart was big enough. But really, it's more like they were on different charts stacked one on top of the other. Is that right?"
"More like if you scattered them all over the desk and the floor, but something like that," Gerard agrees.
Garrett looks out a window as they pass and muses, "I wonder sometimes how it would've been different to have known all this stuff all along." He turns back to Gerard. "How did you teach your children about it, if you don't mind me asking?"
Gerard frowns and has to think about it. "Solange grew up in Garnath, and she knew about some things from her foster-father Worth, who has been in the Navy. But after she made her debut in Amber, she spent a few years studying at a university in Shadow. I took her there and what she didn't understand before, she understood when we went through Shadow. In Vere's home, they practice a lot of magic, so it was easier to explain parts of it to him. But I think it wasn't until they'd travelled that they really began to understand."
"That's how it was for me," Garrett responds with a nod. "The King and others had talked about how you can 'alter reality', but it didn't make any sense until I travelled with Martin. He explained a lot about it, but I don't think I'll understand it completely until I can do it meself."
"You won't," Gerard confirms. "It's like riding a bicycle--or a woman, if you've ridden one of them." He grins hugely, and his eyes twinkle again. "You don't know what you're doing until you've done it, and afterwards you never forget."
Garrett looks at Gerard incredulously, then laughs when he catches the twinkle in his uncle's eye. "Ah---," he looks like he's about to say something, then shakes his head, still sniggering. "I'll remember that. Thank you for the advice, Uncle."
"You're welcome, lad."
Last modified: 29 April 2005