Back in Xanadu, Ossian will first go check that nothing bad has happened to his Trump gateway project.
The project is intact, just as Ossian left it. It doesn't appear to have been damaged by his time away from it.
Then he will go looking for Fiona, if she is in town?
Fiona is expected in the morning. Other members of the royal family in residence are the King and Queen, and the Lady Silhouette is in the infirmary.
I think we can move on to the next day.
Ossian knocks on Fiona's door.
Fiona answers it herself; unsurprising, since the staff is probably terrified of touching her things the way they are in Amber. "Come in," she says, gesturing to Ossian to seat himself on one of her couches. She has either bought some things in Paris or arranged to have some brought from Amber, because there's more color in her suite than there was before.
Ossian steps in, and sits down. "Nice", he says.
"Let us get to the point immediately. I was wondering when it would suit you to do the test on my daughter?"
"Sooner rather than later. I have some other work for Random that I'll need my concentration for, and I'd prefer to deal with this, and any histrionics Florimel is inclined to have, before I start that," There's some tension lurking about the corners of Fiona's mouth and the edges of her eyes.
Ossian's eyes gleam. "I will try to get my girl then. And my father. Do we need to make any preparations?"
Fiona shakes her head. "If we had something of Lucas' to test the alternative hypothesis, it would be best, but we can do without."
"I could possibly get something, but if can survive without, it would be better. How long will we be away?"
"There's some dilation. Tell the girl's mother we'll be away for a couple of days. I do know how to mother small children, contrary to popular belief. I have had two of my own." The dryness of Fiona's tone is not, Ossian suspects, aimed at him. "As for Lucas--we cannot prove negatives, only positives. If the answer is not what you hope, what then?"
Ossian sighs "I will eventually have to let Florimel know. Alone I don't have all that much to offer. And I doubt Brennan will want a non-grand-daughter. It will come down to negotiations with Florimel."
"She does seem a bit possessive about her grandchildren, despite despising the way they came about. Why?"
Fiona purses her lips. "That's a long story that has to do with people who are long dead, not all of whom are your grandfather. How much have you picked up about this girl who claims to be Florimel's daughter?"
"For being eternal all of you seem to have very little patience for telling long stories." Ossian says with a smile "But I like mysteries. Silhouette is one of them. My sort, I guess. Very intellectual. I don't think she cares if her mother accepts her or not."
"If you wanted long stories, you should have asked your uncle, and not me," Fiona says, but the hint of a smile around the corners of her mouth makes it less of a rebuke than the words might have sounded on their own.
Ossian just smiles.
"I do wonder how Florimel might have borne the woman you describe, but I suppose her father might have been different. Or perhaps she's just been told the history. If she's someone else's bastard, I suppose it will turn out, but in case she's not, I recommend a certain detachment." Fiona looks meaningfully at Ossian, as if to be sure he understands.
"I will keep a low profile. Women... it's a weakness of mine, that I will have to pay for. She intrigues me, but not in a dangerous manner I think."
"Florimel lost that child, as she said. She was enjoying a sojourn in Shadow as all of us have done on one occasion or another, and she consented to marry for a time, and she bore a child. Father recalled her to Amber, and when she returned, her home had been sacked and her husband and child were dead. There were bodies, badly burned, but recognizable all the same. You'll understand, then, why Lucas' death, even though she disapproved of his dealings with your grandfather, has made her a little--overprotective of her grandchildren."
Ossian nods, somberly. "Then I understand. Thank you for telling me. It will help a lot, however this turns out. I will use it carefully. And not in a hurtful way."
Fiona nods. "That will be for the best, for all of you."
Having finally finished up his business in Paris, Conner returns to Xanadu for the unfinished business of crafting Robin's apology. If he has any misgivings about Celina and Khela traveling without him or the delays to his forays into metallurgy and key making, there is no trace of it in his smiling face. By way of cornering pages and asking, Conner discovers his sister's whereabouts and makes all speed to greet her.
Conner is directed to the tower off the interior garden. Making his way up the winding stairs of the tower, Conner finds the door at the top open, leading to a surprisingly well lit circular room. Brita is seated at a small desk that appears to have been repositioned to a point to catch the best light. Several papers with sketches of cousin Brennan are arrayed around her and she is intently painting on a small card. On the floor, her sketchpad lies open to a page showing cousin Edan.
Conner does not greet her right away. He likes watching her work but mostly he doesn't want to disturb her focus lest a stray line mar her work. When she pauses for a moment Conner greets her. "Good day, sister. What are you working on this day?"
Brita looks up with a glowing smile. "Brother!" she rises and greets Conner properly with a big hug. Releasing him before he loses his breath, she turns back to the little table. "I am Working on Trumps of Cousin Brennan and Cousin Edan." She bends down to pick up the sketchbook, tilting it to show Conner the images of Edan that practically leap off the page with their intensity. "I was Speaking with Them about Cousin Ambrose and Both expressed a Desire for a Trump." She sighs, "I May have to go Into Shadow to find the Time to Do Enough of These." She turns back to Conner, "It is Good you are Here, but I have Not Found Cousin Robin Yet."
"Have Not Found Robin?" Conner echoes. "Why am I not surprised by this news? I presume she has slipped away into the forest without so much as a by your leave?"
"Perhaps," Brita notes, cocking her head to one side as she considers the suggestion. "Cousin-Warden Paige is in Forest Broceliande and Ranger Robin may have Gone to Report...or Visit. I just Know she has Not Been Seen in the Palace Recently."
Conner sighs in annoyance. "My agreement to help her is the only reason I am here in Xanadu instead of fulfilling my obligations in Rebma and Shadow. When is the duel scheduled? Do you think she will return for it?"
"Yes, she Will Definitely Return for the Honor Duel or to At Least Tender her Apology. There is No Schedule as of Yet as the Players are all still In Transit. I'm not even Sure Where Cousin Jerod is at the Moment, although I was Awaiting our Discussions with Cousin Robin before Approaching him Again.". Brita stands and begins to tidy the desk. "We should Find Prince Garett or the King to See if there is a Deadline Beyond 'After the Funerals'."
"I suspect both King and Prince would prefer that both sides drop it and move on to something more productive." Conner observes. "If the duel must occur, sometime after Venesch's death from natural causes would be ideal I suspect. No, this duel will happen on Venesch and Jerod's timetable or not at all I suspect."
"Do you Have Suggestions on the Words to End this Quickly? When must You Attend to Your Obligations?" Brita asks.
"I should be about them already though I suppose a day's delay would not be taken amiss." Conner replies. "As for the words, they are my stock in trade. I am not an expert in the ways of Venesch's people but I have seen enough of him during the Regency to throw together something suitable and if I was the one giving the apology there would be no issue." Conner clears his throat. "However, this apology must come from Robin and as you have both acknowledged words are not her strong point. My diplomatic language would sound so false from her throat that Venesch might well be insulted all over again. No, I need time to find the right message using the way Robin speaks and that is much easier when she is here. If that won't be soon, then I shall have to leave you a rough draft and wish you both luck."
"How Long Must you be Gone? The Confluence of all the Players may not Occur for a Week or More." Brita notes, leaning a hip against the table.
Conner spreads his hands and shrugs. "I cannot say. The task I have been given is to find a way into Rebma's Pattern Chamber that does not involve walking another Pattern first. It is my intention to forge another key for the door. Since I am uncertain exactly how to do this, I have decided to invoke one of the benefits of my heritage. I am going to walk into Shadow and seek a place where my task can be accomplished. With the vagaries of Shadow time, fixing a return date would be tricky in the extreme. However, if you still have a sketch of me sister, I would not be amiss to you checking in on me from time to time."
"I Will," Brita says, touching the pocket over her heart where her Trumps are stored with a big smile. "Your Task seems Difficult, but I'm Sure You will Succeed."
"Sometimes, beliefs like that make all the difference." Conner smiles. "What of you sister? After all this artwork, where are you headed next?"
"I am Off to Find Cousin Ambrose," Brita states as she surveys the artwork. "He is Leading people from His Shadow to Reality Xanadu and Cousin Brennan is Hopeful I can Help."
"From what I have heard of his situation, Ambrose could use it." Conner nods. "Will you be trying to locate him in Shadow or are you trying a more artistic way to contact him?"
"Cousin Brennan and Cousin Edan may Help me Find him via Sorcery," Brita notes. "I do Not have Time to make a Full Trump of him given he is Not Here to Model. I Could Create a Sketch, Perhaps, but even that will Take Time. I Think there may be a Sketch in the Trump Booth, but am Loathe to Use it as it may End its Usefullness."
"Would you care to make use of my mirror, sister?" Conner offers. "It is quite adept at finding people provided they are not taking pains to avoid detection. It works best when one is familiar with the subject which fortunately we both are."
Brita cocks her head to the side. "How would that Work? What would it Show us? Would it be Enough to Part the Veil Afterwards?"
"It is like a Trump in operation if not in principle." Conner explains. "You simply project the image of the person you wish to view upon the mirror and you see them and some of the world around them. The link is visual only but manipulation of space can add sound as well. Were we not so close to the Pattern, you could certainly Part the Veil to his location."
Brita cocks her head to the side, "Could I Travel with you Away on the Way to Your Goal so we could Use the Scrying Mirror in a Place Conducive to Parting the Veil?"
"Gladly." Conner smiles at his sister. "I return to Rebma today and should be preparing for my foray into shadow tomorrow using Amber as my staging point. If you wish to seek me out there, you can make use my mirror to aid with your own travels."
"Ah," Brita seems disappointed. "I would Not be Able to Leave Reality Xanadu so Quickly. It is Unclear if the Honor Duel will occur Soon, but I Cannot go Finding Cousin Ambrose until the Timing becomes More Clear. I will Likely Have to See about using the Sketch in the Trump Booth." She moves to hug her brother. "I wish you Fair Travels, Brother, and Swift Success in your Key Search."
"Good hunting to you sister." Conner wishes her. "Find me if you need me. Even in shadow there are ways to make me hear."
"I Will," Brita nods as she releases the hug. "It may be Harder to Call Me as I will Likely bear Near Reality for Awhile, But you can Always Try." She smiles as she proceeds to leave the room.
Like clockwork, the librarian's grey figure - as rigid as a shark's fin - passes by the sitting room again; the fourteenth time today. Beady eyes peer over wire-rimmed glasses in unashamed disapproval, her condemnation focused solely upon Brennan's offending coffee pot. When her penetrating stare fails to dismiss this java-based intruder, the woman gives a sharp exhale and strides from view.
Brennan now had another ten minutes of solitude before she returns to silently chastise him once more.
However, a figure intrudes upon his peripheral vision only a moment later.
Despite the book in her hand, this woman could never pass for a frumpish librarian. All alluring curves and sculpted features, she radiates elegance and poise as she drifts inexorably closer to the sitting room. Her flowing dress accents the faint bruises clinging to her cheeks and eyes, as if the wounds were themselves bizarre accessories. Even the manner in which she wets her finger to turn a page exudes an undercurrent of sensuality.
She closes the distance with feline grace, sweeping into the sitting room.
Only then does she glance over her book, taking notice of the man already present. Dispassionate eyes of smoky topaz regard Brennan. "I believe one of us is in the wrong room."
If Brennan even notices the assistant librarian that Nestor has sent to harass him, he doesn't deign to show it by looking up, pausing in his reading or concentration, or any other outward sign. This would be impressive if the assistant librarian did anything more than sigh in frustration.
After Silhouette sweeps into the room and speaks, Brennan does look up, sweeps a glance up and down her, and says, "I'm not." If he recognizes her by description or reputation, he doesn't say anything. The red gemstone on his ring catches the light as he turns the page and prepares to go back to his studies.
A wry smile touches Silhouette's lips, but otherwise she appears unaffected by the brisk reception. "Then I shall leave you to your reading. But might you assist me first? I am seeking literature on Rebman politics and culture. I wish to be Illuminated for my daily meetings with the Queen. But thus far, all I have located is this. Oh Wet Pet: A Collection of Rebman Love Poems by Millicent Siltbottom. Not exactly appropriate subject matter for deep discussions. And I suspect the accompanying fish-faces would be lost on her majesty.
"I would ask the librarian, but she appears. . . preoccupied."
"I might," Brennan says. "But we haven't been introduced."
"Of course," she says bowing her head. "I am Kabeiro ap Cadmilus, daughter of the Princess Florimel. However, I would caution you in repeating that name within earshot of my mother. You may call me Silhouette."
She touches her chin with an elegant finger, "And you are my cousin, Prince Brennan, are you not? Your performance at the Cambina's funeral was very moving."
"Only if I've been promoted without notification," Brennan says, acknowledging the name but not the title. "I understand there is some tension between you and Florimel," he says, inviting her to give her side of the story.
Silhouette gives a brisk nod, "Yes, this is correct." She settles into a chair across from him, rather than continuing to rudely hover.
"My mother believes that I am a doppelganger, summoned by Lord Huon to cause her mischief. You see, I was sold into slavery not long after I last saw her. I was eleven at the time. Either she could not locate me in Shadow afterwards. Or she chose not to liberate me from my captivity.
"Perhaps guilt prevents her from acknowledging my existence. But I suspect that is wishful thinking."
"'Guilt' is not a natural emotion among our parents' generation," Brennan says. "Still, what motive would she have for fabrication or willful deceit?"
Silhouette touches her chin again, thinking. "She has recently lost another child to violence. She will need to settle debts with whoever robbed her of Lucas. My presence could complicate this, if she claims me to be her long-lost daughter. Indeed, my death twenty-five years ago may have been the first part of a larger scheme. Denial now separates us and, therefore, diminishes the chance someone will utilize me as a potential playing piece in her Vendetta. At least, this is the path I would choose.
"But you have known her much longer than I. What is your opinion, Lord Brennan?"
Still not the right title, but close enough that Brennan isn't required to correct her. He shakes his head, though: "Your history twenty five years back and Lucas' recent demise are unconnected. Lucas was killed as a direct result of his own very recent actions. And if Flora were trying to provide protection, she could easily have asked Corwin to make a public pronouncement on your behalf."
Then, "Sold into slavery, you say? To whom? For that matter, by whom?"
Silhouette's hand falls away from her chin like an autumn leaf. "By whom? In truth, I am not certain. My memories of that time are clouded by childhood denial and terror. Mercenaries or war-vultures, perhaps? They discovered me in the ruins of my home not long after soldiers had burned my family and I alive.
"I fetched them a good price in Babilu - the Iron Lands. That is where I served as a foundry-slave for much of my youth. The Overseers eventually recognized my affinity to Draig Talamh and released me from bondage."
"And this sort of thing was common, where you came from?" Brennan asks.
Silhouette tilts her head, "Did you refer to my fate? Cruelty is a lex naturalis - and certainly not exclusive to my homelands. But if you refer to my affinity with Earth and Fire, then no. It is a rare gift."
"I refer to your fate," Brennan says. "Your precise, specific fate. Cruelty may be a law of nature or it may not, but it takes many forms. I've been places where slavery exists as a regulated, peaceful trade, without the burning and the warfare. Places where the burning and the warfare exist without the slavery. Some without either. Thus the question: Is being captured in a slave raid a hazard of daily life in your home?"
"The Indentured were not uncommon in my home, but always by choice or circumstance," Silhouette replies in a frank tone. "My tormentors were an abnormality, even in war. I suspect they were hunting through Shadow when they discovered me. I did not travel as a child, but I had never heard of Babilu until I was taken there. Does this answer your question?"
"Yes, but it raises several more," Brennan says. "Such as, 'Hunting through Shadow... how, exactly?'"
A slight frown twitches at the corner of her mouth. "That, cousin, is a puzzle I intend to unlock in the near future. For I wish to know if chance or providence were at work."
The frown fades, "But enough about my past. Will you tell me what you know of Rebma?"
"It's humid," Brennan says. "And it's been through a civil war and an invasion in the recent past. What sort of information were you looking for?"
"Did the civil war break out before Lord Huon invaded or as a result thereof?" Silhouette asks. "And who are the leaders of the opposing factions? Are either of them affiliated with Her Majesty?"
"I have not had cause to question whether Vialle has sympathies with either Moire or Khela. And Huon did not cause the civil war, he exploited it," Brennan says. "How is Uncle Huey, anyway?"
"Restocked, rearmed, and in good health, last I saw of him," Silhouette says. Then a smile. "And your son? How is he doing? I've not seen him for a few days." She does not hide the disappointment in her voice.
"I'd heard someone grew impatient with him and pitched him off a mountain," Brennan says. "Huey, I mean, not my son, who is occupied on his own personal business. None of which concerns Rebma or Huon."
"True," Silhouette says. "But I most enjoyed our last meeting and look forward to seeing him again. Your son. Not Lord Huon." She smiles smoothly.
"Do Rebmans approve of adultery? Or is it frowned upon?"
"What a curious question," Brennan says. "What must your husband think of it?"
Brennan takes a last sip of his coffee before placing it on the saucer at his side, carefully closing the book he was reading, and placing it on the other side just so. "I'm not exactly an expert in the sexual etiquette of Rebma, but I would expect it to be very much like Amber with a gender twist. Meaning that, for example, should you seduce some young Rebman woman's husband, you might be given some deference in the ensuing scandal due both to your status and to your sex.
"On the other hand," Brennan says, "there are limits. One would not attempt to seduce the monarch's spouse, unless one were very tired of life. In Amber, there were various euphemisms for the fate of anyone so foolish as to meddle with the King's wife."
Brennan looks at Silhouette across steepled fingers. "I trust this satisfies your cultural curiosity in this matter."
"It answers my question, but further piques my curiosity. Thank you," Silhouette admits with a soft smile.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, she adds, "And, no, I am not married. I find such entanglements rife with querulousness and disappointment. Are you so espoused, perhaps? Or did you adhere to the Family's penchant for cross-Shadow pollination?" Her polished voice lacks any mockery; eyes bright with genuine interest.
"Marriage and immortality are poor partners," Brennan says. "Our aunts and uncles are many things, but they are not stupid. How did you happen to find Huon, of all people?"
Silhouette shakes her head, "Lord Huon sought me out. Apparently, word of my craftsmanship had reached his ears. He had coin. I had weapons he desired. However, I am not deluded enough to dismiss our meeting as mere circumstance."
She runs a finger along her clavicle, "After his failure in Rebma, he returned to me. The Grand Design dictated that I heal him. So I did."
"One abnormality followed by another-- first the uncommon slave raid, and then Huon finding you?" Brennan says. It's a rhetorical question, because he gives the answer himself. "Not impossible, but it does begin to tug at the imagination. I assume he knows you are Flora's daughter?"
"Prince Garrett mentioned that those of our Blood cause - as it were - an indentation in Shadow. This distortion attracts others of the Blood, such as water seeking a low point," she says. "Perhaps he discovered me and then shaped my Progress as he saw fit. He may be a blunt instrument, but he does possess a low cunning that cannot be ignored. Or underestimated."
She tilts her head, "Is this how your father became Ossian's mentor? A 'chance' encounter?"
"It's conceivable," Brennan says, "but where Brand was concerned, I put almost no trust in coincidence at all. He certainly knew who Ossian was. One interesting question among many is this: Did-- and does-- Huon know who you are?"
"Did? I believe not," Silhouette says. "But does? Yes. We have come to an understanding since our first meeting. Perhaps that is why he thought I would protect him following his loss in Rebma."
Brennan smiles thinly. "Brand never told Ossian, either."
She tilts her head, "You mentioned other questions?"
"I implied them," Brennan says. "You mentioned something about a design?"
"Yes," Silhouette says with some pride, "I am a Preceptor of the Grand Design - the continual march toward Perfection. Although ignorant to its teachings, Lord Huon served the Design during his recent campaign. This is why I assisted him."
"How so?" Brennan leaves open whether Silhouette should answer how so did Huon serve this Design, or how so Silhouette assisted him.
Silhouette offers a pleasant smile, "Before I explain, provide me an honest answer. Had your father succeeded in his grand scheme, would Creation have truly suffered? Or would it have simply followed a different path?"
Brennan regards Silhouette with a curious, almost quizzical look, before saying, "Define your terms: What is the universe, Silhouette, and how do you know it?"
"Like father, like Son," she says, amused.
"Creation is a vast construct bound by mathematical formulae and natural laws. It possesses isotropic Universals - common paradigms, if you will - that Manifest throughout Shadow. Through the acquisition of Knowledge, it is possible for us to understand these underlying paradigms and possibly even alter and govern them. Indeed, seeking this Understanding is essential, as it is our Duty to help guild Creation toward Perfection. That is the essential Purpose of the Grand Design."
She smooths her dress, "I know this Truth through Observation and Experimentation. And as I observe more of Shadow, the more evidence I collect."
Brennan gives an indulgent smile, then replays that back to the beginning in his mind and asks, "You knew Brand?"
"Oh no," Silhouette says. "I was referring to your son, Cousin. Both of you have an intriguing habit of answering a question with a question. Although it is more endearing with Ossian."
"But there are so many implicit assumptions in your questions," Brennan says, "and I am unwilling to let very many of them pass unexamined." The indulgent smile does not waver. "So for instance, I ask about the universe, and I am given information about this Grand Design of yours. The Grand Design, then, is part of the universe?"
Silhouette nods, "It is the unifying Purpose by which all serve Creation - even if they do not recognize or acknowledge their role in it.
"Ossian, for example, serves the Grand Design through his art. His Works inspire others and provides them with Illumination. Like a ripple on a pond, his inspiration radiates out through Creation, allowing it to move ever closer toward Perfection."
"And so by inference," Brennan says, "you have directly observed and experimented with this Grand Design, yes? How so?"
"My own rebirth, for one," Silhouette says with a sagely nod. "But in more recent terms, I observed the Grand Design at work in the Kingdom of Gretycos. They suffered from Stagnation; specifically the paradox of plenty. Although culturally and socially superior to their neighbors, their complete lack of governance with regard to military power made their country highly susceptible. Their exports suffered dramatically, as the result of exterior conflicts and piracy. In time, their neighbors looked upon Gretycos with envious eyes. This animosity was further enflamed by ancient vendettas. 'The Old Hate,' I believe Kahas called it.
"Initially, the Grand Design dictated that Gretycos should fall. Stagnation cannot be tolerated. Its presence corrupts the Whole. So, when a warlord named Kahas approached me, I supplied his army with the tools he requested to launch his campaign. But upon further reflection, I realized that Kahas' ambitions did not serve the greater good - only himself. As such, I offered the Prince Regent of Gretycos - Adrian - access to superior weaponry. He accepted my offer and repelled the invading forces.
"Gretycos is now a central power; economically and militarily superior to its neighbors. Their influence continues to spread throughout their Shadow. Along the way, they have shared their culture and technology -- elevating the ragtag collection of fiefdoms into a vibrant community. Adrian -- a wise leader -- has also incorporated the cultures and technologies of the Conquered into his own, thus bringing Gretycos closer to Perfection."
Silhouette examines her nails with a pleased expression, "The guttering flame of their existence now rekindled."
Brennan tilts his head in skepticism. "I believe I mentioned implicit assumptions," he says. "I'm missing the part where you directly observed this Grand Design of yours, rather than a handful of events which you took part in and interpreted on your own. For that matter, I'm missing the part where you directly observed that the Grand Design cares about stagnation. How do you know this?"
"Cares?" Silhouette says, confused. "The Grand Design does not 'care.' Such anthropomorphized concepts are better attributed to Living Manifestations, such as Draig Talamh and the Unicorn."
She shifts in her chair, "Perhaps I should simplify the concepts of which I speak. Think of Creation as an unimaginably vast clock eternally moving forward. Every spring, gear, and cog allow it to do so. But what if one fails? Or it hasn't enough oil? Or loses tension? Then the clock becomes imprecise. It breaks down. Little by little. More gears fail. Momentum is lost. Discord begins to overtake the system until the clock eventually fails.
"The Grand Design, essentially, is the schema the Preceptor utilizes to repair and maintain the clock. To improve its functionality. Making it more precise. More efficient. More Perfect."
"Simplification is not required," Brennan says, "but precision is always useful. If the Grand Design does not 'care', then it probably also does not 'dictate,'" Brennan doesn't need air quotes to make the distinctions felt. "But that's not the substance of the discussion, is it? Let's go at this another way: What is it at which the universe is supposed get more efficient?"
"Why... everything," Silhouette replies simply. "All aspects of Creation require Progress. That is the very essence of life itself. Otherwise, what is the point of existence?"
She gestures at the books in front of him, "Do you read to simply have consumed information or do you do so in order to be Illuminated? To utilize that knowledge, even though its Purpose does not make itself immediately apparent."
"I read for my own purposes," Brennan says. Then, "Everything. Murder. War. Slavery. Human sacrifice. The purpose of the universe is to be ever more efficient at things such as these, as well?"
"If such antecedents serve the Greater Good, then yes," Silhouette replies. "For example, my personal experience with slavery served me well. It honed me into the woman I am today - a servant of Creation. But - whilst the utilization of slavery has produced great works - slavery by and large does not serve the Greater Good. Indeed, its incorporation into society typically inflicts Discord upon Creation. Thus, in most cases, slavery must be eliminated to preserve and inspire Progress.
"And murder and human sacrifice? Well, that does lead us back to my previous question you have yet to answer, doesn't it? Did the universe benefit your father's death? Did the sacrifice of our dear aunt serve the Greater Good?"
Brennan arches an eyebrow at the description of Deirdre, but lets it pass.
"No, I haven't. To answer your question on your terms, Silhouette, we first have to make your terms clear. I ask what the universe is, and I'm told of a Grand Design which you say is part of it. I ask what the Grand Design is, and I'm told it's a schema for making the universe more efficient. I ask at what must the universe become more efficient, I am told, 'everything!' I ask if this includes some less pleasant aspects of the universe, and I am told yes, and no, and probably not, and only if these things serve the Greater Good-- a term that falls most often from the lips of public revolutionaries with hidden bank accounts," Brennan adds as an aside.
"So, I think to myself, Greater Good. What could this be? In prior context, I would have guessed it is a synonym for efficiency, but that appears not to be the case. I've also been told that the Grand Design doesn't 'care' about anything, which raises the immediate question of why Greater, Lesser, or any Good at all would factor into any discussion of it or the universe which it seeks to make more efficient. So let's take another layer off the onion: What do you think this Greater Good is, and why do you think that?" Brennan asks.
Silhouette nods, a smile betraying her enjoyment. "The Greater Good's purpose is to advance society toward societal harmony and prosperity - the greatest amount of good for the greatest amount of people. Not simply in one Shadow, but in all. The Whole, as it were. By doing so, each individual elevates themselves and others toward Perfection. Their essence resonates throughout Creation, rather than remaining constrained.
"Of course, true utilitarianism is flawed and unachievable. Pleasure for pleasure's sake invariably blinds the individual to the needs of others. Your public revolutionaries lining their pockets, as it were. Nor can we be unrealistic about idea that all sentient beings can achieve peace and prosperity. Some will invariably suffer at the expense of others or due to circumstance. But if that suffering has true meaning and consequence, is it not justified? Similarly, what may be the morally 'right' choice may, in truth, not be the 'correct' choice for achieving the Greater Good.
"That is why I believe that the Greater Good can only be accomplished through rule utilitarianism. And that 'rule' is the Grand Design."
She glances longingly at the coffee for a moment and then back to Brennan, "As to why I believe this? I have observed that there is structure to Creation. So, why shouldn't I - a manifestation of that structured construct - strive to create structure within myself as well? We do not need to be chaotic beasts guided only by our most basic needs and wants, unfettered by accountability and duty. A single choice can resonate into eternity. History bears witness, but it is we who must bear the responsibility for creating it."
Brennan frowns in annoyance. "Rule utilitarianism would have led you to give me flat yes or no answers to the questions of murder, war, slavery, and human sacrifice-- the rules would either include or exclude those actions. Or in honesty, you'd admit that your philosophy assumes such a rule exists, even though your direct observation and experimentation haven't led to a result. You're collapsing into act utilitarianism when you tell yourself that your slavery was okay because you happen to have benefitted from the abuse. Act utilitarianism and no small amount of egocentricism, ignoring the consequences of those slave raids on all the other slaves.
"Still," he continues, "I didn't ask what the Greater Good is for, I asked what it is. Conventionally, I hear it defined in terms of happiness over number of people, which comes with its own very special problems considered over an infinity of shadows. It's also problematic in your formulation because it is at base a hedonistic philosophy... which hedonism you then disdain and mystify by replacing happiness with capital-m Meaning and capital p-Purpose and capital-p Perfection. Presumably, then, the Greater Good is perfection; the universe should become more perfect. Perfect at what? Everything. Except the things you don't like. Unless they happen to have good results and lead to perfection. This is a circular argument, Silhouette, and it stems from your finding some meaning in the suffering and abuse you've experienced and transforming it into a philosophical claim on everyone else's.
"And even the phrase, 'rule utilitarianism,' leads me to wonder rather pointedly if you've ever actually seen a Lord of Chaos or anything similar," he says.
"I have not," Silhouette replies. "Nor have I walked the Pattern. But I am certain when I do, I shall gain greater insight into Creation and will alter my viewpoint appropriately. That is the joy and curse of discovery."
She rests her chin upon her hands and leans forward. "You are an intriguing puzzle though. You are obviously intelligent, observant, knowledgeable, yet you pluck at the threads rather than study the tapestry. You deflect inquires about your thoughts and feelings by focusing instead on the querent's viewpoint. On their terms, as you said. Which, of course, has no bearing on what you think or feel; only how the querent will process that information. That may, however, be explained by your apparent belief that this conversation is an argument. Like a chess game, where the purpose is to be won. Which, again, it is not."
A wry grin curls her lips. "Thus bringing me to several conclusions about you; three - in particular - coming to the forefront. One: you are an advocatus diaboli by nature, testing the beliefs of others and thus providing them with Illumination. Two: you simply lack an opinion of your own - or refuse to reveal it - and deflect all inquires as an avoidance mechanism. Or Three: you revel in your smugness and genuinely enjoy pissing people off.
"There are many other possibilities, but without further observation I'm leaning toward the latter."
Brennan parries the implied accusation without ever moving his fingers from their steepled position. Or maybe he just ignores it, since Silhouette doesn't bother to weave the threads of her philosophy back together.
"There's only one way to find out," he says. "The thing about tapestries, though, is that they're only as good as their threads are tight. But I asked about Lords of Chaos and their ilk for a purpose, and that purpose is, perhaps, more important to you than to me. So, tell me this-- tell me what you know about them, even if only by hearsay, and I will add to your knowledge of them if I can. This I promise."
Silhouette casts him a dubious look - as if he's just stated he could alter natural laws or successfully perform some freakish act of gimpery. But after a pause, she exhales in capitulation. "They are demons of the Void. Primordial entities left over from Creation's birth. Living incarnations of the prima materia. Whatever they touch will wither and die, consumed by entropy. Each Lord locked in an eternal cycle of destruction and rebirth, not unlike the Ouroboros. At least, that is what is whispered on superstitious lips. But these Lords must be something far more than that. One cannot fight a war with legends and myth."
"Some of that is right," Brennan says, "if only in a metaphorical sense. And yes, it can be done, going to war against myths and legends."
His look turns inward for a moment, and then another moment, as he thinks about where to start. "Imagine chaos," he says. It's clear that he does not mean simple political anarchy. "Imagine chaos, with every constraint and guideline slipped away. Gravity, to take an example, shifting in strength, in direction, now attractive, now repulsive, now gone entirely to be replaced by something else. Even basic distinctions gone: the concept of space no longer separating this space from that with constancy, the moments no longer divided by time, sliding, writhing into one another and wriggling apart, mutating all the while, if 'while' is even appropriate metaphor."
Brennan looks up, again, and across those steepled fingers. "Can you conceive it?"
Silhouette rubs her shoulders and shivers, as if a cold wind has passed through her. "Yes," she says in a haunted voice. "I can."
Brennan wears a mildly surprised look, but continues, "And can you conceive of consciousness in such a state? Consciousness with the same lack of rules, lack of form. This is not freshman philosophy: Are you the same woman you were yesterday? This is real: What does it mean to be conscious in the face of radical disjunctions of identity? What does it mean to have an identity when one entity can consume another and force the merging of memories, identities, and consciousness? When a third can rip that new creature apart and form two more still different thing?
"This is not theoretical philosophy," he says. "I have faced, spoken with, and fought such things with my own hands. One such, after it consumed part of and spoke to me in the voice of one of our cousins." He does not bother to hide his vast, vast displeasure at this creature. "Can you conceive it? On the proper scale, this is a Lord of Chaos. In part. Can you see why I ask?"
Silhouette grips her shoulders tighter, her expression hardening into a grim mask of antipathy. "I have always known such an anathema must exist in Creation. But whatever nightmarish conceptualizations I may have, I doubt I can fully grasp what you encountered without direct observation." She tilts her head, incredibility blazing in her eyes. "Your father trucked with such creatures?"
An instant later, she waves her hand dismissively. "No. Do not answer that yet. Please. Continue."
"Very well," Brennan says. "And I confess that I also have difficulties in truly conceiving those forms of consciousness, even after touching them with my own hands. Even when I'm that far into Chaos, my will to self-preservation, to self-continuity, is strong and I carry with myself a kernel of order-- I will be I, and I will be no other. But then, so do these creatures carry with them a kernel of chaos when they are nearer the source of order-- rules change, forms change, consciousness changes.
"But having said this, I pose a question: How does your philosophy treat such creatures and conditions?" Now Brennan pours himself another cup of coffee, and because he expects that this may require some thought on Silhouette's part, one for her as well.
Silhouette greedily takes the cup, stealing comfort from its warmth. Brennan is correct in his belief - the young woman falling into silent contemplation for several moments. She does not move, even her breathing nearly imperceptible, as if she is some exquisite clockwork machine that has wound down. Finally, her eyes flutter and she lifts her head.
"I say this without the proper data, so my initial interpretations are invariably flawed and biased," she states. "On a personal level, I would consider such a creature an enemy. Perhaps greater than any other threat imaginable. One to be rooted out and destroyed wherever it is found. No negotiation. No compromise. Entropy cannot be permitted to expand its influence lest it unravel natural law."
Brennan nods slightly at this, or some of this. But he lets her continue.
"However, with regards to the Grand Design, my personal feelings are irrelevant. Also, because of philosophy, I recognize that deterministic chaos exists within all natural systems, Creation notwithstanding. Indeed, chaos is beneficial on many levels by inspiring positive change through forced adaptation. In order words, a system must move toward Perfection in response to chaos or be destroyed. To those of our Blood - Lords of Order - a Lord of Chaos would be not unlike a whetstone, honing us to sharpness. We would forever be required to seek excellence to overcome this corruptive force. Adapting. Changing. Improving.
"That struggle, at its core, adheres to the percepts of the Grand Design and serves the Greater Good."
She lifts her coffee to her lips with a shaky hand. "An intriguing paradox," she whispers, more to herself than her cousin.
"You make a distinction between deterministic chaos, chance and chaos operating within a larger framework of order, versus true Chaos. I respect that distinction, though I'd call your deterministic chaos as complexity, to minimize the misunderstandings. But bear in mind we're talking about the latter, true Chaos, not the former," Brennan says. "So much for the creatures. And the condition?"
Silhouette shivers again, recoiling further into her chair. "It would be a quagmire of madness. Even the most fundamental concepts would be meaningless - time, space, cause and effect. Freewill could not exist. Only random thoughts and actions, undefined by rationality and purpose. Indeed, if true chaos reigned, what we define as 'life' would be impossible. At some point, there would be no distinction between being 'alive' and being 'dead.' How could what we call 'consciousness' even survive in such formlessness? All would be dream and shadows. And without some form of structure - even the most rudimentary - could such a consciousness even defined as a creature?"
"If you define creature as something created, then the answer is yes, and no, and sort of. But I'm using the term colloquially," Brennan says. "Much of what you say, I believe, is true. I might quibble, in particular, with the existence or absence of free will in such a state, but ultimately I think it matters less than one might think." That's an extraordinary claim, so Brennan takes a sip of coffee before continuing. "Because it would make free will meaningless.
"It would also make any consequentialist philosophy meaningless, because consequentialism rests on certain bedrock assumptions, especially that actions have consequences. By contrast, in Chaos, the notion of a consequence is a bad joke because they may change in an instant, or be unwritten. Or, with the same effect, the creatures may change so radically from one state to another that the different between good consequences and bad is itself meaningless. Once consequentialism is gone, utilitarianism is out the window, too, rule and act both. Both are attempts to find the right actions to bring about the right consequences, but in that state we've already conceded that consequence is a meaningless concept. Worse, though, even if consequence were a meaningful concept, it would be an impossible ambition because embedded in the notion of selecting the right action is the concept that consequences are predictable in at least some measure," Brennan says. "Now again, this is not the opening lecture in the Summerless Navigation Academy-- even here in Xanadu, consequences are not perfectly predictable," he stresses, "and I am not the same person I was five hundred years ago. But consequences and identity are still useful conceptions.
"So." Brennan takes another sip of coffee. "I would think such a state, and any creature trying to bring such a state about, would be anathema, a knife pointed at the heart of your philosophy. They're not simply acting against your conception of the Greater Good-- whatever it may be-- but acting to destroy the entire concept. And there are means for them to do so. And so I would ask this new question: What would you think of someone who consorts with such creatures and delivers them the methods to advance that state of Chaos?"
Silhouette remains silent once more, her thumb absently stroking the side of her cup. In time, she tilts her head, puzzled. "Brennan, to answer properly, I will require you to further qualify your inquiry. My answer would depend on the subject's true Purpose. If, for example, the subject's complicity fell under the purview of the Third Law - of concealing one's intentions - to lure the Lords of Chaos down the wrong path and eventually destroy them, then I would be agreeable to their tactics. However, if their complicity directly benefited the Lords, then I would consider the Subject an enemy. Unless their continued survival would benefit the Greater Good, they should be eliminated along with their compatriots."
Brennan is transparently unimpressed with the answer. "Hinging the result on deception is a bad place to start, because deception itself requires the target to possess a certain continuity of mental state which true Chaos lacks. And to be clear, we're not speaking of the gift of something inconsequential, or merely promising the means of destruction, but of actually delivering that means. And patching your utilitarianism with terms of 'intent' is questionable at best."
"But let's leave that aside, and acquiesce to your request, with a suitably base and petty motive. Let's say," Brennan chooses an example seemingly at random, "Extortion and theft, with no thought for the greater good whatsoever."
Brennan waits intently for the answer; this appears to be a question on the final exam. And it isn't an essay question.
"Extortion and theft can be useful tools in achieving certain ends and should be utilized if no other course of action presents itself," Silhouette says without hesitation. "Even so, they must be tempered with self-control and reason. For example, utilizing obsidaticum in order to maintain the observance of political obligations is a common and acceptable form of extortion. However, while the threat of violence should be acknowledged, the obses must be treated with dignity and respect. Harming the obses needlessly will not only produce negative consequences, it lessens the tormentor. Theft too can achieve a positive end - say the theft of vital military information - and should be utilized when necessary. However, theft for the sake of greed can only produce negative consequences for both parties.
"Regrettably, such concepts would be meaningless to a Lord of Chaos - in practice or response. An item or person must possess value for such concepts to be employed. What value could a creature of true chaos place on anything or anyone? Such value would fluctuate or dissipate randomly. Nor could you - the victim of their actions - be able to trust that they would fulfill their end of the bargain, so to speak. I fear that an obses in their tender care should be considered lost forever."
"Of course," Brennan says. "This is my point. I've already stipulated that the motives were base, and not in accord with the Greater Good-- so, yes, extortion may play a part in warfare and statecraft, but in this case even were they part of a larger scheme, then assume the entire scheme was motivated by petty factors up and down the chain.
"And in this case, to carry the example forward, we're talking about someone who, in giving the means of destruction of Order to a creature of Chaos, effectively turned that Order into a hostage for extortion and gave that hostage to a creature of Chaos. So if I've understood you correctly, you would consider such a person to be an enemy. Is that correct?" Brennan asks.
"Although the term 'enemy' is relativistic, I would say 'yes,'" Silhouette says, gripping her cup for warmth. "Such a person would constitute a threat that could not be ignored. Only the truly foolish or mad would consort freely with rabid beasts."
Brennan is sufficiently delighted at getting a concise, correct, mostly straight answer that he doesn't bother to point out the 'enemy' was Silhouette's term, not his.
"Excellent! Then since Huon is your enemy, you'll help find him."
Silhouette stares at him for a moment, a silence invading the space between them. And then, after a time, she yawns and stretches like a lioness stirring from sun-drenched slumber to begin her nocturnal hunt. "Oh, do tell me that was not your end-game move, Brennan," she sighs. "I would be most disappointed, if it were."
She sets her cup down, an amused smile erasing her troubled expression - if it had existed at all. "I am not some woolly-headed collegiate, so effortlessly swayed by her professor's wind-tossed hair and eloquent elucidations. Fanciful words and accusations are less than nothing to me. Lord Huon may also be responsible for the murder of my family, but without substantiation of his complicity, I am not about to slip a dagger between his ribs.
"But, more importantly, enemy or no, my personal feelings are irrelevant. Provide me with all the empirical evidence that you possess, it will not sway me from my current course. My actions adhere to the Grand Design. As such, I shall continue to serve Lord Huon and the King by completing this amnesty negotiation. And I shall respond accordingly to any attempts to undermine that agreement being reached. I will not allow Xanadu to fall because of some petty vendetta or past hurt. We have already lost one city to such backbiting."
She leans back in her chair, flexing her nailed hand like a feline paw. "That said," she adds, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. "In the meantime, I am more than willing to examine your evidence. Prove to me his complicity, beyond reasonable doubt, Brennan. Do that and should Huon become forsworn, then I will gladly assist you in the hunt." Her words sound more like a demand, than a request.
"This is not a game, Silhouette, as you were so quick to point out when you thought it would gain you advantage," Brennan says. "You were so ready to believe Brand had made similar pacts that you supplied the hypothesis yourself, but when the situation affects you and the consequences of your actions you categorically refuse to entertain the notion. Yes, you say you'll consider the evidence, but only after stipulating that you know absolutely that you've followed the tenets of your Grand Design... which is absolutely incompatible with your defense of a man who used one to try to destroy a Pattern realm.
"Still," he continues, "I'm not surprised by your reaction. I told you knowledge of Chaos would be important to you, not that you'd like hearing it, since it means that Huon thoroughly suborned you. When you're convinced, though, it's going to burn right down to the core. Most knowledge worth having involves a degree of mental anguish." Some people might say that with a degree of sympathy, but sympathy isn't on sale today. "When that day comes, you can no longer say that no one tried to warn you, or that we all treated you like a child."
Brennan takes a sheet of paper from the table beside him, and writes a few quick sentences on it, lets the ink dry, then folds it. He does not seal it. "As it happens, there were witnesses, some of whom are even Huon's allies and servants. Go to Conner and, for starters, ask him what Huon said at our parley, then ask him where Huon's side of the entourage is, to confirm it." Brennan hands her the sheet of paper, which contains the verbatim parts of that conversation that are relevant. "You will see a conspicuously missing phrase, of course; you understand that there is no possibility that I will divulge the mechanism to you."
"A completely reasonable precaution," Silhouette nods in agreement. She takes the missive and reads it in silence.
The sheet reads:
"Hear me then, Queen Khela. I have a magical weapon that I have secured in Rebma that will sunder the pattern, as Amber's pattern is sundered. This ---------- is in the very chamber of the pattern and will break the spell that allows the city to breathe water as if it were air. A million souls. You and your loved ones as well. I can do that, then take what I want. My army is protected.
"Or you can give it to me, and we can be on our way, and your redheaded friends can tell my traitorous brother that I am armed and coming for him."
Brennan continues, "The question of character comes now-- will you follow up on this? Or will you sit back and demand that the universe bring the rest of it to you?" It's clearly rhetorical, and Brennan's way of asking rhetorical questions implies that he has made his peace with disappointment.
She returns the paper to Brennan and then refills her coffee cup - with his approval. "I do not consider this a game, Brennan. Nor do I or will I categorically refuse to entertain the notion you've placed before me. I shall investigate thus further and take appropriate action, if given leave to do so by the King. But I do not break my oaths as easily as some members of this Family. I swore to Lord Huon that I would represent him and conclude this negotiation. I mean to fulfill that oath."
She smiles over her cup, "That said, I never swore how these negotiations might conclude. I've already placed several options before the King; some even amenable to your desires. However, I shall adhere to whatever he decides. For in the end, my loyalty remains with him."
With a shrug, she adds, "I agree that he may be too dangerous. But what I fear is that some overzealous member of the Family will attempt to dispose of Huon before a suitable course of action can be reached. What if they fail? Huon is paranoid and vengeful, but not a fool. He nearly extinguished all life in Rebma to strike at his brother. What will his reaction be if his amnesty is denied him? And even if they did succeed, Xanadu could suffer a Blood Curse. No. The repercussions of either option would be catastrophic. So, it is best to play along until we are prepared."
A dark laugh rumbles in her chest, "Besides, in the meantime, some Rebman mirror-witch might save us the trouble and this discussion will be moot."
"We know exactly what our obligations to the King are, Silhouette," Brennan says. "Let's call Conner over and get his recollections."
Brennan summons a page, saying, "Go, find Lord Conner. Say only that Sir Brennan requests his presence for a consultation in the library."
While they wait, Silhouette retrieves the paper once again, examining it with an intense silence. After a time, she sets it down as if disposing of a soiled rag.
Conner does not keep them waiting long. In fact, Conner had already been en route to the library when the page found him. If he is surprised to find Brennan with Silhouette, he does not show it. "Cousins." Conner greets them. "I hope this day finds you both well. What can I do for you?"
Brennan has a cup of coffee waiting for Conner as he enters. He offers it more by gesture than by word.
"Conner," he says. "I see you've already met Silhouette. Forgive the lack of context, but would you tell us, as nearly as you can recall, the words that Huon spoke to us in parley with Khela?"
Conner looks from Brennan to Sil and back again. "Very well." Conner closes his eyes and brings the scene back before his eyes. Conner replays it once and frowns slightly. His perfect recall shall require an edit. It is doable but runs counter to the light trance Conner uses to remember things clearly. This delay is seconds long only.
Conner opens his eyes and speaks with his own voice but Huon's tones and cadences. He is very calm and very precise.
"Very gracious. I am told you style yourself Queen now. Hear me then, Queen Khela. I have a magical weapon that I have secured in Rebma that will sunder the pattern, as Amber's pattern is sundered. It is in the very chamber of the pattern and will break the spell that allows the city to breathe water as if it were air.
"A million souls. You and your loved ones as well. I can do that, then take what I want. My army is protected." Conner spreads his arms wide. "Or you can give it to me, and we can be on our way, and your redheaded friends can tell my traitorous brother that I am armed and coming for him."
Conner looks up towards the ceiling. "You may consult amongst yourselves, but if any leave via trump or enter, I will take it that you do not wish to deal with me and take the action you make me take."
Conner falls silent and closes his eyes once more. He blinks several times and smiles at them both. "Now, perhaps you will satisfy my curiosity as to why you needed me to say that."
Silhouette - having been intimate with Huon on many levels - immediately recognizes the familiar speech patterns. She closes her eyes and listens; her body so still, it appears that she may have fallen into torpor. They only open again at Conner's question. She offers him an appreciative smile and bow of the head.
"Our cousin is attempting to turn me against my current employer," Silhouette says. "He allowed me to view the transcript of what you just relayed. To substantiate his claims, he has offered your observations as further evidence. And, I must admit, it is quite compelling. Those, indeed, were his words - albeit edited appropriately."
Conner nods apparently pleased with Brennan's efforts.
She looks to Brennan for further comment.
"Call it corroboration in a discussion of applied philosophy," Brennan says. "Were I a religious man, I would have said I'm trying to save our cousin's soul." But he's not, so he doesn't. "Whatever happened to that unfortunate young man Huon brought with him to the parley?"
Silhouette quirks her lip into a half-smile at that, but keeps her comments silent.
"Captain Carper." Conner nods. "He is currently in Rebman custody with the rest of his fellows from Abford." Conner looks over to Sil. "I do not know if you are familiar with Shadow Abford, cousin, but it is the shadow that Huon conquered to provide a staging area for his troops and a manufacturing center for his rifles. It is also the home of Meg, another cousin, and out of deference to her I captured as many of Huon's troops as would surrender and specifically took pains to locate and succor her foster sons who fought under Huon's banner. I offered them parole under the protection of their mother and myself but they chose to stay with their men. They were being held pending Queen Khela's formal announcement on what to do with them. I am pushing for a period of servitude to repair the damage done to the city followed by their release to their home shadow or to another that they would call home."
Silhouette nods, "Yes, this is the Shadow Lord Huon mentioned while I was developing his weapon systems. I've not actually been there, due to circumstance. Upon reflection, I am pleased that he did not have me oversee the secondary manufacturing process. Still, I would most like to speak with this captain. Perhaps he would reveal something in confidence to me that he would not to you. That is, if we were introduced in a proper fashion."
She tilts her head, asking the question of either of them. "And where does Meg stand on the succession of Queen Khela? Will Meg abide by her ruling or seek assistance from the recently ousted regent should the decision be unfavorable toward her children?"
"Meg was primarily concerned with the welfare of her sons and seems completely unconcerned with Rebman politics aside from that." Conner replies. "I get the impression that she would abide by Queen Khela's decision. Overall, she feels her sons must deal with the consequences of their choices."
Silhouette nods to this. "And what do you believe the new Queen's reaction will be should Huon obtain his amnesty? Considering the current civil war is she even in a position to retaliate against Xandau, if so? Furthermore, would she hold a grudge, considering the circumstances? I've heard Rebmans have long memories."
Brennan shrugs impassively, and rises from his seat when the talk turns to diplomacy. "It's not my place to guess the reactions or policies of Rebma or Xanadu," he says. "I've done my part, here: Silhouette, you now have some information about what your lord Huon does, what he threatens, and how he operates. You have some corroboration of it, and the means to obtain more of it. What you do with it is up to you, but don't say no one told you what you got dragged into."
Unless Silhouette or Conner has something they want from him, Brennan replaces most of the books, takes a few with him, and departs.
Silhouette smiles thinly, "Thank you, Brennan." She dips her head as he leaves.
"Good day, Brennan." Conner nods to him. "I shall be traveling in shadow soon so if you seek me again, you might be better served by trumps rather than pages."
She turns to Conner, "And thank you, cousin. I am quite certain that you had other duties of greater importance." She smoothes her dress, "But might I bother you further? Queen Vialle and I are currently spending time together. And yet, I lack any knowledge of Rebman culture. I wish to rectify this deficiency, so I might be a more suitable companion to her. Might you direct me toward books on Rebman history and culture? Or perhaps impart your wisdom upon me?"
As the moment has passed, Conner decides not to revisit Sil's earlier question and focuses on her current query. "Rebmans do not commit their histories to paper and Amberite scholars rarely find Rebman anything worth writing about. I doubt you will find much in this library to help you." Conner replies. "Under ordinary circumstances, I would love to chat but my only reason for coming to Xanadu disappeared into the woods and I am in haste to be about my business. Perhaps, another time. Good day, cousin." Unless prevented, Conner moves on into the library stacks.
"Of course, Conner," Silhouette says, standing up. "Be safe. And thank you."
She waits until he has left before heading about her business.
Last modified: 25 October 2010