Martin escorts Folly out the back way, avoiding the audience chamber and its suite of sycophants. He waits until they're back in the family section of the castle, behind guarded doors, to say anything.
"The last time I talked to her, we argued. I wish--I wish a lot of things." Martin's grip tightens on hers, almost painfully. "Ben said she shouldn't walk the Pattern, and look what happened. He said I shouldn't father any children, too."
Folly strokes Martin's hand with her thumb, trying to soothe some of the tension. "I'm so sorry for your loss, love -- and very sorry your last parting hadn't been on the best of terms. But you'd been friends a long time. One disagreement, friend to friend, doesn't diminish that kind of history."
She hesitates, carefully choosing her next words. "We all know the consequences of walking the Pattern when one oughtn't. The consequences of having children aren't nearly so cut-and-dried. Did Ben say why you shouldn't father children? What the consequences would be if you did?"
There's a lot of tension in Martin's hand and arm to be soothed away. "He didn't explain. Just said it was a bad idea. I hoped he'd give us his blessing, given how things are--" and Martin doesn't clarify that further, but it doesn't take much to guess that he's referring to his father's unhappiness "--but he made it clear he's not pleased. Between us we have how many parents and foster parents? And none of them like us getting married or having a child, and none of them will even say why.
"Except for your mother," he adds reluctantly after a moment. "Her, we know why."
Folly lets out a snort of wry amusement. "Even if it's a whole list of reasons that includes reflexive dissatisfaction with every decision I ever make, ever." There's an undercurrent of rueful affection beneath the exasperation.
They have arrived at their own quarters; Folly waits until they are safely inside with the door firmly closed before continuing in a low voice, "And anyway, your father may have warned us initially against having children, but once he found out it was happening he agreed it felt 'right', remember?"
"Ben's not Dad." Martin starts undoing his court gear now that the door is safely closed. "Dad wasn't the one who warned Khela off the Pattern, either. If Ben knows something about this that Dad doesn't, we should talk to him." He tosses his swordbelt across a chair. "You know that as much as I want our daughter, I'd a thousand times rather wait, or not have a child at all, than take any chances with you, right?"
Folly toes off her beaded slippers and then moves to help Martin with his buttons. "I know, love," she says. "But I'm going to be okay. I can feel it in my gut." She smirks, looks down at her belly, and adds in a mock-disgruntled voice that is obviously not directed at Martin, "And no, not just because you've chosen right now to start kicking me again, you little goofball."
She returns her gaze to Martin, and continues more seriously, "I talked to Dworkin about it, and he seemed to think it was not an insurmountable problem. I plan to use our holiday in part to learn what I can, so that we can find a way to make sure there isn't any problem. But you're right -- talking to Benedict seems like a very good first step, if you think he'd be forthcoming with what he knows."
That actually talking to Benedict instead of grumbling about it had gone on the agenda seems to have been something of a surprise to Martin. Still, pragmatically, he seems to accept adding it to the agenda. "If you think you can get something out of him," he says, letting Folly unfasten all his complicated Amberite gear, "sure. But he hasn't been very forthcoming with me for all that I'm in the middle of it and I'm supposed to be the one that he likes.
"On the other hand, you're the one that nobody can refuse, so maybe I'll just be in charge of shadowshifting and looking surly."
"So, playing to our strengths, then?" Folly replies, eyes twinkling. She conquers the last stubborn buckle and helps Martin off with his jacket... doublet... thingy. "Of course, I've only ever spoken to Benedict very briefly, usually as part of a larger group. I know his reputation, of course, but it isn't clear to me how best to build any sort of rapport with him. Is he as... close-to-the-vest... about everything else as he seems to be about metaphysics?"
"Well, that's just it. He didn't used to be that way, not to me," Martin says as he sits down on the bed to remove his shoes. "Not when I was young. But I was the only one, then. I mean, there was Khela, and I didn't know that he knew her, or that Llewella had consulted him about her walking the Pattern. But the Reids and the Fletchers of the universe were gone, and everybody thought they were dead." Careful fingers work the shoe off, a far cry from the way he used to kick off his unlaced high-tops. "So I don't know. But something changed since the war started and now he doesn't talk to anyone."
"Well, a lot happened during the war," Folly says. "From what I understand, Oberon used all of you pretty hard. To spend centuries away living according to one's own devices, and then to be jerked around like that.... I can see how that might lead to a certain newfound reticence. Or perhaps he sees the events of the war as a cautionary tale on what happens when too much knowledge ends up in the hands of the arrogant, rash, and powerful. And there's a lot more of us now." She smiles ruefully and settles onto the edge of the bed next to Martin.
"Has he changed in other ways that you've noticed, besides the not-talking? Which, granted, would make it harder to see other changes...."
"There was the whole part where he lost part of his arm. Scars like that do change a man," Martin points out. He busies himself with removing his other shoe. "And now he's got, what, three kids? Or really two and change, in the sense that Merle is sort of distantly his on Merle's mother's side. Plus Lilly and now Fletcher. Maybe everybody is doing it now, and maybe he thought Fletcher was dead, but it's just weird. He took me in and now he's got three of his own, except he's all but abandoned them. I don't know what to make of that."
"It is strange," Folly agrees. She churns the facts around in her mind, lining up possible explanations, but without more information she has no real basis for favoring one over another. So, "Do you suppose he'd be willing to host us for a night on our way out into shadow, either before or after your Paris errand?" she asks. "This might be an easier conversation to have face-to-face rather than over a Trump."
"Paris first. I'm shaking loose one of Lucas' old agents for Jerod and I need to get a move on with that. That and I need to figure out where I can best put Venesch to work, either for us or for me in a more indirect capacity. Depending on how you feel about things, we can bring him to be part of our establishment wherever we go. After all, your number one bodyguard has to sleep sometime." Having finished doffing most of his gear, Martin gestures to Folly to turn around and let him help her out of her court gown.
Folly smiles at her number one bodyguard and then slides around so her back is to him, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she does so to give him access to all the buttons, hooks, and lacings. "Yes, taking Venesch with us is a good idea, if he's amenable. We could certainly use the back-up security, and I trust him. I'd rather not travel with a whole huge entourage if we can avoid it, though -- I mean, Venesch, sure, and obviously Violet -- but maybe not much more than that. Unless you think it's really necessary."
Apparently Martin has a lot of experience getting women out of court gowns. (But Folly knew that.)
"I was planning to leave Violet here to deal with court matters, but if you want her with us, she can come along. The fewer people who know where we are, the better. And somebody can always reach one of us by Trump." His fingers take an extra few moments to deal with a particularly difficult knot in the laces.
"I've already made arrangements to speak with Venesch. I'm glad you like the idea because I think he needs something serious to do after all this or he'll go finish the job he started somewhere. And I don't think Dad will approve of me hiring him for this job. On the other hand, he appointed me your bodyguard and I mean to do that job according to my best judgement and not his." Folly can guess the unspoken word hanging off the end of Martin's last sentence. Something like grudges.
"Why don't you think he'd approve?" Folly asks. "As you say, Venesch needs something to do -- worthy work -- and I doubt your father would begrudge you the extra security. Or did you mean he wouldn't approve of using Venesch as part of your Paris errand?" It's possible she has more to say on that or a related subject, but as soon as Martin has gotten far enough with the fastenings, she shrugs out of the top of her gown and, with a little grunt of satisfaction, sets to scratching as much of her shoulders and upper back as she can reach.
Martin assists in scratching, guided by where Folly's fingers go. "I think Dad doesn't like Venesch because Venesch worked for Eric. He was the Captain of the Guard while Dad was in jail. So I don't think he's going to like me giving Venesch a job that suggests I trust and honor him--which is exactly what I think Venesch needs." He starts casting around for lotion or something to spread on her shoulders to relieve the itch.
Folly nudges open a bedside-table drawer with her toes, finds the jar of salve Hannah left for them, and hands it to Martin. "Yes, I agree -- and if your father turns out to have a problem with it, I'll talk to him. Venesch was quite decent to me during the Regency, which I hope would make a good start of erasing any previously-held grudges. And anyway your father already knows I have a thing for trying to accept people on their own merits." She wriggles the rest of the way out of her gown, discards it on the floor, and -- now impeded by little more than a few lacy underthings -- settles into a more comfortable sprawl on the bed.
When Martin has finished working on her shoulders and has moved on, at her request, to her belly, she says softly, "You know a big part of this sojourn for me is about giving us space and time to practice being a family. Just us, away from all this." She makes a vague gesture that seems to encompass more than just their physical surroundings.
Martin keeps up the massage. Somewhere in the middle of all this he's stripped down to his undershirt and shorts. He's using something from a tin that he retrieved from one of the night tables that smells of flowers and herbs: marigolds and pennywort.
"Yeah, I think we need some of that. Both you and me and her--" he lays a salve-smeared finger on Folly's belly "--and just some general decompression time. I need to go somewhere that doesn't--I don't know, doesn't reek of death isn't exactly the right word because it's not like this castle does, but I keep thinking of Lucas and Cambina, and--and Khela. Everything's happening really fast right now and all I want to do is have our baby."
"I know what you mean," Folly says. She runs her fingers through his hair, soothingly. "Do you have ideas of where we should go to hole up? Or do we just cast out looking for someplace peaceful and safe and uneventful in all the right ways?"
"If we're going to see Benedict, we might stop in at the Tecys' place and look in on Lilly. I have some ideas, but nothing definite, because every time I think I've settled on something I like I think about how things went the last time, in Tyrell. Somewhere low-tech seems like a better idea. I can call for a midwife by Trump if things start to go south." Martin stops rubbing the bump as if he's concerned about transferring the idea by touch.
"Mmm, yes, you make a good point," Folly says. "I wouldn't even mind high-tech, or at least medium-tech, so long as they were willing to keep it to themselves and not poke it all over me. I mean, the way things are going so far, it's not like I expect to need much intervention except maybe, you know, some guy with a catcher's mitt there at the very end. And maybe not even that. As you say, wherever we go, we can always call in someone we trust if we need it.
"It would be nice to look in on Lilly, though, if we're in the area. Whether we hole up there or not." She pets Martin's shoulders and chest through his undershirt. "Is there anything else we need to do here before we're ready to go? Besides that one thing I don't really want to do, but probably should anyway?"
"The sooner I shake the dust of Xanadu, and anyplace I can be found directly from Rebma, from my feet, the happier I'll be," Martin says grimly. He also says I really don't want to have a nice family talk with your mother unless I really have to but the words come out as "So I guess the next thing is we tell your mother we're leaving?"
"Well, almost-next, perhaps," Folly says with an impish little grin, "although I think the part of 'we' that isn't me can be excused to do other useful things like pack, and set affairs in order, and give me an excuse to extract myself from the conversation to go looking for him if I need to. And in the meantime, the part of 'we' that IS me thinks maybe we should take advantage of all this partial nudity we seem to have discovered...." Because if she has to go do this loathsome thing, she might as well try to start out in as good a mood as possible.
"That's a plan I'm proud to be a part of," Martin says, deadpan.
On the morning after the court Ossian puts a few last paintstrokes to his big Trump sketch. He then sits down and studies it for at least a quarter of an hour. Then he nods to himself. Time to find Paige.
Paige is available, and willing take the King's commission of bringing the giant trump to Amber on a ship. She plans on studying it because she's never seen one as big as yours. She wants to know if anyone in Amber is expecting her and this, or if she should wing it.
Ossian gives Paige detailed instructions for how to take care of the big sketch on it's way to Amber. He will also provide her with a Trump sketch of himself to use if anything goes wrong. "Your word is worth more than a written note from me to Caine." Ossian says with a smile. "For your and the sketch's safety, I do not think we should inform him by Trump, if someone listens in on it.
"But he could easily confirm with me or the King."
Paige agrees, and suggests that the ship will not be helpless if it is attacked at sea. On land, she has Rangers. She seems reasonably confident. She takes the sketch, and asks if she can make a copy of it, for surety. She has a ship prepared to sail on the tide, which she points out to him in the harbor below. It's a warship, he notes.
Of course she can make a copy of the sketch (not the big one, but the Ossian one).
Her biggest concern is that the twins will get into trouble back here. But perhaps not so much after the last adventure.
Oh yeah. Ossian has some idea of how he wants the thing run in Amber. (Of course, if Paige wants to do anything another way, she is free to do so.)
First: Someone has to start manufacturing hand-drawn carts of the right size, for people to bring their belongings to. Ossian has some suggestions on who should be allowed to profit on this.
Second: Some people should be recruited (from the army?) to prepare the travellers for the Trump trip, giving them instructions to march on, regardless what happens on the other side (to stop in the Trump chamber should be punishable by flogging to death or close). They also need instructions on how to queue for Paige to let them through, in such a manner that Paige can let as many as possible through.
Third: The Trump sketch needs to be heavily guarded, but that's Paige area of expertise.
I think that was all.
Paige takes notes. Since she commands Rangers, she's planning on using them. Otherwise, your plan is her plan.
[The day after court, Raven] finds herself the target of one of the many castle pages. This one bows a greeting towards the new Lord of Xanadu and proffers a note, closed with green wax that is pressed by a vaguely familiar seal.
Cousin...
I have a duty that requires my attention to Gateway for the benefit of both Crown and Family, and one to which I think you would want to have your own interests considered. To that end, I have need of a ship and crew on short notice and a captain who has a feel for the land and a desire to see that what has transpired amongst our neighbours is properly dealt with.
Meet me in my quarters if you are interested.
Jerod
Raven mutters a quiet, "Huh," to herself when she finishes reading, and then asks the page to show her the way. Her knock on Jerod's door, when she arrives, is brisk and efficient.
As the knock fades Raven can just barely hear the sound of whispering, the words not recognizable. There is only the barest of delays before she hears Jerod's voice. "Come."
(Assuming Raven enters).
Raven will find Jerod's quarters modestly decorated though not spartan. Though not placed as prestigiously close to the castle exterior for natural sunlight as others, Jerod would seem to have finagled a large set of quarters, sacrificing prestige for quality. There is a utilitarian feel to them in that everything would seem to have a function, a purpose, even the sculptures and artwork that dot the walls or sit upon shelves. A large, carved "L" shaped wooden desk, dominates one side of the room, the dark brown coloration merging almost into black. Papers and accoutrement dot it, still neat even in the vague hint of disorder that is there. Just beyond it is a small side bar where Jerod is, collecting a glass of something dark amber coloured. A second glass sits beside the first, a pale golden liquid in it as Jerod collects both glasses, noting his guest's arrival.
"Raven. I see you got my note." he says, moving to the open door of his bedroom. He leans in and offers the second glass to someone not immediately visible who takes it and he whispers something before turning back. Raven can get only a brief glance of hair, emerald green, before the door closes.
"Would you like something?" Jerod offers, heading back to the side bar.
This is evidently not the first time Raven has entered someplace with a mysterious person in the bedroom, because she mouths a silent 'ah' and almost immediately makes it a point to not look in that direction again. "Aye, I got your note," she agrees. "And if you've got something with a name I might know, I'll take a little. Not that I got opinions about your bar," and that's entirely polite and maybe faintly apologetic, "but I've had me enough of alcohol that I don't know where it come from or what it is."
Jerod smiles at the last comment, collecting another glass and pouring from the same bottle that Jerod obtained his own drink. "I think you'll find this to be suitable." he says once he's done, offering the glass. "Prince Martin was kind enough to collect this from a place in Shadow during his recent travels. You may be assured his majesty does not go for swill."
"Don't recall saying I thought he did," Raven answers as she takes the drink. "It ain't got nothing to do with what any of it tasted like, anyway, or with whether I thought someone was trying to drug me, or nothing like that. More to do with being home where I can get the things I was missing."
"Then you may find that you'll be missing a great deal in the coming days." Jerod says, moving to a large comfortable chair to sit in, one of a trio in the room and he motions for Raven to take one, if he so wishes. "I'm led to understand that you made it back home before heading here. What did you think?"
Raven takes a seat on one of the other chairs, frowning at the question. "It looks like the city took a lot of damage," she says judiciously. "And a lot of folks are clearing out to here, which ain't too surprising, seeing as how the Royals have moved and all. If you don't mind me asking, why?"
"Because Amber is gone." Jerod says simply. "It's Pattern was broken. We called it the Sundering. We believe it was related to the death of Oberon, though that is still not confirmed. Without the Pattern, Amber would no longer be real."
He drinks from his glasses before continuing. "Do you know what that means?"
Raven shakes her head. "Ain't got a clue. I expect you'll be telling me next." She pauses, clearly torn between actually saying what's on her mind and not, and finally plows onward. "I got a problem with your starting point, though. Amber ain't gone."
"Then I'm curious. Where is it?" Jerod asks.
Raven squints at him in silence for a moment. If she were to say so, it might actually be less clear that she thinks the question - and possibly Jerod - is a little crazy. "Right where it was," she answers finally. "Unless you mean to say that I imagined showing up there and leaving it again."
"I'm not saying anything." Jerod replies. "I'm asking. You said Amber isn't gone. I'm asking if you really found what you left behind.
"Is the place you returned to what you remember as Amber?" he asks. "When you entered the harbour, did it have the same smell? Or was it dull? Did the food taste the same or was it bland? Did the sounds echo? Did it look the same...sharp and crisp like you would have remembered, or was it faded, like a Shadow?
"Can you honestly say that what you saw, even with the damage to the buildings, that what was there was Amber? Did you actually feel like you had come home? Or was there something missing?"
"Those things don't have anything to do with where a place is," Raven says firmly, shaking her head. "She's still between Kolvir and the sea. Can't argue that she's seen better days, but that's just sick - it ain't dead, and it sure ain't gone. You don't say a ship has sunk just 'cause its sails got destroyed in a storm."
"Amber isn't a place or a thing." Jerod says. "It's not a city or a country, but a vision. It was until Oberon's death, the centre of reality. Literally.
"Why do you think we called it the One True City? Overweening pride and vanity? It was the literal centre of the universe because of who we are. Because of who YOU are." he says, his expression sharp and focused now. "Oberon created Amber from his vision and those of his blood have the same power, to define reality and force it to do what we want, when we want, in places that are not real. And when he died, the vision that was Amber died with him. It doesn't matter if you still see buildings or people. Now that Oberon is dead, the city withers... it fades and falters. It's detritus...the remains of the corpse. People are leaving for precisely that reason and it's why the King is bringing people here. You don't leave your people to fade away.
"Whether you like it or not, Amber is gone. Our home is gone," he says pointedly. "And whether you like it or not, you're part of the Family that created the universe as you know. That is neither arrogance nor idle boast. It is fact. You can either accept it or run from it.
"I'm just waiting to see which way you're going to turn."
"You can keep up the lecture if you want to, but I don't mean to agree with you any time soon. Ain't got anything to do with whether the Royals are arrogant shits, bloody loonies, or determined to put one over on me. Ain't got nothing to do with if I believe I'm one of you lot or not, or accepted it, or whatever it is you're after there. I didn't spend blood and sweat and bone for a ghost." There's steel in that, and stubbornness. "Or even for a dead king. I spent it for Amber, and for the people in my charge what belonged to it. It ain't gone, even if it means I have to carry the whole bloody thing around with me in here," and Raven taps her forehead pointedly.
Jerod listens, and when Raven taps her forehead, he smiles.
"Good." he says. "Then you won't be alone." and he finishes his drink, rising to collect another one. The pointedness, the hard sharp gaze is gone from his expression, almost as if it were never there.
"A person reveals a great deal about themselves when they're under stress. It's a good thing when you're going to be dealing with dangerous situations to know how someone you've never met will react." he says, filling his glass up. The tone in his voice is not apologetic in any way and Raven may surmise it is unlikely that he would be likely to offer such except under the rarest of circumstances. Rather, there is something...more accepting of Raven...whether her mannerisms or just herself is not clear.
"And you don't quail. That's good."
Raven opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it sharply as she evidently thinks better of whatever she'd almost said. "There's some as would call it sheer bloody-minded stubbornness," she answers instead, drily. "Or not having the sense to back down when I ought, which ain't true. You make a habit of that, don't you - testing folks?" It's not entirely a question, the way she phrases it.
"You know who my dad was, even if you probably never met him." Jerod says, taking his seat once more. "It was part of the job description.
"Consider the last few minutes to be a gift. A taste to warn you of what you can expect over the next little while. Whether you agree that you're part of the family or not, you are. And the family, cousins, aunt and uncles, will treat you as a member. And they'll test you because you're an unknown. When you're immortal, you've got lots of time to become comfortable with your power, your abilities and your opinion of the universe and how it works. And the unknown can be a challenge to that mindset, a puzzle, and a threat.
"So they're going to want to find out all they can about you. Can they trust you? Are you stable? Do you think before you act? Are you stubborn?" he says, with a slight smile. "Some of their testing will be vaguely unpleasant...some will be so subtle you won't even realize it. Regardless of it, always be who you are. And since it that will change as time passes, keep in mind that you may find you're not who you think you are. Be prepared for surprises."
"Ain't the whole point of a surprise that you ain't prepared for it?" Raven is clearly amused by this, but just as clearly isn't expecting an answer.
"So basically, what you're telling me is that I'm... hm. I'd say the newest cat at the fishmonger's, but ain't nobody mentioned anything that sounds like a foul-mouthed old bat with a face like the last axe in the woodshed and a mean broom arm. Sounds more like being busted back down to the lowest of sailors and being dumped on a new boat besides." There's a certain wryness to her expression, and a certain weariness to her tone of voice, that suggests there might be an 'again' that belongs on the end of that sentence. "Stand your ground, whatever it is, until everybody thinks they've got you figured out and quits trying to push you; do your damn job and make sure the ship does hers; and anything the officers don't need to know about, don't do where the officers can see. That about the size of it?"
"The gist, though with some refinements." Jerod says with a nod. "Consider yourself a junior member of a large number of admirals.
"You're not a grunt, nor will you be considered. Not withstanding that you're a Captain and earned in your own right, you are now Family." he says, with a deliberate emphasis on that word. "You can command by virtue of that alone, though your past will tell you that persuasion, training, and experience are far better for being a leader than birthright. You can undertake whatever tasks you wish, explore any avenues, chase any dreams, so long as they don't infringe upon the prerogative of the king and his will for the kingdom and his subjects. In the practical sense, that would also include not stepping on the toes of your aunt and uncles until and unless you're prepared to handle any wrath you may invoke. The King outranks them all, but they're not to be taken lightly, even if you're doing his bidding.
"Did you swear an oath to Random yet?"
Raven nods. "Aye, I did. Knew I was going to have to be swearing to someone when we got back. It ain't like there was anyone to swear to when I made captain." She snorts. "Plenty of folks to swear at. Not so many to swear to."
"I understand you took charge when you were lost in Shadow." Jerod says. "What happened?"
"The officers died." Raven is very matter-of-fact about that. "They got sick, and they died, over a couple of days. We think they had something they was sharing between each other that was causing it, food or something. It weren't anything they shared with a lowly bosun like me, whatever it was. They started getting sick after the storm that got us lost spit us out again. When they all bit it, I was the only one left in charge of any group of the men, so..." She shrugs. "Captain."
"Tell me about the storm." Jerod asks. "What happened when it hit? What was it like? And what did it feel like?"
Raven squints at him again, although it's not quite as aggressively are-you-insane this time. "Like a storm," she answers drily. "I missed the beginnings of it; I'd just bunked down, and there's some storms a man can sleep through even at sea. By the time it got bad enough that I was needed, we was already pretty well lost. Unless you can point me at somewhere nearby what's got a sea that can boil a man alive."
"If you'd like, I can take you by one on our way to Gateway." Jerod says, very matter-of-factly. "That sounds like the Sundering. The loss of the Pattern would have caused all the local Shadows to come unglued. Some were probably destroyed.
"I'm more interested in how you felt about what was happening. I don't mean was it dangerous or nerve-wracking. As Family, we have a natural ability to travel in Shadow. Call it travel between worlds if you like. We can sense things that normals can't. How good you are at that talent is important because I'm guessing you haven't walked the Pattern yet, and we probably won't have time for his majesty to open his up for you do to do so before we're off to Amber."
"Can't say as how I remember," Raven says, shrugging. "There weren't much time for feelings in the middle of all that. Ain't much time for anything but action when you're trying to make sure a ship don't sink, turns out." She pauses, considering, and then says carefully, "There might've been something, on the way back. Something weird, anyway." There's a snort of amusement, and she amends, "Weird-er."
"And this weirdness was?" Jerod asks.
Raven frowns and shakes her head. "Something," she says finally, and it's clear by her tone of voice that she realizes that this is unhelpful. "Something before the stars changed. Ain't got a good way to explain it. It just felt weird."
"If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say it was the changes in Shadow that you were feeling. Since you're not initiated to the Family power just yet, it wouldn't be as noticeable so you would not have a frame of reference to be able to identify what was wrong. You'd just know, somehow, that it wasn't right. That's promising." he says.
"Unfortunately while promising, we don't have much time to pursue it, at least not right now. Once we're done, I'd suggest talking to his majesty about walking his Pattern. For the moment, we've got more important things to take care of. The first is a ship and crew."
"I could probably round up a crew," Raven answers, but she's still frowning. "Though I'd hate to do it to them; there's some as have things to take care of here that weren't taken care of in Amber and don't involve being not so married as they was. Ship depends on whether you mean to be recognized, seeing as how she sat in the harbor at Gateway for long enough that someone will remember her."
"This is a covert mission to start." Jerod says. "If circumstances change, we may need to fly the flag, but our objective is to get information on what's going on in Gateway and report back so his majesty can decide whether we impose sanctions, or we just sanction them period. The means to obtain that information may take many forms.
"We need a ship that will not attract suspicion, and a crew that will be dismissed out of hand without a second thought. That crew must also not be afraid of a bit of knife work if needed. And I'm bringing some of my father's Weir with us, so whoever you pick can't be skittish around shape-shifters."
Raven snorts. "I met a sailor once what was afraid of a little knife work. Last I heard, he weren't a sailor any more." She considers, taking a drink from her glass. "I ain't changing the Vale's name to make her stealthy. It ain't proper, it ain't good luck, and anyone worth their salt that's looking for her ain't going to go just by the name on her side anyway. And I don't have an extra ship in my pocket. So - there's that. Can't say as how I had much call to know anything about the Weir before now," and she shrugs, "but as long as they ain't going to eat anyone in their sleep or anything, I suppose we can handle it."
"If your existing ship is going to get us detected, then we get a new ship. And you're not a sailor anymore. You're a Royal." Jerod says. "That means if you want a ship and it's not being used by another Royal, you requisition it. You want men, you get them too. Except for Family, you now outrank every sailor in the fleet. So if you need the ship, you get it.
"Stop thinking inside your old world. You're not there anymore." he says, finishing his drink and rising from his chair. "And we've got something else to do first, so finish up. You can think about how you're going to get your new ship while we deal with our next problem. Where's your mother and Max?"
"Probably right where I left them." That's brief, almost clipped. Raven eyes her glass and then empties it quickly, a sort of annoyed obedience in the gesture. "Leave off with the damned lectures already," she adds. "I ain't built to just happily go along with all this like you and everyone else except the Prince seems to be assuming, not without some time to deal with it proper-like, and it's starting to piss me off. What do you want with the daft old hag?"
"If you're getting pissed off, that's good." Jerod says, collecting his sword belt and a hooded cloak. "Since we don't have time to let you acclimatize, I go for the tried and true method. Dump you in, hope you don't drown and toss a preserver at you once in awhile. So far it seems to be working. You probably won't like me for it, but if it keeps you alive where we're going then I'll take it." and he looks at Raven deliberately, a look that lesser men would not want to be faced with. "Remember this - you're Family. I protect Family, whether they like it or not.
"As for your mother, the Prince, who is also my best friend, has some concerns about the boy and his situation. Max may also be Family. The Prince has made it my business to resolve those concerns. I need to know what you know about Max and Scarlett, enroute to wherever you left the daft old hag. I would gather there isn't much."
Raven regards him in silence for a moment. And then she says, "Heh," and gets up. "Just so's we're clear that I don't like it," she continues as she takes the glass over to the bar. "I'll decide if I like you or not later. So far you ain't exactly at the top of the list, but you ain't confused me so bad I can't tell arse from elbow and just have to go along with it, and it don't seem like someone should have beat some damn sense into you as a lad and didn't, so you at least got points in your favor."
She takes a deep breath and lets it out, clearly reining herself in, and turns back toward Jerod and the door. "Right. I ain't got the first clue how to get out of here from here, but we need to get to the docks first. Don't know the city well enough to get to anyplace 'cept by way of there yet."
"Then we're off." Jerod replies, taking a quick moment to pour a small glass of something thick and greenish, to which he adds a dash of salt. He does not drink it but leaves it on the side bar.
"While we're getting there, I'll tell you how Uncle Gerard explained to me the benefits of being prompt for watch rotations when I served under him...especially after I missed one." Jerod says. "It was his way of beating sense into me...I'm sure you'll find it quite amusing."
Last modified: 29 October 2011