As Lucas comes back to his rooms from his meeting with Brennan, he can hear laughter in the nursery, along with the sound of drum and bugle. Lucas can make out the clear round tones of Colonel Bogey's March a good bit more defined than Hope had achieved. When he enters the room, he finds Paige lying on her back, her cheeks red from bugling handing the instrument back to Hope. Crawling on the floor nearby are three bundles of cloth. One is Phillipe in white, the other two are in blue and green respectively with red hair peeking out from beneath their hats.
Lucas pauses, surveying the scene with a faint, familiar look of disdain.
Paige smiles at her cousin as he enters the room and offers her hand to him for assistance to gain her feet again.
Lucas regards her for a moment, and then his own face relaxes into a smile. He move across the room and extends a hand to hers.
"Hello, you old slapper," he says cheerfully. He assists her to rise, concluding with an elaborately courtly flourish of a bow that lifts her hand to his lips. "How's tricks?"
A fire kindles in Paige's eyes for a moment, but she controls it, quickly. "Still paying a sight better than you seem to afford at the Mill," she digs as she flutters her eyes coquettishly.
Lucas smiles in response, leaning forward to brush his lips against her cheek.
"Then perhaps," he breathes, "you can let me have the five crowns I lent you to pay your wine merchant before you high-tailed it out of Dodge ... "
He releases her and sits down on the floor next to Hope, idly lifting a drumstick and tapping out a rhythm, a marching note. He seemed to be regarding the twins with interest.
"They must have hurt coming out," he observes.
"No more than it would to repay those crowns after listening to my staff's claims of you emptying most of my cellar while I was away," she says picking up the boy in green.
"Leif, no eating your cousins," she chastises warmly as she sets him back with his sister and Phillipe.
Lucas increases the drum rhythm, still watching the twins. "Your staff are covering their own backs. I took nothing but the champagne. Your taste in red wine has always been excreable."
Brooke, attracted by the noise, is crawling towards him. Hope looks questioningly at her father and, at his nod, starts to play a simple tune very, very slowly. Lucas matches her rhythm now, which seems to baffle Brooke slightly.
"They're somewhat ... precocious," Lucas says. "And on the whole, I'd prefer them not to eat Phillippe. Solace isn't in the habit of popping out such ... erm ... bouncing specimens with quite your ease."
"Oh, these started normal enough size, but it seems their growth is tied to the seasons, not any other time cycle," Paige says off-handedly.
Lucas' eyebrows lift slightly, but he forbears comment.
"Nanny Starch was muttering something under her breath about them not being natural." She shrugs slightly. "Too tied to nature if you ask me, but I'm just their mother.
"Hope said that her Mommy's not been feeling well. I hope it's nothing serious. You haven't knocked her up again, have you?" she asks with something more than mock concern. "Can't Silken cover those impulses for you?"
The drumstick stills on the skin.
"My impulses, as you term them, are more than adequately catered for," says Lucas. "But thanks for volunteering. I'll have my people contact your people, should the need arise.
"Paige ... " There is a new note in his voice, rather different from the dry banter that proceeded it. "When the twins were born ... you weren't seized with one of your impulses, were you? Well, yes, I imagine you were seized with several but ... you didn't feel any urgent need to contact Solace, did you? To compare tales of nappy rash or croup or anything similar?"
Paige notes the shift and stifles her retort on volunteer work for charity cases. "Contact her? No. No sort of urgent need," she answers.
"It's why I called this afternoon, but you're suggesting something else, aren't you?" she thinks out loud. "I've never done a sketch of Solace, and even if I did, she's not family.
"Is she?" Paige asks even as Brooke begins beating on Lucas's drum since he obviously forgot how to make the noise, and it must be her duty to remind him.
"Erm," says Lucas thoughtfully, starting a counterpoint to Brooke's beats - and being careful to avoid rapping chubby little fingers. "Let's put it this way - I have very good reason to believe that Solace's illnesses are not unrelated to the strong possibility that she shares our blood. And that is something, Paige, that I would prefer not to be broadcast on the family grapevine."
Paige nods. "And you think the spells are related to Trump calls?" she deduces. "I don't know of any sketches, unless Reid's portrait... No, that was during the Interregnum, and I'm pretty sure that nobody was producing Trumps then. So it's someone that sketched her since or someone that knew before the Sundering."
Lucas looks at Paige, an arrested expression on his face.
"Reid's portrait?" He reaches out for her hand. "Come on."
Paige takes his hand without thought, but hesitates before walking out of the room.
He looks at the children playing on the floor, and then whistles. A tousled head peers round the doorway.
"Pert," says Lucas, "tell Nanny Starch to watch the children. The Lady Paige and I wish to renew our acquaintance with my art collection."
"Mama will be right back, honey," she says with a smile and soothing tone. "Hope's a big girl and will play with you, right dear?" Paige offers her a wink and turns back to Lucas.
As Pert nods his agreement, Lucas leads Paige into his sitting room, where his favourite paintings - including the wedding portrait of Solace is displayed.
"Could you tell if it was a trump?" asks Lucas. "Could you tell if sketches of it had been made into trumps?"
"I could tell if it was a Trump, yes, but odds are that you could too," she admits. "As to telling you if sketches were made, I don't think so, but I might be able to tell you if there were enough detail to allow someone to do that. Reid's good, but to make a sketch from a portrait, well... I think that the Artist would have to have other sources to hand, such as having met her, or perhaps some sketches of his own, or hers."
Paige looks to the canvas and lays her hand lightly over Reid's brushstrokes, looking for the cool chill of Trump. She doesn't concentrate to activate, but does plunge herself into Reid's art. [GM's opinion on the above?]
Paige and Lucas recall that this portrait was made during the Regency, when the Trumps were inoperative. If Reid was able to make a Trump at that time, he is an extremely powerful Artist. Perhaps even as powerful as the Maestro.
When Paige touches the painting, she senses none of the power of Trump there.
Paige shakes her head, just a slight movement, but it speaks of more obvious dissatisfaction with an unsolved mystery.
"I'd think it more likely that someone sketched her from afar before we ever knew she could be sketched, if you take my meaning." The humor's gone from her voice, but the tone is still gentle, even caring. "Problem is that I know a limited number of Artists, and they're all family."
Lucas turns away. "I know. I know. It was just a hope ...
"But ... no matter. She's recovering well - really she is - from this latest attack. And I'm hoping that Xanadu will help her. I'm thinking a new home, in a salubrious spot ... "
He turns, smiling slightly. "If I ask the King very nicely, perhaps he will point out an area where the air is likely to be particularly salubrious for Solace, don't you think?"
"Have you heard what Xanadu is like?" she ponders. "I got to find an anchored home for the twins, myself."
"Well," said Lucas, "what I've heard so far suggested the sort of picture that features a lot of really lurid colours, the use of acryllic paints, and possibly areas of darkness made by glueing in velvet. I am travelling there shortly in my role as style consultant to roll back the flock wallpaper and preach the virtues of simple, clean lines.
"As anchored homes go ... it will be one of the poles of reality, cos. And the presence of Leif and Brooke should certainly attract the concommitant version of Arden, whatever that may be. And they'll probably work better than manure in keeping the gardens fertile.
"Can I offer you a drink - and - more to the purpose - an chance to catch up on the latest on dits? I must admit, I'd be interested in hearing your news too. Is it true you had the birth induced?"
His face is grave, his question solicitously polite. Only ...
There is a certain dark amusement in his eyes.
"No, although my Grandmother might've hurried things along, playing to the twins' strengths and uniqueness," she answers.
"A drink would be appreciated."
Lucas rises and crosses the room to the bellcord.
"Reviving wine? Or stout, perhaps. I believe milk stout [OOC: rather similar to Guinness] is recommended for nursing mothers - Solace used to enjoy a glass now and then. Or just a nice glass of warm milk? I believe I can cater for most tastes, although we're inexplicably low on frozen yoghurt and absinthe at the moment ... I suspect Gouter has been experimenting with puddings again."
"The nippers are already rougher than most my dates and have more teeth than most of yours, so I'll pass on the stout," she banters. "Perhaps a pinot grigio?"
"Whatever the Lady wishes," replies Lucas, pulling on the bell cord to summon Gaston. "By which you may guess I have a favour to ask of you."
Before she can answer, there is a knock on the door and, when Lucas acknowledges it, the lugubrious Gaston enters. A bow as he accepts the order, and then he is gone, and Lucas is regarding Paige with some amusement.
"You will note that I requested the good vintage," he points out. "That's because I want to enlist your aid in a harmless little conspiracy."
Paige nods and smiles. "And you'll note that it takes more than a bottle of wine, even good wine... to encourage my cooperation.
"But as it stands, I find myself in need of a partner as well," she says sitting on a couch and patting the seat beside her. "So... entice me?"
"Did you know my mother is leaving Amber shortly?" asks Lucas, dropping elegantly into the seat.
"Paris is lovely this time of year," Paige answers.
Lucas smiles in acknowledgement, and seems about to say more when Gaston returns with the wine and two glasses. He sets the salver they are borned on down on a table in front of Lucas and Paige and then, with all the gravity of a sommelier at a restaurant that prides itself on its cellar, pours half a glass and offers it to Lucas who indicates it should be offered to Paige (a compliment on her skill, one hopes, rather than a comment of her capacities to imbibe wine).
Paige swirls the wine and holds it to the light before sampling it's bouquet. She takes a small tentative sip before nodding to Gaston. "Brilliant, thank you."
When she has expressed her approval (or another bottle that meets her approval has been brought), and Gaston has withdrawn, Lucas says, "I am planning on a little divertissement for her entertainment before she leaves these shores. A children's concert. Phillippe will be able to do little more than bang his drum, but Hope displays talent in several fields. And perhaps Leif and Brooke will be able to shake tambourines. Hope will recite ... I shall have Pert organise some of the pages to sing a little song or two ... eked out by good refreshments, I think it should be a charming occasion, and much to the taste of my children's grandmothers. And the Queen, if she is in residence.
"However, cos, with Solace still so delicate, I wondered if you would help me organise it."
"I think it would be wonderfully amusing," Paige agrees. "A bit of the whimsy that we're all missing of late. Agreed."
"Thank you," says Lucas, with a little bow, still seated. He takes a sip of his wine.
"And now you can tell me how I can help you."
"I'm looking for a ship, and the one I wanted to buy seems to be under long term contract to the crown. I don't want anything large, but I want to be able to move my housefold easily and I don't want the ship to be left to following others through Shadow.
"Any suggestions?"
Lucas seems about to answer, and then hesitates. Finally he smiles, and then nods slowly.
"You know, cos, I think I might have access to just the thing you need."
"Oh?" she asks sipping at the wine. "Do go on, please?"
"I think," says Lucas, "a whole ship might be worth a little more than help organising a children's party." He reflects on this. "Or perhaps not. Then again ... " He seems to be considering. "Paige ... would you do something for me in return?"
"What, is Silken's health delicate too, or have you been hiding a few pipes and just wish to have your back washed again?" she teases. Her eyes are open to his counter-offer.
He smiles suddenly. "When I was running guns and dope on Shadow Earth, and you were keeping that pretty little whore-house outside ... where was it? Tonkin? Cochin City?
"Jade Summer in Saigon, a few lifetimes ago," she nods.
"No, thanks, I'm provided with all the back-washers I need. I was going to ask you to put other of your talents to use. Paige ... people are - rather late in the day one cannot help but feel - warning us about the danger of bearing Amberite children - with two blood of Amber parents. Well, it may scare some off, but it's too late for thee and me. So ... I want to take precautions, of a kind. I want to watch my children for signs of talent, and to nurture any skills they show."
He smiles ruefully. "A shorter way of putting this, cos, is that I'd like you to give Hope art lessons."
"You've accepted the King's new anchor as home? I'm going to be teaching Folly the Art, and am leaning toward Xanadu, I think, so..."
Paige considers for a moment. "Yes, art and someday Art if you agree, although I think we've sometime before we should start that. There are more accomplished artists in the family," she concedes.
"Ossian?" counters Lucas with a smile. "Cos ... can you see Ossian teaching a lively four year old?"
Paige chuckles. "Of course I can. I hope that Solace likes murals... on the bedroom walls, the hallway arches, the foyer's pillars."
"Remind me to show you sometime, some of Ossian's best work goes unseen, " she adds with a suggestive wink.
"Really?" says Lucas, with deep appreciative interest. "And you've seen them?"
"I am one of them, my dear, " she says standing. She turns to face him and slides down the right side of her skirt's waistband, exposing smooth pale skin over her hip and the top of her thigh. At the top of her bikini line there's a recognizable unicorn's head tattooed with considerable skill.
"Very nice," says Lucas. "Your stretch marks seem to be fading much more rapidly than Solace's did. Blood of Amber, I suppose. If it can regrow eyes, it can take care of these little problems too ... "
"Yes, it's wonderful if you rub a little in before bed," she says with venomous tones and sparkling eyes. "You offering a pint?" She pulls up the waistband and regains her seat.
"I think Solace may need it more than you," he rejoins. "You seem, ma chere, to be in rude health, as usual."
Paige rolls her eyes.
He looks at her critically - through slightly narrowed eyes.
"You know, a few womanly curves quite suit you. You shouldn't fight to lose them too quickly. Strive to be magnificent, my dear, it will last longer than phwoooar."
The genuine compliment couched in even Lucian terms touches her for a moment, before she continues.
"Actually, I was speaking primarily of Merlin, but he's not suitable either, not for Hope. There's both Brita and Reid, too," she adds. "Has anyone heard from them?"
"They latest news we have of them is the news that you and Brennan brought," responds Lucas with a shrug. "I daresay we'll be seeing them soon. All roads lead, you know ... except I'm not so sure they do any more."
"Of course they do, just not here any more," Paige says. "I told Martin so, during most all the Interregnum."
"Yes," says Lucas, "but we know of at least two alternatives now. Even the sort of brains who can understand why the Moebus strip and enjoy the delights of Hotel Infinity might be hard pressed to explain all roads leading to two completely separate places ... "
He reflects. "Unless the roads all lead from one to the other. But that would suggest that Chaos was out of the picture - and I can't see the denizens of Chaos - like your respected grandmere - caring for that view of the multiverse very much."
"You want to define existance with only two poles?" Paige asks. "The empty space between your ears has three dimensions, even if it's still best expressed as 'shallow."
Lucas raises his hand in a fencer's acknowledgement of a palpable hit.
"But do we now have three?" he asks her. "Or two ... or five ... Can anyone who grabs the jewel and takes a stroll create their own universe?"
"I don't think the King will be letting just anyone fondle the family jewels any time soon," Paige quips.
"Remember, these were Princes," she qualifies. "Perhaps we couldn't do it, even if we knew how."
Raising another glass, she moves on to other topics. "What of the peerage? Any grumbling about the King Jester?"
"No more than one might expect," says Lucas. "The real division is between the wealthy ex-Army, and the impoverished regular citizens. The money is starting to flow for one to the other - quicker is some areas than in others. The whores and publicans are getting stouter and more glossy ... the jewellers are benefiting ... it tends to be the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker that are suffering. The poor but honest trader ... It may be that his Majesty intends to make Amber so miserable for them that they'll be thankful to up stakes and move to Xanadu."
But he is frowning as he says it.
"You have a better idea?" she asks. "They are the ones that we want. While I'm admittedly emotionally tied to someplace I spent years trying to save, we're both wise enough to understand that even a decade is fleeting for such as we are.
"If the publicans feel they can make a run of it, I say let them," she shrugs.
"I have a wariness of exciting anti-monarchical feeling in the general populace, ma chere," says Lucas. "I have come too close to the results in my own life. The middle classes, the educated professions, the poor but honest tradesmen ... these can be the lynchpins of the state. Let us not forget that the Parisienne mob were stirred to storm the Bastille by the impassioned speeches of a lawyer."
"Agreed," she says. "So how do we sway Octave and his cronies to the King's camp after Jerod's heavy handed play during the Interregum? Let Random play good cop to the spectre of Jerod's bad? Doubtful in the most hopeful of instances.
"What do they want?" she asks, not really expecting an answer. "More importantly, what do we have to offer.
"Land?"
"They want what the bourgeoise everywhere want," responds Lucas with a shrug. "The opportunity to live a better life than their parents, and to leave a better life yet to their children. Readily available access to this year's must-have in consumer durables, whether it be a nice bright tapestry for the solar, a sofa with crocodile legs and sea green taffeta upholstery, a colour co-ordinated Aga for the kitchen, gold bath taps or the latest Blackberry, depending on the social milieu.
"They want security - the security of freedom from attack, natural disasters, foreign invasions and so on. At the very least they want security for their old age, in sickness as well as in health.
"What most people don't want, I suspect, is to be jolly Pioneers-O! unless the alternatives are very grim.
"You can rule through fear - fear of yourself, fear of the outside world, or fear of the enemy within. It's a very effective method - whichever way you choose. But it comes with a datestamp on it. And whether we'd get the whole city to shift - and be happy with shifting ... "
He reclines back in his chair. "Where there is doubt, let me sow faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light. Random needs some good propaganda on his side."
"'A new start!' isn't the slogan that will galvanize the masses," she agrees. "So, what can Xanadu offer. Is there a product to sell?
"Because that's what has to happen. Don't give them 'No' as an option, make them believe it was their choice and the best one they could make," Paige decides.
"Yes," says Lucas, dryly. "Quite.
"As for what Xanadu has to offer, well, I'll need to see the place before I can comment. So far all we've had are people raving about the spectacular natural beauty. That's all very well, but your average man in the Amber street is just as likely to be lured by a promise of regular work and a decent drainage system. Oh, and good schools for the kiddies."
He gives a slightly edged smile. "Want to play?"
Paige's eyes sparkle, as she leans forward to whisper, "I'd love to, but your wife might get jealous."
Leaning back and finishing off her glass of wine, "And I like her more than I like you most days, so..." She shrugs simply.
"Unless your game's changed over the last century."
"Only most days?" says Lucas. "You're an appalling judge of character, Paige. Solace is consistently nicer than me all the time."
The redhead nods in agreement to his comments on Solace.
"And do try to lift your mind somewhere above the nether edge of your girdle. The game that's being played here is gives a chance to have a say in the creation of a new centre of reality. And that seems to be an opportunity that comes up very rarely ...
"The population of Amber may be reluctant to become pioneers. I already have my metaphorical wagon in the courtyard and ready to roll. Care for a ride?"
"Westward, ho?" she chuckles. "How do you plan to lead them? And how much freedom do you expect the King to offer in such matters. I might not see Random as a driver, but I see him choosing the path."
"The King and I have spoken of this," said Lucas. "And I think you're right. It will probably fall to those who are interested to become the drivers.
"And are you interested?"
"I've been trying to drive these people for years now," she states. "Why would somplace where it might work be any different?"
Lucas smiles, but says nothing.
Paige finishes her glass and rises. "Well, it's nearly nap time for the twins, so I should see to them.
"This was enjoyable. Do give my best wishes to Solace and I'll do my best to find someway my two can contribute to the concert."
"I'm thinking maracas," says Lucas, rising also in polite farewell. "I'll get Mama to lead a conga line."
(brought to Random by a Ranger courier)
To Random, Rex
Greetings from Arden. Your brother Prince Julian bid me send you word of any important events in Arden and Garnath in his absence.
Brousailles and Whistling Pines in the southwest both report increased incursions from the Deep Green. As I mentioned in my last report, we have lost both Girth's and the senior who manned it to the Deep Green. The Mews still reports in, although the news we have is by hawk, since the paths are mazed and mortal men cannot be sure of them now.
Our patrols are limited to the near edges of Arden. Now we concentrate on keeping the Deep Green out of Garnath. I am told we do not always succeed, for which I express my regrets.
There have also been several more kidnappings, following the lines Prince Julian told me he had mentioned to you. There are two more who might be susceptible. One I have by me, and the other is the boy who brings this message. I think Prince Julian would want him to stay out of Arden.
When I have more news, and the Unicorn willing it will be better, I will send it to you at once.
Your servant
Vista
The next letter [Lucas] receives is from Madam Golightly. It arrives Tirsday noonish by a courier who often brings Lucas' tobacco supplies.
Monseigneur
I have terrible news for you. Master Prudenter was taken into custody this morning by the Sherriff's men under suspicion of murder. The body of a man who used to be a groom at the castle was found in his shop when he came to open it.
We will follow your directions in this matter.
Your obedient servant
Golightly.
Lucas sits still for a moment, contemplating this, enough time for him to run over the options mentally.
A groom? A possible conmnection with Lunging, the groom Cheval has told him about. And his fat - first his leg broken (and all the guards believe by Martin), and then dismissed. Now dead? Possibly.
But still ...
Pert is summoned.
He arrives a little breathless, crumbs around his mouth to suggest he was taking an impromptu snack.
"Yes, Monseigneur?"
"Pert, I find I have unaccountably run out of snuff. Run down to the tobacconist and get me a tin of Lord Lucas's special mixture, will you?"
Pert brightens. A trip to the city comes his way rarely, and is something to be regarded as in the nature of a treat.
"Yes, Monsiegneur!"
Lucas flips a coin at him. "The surplus you may regard as a reward for your services."
Pert's face is glowing now. Clearly he has visions of hot pies and perhaps ale and a meeting with the band of urchins he lords it over by virtue of the fact that he serves Blood of Amber .... and is also a better pickpocket than any of them.
"Thank you, Monsiegneur!"
"Oh, and Pert?"
"Yes, Monseigneur?"
"You will wear your livery."
Pert droops. Could there be any more despondent boy in the world? Clearly his pleasure is crushed. In the livery of his Lord, he might meet and swagger with his cronies, but the backstreets will be closed to him.
Lucas hardens his heart. He may also reflect that Pert may well have the sort of adventure that delights him when he reaches the tobacconist if there has been an 'orrible murder there (and the shop sealed off by the Watch. And if there hasn't, and the note was forged, then Pert will return with the snuff. And Lucas will know the note is a forgery.
While Pert is gone, Lucas composes three notes.
The first is to Madame Golightly. It is written on coarse paper and in a near-illiterate scrawl.
It reads:
"Barker is willin."
This, she will know, means that Lucas has received her note and is acting. She need worry no more - she will be contacted when needed.
The second note is to Salter, the editor of a popular family-orientated broadsheet called "Amber Titbits". The contents are mere fluff - gossip about popular artists and those possessed of sporting prowess, interspersed by fawning stories of the royalty of Amber. Stories about Lucas and Solace and their children, accompanied by charming etchings, are a feature of the publication - and play a not inconsiderable role in Lucas's improved reputation in the city.
This note reads:
"My dear Salter,
"I am proposing to hold a children's concert in the castle in the near future, at which my son and daughter will both perform, and where I am expecting Lady Paige's twins to attend. It occurs to me that the presence of one of your most discreet etchers would be welcome. Perhaps you would care to come to the castle to discuss arrangements? This morning will be acceptable to me."
He seals this with the St Vire crest.
A third note is addressed to Sir Archer:
"My dear Archer,
My page has informed me of a distressing occurrence at the shop of Prudenter, the tobacconist. As the man is known to me, I would be interested in discussing the circumstances of this event at your earliest convenience.
Luca de St Vire."
This note, like the first, is set aside in a secret drawer in Lucas's bureau. It is possible that no murder has occurred, and that this is a ruse to smoke him out. If a murder has occurred, then the opposition will be watching closely to see what kerfuffle this raises. And Lucas is determined to do nothing precipately, nothing yet that might betray his hand in this.
Cheval is summoned, and sent with the note to Salter. And then Lucas awaits Pert's return.
Pert returns with the news that the watch has closed Prudenter's shop, and that gossip on the street is that Halfhand's men are questioning him about a murder.
Lucas unlocks the secret bureau drawer.
Cheval returns with word that Salter will be following him in the near future.
Lucas warms Pert's heart by allowing him to change out of his livery and dispatching him into town again, this time to purchase some flowers for Solace at her favourite florists. He is to give her the note for Madame Golightly.
Cheval is sent with the message to Sherriff Archer.
Lucas then changes into a silk smoking jacket, adds a smoking hat complete with tassel, thinks better of the hat and puts it away, mixes up a seven percent solution of cocaine and injects it, and then takes out his Stradivarius and puts in half an hour's practice until Nanny Starch bustles in to inform him that Solace is reacting badly to what she assumes to be the prolonged and agonising deaths of all the cats in the castle.
Lucas, ever the considerate husband, puts away the violin.
He sets Gaston for hunting for his meerschaum pipe and is triumphant when it is found - until his lugubrious valet informs him that he is out of pipe tobacco. The possibilities of replenishing the stock are, at the moment, in some doubt.
Lucas is not amused.
He settles down to wait for Salter, whose arrival by now should be imminent.
Salter does indeed arrive not long thereafter, cap in hand (as it were), to be presented to Lord Lucas by the ever-mournful Gaston.
[Salter is played by Denholm Elliot, per Mel]
"Ah good," says Lucas genially, and dispatches Gaston for some tea.
"I presume you know why I've summoned you, over and above the children's party.
"It seems Prudenter's cover has been blown. And that is ... troubling. He is - as we both know - among the best. If they can do this - they are good. Very good indeed. We should assume that potentially we might both come under suspicion. That is why it is important that whatever action is taken, I must not be associated with it."
He smiles thinly. "You might say, Salter, that is the usual requirement. But now ... it is more important than ever. I want the lamplighters out in force, watching the streets. And ... ah ... the scalphunters in reserve. I don't want to move them into play until we know exactly who is behind this. Get the girls onto it. Golightly will have the canniest ready to sift information. Everything that comes in, no matter how trivial it seems. Collated and cross-referenced - yes?
"And unobtrusive protection for Silken. What's she on at the moment? Level Two, I think. Step it up to Four." He frowns, thinking. "You'd better ensure that for Violet too ... I trust Martin will have taken care of it but ... " He hesitates, then continues smoothly, "It never hurts to be certain, does it?"
What he does not say is that Martin seems to be acting hastily - and sending messages. To Lucas, the tale of the servant woman at Random's door is not just an amusing piece of gossip - it is also revealing of something more than the putative parentage of the stable boy.
"The House of Sorrows ... it needs to be checked out - but with extreme caution. I'm suspecting it's hot ... that might be worth a couple of your most expendable scalphunters. But that must be tackled with extreme delicacy.
"And Golightly isn't going to like this ... but the Houses are in for a makeover. Suddenly, looking glasses are so outre. All the funds she needs, but every mirror where it might be sensitive, it goes." He smiles thinly. "As you might guess from that, Salter, we are dealing with Rebmans. So nothing - and I mean nothing - happens where there is a looking glass, or an attractive pool, or a bowl of washing set to soak.
"Now - do you have any other suggestions or ideas?"
Salter has three questions:
First, is Lucas bringing to bear any resources to counter whatever magics Rebma may be using beyond the mirrors? (Since magic doesn't normally work in Amber, it's not like recruiting magicians is easy/trivial. Lucas does not have any on staff.)
"It will be taken care of," Lucas says superbly. "However, my precautions will not excuse carelessness one anyone else's part. They have spotted Prudenter. They will be capable of much, much more."
Second, does Lucas know how Prudenter was caught?
"I have my suspicions," says Lucas darkly. "When I know more, I shall, of course, alert you."
Third, what should the scalphunters expect to find at the House of Sorrows if all went well?
"A female prisoner," says Lucas. "My intention was to behave with considerable consideration for her person ... I find such happy sentiments now withering on the vine, as it were.
"If she is there, she is to be removed to a place of greater safety. I have plans for her. If she is not ...
"The scalphunters should be two you can afford to lose, as I said. You will lose them. Permenantly and untraceably."
If Salter has no more questions, Lucas dismisses him, and then turns to his desk once more to write a short note.
"Uncle,
I think I may have discovered who might be behind the attacks on my wife - or at least their allegiance.
I believe I need your help."
He signs it simply, without his usual flourish, but still seals it with the St Vire crest. Some habits are hard to break.
He flips it over, hesitates for one moment, and then writes a single name on the front. Then he summons Gaston. The lugubrious one enters.
"Here," says Lucas. "Take this. And wait for an answer."
Gaston puts the unsealed envelope in front of the prince, who breaks it with his freshly manicured hand.
He looks up, over a pair of reading glasses. "We do not look favorably on those who assault the wife of the son of the chatelaine of our brother. Some things are not to be borne, eh, Gaston? This calls for stern measures. Your master is invited to tea with me. Terce. You may go, Gaston, thank you." The prince returns to his perusal of "The Dirt".
Gaston delivers the message to Lucas, who he finds dis-satisfied with his current apparel. Lucas casts aside the silk smoking jacket and changes into clothes of a more sombre hue (but perfectly exquisite cut), favouring a shade of rich, dark green that has the effect of making him look unusually pale (and Lucas is hardly a man of ruddy cheeks at the best of times). This appearance, however, he is satisfied with, for he takes up station in his living toom with a rather vulgar French novel to await the arrival of Sir Archer.
Gaston announces the arrival of the Sheriff some time later. Lucas has dealt with him on occasion during the Regency; he's a reasonable fellow with keen political instincts. He had been out of favor while Eric was king for unfortunate alliances, but he served Gerard and the Council faithfully during the Regency.
Like Lucas, he is maimed, having lost three fingers in some long-ago battle. Unlike Lucas, he's never going to grow it back.
"Sherriff Archer," says Lucas, rising with affable politeness. "I'm sorry you drag you from your duties. Might I offer you refreshment?"
Actually, it will be Gaston who does this, if Archer is desirous. Lucas himself has a whisky soda is an elaborately carved crystal tumbler.
Archer does indeed accept, which isn't surprising, since he keeps good whisky in his own office for just such occasions.
Once they are seated and Gaston has withdrawn, Lucas says, "I asked you to call about a piece of news that has come my way. My page went down earlier for some tobacco, and found the shop closed - a murder had been committed there, I understand. He further informed me that the tobacconist - M. Prudenter, of course - had discovered and reported the crime ... and had been arrested."
He takes a sip of his whisky.
"I do hope the last was merely page gossip, Sherriff, and that Prudenter is merely making a statement. Or that you have very compelling evidence to suggest his complicity. Otherwise the arrest of an upright, stalwart citizen for simply reporting a crime is not going to inspire the sort of confidence that we on the Committee have been striving to build in the city. To say nothing of making honest citizens extrely chary of reporting a crime, lest they themselves should be accused of its commission."
Another sip of whisky.
"What makes me disbelieve the rumour - in addition to my personal marked distaste to treating seriously the rumors dredged from the dregs of the street - is the fact that you know the man personally; he has sat upon the Committee with us. But I am interested to learn the particulars of the case as it is known. A crime that seems directed against one of us in this fashion ... well, it reflects on us all, does it not?"
"You'll be pleased to hear that your page has garbled the rumor," Sir Archer says, leaning back in his chair. "Prudenter's not in jail. He's in protective custody. Somebody gutted a man all over the inside of his shop in a way that suggests he's made a powerful enemy. I don't know whether it has anything to do with his work on the Committee or not, but someone is extremely unhappy with him."
"Nasty," comments Lucas. "And was enough left of the unfortunate man for his identity to be known? Rumour has placed him as an ex-groom at the Castle - but ... well."
Archer nods. "Preliminary identification says his name was Lunging and he was a groom here at the castle. He'd been recently turned off, and the Steward hasn't yet returned my inquiry about that. I'll be visiting him later to check on that, but I'd appreciate hearing anything you've found out the matter."
Sir Archer takes a sip of his own whisky. "As for Prudenter, I'm planning to release him this evening, but he'll have someone watching him, for his own safety. Purely unofficially, you understand. I have no desire to see the business with the printers repeated, whatever that business was."
"Absolutely," agrees Lucas. "Our aim as a Committee has, after all, been to prevent any such further occurrences in the City.
"But it strikes me that this seems to be an oblique attack aimed against the Castle and its inhabitants - or some of its inhabitants, perhaps. The man was a groom here - and Prudenter has many customers among the Castle residents. Myself and Prince Martin, for example."
He is watching Sir Archer over the rim of his glass for any response to this (for example, to see whether the man shows any reaction that suggests he might know about Martin's encounter with Lunging - and Lucas has (I trust) high enough water to read even small signals).
Sir Archer nods at the suggestion that the attack might be directed at the castle. Lucas feels that this isn't a new idea to him, but he doesn't seem married to it. He doesn't feel Archer knows about Martin's connection to the matter based on his reactions.
"Do you have any leads on who might be responsible for this outrage?" Lucas may have his own methods - but that does not mean he takes no account of the highly competent services originally put in place by previous regimes. Sir Archer, he suspects, will have formed his own opinions - which may be supported by tangible facts.
"Not yet. I have some lines of investigation, but nothing tangible enough that I could say I have suspects. I'm following up with some of Lunging's friends and acquaintances, particularly about how he got his leg broken, which no one seems to be able to answer satisfactorily."
"I'm not surprised," Lucas murmurs - but when Sir Archer raises his eyebrows interrogatively, Lucas makes a gesture that signifies, "Let it pass, let it pass."
"There's also a boy from the stable who has gone missing, but I've heard that matter has been resolved satisfactorily." Archer smirks and takes another sip of his whisky.
Lucas nods slowly. The revelation of Garrett's probable origins has not passed him by.
"I think it only a matter of time before you learn the cause of Lunging's injuries," says Lucas. "It was His Highness Prince Martin - although I do not know the cause of the disagreement between them. Let us say I judge it unlikely to be that His Highness had objections to the way Lunging was wielding a curry comb."
Archer looks surprised for a half-second, but he covers it well. Then he seems to be thinking, and Lucas can almost see pieces falling into place in his head.
If Lucas smiles at the reception of this news, it is entirely inwardly.
"However ... if friends of Lunging wished to avenge the attack by carrying it to someone who is known to be patronised by His Highness, the use of Lunging as a ... ahhh ... billet doux seems a little ... unexpected. The man was hardly marked for death because he had a broken leg. And yet ... he was so marked - by someone."
"I'd have expected a response to be more directly aimed at His Highness under those circumstances," Archer agrees. "Unless, of course, Prudenter has connections to the Prince that we're not aware of."
Archer's tone suggests he might.
Lucas shrugs. "Martin is known to be fond of tobacco," he points out. "If someone wanted to cut me to the quick, they might aim for my tailors. Or my bootmakers.
"This attack," says Lucas thoughtfully, "if such it is, might be by those not powerful enough to strike directly against us ... but will be targetting those involved with us who might be more ... vulnerable." He seems to be considering. "I think your men should have the somewhat pleasant task of guarding the Red Mill. As well, as you say, as Prudenter. Where are you holding him? I wonder if it would be possible for me to see him without ... ah ... attracting undue attention.
"He's currently at my office. If you wait until this evening, when I've formally released him, you'll have a better chance of avoiding most observers. He'll still have a friend of mine with him, but he's, ah, discreet," Archer says.
Lucas nods. "I shall do that. You might warn Prudenter that he might expect a visit at around the turn of the night. And the person will present my seal.
"Tell no-one but Prudenter and your friend of this."
Archer nods slowly.
He lets Sir Archer drink his whisky in peace for a moment before asking, "Is there anything else I should know? Or can I in any way assist you?"
"You've given me quite a bit to chew on as it is, thanks. But if you come up with anything more to suggest why Prudenter was a target, please let me know. I recognize that a certain amount of discretion is required in dealing with matters that involve the royal family, but I find it harder to maintain that discretion when I'm stumbling blind. Also, if you speak to Prince Martin, you might tell him about what's happened. I understand he left town several days ago and presume he isn't even aware of Lunging's death."
Lucas nods. "I hope to be speaking to Prince Martin in the near future," he says. "And I shall endeavour to ensure you are not stumbling blind. This is no time for petty demarcations of interests to interfere with the safety of our citizens.
"If I might venture a suggestion ... if I were you, I would concentrate on Lunging's contacts, rather than Prudenter who may well have been a blameless target. But something Lunging did excited His Highness' ire - and then the more deadly malice of persons so far unknown.
"I would be very interested in learning if Lunging had connections with interests outside the Castle - wouldn't you?"
"Oh, yes, we're already investigating those. If I find anything useful, I'll be certain to let you know. And Prince Martin." Archer finishes his whiskey and sets the empty glass down on the table.
"If Your Lordship will excuse me, it's probably time for me to question Steward Vent. I appreciate your hospitality and your assistance, and I'll give Prudenter your message when I cut him loose this evening."
He rises, offers Lucas a bow, and unless Lucas has anything else to add, will be on his way.
Last modified: 9 December 2004