Tending The Wounded

Celina hums as she glides the hallway. The musical wake whispers nervous as the thoughts beneath it. Her stomach growls softly.

She winces again in memory of the bright and sudden calamity of the salle a few moments past. She gently rubs her sore nose and a small sudden smile graces her wide mouth.

Lir! Now my nose tries to tell the future. Blood. Blade. Disturbing dreams.

She stops at an intersection and throws a glance at the compass points. Celina looks at the deck of Trumps in her hand. Random and Bleys both have given her respect without hesitation. What does that mean to them? Are the stories about this family all wrong? Or is this a slippery sort of net of obligations I need to twist away from? Is the plain truth of command and leadership imprinting the habit of this trust on the unwary?

Celina cocks her head and looks at the deck case. Stupid girl. Her fingers open and sort the cards again. Bleys' image she pulls from the rest. She slides him into the waistband of her skirt. The other Trumps go back in the case.

Lucas, Brennan and Gerard are in the infirmary. Well, at least Brennan and Gerard may be. Lucas prowls to a clock all his own.

Celina turns away from the outer precincts and heads down a hall. Her ears are cocked for sounds of deep voices. With any luck, they haven't shut the door and she'll find them quickly.

After a little while, Celina finds what she thinks is the infirmary. Familiar voices come from within, and some not so familiar.

Gerard wheels himself into the infirmary, licking the last bits of sticky sugar from a pastry off his fingers. "Brennan, Lucas," he says by way of greeting as he rolls over to a low sink, where he washes his hands. "I see you two have been extracting what's left of your sword from your back, Brennan. Have we found the anesthetics yet?"

"It's a just flesh wound, a bunch of little scratches," Brennan says, with what is going to become practiced patience. "Lucas was just finished taking the bigger slivers out. We hadn't bothered with anaesthetics."

"They're here," says Lucas. "Close to the antisceptics. But I trust such measures will not be necessary."

He slides himself off the corner of the table where he has been perching. "Well, having done my little bit to be helpful I believe - unless you require me further - that I should go and change for Court. The air of studied informality is, after all, not acquired so easily."

"Lucas, ye shouldn't give away your secrets so easily," Gerard mock-admonishes. "Tell Solace I'd like to see her sometime over the next day or so, when it's convenient for her, will ye?"

"I shall," says Lucas. "And my thanks."

"You're welcome, Lucas."

Brennan looked like he was going to quote an aphorism, or quote himself (no reason it couldn't be both!) but leaves it with Gerard's directive. "We'll talk again soon, Lucas. Give Solace my best."

"I will," says Lucas, and he heads off.

[Gerard] wheels over to the low examining table to take a look at Brennan's back.

"I think Lucas got most of it, Gerard, but we might as well make sure." As Gerard starts to work, he makes conversation: "I wonder if Young Garrett learned anything from all that. Other than not to fence Bleys and Werewindle."

"Mmm, Lucas has a neat hand. Not surprised by that, somehow. His ma has sewed up more than one slice nicely in her day. So you were fencing with Bleys? What exactly happened?" Gerard asks as he works.

"It started out as fencing with Martin," Brennan says, "something of an exposition for Garrett, to show him what he's in for once he starts his training... and what he's got to look forward to at the end of it. Then Bleys challenged us both in parallel. And he used Werewindle." He snorts. "His blade and mine had a bit of a disagreement."

Brennan muses for a moment. "I don't think either of us were banking on younger brothers to watch out for," he adds.

"I don't think so eith--" Gerard cuts off in mid-sentence. "Who is it?" he asks, his eyes not looking at Brennan at all.

Brennan recognizes the look of a Trump contact and waits patiently, watching his expression.

There's a long pause, and Gerard's eyes grow wide. "Yes, at once. I'm in the infirmary." He adds to Brennan, "Clear the table. There's been an attack on Castle Amber and wounded are coming through."

And because he was watching Gerard's expression, he saw his eyes grow wide. He's already hopped off the table and shrugging into his silk robe by the time he speaks. When he does speak, he secures his robe with his sword belt without wasting his breath to grumble that he's only got his short blade.

He scoops up the metal splinters that were removed from his own back and puts them out of the way, high up on a cabinet corner, somewhere, wipes the table clean, and gets ready for Gerard to start handing people to him.

First come two adolescents that Brennan doesn't recognize. They're naked and they've been in some kind of fight--they seem to be bruised and scratched up. Both of them have reddish hair.

Right behind them comes Paige.

As the Twins and their mother come through, Brennan is already as much in triage mode as he can be while people are popping out of thin air between him and Gerard. So when he connects the two youths before him, mentally, to the Twins, he barely blinks.

He does size them up as quickly as he can, medically, and decides that none of them bear life threatening injuries. Not physically, anyway. He does run his hands through their hair in a reassuring gesture, before he scoots them off to the side to keep the arrival area clear.

He mentally tags Brooke and Leif as being Paige's to watch, and tries to convey that to Paige by eye contact.

> "I'll keep them out of the way while you deal with Brita first," she
> offers as way of apology for coming through before her cousin.

Next comes Brita, who has also clearly been in a fight. She's been bitten and bruised and beaten, and has burns all over the front of her body. The intense pain of her wounds and her burns is beginning to come through the shock and the remnants of her berserk haze. To Brennan's eye, she looks to be in much worse shape than the children, if only because of the burns.

When Paige and the Twins came through, Brennan is concerned. When Brita comes through, and the acrid smell of a dead man's ashes roll in with her, his nostrils flare and his eyes snap to her. Now he's truly alarmed. Whether she needs it or not, he helps her to and onto a table, seated so that she's facing away from the Twins.

After Brita comes a youth in the garb of a Ranger that Brennan doesn't recognize, although he seems vaguely familiar to Brennan. He stumbles through the contact. He's bloody, beaten, and dazed, but there are no obvious major injuries.

Last, after a brief pause, comes Conner. Everyone has blood splashed or smeared on them. It looks to Brennan's eye like they've all been in a hell of a fight.

The ranger and Conner both get quick looks, too, before Brennan moves from triage to treatment. He's already decided that Brita is the worst of the lot and needs immediate attention.

Gerard says, rather sharply, "Solange, be careful," and then his attention is back in the room. His dark eyes sweep the group and settle on Conner as clearly least injured. "Captain Conner, report! How stands Amber? Who is injured and who is dead?" As he speaks, Gerard is pulling out his own Trump deck, which he tosses to Brennan.

Brennan catches it in one hand, and snaps his fingers to make sure he's got Paige's attention: a twirling finger says she should keep the Twins looking away from Brita. If there's a privacy curtain, he draws it.

Regardless, Brennan sets about stripping or cutting Brita out of her clothing wherever it's covering burns. From the ashes and odor, he's expecting full thickness burns. When he finds only second degree burns he's perplexed, but relieved.

Although the heavy formal jacket she normally wears - especially when seeing the Queen - may have helped somewhat. She allows him to cut the heavier cloth of the ruined coat free although she assists in freeing herself of the blouse underneath.

He tries to keep an ear on Conner's report, but not at Brita's expense. He talks to her in a low voice, watching her for signs of shock and other injuries, letting her know what's going to happen. "Keep those fingers apart until I bandage them." He gets a bunch of clean washcloths soaked in cold water. "This is going to sting. Don't move." He begins to wash the burns down. He's as gentle as he can be, but the point is to cool the skin and stop the process of burning. "Keep those fingers apart." He continues through the rest of a proper treatment for burns and her other injuries-- cleaning, debriding, stitching, bandaging, as necessary.

Brita does seem slightly in shock, although it is more a lingering effect of coming out of her Beserker Rage than the damage she conciously accepted in an attempt to stop the Death of Adonis. "The Children," she says. "The Ranger? Conner?" Her eyes dart around the room assessing. She keeps spreading her fingers at the insistent commands which finally register somewhat. A half laugh escapes her, "I may be less adept at our Chess Matches for a bit, Doctor Brennan." Her eyes are dulled by the pain, but she seems to be accepting it without complaint.

The coat is indeed ruined, and underneath, Brennan finds that Brita has fewer cuts and tooth marks that require stitches than he expected. In some places, she has hard bruises where she was bitten. One of the bite marks that did pierce the skin seems to be fanged, and probably wouldn't have pierced her skin otherwise. Nothing quite human has teeth like that.

Brennan notes all this with a clinical eye, building up an image, no matter how partial, of what it was Brita had been fighting. "They're all here," He continues talking to her in low tones. "You brought them back with you." From the behind the privacy curtain, it shouldn't interrupt Conner's recitation at all. "All right, now the fingers and the hand." Brennan has destroyed most of a bedsheet to make large, loose bandages for those burns, well ventilated, but secure. "You'll have plenty of time to concentrate on your chess lessons, now." Brennan works quickly and efficiently, as a man who might have done similar duty under the pressures of a battle.

He turns his attention to the cuts and contusions, next, obviously less concerned about those.

Paige has set the children on beds and found robes for both of them from the infirmary wardrobe if available. "Are either of you hurt?"

"No, mother," Brooke says. Leif looks around and asks, "Where are we?" before his attention is taken by Conner's story.

At Gerard's tone Conner stands noticably straighter with his heels swung together. 'Old habits die hard, it seems. At least I didn't salute.' Conner thinks to himself wryly.

"Amber stands firm. The incursion was a directed assault of Arcadian origin against the twins." Conner reports. "It was repulsed but at great cost." Conner takes a breath to steady himself. "The twins, the ranger and two others were taken over by the one Adonis calls Grandmother. She released them in an attempt to control Adonis instead and he wrestled with her absorbing that energy into himself. I thought that was the end of it, that Adonis had won." Conner shakes his head. "The victory was temporary only. He merely held her influence at bay. And so to spare us all, he set himself aflame. Adonis burned to ash in seconds." Conner falls silent. There really was nothing more to say.

Behind the curtain, Brennan exhales like he's been hit in the stomach. He pales. He draws a heavy breath, looking at the ashes on his hands that he's cleaned from Brita.

"Sacrifice," he whispers softly. Behind the curtain, only Brita can hear him.

Brita nods but whispers back, "Martyr."

"Horn and hoof," Gerard murmurs, aghast. He looks at the children and Breeze, who is leaning against a wall, shivering. "Come here, lad, let's let Conner here have a look at you. Brennan, how are things going in there?" he calls to the bustling privacy curtain as he rolls toward Paige and the twins. Brooke has begun to cry during Conner's recitation, and Leif puts his arms around his sister protectively.

It's a long moment before Brennan answers, filled with the sound of water as he washes his hands and face. "She's strong," he says, at last. With Brita bandaged and decent, and the burn tissue covered, Brennan pulls the curtain back so Brita can see the room, and the room can see her.

Gerard looks over at Brita briefly, and seems satisfied with what he sees.

If Conner has Breeze in hand, Brennan slowly joins the knot of Paige, Twins, and Gerard, helping where he can. He expects Brooke, in particular, won't want Brennan poking and prodding at her, and so leaves her to Paige or Gerard. "You're safe now," he says. And with a gentleness that would surprise most of his cousins, he gives Leif as much of an examination as he'll submit to. He does not try to separate him from his sister.

Brennan and Paige and Gerard are able to look over the children. They're bruised and battered, and have some slightly fractured bones (greensticks), but they'll recover completely if they're as resilient as children, no, young adolescents of their apparent age. The blood on them is mostly someone else's.

The twins are naked, and the visual examination suggests they're normal children of their age. They don't seem to know or care that they're inappropriately dressed for company. What they need is a bath and some clothes and bed rest, probably with their mother or someone familiar nearby.

Brennan has clean rags, and washes Leif down with them. There are more for Paige and Gerard to use as well. He also tries to get Leif to wear the robe his mother brought for him.

Paige pulls the robe over Brooke after washing her down gently with the rags that Brennan procured and Leif will get a stern look if he argues with his Uncle Brennan about his robe.

Conner is grateful for the gift of something to do and leads Breeze over to one of the examinating tables. Conner's usual bedside manner is absent. Breeze is examined almost mechancially and any wounds found are treated promptly and well. Conversation is at a minimum and confined to asking where it hurts.

Breeze has been scratched and bitten and had the crap beaten out of him. He's in shock. He has broken ribs and one of his elbows has been smashed. Conner may wonder whether he'll get the use of it back completely. He, like the twins, needs rest and a bath and fresh clothes and more rest.

[OOC: unless Conner knows that Breeze is family, in which case he should know that if it's set right, Breeze will heal completely.]

Conner does not know he is family, but that doesn't stop him from setting the elbow right anyway and using whatever medical supplies are at hand to immobilize the arm.

Brita starts to get up to stand near Conner. Drawing strength from his presence. She quickly realizes that it's going to hurt a lot and she'll probably fall and mess up Brennan's carefully-wrapped makeshift bandages. Both Brennan and Conner can see what she's up to before she gets up and that it will come to a bad end.

If Brennan wore glasses, he'd be looking over the rims at Brita. "Sit back down, or you will be sat." He never raises his voice, even a hair above conversational levels.

"Rest, sister." Conner says to her calmly. "Let me put this man's arm back together and then I shall be with you."

Brita huffs softly to herself, although she does, in the end, remain seated. Brennan can probably hear the subvoiced grousing, "I am not a Child. I know my limits; they just needed to be tested."

Brennan, satisfied, returns to his examination and cleanup of Leif.

The scratch at the jamb is pro forma and as the heavy door swings in, Celina enters the room. She stops---surprised at how many people are here.

But a second later, she realizes that the battle in Amber must be the cause. She steps aside to put her back to the wall and keep out of the way: a clear signal that she doesn't have a medical background. "The King is now with the Queen, who is here. Is there news the King must have immediately?" Her voice is low but steady. It is not apparent that she expects an answer from any particular person in the room.

Conner barely looks up from working on Breeze. "You may tell him that the immediate threat to Amber is over." He comments. "I think the rest should wait for a full recital before as much of the family as is here." Conner sighs heavily and then pushes those feeling aside once more to focus on his task.

Brita seems like she wants to add more, but she follows Conner's lead in the matter.

"Can someone point us to the baths and a room?" the redheaded woman asks. "The children need rest," she adds, stating the obvious.

"In a moment," Gerard says.

When he finishes with Leif, Brennan runs his hand over his hair again, in a you're-safe-here gesture, and turns his attention to Conner. That's what he'd been forgetting. As soon as Conner is done with Breeze, Brennan wants to give Conner at least a cursory examination, to make sure that, yes, the blood is mostly or all someone else's.

He signifies this waiting politely, arms folded across chest, watching Conner work and then staring at him. "Your turn, Cousin."

"You'll find naught to treat, cousin." Conner informs him. "I was far from the front lines. See for yourself." Conner allows Brennan to look him over.

Gerard says, "I'll take care of that. Conner, you come here. You go to the King, Brennan, and give him a report. Celina, please help Paige and her children find a chamber."

Celina switches her gaze to the redhead mother. Paige.

Paige finally connects Celina with the woman looking for news for Random and offers a warm smile. She seems immediately at ease.

"Brita, you stay on that gurney for now; we'll find you a room in a little while after I've had a chance to look Conner over. You, lad, what's your name?"

"Breeze," the young ranger answers. He's clearly still in shock.

"You're staying here too, for the nonce," Gerard tells him firmly. He looks at his nieces and nephews as if waiting for them to obey his orders.

Brennan looks at Conner like he'd have preferred to make sure he was hale with his own hands, but shrugs, nods farewell to the toom and all in it. He turns and strides out of the room, still in silk pants and silk robe with his sword belt buckled over it.

Celina tracks him across the room and out. She shakes her head and walks to stand beside Paige. She does not reach for a child without permission. "Lady, if you would come with me. I think I can help you settle your little ones."

Paige helps the twins off the bed and kisses Gerard on the cheek in thanks before following with a child under either arm.

As they exit, Celina nods to Conner and Brita as a placemark for later introductions.

When they leave the training ground, Martin leads Folly back toward her rooms. He's tense and holding her hand a little too tightly, and moving at a reasonably fast pace. His eyes flick from place to place as if he's waiting for someone to jump the two of them.

"I wish I knew what the hell just happened in there," he says quietly to Folly once they're well clear of the others, so there's no chance of being overheard.

Folly shakes her head and replies, equally quietly, "All I know is that there was that sound, and then there was metal flying at us, and then there was this." She scrapes her finger along her forearm, collecting traces of red dust under the nail. "It tastes like rust. I figured one of them must've done it."

Martin touches his finger to a dusty spot and touches that to his tongue. "Bleys aged it to rust, I bet. I saw the sword break. But that's not normal--even with a blade like Bleys', the other blade doesn't normally break like that. I'd attribute it to bad luck, but for the most part we make our own luck. And our luck at sparring lately has been unequivocally bad." He grimaces.

"I can't see the pattern behind the coincidences, if there is one, but I wonder."

"The universe is no longer on our side?" Folly asks with a grim smile, and shrugs. "I dunno either, but I'm gonna start paying more attention. I'm not sure I believe in coincidences."

"It would take an awful lot of power to make coincidences happen here, though."

Folly nods, but her brow is furrowed. She obviously doesn't like some of the implications of her train of thought.

She tugs on Martin's hand so that he turns slightly toward her. "You didn't get hit, did you?" Her eyes scan the front of his shirt for debris or damage.

Martin stops and submits to inspection. "No, no, I'm fine. I was far enough back that a small piece wouldn't have come near me and Bleys was between me and the larger pieces."

Folly can see that he seems to be right. He managed not to step in any shard with his bare feet, either--and he didn't pick up his shoes in his haste to leave, either.

"Good," she says with obvious relief. She glances down the hallway to make sure they aren't being observed, then goes up on her toes to steal a quick kiss.

Martin grins as she kisses him, a grin which stays in place all the way to her quarters.

She walks the rest of the way to her quarters in silence, her hand still in Martin's.

When they arrive and are safely behind closed doors, Folly immediately kicks off her slippers and pulls her dress off over her head. "Come shower with me?" she asks -- it's more a request than a question -- "...or at least come talk to me while I get cleaned up again." In a lower, almost apologetic voice, she adds, "I wanna know more about the whole Rebma situation, if you feel comfortable talking about it...."

"Whatever you want to know," Martin says, stripping his shirt off, and then the rest of his clothes. "I need to clean up for court anyway." His court garb, such as it is--mostly a change of clothes--is across one of the chairs in Folly's suite.

He crooks a finger, gesturing to Folly to come to him. "Let me take a look and make sure I didn't miss anything in the salle."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" she teases, grinning and arching an eyebrow. The tease continues as she slowly, carefully slips off her lacy underthings and comes to stand before Martin. Her eyes skim every inch of his visible flesh, as much in appreciation as in medical inspection.

Martin watches every move of the striptease with obvious interest. "Are you trying to make me late for court?" he asks, but the complaint is belied by the tone and the grin he's wearing.

Folly responds with a not-at-all-innocent grin of her own.

But he does scan her, front and back, turning her gently around by the shoulders, making sure that all the rust is, in fact, only rust and that no splinters have pierced her skin.

[none have]

When he has completed his inspection, Folly makes a slow circuit around Martin, likewise ensuring that no stray metal made contact with his flesh. If she lingers a bit overlong in staring at the curve of his lower back, well... perhaps she is just being thorough.

Martin patiently undergoes his own inspection. Folly can see that he's untouched; there's rust on him where he gathered her in his arms, but no blood.

Once she's satisfied that he is uninjured, she laces her fingers through his and leads him toward the shower.

She flips on the water, but doesn't get in yet; she's waiting for it to warm up to comfortably hot. But in the noise of water-against-tile, the better to baffle the efforts of eavesdroppers, she says, "So, Rebma. You mentioned in passing that the groom you interrogated has since wound up dead...? Is that the 'stuff about Rebma' that had you all preoccupied last night?"

Martin frowns. "That's part of it. I need to go back and handle that." His eyes narrow and he goes to the linen closet. A moment later, he has a towel and is covering the mirror over the sink with it.

With the mirror safely covered, he adds. "There's some older stuff, too--stuff Vere dug up while he was sniffing around in Rebma. About a murder. A murder Moire used to get rid of a bunch of people."

Folly considers his words carefully, weighing them against what she already knows of Moire. "A frame?" she ventures.

Martin nods once. His lips are a tense, thin line.

"I had always thought it was a coincidence, that the death was convenient. I always knew my grandmother had executed the--someone I cared about for politics. Why do I care so much that she's the one who arranged the murder that she was executed for?"

He turns away slightly, putting his hand under the water to see if it's warm enough yet.

Folly lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. For a long moment she stands silent, offering warmth and support through her touch.

Then, "Do you feel any... loyalty... to your grandmother?" she asks. Her voice is carefully modulated, as if she's working to filter out some coloring emotion.

Martin decides the water is ready and turns back to Folly, stepping back a little to let her into the shower and under the flow from the showerhead. "I don't think I want to kill her ...

"... right now, anyway." He sounds like he had to think about that.

The corner of Folly's mouth crooks up into a pensive smile as she steps into the shower. She leans her head back under the water and runs her fingers several times over her scalp, through her hair, rinsing away the red dust while she ponders.

Martin steps past her, dodging the iron-red spray.

When she straightens up again, she says, "You know -- well, now you really do know -- my mother is kind of a nightmare and the occasional bane of my existence. But I don't hate her. And Vialle -- Vialle sometimes frustrates me, and sometimes irritates me, and often makes me nervous -- but I don't hate her, either. But your grandmother---"

Folly grabs a washrag and begins vigorously soaping it. "I... I think I kind of hate her. I keep trying to find a reason not to, but it's not working." She smiles grimly and steps out of the shower stream, indicating with a tilt of her head that Martin is welcome to get started on his shower while she's soaping up.

He does so, letting the hot water wash away some of the stink of his bladework with Brennan and Bleys. He doesn't add anything to her comments, though, except a single nod.

"I know I've said this already," she continues, "but... please don't do anything that would let her get to you." She looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "What... what were you planning to do about the situation with the dead groom?"

Like a wet dog, Martin shakes his head, spattering droplets everywhere for a moment. "Have someone burn down the fish shop where Lunging met his contact, probably. I can chase that further up the ladder if I need to--I have another name--but this calls for something showy and immediate. The other I can follow at my leisure, if Montage stupidly ups the ante."

Folly frowns -- clearly, acts of showy destruction aren't her very favorite problem-solving method -- but she nods. "Just... be careful, okay? I know you always are, and I know I always say it anyway, b--"

She stops abruptly, brow furrowed, listening. Slowly she turns her head, moving her focus outward. After a long moment of stillness, she shakes her head and looks at Martin. "Did you... hear something?" She doesn't look alarmed so much as confused.

Martin looks confused too. "No. Just the water." He starts to stick his head out of the shower, then thinks better of it and gestures Folly back against the inside wall of the shower. Once he's satisfied that she's out of the way, he does stick his head out for a moment.

Then he pulls it back in. "Nothing," he says. "What did you hear?"

"I... I'm not sure." Folly tilts her head, thinking. "It was sort of like... doors opening. Only... it wasn't the doors I heard, it was the way the acoustics changed when they were open. I don't think it was my room, though. It sounded... bigger." She shakes her head. "I dunno. It sounds improbable when I say it out loud, doesn't it?"

She begins scrubbing her shoulders and upper body, quickly and vigorously, like she's anxious to finish up and see what's happening. But when she's good and soapy, she nods toward Martin, offering to scrub his back while she's at it.

He turns around and presents his back, bracing so she can give him a vigorous scrub. "Maybe you just have a new talent that's manifested since you took the Walk."

"You think?" she asks as she attacks his back with the rag in a good hard scrub. "I wonder what it is I'm hearing, then?"

"The Unicorn alone knows," Martin says.

When his back is clean -- everything from his neck to his hips is freshly, pinkly scrubbed -- Folly reaches around Martin playfully with the rag and goes for his chest as well. "When were you planning to head back to Amber?" she asks, returning to the original topic.

Martin is about to answer when there's a sudden banging on the door and someone is yelling their names. He curses and rinses off quickly before stepping out.

"Maybe *that's* what I heard..." Folly says under her breath. She, too, quickly takes one last rinse, shuts off the water, and steps out.

Outside the salle, Garrett pauses to shove the trump deck deeper into Martin's shoe, then dashes off toward the Family Wing. On the way, he repeats Bleys's instructions in his head, determined not to get the message wrong.

He skids to a stop in front of Martin's door and shoves the shoes under his arm. He pounds hard on the door with his fist, shouting "MARTIN!" loudly. When several shouts bring no answer [presumably they don't based on the Martin/Folly thread], he opens the door and bellows, "Martin, are you here?!"

Silence. Garrett curses and closes the door. After thinking a moment, he mutters "Folly" under his breath. He starts to jog back down the hall, then curses again. He doesn't know exactly where Folly's rooms are. At a juncture of corridors, he stops and peers down them, frustrated.

Then he remembers. He has Martin's trumps. Martin must have a trump of Folly. Garrett leans Martin's sword against the wall and digs the trumps out of the shoe. He fans them like a seasoned card-player, wishing briefly that he had the leisure to study them all. Right now, though, he looks only for a petite girl with purple locks.

As he fans out the cards, he becomes aware of someone coming down the corridor towards him. It is Lucas, who he last saw escorting Brennan to the infirmary.

Lucas is frowning slightly - at what Garrett is holding in his hands.

Garrett looks up quickly, then returns his attention to the cards.

"Where did you get those trumps?" he asks - and then, seeing Garrett's expression, his tone changes. "What's happened? Where's Martin?"

"Amber's under some kind of magical attack," Garrett answers somberly without looking up from the trumps. "Bleys sent me to find him." He looks up at Lucas intently. "Do you know where Folly's quarters are?"

"No," says Lucas. And then, "Amber?"

His dark eyes are suddenly almost black.

"Give me Fiona's trump," he says curtly. His voice is almost an octave lower than his usual social drawl - if Garrett heard his voice without seeing him, he might not even recognise it as Lucas. "Or one of the Castle."

As Garrett thumbs through the deck, he finds a set of well-made Fortunes mixed with Trumps of his aunts and uncles. There is no card of Folly, and none of Martin, but both Fiona and a trump of the entry gate to Castle Amber are included, as well as some people Garrett doesn't recognize.

Garrett regards Lucas silently. He understands the reasons for his cousin's concern because his own are similar. He shakes his head slowly. "Don't go alone, Lucas." He speaks carefully, trying to hold Lucas's gaze as he squares the trumps and shoves them back in the shoe. "We don't know the situation and you're no good to your family dead. Bleys already went back. He said to send Martin to him."

But even as he is beginning to speak again, Lucas' shoots out his left hand - hard, aimed at shoving Garrett back against the wall and pinning him there. At the same time his right hand clenches into a fist - but not to strike Garrett. Instead his fist shoots up, under the shoe, aimed at hitting it hard, and knocking it from Garrett's grasp.

At the same time he snarls, "My children, damn you."

Lucas swings, but Garrett is young and grew up dodging hooves and sees it coming.

Lucas does, however, shove Garrett back against the wall. Garrett doesn't think Lucas is as fast or as strong as he is, unless he's holding back.

With his right shoulder against the wall, Garrett squeezes the shoes tight against his body under his left arm and grabs the dangling laces with what little mobility he has in his right hand. Lucas ends up hitting Garrett's left elbow instead of Martin's left shoe.

The defensive manuever leaves Garrett in the perfect position to shove Lucas like a football [American version] linebacker. Protecting the trump-laden high-tops against his body as if they were the game-winning ball, Garrett tucks his head and rams his left shoulder hard into Lucas's chest. After the impact, he keeps up the pressure to try to free his right shoulder as well. Through gritted teeth, he snarls, "There's bairn in my family too, you b*st*rd, now...LET...ME...GO!"

Garrett shoves, but Lucas' arm was extended, and he is too far physically to receive the full force of the thrust. He gives a slight jerk, but doesn't fall back - although his grip is momentarily weakened. But he doesn't let go. Instead he speaks.

"And they've have parents to protect them, yes? Hope has no-one - Phillippe has no-one!" For a second he simply stares at Garrett - all his intensity in that gaze. "Give me the card - the courtyard."

Maybe it's appeasement so he can complete his own mission or maybe it's the thought of two young children home alone. Whatever the cause, Garrett stops struggling, but remains tense, his arms still tightly wrapped around the shoes. "Lemme go so I can dig it out," he growls angrily.

Lucas holds his hand in place a moment more, but the pressure is eased. Then, as if satisfied that Garrett is not going to run, he releases him, raising his other hand to in a gesture that says as clearly as words, "See? I'm backing off."

Keeping his eyes on Lucas warily, Garrett shrugs the tension out of his shoulders. He reaches into the sneaker and pulls out the trumps, clutched tightly in his fist. He shows no sign that he intends to bolt, but at the same time, his arms and hands are tense, ready to defend if needed.

Once he's satisfied that Lucas is staying put, Garrett looks down at the trumps and turns slightly toward the wall. Lucas can still see what Garrett's doing, but he's in a position to fend Lucas off with an elbow if he makes a grab for the cards. As he shuffles for the requested trump, Garrett says in a voice more tense than angry, "When I find Martin, I'll tell him you've gone."

"Thank you," says Lucas, with the faintest touch of irony. "You can add that I'll return the trump as soon as I can."

Garrett nods as he finds the Castle Trump and hands it to Lucas.

Lucas nods in acknowledgement, glancing down at it. But he doesn't move to activate it immediately. Instead he looks up again at Garrett, dark eyes still intense.

"And ... Garrett?"

"Yeah?" Garrett answers while replacing the trumps in the shoe.

"I'll do my best to see your family safe too," says Lucas quietly.

Garrett blinks with surprise. A small smile of gratitude cracks the tension on his face and he nods. "Thank you. I appreciate that," he says sincerely.

Garrett reaches over and retrieves Martin's sword. As he trots up the hallway to continue his search, he calls back, "Be careful, Lucas." The words have the feel of a "Good luck."

Lucas nods - but already he is looking down at the trump card and studying it intently. He doesn't draw his sword - it has never seemed to him that steppping through a trump with a drawn sword is a wise thing to do - but his other hand is ready to draw it at need.