Brennan lets the Trump contact fade without protest, then lets out a deep breath and scrubs his face with his hands. Why is it, he muses, that speaking in a voice barely above a whisper is more stressful than shouting across a battlefield at the top of his lungs? There is probably some deep psychological insight there-- maybe he'll ask Bleys. That should good for a chuckle. He stands up, stretches, and manages to crack at least half the joints in his upper body, and begins the process of freshening up as though he'd actually taken a nap. And unconsciously, reflexively, he starts updating his to-do list:
Call Fiona. Call Bleys. If he catches a break, they'll be together and he can get both of them together. Call Folly? Yes... but lower priority, since Benedict is more or less up to date. Send Cameleopardis' words to his people. Track down Cledwin, see what he knows. Go to Cameleopardis' people, and make an army out of them. Question this Jellicoe character. And, come to think of it, Crisp and Mayness, although they're probably harmless dupes. And then this banquet with Benedict, Balen and Trippel-- technically it is a victory celebration, but Brennan would prefer that it be thought of as a survival banquet. Brennan craves strategic ambiguity, here.
All of those go under the sub-heading of, "Find and stop Moire."
Then there are the longer term, extra-curricular activities: Poke around the basement of Montparnasse, for one. As spooked by the place as Balen and Trippel seem to be, Brennan bets that he finds it even creepier. Check into the Silver Towers... although Conner will probably do that, and Brennan envies him the opportunity. A nice long conversation with Weyland that will probably cost Brennan his right hand... and that, only because Weyland doesn't believe in souls. Investigating these Fair Folk, and their (their?) ley lines all over Avalon. And as a last recourse, if necessary, Project Yg.
He stops and considers. Maybe those ley lines should go on the active curriculum. If this battle is fought here, it will be fought on Avalonian geography, of which those lines are a part. It may behoove him to learn something of them, especially if Moire has not. Perhaps Cameleopardis' people know something about them. Or Benedict. Or Balen. Or it wouldn't be the first time Brennan had to master something with no training, and it won't be the last.
He realizes that he's grinning to him in anticipation of... all of that... so he scrubs the smirk off his face, screws himself into the Walker persona again, fakes having taken a nap, and exits his quarters in search of Jellicoe.
Jellicoe is in the guest wing, where Walker and his men have been quartered. His room is nearer the main hall and larger than Walker's. If Brennan knocks, Jellicoe answers his own door.
Well, kicking down the door seems like an abuse of hospitality, and as much as Walker... and to some degree, Brennan... take Cledwin's betrayal personally, Jellicoe had seemed like a man that could be reasoned with. Or bought. So Brennan knocks. Is Jellicoe under any sort of guard or watch, or is he left to his own recognizance?
There’s no guard.
[OOC: Apparently a cultural difference here is that they really mean it about paroling captives. He could walk out the gate and no one would stop him, but if he took arms against his former captors, his own men would cut him down. Not that Walker knows this...]
"Nice quarters," he mutters, giving himself the excuse to scan briefly for mirrors as he looks around. And by way of inviting himself in. "Perks of rank, I reckon."
"I suppose. You’re the captain of the mercenaries, am I correct? You have my admiration for your skill and determination in defeating us."
"We had some good luck," Walker allows. He moves in such a way that Jellicoe can see that he's brought something with him-- a bottle that might have come from the royal family's private stash. Conjured, if need be, but something in exactly the style and quality that would be fit for such a stash.
"My compliments for whoever kept your groups on their timing. Ain't easy keeping two groups coordinated," he says. Then he reconsiders. "Three, I reckon, if you look at it right."
The man shrugs. "Sometimes. You can do more if you can split your troops, but there are risks as the communications get more difficult. Two commanders can't react to a change in circumstances as quickly as one, and so on. However, you can't have a pincer movement without coordinated separation of troops. And it's even more difficult at sea, where the wind also has to cooperate." While Jellicoe seems very interested in small unit tactics, and what's more seems reasonably good at the theory as well as the practice, he's also being careful not to refer to any specifics of the recent battles.
"You obviously had some sort of way out of the castle. Our magician assured us that you didn't conjure yourself outside of the walls."
"Obviously?" Walker says. "We feinted break-outs to get riders to these folks' allies. You sure I ain't just tag along with them and circle back?"
Walker, like Brennan's uncles, has cultivated the skill of casting reasonable doubt on prior certainties.
Jellicoe shrugs. "Not all watching eyes are human eyes, Captain Walker, nor do they all see in the same spectrum. But have it your way. It could be as you say."
Walker shrugs in return. Brennan notices that rather educated turn of phrase, but keeps it to himself.
He shifts in his chair. "May we have the bodies of those who died inside the castle walls, to return to their kinfolk for burial?"
Walker pours two drinks: They're negotiating, now.
"You mean those boys that came and killed Prince Maibock? They ain't mine to give, but I might could put in a good word with the new Prince." Walker does not conceal his impression that this would go a considerable distance, all things considered and all favors owed. "A good faith gesture couldn't hurt."
Walker has some ideas on that subject, but he'd rather see what Jellicoe offers. He offers Jellicoe a drink to lubricate the negotiations.
Jellicoe takes the drink and considers. "War's coming, no doubt about that. I can't commit to anything that would get us hanged back home. Them was good boys, but if we'd wanted to die for 'em, we'd've already done it." He swallows the first half of his drink. "There's a few things I can offer, one for the Mountain folk. They are isolated up here, and not well liked by their neighbors. War's coming, but it's also going to end. A trade agreement would be a good faith gesture, would it not?"
He drinks the rest of his drink. "And here's another thing I can offer. Position. You're a hell of a fighter, and you're wasted in this backwater. You're free of your contract, I hear, and we're bound not to attack Montparnasse, so there's no conflict.
"You're good, and I'd like to see what you can do for us."
Walker sips his drink while asking a few questions about this proposed trade deal: What for what, how often, starting when, that sort of thing. It is clear from the outset that Walker is not negotiating, simply getting the details of Jellicoe's offer-- such as they can be at this point-- to relay them back to Trippel. It seems from the initial offer that Jellicoe is speaking of something to begin after the war, not during it; this is something Walker wants to clarify, even if he doesn't ask in term quite that stark. After all, no Avalonian trade fleet is ever going to be anything other than armed to the teeth, and having an armed fleet of the northern coast after the war is a bit different than having one off the coast during the war.
The details are mostly of interest to the parties involved, but the offer seems to be a step further than most paroles go, even in Avalon. That it's even offered suggests that alliances here are both fluid and complex. Jellicoe is very clear that he means to honor his commitment to sit out the war. Given that this is Avalon, that probably means "sit out the rest of this campaign season".
That satisfies both Walker's duty to take a reasonable offer to Trippel, and Brennan's duty to make sure that the strategic balance is retained, at least in this small regard.
When he gets the information he needs (or gets all he's going to get) he agrees to take the offer to Trippel.
That concluded, he can investigate this job offer more fully. "Tell me more about this job," he says. "I reckon you ain't wanna tell me where I'd be fighting, but you can at least tell me who I'd be fighting for, and with."
"A mercenary should know who is punching his ticket. There is an alliance of four cities in the northlands, whose commission I hold. I cannot tell you where they would need us most, because we have been on this assignment for some weeks. Perhaps in the shield lands, perhaps with our allies to the east. The Admiral is a naval genius, and is excellent at finding how to best use whatever resources he has."
He pauses. "He'll be keen to meet you, and hear of your exploits."
"You don't mind my sayin', that ain't sayin' much: Northern cities, and a guy with a fleet," Walker drawls, waiting for Jellicoe to put even enough structure on the table to hang a hat on. What Walker thinks of a naval genius who uses sailors to assault a mountain fastness goes unsaid... although to be fair, Brennan's opinion is somewhat higher, all things considered.
"But that ain't all I meant. What about Cledwin?" he asks.
"Crisp's man? He kept to himself when we brought him to Avalon. Barely came out of his cabin. I don't know who he worked for."
"Aye. Crisp's man," Walker says. "Humor me. Call it part of my payment for your boys. Tell me what you know about him... and how it is you brung him to Avalon where I met him. Who else was with him, where'd he come from, like that."
Walker pours them another drink while Jellicoe answers.
Jellicoe drinks, again. "Half a year back, or maybe a year. Anyway, not long after the breaking of the black tides. We were afloat again and damn glad of it; we'd all been beached too long. We met the Admiral at sea, at a rendezvous he'd arranged. Us, The Dancer, and his flagship. He sent us Cledwin and someone else to Captain Stoat. We took him to the coast of Avalon and dropped him on the shore under cover of darkness.
"It's funny, we met the Admiral again after that, but I don't recall getting orders to do so. That's when we got our orders to take the Maghee to the Cannibal Coast and raid this castle. We didn't know why, but the Admiral is a tactical genius, so we did as he said."
Walker wets his lips with his drink, to maintain appearances. And to keep from scowling too noticeably-- something just seems... off. The repetition of "the Admiral is a tactical genius," the confusion over when he met the Admiral, or why they met a second time... It just feels off.
"I'm startin' to like the sound of that, workin' for a tactical genius," Walker says. "So, sell me on him. How'd you fall in with him? What's he done to earn his rep?"
Walker will try to keep Jellicoe amiably chatting about the Admiral, asking questions to draw him out looking for non-specific specifics, so to speak. It doesn't matter what the specifics are-- he doesn't care if it's a description of his face, or a name, or a particular thing he does or has done, or a location they've met, but he does gently probe for some specific. He's certainly not going to bother for anything like actionable intelligence, because Jellicoe is not a fool.
As he does, he's watching Jellicoe in two ways-- when the talk turns to a specific, does Jellicoe seem to go a little fuzzy minded and veer away? And secondly, he'll carefully, briefly, and passively look him over with the third eye for signs of manipulation.
Or Brennan might just be chasing shadows, and Jellicoe is just cagey, but at least he'll get a feel for this Admiral player in the process.
The five clans of the Blessed Isle elect a war-leader annually. He or she appoints the top officers of the fleet and the army. War-Leader Syke appointed her son Stratum as Admiral and he won several unexpected victories, using unorthodox tactics. Most people in Avalon are tactically competent, but Stratum wins unwinnable battles. Jellicoe has served under him for most of the last five years, which is a long time for both a War-Leader and an Admiral. They were devastatingly effective against the black tides.
He is absolutely fuzzy on the last meeting between himself and the Admiral. He does not know where or when it was, exactly, but he's aware of the orders he was given from it.
Brennan's Third Eye investigation doesn't show any signs of current glamours on the man, but it might not detect if he was interfered with in the past.
Fascinating. Positively fascinating. Brennan doesn't know exactly where this puzzle piece fits, but it sure looks like it's Moire's colors... or perhaps Dara's, which would be deeply unfortunate. Contrary to form, Brennan does not push the sorcerous examination any further, or augment it with Astral vision or anything active-- if there is something there, no sense disturbing it or setting off any landmind, and if there isn't it will just be time wasted. The fuzziness is enough.
Given that, though, and being unwilling at this time to press any farther on Cledwin-- since he was also hand picked by the Tactical Genius, Jellicoe is probably unwilling to give him up-- Walker and Brennan are running out of agenda. Walker will happily let Jellicoe continue to sell him on the Admiral or tell him about the Black Tides, but unless Jellicoe has some additional particular agenda to push, he will eventually excuse himself.
"I'll think on it," Walker says. "I reckon you'll be leaving before sundown tomorrow? Gives me time to talk to the Prince about you gettin' your boys back. I'll let you know what he says."
Unless Jellicoe stops him, he'll be off looking for any of Balen, Trippel, or Benedict.... probably in that order, although they're probably all together in council.
Balen has a tight smile for Walker. Trippel is lying on a couch. "Forgive me if I don't stand. I'm pretty sure this wound isn't going to kill me, but it's not for lack of trying."
Benedict looks between the two men, and Brennan thinks the Protector may have conclusions that he is keeping to himself. "I trust your discussion was enlightening?"
Walker gives Trippel a shrug, as if to say, It's Your Castle. If Trippel is fishing for an apology, he should take up farming. Being unsure of the protocol here, but being at least cognizant that the Protector's face is on coins and that Balen assumed he was an agent of the Protector, he sketches a Reman-style salute of sufficient roughness that it probably cost him a commission back home in Reme. He begins addressing the Protector, but since he knows Trippel and Balen better, his address slides back to them by the end.
"Summat," he says. "New questions for old, at least." For the first and not the last time, his address slides back to Trippel. "Jellicoe wants his boys' bodies back, the ones as killed your pa. He offers you trade pacts after the war. It ain't my call to make, I told him, but I'd pass it on."
Looking at Balen, he adds, "Cameleopardis ain't on the table for that deal. But you remember how someone messed with Cameleopardis's head? Jellicoe and I fell to talkin' about our contracts and our bosses. My price for bringing you the offer. Turns out, Jellicoe delivered Cledwin to Avalon hisself, but he didn't know why. It was on the orders of an Admiral Stratum, same fellow as later told him to bring the Maghee here and take this fort particular. He's a Tactical Genius." Walker pronounces the capital letters quite clearly. "Kept sayin' that-- Tactical Genius. It was... weird. I poked for some details-- nothing useful, because the man ain't a fool-- just details past. He ain't have too many, and I ain't even sure he realizes it. Maybe he's just playin' me, and I might not have gave it a second thought, but it made me think of what was done to Cameleopardis." Another look at Balen. "Not much more I could do, so I stopped.
"So," he says. "Who's this Stratum fellow and his mama, Syke?"
Benedict nods. "Northern warlords. They control some of the mines and more of the trade routes for metals from that part of the world, so they're not inconsequential."
Balen looks puzzled. "I'm thinking it isn't Syke’s doing, because I haven't been able to figure out how attacking us is in her strategic interests. She's not going to be a great friend of the Mountain ever, but she won't break a deal Jellicoe brings her, not if Stratum agrees. I'm not sure about the bodies, though."
Trippel replies to her. "I am. He can have 'em. I've got no use for nor room to store northern corpses. We'll hold off somewhat to get this deal solidified, but it costs us nothing to help him with his sailor's families.
"Now, what did you find out about Cledwyn, Crisp, and our sister?"
Walker is surprised that the possibility that Stratum's identity is being usurped by Moire gathers no immediate reaction-- surprised enough that he lets it show briefly in a pair of raised eye-brows, but doesn't try to redirect the conversation, at least not yet.
"Ain't spoke to either one, yet," he says. "There's a lot of sense, me questioning them-- unfamiliar face, they don't know what I know, I got no stake other than hunting down Cledwyn, all that. But going in blind, don't make sense, either. Remember we said, if we lived through to morning we'd swap life stories? Seems like this is the time for it-- be a help if I knew Crisp's story, goin' in, or at least what you have of it."
Walker is even willing to go first if Trippel really cares, which is questionable at best.
Trippel shifts from where he's reclining. "I didn't agree with my father, mostly about who we should ally with. Crisp is a Northerman, but we never held that against him. 'Everyone is friends with the arms-dealers,' as the proverb says. Mayness chose him, I hear, not the other way around."
Balen snorts. "Sort of. I'd say he made himself into the kind of mind she'd choose, and flattered her into it. She's not stupid, even if she is good-looking. She didn't have a great future to look forward to, when Trippel took over from Maibock."
Trip agrees. "That is true. Father and I didn't agree on most things, but he wasn't going to disown me for it. She wanted to commit him so that I'd be constrained. They have nothing to gain by Father's death, unless I were to die as well, and probably Balen. I don't think they were that murderous, but it's worth knowing what they were doing."
Benedict looks up. "So, if the plot were to have succeed, Prince Maibock and Lady Balen would be dead, Prince Trippel would be excluded, Crisp would be holding the castle for Mayness with the help of Jellicoe's Corsairs, and Cledwyn would be pushing the folks of the high plains south into the coastal plain to tie up Methuenport City, which was happening already, but will be accelerated if there's no threat from the Holy Mountain. Do I have it aright?"
Walker very politely refrains from pointing out that his initial thoughts to Balen were along the lines of Mayness marrying the Mountain to the Corsairs. He runs his fingers through the stubble on his chin. "Enh," he says. "Crisp and Mayness ruling the castle sounds a nice-to-have, but those elephants and that worm... they'd've torn this place down if if they had to."
Benedict is stone-faced. "It is difficult to imagine elephants as part of a subtle campaign. Unless they were summoned." He frowns. "And they are difficult to transport over seas without a fleet."
The supply train alone is enough to boggle the mind-- hundreds of pounds of fodder per elephant per day. Not impossible to move by fleet, but dragging even so much as a week's supply up the mountain would have been a back-breaking effort. But Brennan knows this; knows that Benedict knows this; knows that Benedict knows that Walker has no reason to keep that sort of esoteric trivia in his head.
So he just nods sharply when Benedict mentions summoning.
[Walker] turns to Trippel and says, almost as an aside, "If you want to set up for a sucker punch, let 'em think they almost did, and you're out of the game-- send Jellicoe a list of goods of everything you'd need after a huge disaster."
Trip nods. "We'd have to be careful to split the message if we decide on that course. We still need to be a threatening power to the north to keep the port open. We might not actually like the results of such a feint."
This, Walker readily agrees to with another nod.
"Could be that's what they promised Crisp or Mayness for their help. How's this line up with Stratum's rise, though? Is that about the time the romance began?" Walker asks.
Trip shrugs. "Could be. They met In Methryn's Port. She was sent to find arms and allies..." Balen does not hide her displeasure at the memory.
"All right," Walker says. "One more question: What's the worst threat they'll take serious? I assume you ain't want to execute your sister without proof, and maybe not even then," he pauses pointedly for Trippel to correct him if he's wrong, although he suspects Balen wouldn't shed a tear to see her dead. "Exile? Disinheritance? Life in the tower? Same for Crisp. What's his status, now he's wed?" Some of those have their own problems to contend with-- exile is a dire threat for a pampered princess, but it leaves open the possibility of the northerners to prop her up as a rallying figure for another attempt next season... although by next season it is highly unlikely that Moire will be at large in theater, and thus highly unlikely that Montparnasse will have the same strategic relevance.
The assembled royalty of Avalon and Mountparnasse seem to agree with Walker's analysis.
Trip is willing to have them stay, under arrest or on parole if they will give it, but expects them to choose banishment.
"Protector, the man is your citizen, married to my sister, who seems to have been involved in the princepicide of my father. If you wish to take them to Avalon for trial, I am amenable."
Benedict stirs. "No, we'll take him if you expel him, but make it known to him that he will need to explain things very clearly to me if he does wish to return, and that I will judge him as I see fit if he does."
Balen nods. "That ought to send them north and out of our hair."
Trippel nods. "She'll have to renounce all claims to Montparnasse if she leaves, of course."
Assuming there are no surprising revelations, and that Benedict or lesser NPCs have no further questions or distractions, Walker will move to question Crisp-- just him, separate from Mayness.
Trip will have guards bring him to whatever chamber you wish to use to interrogate him. He asks you not to kill him without discussing it with himself or Balen.
The last thing Brennan hears as he leaves to deal with his interrogation is Balen telling Trippel that he needs to marry to move the succession past their generation. He doesn't disagree.
Walker tactfully ignores the details of the impending royal succession program.
He asks to have Crisp transferred to a room with a table and two chairs and not much else, certainly not a window. Then he lets Crisp sweat there for maybe half a watch or so, to worry and wait and wonder what's going to happen next. He inquires of Crisp's guards, out of earshot of course, how they have treated him-- was he allowed visitors, what was his state of comfort, did they feed him, what did they feed him, etc. Ideally (although of course Brennan can't influence past events with Pattern) they will have been ungentle, but not brutal.
It's hard to find a prisoner who has been mistreated in Montparnasse and Crisp is no exception. It might be worth asking Benedict about, or even Balen. He's been fed, decently if not luxuriously, and doesn't show any signs of rough treatment.
When Walker finally enters, he looks around and frowns at everything although not specifically at Crisp.
"How you holding up?" he asks. "They feed you? You want I should get you something to eat?" If Crisp answers in the affirmative (or if he looks hungry but to proud to say it, or if Brennan knows perfectly well that he should be hungry but is too proud to say it) he will call for two meals to be sent up, one for Crisp and the other for himself. They can eat before they get down to business.
Crisp accepts the meal as a sort of peace offering, or something. It's hard to tell. He definitely eats, but he's not been deprived in prison.
"Reckon we got some problems, Crisp." Walker leaves it at that, for openers. He wants to see where Crisp goes with it.
Crisp smiles, but doesn't seem happy. "I more than you. I'm pleased that you've landed on your feet. When I heard of Cledwyn's treachery, I feared for you and your men. Please understand that I had no idea that Cleddy was a villain and a traitor."
Walker doesn't smile. "And that's a problem," Walker says, "Because what else'd you say? Now Cledwin, what he done is an act of war. Dishonorable, maybe, but an act of war, straight up simple. You, though... when all this went down, you was Maibock's son by marriage, we'd say back in Reme. And Cledwin was your man."
He pauses to let that sink in like rat's teeth.
"So I figure your best bet's to be convincing. If you can't be convincing, be real helpful. Start with Cledwin. Everything you know about him but maybe start at the beginning-- how'd you meet him?"
He looks despondent. "He's the son of an old friend. He knew how to fight and offered to run a guard for me in exchange for lessons in how to be a weapons-merchant. He didn't have the knack, but I did need a guard, so I took him on. We did two trips to Methryn's before you joined up.
"I thought for a while she might've sent him to me because he was my son, but I gave up on that one pretty early on. I knew he was doing some spying, it's not uncommon for mercenaries and travelers, but I had no idea he'd try to kill my father-in-law."
Brennan, if not Walker, has the grace not to chuckle at that. But only just barely.
The bit about Cledwin's mother gets placed in working memory-- there will be questions about that later, but not so soon as to make Walker seem over-eager about it.
"I see," he nods.
Walker is only mildly curious at best about where Crisp went when he wasn't on Methryn's Isle-- even a vague notion of "the North," or equivalent is more than sufficient. What he is really interested in is how much time Crisp spent travelling in pursuit of his trade, and how tightly Cledwin was part of those travels. Walker expects that someone like Crisp needs to be travelling almost constantly, but were there brief seasons off? Was Cledwin part of all Crisp's travels? If there was downtime for Crisp, did Cledwin share that, or did he go off on his own?
Walker starts with, "How long ago was that, you reckon?" and "Those the only trips you took together?" and then moves the conversation from there if need be.
Crisp nods at the latter suggestion. "Yup. Mind you, that's over three years. We'd bring the iron down to Blackpool, pick up a cargo of finished goods, and head for the southern archipelagoes. Last time, I let him do the run up to the mines, but you can do very well just making the run to Methryn's. Everyone loves a weaponmonger. You don't even have to go as far as the Tethys to make a nice profit.
"Mae says you're working for her sister now, or something. Mind telling me how that happened?"
Walker is so astonished by the presumption of the question that he actually answers it.
"Wrong place at the wrong time and no other option. I figured on swingin' from a gibbet just for comin' in with you and Cledwin, and even if I ain't, even if I walk out, I got to get through that force of corsairs showed up half an hour later with the rest of the boys. And they-- the corsairs-- 'll be thinkin' we're just a runner band makin' a break for allies when we're just five boys running down a strange mountain at night. We'd be five dead clowns before the sun came up. You thinkin' I had some better option?"
He actually pauses to see if Crisp answers that, before taking the momentum of the conversation back.
"It's hard to argue with success, Captain Walker."
When Crisp calls him Captain, Walker closes his eyes for a moment and just shakes his head slightly in resignation. But he does not otherwise comment.
"Speaking of corsairs, how do you figure things'd stand if they won and keep changed hands?"
"If I'd been left standing alone in the throne room, having heroically defeated the assassins sent by my father-in-law's enemies? I'd have asked the Trinovantes for protection, which they were prepared to offer. The keep is still too much trouble to take, but it's no longer a threat, so the Admiral wins.
"Or if the corsairs took it out cleanly, I'd've bought it back from them for my bride, then we'd be back on script."
And it is in that one brief statement that Brennan understands, should he ever have serious enough cause, how to cause Benedict serious grief in his own realm. But that is not germane to the topic at hand.
What is germane is that all of Crisp's ending scenarios end up with him or Mayness in charge. Which is perfectly reasonable and follows the logic of Avalon quite nicely. On the one hand, it makes perfect sense for Crisp to get himself involved in such a thing if he found his desire for power to be greater than his desire for land, or if this mysterious Admiral were offering him even greater monetary rewards in the future. On the other hand, it makes him a near perfect dupe because his natural inclinations lead him to perform actions in support of the corsairs anyway.
On the third hand, Brennan really doesn't care about Crisp as Crisp.
What he cares about are this Admiral's connections to Moire and finding Cledwin so he can acquire that information efficiently.
Therefore:
Walker nods sharply. "Makes sense," he allows. "Back to Cledwin for a few questions. You make it sound like he was off the leash at least part time. Is that right? Whereabouts was he supposed to be when that happened?" Walker will firmly but civilly press for at least some measure of detail, here. He knows he won't get a day by day, or even a month by month, accounting of Cledwin's activities, but he's trying to get a sense of how much Cledwin's time was spent off on his own and roughly where and how far he ranged.
The time right around the time Walker knows that Jellicoe was bringing him to Avalon is of particular interest, though.
Crisp is perfectly willing to provide details, but it's mostly of cities and mountains neither Walker nor Brennan have heard of. "He went to the mines to get the raw materials to make the weapons we sold. Normally I would do that, but having him available meant I could concentrate on getting the ship ready earlier. I received instructions from the Admiral, since he knew that war was coming, and he told me to meet Cledwin on Avalon, before sailing to Methryn.
"Other than those two times, he's been with me for years." He pauses, and shakes his head, as if he's bothered by a fly. "Given how badly it's gone, this doesn't seem like it was actually the Admiral's plan."
Walker shrugs, pleased with confirmation of the fact that Crisp knew-- or at least was in contact with-- this mysterious Admiral without having to fish directly after it. "Fella's pretty inscrutable, is what I hear. You never know." But, no, the grand hope was for Mayness or Crisp to rule here, Walker doesn't say, or failing that for the neutralization of Montparnasse, which can still be faked.
"How'd you get your instructions from the Admiral?" This is a matter of particular interest-- it could be as simple as written letters by ship or as telling as a mirror connection... or as telling as a fuzzed or missing piece of Crisp's memory. Walker probes gently around the area of whether Crisp and the Admiral had ever met and whether or not any memories are fuzzed, as he had done with Jellicoe.
Crisp describes the normal system: letters sent to ports they'd been scheduled to arrive at, Notes for "the next captain in our service to arrive in [place]", and so on. Orders about Methryn came via a merchant factor on the Isle of Dogs, when they put in for water. He left Cledwin there, to wait for more orders and waited in Avalon for him to catch up. It was a dull month.
When he thinks he's got all he can on that account, he changes direction without warning: "What'd you and Jellicoe talk about when he delivered Cledwin?" It's a bit of a bluff. But if Crisp should suddenly understand that Walker knows more than he lets on and that lying is perilous, so much the better. Walker watches him closely.
Cledwin arrived by road from the northern part of Avalon. Crisp knows the name of Jellicoe, but hasn't sailed or served with him.
Walker has one more question, before they get down to the meat of the situation: "How'd you and Mayness meet? Was this before or after you threw in with the Admiral?" Walker will press for details, of course, on who knew how much and when, but his real goal here is a bit subtler-- how much does Crisp care about her?
Granted, it might be hard to tell since in Avalon the penalty for being caught is a time-out, rather than a swift death-by-example.
He shakes his head. "You make it sound as if one has a choice to 'throw in' with the Admiral. We are of the same land, and when he takes us to war, we go to war. The differences are in how much or little of our duty he calls into his service."
Walker is not impressed. "You always got a choice."
Cledwin continues, ignoring Walker’s comment. "Mayness and I met in Methryn's Port. I was there by accident: Our shop, the Shield, had damaged her mast and Methryn's was closer than Avalon, so the Captain changed course. She was buying weapons, for her father and for her brother, as I recall. This was before they fought. We couldn't get my cargo through the excise men for several days, so we ended up drowning our sorrows together and one thing led to another, and soon all my trips came here and we started planning a future together."
He smiles, smugly. "Now that I think of it, it was quite a coincidence that we ended up here. If her witch of a sister damaged the Shield of Lir to get arms there for Mayness, she got more than she bargained for."
Walker just stares coldly at that-- the man has an awfully high opinion of himself if he thinks he was Balen's special target even before he and Mayness became involved.
"All right. Time for my business now: What was your orders, with or without Cledwin, after you got here. If they ain't concern Cledwin, where d'you figure he's run to now? He runs back to your ship without you, you reckon they'll take him and just leave you here if he says you're dead?"
"They might. More likely, he'll send word to the Admiral and hire on a ship going anywhere else. Too many witches on both sides to lie very much, 'the truth will out', as they say." He leans forward. "Gotta figure he's heading to Methryn's, given the start that he has. Unless he thinks you've got a way there that's faster, and then he'd cut for the hills. He and I made lots of friends on the way up here.
"Anychance, if they send an army down after him, it ends up roiling the situation in Methryn's and the Admiral gets what he wants. He's a tactical genius, you see. Most plans get him what he wants no matter which way the wind blows."
Walker gives that a very humorless smile "Yeah, I heard he's pretty clever."
In the back of his mind, Brennan has to bite back a comment about back-rationalizing brilliance to the point that getting thrown off a mountain is seen as yet more evidence of a master plan. Perhaps he'll throw Cledwin off Mountparnasse to underscore that point in whatever karmic ledger these things are recorded in. Or maybe he'll just use it to his advantage.
Once he's absorbed what Crisp just said, he nods. "All right. Here's my recommend to the Prince: I know your friends in the lowlands already. You give up a list of friends in the hills I ain't already know. You oath off any future ventures against the mountain, and you enjoy the Prince's generous hospitality til I send word back I found Cledwin... or maybe the Protector's hospitality. I understand you're his citizen, reckon he's got a say in what happens to Maibock's murderers, too. We'll see."
Crisp looks impassive. Either he's not worried, or he's an excellent actor. Brennan suspects the latter.
He gives it another moment's thought, then adds, "And your money. We ain't need Mayness buying trouble on your behalf-- how's that work, her access to your money?"
He looks at Walker oddly, as if even a foreigner should know this. "She's my wife. At home, she could raise my brothers and cousins and arm and fund them, or she can ransom me. She has her own funds, of course, and would ransom me with those."
"Yeah, that's about what I figured," Walker says.
He pauses. "The bargain offered to Jellicoe by Trippel is a much better deal than either of those options, for us and for him. We would take a similar deal. If he wishes, we will withdraw to the Northlands and only trade on Methryn's through agents. He need not see his sister again."
Walker smells blood. The humorless smile vanishes. "You keep lookin' forward to that. Sooner I send word back, the sooner it might come true."
Unless Crisp stops him-- and the best way to do so is with a shrewd guess as to Cledwin's movements and whereabouts-- Walker departs, in search of Benedict, Trippel, and Balen, or whatever combination thereof is easiest to assemble, to deliver his report. Assuming he finds them, his report is thus:
The Admiral may or may not have spelled out to Crisp and Mayness that they were intended to hold the keep at the operation's end. But if Crisp, in particular, hadn't seen it coming, he's too stupid to use as an agent. And yet, there he is, having acted on the Admiral's behalf and knowing that his protege' did so as well. In the traditional formulation of Reman prosecutors: If he didn't do it, he thought about it. Walker doesn't say so outright, but it's clear from his demeanor that in Reme, there would be serious punishments meted out.
The interesting wrinkle is that while Cledwin probably has no reason to believe that the plan failed, and is probably running back to Methrynsport to find his next assignment, that may not last very long. And when that game is up, he'll probably turn around and do something else to keep the region on edge... he might he even just hope that Montparnasse sends a full warband after him, which would do that job quite nicely.
So Walker's suggestion is to send one man-- him-- to go chase Cledwin down.
That leaves two issues. One is whether to, as he put it before, set up for a sucker punch. Trippel correctly identified the danger there, that the hill folk could decide to take advantage, or it could simply lure Cledwin back into the area to try to finish the job in a few weeks. Walker tracking down Cledwin should blunt that, somewhat. So will the list of friends and contacts in the region that Crisp is providing. That's the sort of list that an enterprising young prince could use to quietly decapitate the local opposition, if he so chose.
The other is what to do about Crisp and Mayness. Walker left them with the impression that Mayness will be exiled, and Crisp will stay here... at least until Cledwin is hunted down. Walker makes it clear that he doesn't really care, that was just his leverage to ensure Crisp's cooperation. Unless the terms of Mayness' exile can be made to include a believable clause against raising forces to raid the keep to free Crisp, the better solution might actually be that Mayness stays here while Crisp is remanded to Avalon. And when they're done using that stick, they can switch to the carrot of giving him the same trade deal as Jellicoe-- Walker points out that this carrot is so effective that Crisp asked for it himself.
"...But I can't say as I care much about Crisp and Mayness, as long as they sweat for a few more days, shake loose any information they may be holding back. And the way I see it, the best man for settling these names is the Prince," he nods at Trippel. "It's more than a list to you, you know the personalities and reputations behind them, and you gotta live with the results ten years down. But it gives you room to set up that head fake, keeps your options open. And the best man for Cledwin is me. Came up through the ranks as a scout, before..." he shrugs with just a hint of despair. "Before I got here. I heard Jellicoe mention Black Tides. Sounds like a good description, even though I was mostly on land through it."
Trippel nods through the report, asking detailed questions where appropriate. Benedict and Balen are quiet, although Balen smiles at the thought of exile for Mayness.
Trippel nods. "I shall determine the sentence for my sister and my new brother, and yes, Sister, I shall have your advice as well. As to this Cledwin, I would charge you as follows: Cledwin is declared an outlaw and The Holy Mountain offers a reward of one hundred Protector's Heads for his return, or twenty if he is dead. Take this message down the mountain to the port, telling each community along the way and spreading his likeness as you go.
"Tell your contacts to hurry, because you intend to take the bounty yourself. If you reach the port and find that he has sailed, send word to me and you are released from your obligations."
Benedict nods. It's about what he expected.
"Balen," asks Trippel, "what do you wish to advise?"
"Montségur."
He pauses. "I... will consider. That is not for their ears, yet."
Benedict nods. "I will leave with Walker, and accompany him at least part of the way."
Walker has a few loose ends, small tasks, and farewells to make.
The important and private one is to make several copies of the letter that Cameleopardis dictated, for later use. He could always conjure the necessary materials in the field, but why bother-- ink, paper, and writing surfaces are present here in abundance. This will not take long; it's just copy work from a letter already drafted.
He also makes farewell to the other men from Cledwin's crew-- technically now Walker's crew, although the crew is now disbanded or will need to take one of the remaining members as a leader. Walker thanks them for their steadfast service, and for not leaving when the leaving was good, between Cledwin's betrayal and the start of the siege. It may not be worth much, but he'll put in good words for them if he reaches Methrynsport, and allows as how he may make calls there in the future. Of greater possible worth is a good word with Trippel and Balen, should they desire one. At the very least, he ensures that they're paid for their service for the time after Cledwin left, even if it must come from his own pocket. (He expects Trippel has more class than that personally, and that even if he didn't, the mores of Avalon would cover it.)
Balen pays them from Clasp's purse. They plan to take the wagon south and return to Methryn's Port.
Then there are Cameleopardis' remains, if any, and any effects he left behind. If there are meaningful remains, Walker asks that they be put to rest respectfully. If there are personal effects... Walker captured him, Walker claims them. He retains the religious book, of course, and it will serve as a keepsake if necessary, but he is hoping to find something a little more compact and durable-- a signet, a locket, some small personal token or piece of jewelry. Its primary purpose is, really, as a remembrance of someone who might have become a friend, whose death Brennan deeply regrets. But Brennan is too cynical to discount the possibility that it may be useful to prove that Cameleopardis lived recently.
He was wearing a torc when he was taken. It is given to Walker.
Finally, a farewell to Trippel and Balen. He still does not apologize for knifing Trippel, but does wish him well for a speedy recovery.
Trippel doesn't expect Walker to apologize. He thanks him for his good wishes.
Once on the road with Benedict, Brennan lets the Walker persona slide off as soon as they're out of view of Montparnasse. He lets the Shadows stop lying for him-- to the extent that they actually do in the environs near Avalon-- and stretches as they travel, like a man who's been wearing too-tight clothing or too-small armor for a very long time. He revels quietly in the freedom of motion and activity, and waits for Benedict to start whatever conversation he obviously wants to have.
Benedict watches him stretch. "Removing self-imposed constraints is pleasant. I am returning to Avalon. I consider your work here on my behalf a success."
Brennan smiles at the sheer pleasure of no longer constraining himself to Walker's abilities, skills, and persona. "Thank you," he says. Whether Benedict intended it as such, Brennan considers it somewhere between a compliment and an honor.
"I don't think my work for Queen Celina is complete, although I was able to report back to Rebma since we last spoke. Celina has a Trump of me, but not vice-versa," he explains. "That work, of course, is discovering her mother's designs on Rebma and, if possible, stopping them. I'm still certain she, or at least her agents, are here. Do I have your blessing to proceed?"
He nods. "She should have moved on by now. She needs two or three solid, threatening routes and to take a different one. I'd expect her to take the forest."
Brennan nods agreement. "Her position is very tense: Her need for ambiguity plays against the pressure of time. On the other hand, she still bears the ultimate symbol of the realm, which Rebma cannot tolerate. Better if she were captured or defeated, made to bend knee, and the matter simply closed."
He cocks his head to the side, chewing over what Benedict just said. "I had sought to tip the scales here without giving the appearance of a decisive victory, to preserve the appearance of ambiguity-- to preserve its utility in her mind. You think she moves to the Kelp to begin preparing the ambiguity in that theater? Or because this one is no longer useful to her?" he asks.
"Time is on her side," Benedict responds. "She merely has to wait for the right opportunity without being caught, and move in when Celina falters. Perhaps she causes that, perhaps she is merely opportunistic.
"If she has planted the right seeds in the city, and I assume she has, then she can either claim tenderness of conscience in her refusal to fight her own niece and daughter, strategic vision in her refusal to fight them while Huon was approaching, or mystical prophecies that required her to undergo a trial.
"Nothing has changed in this assessment, unless you have learned something new. It's the same position that she was in when she left Rebma.
"For all we know, she could have already moved to the kelp forests of Nedra before you even tracked her here. And when you arrive there she may have put things in motion and moved to Gateway, or Paris, or the Seaward.
"If she has the patience for such tactics, she could bedevil you for years. And if she does it right, Celina would have few places that she could flee to where Moire didn't have influence."
He looks back at the Holy Mountain. "I discussed such matters with her, in idle conversation, some decades ago. She asked me how I would attack Rebma, if I did not have an army."
"I think she'll have a hard time spinning her flight from Huon as strategic vision when we actually held it and took Huon's surrender, and Khela's death is being held up as mystic sacrifice for the good of the realm." It is abundantly clear from Brennan's tone of voice that he is aware of the level of cynicism and manipulation behind that statement. "But," he concedes, "the more troubled Celina's reign is, the more time Moire has and the more she can spin. Years seems right. Decades..." He shrugs. He doesn't think so, but he doesn't intent to let it last that long.
"If I may ask," Brennan goes right ahead and asks, "what did your answer have to say about use of the Jewel?"
Benedict chooses to answer the first part first. "Winners write the history, and it is re-written when there are new winners. A decade's absence in a centuries-long rule is nothing. Eric will never be remembered as King of Amber, and not just because Queen Vialle does not wish him to be remembered. Do not underestimate her, nor discount her while she lives."
"We did not discuss the jewel. It is worth an army, if she can attune herself to it. That would take access to a pattern and more confidence in her paternity than she has."
Brennan turns that over in his mind as they ride. "I had been using Corwin and Bleys' situation as a model," he says slowly. Then he nods, slowly, still thinking. "But there are obvious differences. I see your point."
"But there are two small blessings," Brennan says. "She has not the benefit of your advice on the matter of the Jewel, and by inference you don't think she could use it either. I remember what Brand was able to do at Patternfall... I was not eager to face even a fraction of that. But then," he says, "It is hard to imagine why she would have abandoned Rebma if she could marshal that kind of force."
He exhales slowly, then says, "There may come a time when the best course of action is to oppose her in the field, in the environs of Avalon. The Faiella-Bionin and the Kelp are both highly useful to her. That time is not now, of course, but if and when it comes... do you oppose such a course? I would need to raise the forces locally, and I cannot yet say if it would be better or worse to invoke your name."
Benedict considers. "The Faille-Bionin is a choke-point both in Avalon and in Rebma, and can be defended in a number of places. The Kelp is too large to protect, and of little use if Moire' plan is to raise an army of Tritons. She only needs to take herself through for that, or perhaps a cadre of officers to form the core of her corps.
"Unlike Arden, there are no rangers to patrol the Kelp. As a border it suited both of us, because nothing could come through without dealing with the Sons of the Dragon, and the Sons had no interest in the surface of Avalon."
He nods. "I would prefer that you stay on the Rebma side of the border in any defensive endeavor and reported it to me to deal with any problems she causes in Avalon. There are circumstances under which I would change my mind, but I adjudge them to be highly unlikely to occur."
"As you say," Brennan agrees. Then adds in a dry tone, "Of course, until I have actionable intelligence instead of--" he waves his hands in a gesture entirely unlike the universal waggly-fingered Sorcery gesture, "--this informed speculation I've turned up thus far, an armed force would only slow me down.
"My immediate thought was to chase down Cledwin and see if he has any clearer memories of his meeting with the Admiral than Jellicoe or Crisp. Speaking of which-- I'm as certain as I can be without seeing Sorcerous thumbprints on him that Jellicoe's mind has been tampered with, vis-a-vis the Admiral's appearance and identity. This seemed highly suspicious to me, given that Cameleopardis' orders came from Moire. Or is this sort of identity concealment a typical-- or even plausible-- gambit, here?" Brennan asks.
"It's uncommon, but it was used in the 15th War of the Orokoy Islands, the 5th Grand Southern Fleet, the so-called Spearfish Mutiny, and a handful of lesser campaigns. The Admiral doesn't actually exist, but his mother does. She needs to keep the war going to keep her war powers through her warlord son.
"If I don't intervene, she has a slim chance of becoming Empress of the North and a great chance of becoming dead. I haven't decided if I am intervening, if she stays to the North. These recent forays into my sphere of interest make her more intriguing. I'm thinking of writing a paper on her, actually."
"I'll let you know if I find evidence that Moire is spoofing her command and control," Brennan says. Or in some other way, colluding, because, "There was a bit too much coincidence in that chain of events for my tastes."
Brennan rides in silence, as companionably as one does with Benedict for a time, considering whether to broach a subject.
[OOC: Also giving Benedict the opportunity to raise any issue he considers pressing. If he has something, then disregard the rest....]
At length, he comes to a decision. "Uncle, there's a matter removed from any of this current business that needs counsel. This may trespass on business of your own as well." He shrugs a regret, athough he is clearly uncomfortable with the decision, or the topic, or both. "Tir-na Nog'th is often described as dream-like, for lack of a better word." Brennan, having been there, has other words-- phantasmal, spectral, visionary, prophetic-- but they aren't necessarily better words. "Have you ever known that to be... literal? Or its influence to extend beyond Tir, out into Shadow?"
"There are congruent places. Have you heard the story that Prince Garrett tells of rescuing Vialle in the woods? It was such a place, and I was there with Random and a few of your cousins. It is not an honest place."
"Yes, but from Signy rather than Prince Garrett," Brennan says. "But that's... not entirely what I meant. Those were real, waking experiences as I understand it, and those involved left with a physical token."
Not unlike your arm.
"I meant literal in the sense of a literal dream, while sleeping. And by far out into Shadow I mean in the Plain of Towers, a place where Weyland dwelt for a time. It's on this side of the Tree-- I think-- but far enough that the time scales between here and there are entirely disjoint. Although," he scowls in memory, "there were people there who reminded me of the Moonriders.
"The dream was a single image," Brennan says, "but it was clear and compelling enough to make a sketch. I believe it was an accurate image of someone I've never seen before, which does give me pause." He reaches into his Trump case, where he keeps the sketch he made of that dream, and shows it to Benedict.
"It's hard to tell with the time differential, but I was in the Plain of Towers when-- I may have had this dream when Cambina was dying."
Benedict considers, stroking his beard. "That is the Queen of Air and Darkness, Maeve." His voice sounds oddly foreign when he says the Queen's name. "Paige and her brother saw a projection of her in Gerard's home shadow. Possibly some others, although my understanding was that she was appearing to your female cousins. Possibly searching for a new host.
"You were... close with Cambina. We know sorcery can project images over distances, even across shadows. We don't know how Cambina died, but we should sincerely hope that she did not project her final visage. I almost never recommend this, but you should go to Tir-na nOg'th."
Brennan has to try twice before any sound comes out, but the second attempt seems to get all the voice-- and all the horror-- of both tries: "A new host?!" It's another long moment before he's mastered himself enough to speak again, and when he does it's still with great agitation, but more control. "A new host? What exactly does that mean?!"
Benedict shakes his head. "Speculation on my part. There is still a working pattern in Tir-na nOg'th. Therefore the Queen of Air and Darkness is not dead. She is looking for something, and doing so by probing women of the family. It's unclear what she wants, but to be cautious, I presume the worst."
Brennan stares at Benedict as his heart rate and blood pressure recede to something approaching normality, or at least to something that wouldn't kill someone not of the Family.
"I can follow that chain of logic when led through it," he says, "but I can't help feeling that the chain is informed by facts I don't have access to. What we-- my generation-- knows or believes is about enough to fill a thimble: That she is to Tir-na nOg'th as Oberon was to Amber. That at some point, the city changed from something close to 'normal' into what it is now, with catastrophic consequences for the inhabitants. That at some later date-- much later, I suspect-- there was a war to prevent the remnants from reclaiming the remnant, as it were. Less commonly known is that Brand's project and insanity was in some way related to fixing a problem with Tir's Pattern or the Queen... or at least, that's what Ambrose has so far from his notes."
Benedict nods as each point is made. He lets Brennan continue uninterrupted.
Brennan gives a beat, there, to see how or if Benedict reacts that last piece of information, then adds: "I understand that as Brand's son, I'm walking on graveyards. But I have to ask: Do we, the Family at large, have any understanding of what actually happened to Tir or the Queen? Or why?"
As Benedict answers-- or doesn't-- Brennan takes his ring of office as Knight Commander of the Order of the Ruby from where he had been carrying it. He runs one thumb around the edge of the band, both sides, without lifting his thumb and does... something... to it. When he's done, it has a half twist in the metal of the band, although the band hasn't been broken in any way. It really should not lie flat against the skin of his finger when he puts it on to inspect his work, not with that half-twist in it. But it does. It's hard to see, as the twist is between the fingers... but it does.
Benedict is slow to answer. "It's all hearsay and myth, at least in Amber. Rebma will know less, unless the Tritons have the lore of it. It wouldn't have been something Moire would want to have known. She had a vested interest in indestructible Queens and cities.
"Paris might help you more than either, since it seems to have been created with thousands of years of history already attached to it."
He pauses. "Or Weyland, if he can be convinced to tell you anything true."
Brennan doesn't interrupt and doesn't quite point at Benedict, but when he mentions Rebma, Brennan does raise a finger as though to bookmark that part of the conversation for later reference. When Benedict is done, Brennan nods, having mostly expected that response or something along those lines. "Thank you," he says. "I had to ask."
Benedict's deep dislike for Weyland is noted and filed, but not otherwise commented upon. "I expect good information could be purchased from Weyland," he says. "I expect I wouldn't like the price."
Popping the conversational stack, he says, "You said that I should go to Tir-na nOg'th, regarding Cambina. It was my impression, though, that Tir-na nOg'th was also... not an honest place."
Benedict nods. "It is not a straightforward place. It often tells what is true but either in a way the listener will not hear or in an oblique way. It is a place of staggering beauty and sorrow, and that it a kind of honesty in itself."
"I've been there once before," Brennan says, "but with the single-minded intent of finding the Pattern, taking the Pattern, and losing myself into Shadow. I'm given to understand that part of the exercise involves having a spotter, for lack of a better term. With a working Trump connection, I assume. What else does one do, where does one go? Cast the Fortunes? Is there a ritual? Or does one simply... go?"
Benedict shrugs. "Different people describe it differently. It's dream-like. It's no easier to prepare someone for than the pattern is. I can try to tell you about my experience, but I have no expectation that yours will be like mine."
He pauses, "or that my next one will be like the prior one. Would it help you to know that one time I followed a bright ribbon of light through the empty streets of the city, while it crosses and re-crossed itself, and moved along grand avenues and forced my way through difficult places until I reached the center? It’s never been like that for me since that day."
Brennan thinks that over, looking for the right phrasing of his answer. "Yes," he says at length. "We are, after all, scions of Order. It is as much, if not more, in our nature to seek rules, patterns, mechanisms as it is to rail against the consequences those patterns impose. Knowing that such rules have not been found yet... Well. Knowing that won't cause me not to seek them," he admits, "but it may cause me not to obsess at a critical moment, nor to over-analyze before it."
Brennan gestures again at the sketch. "If the figure on the throne represents the Queen in some fashion," he says, "then what does the man being knighted represent? I had thought at first I was seeing some historical event, and had wondered if the figure was you, or a relative before my time."
Benedict looks at the sketch more closely. "If you are a creator of trumps, I would not attempt to imbue this sketch with that power. The scene seems -- dangerous. It could be the Marshall of the Moonriders, as a youth. It could be a relative.
"It looks vaguely familiar to me, as if I've seen this painting hanging somewhere, or a copy of it from a slightly different angle, but I don't recall where I've seen it."
"No," Brennan says, with a quiet emphasis. "I have not that skill, nor would I wish to develop it if I did. I share your sense of foreboding, if not your... memory of a memory, for lack of a better phrase, but if there is power in the image, it is not by my hand."
Brennan eyes the drawing one last time before putting it away-- he's met the Marshall, although briefly.. the putz. He remembers thinking they had somewhat similar body language, but he never really followed the thought to its logical conclusion. Is there perhaps a facial resemblance to Benedict under that mountain of self-affected alienation? It does cause a man to wonder where exactly Cymnea's family was from, before they were from Amber.
Regardless, "For the moment, King Random's ban on the place remains in effect, and I am still committed to my task for Rebma, but I hope to take your advice. Will you allow me to go there from Avalon?"
Benedict thinks on Brennan’s request, continuing to ride down the mountain as he does so. Eventually he speaks. “Yes, with the provision that you must stay in contact with someone via trump, so that you can be pulled to safety. I would not recommend keeping your task from Random, but I will not interfere in your decision."
"I have no intention of breaking the King's prohibition," Brennan says, "and the condition of Trump contact is perfectly sensible. Several exist of me-- although I'll have to give some warning to make sure the one we use is durable, not just a sketch."
Unless Benedict has further agenda with his nephew, Brennan makes clear by word and posture that he is ready to part ways... after one more item on the list. "Benedict, I thank you for your advice. As I go to ponder how best to draw Moire out and force her to take the field rather than harass Rebma's flanks, though, I have one more question. Are we repeating the error of your brothers? Using your syllogism, there is a working Pattern in Rebma. Do we all of us-- Moire, Celina, myself, a few others-- presume too much?"
Benedict stops and dismounts. He holds a card, or possibly a trump sketch. It's likely that he has another way home rather than sailing off this island. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. Patterns can distort time-flows, especially when they reinforce each other. It's unclear. However, I will leave you with one question, which is this. If all cities are, somehow, in some distorted way, reflections of Amber, or Paris, or Xanadu, or another pattern fortress, then what is Carthage a reflection of?
"That one has disturbed me since I learned the story of Carthage from Flora, many years ago."
That is not a question meant to be answered, so he doesn't. "One could ask the same of Rome," he says. "Be well, Benedict."
Once Brennan and Benedict part ways, Brennan continues alone back toward the coast and Methrynsport City. As he had briefly reveled in the discarding of his Walker persona, he takes a bit more to revel in the discarding even of the public face he wears for Family. In short, it's nice to simply be alone with his thoughts for a while, not needing to worry about anyone or anything else. He can, for example, consider the extent to which Avalon reflects Benedict's personality and interests, and shake his head in mildly alarmed amusement without the risk of being seen or asked about it.
Benedict, on reflection, is a rather strange person.
He gives himself the rest of the day (while moving with some speed) to satisfy his loner tendencies before turning back to Family business. In preparation for that, he finds himself a nice secluded semi-woodsy area to break for a meal-- somewhere along a fresh stream with natural rock outcroppings that look like they were made to sit and relax around a fire, far enough from any roads, and with the trees providing enough privacy from random passersby, that sitting and having a Trump conversation or two won't draw unwanted attention.
Once he's got himself a few trout frying away in a pan over a fire, and a few traps set for tomorrow's meals, he shuffles out his Trumps: Fiona, and if she doesn't answer then Bleys, and if he doesn't answer then Folly.
Fiona answers at once. She’s in a dark lab room that Brennan recognizes from one of her shadow hideouts. She says, "Hello, Brennan. Your brother and Signy have just arrived."
Brennan lets the surprise shows on his face, and probably leak through the Trump contact, but it is not an unpleasant one.
"Unsought good news," he says, "for a change. I would ask to join you in person, but I'm in Benedict's Realm, working, and I don't want to lose time. I'll be happy to share news, but there is a matter I would discuss with you in private later, if you have time." Brennan is uncertain where he stands with Robin-- or vice-versa, to be honest-- but he knows discussing her in front of anyone but Fiona is out of the question.
"Understood," she says, and reaches to bring Ambrose and Signy into the contact. Brennan can feel both of them join at once. Ambrose greets Brennan: "Hello, brother."
Last modified: 5 September 2015