Courtesy Calls

Everyone who's in the castle on Starday rapidly hears about Anna's assault on Random's office.

Vialle, while she doesn't take to her bed, isn't seen much on Sunday and Moonday (the day of Brennan and Paige's arrival), and is still keeping a circumscribed family schedule for the next several days.

Hannah happily carries along her new medical kit as she keeps up with Gerard. She tries to take note of where the most ricketty ramps are, as they go, in the hopes she can get them fixed, somehow. As they go on, Hannah asks rather quietly, "Do you think she'd go walk the gardens with me? Does she like that sort of thing?"

"Probably," says Gerard. "She likes the flowers. They smell nice, each one different. She told me that once years ago, not long after she came here. That was before they'd let her out regularly, back when Random was still in jail."

Hannah doesn't even ask. She's come to the conclusion Gerard gives her new study points every time they meet.

Gerard wheels deftly over a bit of damage to the stone floor ill-covered by a long and somewhat threadbare rug. "Today she's likely to serve us tea. There'll probably be a girl with her: that's Ember, Lord Burn's daughter. Her father was Steward before Vent, and he died while my brother Eric was king. My son Vere thought Ember would make a good secretary for Vialle. I wish we'd done it sooner; Vialle did all the work of the chatelaine while I was Regent. My daughter Solange was too busy with the Rangers and the trade voyages."

He turns the wheelchair down a side corridor and comes to a halt as they wind up in front of a four-step stairway with two guards in front of it. The guards salute him, then look around awkwardly for something to help him up with. "Never mind," Gerard says, sounding annoyed, "just get out of the way." Then he wheels himself up to the bottom stair and begins the laborious process of wheeling himself up the steps.

Hannah smiles in open admiration, while giving the guards a 'what are you going to do' shrug in exasperation. "I'd love to help you with that, if you'd let me," she tells Gerard sincerely. She doesn't move much, just enough to get where she'll be behind to catch him if the whole contraption decides to go over backwards.

[or forward, as the case may be.]

"I've got it, lass," Gerard says, with a grunt as he levers himself up over the last of the four steps. "You layabouts make sure there's a ramp for me by the time I come back," he instructs the guards, who have been standing by slightly redfaced and conspicuously not looking at Gerard's struggles.

"Yes, your highness," one of them says, and they both snap salutes at him.

Gerard beckons to Hannah to join him.

Hannah climbs up next to Gerard. She's wearing a pleased smile, and asks, "Shall I?"

"It's not this one," Gerard says. "I think that's where your cousin Martin is living now." He wheels further down the hall past another couple of doors. "This should be Their Majesties' quarters."

Hannah knocks.

A blonde woman with sharp features opens the door. "Prince Gerard, Lady Hannah. The Queen is expecting you."

She curtsies to Hannah; Gerard waves it off impatiently. "I don't think Hannah makes much of that, Ember. Just take us in to see Vialle, please."

"Of course, Your Highness."

Hannah smiles at the young woman. Gerard's right.

Ember escorts them into a second chamber, where the Queen is sitting, waiting for them. "Your Majesty," Ember says, "Prince Gerard and Lady Hannah are here to see you."

"Hello, Vialle," Gerard says.

Vialle rises and turns to greet Gerard and Hannah. She's dressed much more simply than Hannah has come to expect of women after seeing the dresses that Cambina and Solace have chosen, and what was left for her. Vialle's clothes have almost no ornamentation, and look like they'd be very soft and pleasant to touch.

Perhaps she's just underdressed because she doesn't feel well, though.

"Welcome to Amber, Hannah," Vialle says, and smiles. "Please, come sit down."

It's almost perfect, but Vialle's angled a little wrong when she speaks to Hannah, and after a moment Hannah realizes that she's blind.

Hannah smiles. "Oh, thank you. I'd love too. I've been looking forward to meeting you, Your Majesty." Hannah sits down next to where Vialle was. "Your home is beautiful."

"Thank you," Vialle says, and now her attention to Hannah is perfect, as if hearing Hannah speak allowed her to locate her voice. She sits back down, and says to Ember, "Ember, dear, please have tea sent up for us."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Ember offers a very slight curtsey this time before leaving and closing the door behind them.

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to visit with you until now, Hannah. Normally I'm quicker to call on people, but I'm afraid I've been ill."

"That's alright, I've hardly been in my room anyway. I love the library, and there have been lots of people around to meet, who want to give me their twenty questions," she laughs.

"And I've been assisting Gerard." The smile Hannah gives him at this comment is obvious in her voice. "I'm a doctor too, but it's like re-learning it, here. What works and what doesn't; all that."

Vialle nods. "It's a very big adjustment to come to Amber. I remember when I first came here. Everything was so strange. It took me a long while to get used to it."

"Vialle is from Rebma, which is an undersea kingdom near here--or it used to be anyway, before the Sundering," Gerard explains.

Hannah beams. Everything fiction is true. Hannah actually hesitates before she asks gently, "It used to be under the sea, a kingdom, or near here?"

"It used to be near here," Gerard clarifies. "Now it's near Paris, where Corwin will be keeping house."

Hannah nods, and gives Gerard a grin.

"It's a wonderful place. I have made my home in Amber, but some part of me will always miss Rebma a little," Vialle adds wistfully. She shakes that wistfulness off, and turns her full attention back to her guests. "So you've been spending your time in the library, and you've met some of your relations. There are a lot of them, aren't there? I haven't even met them all yet."

"Cousins alone number in the twenties, from the count I got the other day. I have gotten to meet a few. Everyone seems to have plenty to do, and they're all very interesting, so far. I can't imagine meeting them all but I suppose eventually I'll do so, and by then it'll seem quite normal, just like back home," she muses. "I've got to admit, though, Hope is my favorite by far," Hannah confides.

"Hope is a darling, isn't she? I hope that my children, when I have them, are half as charming as she is," Vialle says, and smiles. "I had thought that I would become an aunt in the more traditional way after the war, but it seems if I want little ones, I have to look for great-nieces and great-nephews until Random gives me some of my own."

Vialle adds, "Have you and Gerard been looking in on Solace? I had heard she was ill again."

Hannah glances at Gerard, before she avoids that question with, "I visited with Solace yesterday and she was doing well. She has her hands full with those two little ones. It's good she has so much help."

"Oh, yes, it is. She was so fragile when she was pregnant with Phillippe, and I was so worried about her. We all were," Vialle says, and Gerard nods noncommittally. "But she seems like she's been better since he was born. I hope these recent fainting spells don't bode ill for her."

"I think we all hope that. But today we're worried about you, Vialle. Hannah here is taking on some of my duties, especially with some of my female patients. Perhaps you'll let her look you over, since you've been ailing? It'll be a good chance for you lasses to get to know each other."

"I think I'm better today," Vialle says, a little hesitantly. "But if you think it's a good idea ..."

Gerard raises his eyebrows to Hannah. _You're on._

She smiles. "It's never a bad idea. Well, I don't think so, anyway," Hannah laughs. "We can go in the other room, if you like, and then come back for tea?"

Vialle hesitates, but when she speaks she says, "Very well. We can go in the other room. If you don't mind waiting, Gerard?"

"Oh, no," Gerard says quickly. "Don't you lasses mind me. I'll find something to amuse myself with until you get back."

"Very well," Vialle agrees, and she rises to lead Hannah into a different room.

This appears to be her office, from the look of the desk and the chairs. It's designed for two people, but only one of them has a desk. Once she closes the door, Vialle starts to sit down, but she decides not to at the last moment. "I don't know what kind of examination you want to conduct, Hannah. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, let's sit. I usually start with questions and figure it out from there," Hannah sits down in the chair Vialle doesn't take and turns it toward her. "Let me reassure you anything you tell me stays between us. That's one of my rules, and I won't even tell Gerard or the King if you don't want me too. If there is anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you, just tell me," Hannah says sincerely.

"What's been bothering you these last few days? Let's start with the physical."

"Well, I've had trouble sleeping. I've had that intermittently for years, though, so I don't know that there's anything new to it," Vialle replies. "I'm subject to nightmares, but normally not so much when Random is around."

She can't be aware of how much her expression is betraying, how her chin trembles when she says her husband's name, or the sudden pout and downturn of the corners of her mouth.

"I think everything else has to do with that."

"You're probably right. Not getting enough sleep makes everything harder, and it's hard on a body too. Holding things in does the same thing. Is it okay if I examine you a little?" Hannah asks, taking Vialle's hand.

Vialle says, "Go ahead, Hannah. Let me know if I need to stand, or to move."

"Have you been having any pain?"

Hannah runs her hands over Vialle's neck very gently, applying just enough pressure to see if there are swollen glands. Then she silently counts her pulse.

Vialle's glands are fine, and her pulse is normal. Perhaps it's a bit fast, but nothing that Hannah would think is more than nerves or white-coat syndrome.

"Not really. A little stiffness on cold mornings, but I'm no longer a girl, and I expect these things," Vialle says, smiling. "And I had pain last week, but a woman expects that with her courses." And she loses her smile with that statement.

"To an extent, but we wouldn't want it to keep you in bed. I know some massages that work to relieve cramping. You could call me down for tea next time, if you wanted to try it. Did the pain get worse after you left, um, Rebma?"

"Not exactly. It was different ... but the water supports your body in ways that air and land simply don't. And the temperature differences ... I'm sorry. I don't really know how to explain, Hannah. I don't think anything changed in me, though."

"You explain just fine. I thought it might be something environmental, something that could be... imitated to make you more comfortable. We can fiddle around with that later, if you'd like," Hannah offers.

"I'm going to check your reflexes now, just stay relaxed." Hannah will check the Queen's efferent reflexes in her hands, wrists and elbows.

All are within normal tolerances.

"I imagine it has been an unusually difficult week, and your duties put you in a very difficult position. Do you have someone you can talk to when circumstances conspire against you?" Hannah asks quietly.

"My sisters-in-law, a little, and Lady Hardwind, and a few of my other women friends. But Princess Florimel is leaving for Paris, and Princess Llewella, who was my dear friend in Rebma, has gone home. And dear Felicity's husband died ... It's been a very difficult time for everyone recently, and I hate to burden people with my petty troubles," Vialle replies, equally quietly.

Hannah squeezes Vialle's hand. "It's hard to be Queen. Very difficult, I know, because I've seen what my mothers go through. My father is, effectively, a king, and the unspoken rule in my family has been that whether you agree or not, you have to show a united front. He's done some things that have made my mothers very uncomfortable; angry even. If they didn't have someone to go to, to be able to say anything to, I'd be very worried about their health. It's never petty, your Majesty, when it can hurt you. You can talk to me - part of what I do is keep secrets. I'm used to being the person people confide in, it's been a little lonely here for me, because I'm missing that. Or find someone else, but you need to have someone to talk to," Hannah says firmly, and then more gently, "Holding things in will make you sick."

In a sighted woman, that startled gesture would probably be Vialle looking up into Hannah's eyes. As it is, it's kind of an uncontrolled movement that ends with her facing Hannah, but unfocused.

"You wouldn't tell anyone? Not even Random? I hate to burden him when he carries so much already." Vialle sounds hesitant, but hopeful.

"I'd only tell Random if I thought something was putting you in danger of permanent harm," Hannah answers, sincerely. "I'd have to trust you to keep my secrets too. It goes both ways, of course, because all good energy moves in a circle," she smiles.

"The tides rise and fall on shores near and far," Vialle agrees, as if quoting a proverb. "I will keep your secrets, Hannah, if you will keep mine."

Hannah squeezes Vialle's hands softly again. "I'm glad to have a secret-keeper then. I've probably needed one as much as you have. Would you like me to go first?" she asks.

"If you want to," Vialle says, returning the squeeze with a smile. "I'm glad to be able to help you."

"I think I don't really fit here any better than I fit anywhere else. Maybe I'm not giving it enough time - I felt the same way when I went to finishing school - and I guess I eventually got over that. No, I got used to it. I don't want to get used to it this time. I'd really like to find a place to fit in, but I really don't think I ever will," Hannah confesses sadly. "I think maybe it's a childish fantasy that anyone ever really fits anywhere, but I haven't let go of it yet."

Vialle's expression sobers as she listens to Hannah. "It's very difficult for Random's family to adjust, I think. Not to here, to anywhere. There are so few people who really understand what it's like to be you, to be alone and apart. That's why the family is so close, even though they fight and spend time apart, and why they have so few other close friends. And for the women, who live in a man's world, it's doubly difficult."

She pats Hannah's hand. "But you have a friend in me now, Hannah, and I hope I can help lighten your burdens."

"I hope I can do the same for you," Hannah smiles. "So, how are you after the big fuss the other day? I've been concerned about all of you ever since."

Vialle's smile fades a little. "It's been hard. I wish Random had been able to tell me before the gossip forced his hand, but, ah, Martin acted a little precipitately. He sometimes does that." Vialle blinks a couple of times. "I want Random to give me a baby of my own, but he thinks that's a bad idea right now. I suppose I'll have to make do with being a mother to Martin and this new boy, Garrett."

"I bet Garrett will feel a lot better too, if he thinks you aren't mad at him. I'm sure he's scared. I think I met him in the stables. There were too many people that day, but if he is who I think he is, he's a good boy. He'll appreciate it and need the help, no doubt." Hannah shifts a little.

"Martin's older though. I had a hard time coming to see my father's latest wife as a mother. Well, I'm not sure I still do, exactly. She's more like a sister, I guess. We went to school together, so..." Hannah chuckles. "You might do better with him just to be who you are. He's somewhat... intense. I just can't see him being mothered, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe that's just what he needs."

"No," Vialle says, "you're not. Not about Martin. I've known him for a long time, and I don't think mothering would suit him at all. He doesn't know what to do with it, you see ... his mother died when he was a baby. And his grandmother was, well, distant."

Hannah makes a sympathetic noise.

She sighs. "Garrett already has a mother. But perhaps you're right--he can use my help, and I will be happy to give it to him."

"You're a good woman then. I think the people will be glad to have a Queen who has a warm heart. So what do you do when things get to be too much? Do you have a place to exercise? We could start going walking. I might actually learn more about finding my way around then," Hannah grins.

"I could stand to walk more. I like to swim, but it's too cold here except in the baths, and that's not really enough for exercise," Vialle says. "I know some of your cousins spar in the yard, or in the salle, but I can't do that. I might like to try to ride sometime, with a very gentle pony, but we haven't had time for that."

"We could go double on my horse sometime. You're light, and she can handle it - and she's smaller than a normal horse. She taught a lot of our young ones how to ride. Well, but in the meantime, maybe we can start going for walks after breakfast? As for the nightmares, I haven't tried this here, yet, and I'm... well, I haven't got it all figured out yet, but back home sometimes I can get into peoples dreams. When you feel comfortable enough with me, we should try that," Hannah offers.

"You can do that?" Vialle asks, surprised. "I thought that could only be done with mirrors. Do you use mirrors?"

"No, no mirrors," Hannah smiles. "I can do it back home, and I haven't tried it here yet. Lucas tried to warn me off, but - well, I'm not just going to stop doing things I've done my entire adult life until I've proven there is more danger to it than I already know about. I just... what I do is go searching in the spirit world for the person who is dreaming - because that is the plane dreams happen in. Or... you can get to dreams from there. You are yourself in this dream, or are you someone or something else?"

"I think I must not be myself, because I have a son in my dreams. I've never had any children, never so much as been delayed in my courses." Vialle sounds quite sad.

"When you're having it, are you self-aware in the dream - as in, you think, 'I'm dreaming' even if it's only for a moment?" Hannah asks.

"Sometimes I think how fantastic it seems, how the people seem like ones I know, but not. Or maybe they are; I don't know what people look like. In my dreams, Hannah--in my dreams I can see."

"You're not the first blind person who has told me they do that. My people have beliefs that explain why there would be no reason you couldn't, but most cultures don't think the same way, as far as I can tell. If you figure out you're dreaming, you should close your eyes and try to tell who is who by the voices. I'm sure seeing them is distracting. Have you been blind since birth?" Hannah asks.

Vialle nods. "It's why I had never married."

Hannah blinks and hesitates. "Um, is that cultural? In my society, you'd probably have gotten married even sooner."

"No ambitious Rebman mother would trust her son to the care of a blind woman, so there were no offers for me," Vialle says. She elaborates: "In Rebma, women have the leading roles in politics, business, the arts and sciences, and magic. Apart from my blindness, I have a bit of boyish reticence to lead. I think that my blindness may have been an excuse for people who didn't wish to says so."

"Ah. Boyish reticence to lead. I get accused of boyish attributes quite often, but usually the more agressive ones. But the King can't exactly mind leading, can he? That's a good thing. So, dreaming, you can see, even though you've never seen. It must be terrifying, in its way. Just like if I suddenly couldn't see in a dream, and that happens to me, sometimes. Have you ever tried to control the dream?"

"No, nothing like that. I don't--I'm not talented in magic, or so I've been told." Vialle shakes her head. Hannah feels certain that this line of questioning makes the Queen nervous.

"It's not magic, really. Probably anyone could learn to do it, with help. Mostly just remember, if you're dreaming and you realize you're dreaming, that the dream is yours to manipulate. You don't rest well when you're doing that, but it sounds like you're not resting well anyway. But maybe we can talk more about that later, when we have more time. What can I do to make you feel better, your Majesty?" Hannah asks.

"I would like your advice. I have some ideas about how to approach Garrett, but I don't know how I should speak to his mother, or what I should advise Random to do." Vialle's lip quivers a little again. "This is the first time I've had to deal with a lover who bore Random a child. His father was notorious for the number of wives and lovers he had, and Random is of the same stamp. Martin's mother was different, of course, and if she had lived, Random and I would not have wed."

Vialle adds after a moment, "I don't see this--Anna--as a threat to my marriage, especially not after the scene she made. But I have no idea how to deal with her, or what I should do, and I don't think asking is a fair burden to put on Garrett."

Hannah sighs. "I'm going to be perfectly honest. I'm not sure you can deal with her - at least not publicly. She's... she seems a little out of control, I suppose, and I think she might either ask you for promises you can't give, or blame things on you that aren't your fault. If you wanted to send one of your ladies down to talk to her, well, even that would start talk, and all you can do is reassure her that you won't turn your influence against her son..."

Hannah sighs again. "This is a hard one, isn't it? I wouldn't contact her. It will only lead to more drama. I wouldn't advise the King to contact her for the same reason, but she does need to be reassured in some way that her baby isn't going to have a convenient accident. Maybe Prince Martin could tell her that? He might scare her enough with his intensity that she'd be quiet long enough to listen. Maybe someone who was good at comforting could go with him - who do the people trust? Lady Solace? I know right now that this woman seems like the hard part, and maybe she is, but in the long term, it's your relationship to the King and these boys that matters. Garrett will be easy. He's going to want you to like him. Give him an opening and he'll... be happy to take it."

A smile blossoms on the Queen's face.

"I have to admit, I was a little thrown off by her scene, because he didn't let her in and try to talk sense to her. I could not figure out why he wouldn't just talk her down, but now maybe I think he didn't want to set that precedent. Hysterics won't work on the King. And maybe it was his way of protecting you from all the rumors that would have started if he would have let her in. So," Hannah shrugs, "I agree, that she's not a threat to your marriage."

Vialle says, "I think your advice is sound. Perhaps we can send Martin to deal with Anna--and Solace, or perhaps Felicity Hardwind, if she is up to it. Or both."

She cocks her head as if listening to something that's out of Hannah's range of hearing. "I think Gerard is growing bored, and we should return to him. Thank you, Hannah, for everything." She rises and extends her hand to Hannah.

Hannah stands up and takes Vialle's hand, gives it a squeeze, and then leads her back out toward Gerard. "Thank you. It was nice to talk."

"You're welcome, Hannah," Vialle says as they go back out.

After Sir Archer has left, Lucas spends some time with his family, and hears, with approbation, the poem that Hope is proposing to recite at the Children's Concert. While Solace reclines on the chaise longue with her favourite shawl spread over her legs. He then proceeds to teach her a song of such nauseating cuteness that it is guaranteed to have certain cousins rolling their eyes in disgust (it contains copious references to nautical vessels and a certain kind of sweetmeat, linked by a series of improbable metaphors), and then a pungent limerick, certain to draw gasps of horror from certain rather different sections of the audience. He plays a grave game of roll-the-ball with Phillippe, the rules of which elude Lucas a little, but his son's beams suggest that Lucas had performed at the very least adequately. But then, this is Lucas; he would have expected no less.

At the end of a hour he rises, kisses the top of Solace's head, and retires into his dressing room, where Gaston has laid out the dark and sombre suit of a gentlemen of the Third Empire, to which Lucas adds a brilliantly hued but infinitely tasteful neck-tie. To this ensemble he adds gloves, a cane (but not a swordstick such as he might usually carry) and a top hat that he carefully sets at the angle known as jaunty.

He fogoes, with some reluctance, the spats.

Thus accoutred, he sets out for tea with his uncle.

On arrival, he hands the hat, gloves and cane to the valet, and moves to join Bleys in his den (whether that be a study, living room, smoking room etc). He checks the room for mirrors - if there are any, he will suggest that they move to a room where there are none. That accomplished ...

There are none, although there seem to be places where there should be mirrors.

Bleys wears a smoking jacket, that is to say a jacket for smoking, not a jacket that is smoking. He has a stack of papers beside him and is wearing reading glasses.

"Uncle," he says with a smile and a very proper bow, before taking the indicated seat.

"Solace is much better," he begins (if invited to do so). "These attacks appear to be of short duration - although intense - and so far they have not had any lasting ill-effects - although anything that weakens her is of grave concern. She is, as you know, not strong.

"Martin has a theory - to which I am not wholly certain I subscribe - that it could be Rebma behind the attacks. And certainly, we have recently been presented with such compelling evidence that I am beginning a cautious investigation along those lines."

Bleys nods. "Rebma is ... well known for disliking the current holder of the Jewel of Judgement. And by Rebma I mean 'Moire' and by disliking I mean 'loathing'. This unfortunate business with my nephew can only end badly in a society where my sister can challenge the charges in a sorcerous duel. I don't see any likelihood of improvement in the relationship between the two cities, or between Rebma and Xanadu, if it comes to that.

"I am quite interested in both the evidence you have and your assessment of the advantage they would gain by showing their hand by attacking your wife." Bleys drops his chin and looks at Lucas over the top of his reading glasses.

"I do not fully share Martin's apprehensions," Lucas says slowly, "and for the reason you give. What advantage is there in attacking my wife? Save, perhaps to make me angry ... perhaps to make me act rashly. And, Uncle, I try never to act rashly. It is so hard to do so with that certain elan which one would wish to cultivate.

"And the first attack occurred when Martin was out of Amber. Even if the Rebmans wish to provoke him by striking at ... ah .... known associates of Martin, it seems an odd choice to make."

He shrugs. "No matter. That is one of the mysteries I trust to resolve - but you might say my position on it is ... ah ... agnostic. The other evidence is rather more troubling."

He looks straight at his uncle. "While he was here, Martin discovered that a Rebman spy circle is operating in the castle itself. Perhaps not wholly unexpected, you might say, and I would agree. But it seems to have a rather high level of effectiveness. Martin managed to track down a minor player in the game and took certain rather ... ah ... rigorous steps. Far be it from me to critique his style but ... he was not particularly subtle. And there has been a response. Not a particularly subtle one either."

He is interested to see how much of this is news to his Uncle, and to what extent Bleys may be joining the dots.

It's a fine interest to have, and a topic of which Lucas gains no insight by watching Clarissa's oldest son.

"I want to proceed," says Lucas quietly. "I want to get to the bottom of this. I will not have my family, my associates, my friends threatened in this way. And I have sworn to uphold the security of Amber for however long that may be necessary. I do not take my oaths lightly.

"But - as much as it may ruffle my amour propre to admit it - I cannot act alone where sorcery may be concerned. I need your help, Sir."

Bleys nods. "What would you have of me, nephew? I have, as you have surmised, some sorcerous talent that may be of use in your endeavors."

"I think I need someone to watch my back," said Lucas. "Or - to extend the metaphor - to spread a sorcerous cloak over me and mine while I go about the investigation. Certain people, who operate at a distance, will also need to feel ... ah ... secure.

"I don't know yet how much is known," he went on. "That, at the moment, is my other great priority - to collate - and hopefully assimilate - the information that's out there. And at some point, I shall probably need to inform the King. If what I suspect is right, this is becoming rather more than a personal crusade ... even a joint one between Martin and me."

"While the job of King is frequently to not notice things, our current monarch is inexperienced at it and may well be more aware than you expect."

He dusts off the sleeve of his jacket. "I can only help you if I have some idea what your suspicions are, my boy. You should tell me what you know and what you suspect and I will think on what can be done while you do so." He settles back into his chair.

"What I know," says Lucas, "is that there appears to be a Rebman spy ring operating with apparent impunity within Amber, and within the Castle itself. Martin became aware that the Rebman embassy was tracking his movements with alarming accuracy. He made enquiries - and discovered a link in the Castle - a groom called Lunging. He questioned Lunging - somewhat forcefully - and discovered the name of his contact - a woman called Eyelet. At this point Martin had to leave for Xanadu - he entrusted to me the task of tracking down Eyelet and bringing her in for questioning. I was proceeding with a sense of what was expedite and effective, when Lunging was discovered, gruesomely murdered, his body stuffed into the shop of my favourite tobacconist - also Martin's favourite - you probably use the man yourself. Prudenter."

He pauses to pick a near infinitesimal piece of lint from the sleeve of his jacket.

Bleys nods.

"Prudenter is a citizen of high renown. He is prominent on committees that strive to improve the civic life of Amber. He has also been employed by me in incidents designed to improve the civic life of Amber in rather less overt ways. His most recent task was to find the woman, Eyelet. This makes his targeting at this particular moment somewhat ... troubling. It suggests a degree of perspicacity in this spy ring that verges of the uncanny - or possibly the sorcerous. I need hardly tell you that Prudenter is a man whose discretion in matched only by his skill.

"I have people who are capable of discovering a great del of the information we need. Their enthusiasm for the task will be somewhat diminished if they believe that this would be a quick way to embrace Lunging's unfortunate end. If they are to function efficiently, I would wish them to be protected."

"Martin and Montage are sending each other messages with bodies attached. Although the message usually quite clear, the postage is often too high a price to pay. I presume you heard about their little encounter at your favorite brothel?"

"Yes," says Lucas. "I had not realised it partook of the nature of a public discussion."

Bleys smiles modestly.

"As to protection, your best protection is to convince them not to interfere in your affairs. We can't provide magical protection from being killed in any of the ways Montage and Bend could arrange to all of your people. Even if we did put some sort of shielding on them, all it would do would be to mark them as targets.

"In any case, the kneecapping to corpseplanting escalation requires some answer, or else you threaten to make Prince Martin look weak. Perhaps one of Jovian's pets can accidentally burn down Kaia's country manor with the stupid name. Aquaria, isn't it? It's quite an eyesore, really."

"Hideous," says Lucas with a faint shudder. "Anyone burning it down would be likely to be hailed as a saviour of rational architecture."

He pauses for a minute, considering.

"Martin," he says slowly, "has different objectives from me. And different methods. I'm not looking to face off Bend and Montage to discover who has the biggest cojones. I want to break up a spy ring that could threaten Amber.

"Although," he says thoughtfully, "if one could take pleasure in the revenge that would be icing on the cake."

He stands up. He seems to feel a need to pace.

"Uncle," he says after a minute, "if you feel it would be unwise to protect my people from the enemy ... how about we distinguish the enemy instead? Very, very subtly."

He turns and looks at Bleys. There is a faint, slightly cold smile on his thin lips.

"I'm thinking ... birds," he says. "Rebmans are not so aware of birds. But birds ... could become aware of Rebmans. In fact, as far as Bend and Montage are concerned. birds would be unable to fly over them without resisting the urge to drop a little ... message. A rather pointed message. And a contagious message ... afflicting those they meet ... secretly.

"Let's flush them out."

Bleys frowns. "Dame Fortune favors the bold, nephew. Audacity, always audacity! Now you might do this as a rococo effect after you'd had an osprey poke out someone's eyes, but without such, it's too much like an opening move. You'll seem weak to respond to bloody murder with guano." He pauses a beat or two. "It would make a good diversion. They'll spend a lot of time looking for the 'real' attack. If you pull it off while they're on hyperalert, that would be a feather in your cap."

"Poking someone's eye out with an osprey is not as easy as one would think," says Lucas with the bitterness of experience. "Next time I'll drug the damn thing first. One does, after all, like to have one's victim cowering in terror rather than staring in wide-eyed amazement as one attempts to control a demi-eagle that insists on tangling itself in its jesses.

"Not," he adds with quiet satisfaction, "that he was wide-eyed for very long."

"A pity your bird was not better versed in his role."

"It confirmed me in my resolution not to work with children or animals," says Lucas.

He takes out his cigarette case, stamped with the St Cyr crest, and shoots an enquiring, "May I?" glance at Bleys (he'll also offer one if he receioves an affirmative).

Bleys nods. As Lucas picks up the cigarette, it spontaneously bursts into 'lit'.

"Still - a lesson to me that one can over-strive for an effect."

"It's an advantage to keep one's audience unaware of how much effort was involved any particular endeavor."

"As for revenge - well, I tend to side with the Italians on that in preferring it served cold. But one should not, or course, ever miss an opportunity to deliver the coup de grace.

"Can you help me deliver the diversion, Uncle? Dragons roaring around the Castle periodically should doubtless have loosened the bowels of our small feathered friends ... it will just be a matter of directing it appropriately."

"How much do you understand about the basic principles of Sorcery, my boy? It is an ancient art, powerful and primal. And limited. I can rewrite the laws of physics, but there is no simple law of physics covering bird dropping targets and schedules. Sorcery is a power which relies our imposing our will on the universe, but the complexity of the universe scheme to defeat this plan.

"I could possibly transform some of your henchmen into birds, to let them take this task on personally. If they were willing."

Lucas shakes his head. "I can see that causing nothing but problems. They might manage the transistion successfully, but then they would not only have to master the mechanics of flight and aerial bombardment, but the social interaction that governs the skies over Amber. Quite frankly, if I have henchmen with the communication and motor skills to pull off something like that, I can find better uses for them on the ground. It would be far easier to find a Shadow where I am worshipped as a god by sapient avians and import some of them into Amber. I think I shall either do that, or change my plans."

He rises, holding his hand out to his uncle.

"My thanks for your advice - unless you have any further suggestions?"

Bleys also rises presses a card into Lucas' hand. "Tell this man I want you to have a few of his special pendants. They will alert your agents to the most gross magical scryings, although they aren't good with subtle magics. Sadly, they are also short-lived. Father didn't really like competition from uppity magicians and priests."

Lucas nods.

"Thank you, Uncle," he says, with sincere gratitude. "I shall make good use of these.

"I suspect," he said, "that my next step should be to put the King in the picture."

He did not seem to be relishing this task.

It is late that same evening that Lucas makes his way to a discreet tavern where he is rumoured to keep an occasional mistress. His clothing is plain, simple, suggesting discretion, and the landlord at once shows him to a private room at the back of the house where a pretty young girl awaits him. But Lucas does not linger. A kiss, an embrace, the passing of a gold coin, and Lucas is on his way through a hidden door to one side of the room, which actually leads into the next building entirely.

Here a thick, darkset man - one of Lucas' most trusted lamplighters, is waiting.

"All clear?" Lucas asks. "Is he here?"

The man, a foreigner by the look of him, nods. It has always struck Lucas how common the misperception that not speaking well implies that one cannot listen well. He leads Lucas back to a small alcove towards the back. A fire burns in a makeshift iron basket. "Monseigneur ," a raspy but familiar voice replies from the far side of the bright but smoky fire.

"Prudenter," says Lucas. "What happened?"

There is no accusation, no blame in the tone. The words are calm, level. But also ... unavoidable.

"I'm afraid your request has not been fulfilled, Monseigneur. I suspect that my lads who were to put the grab on were made, and didn't hide their tracks well enough returning. They failed, by the way. The pox-ridden whore had fled by the time they got to 'er rooms." He coughs.

"Sloppy work," says Lucas, displeased. "And your cover blown besides. You have taken steps?"

"There are two possibilities, Monseigneur. Someone was sloppy, or someone was bought. Given the somewhat gruesome nature of the killing, I will have a bit of trouble hiring clerks for the business side of my store. Risk-takers will be harder to find. Sir Archer didn't know who, but that goes with someone who can get back to me." He pauses. "I'm not sure it was sloppy on my lad's part, my lord."

"Then we have an informer within the ranks," says Lucas. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I hate to think it, but I don't see another way it could've happened."

Lucas nods.

"Can you handle the investigation, or shall I bring in my own man?" asks Lucas. "If the Circuit is infected from within ... I think Smiler could be recalled from retirement."

"I'm not sure we know enough. What of the corpse in my shop? All I've heard was that he was a stableboy, recently dismissed."

"Indeed," says Lucas. "And the source of the information about a certain quarry. His death was payment for his betrayal, I think."

"His allies are... thorough, Monseigneur. Whatever other messages they sent, the one sent to me was 'leave town'. Amber is not so appealing as it was when I was a younger man." He coughs again. "You know your lads as well as I do. Are there any you'd be particularly likely to suspect of being turnable?"

"Of course," says Lucas. "I also know those who could be made to appear guilty even when they're not. As for leaving town - is it the profession you tire of, or the air of Amber?"

"The one affects the other, Monseigneur." Prudenter moves closer to the fire. "Do you think, perhaps, that these friends of the stableboy are trying to get us to rip our own organization apart looking for a turncoat?"

"Oh indubitably," says Lucas. "But setting us to rip ourselves apart doesn't disprove the existence of a traitor. That was why I would call in Smiler. The investigation will proceed in the background. For the mean-time ... you are a humble tobacconist, plying your trade. Recent events have disturbed you ... You may shut the shop up for a while. Allow yourself time to recover.

"And all that you have on the quarry - before and after the failure of the mission - give it to me."

"A room in a boarding house on Half-moon Street, but she's left that. It was her sister's, but the woman who let the room said that the sister wasn't there half the time. She had a lad docksides, the sister did. Eyelet went to ground at the sister's, which is where we should've put the grab on."

Lucas nods. It seems like another place for an accidental fire.

He allows a pause to develop. "I shall have a new mission for you shortly, if you choose to remain within my service." There is a faint interrogative in the last sentence.

"I think retirement is in my future, Monseigneur. But not my immediate future."

"Then rest," says Lucas. "Recover your equilibrium.

"And be prepared to leave Amber at a moment's notice."