After departing from Martin's company, Jerod heads to his temporary quarters to retrieve what little he is currently carrying with him in preparation for a return to Xanadu, though taking into account that the King might not actually decide to bring him through by Trump.
Once he is ready, which takes no more than a few minutes, he sifts out Random's card from his deck and concentrates on the image.
"Your Majesty. It's Jerod."
Random's immediate response is "bide", and after a moment, his face appears to Jerod. He's quite wet and seems to be bobbing in water. "You're right, it is Jerod. What's up?"
"A matter has been brought to my attention that would suggest I've gotten on to his Majesty's bad side. I would like to arrange a time to discuss this." Jerod says.
Random smiles, but not very sincerely. "I have a bad side? Cool, I've always wanted one. What makes you think you're on it?"
"Something that came up in a conversation that I had recently." Jerod says. "When I found out that Bleys and Fiona were conducting an investigation that included my sister's death, and nobody had mentioned anything. It's kind of hard to avoid stepping on someone's turf if you're not up on all the memos."
Random nods. "Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem. Can you think of anything you might've done to get on my alleged bad side, or am I just that capricious?"
"I do not recall what I would have done to have done this." Jerod says. "I also am not saying you're capricious. I just don't know why. Is it new king and new rules, or old ones? I don't know. That's why I'm going to ask. If I look stupid asking, well, then I'll look stupid. At least I'll know."
Random nods again, shaking some water off his face. If the connection were firmer, Jerod would've gotten wet.
"OK, so don't worry about looking stupid, as long as I'm king, that's practically fashionable. Pull up a pool float and a drink and get comfortable. We'll start from the basics and work at it until you've got it, OK?
"Good," he adds, not waiting for assent. "Now, what is the substance of the oath between a royal vassal and the King?"
"The substance is that you lead, I follow. I give my best service, use what brains I have, pretty much without question and you agree not to screw me around or get me killed unless there's a really damn good reason. Putting me on the North slope with no reserves, as an example, would qualify as a really damn good reason." Jerod says, alluding to his father's decisions during the Battle of Kolvir.
"Technically it's unconditional service, but the vagaries of family mean someone always tries to interpret it. I'm not one of those types, not yet at least. The kingdom comes first. I'm still young and haven't learned all the ins and outs of what it means to be a Prince. Give me a century and we'll see if that changes.
"I might ask questions if I'm unclear on why I'm being asked to do something or how I can accomplish the task, or if I see something that might proof useful in the future and that I might be able to exploit should the opportunity arise, but if I get an answer of No, I'm not going to answer that question, then I'll deal with that. Sometimes life sucks and sometimes it sucks to be me, and sometimes it's both."
Random nods. "Good, good. Pretty much the deal that I expect you had with your dad and I had with mine. The next one is harder; Lots of my siblings had kids, which they hid from everyone. Why didn't Dad hang 'em out to dry for it?"
"Don't know." Jerod says. "I only met Grandfather once and that meeting lasted all of twenty seconds. Wasn't even a meeting, just one of those situations where someone walks by you and they suddenly seem to notice that you're there. It was after Dad died and Corwin figured out that Ganelon was actually Oberon. I recall he looked at me for a few seconds and then nodded once. Didn't say a word, didn't blink, nothing. Then he was gone.
"As to why he didn't do anything, I can only speculate. Hanging them out to dry might have turned them against him so he might have wanted to avoid that. He could have thought that his children's children might serve as hostages against their parent's good behaviour, or seen them as possible pawns or allies for future use. Maybe he actually wanted them to have children but couldn't say it because that might have interfered with something he was doing or trying to get done. For all I know he might have even liked that his kids had offspring, though the official unspoken history would not seem to support it."
Random nods along. "All true, but not what I'm looking for. So, there's a saying in Texorami. 'What the King does not see did not happen.' Let me ask the same thing a different way. Why did Drudge get beaten?"
"Don't know that either." Jerod replies. "There was some speculation about some of his comments concerning the ladies of the Regency that Uncle Gerard took offense to, and about the conflict between Stout and Heap but I never followed up on it. Too many other things were pressing during that time.
"Logically, Drudge pissed off someone. Since the case is unsolved, it's either that he pissed off someone and they're good at covering their tracks, or it was a message to him, from a royal, that he deliberately over-stepped a line."
Random shakes his head once, quickly. "It wasn't a message to him, it was a message to Amber. Why? Because he did something very public that his name was attached to that demanded a reply.
"The message of the reply was 'We will not countenance such affronts.' Amber was reminded of the limits, both of their behavior and how far retribution for transgression might go."
Random holds up a hand, index finger extended. "Why do you think Drudge wasn't left dead in a ditch, or burned to death inside his shop?"
"I'd say that if he was dead, then you'll only got the stick, not the carrot." Jerod says. "If there's no way out, no benefit, the person or group you want to change or control is not going to cooperate even if you threaten them with death. A person who perceives that they have nothing to lose or who believes that they have lost everything already, who sees no benefit in agreeing to something they may think of as being disagreeable, is a dangerous threat. There has to be an out of some sort. In this case, a chance for Drudge to mend his ways. If he mends his ways, then he has the chance to return to good graces - he benefits and society benefits. If he's dead, no one benefits."
Random blinks, quickly. "Because it wouldn't have effectively changed behavior. Next topic. What oath did you and others swear to King Eric? What were the words?"
"The same one I gave to you." Jerod says. "Minus the crossbow bolt."
"I don't think so, not even discounting the crossbow bolt. I am given to understand it was 'I, State-yer-name, do swear that I will be faithful to you and bear you true allegiance, obeying your commands from this hour forward until my death or until the world ends.' That's the oath Gilt sent you and it's the one Eric required.
"Now, Eric's response to someone playing fast and loose with the words would've, necessarily, depended on the circumstances, but I'm given to understand that Corwin's antics were not well appreciated.
"So, if everyone else swore to be faithful to Eric (except Corwin) and then Caine said 'I swear my allegiance to the rightful King of Amber'. What would your analysis of that have been?"
Jerod frowns a moment, chewing on Random's question as he thinks.
"So what's the answer?" Eric asks.
"I don't know." Jerod thinks, sifting the information bits as they float around him.
"He's given you an entire collage to work with." his father says. "But he is still family. He will be focussed on an objective, even when he tries to avoid showing it to you. Your grandfather taught us to mistrust very well...too well. He will be leading towards it, trying for a resolution suitable to his needs and plans. What do you do?"
"Find the point of contact before he believes I will find it. By myself time to examine his motivations, determine if they are a threat or if there is an amicable resolution." Jerod answers. "Deal with the situation before it arises to conflict because of frustration or anger."
"As we taught you." Eric whispers.
Jerod looks at Random, information filtering, fitting into place. An oath, reminders of old days, differences in kingdoms, rules of conduct for rulers and the ruled. "The oath.
"You don't like that I paraphrased my oath," he says, his gaze narrowing as his intellect sharpens on the problem before him, sifting further.
Random nods encouragingly.
"But it's not about the throne. I know that only the creator controls the kingdom, and you know that I know that...that's the missing piece that Dad never knew." There is a hint in his voice Jerod says this, a vast bitterness at something, that but for one small thing the past could have been different.
"So why...why would this be a problem?" he asks half to himself, ticking off pieces of information. "Drudge... Eric... Corwin..." and he stops, pieces clicking into place as he stares at Random.
"It's not about the oath. It's not about loyalty. It's about trust."
Random nods again. "Good! It's about a number of things, but that's a vector into it. What you and I and all your uncles and cousins know is that the recitation of the oath is not important. You don't have to take it to be bound by it and if you say it and rebel, then you rebel.
"Loyalty also is trumped in this family by practicality. I stood at the Abyss and I offered to make things even with my brother. I, who had more reason to want him dead than most, for what he'd done. But I chose the practical route." Random's eyes flash, by some trick of the light.
"So, let's look at trust, because it's a much more interesting subject. All your uncles and aunts went all-in, trusting me to get it right or themselves to be able to fix it if I screwed up. Even if they weren't sure, Benedict and Corwin were in.
"You hedged your bet. You're the highest ranking bet-hedger and you did so publicly. Even if you don't intend to play that hand, I've got to play a certain way in response. What can I expect from you? Initiative, independence, yes, good, but some things I want my way.
"And it's worse. I can't trust anyone who attaches himself to you. Even if you're a complete King's man, your followers and friends may have heard your oath and assume that there is latitude for disloyalty that accrues to them from your choices.
"I'm not sure that Venesch wouldn't have brangled with Robin if things were different, but I'm not sure he would've, if you see what I mean.
"So," he says, blowing water clear from his face. "Now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"
"What do you want done?" Jerod asks.
Random shakes his head. "That's up to you. What do you want to accomplish? Don't tell me, that's why you need to come up with the answer, or answers. There's probably lots of options, it's not like I came to you and had a plan-type thingy all planned out.
He catches his breath and continues. "Look, I'm not trying to play 'Please me if you can', although it is the game of Kings. I just can't begin to tell you how to change things without an idea of what you want to change them to."
"What I want to change them to?" Jerod asks. "Away from that bullshit that we had previously.
"With respect your majesty, let's cut the crap and the game of Kings. I came to you looking to try to solve this situation because I don't know how to. You know why? Because I don't know the rules of what you're running. And for the record, that's why I signed on with you." he says, the tone in his voice firming, the expression focussing.
"I handed you a bolt when you were sitting on that throne and at that moment, I saw an opportunity that had never existed before. You know what I saw? Hope. Dad told me about his dreams for what he wanted Amber to be, and there was no way in hell he was ever going to achieve them. He didn't have a hope in hell of ever doing it. Everything Oberon built saw to that." Jerod says, beginning to pace, the need for movement overriding the normal desire to remain focussed during the contact. "Do you know what Dad saw? What he believe could happen? Change. He saw peace and prosperity. He saw people getting along, and that included us. All the squabbling, pissant, ego-centric opportunists that we are.
"But we both know that didn't go anywhere. Like I said, not a hope in fucking hell of that. So for hopes and dreams he's moldering in the corpse we call Amber. How many times has it been said...those who died for the good of Amber. A useless joke. And then, you come along." he says, pointing at Random through the contact. "With the jewel around your neck and your screw the stuck-ups attitude, and I hear Dad's words again, I see the dreams. And I realized then, that the rules could change. That it didn't have to be the way that it was. That what he believed in didn't have to be a joke. So I made a choice, and I signed on.
"And for the record, I still believe it. With all the crap coming out of the woodwork, the enemies around every corner, with me not knowing what the fuck is going on..." he says, pausing. "...with my sister lying in a grave on top of your mountain. I...still...believe it."
He pulls his hand back, perhaps half realizing he was pointing at the king, pulling the fingers into a fist as he slows his breathing. "That's what I want."
Random nods. "Okay. Good to know you don't want small things. So, we no longer have a matter between us. As people who never mean it are wont to say, 'Let us speak no more of that matter.'
"So now we need to figure out how to rehabilitate you publicly. The traditional methods, I don't think they'll work. You have no firstborn son to foster at court, you don't have a pile of money or an army I need to fix things, and I don't have a crusade to send you on. You can always rat out traitors, but I don't think we've got any serious ones right now.
"What can we do so that I can effectively throw my skirts around you and forgive you?"
"A pity about the crusade part. And the traitors." Jerod says. "Since Bleys and Fiona are investigating the situation with Cambina and the Queen, my involvement there is no more. A public mission to go and pound on something would have been quite convenient, not to mention cathartic. Promise you'll keep me in mind if something comes up on short notice."
He pauses for a moment as things flick through his memory, recalling elements from the family meeting. "Most of the items mentioned during the gathering have been allocated in one way or another. Gateway's a possible but I'm guessing since you mentioned no crusade that you're not looking to hurt them, at least not yet. Rebma's got facets to work for Tritons and Pattern but you've got Llewella and Conner, plus Fletcher's covering the primary one you need for a fresh intelligence approach. My conversation with him previously was interesting to be sure.
"Since Carina is out of the firing line, I could always go chasing Moire for you if you think that's suitable. It would fit with a goal of mine of finding out where mom went, though whether that gives you any benefit is up to you. I'm guessing not though. Moire would seem to be more Corwin's problem right now unless I'm reading it wrong.
"I don't have any experience in the Forest so unless you're looking for a general hound to flush prey, that's a non-starter. Tir's out, assuming permission was even granted and I was silly enough to want to go on a suicide mission. Huon's AWOL and without more information chasing him will be a complete waste.
"The Moonriders also appear to be suitably covered and I'm not sure what I'd be doing with Vere and Merlin on their way outbound. Ambrose is possible, though since I've only ever seen him once, and never talked to him, I'm not sure what I'd do there.
"I'm not sure whether you'd want anything done with Venesch and Robin. I'm trying to get something finished there that'll be quiet, simple and most importantly get him to say he's sorry for calling her a traitor. Robin's nutsy, but not a traitor. Once that's done, he needs to retire.
"What's left? It would need to be something public, with risk. Building trade lines or arranging evacuations are important but they're grunt work - no risk." Jerod says, then mutters. "You don't rehabilitate for saying you're sorry. Doesn't work in my book." and he thinks for another moment.
"What about Martin duty? He's going to be with Folly until the baby's born. There's got to be something you would have sent him to do, something risky. Instead of sending him, you send me."
Random's head moves in and out of shadow, as if he's walking somewhere. "Mmmm. I do have a mission to send a message. Obviously our dear friends in Gateway need some reminding of how not to treat us. I'm sending Robin on that one, though. I was thinking of sending Venesch with her and having her install him as our ambassador, or maybe as our viceroy if she has to conquer it. Don't know if that would work or if sending you both would be a good plan. Still, I'm not always known for good plans.
"And as to Martin, well... Most of how that works is that we discuss the issues of the day over cocktails or dinner, Martin picks the things that need his attention, and he makes it happen. It's a great model as long as he keeps succeeding.
"But talk to him. Mostly he's been dealing with his daughter. Maybe he's got something in that shadow of hers that Huon screwed up."
"If you're sending Robin and Venesch somewhere, then sending me would be a bad idea." Jerod says. "He would defer to me and that would make things very difficult. She might come out of it feeling she was being outnumbered and that's not good if the mission needs coordinated effort between peers. If you do send them together, let them work out their business between themselves. They both have strong opinions but they are polar opposites and need to see a little of the other side's perspective, even if they don't agree with it. If they can do that and learn to respect each other, then Venesch will serve her well.
"As for Absford, I'd heard a few things about it, but not much. Since no one is heading that way, it may prove useful to back track and see what he was up to and left any clues behind, and whether it was Meg who caught his attention or because a gaggle of my cousins dropped in. Reality pit that big would even get my attention. I will speak to Martin and see if he is kosher with it."
Random pulls back. "Good, but don't push it too hard, he may have other plans. Or other ideas. And hey, I've got time, and so do you. It's not like I wouldn't be willing to let you fix things up later. You may not be willing to wait too long, but from my point of view, it's a favor I can call in when I need it."
"So long as it can be considered as fixed." Jerod says. "That said, my calendar has become free and I detest being on the sidelines."
Random bites his lip and continues. "Let's just say I'm willing to let you fix it, and I'm open to anything you come up with to resolve it publicly. For public, you're still not my favorite, for all the reasons related to how this is perceived, and I'll obviously expect you to deal with any actual treason this stirs up.
"So, you didn't volunteer for any of the family-agreed-upon-missions in the family-agreeing-upon-mission meeting. Whatever fills your calendar should be something which is working on those agendae..."
"The agreed upon missions would all appear to be well staffed so far." Jerod says. "What's not filled yet?"
Random's head tilts to one side, then a moment later tilts the other direction. "See that's the advantage of actually speaking up in the meetings. Your cousins might've asked for help, or one of my brothers might have come up with something that they thought needed doing. I dunno, so I'll give you the kind of advice my Dad would've given me, which is 'find some way to be useful'. You can assume I mean it more kindly than he did."
"Then I shall proceed on that basis." Jerod says.
Random nods. "Yup. You do that. Anything else? I should really get back."
"No your majesty. My apologies for disturbing you." Jerod says, and proceeds to close the contact.
After her talk with Garrett, Folly continues her search through Corwin's palace for a proper music room. Paris is not like Xanadu, where she can find just about anything she's looking for simply by letting her intuition guide her to wherever Random would have put it. But after a long meander through ornate rooms that start to look so similar she's sure she must be going in circles, she finds a beautiful piano in a quiet room that to her eye and ear seems obviously designed for chamber music.
She moves to the piano and lightly touches a few keys to make sure it's in tune; but rather than sitting down to play, she moves to the side of the instrument, props the lid open as wide as she can, and reaches inside to touch the strings.
It's not a lyre, but it will have to do.
Her fingers softly pluck out a haunting accompaniment as she sings:
"Down by the river Dhafnos,
By the dense rose bushes,
There three partridges are singing.
But one partridge isn't singing.
'My little partridge, why aren't you singing?'
'Why should I sing? What should I say?
I abandoned my mother,
Without any solace.
Don't cry, my sweet mother.
Don't have a heavy heart.
Our fate has written,
That we must be parted.
Go home, mother.
Farewell!'"
She lifts her hands from the strings and stands motionless as the final notes decay into nothingness. Then she slowly turns to gaze around the room, as if she expects Lucas himself to come out of the woodwork to express his disapproval. Or amusement.
Lucas doesn't appear to join her, or at least if he joins her, he doesn't appear. Instead the person whose slow claps Folly hears turns out to be Corwin.
"I shouldn't ask what that's about, should I?" he says, coming to lean on the piano like he owns it.
Folly smiles. "That was me keeping a promise a friend made -- although we may have taken the liberty of stripping the mischief and malice out of the original request. Underneath, it's not a bad song -- and this is a gorgeous instrument to play it on, even if I was doing it the wrong way round." She lays her fingertips lightly against the curving wooden side of the piano, the tentative touch of a would-be lover, then takes a half-step back out of due respect for another man's instrument.
The piano is a grand, not the shorter baby grand that Folly has seen in concert halls in Texorami, but the full article. The maker's name is unfamiliar, but recognizably French. "I can hardly complain about you making beautiful music with my instrument," Corwin says, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in amusement, "but we'll keep it between the two of us. Who's the composer?"
Folly inclines her head in acknowledgment of his jest, her eyes twinkling; but she grows more serious as she answers his question. "I suspect it's a trad tune, though it's not one I knew and it's not from Amber. The girl that claims to be Flora's daughter requested that it be sung at Lucas's funeral." Her lips press together in a thin line that reflects a certain displeasure at the request -- or the requester.
"I appreciate your discretion, and so, if she has any sense, will the girl. Although if she had any sense, she wouldn't be twisting Flora's tail in the first place." Corwin shakes his head and glances in the direction of the highly decorated ceiling for a moment. "Should I expect her to come storming in looking for revenge on Moire, too?"
"I haven't met her yet to know for sure -- but given her alliance with Huon and her actions so far, I'm beginning to suspect that she will naturally choose the course of action that causes the most annoyance." Folly regards Corwin with a wry smile. "Do you have an official position on revenge-on-Moire? Not that I'm adding myself to the list, mind you. But I do find myself navigating a bit of a minefield, and I wouldn't mind a little insight into who's likely to blow up at whom."
"My position in that particular catfight is 'out of the way', to the extent that I can make it so." Corwin's expression can't quite be described as an eyeroll, but his tone carries some of that with it. "I'd rather none of the parties involved kill her, for any number of reasons, but I'm not foolish enough to think there will be no consequences. Lucas overstepped and counted on his status to preserve him. Moire did the same. It's not the first time this kind of thing has happened and it won't be the last.
"But," he says by way of changing the subject a little, "that's a grim topic. Please, sit down--" he gestures around to the seating area designed for those who might wish to enjoy the pianist's performance "--and I can send for something for you to eat if you like."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary: your kitchen staff have already done a commendable job keeping up with my prandial whims," Folly demurs. "I'm quite well-fed. However, a drink might not go amiss. Particularly as we're likely to continue treading into grim topics." She gives Corwin an encouraging sort of smile, perhaps to reassure him that she's not squeamish about the subject matter at hand -- in fact, it's likely that the suggestion of a drink was at least as much for his comfort as her own -- and moves to take a seat at one end of a sofa.
There's a sideboard, and Corwin goes to it to fetch something for himself, and perhaps for Folly as well. He picks up a decanter and gestures to her to ask if she'd like some of the contents, which she can see is amber colored.
Folly holds up a thumb-and-forefinger spaced somewhere between 'just a sip or two to be social' and 'taking the edge off'.
"Anything that involves Random and Flora is a minefield. Anything that involved Random and Moire is a minefield. Now anything that involves Flora and Moire is going to be a minefield. I don't blame you for wanting a map." Corwin fixes himself a glass of the whiskey before preparing Folly's drink. "Did you know Lucas well? What was he like?"
"I got to know him a bit during the Regency," Folly replies as she watches Corwin fix the drinks. "He gave me lessons in proper manners, deportment, and fashion when I first came to Amber -- though I should hasten to add that to the extent I get them wrong, it's down to my own eccentricities and stubbornness rather than his teaching. He wielded those things the way an actor wields props and costumes, all to turn himself into whatever character would be most well-suited to get what he wanted -- and he had the wit to make the whole act seem like just another instance of the fop playing dress-up, rather than the calculated manipulation it actually was. He was quite ambitious, but he preferred to let people underestimate him so they wouldn't notice. Which I suppose explains why almost no one knew he could draw trumps. Or what he was doing with them," she adds with a grimace.
"Nobody knew Brand could make them either." Corwin says, leaving the rest of the comparison for Folly to make. "Lucas sounds a lot like his mother. Except that of course she doesn't know how to make trumps." He turns back to Folly, a wry twist of a smile on his lips, and offers her a glass.
She takes it, raises it to him in thanks, and takes a small sip.
"Do you know where he learned that trick? It used to be almost nobody knew how to make the cards--nobody except Dworkin--and now it seems like half of my nieces and nephews, not to mention half of my own children, can."
"I don't know for certain," Folly replies, "but I can deduce. We know Merlin learned from Paige, who learned from Brand, as did Ossian. Brita learned from Reid, who I think learned from Dworkin, as did I. When Reid and Brita arrived in Amber during the Regency, they and Lucas gave no sign of having known one another prior. And Paige isn't the sort of woman to have failed to mention Lucas was her pupil. Which just leaves Dworkin and Brand -- unless my departed cousin's mother really does secretly know how to make trumps." Her wry smile reflects Corwin's. "And of those two, I know which association seems far more likely to have been kept intentionally secret."
Folly hesitates, and when she speaks again she seems to be choosing her words carefully: "To be honest, when I first heard what had happened, before I knew that at least one of my cousins was aware of his ability...." She stares into her glass for a moment. "Well, I thought.... I thought it must be a lie. A pretty falsehood contrived and staged by Moire so that she could take out someone who inconvenienced her while making it look as though he'd been the aggressor, and she'd acted in self-defense."
She meets Corwin's gaze and waits for his reaction or response before she says any more.
Corwin nods, slowly, a slow bobbing motion. His expression is impassive; Folly is pretty sure she doesn't want to play poker opposite him. "That sounds like something my sister would have said." He gestures to her to go on.
Folly smiles just a little, perhaps honored -- or amused -- by the comparison. For a moment, she scrutinizes his features as she might the brushstrokes and minute details of a fine painting, searching for hidden clues and hinted-at meanings with an interest that shows in her eyes. He might be wearing his poker face, but for her part, she has no cause but to be frank with him.
"If you are aware of the company I keep, you might deduce -- correctly -- that the things I have learnt about Moire from those who have known her best give me little cause to love her, and many reasons to mistrust her. As I think you may also know, Moire contacted me some weeks ago and extended an invitation to visit her in Rebma. At the time I was inclined, albeit with some misgivings, to acquiesce, in the interest of promoting amicable relations among our several realms -- a fresh start for all of us, if you will. But that was before Moire's exile from Rebma and the subsequent business with Lucas."
She hesitates again, sorting her thoughts. "That she has evidently murdered my cousin does nothing to ease my mistrust, and makes me more inclined to stand against her -- in her conflict with Flora, her contest with Khela, or any such matter for which I am called on to declare a side. At the same time, I recognize that my view of her is through a dark glass distorted by the biases of those she has used and abused. I want to see more clearly, to the extent I am able: to temper my passion with wisdom."
She fixes Corwin with a direct and earnest look. "By outward appearances, you and she have held one another in some measure of mutual regard, and perhaps still do. Your view of her may also be biased, but at least it's differently-biased from the picture I've seen so far. I know I may be treading dangerously close to none-of-my-business here, but I welcome any insights you are willing to offer to help me understand her motives and methods -- and whether I am right, or at least prudent, to mistrust her as deeply as I do."
"Mistrust her in what respect, though?" Corwin says, shifting slightly in his seat without dropping his gaze. "I can't speak for her, but I can say that coming to terms with my responsibilities here in Paris have given me a new appreciation for what Dad went through with us. I thought Dad was a right bastard at the time, but I can see now why he might have done some of the things he did. It's possible to be both trustworthy and untrustworthy is what I guess I'm trying to say.
"You say she murdered Lucas. After what happened to Martin, what do you think Random would've done about somebody secretly making trumps of him? Someone he didn't know could do it at all?"
"Ah, yes," Folly says, inclining her head to acknowledge a point well-made, "but was he not prepared to show mercy even to the perpetrator of that heinous act? I mean, certainly if secret trumps of him came to light due to an attack on his person, I would expect his retaliation to be swift, decisive, and quite possibly fatal. If the danger were not immediate, though, I would expect him to employ some other means to eliminate the threat than summary execution. I said 'murder' in this case because I understood -- perhaps erroneously -- that Lucas was found to have been working on a trump, not that he had completed or used it. Are either of those things known for sure?"
She looks as though she may have a thing or two to say about trust and sovereigns, as well, but she waits for Corwin's response before continuing.
"I don't know that it was complete. But Merlin and Celina found a glass that had been created for Moire, and apparently Celina used it as some kind of a scrying focus. If what she saw was accurate, someone attacked Moire, and from what Merlin reported, it could easily have been a Trump assault." Corwin plays that item like he's putting down chips at the poker table; Folly isn't sure how much more he has where that came from. But she's pretty sure Corwin still knows more than he's saying.
"Interesting," Folly says, drawing the word out just a little; she could just as easily be referring to the measured way Corwin laid out that little tidbit as to the information itself. As she fits these new pieces into her mental model, she takes a sip of her drink, but continues to watch Corwin over the rim of her glass as she does so.
"All right," she says after a moment, as though she has come to some sort of decision. "In what respect do I mistrust Moire, since you asked? It is this: I have been given to understand that she fabricates evidence against those who oppose her so that she can pronounce death sentences on them."
If it's not a raise, it's at least a call.
Corwin's eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn't seem surprised, or terribly dismayed, by the accusation. "Then the next question is whether you trust Merlin and Celina to give a true and accurate recounting of what they saw, or whether you think they're lying for Moire, or merely deceived by her."
"A fair question," Folly agrees with a little smile, "and one for which I should probably preface my answer by confessing that I generally give people the benefit of the doubt unless and until I have reason to do otherwise. I know both Merlin and Celina a little, and I haven't seen anything from either of them that would lead me to believe they were being willfully deceitful here. But even a more cynical reading of the situation brings me to the same conclusion: given their loyalties, I would expect any duplicity on their part to work against rather than for Moire's case. So I can only conclude that they have shared faithfully what they have seen.
"Of course, whether what they have witnessed is truth, deceit, or some misunderstood combination is another matter entirely. You say Celina scried in a glass: I know little of that art, certainly not enough to understand its limitations or know whether the object of such a scrying could manipulate the results. In the interest of benefit of the doubt, I would lean slightly toward accepting that what Celina and Merlin reported is truth, but it's not a conclusion I would stand by without further evidence. What do you think?"
"I think they're telling the truth as they know it. But they can be deceived. After all, Lucas apparently deceived both of them and the rest of the family besides," Corwin says agreeably. "With one apparent exception, who requested, in front of witnesses, a trump that Lucas had made."
Folly looks puzzled for a moment, but then her expression turns grim. "Ah. I assume you mean Solange."
Corwin's tone hardens a little. "Solange. I could interpret her knowledge, and her concealing the facts, knowing better, in damning ways. But--" he raises a hand to forestall any protest Folly may be about to make "--here, let's say that it supports the evidence that Lucas was making, or trying to make, a trump of Moire. That he could make one, at least."
He reaches into an interior pocket of his jacket and pulls out a single card, wrapped in silk, which he places on the table between them.
Folly regards the card thoughtfully for a moment; then, "May I?" she asks, moving her hand toward the card but stopping well short of actually touching it until she has his permission.
"Go ahead."
When she opens the wrapping, the card is properly face down. It is recognizably Solange, and she doesn't recognize the style: not Dworkin, nor any of the student lineage founded by Reid, nor Paige, nor Merlin. But it reminds her in some ways of Paige's style, something of the sensuality of it, and a hint of cruelty in Solange's face.
If this is how Corwin sees Solange, it's no wonder he doesn't think much of her.
After a moment of examining the card, Folly rotates it so that she is looking at the image upside down, to reduce the chances of accidentally initiating contact. She studies the details of the card -- not just the image itself, but its coolness and realness -- in an attempt to discern its trumpiness. She lays a finger on the card and tries to concentrate just enough to get a sense of whether she could make contact, without actually doing so.
It is an active trump, and if Folly doesn't stop what she's doing, she'll be talking to Solange. Possibly an upside-down Solange, but talking nevertheless.
Corwin waits patiently for Folly to do whatever she's doing.
She gives a small decisive nod and re-wraps the card, face down, returning it to the table between them when she is done. "Well, based on the style, I could certainly believe the artist learned from the same master as Paige. It's not identical, but there's a certain...." She pauses, brow furrowed, considering how to describe it. When she can't quite find the words, she affects a deceptively languid pose, laying her arm in a graceful curve along the back of the couch and up to her cheek resting lightly against the backs of her fingertips; but the faintly smirking gaze she turns on Corwin suggests that she would enjoy devouring him slowly and playfully for her own pleasure.
"...You know?" she continues after a brief moment, returning to her previous attitude. She nods toward the card. "Does Gerard know you've found it?"
"Would you want to be the man who hands that Trump of Gerard's daughter to him?" The question is clearly rhetorical. "He's not Bleys. So for now Macy's needs to not tell Gimbel's."
Folly nods; she doesn't recognize the metaphor, but she can intuit well enough what he means by it. "I suppose for now it is enough that it is in safe keeping, and not fallen into the hands of anyone who might use it against the family. But if down the line you would like to let him know, and you think the news might come easier from a more... ah, let's say 'benign' source... I would be happy to act as an intermediary."
Folly takes a sip of her drink; she is clearly turning something over in her mind. As she sets her glass down again she says, "At the family meeting, you mentioned that the Moonriders have the power to disrupt time and space, a power that they are alleged to have gotten from their Queen. How does such a power manifest, exactly? What are the effects?"
"From the outside, the Moonrider touches the victim and they vanish. Sometimes they appear a short distance away; that's when you know the Moonrider didn't do it quite right. Other times, they just vanish. You'd have no idea where they'd gone. It's a sorcerous effect. You block it by dodging their touch or resisting with the power of the Pattern." Corwin demonstrates with gestures as he talks.
"Most of them can't do it. The Marshall doesn't need to touch you to make it work, and he can, or at least can try, to do it to large groups. Like, say, an army defending a pass." He gives Folly a significant look.
Folly's brows arch in surprise and alarm. "Do those who are vanished in that way ever turn up again? And... and what do you make of what happened to Vialle? Is that consistent with what you know of the Moonriders' powers?" Corwin might sense that this was not quite the question she had originally been working toward asking.
Corwin answers the last questions first: "Someone moving Vialle isn't inconsistent with the Moonriders' ability, but the rest of it doesn't sound like anything I've heard or seen described. It's more like a sorcerous displacement in time and space, with space being easier and time being harder. People who have been displaced can and do turn up again, particularly if they haven't gone very far in space or time."
He seems to realize that doesn't make much sense, and gets up to demonstrate. "Let's say you're a Moonrider and you send me away." He comes to stand by her. "You displace me in space, and I reappear--" he strides across the room "--here." From his current position, Corwin waves at Folly. "Now if I'm lucky enough to find a shadow path, or a sorcerer who can cross shadows, or have a Trump of a Prince, or have some other way to get back where I'm going, I can come back--" he returns to where she's sitting "--and some time will have passed while I'm travelling. You see?"
Corwin waits for Folly's confirmation that she does, in fact, understand before continuing.
She nods. Her brow is furrowed in thought as she pieces some things together.
"If I'm displaced in time, though, then I just vanish and reappear in the same place, after whatever period of time has passed. I've seen both of those sorts of displacement. What I don't know is how they do it, or how much control they have. Bleys might have a better idea than I do. If anyone does, it's him."
Folly offers up a wry smile. "I suspect I will be sitting down with him very soon. About this topic among others." She picks up her drink, which she had been nursing slowly, and downs the rest in one go.
"There's another piece, though: not just the fact of being displaced, but also where you end up. I mean...." She trails off, frowning, and decides maybe it would be easier to explain by continuing Corwin's physical demonstration. She comes to her feet and steps toward him so that the toes of her shoes rest lightly on his. "What if our hypothetical Moonrider were to displace me to the same space and time where you already were? Would my brain end up in your heart, or whatever?" She holds up her palm a scant half-inch from the front of his shirt, about even with her eyes, to illustrate. "Now, what if you weren't you, but a near shadow of me?"
It seems to be a hypothetical question, because -- after taking a step back so that she is no longer so egregiously invading Corwin's personal space -- she looks up at him and continues, "I've never been to Tir, but I've heard stories -- from Cambina, and also third- and fourth-hand tales about what you saw there before the war. And it almost sounded as if Vialle were made to trade places with -- or even actually to BE, if only temporarily -- one of those Tir-beings in their half-real, half-mad pantomimes. But since I've never been to Tir myself, I'm interested to know your take on the nature of that place and the beings you encounter there: are they shadows? Reflections of reality, or of whatever you bring with you? Even if you don't have a definitive answer in maths and metaphysics, I'm interested to know how it feels to you. What does your gut tell you?"
Corwin shakes his head. "My gut tells me that even the High Marshall doesn't have that kind of individual control over his power of displacement. And if Vialle was, I don't know, displaced by or switched with, a power from Tir, he's not the one that did. The only being I know of that was associated with Tir and might have that level of power and control is the Queen. Who knows what she would do?"
"Yeah, that's what I was afraid of." Folly leans against the arm of the sofa -- not sitting, exactly, more like... deflating. With a slight frown, she says, "Look, I'm not trying to excuse Solange's behavior here -- she's always been stubborn and a bit headstrong -- but I find it worrisome that she would step so far outside her usual limits of defiance so soon after her encounter with this Queen person. Particularly in light of Vialle's experience, which left her behaving quite unlike herself, if only temporarily. I know it could all just be unfortunate coincidence -- but if so, it's one I mislike. A lot." She wraps her arms around herself as if warding off a sudden chill.
"She did encounter her," Corwin says, but he doesn't sound convinced. "Lucas was the other surviving witness."
"Indeed." Folly blows out a breath that falls somewhere between a sigh and a snort. "Are we certain the power of the Moonriders and their Queen doesn't extend to disruptive power over common sense? Because that would explain a lot."
"I don't know. It might make a better explanation for Gerard than anything else we've got so far." Corwin shakes his head. "Gerard was present when she refused to talk about her experience with her."
The corner of Folly's mouth quirks almost imperceptibly upward: he doesn't really believe it, but he's willing to affirm a polite fiction if he thinks it might help his brother. Well, but did he not implicitly acknowledge the occasional necessary prevarication in his role as monarch? Trustworthy and untrustworthy, indeed.
She resists the urge to probe the hypothetical limits of his deviousness; instead she says, "It's on my list to talk to that boyfriend of hers who's locked up in Xanadu. He may have some insights -- either from his own observations or because she told him things she hasn't bothered to tell the rest of us."
She rises from her perch on the arm of the couch. "Thank you, Corwin. You've given me quite a lot to think about." She hesitates, regarding her host for a moment, before adding earnestly, "I think you know that my primary loyalty lies with Xanadu, and with my family" -- by which she clearly means Martin and her unborn child, and perhaps also her mother, and Gerard her foster-father. "But if there is aught you need that my modest talents might supply without breaking those oaths or forsaking those duties, you have but to ask." She holds out her hand to him in offer of a friendly clasp.
Corwin rises when she does, as if he were participating in an elegant ballet choreographed by an unseen hand. He takes the hand not in a return clasp, but palm down, and bows over it. "And you will be welcome in Paris as a friend of the city."
She squeezes his fingers very lightly in thanks.
He releases her hand. "Let me know what you hear from Solange's lover. I'll be interested to know what he thinks."
"I will," she promises.
Last modified: 27 December 2010