At the time arranged through the proper passing of black trimmed notes by somber pages, Conner arrives at Solace's quarters. Conner is dressed in Parisian fashion in a dark suit with a black armband. He has a small book in one hand and with his free hand, Conner knocks on the door.
A page opens the door and shows Conner into the sitting room, where Solace is waiting for him. She rises as he enters and comes to greet him. "Conner," she says, "thank you for coming. Please, sit down." She gestures to the seating area, allowing him to take his pick of the chairs.
The page--not the lad Lucas had favored who'd picked Conner's pocket more than once during the Regency years--goes off, undoubtedly to get tea or chocolate or some such.
The widow Solace is all dressed in black, which makes her look washed out and faded. The fashion is the latest Parisian look. It seems like something Florimel would have picked out for her. The upside is that it shows no sign of her mother's influence.
"I only wish I was visiting under more pleasant circumstances." Conner replies with a muted smile and he settles into the most comfortable looking chair that is not hers. Conner holds out the book to her. "A small gift. Its a book of poetry I bought in the city from an impassioned young man who spoke of beauty and light. I thought it might bring you some measure of comfort. How are you holding up?" Conner asks.
Solace takes the book with a smile. "Thank you, Conner. You've always been so thoughtful." She seats herself with appropriate care for one bundled up in the voluminous skirts fashion has enforced on Paris' women. "I am--holding up, let us say. Things have been difficult, but I have the children, still, and under the circumstances, that is most important. Hope understands that her father won't be coming back. I'm not sure Philippe does yet."
"I find it is wise never to underestimate what people understand. They often surprise you with what they know." Conner observes. "Still, best not to press him too hard. His grief will take its own course." This is usually where fiddling with a tea cup would fill the pause before it became too awkward. As the boy has not returned yet with refreshments, Conner settles for removing a non-existent piece of fluff from the sleeve of his suit. "It seems like another life when we shared a dance at the Coronation Masque, doesn't it?" Conner smiles slightly.
"Yes, so very long ago. Although that ended badly as well, between the attack and dear Lucas' injuries." Solace's breath is a bit shaky, but she continues, "and the row between Aisling and Martin. Did you know she came to Lucas to ask him to mediate that?"
The door pushes open and a cart with a tea service and a selection of finger foods comes in, pushed by the tiny page. There's no way the child could have gone to the kitchens for it; it must have been waiting for her, with a brief delay for extra china.
"If you would do the honors, Conner," Solace says.
"Of course." Conner nods and pours out the tea into the cups provided with a practiced hand. "No, I had not heard about Aisling approaching Lucas. Did he attempt to intercede on her behalf?" Conner passes Solace her cup carefully. This was a curious turn for the conversation and Solace has his interest.
"He meant to, or well, to have me do," Solace explains. "Because Martin is fond of me, and values my judgement. And because, well--Lucas--" She stops, perhaps considering her words. "Lucas was capable of many things, and I am--not. But as it turned out, Fate interceded before Lucas and I could. Martin left, and Aisling died before he returned."
"Yes, a sad business with Aisling." Conner murmurs. "For all of her observations of the family, she greatly misjudged how we would react to her actions past and present." Conner adds a cube of sugar to his tea and offers one to Solace. "I met her..." Conner pauses a moment, "well daughter would be the closest word in our language, a being named Saeth, when I visited my grandmother Clarissa. I sometimes wonder what she is up to these days. She has knowledge that could be dangerous to have floating about."
"If you wanted me to speak with her, if she were to come here, I would," Solace offers quietly. "I don't know if it would help, though."
Conner treats Solace to once of his warmest smiles. "You are very kind to offer, Solace. As it is, I doubt Saeth will be visiting anytime soon. She has a rather overprotective father." Conner takes a sip of his tea. "You know that is twice now that you have offered to help me gain information. I think a fair exchange is called for. If I know my Uncle and Aunt, they have not been very forthcoming about what goes on in the wider family circles so as not to add to your burdens. I think you are made of sterner stuff than that. If you have questions or concerns please ask me. I may not be able to tell you all, but I will share what I can."
Solace considers that offer over the rim of her teacup for a few moments before setting the cup back on the table. "I think--I think the things I want the answers to are not things you know. Or that anyone living does. Ossian came to me, to apologize about the card, but I don't think he cared to apologize for, well, you know."
She presses her lips together, her smile becoming almost rictus-like in her effort to keep from saying something untoward. Or perhaps, based on the sudden bout of blinking, to keep from bursting into tears.
Conner ceases to smile.
"And I think if they had anything useful to say about the rumors about my father, I'd have already been told that. Nobody likes my mother, but I've met Folly's mother in passing, and they put up with her. Aunt Felicity says that Prince Bleys mentioned she might settle here, even.
"So I'm not sure I even know what I'd ask, if I needed to."
Conner reaches out and squeezes her hand. "No need to decide now. The offer is an open one. With Rebma and Paris now locked, I suspect I'll be passing through from time to time."
Solace returns the squeeze lightly.
Conner pauses for a moment considering the pros and cons of speaking. With a mental shrug, he decides to press on. "There was a case similar to yours with the cards." He begins conversationally. "Brita traveled to her home shadow of Jotunheim to meet with her father Vidar and while there she drew a Trump of him. Her attempt to use it caused him great pain. Vidar was descended from Finndo but three or four generations distant. It was enough for a connection but not enough for him to endure it." Conner explains. "So, if I were to hazard a guess, your father is your father whatever the rumors say, but someone farther back in your family tree had relations with a royal." Conner looks to Solace hoping that his words do not distress her further.
"It doesn't matter so much to me, although I like to think that--I know it couldn't be the same as Cambina, but Jerod is all alone now--" Solace trails off. "And I know I don't have the strength of one of your family, or I'd have had an easier time with the children. Perhaps if the connection is farther back. That would make sense of it."
Conner suspects she's talking herself into it.
Perhaps Conner should have left more doubt in place. After all, who wouldn't hope to be a secret member of the royal family? Idly, Conner wonders if Garrett would assure Solace she is better off as she is. It also occurs to him that Brita never sniffed Solace out as family during the Regency. That pretty much clinches it for him, but he'll leave Solace some room to dream.
"Well it is only a theory but it does seem to fit the evidence best." Conner concludes. "To say for certain would require some pretty formidable sorcery away from one of the Pattern realms. No need to take it that far, I would think."
In the early evening on the night after the family meeting, Garrett strolls the corridors of Corwin's magnificent palace. The place is so formal and exacting in its balance and detail. So unlike Xanadu, which seems to move and change minute by minute. Glancing around to be sure no one is looking, he tugs at the starched collar of his evening coat and scratches his neck roughly where the seams keep poking his skin. The effort is wasted the moment he lets the collar go.
As he nears a perfectly-right-angled corner of the hallway, he hears a familiar humming and smiles. The voice's pitch-perfect clarity has the ring of a tuning fork as it tests the acoustics of marble and glass. He begins to whistle an old and familiar Dockside tune, in key with her hum, as he rounds the corner.
With a delighted grin, Folly takes up the verse in a clear voice that fills the marbled expanse:
"One misty-moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather,
I chanced to meet a young man a-clothed all in leather,
He was clothed all in leather, with a strap under his chin,
Singin' how d'you do, and how d'you do, and how d'you do again...."
When Garrett draws near, she grins at him with a mischievous twinkle -- and grabs his hands to pull him into a spin worthy of a Thirstday-night ceilidh.
He twirls with her enthusiastically, not surprised in the least that Folly would break into a full-blown reel in the middle of an austere palace. This is Folly.
Her voice on the verge of laughter, she plunges into the next verse:
"This young man was a treasure as on his way he hied,
Bright-burnished was his codpiece, his dagger by his side,
He wore no shirt upon his back, no wool to scratch his skin,
Singin' how d'you do, and how d'you do, and how d'you do again...."
She lets go of Garrett's hands, skips and staggers several steps from the momentum, and then recovers with a comically formal bow of greeting. "How d'you do, Garrett? I, er, may have taken a liberty or two with the lyrics...."
Garrett laughs and bows deeply and with flourish. "Aye, an' it's a right bawdy liberty at that, me lady," he shoots back, letting the accent of his childhood shine through for an unguarded moment.
She beams unapologetically.
He rises and reaches for her hand. "I do well. And you? Look at you!" he exclaims, apprising her up and down with approval. "How are you feeling? When are you due?"
"At about the winter solstice or a little after, Xanadu-time," Folly says, "although it's hard to keep count when we keep moving around. I'm slowly getting used to my shifting center of balance -- and I'm hungry ALL the TIME. This must be what it's like to be a teenaged boy." She looks up at Garrett with twinkling eyes and links her arm companionably through his.
"And, Uncle Garrett, speaking of being a boy -- or more to the point, not being a boy anymore -- I noticed you were at the big family powwow...." Her tone invites him to fill in the details of how he got to that particular milestone.
He grins at her as they start a leisurely walk through the portrait gallery. "I did it," he says simply. "I would've thought Martin would have told you. I was certain Father would've told him. Unless..." He shrugs. "Unless he thought it was my news to tell."
He grins once more, then his expression grows more serious. "I, um, decided to walk it against orders. Things were getting dicey in Amber, what with dragon attacks and whatever else was comin' out of the shadows. I didn't reckon I'd be much use to the realm or the Family without having some control of that ability, and I wasn't about to hide like a timid child if something happened. So I went ahead and did it. Snuck around the basement in Xanadu for what seemed like days trying to find it, an' when I did, I got hit with a spray of bright purple dye. Covered me from head to toe." He smirks over at her. "That wasn't your idea, was it?"
"...The Pattern has its own attack squid?" Folly asks with a smirk of her own. "No, not my idea; I would've suggested a guard-llama."
More seriously, she asks, "What did your father have to say about your clandestine walk? You seem to have managed not to get yourself banished, anyway...." A hint of a frown creases her brow.
"That conversation went better than I expected," Garrett says, still sounding slightly amazed. "In short, he said it was an incredibly stupid thing to do, but he was glad I didn't get myself killed. He asked if I was going to make a habit out of defying him, and I answered that once is not a habit. He dropped it then and gave the impression it should not be spoken of again. You know, it was almost like he expected me to do it behind his back."
Folly can't help but smile at that. "It's like he knows your father or something," she says, and pokes the tip of her tongue out between her teeth.
He laughs as she continues.
"But yes, if you do make a habit of out-and-out defying him, I'm afraid I shall have to be very cross with you. Just so you know." But she gives his arm a gentle squeeze: she doesn't expect it will ever come to that. "Where did you go, after? And have you had much chance to... you know, practice with your newfound power?"
"I wasn't prepared for the fact that it would take me someplace. I was too worried about just getting through it," Garrett admits. "At the end, I saw a herd of wild stallions on a massive grass plain. I tried to follow them and passed out. I woke up to a sword point in the chest. I reckon I stumbled on Signy's old haunts 'cause the sword was held by her old war-band leader, Red Fox Claws. He asked if I was a hero or a wizard."
He grins and shrugs. "I said hero. I'm not, but it seemed the safer answer. I rode with him for a bit and tested out my abilities. Found meself a horse, but it turned out to belong to Brennan's squire. We ran into them a bit later at Signy's father's tower."
"So, your first act after choosing between 'hero' and 'wizard' was to use your magic powers to steal another guy's horse?" Folly gives Garrett a sidelong sparkle-eyed grin. "Ahh, irony. But now that you've got the skills to get invited to the big family meetings, you'll be well on your way to hero-dom soon enough."
She stops in front of a portrait and looks up at it with that look she gets when she's trying to work something out. "Wait, didn't Signy say she's Deirdre's daughter? Who's her father, then?"
"Weyland the Swordmaster, apparently. That's who's tower we ended up at and found Brennan. Signy wasn't there at the time, but Brennan knew about her already. I was only there with him briefly. I came back when Solange trumped him about... Cambina."
He frowns and sighs. It sounds sad. "So Solange has been exiled. That's... man," he says solemnly, shaking his head. "She was good to me. I might not have walked if not for her."
"Oh?" Folly prompts. Her tone is mild, but there's an undercurrent of... something. Worry, maybe.
"No, no, nothing like that," Garrett reassures her, not sure what 'that' might mean to Folly, but hearing the concern. "We just talked about it. All she did was confirm some thoughts I'd been having already. I had spoken with others about it as well. She did offer to witness for me, but in the end the timing didn't work out. I walked it alone." He glances down at her and smiles wryly. "Probably a good thing. She's in enough trouble without that."
A worried look of his own crosses Garrett's face as he remembers Folly's connections. "The offer part is between us, all right? I've already told Dad I walked alone and that's the truth."
"Oh, it's not at all my intention to get Solange into any more trouble," Folly reassures him. "It's just that I'm... concerned. That Solange isn't acting like herself. I mean, certainly it's nothing new for her to do what she thinks is right; but being openly, aggressively defiant?" She shakes her head. "It makes me worry something's happened to her since last I saw her. I know she spent some time travelling -- and didn't Corwin say she'd had a run-in with this Queen of Air and Darkness person?" Her brow creases with worry. "If there's any chance her actions are not entirely her own, we'd best share it with your father."
Garrett's eyes widen as he realizes what she's talking about. "Whoa. I didn't think of anything like that. She seemed like Solange when I last saw her, but that was before she did what she did to get exiled." He chews his lip for a moment, thinking. "I wonder if Kyril knows anything. You know, her boyfriend?"
Folly nods thoughtfully, but she looks confused. "Didn't he go with her?"
"No," Garrett frowns. "Uncle Gerard ordered him imprisoned for helping Solange. In all the mess of funerals and such, I reckon he must be still there."
"Oh, poor guy," Folly says with genuine concern. "But you're right, he's probably a very good person to talk to. I'm encouraged to hear you say that Solange still seemed like herself when you talked to her, but... I still worry. It occurs to me that her run-in with that Queen person wasn't even her only encounter with... spirits, or whatever... before she tried to raise Cambina. Apparently she tried the same thing with her own mother. And... I dunno, maybe I've watched too many horror films or something, but it's easy for me to believe that that's the kind of business that will mess with your head, y'know?" She gives Garrett a weak smile.
Garrett nods grimly.
"Have you decided yet whether you're going to be on Team Moonrider or Team Huon?" Something in Folly's tone suggests the question is not unrelated to the topic at hand.
"It appears I'll be with Team Moonrider for the moment. I was closer to that incident than the other. Edan and Signy and I have already met once on it."
He shoots her an apologetic smile. "I didn't mean to start anything about your... Huon... back at the meeting. I was just considering that if he was able to find unknown relatives once, with Silhouette, he might be able to do it again. I reckon no one knows how many more of us might be out there, perhaps not even knowing what they are."
He pauses, frowning. "Being in that position meself not long ago, and knowing now about what happened to Martin, I reckon I take that a little personally."
Folly smiles gently and takes Garrett's hand in both of hers. "I understand, and I think your comments in the meeting were well-justified. I've been trying to take some comfort from reminding myself that if Huon learns anything about me at all, he will almost certainly know that messing with me is likely to result in a swift and terrible vengeance aimed right at his head, by people who have the power to make it stick. But you're right: there could be others of us out there we don't even know we should be worried about."
He squeezes her hands and nods. "Yeah, I'll be one of those people," he smiles, though Folly knows she shouldn't doubt his seriousness.
She looks up at Garrett. "You said you spent some time with his emissary? What's your take on her?"
Garrett sighs. "Hard to say. It seemed he brought her in for her skills in weaponry and perhaps told her only what he thought she needed to know. Typical of one of us, I reckon. Conner was with me and told her about what happened in Rebma. She seemed genuinely disturbed by some of the things that Huon did, as if she didn't fully realize what he had in mind. Then again, I don't know her well enough to know how good a liar she is. It's quite possible it was an act. That wasn't the impression I got, but I'm not the best judge of character. Yet."
Folly smiles. "Either way, it's good to know, and I'll keep it in mind as I try to figure out how to approach her." Her smile brightens. "Or maybe I can just keep avoiding her altogether. We are headed out of Paris and back to Xanadu soon, probably first thing in the morning -- but we're going the long way round. By ship convoy from Amber."
"Good for you. Paris is a little too... confining," Garrett says, tugging at his stiff collar for emphasis. "I probably won't be here much longer either."
Garrett looks down, meeting Folly's eyes. "Folly? Can I ask you a favor?"
"Of course, sweetheart," she replies. "What do you need?"
"Would you mind drawing a trump of me? Father should probably have one and... I trust you to do it."
She smiles up at him. "I'm honored, Garrett, and I'll be happy to try -- although it might take a while, particularly since you won't be around to lounge about posing for me for days on end. I should get a few study sketches while I have the chance." She rummages in a deep pocket tucked into the folds of her dress and comes up with a small notebook with a pencil poked through its spiral binding. As she thumbs through it looking for a blank page, Garrett catches glimpses of scrawled music notation, writing organized in patterns that look like poetry or lyrics, and sketches -- of people, animals, landscapes, and at least one very feminine-looking bare backside.
"And I've got a favor to ask of you, too, if you make it back to Xanadu before I do." Folly regards Garrett a moment, takes a couple of steps back, and puts pencil to paper to capture the loose lines of his posture and bearing. "You'll probably want to talk to Kyril anyway, since I think he was with Solange when she had her encounter with that Queen person. But would you make sure to ask him what we talked about, whether Solange showed any... worrisome changes... after that encounter, or the encounter with her mother's ghost? And leave me a note to let me know what you find out? And if I get to Xanadu first, I'll do the same for you. Okay?"
Garrett tries to look casual as Folly begins to sketch, but he seems to have the same problem that he did when Paige sketched him. He shifts and fidgets, posing while trying not to pose. He smiles sheepishly at Folly and finally settles against a pillar, the cool marble on his back giving him something else to focus on.
"Okay. I'm glad you reminded me of it. I might have forgotten that question. I hope I don't have any trouble getting to speak with him. Father keeps talking about the 'perogative of princes,' so I was going to lean on that," he says.
Folly nods. "I suspect that'll be an effective tactic."
After a moment of silence broken only by the scratching of Folly's pencil on paper, he muses, "You know, I seem to understand that better since walking the Pattern. The perogative of princes. It's like I feel more... forceful now. More confident. I know I'm still going to make mistakes, but it doesn't matter so much anymore. After a few centuries, who's going to remember, y'know?"
"That's a good point," Folly agrees. "Although when you look at it like that, it might be instructive to examine those mistakes our uncles made that have been remembered for a few centuries." She looks up from the sketchpad, her eyes glinting. "F'rinstance... what would you say have been the top three most memorable oopses of their generation? And does the list change if you eliminate those mistakes that could have been avoided by the judicious application of pants?"
Garrett starts to ponder the first part of that question before the second part sends him into a fit of snickers. "Three most memorable mistakes? That's a tough one. Although... I don't know..." His brow furrows in thought. "I reckon the assumption that someone is dead when you don't have a body has come up at least three times that I know of. Grandfather, Corwin and Bleys. Making moves based on those assumptions were some pretty big 'fully-clothed' mistakes."
"Ahh, indeed!" Folly replies brightly, her tone very much that of a teacher whose student has just given a clever response. Her pencil flies across the page, capturing hasty sketches of the lines around his eyes and mouth when he laughs and his serious brow when he ponders. "I can see at least two important lessons that follow from those mistakes: first, be mindful of all available evidence before you make such an assumption; and second, perhaps more importantly -- never underestimate a scion of Amber. I daresay that lesson may extend to the royal families of other true realms as well."
Garrett watches her with interest as she sketches. "The other true realms. You mean Rebma and Tir?" He blows out a heavy breath that ruffles the hair hanging over his eyes. "Yeah. Them. I don't know enough about either of them and I feel that I should. The Moonriders in particular worry me. The effect I saw them have on the Queen was... unnerving."
"Yeah, everything I heard about them at the family meeting sounded pretty unnerving," Folly agrees. "Did you notice them having any particular effect on the rest of you? And... I don't remember whether you mentioned--- was there anyone else with you who wasn't Family, and did they have a different response?"
"No, it was just Father, Signy, Brita and I. On our side anyway. There was also a Shadow version of Father and Robin being held captive by the Marshall. They were the ones that turned insubstantial when we attacked. I think the part that threw me the most was that the Queen could see. And she knew me by name, even though she's never seen me before. I reckon she could've recognized my voice, but it was...," Garrett pauses, searching for an adequate description, "...eerie. Like it was her, but yet it wasn't. Like she had been taken over by something that left when everyone else did and returned her body to her."
He fidgets a moment, obviously still bothered by this. "I want to ask her about it, but yet I don't. I don't want to upset her, and Father has made it clear it's not to be discussed." He sighs heavily, his lips set tightly. Random's decree is not setting well with the young prince.
Folly glances up from her sketching to give Garrett a sympathetic smile. "I have some things I need to talk to her about anyway, once I get back to Xanadu. I won't be bringing up her ordeal, but I'll certainly pay attention to her current state. And perhaps I'll manage to get some roundabout clues to what happened. If I find out anything that has bearing on your investigation, I'll let you know." She adds a few final lines to her sketches and then holds up the sketchbook to indicate how she might be contacting him. "Thank you for this," she adds with a smile.
"No. Thank you," Garrett replies. He peers at the sketch and grins, apparently satisfied with the result. "I hope you'll make a copy for you as well as Father because... well..."
His expression grows more serious. "One of the reasons I walked the Pattern without permission was for defense. Threats are out there and they're getting more serious. I wanted to have all the resources that were available to deal with them. Not just for myself but for, um..." He points at her rounded midsection and smiles with a blush.
"I know you and Martin can deal with most things," Garrett plows on, "but if you ever need an out for the Little One, well, you have one." He smiles and adds, "And I know what to do with babies."
"Thank you, Uncle Garrett." Folly beams up at him. On impulse she goes up on her toes to plant a friendly kiss on his cheek. "I do very much want you to be a part of her life -- for her to know her close family, and know that she can go to more than just her daft mum and overprotective dad for help and support. So I daresay you'll be seeing your fair share of nappy duty." She grins.
Garrett gives her a fond hug. "Good," he says, grinning. "I hope to give uncles a better name."
Jerod knocks on the door to Martin's room, waiting patiently as the slight, off-tone sound of the final rap fades. An outside observer might think there to be a bit too much bass for the surroundings. Unless one was used to making themselves heard beneath the waves, or giving advance notice to someone who could understand it.
There's a long pause before the door opens, but open it does, with Martin behind it.
"Come on in," he says, and ushers Jerod into the sitting room of the suite that being a (married or not) couple has earned him and Folly. "Folly's out looking around the palace. She wants to find Corwin's music room or studio or whatever. How're you holding up?"
Jerod enters with a slow, deliberate pace. There is an edge to his movements, a precision that hints at an underlying fragility. Many different forms does that state occupy. Some are ethereal like smoke rings or snowflakes that fade as they fall, others like crystal or hardened metal still untempered. Jerod, his would be the more explosive kind, the point where liquid turns to vapour in a fraction of an instant, expanding in all directions without consideration to anyone or anything around it.
"I am...here." Jerod says in response to Martin's question. He looks around the sitting room, noting the clutter that accompanies all couples, sifting memories to a conversation with Folly, from another life.
"I'm sure she will find the conservatory, though I suspect it will not be to her liking." Jerod replies. "A bit too classical I would think."
He motions to the room's contents. "This suits you."
There's a faint hint of a smile hovering around the edges of Martin's mouth. "She'll be in there playing violin heavy metal, if I know her." He gestures to Jerod to sit down and heads off to the sideboard to get one or both of them a drink. "She gets on with Corwin all right, though." The unspoken thought better her than me is evident in his tone.
When he comes back to offer Jerod his drink, Martin looks around at the random sampling of objects he and Folly have strewn around the room: art gear, musical gear, paper, the remnants of the previous evening's dessert. "Sometimes you have to change the way you're living. It seems to be working out, mostly. At least this part of it." The smile does form fully then, as he settles into his own chair. "Speaking of, I heard Carina was here."
Jerod accepts the drink, settling into a chair only once Martin has done so, the behaviour of court remaining ingrained even here.
"She was for awhile." he says. "After Moire did her vanishing act following Lucas' murder, Carina stepped forward as the target and the explainer of acts. Vere sent her on to Xanadu to his father after questioning her. Whether it was prophetic or calculated, it was the correct thing to do to mollify me.
"She will remain in Xanadu for a time, assuming I can arrange something with Vialle. Officially there is risk from Khela or her supporters. Unofficially, I must determine whether or not Moire sent her forward with a specific mission. There are others more expendable that could be proffered than the Queen's Historian for such a simple task as being the official spokesperson. Logically there may be something else involved, especially since she would know that I would do what I could to keep her far from danger if possible.
"I find myself not wanting to follow that route though." he says, downing half the drink at once, barely noticing it as he hesitates. "I'm...I'm not actually sure what I'm going to do."
"I'm going to be in Xanadu, and there's certainly something Dad can put Carina to doing. What can I do?" Martin asks.
"Cambina." Jerod replies, finishing the remainder of the drink as easily as it started. He fumbles with the glass, looking down for a moment as he tries to focus, to stay deliberate in his thoughts. But the effort is too much and he stands up, needing to walk, to move, to act in some fashion.
"I've got know what happened up there." he says, pacing the room, looking vaguely at things as the words tumble forth. "I've got to know...why. She's all that I had left of home, and she's gone now, just like it is."
He looks over at Martin. "There are so many things that need to get done right now. So many areas that I could be involved in, and I can't focus on any of them. Rebma, Gateway, the Dragon, Tritons, Huon. All of them, I could work on them. But she's sitting there, blocking the way. I need to know why she was going up there. And what Vialle was doing, and why it appeared to some that Vialle was in the lead on this. I need to know who is involved, and why. I need...some sense to it all. Because if I can't, then I'm useless." and he is off, pacing once more.
"I'm not dumb enough to think that I can take on who might be involved with it, especially if it's really Tir and the Queen. I'm impetuous, not suicidal. And I know I can't do it all, or find out everything I need to know. So I need help, someone who if they learn stuff will tell me hard cold truths because that's what is important and who won't hide things or sugarcoat them because they're worried I might run off and do something stupid.
"I need someone I can trust." Jerod says, pointing at Martin. "That's you."
Martin nods, once, decisively. "I can do that. I'm already rolling up what's left of Lucas' network--" and that thought distracts him for a moment "--and let me tell you, all the shit that son of a bitch did is going to take a while to unravel--so I'm already up to my ears in that kind of work. There's stuff I can't do, but I'll do what I can.
"Why she went up there? More like why wouldn't she? She'd been trying to get up there for years and someone went before her. Without her. But the rest I don't know about." Martin lets out a gusty breath that's sort of a sigh.
"Which Queen are we talking about? Vialle or the one Corwin keeps going on about?"
"Both." Jerod says, the pacing continuing. "Corwin's version is mostly because of the possibility she may be involved, given everything that's been mentioned already. As for Vialle, I'm trying to figure out something that Nestor told me, about how Vialle and Cambina are supposed to have gone riding together the day she disappeared and that upon departing the stables it appeared that Vialle was leading the way.
"I know he's the ex-boyfriend and all, but even they can have information that's useful. I'll be arranging an audience to see Vialle when I get back to Xanadu, and I'll be talking to the stablehands to see if anything pops up. I'm sure Gilt won't like that, given that he practically told me it was off-limits, but life is tough. I'm there to ask questions, not to kill anyone. Which leads to another question I wanted to ask you. What's so special about the stables and Garrett, beyond that's where his dad works and the usual turf stuff?"
Martin frowns. "There was a Rebman spy ring running information through the stables for part of the Regency. I don't know all of what they got or where they got it from--something Lucas was supposed to be investigating, but didn't do anything with--but I traced a messenger there and I ended up breaking his leg to make a point to Montage. This was right about the time Garrett outed himself, and he thought it had something to do with him. Of course it didn't, and then Montage offed the spy in front of Lucas' favorite tobacconist, but--"
At this point the frown morphs into a full-fledged scowl. "If it were up to me, the whole lot of them would still be in Amber. No offense, but most of them aren't Dad's people; they were Grandfather's and then they were your father's. I'm p!ssed off at Caine for how he handled the Venesch business, but on the other hand, he was loyal to your father first, and I understand why Dad's not sorry Venesch quit even if I don't think Caine's replacement will be any more loyal to Dad. But if I had to bet how many people who had jobs in Eric's court in Amber have court positions in Xanadu in five years, it's going to be a very short list.
"Gilt's on that list. I have no idea what he said to you, but if he was warning you off, he wasn't doing it because he was pissed off at you." Martin looks Jerod in the eye. "While we're on the subject of blunt warnings and unpleasant truths, here's one: I don't know what's going on between you and Dad, but sometime between him getting back and now something happened and now you're low on his list of trusted nephews. I told him he needed to tell you whatever you'd done that he didn't like because if nothing else, you were too useful not to use. I don't think it's that you're Eric's. When I said something to that effect, he denied it, and besides, I know he likes--liked--Cambina. But if you go in there questioning Vialle like she did something, like you think she murdered Cambina, you're going to get so far down on Dad's shit list so fast that you'll never get off it. So we need to think about how you can approach her without making things worse."
"Then I suppose it's good for all of us that I'm looking for answers and not to assign blame." Jerod says.
"Vialle's the only one who had any connection to Cambina before she died, that we know of. It's only logical that I'd ask her what happened that day in order to get more information. That doesn't have anything to do with assembling a list of suspects, which personally is a foolish thing to build if you don't have any evidence. You collect your available data, you follow lines of reason and speculation to further validate or disprove evidence that is encountered or anomalies that are detected. If the King is going to assign an actual investigator, then it would fall to them to do just what I'm looking to be part of, but he hasn't done that yet it seems. So, in response to being warned off, if that is going to occur because I'm asking after information that is both logical and reasonable to want to learn about, what am I supposed to think? That everything is fine, nothing to see here, move along?" he asks. Jerod's tone is neutral and in no way heated. He is simply putting forth a truth of reality so that it doesn't get lost in translation.
"I'm not going down that route right now. That's a speculation that appeals to fear and it's not based on any evidence currently. Vialle was the last witness, so that's why I want to talk to her. Did she learn something, did she hear something? She might not even realize she learned something, but I might. We'll see. Maybe she did, or maybe she got caught along on the ride. As for your Dad, I don't recall doing anything to displease him. Though I'm sure he's not too interested in me asking after Vialle, especially given some of what I've heard about what had to be done to recover her. Perhaps he's simply being protective of her. After all, not everyone can handle by my special...charm." he says, a smile gracing his face momentarily, a reminder of better days perhaps.
"As for the rest, that's all to be expected. I'd be highly surprised if your dad used anyone from the old regimes except in the most tertiary of fashions and only for the shortest time frames possible. Too many old allegiances involved. Too many old spy rings or the like sitting waiting. He needs to put his own stamp on things. To do anything else..." and Jerod shakes his head. "Not going to happen."
Something in the earlier part of Jerod's comments clearly twigged Martin, but he lets Jerod finish out patiently before saying anything. "But this is what I'm talking about with being out of favor, Jerod. There is an investigation of what went down with Vialle and Cambina. That's what Bleys and Fiona are working on. You're just low enough on the totem pole right now that nobody bothered to tell you until now."
Jerod listens, then rubs his head as he shakes it. "And your dad didn't mention anything about what he's so pissed off about. Great.
"Let's ask the question, what's the probability he'll actually tell me what he's disliking about me right now, assuming of course he'll agree to an audience?"
"I don't know any reason why he wouldn't. He said he'd alluded to it in your presence and you were oblivious. That was when I told him that this was one errand he needed to run on his own." Martin makes a face. "He and I haven't talked about it since, not that we've had time with the funerals."
"Uh, huh. No offense, but your dad's allusions are not as clear as he might think." Jerod says. "I spoke to him twice in person prior to the funeral. The first was before I went to Rebma to check on what was going on with Khela rumours. The last was just before the funeral when I went to see my sister. If he dropped something on me then, then his timing sucked given the state of mind I was in.
"Do you know when he's back in Xanadu? I'm going to have to get this straightened out before I'm going to be able to do anything else. Assuming it can be straightened out."
"He and Vialle have already gone back." Any opinion Martin might have on his father's timing is well-concealed behind his court face. "I've got his Trump if you want me to send you through. I don't know who else is there."
Jerod shakes his head. "Thanks no. Got his card already. I think I'll take care of it now, before things get any worse.
"Listen. You need anything, you or Folly. Give me a shout. Okay?"
"I will. You do the same." Martin rises to give Jerod a clasp of farewell.
Last modified: 19 October 2010