Martin Returns

The most recent column in the Amber Crier:

One of the favorite ladies of the court has recently suffered a sudden illness. This column, like so many observers, wishes her a speedy recovery.

Another favorite lady of the court, and a very highly placed one, has been suffering from a different illness. Sources report that it may be of the type requiring an expansion of the castle's nursery facilities. If that is the case, this column offers congratulations to the lady and her husband.

A lady of the Rebman court has been paying a great deal of attention to one of the Royal nephews of late. Although there were suspicions of a liaison with a different member of the Royal family at the coronation masquerade, the lady seems to have set her cap a little less ambitiously than originally assumed. Either that, or she assumes the other gentleman is extremely forgiving.

One of Amber's favorite art patrons is again in dire financial straits. If he displayed half the passion for finances that he does for music, he'd be rolling in it. Unfortunately, that's not the case.

The Queen has, at last, formally named her ladies-in-waiting. High on the list were several Regency favorites, including Lady H------- and Lady S-----, and the King's close female relatives, but conspicuously missing was a certain Regency social climber whose ambitions have finally been thwarted.

Rumor has it that one of the best-known courtesans at the Red Mill is preparing to buy out her contract, or for a gentleman to buy it out for her.

Behind the doors of one of Amber's oldest social clubs, a revolt may be brewing. Expect some changes in the upper management of the club in question, as a group of younger members takes over from the old guard.

For a fourth week, this column can report that no firm suspect has been named for the murder that took place during the King's coronation masquerade.

Martin positions himself and Folly so that Random and Soren are out of view before he selects his card--Gerard--and opens a connection.

"Uncle Gerard? It's Martin."

Pause.

"Yeah, Folly's with me. Dad too, but he's not ready to come back just yet. Tomorrow, after we've both taken care of some business. He's fine."

Pause.

"Yeah, I know. Someone will be with him. It's OK, I promise. Better than OK, actually, but Dad will have to explain that."

Pause.

"It's a long story, and I don't really get it, but Dad will explain it. We need to come through. Can you bring us back?"

Pause.

"Don't worry about that just yet. Just bring us through, please."

Pause.

"OK. Folly?"

Martin extends his free hand to her, and passes her through. Gerard's clasp is warm and firm, then he's drawing her into a bear hug.

Folly makes a squeaky little happy-noise as she hugs him back.

He releases her and sets her aside, then Martin is with them. Gerard gives him the same hug, and Martin returns it.

"Thanks, Uncle Gerard. I wanted to do this quietly; you've been a big help. How long have we been gone?"

"A whole month, with nary a word from either of ye!" Gerard sounds more indignant than worried right now. "The Queen is frantic. Rumor has ye both dead. Ye'll have to be seen in public as soon as can be."

"Mmm, yes, so we can start new rumors," Folly observes with wry amusement.

Martin frowns. "I'd hoped to avoid that, but I suppose not. I can ask for the duel in the park near that monstrosity of Ossian's, I guess. Where's Aisling?"

Gerard sucks in his breath. "Lad, that's one of the things we needed you and your father to deal with. She's gone, and we think she's dead."

Martin opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything.

Folly looks stricken. The color drains from her face, and she reaches out to steady herself against her uncle's shoulder.

"Wh-what happened?" she asks meekly, her eyes pleading with Gerard for a shred of hope.

"It's like this, lass: after you all left, she came to me and Caine to make a clean breast of all she'd done during the war. I think young Brennan had a hand in it; Aisling meant well, but she's not wise."

Folly makes a soft sound in the back of her throat, but doesn't interrupt Gerard's narrative.

"When she was done, she and Caine went down into the city to show him where she'd lived. In one of her homes, they found a gun of Corwin's. She'd told us naught of that."

Martin blanches, and sits down heavily in one of the chairs in Gerard's study. Gerard looks at him, but Martin shakes his head, and gestures for Gerard to continue.

Gerard frowns, but does so. "Caine took her into custody, because he had more questions he wanted to ask of her. Where he left her, well, Caine has certain places that he puts people. Pocket shadows, ye might say. Hard places to get in and out of. Either she got free, or, we surmise more likely, she was taken away. Caine's not sure she could have been gotten out alive."

"So... then... whoever took her didn't care whether she lived or died," Folly says, frowning with a mix of sadness and anger.

Martin rests his elbows on the arms of his chairs and steeples his fingers, resting his chin on the longest pair. "Did anyone go back to her hiding place in the castle?" he asks Gerard.

"Cambina was at the meeting, taking notes, to keep it in the family. She and Brennan went up," Gerard replies. "Nothing."

"There wasn't anything left the first time I went back up there, either. Dara cleaned it out after I took Aisling in. I was sure of it then, and I'm surer of it now. We have to assume that Dara has one of Corwin's guns, and with her sorcery she can keep it from failing, too. Damn, damn, damn. We got really lucky at the masquerade. If she'd had a machine gun that worked in Amber ..." Martin shakes his head and lapses into silence.

Folly listens closely to Martin's words, but her reaction is difficult to read.

Gerard turns back to Folly. "I'm sorry, lass. I know you were fond of her." He gathers her in for another hug.

"Yeah," is the only response Folly can manage as she buries her face in Gerard's shoulder for a moment.

When she straightens again, she has regained her composure. "You're right, she isn't wise. But I'd hoped that---" She stops and shakes her head. "This isn't the end I'd've wished for her."

"I know," Gerard replies sadly.

With a terribly sad smile, she releases Gerard from her embrace and goes to perch lightly on the arm of Martin's chair. Her fingers brush his arm in gentle reassurance as she situates herself.

Martin turns to look up at Folly, his gaze meeting hers momentarily. Then he turns his attention back to Gerard. His hand slides around Folly's waist, as if to help her balance on the chair arm.

Gerard watches them silently. Folly can't tell what he's thinking, but he is clearly thinking.

"How is everyone else?" she asks Gerard after a moment; there's a hint of trepidation in her voice as she adds, "Have we any word on Brita?"

"Yes, just recently. A couple of days days ago a letter from Brennan to Cambina appeared in an old part of the library. Well, we think it appeared a few days ago; it's in a part of the stacks Nestor doesn't get to very often any more. Anyway, the letter says Brita is well and recovering from her injuries. She and the rest of the redheads are with Clarissa. Also a fellow named Ambrose, who seems to be Brennan's brother."

Folly can feel Martin tense at the last bit of Gerard's statement.

The whole of Gerard's statement strikes Folly as one of those 'how many things can you find wrong with this picture?' puzzles, and her brow furrows accordingly. But what she asks after a moment's contemplation is: "All the rest of the redheads? Paige has gone, too?" She can't quite keep the note of concern out of her voice.

"Aye," says Gerard. "Those redheads stick together, lass. Bleys had had word that Clarissa had Brita as a guest, and so they all went, except Brennan. He trumped in to join them later, and took Reid with them."

The former Regent shakes his head, as if he doesn't quite understand.

Martin is still very tense, but he says nothing.

Folly lays a comforting hand on Martin's shoulder and absently rubs out some of his tension while she considers Gerard's words. She's wearing the not-quite-frown with which one might contemplate a vague foreboding in one's breakfast tea-leaves.

Martin relaxes slightly as Folly works out a knot that he didn't get by sitting too long over his computer. He rolls his neck and takes the opportunity to meet her gaze and smile at her.

As their eyes meet, her frown-lines disappear.

"I suppose... if we've been gone for a whole month... we've got a lot of news to catch up on," Folly says, shaking her head slightly as she emerges from her reverie. "I suppose most of our cousins have probably departed for adventures elsewhere...? And Lucas -- has he recovered from his injuries? And...

"And... oh!" she interjects suddenly, fixing Gerard with a hopeful look. "Have you got a little time? I've a thing or two from What I Did On My Holiday that I'd like your advice on, too."

Martin adds, "Yeah, I think you better give me the briefing and then I better go talk to Vialle. We can start with who's in Amber and what they've been up to, and then any disasters. And anything else I need to know."

Gerard nods. "Of your aunts and uncles, Caine, Llewella, Flora, and myself remain in the castle. Of your cousins, Cambina, Marius, Ossian, Lucas, and Jovian, although his dragons have gone off somewhere. And Lilly, of course, guarding the Queen.

"The redheads all went after Brita. Jerod and Vere went to Paris with Corwin and Merlin. Ah, there's a thing you'll want to know. Corwin dallied with Moire when he and your da were there, Martin, and she had a daughter by him, one Celina."

Martin's mouth opens, but he shuts it without saying anything and scowls. Folly is certain he had some foreknowledge of the matter, but, to his way of thinking, not enough.

Folly runs her fingers soothingly along his shoulder; she looks thoughtful.

"Vere hae walked the Pattern," which news produces a proud paternal smile from Gerard...

...and a bright answering smile from Folly.

"-- and he and Jerod passed into Rebma. Of the redheaded folk, you know as much as I. In Arden, there is war, but what word we have speaks no harm to Robin or Jules."

Martin feels Folly's fingers twitch slightly against his shoulder, but she gives Gerard a 'go on' nod.

Gerard continues, "Here, there's little enow news, and most of it petty. Of Aisling I hae spoken. We're no closer to finding the truth of Demond Harga'rel's death than we were when ye left--"

Martin cuts him off. "Harga'rel? That's who was killed at the masquerade?" He half-rises from his chair, but Folly's hand on his shoulder keeps him from completing the motion. His eyes catch hers. "That's Valeria's father. The one Conner was accused of killing," he explains.

Folly's eyes widen in surprise, but she lets Gerard continue his litany.

"And we still don't have any idea who did for him," Gerard says, "but there hae been no more murders. Conner's lady friend from Gateway, the one who was mixed up in all that, hae vanished. Reid was looking into it until he left, and now Ossian and Lilly are chasing it down. Valeria spends a lot of time up here and Ossian's a mite too friendly wi' her, if he asks me, which he hasn't."

Martin shakes his head.

Folly shakes hers, too, but there's an undercurrent of affection beneath her exasperation.

"Oh, and there's been another death near our family. Felicity's husband died of a heart attack at the end of the masquerade. There's some fuss about the accounts, which Lucas is looking into for us. He's haler and better off than I'd have expected; the work seems to suit him. Solace, though, has fallen ill." Gerard frowns. "She's not with child again, but I mislike her illness."

At this news, Folly looks very concerned. She makes a mental note to check in on Solace when she has a free moment.

The prince forces himself to smile. "And I think your Aunt Flora has a beau, because she looks like it." He sounds determined to end the recitation on a happy note.

Martin nods. "All right, then, I'll be on my way to the Queen." He rises and starts toward the door, but then pauses and turns back to his uncle.

"Prince Gerard," he says, and Gerard looks startled at the formal address. "I don't know that anything will be permitted to come of this, but I want there to be no doubt of the nature of my intentions. May I have your permission to court your ward?"

Folly blinks in surprise, and her cheeks go a little pink; but as she gazes at Martin, a smile of deep affection spreads slowly across her face.

Martin returns her smile, and for a moment, it's as if the rest of the room, and the man he just addressed, no longer exist.

It's Gerard who opens his mouth without saying anything for a change. His gaze falls on Folly, and after a moment he says, "I'll consult with Folly and speak with you later on the matter, Martin." He seems troubled.

As Folly listens to Gerard, her smile fades into a look of concern. But then she meets Martin's gaze again, and he can see her resolve: no matter what obstacles are thrown at them, they'll find a path.

"Go do your thing," she says, her tone light and casual, "and I'll come find you later and we'll debrief each other, okay?"

She manages to keep an absolutely straight face.

Martin nods once at her, then once at Gerard. Their uncle's answer seems not to have thrown him in the slightest.

"Later, then," he says to both of them, and then he's gone.

Folly gazes after Martin until the door shuts behind him. Then she slides into the chair he just vacated and turns her full attention to her uncle. She regards him with a quizzical look, but waits for him to continue before she says anything more.

"Oh, no, lass, it's not like that," Gerard says. "I see which way the wind lies, and I won't come between you. It's just that I thought, well, with you and Random--if you needed a way to say 'nay' to Martin, I could tell him not to, and it wouldn't reflect on you."

Folly smiles, all daughterly affection. "You are very kind to offer -- but no, that won't be necessary." Her cheeks go a little pink again.

He reaches for a square decanter of whiskey, which is in arm's reach on his sideboard, and pours himself a glass. He offers one to Folly, too, perhaps thinking she needs it. "Hae ye spoken to my brother of this?"

Folly considers the whiskey for a moment before declining with a slight wave of her hand. "I have," she replies. "It's... kind of a complicated situation, as you might imagine, but... he knows I love his son, and he's not going to forbid our being together, at least not----"

Her brow furrows, and she looks down at her hands. "Well. Like Martin says, it may not be permitted to follow the sorts of paths these things often take, but we can at least make a start."

She looks up at Gerard again, and gestures to the glass in his hand. "Maybe just---" she says, and holds up her thumb and index finger, indicating perhaps a quarter of the amount he poured for himself.

Gerard pours Folly a generous splash of the whiskey and hands it to her.

"Ye've got a hard road in front of ye, lass. Torn between two men is bad, but those two." He frowns and shakes his head.

"Yeah, tell me about it," Folly agrees with a wry smile. She takes a large sip of the whiskey.

"And neither one of them easy to live with. Random being married, and Martin being, well, ye didn't know him before Brand had at him. It's changed him, and not all to the good. I know working with Dad gave him purpose afterwards, but--"

Gerard shakes his head again. "He's talked to me some about the thing he did in the war, and the burdens he carries. It'll be a long time before he's finished with that, if he ever is. And Random is like to be the same, after fighting with the army. War does hard things to a man, Folly, and war like the one we've been through, hardest of all. Even if you can't love both of them as they want, be kind to them."

Folly nods. "All the kindness it is within my power to give them," she says, but the melancholy in her eyes makes it clear she knows what a tricky balancing act that will be.

"But enough of my worries. How have ye fared since last we spoke?"

"Well," Folly says, more brightly. "I... did a thing or two that I probably can't tell you about 'til tomorrow, when S---... er, when Random returns... but," she beams with barely repressed excitement, "it's good news."

Gerard looks a bit confused at the slip of the tongue, but lets it pass without comment..

She takes another sip of her whiskey, and her expression grows more somber. "While I was away, I, uh, had a chance to talk to my mother for the first time since I came to Amber. It was... well, kind of a disaster ---" Folly stares into her glass with a rueful chuckle, "--- which, y'know, is par for the course for us, but I'd hoped for better."

She shakes her head as if to clear it, and looks at Gerard again. "I did find out a little bit more about my Amber heritage, though. Not my father, she wouldn't---- But I showed her pictures, to try to get some answers, and she...."

Folly's brow furrows as if she's still trying to wrap her brain all the way around something. "She ID'd Julian as her own grandfather," she says quietly. "And from the story she told, I don't think he knows. And now I'm trying to figure out what to do about it, with Option Number One being to write Julian a very long letter explaining it all, only I've never actually spoken to Julian and he probably doesn't even know who I am yet, so...." She smiles and shrugs. "I was hoping you might have a little bit of advice."

Gerard frowns. "Julian? I'd say that's unlike him, but ... how long ago would that have been in Amber years? Can you do that math?"

"I'm... not positive about dates," Folly replies, "but if I had to guess, I'd say maybe a hundred years, or a little less...? Unless my mother's father was significantly older than her mother, which I suppose is a real possibility."

"It's possible," Gerard muses. "A while before that, Julian had, well, something of an accident. He lost someone dear to him and it sent him wild with grief for a time. He may not remember everything that he did."

A concerned frown creases Folly's brow as she wonders just what sort of old wounds she might open by talking with Julian.

He frowns. "Three generations out is a long way. It worries me, how you'll do on the Pattern. I know Dara's blood was that thin, but she comes of Chaos. Perhaps ye should talk to the redheads before ye consider it."

"Perhaps," Folly says, "although --"

A sudden smile -- bashful, almost -- flashes across her face, and she looks down at her hands in her lap. "My mother said some other things that lead me to suspect I've more Amber blood than just that. I just wish she'd given me more specifics."

She sighs and looks up at Gerard again. "But, yes, you're right, a chat with the redheads about Amber blood is probably in order. I've got... lots of questions. They oughtta set up metaphysics classes for their nieces and nephews, y'know? I'd sign right up."

"Their tuition is valuable; I'm not sure everyone would want to pay the price. The redheads are all a heady brew, as well you know." Gerard frowns.

Folly's mouth twists into a wry smile.

"So what did yer ma say that left you thinking you had closer kin than Jules?"

"Well, actually, it was one thing she said and one thing she didn't say," Folly says. "I asked her if she'd ever encountered anyone who seemed especially... real... to her. And she said, 'Every time I look in the mirror, and twice as much when I look at you.' Which, y'know, doesn't necessarily mean anything, but...." Folly shrugs. "I sort of felt like it did."

She continues, "And then she was evasive when I asked her questions about my father, which also doesn't necessarily mean anything, but... it's kind of a gut feeling. I dunno. There's still a lot to piece together."

Folly clasps and unclasps her hands in front of her a couple of times. "You said Julian is dealing with a war in Arden? Maybe this isn't the best time to bring all this up with him, then. But on the other hand, I sorta feel like he deserves to know...."

She looks at Gerard. "You know him better than I do. What do you think I should do?"

Gerard thinks about Folly's question, which is a slow and ponderous process. "I don't know when it will be any better to tell him. If you were waiting to tell him, what would ye wait for?"

Folly considers the question for a moment and then nods slowly, as if Gerard had just said something very wise. "You're right, of course," she says. "There's never really a good time, and I should know that by now." With a meek smile, she continues, "I'd thought perhaps I shouldn't trouble him with my silly personal issues while he's off in the middle of a war and all, but... I think were I in his shoes I might prefer to know sooner rather than later, and straight from the source rather than through the grapevine."

Gerard smiles at her and nods.

Folly nods again -- decisively, this time -- then asks, "How often do you communicate with your brother? If I were to write him a letter, would you be willing to pass it along to him next time you speak with him?"

"Aye, I can do that. Let me know when you have the letter, and I'll be sure to give it to him. I don't know how he'll take it--it's hard to tell what he's thinking sometime--but I think you're doing the right thing telling him sooner rather than later," Gerard says.

"When he asks for your wardship, I won't stand in the way of that, either."

Folly frowns, but she's more perplexed than upset. "Why would he want to do a thing like that? He doesn't even know me."

Gerard looks a little bewildered at the question. "You're his kin, and his responsibility. Of course he'll want to hold your wardship. How else can he be sure you're cared for?"

"What, you're saying he wouldn't trust you to do a good job?" Folly asks, looking a little bewildered herself but sounding, more than anything, fiercely defensive of Gerard's parenting credentials. "Because, y'know, I trust you to the task more than I'd trust just about anyone else."

"Julian's the kind of man who does what he ought to, regardless of others, because that's what he does," Gerard replies. "It's not that he wouldn't trust me, nor that he shouldn't, for I'll say the two children I raised are among the best of your cousins, even if I did raise them mysel'. But when a thing becomes his responsibility, Julian does right by it, as best he can. That's his way."

Folly ponders this for a moment, then nods. "I suppose I can appreciate that," she says. "I look forward to getting to know him, preferably *before* he goes making decisions about my wardship." She smiles. "I hope he appreciates that I might have an opinion or two on the subject. Perhaps I should warn him."

But after a moment's contemplation, she adds, "On second thought, I suppose I've got absolutely nothing on his kids in the 'headstrong' department, now, do I?" She grins.

Gerard snorts. "You haven't got much on my daughter in the 'headstrong' department, lass. You've got a touch of stubborn, though, and now we know where it comes from."

Folly chuckles. She seems quite satisfied by that assessment.

He pats her on the shoulder. "I think you should just see what's going to happen. It may be that I'll keep you in ward for at least the nonce because he can't come up to see you, and you're not woodwise enough for Arden as it stands now."

Folly bites her bottom lip and smiles sheepishly. "Honestly, I doubt I'm woodwise enough for Arden as it stands *ever*," she opines. "I've always been a city girl -- possibly, come to think of it, due to my mum's no-longer-seems-quite-so-irrational fear that I'd wander off into the wilderness and never come back...."

Suddenly her mother's occasional rants on the subject, especially the bits about the 'bugs and snakes and strange men in the woods', no longer seem merely the product of a few too many controlled substances, as Folly had previously supposed.

"...but I suppose I can learn," she adds. "We'll see what happens."

"Aye," says Gerard. "What about yer ma and yer grandad? Julian will want to know about them as well."

Folly nods. "Yeah, I intend to fill him in on the basics in the letter I write. At least enough that he knows what he's getting himself into if he tries to contact them." She gives a little half-smile and shakes her head.

With that, they drift into more casual conversation until dinnertime.