Strong Medicine

Hannah turns and grins at Gerard when the door closes, but waits to see what he'll say about being abandoned to her.

Gerard arches his eyebrows at Hannah. "You look like you're expecting a curmudgeon, lass. I'm afraid I'm likely to disappoint you. Did any of them think to feed you, or should I send for a snack?"

If he eats to maintain that mass, what he thinks of as a snack could probably feed a significant portion of her tribe.

"A snack? I could eat again, although your sister Fiona was kind enough to feed me. I've got to admit, I could likely wander this place for hours trying to find the kitchens, so I should eat while I can." She grins again, and lets him go about procuring food. She watches how he gets around, checks out the room.

Gerard moves comfortably. He's obviously used to the wheelchair, and Hannah can see that the muscular development in his arms is that of a man who uses them a lot. The pages seem very happy to run errands for him, from the sound of the youth who responds to his summons.

The room has been arranged so nothing is out of his reach, and there's a lot of maneuvering space for the wheelchair.

When he comes back she says, "They told me it's been a years since you were injured. You've been in your skin all that time. You tell me what I'm going to find, and why I'm being asked to look at you after... 5 years?"

"You're being asked to look at me after all this time because the family, in particular my son Vere, isn't ready to accept that there's very little to be done for my legs without recourse to magic or technology that's likely to fail me if I walk Shadow again." Gerard looks at her. "You're a doctor. You tell me what you see when you look at my legs."

Hannah stares hard at his face, considering for the first time that her brand of magic might fail him outside of this place. "I'd have to see more of them to give that opinion," she finally says.

Gerard nods, and Hannah thinks she's passed the first test. "After we've eaten, we'll go to the infirmary and you can do just that," he replies. "In the meantime, you can tell me about your training as a physician, and some of the cases you've dealt with. Naught that will spoil your appetite, of course."

Hannah presses her lips together in thought before answering this. "I earned my medical degree from a women's medical college on the east coast - I also passed my boards there." She raises an eyebrow, watching to see that he understands what she's talking about. "I didn't specialize in anything because I needed a broad knowledge base in order to practice among my people. We're rural, and I end up doing everything, even half the animal care. I spent a year after college practicing on the poor in a big city. I actually find it easier to work in a rural setting - I can find what I need in nature more easily than in a store or on a street."

Gerard nods. He seems to have some idea of what she's talking about.

"I've been licensed for 10 years. They've been busy. I'm the Bureau's official doctor to the Omaha tribe, but as I said, it is rural, so I end up treating everyone for miles and miles around. I also practice an earth-based healing magic, but from what you've just said, that may not work on all these 'earths' or even here... so..." Hannah shrugs. "There will be time to experiment with that later, I hope. Not on you," she adds hastily. Then she laughs at herself.

"I've had magical healing a time or two. 'Twill be interesting to see what you can do with it," Gerard says thoughtfully.

As food arrives, she launches into case stories. She tells them like she's talking to a layman unless Gerard indicates to her he's practiced medicine - then she'll tell them with all the peculiar humor doctors generally use discussing such things. She has seen crushing injuries, of course, from stampedes, farm machines, and construction accidents.

Gerard questions her thick and fast, and although she might not have known he was a doctor before she started telling stories, she has a good idea of it by the time she finishes the first one. He asks her about why she chose a particular course of treatment in certain cases; how she ascertained certain details about particular injuries; and, in some cases, he suggests alternative remedies and asks Hannah to evaluate their possible utilities.

If there's anything she doesn't understand in his questions, he stops and explains. It's clear to her that his knowledge of medicine is both broad and deep. Hannah has the sense he'd be much better as a teacher if he could stand up and show her what he's doing.

Hannah eats it up. For 7 years since the pejula wacasa took his journey, she's been alone, struggling through. The few doctors who came around either didn't care to share or have the time. It's so good to stretch again, like having a good run in the spring.

Hannah answers every question he asks. She extrapolates. She fires questions back. She gives up her own prejudices and talks some about spirit walking, searching for answers, healing the soul.

She explains her native pharmacology a bit - how she manages to make medicines from their native woods, since her people can't always afford modern treatments - and how so many of those don't work as well. They have unneccesary ingredients in them that are poisons - alcohol for example. She also goes into her distrust of certain pain-numbing agents. "What are you using?"

"Morphine," Gerard says. "Probably too much of it, but my options are limited. If I could get something better, something that just blocked the nerve transmissions, I'd do that, but we can't refine such things here." He scowls.

She holds her face a little too still. She nods. "How much did you take yesterday, and was that a normal day?"

He tells her. It's too much. Way too much.

That's normal for him.

Hannah manages to look merely concerned, rather than horrified.

"Would something that was made elsewhere, that blocked nerve transmissions - would it work here?" she asks.

Gerard frowns. "Medicines hold their potency longer than other high-technology gear, but the supply would have to be renewed very regularly. And that means a trade route, or an initiate to walk to a place where he can find such medicine. Both have been in short supply these last few years."

Hannah's brow furrows. "So you need a solution that will work here for you, because this is where you intend to make your home? Is there anything that would work everywhere? I'm sure these are elementary questions, but as of this morning I didn't understand the nature of the universe." She shrugs with a little grin.

"I thought it was where I was going to make my home until this morning. Now, maybe, I think I might follow Random. I don't know whether imported technology will hold better in his new land." Gerard shrugs.

"I don't know what will work for sure, but to know it will work everywhere, it will have to survive a Patternwalk. And if it fails me on the Pattern, that's the end of me, so I'm keen to find a sure solution. Especially since my son complicated the matter. He's gone and sworn not to wed until I can walk again, and now the fool lad's gone and fallen in love." Despite his harsh words, Gerard's tone is ruefully affectionate.

"That's what happens when you make an oath like that. It's like hanging the clothes out to dry calls the rain - he should have known better. Good motivation though," Hannah smiles.

"Shall we go down to the infirmary?" he asks Hannah.

"Sure," she agrees. She'll stand and open the door [presuming he lets her]. "So, um, what's a Patternwalk?" Hannah asks more quietly.

"We'll talk about that when we get to the infirmary. That's Family talk," Gerard explains.

Hannah nods. She sure understands that.

The infirmary isn't that far away. It's on the same level of the castle, although Hannah does see a stairway that has boards on it, obviously to accommodate Gerard's wheelchair. It looks unsafe and rickety to Hannah. She notes that he has no trouble wheeling himself, not that she probably expected him to.

The infirmary has a lot of medical equipment that Hannah doesn't recognize. It's very clean, though, and the instruments she recognizes are all of top-notch materials and craftsmanship. Most things are on low shelves or tables, well within Gerard's reach.

Once they're in the infirmary, with the door shut, Gerard continues the conversation. "Do you know about the Pattern? We walk it to prove our blood. Sometimes it helps to heal us--it helped my brother Corwin regain his memory after a blow to the head. But because it strips away things that aren't real, it might strip away any magic that healed me, or any advanced technology. So I'm wary of such healing. D'ye ken?"

As he's speaking, he wheels over to a low examination table and begins to pull himself out of the chair and onto it.

"Well, yeah. That makes sense. It can heal, hm?" She puts that thought away for future consideration. "Is it... I think Mr. Dworkin showed it to me today. I singed my hair."

"Then whatever you did to do that, don't do it again," Gerard suggests.

Hannah laughs. "I just wanted to listen to it. I think if my hair was up like this," she motions to her braid, "it would be fine."

Hannah looks to wash her hands, and checks out the instruments at hand. She picks them up and plays with them - if she can't figure out a use for something (intended or not) she'll ask him what it is.

Once he's settled and she's got the lay of the land, she intends to give him a thorough exam, full body, every little reflex she can find. Ears, et al.

Gerard is remarkably healthy for a guy whose legs were crushed and healed badly.

From her examination, Hannah can tell that his pelvis and most of his legs between the hip and the knee were badly damaged. His lower legs were less badly injured and whoever tended to them was able to get them better splinted and cast. If they'd put him in a cast from the waist down, they might have been able to salvage more, but for some reason they don't seem to have done that.

He's probably in a lot of pain, which would account for the high morphine intake.

Gerard probably also needs a lot of daily care, but with the numbers of servants she's seen around, Hannah doesn't doubt that he has that.

There is no immediately obvious course of treatment that would allow him to recover the use of his legs. If she'd seen him right after the accident, she might have been able to help him better. And from his comments, Gerard knows it.

[OOC: I take it from this he does have bloodflow all the way down to his feet then? Does he have any leg movement at all, or is it actual paralization? If so, she'll want to try to find the exact cutoff of that.]

He has no motor control of his legs.

Gerard does have blood flow most of the way down. Several of his toes have been amputated, but he tells Hannah he could grow them back.

"You've grown toes back before?" she asks. Although that's not unheard of, it's certainly unusual - but not half as strange to her as how he lived through this injury.

"Small ones," Gerard says. "We all do--earlobes, fingertips, that kind of thing. Corwin grew his eyes back after they'd been burnt out. Took him four years, though."

Hannah chuckles and looks up at him, sure he must be joking until she sees his face. Then amusement becomes shock, and it's obvious she's wondering what she's gotten herself into before she looks back down.

"I want to make sketches. How long before your next dose?" Hannah asks.

"Long enough," Gerard says. "I normally wait until dinner; I do better when I have something in my stomach. What's your initial diagnosis, doctor? And the prognosis?"

"Paraplegia in fexion. But your prognosis seems to belie the diagnosis, because you aren't... the normal I'm used too," she grins. "It depends on how much you're willing to let me 'practice' on you. I need to think, and I would rather get you onto a pain inhibitor that isn't... I'd like to get you on something else before the morphine stops working. I'm amazed it worked this long."

She's going to set up to sketch unless he stops her. She's starting at the toes and trying to document by touch and scar tissue what the inside of his feet and legs look like. She doesn't plan on getting it all done in one sitting. Probably not even two sittings. She'd rather be detailed.

He sits there and lets her sketch.

"What sort of painkiller do ye have in mind?" Gerard asks.

She shrugs. "I've got to learn the pharmacology first. We have morphine in common, but I don't know what else. I'll need to talk to the King, or someone, about this other... place? On that subject, who am I allowed to discuss your condition with? It seems nearly everyone I run into feels they have an interest in you. Who represents you when you can't represent yourself?"

"I've mentioned my son, Vere. He's travelling now, out of Amber, and when he comes back it won't be for long. We'll have to see about getting a Trump of him. My daughter, Solange, is also travelling, and I don't have an easy way to contact her, but she contacts me. If I tell her there's a doctor here, she may come rushing home to help me. Then there's Folly, who's distant kin to me, but I hold her wardship. She's here in Amber, but she may also go running about. And there's no Trump of her either, so far as I know." Gerard looks mildly exasperated at the inconvenient lack of Trumps.

"Of people ye can call by Trump, even though they may not answer, there's my brother Julian. He and I share a dam, so he's my closest kin apart from my children. And if none of them are available, the King is my liege lord."

Gerard adds, "I suppose most of the youngsters look on me as a bit of a father figure. We're not so good at being paternal, and for most of the last six years, when I was Regent, they learned to look to me for that kind of thing. And my brothers and sisters, well, wouldn't yours worry about you?"

Hannah snorts before she can stop herself. "My sister thinks she knows everything and would soon enough be telling my poor doctor what they 'needed' to do, not to mention pesterin' the life out of me. My brother would at turns be pleading with and dangerous to my caretakers. So," she grins, "I know exactly what siblings are like."

Hannah looks briefly worried about something, before she puts her professional mask back on.

"Vere, Solange, Folly, Julian, the King. Okey dokey then. Speaking of brothers, one of yours told me you might need a bartender. If you're drinking alcohol while you're taking morphine you'll have to agree to stop before I agree to treat you any further."

She says it very calmly, but she watches his eyes and her face is set stubbornly.

"That's awfully harsh on a man," Gerard says. "Is that a medical judgement?" He's remarkably placid-looking. Sort of like the sea before a storm.

Hannah gives him a long unhappy look. "Yes. Let me tell you what you know, and then you can tell me what I don't, and we'll see if it changes my mind."

"When alcohol is in your blood it usually reduces the availability of all the other drugs in your blood, but not opiates. My experience with morphine and alcohol is that they mix together so both their effects are more than doubled - and I'm not the only doctor who has seen that in my world. There are papers. I can understand why you might want to increase the availability of morphine in your blood - it lets you feel even better without taking more. Unfortunately, it's increasing your tolerance, which is already high. You could also overdose easily combining them - I've seen the seizures and the comas."

"Two, alcohol is a depressant, physical and mental. Your body has enough going against it right now. Opiates often effect a person negatively. It's less turmoil than what comes with the pain, which is why they are used - but when you add alcohol it increases the emotional distortion."

"Three, you already have a greater risk for organ damage because when your legs were freed your kidneys were stressed and likely are scarred. Morphine isn't helping them, or your liver. Alcohol isn't going to help your liver either. And before you give me the 'but we're different' argument, let me say whatever you or I am, it doesn't change what alcohol or morphine are."

Hannah takes a deep breath and smiles. "Your turn."

"I should tell you some medical facts, then," says Gerard. "First, I am different, and so are you. If I weren't what I am, I'd be dead, and you know it. Second, I don't drink much any more--a touch of wine with dinner and a wee dram now and again. Mostly for the reasons you cite, but also because I couldn't be too wooly-headed to carry out the duties of the Regent. Third, if you're looking to start temperance here, you should know that not only is this a navy town, there was a while there where it was drink small beer or boil your water, so you're not likely to find much sympathy for your views."

"I haven't even tried that at home," Hannah mutters, but she blushes.

He looks her straight in the eye. "I won't say I'll never have a drink so long as you treat me, but I'm willing to give up wine with dinner if you think it's that important."

Hannah purses her lips. "I don't even know what a 'wee dram' is," she complains. "We may be different, but you can be hurt - this much has been proven. I have no reason to believe whatever damage your organs have incurred is any more healed than your legs. You're right, you should be dead, from the initial injuries - and again from this morphine use, but you are not."

She scowls. "I'll agree to that if you'll agree that if I think it's worsening you in a dangerous way, you'll stop. It'd probably be too late by then, but I'm sure your family will understand when I tell them you thought a 'wee dram' wouldn't hurt. What is a 'wee dram', by volume?"

"Metaphorical," says Gerard. "I last took a glass of whiskey yesterday afternoon." He indicates a square decanter on the sideboard. "Four fingers, in one of these glasses." He picks up a crystal tumbler and hands it to her. "I didn't finish it all. My ward had had some bad news, and I offered her a glass and took one myself."

Hannah keeps right on scowling. She moves closer and places her hand on his. "Four of your fingers, or four of mine?" She means it rhetorically and moves back. She's just trying to make a point. "I'd bet you can tell me exactly how much morphine you had."

"Morphine's imported and requires special keeping. Whiskey doesn't, and a lot more of us use it."

"Are you going to take the compromise I offered?" she asks stubbornly, picking her drawings back up.

"I suppose so," says Gerard. "If you'll promise me you won't pester for me not to drink unless you're sure it's medically necessary."

Taking her movements as a signal, Gerard reaches out and snags his wheelchair, then starts to lower himself into it from the table.

"I wouldn't do that. I need you to trust me. I'll earn that though, time enough." Hannah watches him. "So what is your schedule like? Are you freed up since the King is here?"

Gerard is used to managing for himself, from the way that he maneuvers himself into the wheelchair, at least. He has adapted well. His arms are thick and brawny, but if he spent a lot of time wheeling himself around, and he was active before, that's not a terrible surprise.

"I'm at leisure, yes. While he was gone this last month, I made myself available to the Queen. She'd never had to hold so much power before, and I've had a bit of experience in the regenting job, so I was glad to offer my counsel to her. I'm expecting my son in a week or two or three, whenever he gets here from Paris, and he'll need all my attention for a few days while he prepares to take his warband home. But other than that, I haven't much to do."

He pauses, then adds, "I see a few patients, mostly on an ad hoc basis. I do have a couple who show up regularly, though. Should I assume you'll be taking them if I'm unavailable?"

Hannah smiles that I-should-say-no-but-I-can't-resist smile. "Sure. I don't turn people away - I can't. Although I have to go home at some point; they'll think..." she shrugs, and doesn't finish that thought. "Lucky I've been training people. Have you got anything written down, or is it all in your head?"

"I have some case records on Solace, Lucas' wife. Her second pregnancy went badly, and Lucas brought in a midwife and an herbalist for her, but I've overseen her case as well. For most of the others I only have scattered notes at best."

She shakes her head and clucks at him, but she's grinning.

Gerard hesitates before adding, "Some of them may not want to come to you. I think some of the lads come for paternal advice as much as doctoring, and not knowing you, and you being a woman, they may not come to you for that. But some of the lasses may come to you with complaints they wouldn't come to me with, so it evens out."

Hannah snorts. "I'm sure it'll even out. What's it like for the women here?" She leaves the question open ended to see what he'll say.

"I'm hardly in a position to answer that question," Gerard replies with an amused snort. "You should ask my daughter, or my ward, or one of the other girls."

Hannah smiles softly but doesn't laugh. "You're a father, and a foster-father, a doctor, an uncle, a brother and a prince, I think. I want to know what you think."

"I think the girls chafe at what they see are the restrictions on women of their station. I think they sometimes resent the freedom they feel like the lads have. I think they don't see the places where the lads run less free," Gerard says without hesitation.

Hannah nods. "Back home, some people don't believe women can be doctors. It means nothing to them that I've gone to school, or done surgeries. I've had people with horrible injuries refuse to let me lay a hand on them. Am I going to have that problem here? I mean, your family seems quite content with it, but I know sometimes some folks are more enlightened than others. If I put on trousers under my skirts so I can jump on a horse if I need to, will I be considered... the kind of girl who's fun but you don't marry?

"And are they just chafing, or do the women actually suffer for it? Am I likely to meet a bunch of wives who are child-born out and half past caring about it all? Neglected babies and such?"

Gerard frowns and thinks about it. After a moment, he begins "I don't know so much about sailors' wives. I sailed, but most of my officers and my men were, well, men. There's poverty, yes, and has been more than usual since the Sundering. But we breed slow here, and so women don't wear out in bearing often. Neglected babes, we tried to make sure there were none of after the Sundering, but I'm sure we didn't find them all. Amber's near a million people. Even a dozen of my nieces and nephews can only do so much."

Hannah nods. She's certainly been there.

He continues. "I don't think that anyone would refuse your help for being a woman, but there's always some damnfool coot who's willing to get sick or die to make a point. You might ask Folly about what she thinks about trousers under skirts. She wears them. Cambina wears trousers too, for all that they look like a skirt. My daughter Solange wears skirts in the city, but when she rode in Garnath, she wore jodhpurs."

That makes her smile. "Jodhpurs, hm."

A momentary pause later: "Women did a lot of things while I was Regent, because they needed doing and women were here to do that. I don't know how much of that will stick now that the army is home, but I've no problem with you doing what you think is needful. I don't think most people will have a problem with a woman of the royal blood doing whatever she damn well pleases, short of behaving like a drunken doxy." And Gerard offers Hannah a level gaze with his last few words.

"I see," she says. "Well, I don't think we need to worry about me doing that. Okay then," Hannah stands up, unrolls and rerolls her papers. "I'm going to go bother the King about this place of his and what it can do. Then, research. You planning on going anywhere, if I have questions?"

"Oh, I'll be around here somewhere. I don't get too far away, unless I'm going into the city, and I have no plans for that." He wheels to the door and calls a page.

"Take Lady Hannah here to the King's office, please, or wherever he is if he's not there."

Hannah turns to go, but turns back to say with a laugh, "You aren't too bad of a patient, for a doctor. If I'm ever hurt, I make no such promises."

As the dragonrider's footsteps fade down the hall, Folly looks at Random and grins. "Got a minute, king-of-the-universe-guy?"

He nods and, in a way that has always disturbed some of his more delicate relatives, cracks his neck. "I've always been king of my own universe. It's only recently that I've had tenants in it. Cerveza? The King of Two Places wants a Maibock..."

"'Tis the season," Folly agrees with an amused smile. "And hey," she adds as she casually gestures for him to lead on, "didn't you promise that after I Walked, you'd show me how to conjure sh**?"

"You don't want to conjure sh**, it's too easy to find. Conjuration is just like walking through shadow, with a twist. It's non-trivial, so it takes a bit to make it look easy."

Folly nods, grinning. "Well, you know, I don't actually know how to walk through shadow yet either, though I've watched other people do it. I do sort of know the theory behind it, but that's different from being able to do it yourself. Like being able to find middle-C doesn't necessarily make you a musician, y'know?" She gestures for him to continue.

He shakes his head. "You know the line. 'How do you know if you're a professional musician?' You've walked the pattern, you do know how to walk through shadow, even if you haven't done it. You don't want to over-think this one.

"Anyway..." Random starts ticking off points on his fingers. "OK, so walking in shadow is a matter of taking your certainty that there will be some very particular thing coming in to view as you move and causing the universe to change where you are in it so that that's a true statement, right? And probability manipulation is a matter of determining which of several possible outcomes will come to be, right? Both of those are a matter of fooling yourself so thoroughly that the Universe gives up and decides you're right and gives you what you expect, rather than deal with you bitching about it."

Random starts walking down the corridor. "Conjuration is more of the same. While it's easier to do while moving, because shadow walks work better that way, it's possible to make find a beer anywhere. Or a smoke. It goes like this. You convince yourself that there is a bottle of beer that someone put down behind that potted plant. You have to concentrate on details, but you don't want to get so specific that the result is improbable. So, you may want a Spoetzel Bock from Texorami, but the best thing to concentrate on is the shape of the bottle, the ceramic closure with the metal twisty-bit at the top, the sweat on the sides of the bottle, and the darkening of the paper label on the side turned away from where you're conjuring. All this talking makes me thirsty, of course. So, I really want that beer. It's a good thing it's there.

"You need to stay in the same shadow, because otherwise, you'll end up drinking it alone. Now that beer could be there. One of the servants could have put it down. Or me, I'm lousy about leaving glasses and bottles on whatever furniture is handy. Or Merlin might have magicked one up and decided he was really looking for was a cider. In any case, there are any number of reasons why I could find a two-pack of beer behind that plant, the biggest of which is that I know that it's there."

Random reaches back behind his vegetable accomplice and Folly hears a clinking sound. Random grins as he pulls two glass bottles out. He hands one to Folly and pops the top of the other. After he takes a long gulp, he continues walking, going towards his office. "Got a cigarette?," the king of two places asks.

"Well, let's see...." As she falls into step beside him, Folly pops the top of her own beer and takes a quick swig. "I did wear these jeans on tour, where I got offered smokes almost nightly by many very cute boys -- and I accepted, of course, because... did I mention they were very cute?" She grins and in her mind's eye pictures the crumpled pack of cigarettes that must at this very moment reside deep in her trouser pocket -- not the pocket with her trumps, the other one; pictures the torn plastic covering, the red-and-white logo, its text obscured by the pack's having been wrapped tight around the few remaining cigarettes in the bottom....

"I must've left a pack in here...." Folly screws up her features and shoves her free hand deep into her pocket, spelunking for the desired item.

Her fingers touch shreds of cellophane and she grasps a pack that just may contain a few stray cigs. Syd grins like a maniac as he sees it in her hands and produces a match, which he strikes as she pulls the smoke from the mangled remains of the wrapper.

Folly beams as she produces the cigarette. Not even the tiny voice in the corner of her brain asking, 'Huh, I wonder if that's actually tobacco?' dims her sense of accomplishment. She puts the cigarette to her lips and steps forward for a light, just like she used to, taking just a puff or two before handing the rest of the smoke over to Syd.

Syd strikes the match on the wall and it's in place exactly when the smoke is. It's a scene the two musicians could do in pitch darkness.

"Beer helps, actually. Sometimes what you need to get over the last hump is what my brother Julian calls 'a momentary bafflement of the senses'. Me, I call it 'being able to believe your own BS', which explains why all of my brothers and sisters are good at it."

"Well then, here's to beer, bafflement, and believing your own BS," Folly says, grinning. She raises her bottle in toast and takes a long swig.

Syd clanks his bottle into hers.

"Speaking of some subset of those things, how was Soren when you left him?" Syd can tell that that isn't quite her real question, but she's probably waiting 'til they get to the privacy of his office to get to her actual point.

"Bitching. 'I should really make a list of all the stuff you all have left me with over the years--Drums, Band, Cats, Castles. How do I get catfood here?' As if there wasn't a ship in the harbor. He'll do fine, as long as he doesn't decide to teach the sailors to sing."

Folly grins. "You kidding? He's probably already planning out the album of sea-shanties...."

"Xanadu's very own Alan Lomax." He shakes his head, grinning.

He pauses. "You doing OK?," he asks as he reaches for the door to his erstwhile office.

"Yeah." With a twinkle in her eye, Folly drops her voice to a low murmur and adds conspiratorially, "Itchin' to get back to Xanadu."

She follows him into the office and plops down in a chair in a most comfortable but unladylike fashion, with her legs dangling over the arm.

"Y'know, if you'd Stuck With The Plan," she continues, arching an eyebrow at him in gentle reproof, "I was gonna offer to swap places with you, to help Soren keep an eye on things there while you were here. The more the merrier, y'know?" She grins and shrugs.

"But I can wait 'til tomorrow. I've got a thing or two I should probably set in motion here anyway." She pauses a moment, like she's considering something, then adds, "We riding horses the whole way? Or have you got some alternate mode of conveyance in mind?"

"Between this seaport and that seaport? Yes, but horses will be faster for us. Besides, we need to get more horses used to shadow-rides. Plus, Cambina needs the sunshine. Have you seen the girl? I have stationery that's darker skinned than she is. You'd think Fiona was her father, not Eric." He finishes his beer and tosses the bottle at an open trash can on the far side of the room. "That's an example of manipulating probability so that the glass wouldn't break, by the way."

Folly grins and nods. "This is why our instruments so rarely went out of tune during gigs, isn't it?" It's more a statement than a question. Clearly, she's beginning to see the myriad possibilities of her new skills.

Random runs his fingers through his hair. "You could go on ahead of us, you know, if you want to practice. All roads lead to Xanadu, these days..."

Folly's eyes light up, and she sits up in her chair. "Oooh, could I---?" but she abruptly cuts herself off with a slight sobering shake of her head. After an instant's conteplation, she looks at Syd and says, "I should make sure my horse is up to it. Garrett tells me she hasn't been quite herself lately, though she seemed fine when we went for a ride this afternoon...."

To anyone else it would sound completely innocuous, but Syd has absolutely no doubt Folly is poking him with a stick.

Random blows a smoke ring. "Lilly was mentioning Garrett just today. Apparently something of an up-and-comer. We will need stablehands in Xanadu. Along with Princes of the Blood and all."

The corners of Folly's mouth crook up into a tiny smile, and she nods. "I was thinking the same thing, actually. You think we should ask him to come with us? I can vouch for his credentials."

"Can you? I was thinking I'd have to verify them. You remember how I said 'I know you can walk the pattern' and you thought it was me being 'encouraging' or 'supportive' or something? Well, it wasn't. I mean it was, but it wasn't just that. It was me knowing. If I see Garrett, I'll know if he's capable of walking the pattern. That won't prove his mother's story, but it will mean that it's at least true enough to narrow it down to myself and my brothers."

Folly nods. "You probably should verify, then. I mean, it's obvious to me, but I admit all I'm really going on are a few visual cues and the overwhelming urge to flirt with him." She grins.

"And that's how you're trying to differentiate?" His brow is creasing and uncreasing as if his mind was trying desperately to keep a comment in (and, by doing so, making a comment). He takes a second to get his face back under control and takes a long drag on the cigarette. "I'm planning on taking a look at him later on." A second smoke ring follows the first, lazily. "But yeah, drag him along if you want. There's more to being a member of this family than just finding out and getting a room in the big house. Find out if he has any musical talent."

Folly's grin deepens. "Will do. I'm so glad your priorities are still in order." She finishes her beer and tosses the bottle toward the trash, sure that if Syd's bottle could make it in one piece, then so can hers....

The bottle hits the far rim of the trash can and bounces up, tumbling in on top of the one Syd just put there. Tumbling in too hard. Folly hears the tinkle of breaking glass inside the trash bin.

She wrinkles her nose and lets out a long string of good-natured expletives.

Syd looks up, smiling. "Two things there, kiddo. Primero: sometimes you've got to keep the manipulation going for a bit more than just a shove. And Numero Two-o, it's harder to do that if the trick you're pulling is less likely. Glass on trashcan is easier to pull off than glass on other glass."

He looks over at her, his head cocked at a 45 degree angle. "Eventually, you'll barely remember how it was not to be able to do this sh**."

Folly looks back at him and nods. "And I apologize if in the meantime my practicing results in mild surface damage to your shiny new castle. And I -- I promise not to conjure llamas in the bath. Much." A tiny twinkle breaks through her mock-grave expression. "On the other hand, think what we'd save on towels...."

He shrugs. "We'd more than spend that savings on Llama Diapers. And you can't conjure in Xanadu. It has a pattern."

"Oh, right," Folly says. "I've spent so little time anyplace that actually has a working pattern, I keep forgetting that bit...."

Her eyes fall on the drums set up in the floor, and her expression grows pensive. "You know, when we get everyone to Xanadu, they're all gonna--- I mean, I'm sure a lot of 'em have figured it out already... y'know?" She shrugs. "I still wouldn't put out a press release or anything, but I s'pose there's not much point anymore in being coy about it, if anyone asks...." Eyebrows raised, she looks at Syd to see if he agrees.

His eyebrows go up and he looks out from under them with a look Folly remembers from the end of a number of poker games when Syd was about to walk away with a small fortune in somebody else's money. "A, most people who come to Xanadu will be too busy making Xanadu to worry about that. B, Even if you didn't wield huge influence by virtue of who your friends are, you've walked the Pattern. Talk to Cambina some time on the differences between being a woman and being a walking, talking Force of Nature. and 3, Who are complainers going to complain to, me?"

Folly grins. "You make an excellent point."

He grins. "You're holding high cards, darlin', sometimes you don't have to bluff..."

Folly blinks as if in surprise, and then a slow smile spreads across her face. "You know, it hadn't quite occurred to me to think of it that way. *I'm* just happy that I finally know exactly what I'm supposed to be *doing*, for probably the first time since...."

She looks at Syd, and her grin goes lopsided. "Well, *you* know. You were there."

He grins. "'Sometimes I think you're a million years old', you know that?" he says, quoting his own song lyrics.

"Not yet," Folly says with a mirthful gleam in her eye. "But, y'know, give it time."

It's not quite the answer she used to give -- but then, she never knew before that she was supposed to live forever. Now she almost sounds like she believes it.

"Lots of the old catalog could use updating."

Folly smiles, a bit wisfully.

"And speaking of time, I've probably taken up more than my share of yours...." She stands and stretches; but instead of departing, she comes over to him and lays a hand on his shoulder, just like she used to do before they'd walk onstage. She looks into his eyes and says quietly, "Hey, you holding up OK?"

"I need to get some air under my feet, but I'm not broken, y'know? You remember that gimmicky festival that we played Nahasha in the morning and then they put us on a train and we played on the damn train and then we had a set at the 'same' festival in Texorami at night?

"I'm on the train, babe. It was a lot of work to start with, it's a lot of work now, and there's work once we get there. But I'm a musician. I gotta play."

"It's gonna be one hell of a jam," Folly says, and there's an excited sparkle in her eyes. "I'm just glad you're letting me sit in on this one."

Random closes his eyes. "You know I was an idiot in Texorami, right? I'm glad you're here."

She gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "So'm I," she says softly, and he can hear the wistful smile in her voice.

She hesitates, as if considering whether to say more -- whether to comment on the myriad times and places either of them may or may not have been an idiot, perhaps; but instead, she steps forward and hugs him.

His arms go around her reflexively and she feels the tension in his arms and smells the faint smell of smoke from the cigarette. He's tense, and he's not very verbal. His breathing is slow and he is holding her very, very tightly.

She makes a small surprised sound at the strength of his embrace, but remains there in his arms with her cheek pressed to his. Falling effortlessly into old rhythms, her hands slide up his back and into his hair, running her fingers over the sensitive spots along the back of his neck.

His arms slide around her waist and he rests his forearms on her hips. The touch on his neck moves his head in just the way her muscle memory expected it to move.

Through his doublet, he can feel the sudden pounding of her heart.

It matches his own.

Suddenly there are three loud knocks on the door. Hannah, in the hallway, rolls up the papers she's carrying and waits for the King to shout again for her to come in.

At the sudden noise, Folly starts and takes a step backwards.

"Curtain," she murmurs with a rueful smile as she catches Random's gaze. Her cheeks are flushed.

Random picks up a file folder and opens it in his lap. By chance, the papers happen to be rightside-up. Folly sees that it consists of musical notation.

She happily focuses her attention on it, all the better to force her attention off other things.

Guitar, bass, drums, rhythm guitar, vocals. You haven't seen the piece before, but it looks difficult to play.

"Enter!" he bellows.

Hannah opens the door and comes in. When she sees Folly's here to, she smiles. "Oh, good. We all need to talk."

And with that, taking the King's assertion that things are informal around here seriously, she shuts the door and takes a seat. She taps the papers on her knee. "That's a stubborn man," she begins.

Folly barely suppresses a laugh. "I don't think we need a second opinion on that," she says, and moves for a seat herself.

"I see you've both inherited the family gift for understatement," replies Random.

Then, much more seriously, Folly asks, "How is he otherwise?"

Random listens attentively for the answer to this.

Hannah meets her eyes. "Pretty remarkable. The bad news is I think his spinal nerves are severed, I think at this late date nothing can be done to repair his crushed bones, so I don't see a way to make him able to walk again. He must have damage to his organs, but one step at a time. He's been talking about a lot of things I've never heard of, so I have a lot of learning to do, as quickly as I can. For that reason alone, I won't say he's got a bad prognosis - what he's got are a lot of problems and a lot of self-imposed limits. Who knows what can be done with infinite time and resources?

"The first thing I'd like to do is change his medication. Did he inform either of you about what he's been taking?" Hannah asks.

Random shakes his head. "After the first 300 years, we're allowed to self-medicate without Royal Permission." He smiles. "He's really not going to be like any of your other patients, ever. Let him help with dosages. He'll do better if you convince him to do something than if you tell him to do it."

Hannah nods. "Oh, I've already figured that much out."

Folly nods. "Did he explain to you about our tolerances? At sixteen I was already drinking guys thrice my size under the table -- which, by the way, is a very good way to get other people to buy you drinks -- and I'm a lightweight by family standards. Gerard's waaaay up at the other end of the scale," she says, holding her hand far above her head and wiggling her fingers to illustrate.

Hannah, yet again, manages to hold her face very still. She nods again, more slowly this time.

"I don't know what he's been taking, exactly," Folly continues more seriously, "but I know he's been in a lot of pain. Even with meds." She gives Hannah a melancholy smile.

"Yes, and pain seems to build and get worse with injuries like these. He's been taking morphine. He explained about tolerances. Even with that, his normal dosage is by far too high to be considered..." she presses her lips together. "He knows he needs to get on something else. The morphine is too addictive and too progressive. He's been taking it because there isn't anything else. He mentioned travel and restrictions in resources, but I'd like to see some dedicated to his needs, at this point."

Hannah looks at Random. "He was saying you have a 'new place' and perhaps medicines would last longer there, or perhaps technology would be different than it is here? Would it be easier for us to accomplish a medication change there?"

"Hmm. It'll be different, but I hadn't really given any thought to how well drugs will work or last. I'd say 'yes and no', because I'm not sure it's all settled yet. You should come along and see it, and tell me what you need, and I'll see if I can get it working there."

Folly smiles.

"What are you planning on changing his medicine to?"

"I have no idea," Hannah says frankly. "One if not both of us need to go to Xanadu, but I think he should definitely go on this trip, even if you need to use these magic cards to bring him in and out. He knows more about these things than I do. He's going to end up having to teach me how to do this. He was talking about... nerve targets. Pain medication that would not dull the entire body, but only perhaps the area in pain. Something less addictive. I may have to try to make it."

Hannah glances between the two of them and shrugs, and smiles real big. "Or maybe you can," she tells Random. "Yes, I think we have to plan on going. He hasn't been assertive enough about what he needs and I'm sure he had very good reasons for that, but now he has me. Right now my plan is to start trying to understand the pharmacology here enough to work within it."

Folly grins at Hannah, then looks at Random. "Think Amber can spare Gerard for a couple days?" she asks -- but what she means is, _Just let me know what you need me to do to help make this happen._

Random ticks of points on his fingers. "First of all, the only problem with pharmacological research is that the leading experts are probably involved in a little war in the nearby forest, which is probably also the best local source of pharmacological compounds. Except for the war. And the fact that my brother has declared it closed. You can try the library, but we don't always have a lot of books on practical subjects other than warfare. The liberal arts weren't always the first choice of my father."

Hannah's demeanor cracks just enough to show a spark of dejection.

He looks back up at [Folly]. "And as to your other question, Gerard is useful but we can get by without him for a few days. He may not agree."

"Oh," Hannah says with a crafty smile and a tilt of the head, "I think he already agreed, but we don't need to put it quite like we're getting by without him. More like we need him there. By any measure, he knows what I want, and he knows what it will take of him for it to happen, and he seems okay with letting me try."

Folly gives Hannah an amused but grateful smile.

"So... I thought the war had ended?" [Hannah] asks, confused. "There is another war in the forest? Or is this a continuation of the war..." Hannah shrugs, and gestures helplessly with her hands.

"That war will be reflected in many shadows for a while yet. It was pretty huge. However, Arden seems to be different. Something that my father kept in check that came unraveled due to incursions of the black road. It's an opportunistic war, but its roots are older. Mostly I just try to hope my brother manages in his goal of keeping it from spilling over into the places we have settlers."

Hannah nods. "I'll just have to do my best, then."

Random snaps his fingers. "That reminds me about something about Gerard. He's got a wife in shadow, and he's supposed to go back there and fight a war for her. But if he shows up crippled, they'll sacrifice him to appease the gods. So don't let him go home until he's really, really fixed, OK?"

Hannah watches him just a second too long trying to figure out if this is yet another joke. She checks Folly for her reaction.

Folly is staring grimly at her own hands folded in her lap. If it's a joke, it's not a very funny one.

Once [Hannah] realizes he means it, she takes a deep breath and blows it back out. "I don't think I could stop that man from doing anything he set his mind too. He wants to be 'fixed' enough to do patternwalking. From what he says, that should be really, really fixed. I don't know if it's possible, frankly, but until someone proves it's impossible, we'll keep working on it."

Hannah bites her bottom lip to keep from frowning.

Folly looks at Hannah. "Gerard has suggested that if nothing else worked, he could always just have his legs amputated and then grow them back. It would take years and years and years -- which he doesn't have if he wants to go fight in this war in his homeland -- but it's not impossible. So we keep working on it." She smiles, all grim determination.

Hannah nods.

"I've got to admit, it doesn't make much sense to me. It's like his body can't decide if it should let his legs die off and grow new ones or repair the ones he's got." Random shrugs. "I was never as interested in medicine as he was, of course. I just know what I've picked up here and there."

Hannah snorts. "He's got bloodflow down to his feet, so I'd bet on the later. I think it's just a bit too complicated a thing for a body to figure out all on its own. It isn't like a clean burn injury," she says with a perfectly straight face. "There's a lot of mass in there that would have to be rearranged."

Folly's wry smile suggests she's heard some of this before. She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

"So when is this trip?"

"It'll be a few days until we send wave two to Xanadu, via trumps. If you need anything before then, you'll have it. Ask any of the pages to take you to the library, or for anything else you need."

"Maybe you could see if you could get a better library 'working' in Xanadu?" she teases. "Thanks, though."

"Oh, it'll be better," Folly grins. "Less warfare, more music." She glances at the king with in sparkle-eyed mirth, as if suppressing a private joke. More seriously, she adds, "We'll see what we can do about getting a hefty medical reference section."

"On the list," Random agrees. "So, is there anything else you need before then? Have they given you a place to hang your hat? Do you even have a hat?"

Hannah laughs. "No hat; I've got a horse, a pocket knife, and 2 feathers. But your Cambina put me in a room and there are plenty enough suitable clothes in there for me to get by. I think I'll be alright. I'll ask, if I need something. I do need tobacco - do you have tabacco here?"

Folly grins. "Is that a prescription or a proscription?" she asks, and winks. "I always get those confused."

She digs into her trouser pocket and pulls out the crumpled cigarette pack, which she tosses to Hannah. "I think there's one or two left in here," she says, sounding strangely delighted by that fact. "And if not, our beloved king always seems to have an endless supply."

Random shrugs and grins, and offers Hannah a match.