After a blissful day or two of catching up on rest (and a few other things as well), Folly and Martin begin to make plans for crashing the university benefit. Between them, they locate her mother's invitation, a tuxedo for Martin, an appropriately sparkly dress for Folly (conveniently cut to show off her legs and her back while obscuring her increasingly-pregnant figure), and the keys to her mother's car (well, cars, really, but the little red sporty one seems like the obvious choice). In between planning, a discreet errand or two turns up the drumsticks and beer requested by the king.
On the afternoon of the soiree, they discuss the plan, such as it is. "The real trick, of course," Folly observes, "will be getting Haven to talk to me while I'm trying to look enough like my mother to fool everyone else."
Martin frowns and scarfs the next to last slice of the Green Duke's Piec-a, recently retrieved and microwaved from Brij's freezer. "What about letting Mr. Chance do it? She's seen me before. I could make the initial approach--preferably without nose in dirt this time--and maybe bring her to you?"
Folly nods. "That's probably our best bet. Unless she thinks you're here to kill her or something." She reaches for her mother's laptop and flips it open to check, as she has done every few hours since she posted her online personal, whether there has been any response. "Perhaps I should give you some token to give to her, something that she'd know at a glance was from me," she muses as she waits for the proper page to load. "There's a box of my old things in the downstairs closet; maybe something from there."
There's no answer to the personal ad.
"Yeah," Martin says around a mouthful of piec-a. "That'd be a good idea, because I'd like to do this one without hitting or guns pointed at me. I'm still too hair-trigger for much of that. I don't think I'd hurt Haven, but--" and he lets that stand on its own.
"If it were just Haven, I wouldn't be worried," Folly replies, "but I don't know what kind of... minders or security or whatever... she's likely to have with her. This guy she married...." She takes a moment to pull up a recent news article, with photograph, that mentions her friend's new husband, and turns the laptop around so Martin can see.
"That's him in the middle, there," she says. "But check out the guys on either side of him: the one on the left with the really good hair looks like he spends all his time talking to people -- maybe a social secretary or something -- but the other one, with the shoulders and no neck? If I had to guess from his posture, I'd bet he's carrying a gun." She taps a fingernail against the screen to draw Martin's attention to the text of the article. "I don't know if they're regular staff -- the big guy in particular could've been extra security for this National Whatever-it-was Conference -- but if he's at the thing, maybe don't let him see you talking to Haven."
"I can take care of local muscle. Even armed," Martin says, not sounding particularly concerned about the guy with the gun. "I'm more worried about scaring Haven. What about the husband? Does he get an offer?"
"To come with us? Yeah, probably. It's really kind of up to Haven -- but I'm assuming she married him on purpose, you know?" She turns the laptop around again and regards the man in question with a critical eye. "I'd rather talk to Haven alone first, though, if we can swing it, and worry about him after we know the lay of the land. This fellow seems like exactly the sort of guy Haven's parents would've wanted her to marry -- which worries me a little."
"As your husband, I'm not even touching that with a ten-foot pole, not where Brij is concerned." Deadpan or no, Martin wouldn't have made that joke twenty-four hours ago, so he's doing better.
"So the plan is, use the Bat-signal you're going to hunt up for me to lure Haven away from her heat-packing bodyguards, preferably with minimal dirt-planting, to let you talk to her and figure out who's having a mysterious disappearance, her or both of them?" He ticks off the points on his fingers as he goes through them. "When I put it that way, it sounds like the worst plan ever. At least since the one that got Meg out of Borel."
"Yes, but that plan worked, didn't it?" Folly offers brightly. "And since this plan doesn't involve you flirting with my mother -- just... you know, pretending to flirt with my mother -- it's automatically better than the one we tried last time we were here, right?"
She does not come right out and say what's the worst that could happen?, but she does give Martin a look that invites him to speculate.
"Yeah, ask Soren about that." Martin can't hold the deadpan, though, and he grins at her.
"What do I see as the worst thing? What if she doesn't want to go?"
Folly shrugs. "It's her choice. I'll do my best to convince her, but my mission here is to let her know the offer is open, not to drag her back kicking and screaming."
She pauses, frowning, and adds, "Maybe the worst thing would be if she wants to go, but her husband doesn't. Or if they both violently don't want to go."
"Anybody who wants violently anything to do with you has to go through me." From Martin's tone, Folly suspects it'll go badly for whoever that is. "And if she wants to go and he doesn't, we've got Trumps."
"Speaking of which, if it helps -- if we need to get her or both of them out of there quickly before we've quite finished the conversation and she's come to a decision -- we may be able to bring them back here." She pulls out her trump case and withdraws the sketch that brought her and Julian to this house, inspecting it to determine whether she thinks it's likely to work again.
It's still cold, but Folly feels she wouldn't trust it after another Trump transit, whether it was one she took through it or one it took through another card.
"So add that to the butt end of the plan. Still beats Officer Gleamingteeth." Somehow in the spaces of the conversation, Martin has managed to devour the entire piece of piec-a. He reaches for the last slice, wiggling his fingers over it to give Folly the chance to snatch it out from him.
She tilts a hand at him, indicating he should take it. After all, there's still ice cream in the freezer to finish off before they go.
Martin grabs the slice, continuing, "Then I think we're settled on the rescue Haven from durance vile angle. And I think we've got the gear down, too; we shouldn't have a hard time with that. What else are we missing, apart from all the crazy that's going on back in Amber and Xanadu?"
Folly shakes her head. "Nothing else I can think of. Although I recommend we try to pass the other things we've collected for your father off to Gerard before we set out on this last errand. You know, just in case we have to take off in a hurry."
"All right, let's get that done right now. Or as soon as I finish this slice of piece-a." Martin pulls his trump case out and tosses it to Folly, letting her shuffle out the card while he devours the end of his meal with an Amberite appetite.
Folly contacts Gerard -- the elder most likely to be in Xanadu based on their most recent information -- and passes along the items Random had requested. She doesn't even begin to explain the crate of beanless chili or the case of maibock (never mind the screaming, spiky-haired man on the label) except to say "It's for the king." The drumsticks, she figures, are self-explanatory.
She lets him know they are planning to complete the last of their errands within a few hours, Texorami-time, and to return to Xanadu immediately afterward if everything goes according to plan. Most of the family news can wait 'til then, she reckons, but she asks Gerard if there is any urgent news they should know about.
Gerard says to pass on the news that Random has returned with Vialle and Garrett. He sounds relieved about that. Also, he says that Martin needs to know that he, Gerard, had to banish Solange.
Folly asks for enough detail to understand what happened -- from Gerard's perspective, anyway -- and after offering Gerard some words of support and comfort, she ends the trump call and relays the news to Martin.
"Do you have Solange's trump?" she asks. "After we finish this business with Haven, we should call her."
"And say what? I think as the KC of Card, I want to officially not take cognizance of this whole thing until I have to." Martin blows some air out of his mouth in a way that's too gusty and loud to be a sigh. "I thought the first Card knight to get her ass busted by royal authority was going to be Paige. How wrong I was."
"Yeah." Folly sighs. "Maybe _I_ should call her, then. Unofficially. But after we've done here."
Normally Fletcher can get away from whatever is following him by shifting through shadow, but these people, or beings, whatever they are, are beyond his ability to lose easily. He's seen their pale, shadowy kind before; his paths have crossed with many creatures in the shadows over the years. But now, after the long period when his Trump was warm, and now with his only link to Amber, such as it was, severed, it's much more worrisome.
For the first time in centuries, Fletcher isn't sure of his way home. And it's not as if he has any allies to rely on if he has to turn and fight. He's not sure what his followers are, exactly, but he doesn't think they're friendly.
As he completes his current shift of shadow, the new landscape forms in front of him through the dazzle. He can still feel his pursuers; they made the shift as well, although they're no closer than they were.
Fletcher reminds himself that the paler they are, the harder they sunburn as he shifts into a wide, brightly lit valley cleared for farming. The skies are clear and the valley heads straight to the beach. In the distance it appears as if the sun is setting on the horizon, but Fletcher knows it to be his current destination: a shining city floating on the distant sea, connected to shore by an tenuous path of reflected sunlight on the calm ocean. These magical cities are so often similar, if you've seen a dozen you've seen 'em all. If he can make it to the magical sunlight path ahead of his pursuers, they'll have to follow him single file, and probably even make themselves less shadowy just to stay on the path. Either way, pale and shadowy things tend to not be at their best in bright sunlight, and denizens of a shining sun city tend to be opposed to the pale and shadowy. Fletcher pulls a pair of polarized sunglasses out of his jacket, slaps them on his face, and urges his horse onward.
In the distance, the two riders, pallid and milky on their silvery steeds, are still riding behind him. Fletcher can see them when he looks over his shoulder. One of them reaches back into a saddlebag and produces something like a burnous to pull over his shoulders to protect pale skin from the sun. The other does the same a moment after.
They seem to be picking up the pace, and so must Fletcher if he wishes to escape them.
Fletcher picks up the pace with all the skill of an experienced horseman whose own great grandmother has hooves.
As he does so he thinks to himself, "Gee, those guys are riding even faster down the hill than I did, and I thought I was going at the maximum safe speed for such terrain. And now they're wearing hastily- donned baggy hooded cloaks that might flap around and obscure parts of their vision. It seems like the odds of one of them having a mishap are increasing. Hmmm. I'm thinking in my Pattern-voice again. Oh well, it sucks to be them."
As his horse breaks out on to beach, almost to the magical sunshiny path, he pulls a small white sphere, about the size of a cue ball, from his pocket and tosses it on the ground behind him. He gets ready to draw his sword in the event his pursuers come too close.
[His intent is to either get out onto the sunshiny path where they can't use superior numbers against him. If he gets away that's great, but if he has to find out what these guys want he wants to be in a place of his choosing where any sort of "pale and shadowy" magical powers will be at their weakest. Also, the object he tossed behind him is, in fact, a cue ball. He hopes they might swerve around it, stop to inspect it, or something. He carries one because people always watch out for guys who bring their own cue sticks but rarely notice when one brings his own cue ball to a pool table.]
Sadly for Fletcher, for all that they seem to be riding at a risky speed, the two behind him are also brilliant riders. The winds seem to catch and billow their cloaks, but even if their vision is obscured, it's not enough to cause them to stumble and fall.
They ride some small distance around the sphere, seeming to otherwise ignore it, but Fletcher sees one of them make a warding gesture as they go by. Fletcher is able to make the highway before they catch up to him. He can draw his blade easily if he likes.
The riders seem to be intent on catching up with him even if he is on the highway.
Fletcher rides out perhaps a hundred yards before turning to face them, sword out and ready in his right hand, a small shield hastily pulled up into his left. As they approach he will call to them, "You've gone to a lot of trouble to catch up with me. What's this about?"
They can answer with words or he'll continue the conversation with steel. If time permits he will use the Pattern to summon a slight cross-breeze.
The riders stop a safe distance from Fletcher: out of reach of his blade. One of them holds up his hands in a gesture that demonstrates he has no weapons in them.
"You are a scion of Amber?"
Fletcher straightens up a bit but otherwise remains at the ready. He does his best impression of Benedict when he's being all-serious like Oberon.
"Indeed. I am Fletcher. Who are you, and what business do you have with Amber?"
He thinks, "dammit, should have said 'what business have you with Amber'....oh well, go with it."
"You may call me Pursues the Awakener," the rider says. "We have a message for your kinsman Bleys. Tell him his ploy to strike at the Marshall from within has failed."
Fletcher's expression becomes one of curiosity, though his sword is still out. "Pursues the Awakener, I will pass on your message. However, I am not in regular contact with Bleys, nor am I familiar with the situation you describe. How urgent is it that this message be delivered? Is this a personal matter between you and Bleys or it an affair of state? If it is a matter of Amber's honor I will take it to the Unicorn Throne and there appropriate redress can be determined. It would be best for me for me to better informed in either case, unless you wish you accompany me to Amber?"
Both of the riders give Fletcher toothy smiles. "You would invite us to your home, Amberite?"
Fletcher smiles and refocuses on the speaker. "My philosophy is 'wherever you go, there you are.' If you had proper cause to bring this business to Amber I think you would do so on your own, invitation or no. So this must be a personal matter involving Bleys. I will relay your message. I'm certain that not everyone in Amber agrees with Bleys' position. Tell me more about what he's done now."
The other rider turns to Pursues the Awakener. "Have we the time for the recitation of his deeds?"
Pursues the Awakener looks at Fletcher. "If there are those who seek justice from the Marshall, he will gladly give the Queen's Justice to them. But the deeds of Stealer of Brothers are well known among both kindreds. In this time, the attempt to have the Silver Rose plucked has failed. This is the message, if you will deliver it."
"The deeds of Stealer of Brothers are not known to me. At least by that name. I'll certainly pass along your message the next time I see Bleys. I can't help but wonder though. Is your Silver Rose a person? And to where should a reply, if there is one, be delivered? You've gone to so much trouble to track me down. I'd hate for my misunderstanding of the details to confuse your message."
"Your kinsman will know where to deliver a reply," Pursues the Awakener says. "If he dares. Travel safely, scion of Amber, for these realms are not always safe even for your kind."
The two riders knee their steeds lightly--the gesture barely perceptible to Fletcher, but clear to the horses--and they back away, the way they came.
Fletcher watches them leave. Once they reach the beach he puts his sword away, pulls out a notepad and writes down exactly what they said. He tears off a separate sheet of paper and writes, "Dad - Bleys may have stirred up trouble with our favorite pale horsemen." He folds the note into a paper airplane, and releases it upon a breeze of his desire en route to the sun city. Confident his note will find Benedict eventually, Fletcher continues into the city to get his bearing and figure out which way Amber might be from here.
The paper airplane flies away on the breeze and is seen no more.
Fletcher rides across the shining sunlit path to the city. There are legends of such moving cities; Fletcher has heard them many times. This one is typical of the legends: the goods of a hundred shadows are sold in the marketplace, the accents of a thousand countries can be heard bartering over them, and the cries of a thousand different kinds of beast of burden echo in the streets.
He pays the nominal entrance fee to the city and learns that this one is called Mazicia. The guards point him toward the market and toward the hostels where foreigners may stay.
After several hours and a meal that few would call "light", Fletcher sits at a cantina table sipping an alcholic nectar that looks for all the world like liquid sunshine. Setting aside his speculation about how long the drink will keep its iridescence, he turns to charting a course to Amber. Mazicia may be moving but he's far enough from Amber that its movement won't impact his course significantly. Probably. He's all turned around and so far out from Amber that simply riding toward Amber by shifting details in Shadow is more problematic than it's worth. It'll be better, he thinks, to pick a vector through Shadow that will take him closer to home and sort out the details from there.
He pulls out his notebook again and begins roughing out different routes along key points: the tree (farthest out of his choices), "Earth", Texorami, Heerat, Reme, the one with the rainbow roadway, the port of paranoid wizards, Gateway, Cornwall, and a dozen more. Considering the major paths: by sea, by land, by air, by stars, and under the ground or sea he decides he'd prefer to travel overland but substantial over-the-sea travel will be necessary first. It's not like he can just ride out of here on a sunbeam and continue that way indefinitely, and he'd like to keep his horse. He doesn't think he's far enough out that he'd need to worry about running into any of the Lintra-spawn so aiming for the tree is probably overkill. He figures to spiral into Amber along the Texorami-Earth-Reme-Heerat route, sailing to Texorami and then riding the rest of the way.
First he'll need a sloop and an initial direction. The gems he keeps in his pocket for just such an emergency will likely get him a sloop and a small crew. As for the initial direction....
If his pattern-sense is having trouble sensing the direction of Amber's pattern at this distance. He'll take a couple of hours to cast his sense out through the Pattern feeling not just for Amber's Pattern, for the whole Pattern system of Amber-Rebma-Tir. If this gives him an inkling he'll consider it a good start. If not, he'll do it the hard way by trial and error.
As he plans his route, it occurs to Fletcher that he's had some difficulties with the usual roads and paths since the great storm of some months ago. His mental map doesn't seem quite reliable to him. It's not that Fletcher thinks he remembers things wrongly; more that he feels the ripples in the pond of shadow no longer reflect what they used to.
The old routes may not hold, but he could try something similar, if the disruptions aren't more substantial at the center.
Given the differences, Fletcher decides to try finding a place similar to a key point, and then start shifting. As his course take him through Shadow, he'll be "feeling" for the Patterns, attempting to triangulate a direction, and move toward it, zigging and zagging to check and adjust his course.
Fletcher arranges for his supplies and finds the money to purchase a boat that will accommodate his horse and the small crew. He finds what he thinks is Rome--it's a Rome, anyway, and it's definitely not Reme or one of the other technologically different cities of that type. In Rome, Fletcher takes on fuel, restocks his larder, and so on, with the awareness that some decades have passed and the level of technology there has increased, if it is in fact the same Rome.
There seem to be two possible directions he can take when he leaves. One heads south and the other heads north. Which does Fletcher take?
It seems these things never work in a straight line. Fletcher takes at least half an hour focusing on the Pattern within him, calling it up to sense the ebb and flow of shadow, looking for even faint indications of influences on the shape of shadow that might indicate the influence of the Tir/Rebma/Amber Pattern system. Satisfied that he understands his current position, he makes what notes he can and sails north, periodically using Pattern to monitor his position in shadow, triangulating the forces shaping the shadowscape.
There's something seriously off kilter about the Pattern dynamic. This will require further investigation when Fletcher gets to Amber.
His current goal on this first leg of the journey is to amass data that will allow him to tighten the course on future legs, eventually getting a stronger sense of which way Amber is. Fletcher calls to mind his memories of Texorami, and as he did with Rome imagines what it must currently look like. He uses that image to direct his shadow shifting, figuring that such a destination will at least help him get his bearings.
In due time, Fletcher finds himself sailing along a coastline that seems like it should be Texorami's, moving toward the port where he can take on supplies. There are beach houses here; if it's the place he remembers, it was deserted when last he came by.
Sitting out on the beach talking are two women and a man. The man sees the boat, looks surprised, and says something to the other two.
Women on the beach? This might call for a closer look. Fletcher digs out a pair of binoculars and studies...the coastline...in more detail. This whole problem with the Pattern dynamic and uncertainty about routes through shadow clearly calls for for closer attention to the differences between shadow.
One of the men is looking back at Fletcher with binoculars.
One of the women is doing something that looks very like using a Trump.
Fletcher waves to the man with the binoculars, and decides that this would be a good place to stop and ask for directions, based on the trump use by human-looking people. He orders the crew to get one of the two lifeboats ready and test out the outboard motor on it. While they do this he sees to halting the vessel and and producing a white flag to signal peaceful intent. He waves it within sight of the watcher(s) on the shore, and then climbs down to the boat. Sending the waiting crewman back up to the ship, Fletcher takes the boat and heads toward the group on shore alone.
As he pulls up to the beach, even those without binoculars can see he's a tall lean fellow of middle years wearing a great coat, or perhaps a trench coat.
Martin finds himself a nice tuxedo that fits him surprisingly well in the closet of the spare bedroom. "She has a boyfriend who's just my size," he tells Folly drily. "What are the odds?"
"I daresay she's had boyfriends in nearly every size," Folly replies, "so long as they're young and good-looking. Or not-so-young and influential. Looking good in a tux is always a requirement, though."
"I would think not-so-young and influential would want someone a bit more agreeable. But I guess she is agreeable if you've got something she wants." Martin makes a face.
When Folly is dressed and has found him a macguffin to show Haven, he gets the keys to Brij's car from the usual place and they head off to the university, where the party is being held. Martin goes through everything they discussed: the macguffin, Haven, her husband, the muscle, and where Martin should bring Haven to meet Folly. He gets any last-minute instructions from Folly.
Folly tells him a story, full of details only she and Haven would know, about the macguffin, a small carved stone bear they'd picked up in another city on a youth orchestra tour. "And if she still doesn't want to come talk to me, tell her Jasper's gonna eat her lunch. Starting with the cookies." She picks up the bear and makes little growly sounds, made somehow more absurd by the fact that she's sitting there in her mother's clothes and a little too much make-up. Perhaps she just needs to get it out of her system, to help her maintain the ruse that she's really who she's pretending to be.
"Jasper's gonna eat her lunch, starting with the cookies. Right." Martin doesn't move to take the carved stone bear just yet. Instead, he makes growly sounds with her, which are equally absurd when made by a guy in a tux.
Maybe he's waiting for Folly to get it out of her system. Or maybe he's just being deadpan and silly too.
They reach the campus, and Folly directs Martin toward the venue (and indicates, at one end of the outdoor reception area, the small sculpture garden where they'll try to get Haven to meet her). As she gets into character her posture shifts, all haughty looks and imperious gestures. She gives the valet -- probably a work-study student -- a faintly leering smirk as she thanks him for helping her out of the car; likewise the nice-looking young man who asks to see their invitation, even as she's wrapping an arm around Martin's waist to let everyone know he's hers.
As they move past the checkpoint, she casts a quick glance around the party in search of Haven or any of her entourage.
There's no sign of Haven immediately, but Folly does catch sight of the husband at the bar.
"That him?" Martin asks, his voice low. "I make his security at 2 o'clock; check the bulge under the armpit out."
"I see," Folly says, grimly. "Yeah, that's him. Haven may've slipped off to the ladies or something...." She watches the security thug sidelong for a moment, to see whether the direction of his gaze offers any clue to where Haven might be.
Security seems to be focused on Mr. Haven.
In a conversational tone more likely to be heard by those trying to pay attention -- and accented more like her mother's voice than her own -- she adds, "Why don't you fetch us some drinks, darling, and I'll find us someplace quiet that we can... talk...." She inclines her head toward the sculpture garden, where she intends to wait for Haven.
Martin gives her a long-suffering smile and nods before heading off to fetch a drink for himself and Folly, erm, Brij. He does not look back, instead moving on to engage Mr. Haven in a friendly in-line conversation.
Folly makes her way into the garden, dotted with works of varying size and quality, many abstract, most by student artists. Near the edge closest to the gathering crowds she finds a large and vaguely phallic stone sculpture etched with intricate symbols -- meant to represent the plight of some repressed people somewhere, she gathers from the abstruse artist statement on a little plaque at the base of the work -- that gives her something to pretend to stare at while she keeps an eye on Martin, and on the rest of the crowd.
Belatedly, she realizes she's humming under her breath, a slightly off-color tune she composed as a much younger person about this very sculpture garden. She's pretty sure she caught herself before anyone heard; if not, at least the tune predated the band by several years and never made it onto any album, so even if humming under her breath might be a bit out-of-character for her mother, the song itself would be unlikely to give her away.
Not to most people, anyway. Probably there were a few people who still remembered it -- but most of them had already departed Texorami. All but one, in fact.
Martin is doing a bang-up job talking to Mr. Haven, it looks like. He's friendly and has a dim-wattage smile on his face that's very unlike Martin Chance (or, for that matter, Syd Chance). Security seems to have identified him, but doesn't seem to have moved in on him yet.
Watching him work, Folly smiles to herself -- although she tries to make it look a bit like a leer, in case anyone is paying attention.
Since he seems to have that situation well in hand for the nonce, she casts a quick glance over her shoulder, deeper into the sculpture garden. Only as she's doing it does she recognize the motion for what it is: a paranoid reflex to make sure no one is sneaking up on her. _Hormones_, she thinks to herself. That must be it.... She resists the urge to lay a protective hand on her belly.
Martin finishes up with Mr. Haven and moves off into the crowd, presumably in search of Haven. Mr. Haven moves off in a different direction. Security seems to be coming in Folly's general direction.
Folly pretends to pay no heed to the security, but from her half-hidden place she watches surreptitiously, paying attention to speed, posture, and trajectory: moving with intent toward an evident goal? Moving aggressively? Or does it feel more like a routine crowd sweep?
He's got something in mind, that's clear, although it is just possible that what he's got in mind is a sweep of the section of the garden near where Folly is standing. There are a few other people outside. Maybe one of them has his interest.
Folly continues to watch without seeming to: perhaps his path will show her where Haven is. But she's got her game face on in case he comes to talk to her instead, and she positions herself where an easy step to the side should put her in Martin's easy view if she gets in trouble -- or if she needs to make a scene.
She pretends to cast a bored glance toward the crowds as if waiting impatiently for her lover to rescue her from the not-sufficiently-erotic art.
As his angle of approach narrows, Folly can tell he is, indeed, coming to talk to her.
Folly waits until he has drawn close enough that even a very self-absorbed person would be certain to notice. "Have you brought drinks, darling?" she asks. Only then does she turn to look at him; and, clearly noticing that he has not brought drinks -- nor even managed to be the man she came in with -- arches her brows, imperiously, as if to demand that he explain himself.
"Mrs. Mayhap?" The man addresses her directly. "Mr. Gunnarson asked me to deliver a message to you."
"Gunnarson?" Folly narrows her eyes, pretending to try to place the name or to wonder whether the message could possibly be anything but a tiresome waste of time. But then, "Oh, yes, he's the one that married my daughter's little friend, isn't he?" She brightens -- or at least looks a bit less annoyed -- and tilts her head to prompt him for the message.
"Stay away from his wife. That's the message."
Folly arches an eyebrow, effecting a look that is both surprised and faintly offended. "Did they not like the gift?"
"Please don't play the fool, Mrs. Mayhap." The fellow sounds not so much tired as bored and slightly resigned. "If Mrs. Gunnarson disappears, Mr. Gunnarson is going to be very unhappy. You wouldn't like it if he were unhappy with you."
To her own surprise, Folly is suddenly glad her mother isn't here to suffer Gunnarson's wrath. Not that Brij couldn't've handled it, of course; she'd faced down worse. Still, it was nice not to have to cause her any more trouble. In Texorami, anyway.
She covers her reverie with an overdramatic sigh: "Darling, it's not as though talking to me is what causes anyone to disappear, regardless of what I'm sure my daughter would've been happy to suggest. She and I were only barely on speaking terms when she left, you know." Folly lets the mix of wistfulness and exasperation she herself had always felt about the situation color her tone, then waves it away with a vague gesture. "...and god knows I never cared for that Daniels, but I feel quite certain his departure had nothing to do with me. If he'd felt that strongly, he'd've gone years ago."
She fixes the bodyguard with a probing look. "So I suppose your Mrs. Gunnarson doesn't know where they've gone either, then?"
"I'm just a messenger, Mrs. Mayhap. Whatever's going on with you and Mrs. Gunnarson--or Mr. Gunnarson---is well over my head." Folly isn't quite sure the guy is telling the truth about that.
Invoking her mother's frequent capriciousness, Folly changes tactics abruptly: she looks up at him with doleful eyes and reaches out as if to lay a gentle but urgent hand on his arm, in the manner of one ready to pour out one's soul to a stranger after a few too many drinks at the bar. "We can't hold them, you know, if they want to go. And maybe we shouldn't try. Maybe I shouldn't've----" Her voice is thick with sorrow and regret, carefully modulated to elicit sympathy. "Is she happy, your Mrs. Gunnarson? Your... Haven," she adds, as if suddenly recalling the name.
This seems to be dangerous turf from the expression on the flunky's face. "I'm sure she is," he tells Folly, and she's not sure he means it. He looks like he'd rather be somewhere else right now.
"Give my regards to the happy couple, then," Folly says with a barely-audible sniffle. She lifts her hand partway and stares fretfully at it: how dare it be empty just when she needs to make a toast! "Darling," she drawls, "I don't suppose you could be a dear and fetch me a drink, could you? My escort seems to have fallen down on the job...." She gives the flunky her most ingratiating smile. "And you can tell your Mr. Gunnarson I got the message, he's got nothing to worry about from--- Oh, tell him what you like."
She waves her hand in a vague gesture that looks like it might be a dismissal, but then adds, almost as an afterthought, "And I suppose you'll be wanting me to plant myself in the sculpture garden all evening so you can carefully usher Mrs. Gunnarson away from me? Or will she be wanting to see the art, too?" She lets an unmistakable note of long-suffering sarcasm creep into her tone.
"Mrs. Mayhap, I'm sure she's--" and then there's an "oof" sort of noise and the guy topples in Folly's general direction. Martin is standing behind him with something like a sap in his hand, which he drops, shrugging.
Haven is standing in the doorway to the building, looking very wide-eyed at Folly and the guy who just toppled her bodyguard.
"Hi, sweetie," Folly says to Haven with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about your...." She gestures at the downed flunky. "Can we talk? Only maybe not just here...."
She holds out her hand to her friend.
"Sorry," Martin says half under his breath, and steps out of the way so Haven doesn't have to pass him to get to Folly.
Haven looks at Martin as he backs away, and looks at Folly. "Am I dead yet?" she asks calmly.
"No, sweetheart, you're not dead," Folly says gently. "Neither am I. Neither are the rest of us. We've just been Elsewhere -- and you can come too, if you want. With your husband, if you prefer; although I should warn you, where we've been living it's not so easy to get back here."
Her hand remains out in invitation, and she takes a half-step toward Haven. "Syd sent me to ask you. He... he's trying to get the band back together."
Haven glances down at the ground. "What about your mother? What happened to her?"
She doesn't seem inclined to talk about her husband just yet.
"We talked to her a couple days ago.... Well, you know, talked-argued, the way we always did." Folly smiles ruefully; but after a moment her expression grows a bit sheepish. "After I explained about... you know, that she was going to be a gram, and she could come to the wedding if she wanted... we sent her ahead with one of my uncles."
She casts a furtive glance at Martin and lays a protective hand on her belly. "I guess there's kind of a lot to explain," she says to Haven, apologetically.
"You're getting married to Syd?" Haven asks, her gaze moving up enough to focus on Folly's midsection.
Before Folly can answer, there's a cough from Martin. "Uhhh, no." Then he shrugs apologetically at Folly and shuts back up.
"No," Folly confirms, gently "He... ah... had been made to marry someone else, since he left here. And then the world broke, and he re-made it, and now he's king, where we've been." She fidgets with the fabric of her dress, twisting it between her fingers. "I don't know whether the rest of the story is more or less believable than that. I'm marrying Martin, who is his son, not from this marriage but from before, a long time ago; he's a couple of centuries old -- Martin is, I mean; Syd's even older than that -- and he's the one who came to get me, you might remember, before the world fell apart, and now we're going to have a baby, and Syd is king, and while he was remaking the world we came to get Soren, but we had to go before we could get anyone else, except then Ash and Tjaden showed up all on their own -- it's one of the side-effects of Syd making his world in his own image -- and we're NOT dead, only I was afraid maybe you were, since you didn't show up there; only now here you are, and you can come with us if you want, you and your family -- but if you have a life here that you don't want to leave, just know that we love you and we miss you and the offer's open...."
Realizing she'd let that all tumble out only about half-coherently, Folly bites her bottom lip. "So, um... how've you been?" she asks.
"Folly," Haven says very nicely, "you're not supposed to take that shit when you're pregnant."
Martin doesn't say anything this time, but he's clearly suppressing a grin.
Folly blows out a frustrated sigh and turns indignantly to Martin. "You're not helping!" she says, and gestures at Haven. "Tell her about the unicorn!"
Martin holds up a hand to Folly and says, "Let me do this my way." He offers his hand to Haven. "Remember me? I'm Martin, and Syd's my dad, and my dad is king somewhere else and he thinks we need a big wedding in spite of the fact we're already married by every standard that counts. Folly wants you to come to the wedding, but there's this other problem, which is that you may not get to come back. That whole mysterious disappearance thing? And since I just whacked your husband's bodyguard, or at least planted his face in the dirt, you don't have a lot of time to decide."
He turns to look at Folly. "How's that?"
Folly nods her approval. Listening to his explanation has given her time to get her own thoughts sorted: "Your father's trump, if I may? Showing her might help."
She gestures Haven a little closer. "This won't clear everything up all at once, but it might help you see we're not totally crazy. Or at least that you're on the same trip we're on." She smiles wryly.
Martin pulls out his trump deck and shuffles out Random's card, which he hands to Folly.
"Hey," says Haven, "what's that?" She looks like she'd like to take one of the cards from Martin, but he's already tucking the rest of the deck away.
Folly touches Martin's hand briefly in gratitude as she takes the card. "Eyes open, okay?" she says to him under her breath, though she knows it's unnecessary; she knows he's got her back, and she's glad he's there.
To Haven, she says, "Here, I'll show you...." Offering her free hand to her friend, she holds up the card so both she and Haven can see it and concentrates, willing a connection.
The connection comes easily and in a moment, Folly, Haven, and Random are mentally connected. Random is sitting cross-legged in a giant beanbag chair, which probably means he's in the studio.
"Cool! You found Haven!", he says, "is she coming here?"
Soren appears behind Random. "Haven? It's OK, you can--"
Haven screams, although it's not clear why she does this now and not before. It's just a little scream, because Martin grabs her and claps his hand over her mouth.
Soren says, "Well that didn't work out."
Random replies, "OK, Folly, do you need any of us? I'm with Soren and Ash."
Martin says "Ow!" as Haven plants a heel in his shoe. "Folly, are we bringing her or not?"
"Not yet," Folly says. "She has to decide."
She releases Haven's hand and holds it toward the men in the trump. "Can you spare Soren for a few minutes?" she asks. "I know you're king," she adds, lest Random protest being left out of this little adventure, "but he's kind of more credible. You know?"
"I'd be offended if I didn't agree. My personal dream shadow where I went to relax is exactly the kind of place I'm not credible. My shrink would have a field day with that, if I had one." Random reaches around and takes Soren's hand off his shoulder and hands it to Folly. "OK, Soren, you're going home to pick up Haven. Tell Martin not to throw you at anything, and I expect you all to trump back here in minutes. Tell Haven we have keyboards."
"Okay," says Soren, and then Folly pulls him through. He looks around to orient himself, notices the bodyguard on the ground, and rolls his eyes, which puts Martin and Haven in his line of vision. "Hey, Martin," he says calmly. "How's it going?"
Martin unclamps his hand from Haven's mouth and lets her step away from him. "Hey, Soren." Martin puts the side of his finger to his own mouth where Haven has bitten him until he bled. "You know, another day, another dollar."
Folly moves to Haven and reaches out to lay a comforting hand on her arm. "Yeah, I know it's insane," she says with gentle concern. "You okay?"
"What did these people do to you, Folly?" Haven asks angrily. She jerks against Martin's grip; he hasn't released Haven yet. "You go off and people start vanishing and maybe you're responsible? Some of us have lives and don't want to disappear!" Her voice gets louder.
"Shit," says Martin, as a couple of fellows in suits come out onto the terrace. Martin releases Haven and kneels to get something, presumably the gun, from the thug who works for Haven's husband. "Soren, you packing?"
"No," says Soren, as if Martin has said something particularly stupid.
"Next time, you should be," Martin says in the same tone as he pulls the gun out of the unconscious man's holster.
"No," Folly says, calmly but forcefully. She has fished her trump case out from somewhere under her dress and retrieved the sketch of the path behind her mother's house. To Haven she says, "We won't make you disappear if you don't want to, sweetheart -- we just want to talk to you, okay?" She holds the sketch where Haven can see it, and reaches out to lay a guiding hand on Haven's shoulder; but just before she does, she flashes old band signs at Soren: Time to go. Need help loading out.
Once she's sure he's moving in her direction, she concentrates on the sketch, willing a connection to the other place.
Martin has the thug's gun now and has stepped between Folly and the approaching suits. "Get out of here. I'll follow."
Folly, remembering what happened last time she left him behind, says significantly, "We'll call you as soon as we get there."
The connection is open.
"Try not calling me when I'm getting shot at," Martin suggests. He looks at Soren and says, "Get her the hell out of here already."
Soren looks confused and reaches for Folly.
Folly guides Haven through the connection -- gently but firmly, if need be -- and then grabs Soren's wrist, pulling him with her as she steps through herself.
It's a hasty retreat, but at least there's soft sand on the other side if they all land in a jumble. Haven and Soren, who've both known Folly since she was a girl, should recognize the wide private beach and the path up the dunes to her mother's house.
Folly's hand is already on her trump case, ready to swap the sketch for Martin's trump, but she pauses just a moment to take stock of the situation before she makes the connection.
Haven is already grabbing for the trump. "What the hell did you just do?!?" she asks.
Soren is busy extracting himself from the jumble. "Where's Brij?" he asks, that being a more important order of business for him, given the circumstances when he last saw her.
The baby kicks, apparently protesting the treatment Folly is subjecting her to.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Folly says under her breath. To her two companions, she says, "That was travel by trump. The sketch lets me make a connection between where we were and what's in the picture -- and don't worry, Soren, my mother isn't here. We should have at least a little time to talk without interruption."
She lets Haven take the sketch -- it's not very likely she herself would need to use it again, and anyhow it's unlikely to survive transit when she trumps back to Xanadu, if it's even still functioning now. "Here, let me get Martin, and then I'll show you how to use it," she says as she pulls out his trump. "Or... Soren, have you used a trump yourself, besides getting pulled through them? Maybe you can explain a little while I do this." She concentrates on her husband's image, hoping he hasn't gotten into too much trouble in the few seconds since last she saw him.
"Sure, I'll try," Soren says. As she begins to concentrate, Folly can hear him say, "They're magic cards and Syd pulls people through them. Remember he used to--"
Then her concentration is totally on Martin. Who is, of course, not answering immediately, possibly because he's under fire.
Folly sighs and presses the card between her palms. She'll give him a minute and try again. In the meantime, she turns her attention back to Soren and Haven's conversation.
"... and then he lost them to Ash--I still can't believe he went and turned monarchist, the bastard--do you remember that?" Soren asks. "Oh, hey, Folly, the Ang--Martin not answering?"
Haven has collapsed onto the sand, arms crossed, but she hasn't pulled out a phone yet.
"Not yet," Folly says. She doesn't quite sigh or roll her eyes, but Soren can certainly detect the here we go again tone behind her words. She gestures for Soren to continue his story and takes a seat on the sand not far from Haven. By her posture, she's open to questions.
"So anyway, those are the same cards, and they're kind of like cell phones and doors through space. But they're generally more like phones, including the part where people don't always answer," Soren concludes.
Haven doesn't look too impressed by Soren's explanation. "So this is what happened to you all? Syd got a phone call from home and then he started calling all of you?"
"Sort of," Folly replies. "You can't make a card of just any person -- only of someone who is related by blood to Syd's father, as I understand it. Places are a little easier. But... remember when Martin came to get me, years ago? We went back to Amber -- where Syd was born -- using one of those cards, and immediately afterward they all stopped working for a while. Sort of like a giant network outage that only got cleared up recently. Which is one of the reasons we couldn't come back here for years and years. That, and the war."
Folly looks at Soren. "You should tell her about Xanadu. Maybe it will make more sense when you say it."
Soren shakes his head. "It doesn't make any sense to me either." He turns to Haven. "It's kind of Syd's happy magic place. It has a recording studio that isn't all there yet."
"That part I can sort of believe," Haven says. She looks at Folly to get her to continue.
With one bare foot -- her pumps having been reflexively discarded almost as soon as they hit the beach -- Folly smoothes out a patch of sand and adds a few heel- and toe-print depressions. She finds a stiff stalk of beach grass to use as a pointer. "So the first thing you should know to try to make this all make sense is that some of Syd's family are capable of making.... We call them Patterns. They're like magical etchings, and there's a power that flows out of them that creates... Reality. Order. The place that I went after I left here was the city that had grown up around a very old Pattern, etched by Syd's father, Oberon, king of Amber. Only the king died, and when he did, his Pattern broke. We called it the Sundering." Folly strikes through one of the heel-prints with her pointer. "That's when the cards stopped working. And there I was, in this city where all the king's children had gone off to war on the other side of the Universe, in a place called Chaos, except for Syd's half-brother Gerard who had stayed in Amber as Regent. But when the Pattern broke, there was an earthquake, and part of the castle fell, and Gerard was badly injured. So I spent several years in Amber with Gerard and Martin and other of Oberon's grandchildren, trying to hold the city together, with no way of knowing what was happening anywhere else because the cards had stopped working.
"Then, just a few months ago, Syd came back. We'd won the war, and the Unicorn -- really, an honest-to-god unicorn, who is apparently his grandmother, and yes, I've already had fun with the 'horny' jokes -- brought forth from the Abyss at the edge of Chaos the shiny red jewel that is one of the tokens of the King, and she gave it to Syd. Whose real name, by the way, is Random. So he became the new king, and one of the things that meant is that he had to draw his own Pattern." She adds a heel-print to the smooth sand in front of her. "Only the Reality that comes forth from these Patterns is made in the image and desire of the one who etches it -- so whereas Amber was an ancient city without electricity, powered by fire and water and wind, and old-fashioned in its social customs, Syd's city, Xanadu, is exactly what you'd imagine from something he'd made up out of his mind. Although they're still working on getting the recording studio put together. Syd did say to let you know there are keyboards, though."
Folly regards the sand-map before her. "The thing about the Patterns is, because they're sort of... dense with Reality, I guess... things tend to get pulled toward them. Like, Ash and Tjaden were taking a trip somewhere and accidentally ended up in Xanadu instead, where Ash is now Lord Mayor Ash." She can't help but smirk and roll her eyes a little at that. "There used to be a saying that 'all roads lead to Amber' -- only now it's Xanadu, and Paris, another Pattern that one of Syd's brothers drew." She gestures with the pointer at two other heel-prints. "It's not only Patterns that can do that, though; to a lesser extent, any descendents of the old king are also more... Real, somehow... than the surrounding space, and that increases the probability that they'll end up in the same place. It's like they create little indentations around them that things just roll towards if they get too close." She indicates the little toe-prints. "Which is part of how Syd ended up here." Folly looks at Haven, a bit sheepishly. "Remember how I was always convinced that I couldn't really be Papa's biological child? Well, it turns out my real father -- whom I haven't actually met yet -- is one of Syd's half-brothers. And not only that, but another of his half-brothers is Mum's grandfather. Which is why she's not here right now. She's gone to meet her extended family."
Haven says, "Now I know you've taken too many drugs, because that's too weird to be true but too consistent to be a lie." She turns to Soren. "You're not going to tell me you believe all this, are you?"
Soren says, "I dunno, I think some convincing evidence is about to present itself." He points at the boat sailing out to sea, running along the shore towards the city docks. It's flying the rampant unicorn on green of Amber. "Folly? Do we know who that would be?"
Folly squints at the boat for a moment, then finds in a nearby clump of beach grass an old but still functional pair of binoculars, left behind by some bird-watcher or sunbather-peeper. She moves to clean them on the hem of her dress, realizes it's covered with shiny things that would scratch the lenses, and hands them instead to Soren. "It's Amber's flag; it could be one of the vessels that was lost at the Sundering. See if you can make out a name," she says. "I think it's time to try Martin again."
As she's speaking, she retrieves his trump and concentrates.
"That's not an Amber vessel. It's too high-tech," Soren says. He cleans off the lenses and looks at the boat. "There's someone on deck and he's looking back at us. We need to be ready to move."
This time Martin takes the call. "Bring me through," he says, and reaches for Folly.
In one fluid motion, Folly pulls her lover through to her, slides one arm around him, and gestures with the other out to sea. "Hullo, love -- you wouldn't happen to know the guy in the boat, would you?" she asks calmly.
Her hand on his back is supportive, soothing, and searching for stray bulletholes.
Martin slides the ammo clip out of the gun and reaches into his pocket for a fresh one. "If he's friendly, his timing is good. Soren?" He finishes reloading and tucks the gun away. There don't seem to be any stray bullet holes in him.
"He sees us," Soren reports.
"Hand me that," Martin says, reaching for the binoculars. Haven starts to say something and Martin looks at her, pointing his index finger at her for a moment. She subsides without saying anything.
Soren hands Martin the binoculars and says in a stage whisper, "There's a reason I call him the Angel of Death."
"F**k you, Daniels," Martin says, deadpan, as he raises the binoculars. After a moment of observing the guy, he adds, for everyone's benefit, "No, I don't recognize him. But he's coming for a visit, so everybody play nice."
They can all see that he's taken a motorized boat and is coming to shore.
Folly turns to Haven. "Depending how things go, this could be our ride out of here. Or possibly instead there will be flying fists and flying bullets. Either way, we probably don't have too much longer before someone shows up here looking for us. For you. If you plan to stay here, now might be a good time to go, before things get more... complicated. Or...." She offers up a sparkle-eyed grin, like the fairy-tale cat who spoke mad riddles -- or Syd after a good gig. "Stay, and join the trip."
Martin, meanwhile, is giving Soren orders, which basically amount to "get the gear together". Some of the gear includes things Martin must have brought with him, like his sword. Soren nods and scrambles up the hill to the house. Martin looks at Folly and says, "It's highly probable we left the house unlocked. I do that all the time when I'm in a hurry."
Haven was about to reply to Folly, but then she's looking at Martin like he's crazy and shuts her mouth.
As the man pulls up to the beach, even those without binoculars can see he's a tall lean fellow of middle years wearing a great coat, or perhaps a trench coat. He cuts the motor and brings the boat up onto the beach. The detail-oriented note that he is armed with both pistol and longsword. Both remain un-drawn.
He takes a step toward the group on the beach and calls out, "Hello! Pardon the intrusion. I was just passing by, and noticed your use of the trumps. I'm hoping you can give me some directions. My name is Fletcher."
Martin is a man of middling height whose form is young but has the eyes of an Amberite who's been around the block a time or two. He's dressed in a well-fitting tuxedo that has the telltale bump of an under-shoulder holster to Fletcher's experienced eyes. He has short-cropped sandy hair and blue eyes. "Martin Fitzrandom," he says, offering his hand, "and this is my wife Folly and her friend Haven. Where are you trying to go, kinsman?"
The women, likewise, are dressed for a formal occasion rather than the beach -- or perhaps two different formal occasions, as Folly in her short spangly dress seems prepared for a more raucous party than her elegantly and conservatively gowned friend. Folly's dark hair is pinned up, although a few tendrils have escaped, some of which are purple. She has the sort of ageless features that could belong to someone in adolescence or middle age, or anywhere in between; but the fullness of her belly, disguised but not completely hidden by her loose and sparkly dress, puts her firmly in her childbearing years.
Her friend is pretty and red-haired and thirtysomething and incredulous.
Folly reaches for Haven's hand, reflexively, like she used to when they were kids. She doesn't say anything yet, content to let Martin handle the conversation for the nonce, but she gives Fletcher a friendly smile and studies his features, trying to place them. It doesn't take her long to come up with a guess.
Fletcher stands an inch or four above six feet. His blue eyes are old but still have a spark somewhere behind them. His clothes would never do at a formal occasion though he's definitely over-dressed for sailing. His boots you might find on any sailor; his rumpled three- piece suit and sheathed longsword... probably not. His hair is light brown and short. Agewise he might appear to be in his forties or fifties. He wears a unicorn lapel-pin.
Fletcher takes another step toward the group. He gives Martin a lackadaisical two-fingered salute. "It's a pleasure to meet you..." he says, and after a moment of thought he continues, "cousin, I think. Ladies..." He offers a quarter-bow in the direction of Folly and Haven.
Turning to Martin once more, Fletcher says, "I was looking for Amber, actually. There was some 'bad weather' as it were and I lost my sense of direction. Or maybe the directions themselves have changed. Either way, I was feeling out familiar ground when I happened upon you all. Could you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?"
"Amber or related ports?" Martin asks. "If it's been a while since you've been to Amber you'll find it much changed. But if you're sure you want to go there, I can send you through. As it happens, we were headed back that general direction ourselves."
At that Fletcher clenches his jaw. He looks away for a moment, thinking to himself.
Soren appears at the door of Folly's mother's house with Random's drumsticks and other supplies, and Martin's sword in its sheath precariously balanced across the top. Haven looks at Soren and then at Folly, and decides not to relinquish her hold on Folly's hand.
Fletcher turns back to Martin. "Changed? I would like to hear about that." He seems doubtful. "I do have business in Amber. If you can show me the right direction, we can talk on the way." He glances at the ladies. "If you're up for a sail."
"Have you cargo that won't travel by trump?" Folly asks, nodding to Fletcher's waiting ship. "That's how we'd planned to depart from here -- although I suppose we might join you for at least a short while before we go through, to get you headed in the right direction." She exchanges a look with Martin that makes clear to him she thinks it's time they got off this beach, one way or another. Then she looks at Haven questioningly.
"I have a crew and a horse to sort out, but I'd be happy to be your getaway driver at least until we can figure it out."
Martin looks to Folly and lifts his eyebrows slightly, letting her make the call.
Soren totters down the path to join them on the beach. Normally, Folly feels, Martin would be moving to help him with the gear, especially since Martin has a significantly heavier carrying capacity than Soren. This time, he's staying with Folly and Haven, who is continuing to let the rest of the group converse without her input.
After a glance at Martin, Folly nods decisively. "And it will give us time to talk -- which I think we could all use," she says, and gives Haven's hand a gentle squeeze. She looks at the little motorized lifeboat, gauging its capacity, and then up the path at Soren and his burden. "Shall we help get the gear loaded?"
"Please ladies, allow me. Let's get you into the boat and then Lord Martin and I can help your friend with the gear." He removes both his overcoat and jack and proffers them to the ladies to help keep warm and dry in the boat, and stands by to assist the women climbing aboard. [Not that there's any evidence of it being particularly cold, as I recall.]
To Martin he asks, "Is there anything particular we should be worried about coming after you?"
"Just the locals. They're not likely to have anything more than handguns or to be able to follow us out of the shadow. I just needed an exit from a conversation." Martin glances at Folly and Haven and shrugs. "It was a stupid conversation anyway."
He glances back up at Soren and the drumsticks and the rest of the gear and starts to doff his own jacket for Folly's benefit. Fletcher can see he does it in a way that leaves him minimally vulnerable to any attempt to exploit the change of clothes. Benedict would approve.
Haven says, "Wait, Folly. All that stuff you and Soren were talking about--what about Ash? And Tjaden?"
"They showed up in Xanadu on their own," Folly replies as she accepts Martin's jacket from him. "Ash said they were on the way up to Adler, and they got lost and ended up in Xanadu instead. And now Ash is Lord Mayor of Xanadu." She grins as if she finds that very amusing. "That happens sometimes, usually to people who have some reason to be looking for one of us. I'm half-expecting my grandfather will show up in the woods near Xanadu eventually -- if we don't find him taking potshots at us as we sail up the coast, that is."
While standing around waiting for Soren to get down to the boat and for folks to climb in, Fletcher idly asks, "Is Xanadu the name of a town near here? It's been a while since I've been back through this area. I used to think of this area as just 'Texorami.'" While making conversation Fletcher scans the shoreline for grandfatherly snipers.
"Xanadu's where we're going, not where we are. That's part of the long story," Martin says. Folly has the distinct feeling from the unimpressed look he gives her at the line about her grandfather. Evidently he's been shot at enough for one day.
He moves to help Soren with the gear, starting by sliding the sword and belt off the top of the boxes and buckling the latter on.
"But were they together or were they _together_?" Haven asks.
It's Soren who answers. "Yeah, they're back together. I don't get it either, Haven, but it works for them. Sorry."
Haven's lip trembles a little and she looks like she might start to cry.
"Oh, sweetie..." Folly pulls Haven into a hug, nobly resisting the urge to shoot Soren a look that says 'why doesn't anyone tell me these things?'.
Instead she says softly, "Come with us. We have some time before we get where we're going. We'll talk. And if you decide before we get there that you'd really rather be here, the sketch we used should still work. Or if it doesn't, I'll make you another one." She strokes her friend's hair soothingly.
Fletcher helps Martin and Soren secure the gear, and when/if no further assistance is needed he'll start checking the engine, and does his best to shoot a questioning look at Folly/Martin without interrupting the conversation. I'm ready. Do you need a minute?
Martin looks at Soren, who kind of throws up his hands. Martin shrugs and his eyes roll skyward a bit. He gestures Soren toward the boat and says, "We're ready when you guys are," to Folly.
"No," says Haven, looking like she's not quite going to give in and cry, "I'll come."
Folly nods and, with a reassuring little squeeze, helps Haven with her long dress as she climbs into the boat.
As they all climb aboard and get settled, perhaps to give Haven a few minutes to compose herself in peace, Folly turns to Fletcher. "You've been to Texorami before, then? Have you spent much time here?" Her tone is light and friendly, though she takes care to leave plenty of space between herself and Fletcher, enough so that her twitchy husband could easily interpose himself between them if anything about Fletcher's behavior were to put him on his guard.
The group settles in, with Soren keeping Haven company and Martin remaining close by Folly. All of them, including Martin, seem comfortable with the technology level of Fletcher's vessel.
It probably reminds Martin of the Bonne Chance.
If Fletcher notices Folly's caution it isn't obvious. He naturally keeps a respectable distance between himself and the matron-to-be.
He responds. "Yes indeed. I've visited Texorami several times. It's something of a landmark and coveniently located. It's definitely improved with the advent of electricity though. I gather you're from around hereabouts?"
He leaves the question open, not pushing for a response but happy to chat.
"I grew up in that house." Folly points up the dunes to the lovely beachhouse, all modern white-and-glass with broad decks and wide windows, overlooking the pristine private beach where they'd been standing. She stares at it a moment, wistfully. "I wonder if I'll ever see it again," she muses, mostly to herself, and then shakes her head as if to clear it.
"I'll have to take your word for it about the electricity, though. It arrived here well before I did." She hesitates, then adds, "I know these things are difficult to reckon if you've been traveling, but... you don't happen to know when you were here last, do you? Had they...." She casts about for some historical event near the time of her own birth, something even a casual visitor might've heard of. "Had they put up the big green phallic-looking 'Monument to Progress' yet?"
"I'm afraid not. Monuments to Progress are often phallic, but I think I'd remember a green one. Come to think of it I guess it has been a while. If I didn't need to get back to Amber right now it would be nice to look around. Is there a lot of sea traffic these days, or is everything airlifted? If we wind up deciding to travel using the trumps I'd like to think my crew would be OK." He pauses. "You said you might not be back this way again? Are your permanently relocating closer to Amber then?" [He might seem to be concerned about something, or at least seem hesitant to bring up whatever's on his mind.]
When all is in readiness he starts the motor and steers the boat out to the sloop. It's got a minimal crew for shadow travel, so there is probably more than enough room for his guests to travel comfortably.
Folly makes herself comfortable easily enough; she seems to be used to travel by boat. While the crew gets the little motorboat re-secured on the sloop, she keeps a wary eye on the shore, the surrounding sea, and the sky.
"There's to be a formal state wedding." Martin explains, sounding more exasperated than pleased about that, "and we were here to fetch some members of Folly's family. They've gone on ahead, though."
Soren does not say: so that's what we're calling it nowadays.
"Yes," Folly agrees cheerfully, seemingly ignoring both Martin's tone and Soren's look (perhaps out of a sense of pleasant politeness to their host, or maybe just to put off having to explain why there might be anything odd or unpleasant about their manner of fetching said relatives). "And it seems unlikely they'll be returning here once they see what's waiting on the other side."
Although we can always hope, she does not add, though her friends can certainly hear it between the lines.
Fletcher smiles at the alternating exasperation and cheerfulness. He continues the cheerful tone. "State weddings can be one of the most exciting times in Amber. My own parents' wedding arrangements, legend has it, were practically a major military campaign in their right. One would imagine that grand-dad would have had his fill of the things by now. He must either really like you or be making some kind of point to put you through such an ordeal. You two seem to be handling it better than my parents did, at least according to the stories."
Martin glances at Folly, and says, "It has been a while for you, hasn't it, cousin? I'm sorry to be the one to tell you. Grandfather's gone. He died in the war." He repeats, "I'm sorry."
Fletcher's posture straightens. He smile fades and he is quiet for a moment. He begins speaking very quickly. "I have questions, obviously. But first things first." He hurriedly orders the crew to get the ship moving away from their current location [no shadow travel involved, just moving away from the beach house and possible pursuit.] The crew may have seemed relaxed before but now swing quickly and efficiently into action.
As the crew begins securing the gear that has been brought on board, he returns to the group. Addressing Martin he says, "Now then, I'd like to hear your story. I don't know how much of it needs to be between just the two of us, so I leave the choice in your hands. I know grand-dad hasn't been answering his trump, but I find it hard to believe he would allow things to become so dire without summoning me." [The first stage is denial, right?]
"Grandfather was juggling a lot at the end," Martin says, looking at Fletcher for a moment and then looking away, out over the edge of the boat. "And there are some details that are best kept private to family." His hand tightens on Folly's.
She lays her other hand atop his, protectively.
"But the gist of it is that that Grandfather sacrificed himself to repair some damage--deliberately caused damage--to certain family assets. He was buried in the Abyss. I wasn't at the funeral, but there were witnesses enough to it, and he told me beforehand that he didn't expect to survive what he was going to do."
Folly nods and adds, "I didn't come to Amber until after, during the regency that followed Oberon's departure, but...." She frowns thougtfully, as if considering her next words. "Amber is Oberon, and she's not what she was."
Doubt and curiosity war across the battlefield of Fletcher's face. "What, and for that matter, who, is she then? Corwin? Wait. Let's go inside where we can speak more privately." Fletcher gestures toward a cabin door, and will lead the way if Martin (and Folly?) will follow.
Folly lets Soren and Haven know with a hand-signal that she will catch up with them again as soon as she is able, and then moves to join Martin.
Martin ushers Folly in with him. Soren and Haven head off to another part of the boat for what looks like a private chat of their own.
When the door is safely closed behind him, Martin finds Folly a seat and then turns back to face Fletcher. "You were one of Grandfather's agents, right? One of the ones he kept hidden up his sleeve, that our uncles didn't know about?"
Fletcher refrains from sitting but does lean against the wall. "Something like that. I'm hardly a deniable asset. I'm a Knight Commander of the Order of the Unicorn and a court official. But for the longest time his trump calls have been most of my contact with home. I gather you have reasons to believe that this 'death' isn't just for show? What happened?"
"One of our uncles tried to remake the universe in his own twisted image," Folly replies, her voice low, as if she is trying to keep the emotion out of it. "He scarred the Pattern, and Oberon died trying to fix the damage. The best evidence that it wasn't just for show is that the Unicorn Herself appeared at his funeral with the Jewel on her horn to choose his successor." She leaves it to Martin to fill in additional details, or not, as he sees fit.
Martin frowns. "He spent a long time trying to repair the damage before things got to a really bad pass. When did you leave Amber, and how much do you know about business after you left? That'll make the long version of the story easier."
Fletcher pulls out a chair and sits. "I 'left' about four weeks after Queen Faiella's funeral. I know about the later queens and princes, and a few other cousins. The last I'd heard Eric and Caine had teamed up with Rilga's kids to manage the defense of Amber, Corwin and Dad were on extended vacation, and I had a suspicion Grand-dad was going to go out into shadow looking for a new queen. I don't suppose the war you mentioned involved Bleys and the Moonriders, did it?"
Martin shakes his head. "No, I mean the civil war that looked like it was the redheads and Corwin versus Eric coalition and turned out to be everybody versus Brand." He says that last with what to Folly's ears is a somewhat worrying calmness and detachment. After a moment, he parses the statement for a particular piece of information. "Dad is Ben? Do you know about his arm?"
"Wow. I guess you really haven't heard of me. Yes, I'm the son of Prince Benedict and the late Princess Emerald. What about his arm? And what happened with Brand? I assume he is not still at large then."
"Brand is dead," Folly replies, to save Martin from having to talk about it. "Fallen into the Abyss with an arrow through his throat courtesy of our uncle Caine." Her tone is still low, even, matter-of-fact. "As for your father's arm, I suspect my husband knows that story better than I do." Her hand finds Martin's again.
"He took up a station in Shadow against the Black Road incursion and tangled with Lintra and her forces." The way Martin says it suggests he knows something about the history there, or at least that there is one. "He ended that fight down half his forearm and she ended it down a head."
Fletcher looks greatly concerned at the new of his father's injury but his expression shifts to a near-smile at the news of Lintra's death. He quickly recovers and puts his serious face back on. "How is he recovering? Was Lintra working with Brand, then? Please continue."
"Ben's recovering. We don't know if he'll grow the arm back. It took Corwin four years to get his eyes after Eric put them back, and I don't think it's been a year for Ben." Martin shakes his head. "Lintra and Brand were sort of working together, for values of working together that involve planning to double-cross each other as soon as possible. Grandfather triple-crossed them all, roped some of Brand's putative allies back to his side, and managed to save the universe. We're still sorting out the shockwaves from the saving the universe part."
Fletcher closes his eyes for a second, inhales, and resumes speaking. "Alright. I'll have to see if I can track Dad down. But right now I've got to get back to Amber, so why don't you clue me in on the whole 'saving the universe part' because I think there's something going on with the moonriders and I'm going to need to deliver a message to whoever's in charge in Amber. It isn't Bleys, is it?"
"Is the message Amber-specific rather than Family-specific?" Folly asks, her voice gentle, as if to cushion a blow. "Because the new king -- not Bleys, by the way -- no longer makes his home in Amber." She exchanges a glance with Martin: she'll let him fill in the details if he wants to control how much they share with this guy they've just met; or she can keep going, if he'd prefer.
"Caine was holding the Amber Regency when we headed out," Martin says. "Ben's not in Amber either, the last I heard. I don't know where he's gone, but I do have an idea of where he's been hiding out in Shadow for the last few decades. We probably want to get hold of him if an attack on Amber is imminent."
He says 'an attack' like it means 'another attack'.
"I don't actually know how likely an attack on Amber is. But the moonriders are active and they're particularly pi... upset at something Bleys did." Parenthetically he adds, "Have your heard of the moonriders of Ghennesh?" And then continues without waiting for an answer, "But it's obvious even out in farther shadows that things in the center are messed up in something of a major way. So while I'm happy for Caine getting to be Regent and all, but right now I can't help but be curious about 'saving the universe'." This time he uses air quotes to highlight his words.
"Well, as we mentioned," Folly says, "the Pattern in Amber was scarred. Broken." Her fingers tighten around Martin's. "Two more have been drawn to take its place. Corwin drew the first at Paris, where he now reigns. The second, at Xanadu, belongs to the Unicorn's chosen -- to Random. So, yes, all the old paths are re-routing themselves to flow to the new centers. We expect much of the population of Amber to do the same."
"Do you know about the Primal?" Martin asks Fletcher.
Fletcher, apparently thinking to himself, repeats Martins words. "The Primal?" He refocuses on his companions and says, "Let me see if I've got this right. The Pattern of Amber is broken. Oberon is dead. Dad is crippled. Two new Patterns have been inscribed to buttress Order. Eric is either dead or was somehow persuaded to let Corwin save the day by writing a new Pattern. And now you're asking about Primal Order." Fletcher weighs these unbelievable statements and finds their sheer unlikeliness lends them credibility. "And the Unicorn chose Random for what? From your expression I'd guess not as a replacement for Dworkin. But yes....your highness, I am familiar with the concept of 'the Primal', and I have to warn you that some things are best taken on faith and are not meant to be poked and prodded. Is there a problem with these new Patterns Princess Folly mentioned? Are they not fitting in with the older Patterns?"
"It's possible that the Primal is the problem," Folly replies slowly. "That's how Brand tried to remake reality: he messed with the Primal. As far as I know, there's nothing inherently wrong with the new Patterns, they're just... different. The Primal itself should now be repaired, but I don't know enough to know whether it's been changed enough to make the kinds of differences you've seen."
She regards Fletcher thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed slightly as if she is taking his measure. "I'm not a Pattern expert. Would any of that fit with the disturbances you've observed?"
Fletcher looks at least slightly surprised. "You mean there is a literal Pattern at the Primal level? I knew there had to be some underlying link on a level of Order between Amber and Inspiration, but I wasn't sure it should be accessible. Yes, that could explain a lot. It also raises a couple of questions."
Martin flashes a glance at Folly that, because she knows him so well, she can well imagine is the result of a Herculean effort not to roll his eyes or otherwise express severe annoyance at the exchange.
"More than a couple, yeah. But in any case, fucking around with the Patterns caused massive universal disruption: Trumps stopped working for a few years, shadow paths have completely reoriented, higher universal math may or may not be working the same depending on which redhead you talk to, and there was a war with the other end of the universe. On our team Eric is dead and so's Deirdre. On their team, they lost Borel and Lintra and Brand." He says the last bit with a certain grim satisfaction.
Fletcher's eyebrows raise a bit in surprise when Martin chooses to employ profanity in the presence of a lady, but he does not make an issue of it at this time.
"And all sorts of people presumed dead are turning up as a result of the cosmic shakeup."
"Am I one of them? Presumed dead I mean. It seems like a rather silly thing to be assuming, given our family. I've got a lot of questions still and I would imagine you're anxious to get underway. For right now the most important thing you've mentioned to me sounds like the Unicorn's Choice becoming involved. What was that all about?"
Martin shrugs. "People disappear and they don't come back. Dead, self-imposed exile, Grandfather-imposed exile? Same difference. Same difference for the ones nobody knew about or the ones who've been forgotten, too." He gestures at Fletcher to indicate Fletcher falls into the last of the three categories.
"I wasn't at the far end of the universe, but what I heard from the people who were was that Grandfather left the succession on the Horn of the Unicorn. Brand fell into the Abyss and he had the Jewel, and the Unicorn came back up with it on her horn. She gave it to Random, and he's been accepted as King."
"So now he's King of Amber as well as his own Xanadu? And Corwin's King in this Paris? I can see how that was making it hard for me to find the path to Amber. I will definitely want to confirm this with other family members. How soon do you want to get under way? If you can show me the new path and do a bit of steering as it were I can help push."
"We're probably just about ready," Folly says, with a quick querying glance at Martin. "But I've got one more question for you, Fletcher. You mentioned that you know, or know of, some of your other cousins. Which ones? If you haven't been in touch with the family for a while, you might be in for a surprise at the number who've come out of the proverbial woodwork since the Sundering."
There's a slight, single nod in response to Folly's look, but Martin doesn't say anything, leaving room for Fletcher to answer the question.
Fletcher exhales. "Oh gee. I'm not sure I even remember all the names. I'd be surprised if there weren't more, or even new generations. Let's see." He starts counting on his fingers. "Osric had two kids. Both dead, or at least missing. Reid and the other one. Finndo had three or four kids. I remember one of them was Bestla. The other ones were all out being shadow gods. Diana, Arianrod, and I think there was a third one. I suppose it's too much to hope that my own dear sister has gone the way of her mother. Plus I think she had kids, but good luck making sense out of that mess. So that puts us up to at least seven. Eric had a son, Jerod, and a daughter, Cambina. You've probably heard of them. By now Corwin must have kids, but I never heard of any. There was rumor Huon might have a family somewhere in exile. Bleys had a daughter, Paige, at one point. Gerard and Julian and Ysabeau had a bunch of children but Oberon didn't tell me much about them. There was Jovian and Vere, and some other shadow gods or priestesses. It all sounded rather complicated. So counting gets strange. How many more cousins are there now?"
This time it's Martin who gives Folly the reassuring finger-squeeze at the comment about Huon's family. "You're way short on numbers. We have about a score that move between Xanadu and Paris these days, not counting a couple who are missing. It also doesn't count the ones who live on the far side of Ygg, or the mess with Finndo's descendants, just the ones that've come in from the cold. If I had to guess, I--wouldn't, honestly."
Folly gives a wry smile of agreement. "I can try to sketch out a family tree for you -- or an approximation of one, anyway -- while we sail, if you like."
"That would be most kind of you. I'd appreciate that."
She looks at Martin and opens her mouth to say something -- but before she does, another thought takes her, and a tiny crease appears between her brows. "I... suppose we should tell him about Lilly." It's almost but not quite a question.
Fletcher raises a questioning eyebrow at that.
"I was kind of thinking that was Ben's job," Martin says to Folly, "but I guess it's mine to do." He turns back to Fletcher. "Cousin, one of the kinswomen you don't know--or know of--is your half-sister."
"...but her mother isn't a raging chaos-beastie, as far as we know," Folly adds helpfully, having noted Fletcher's obvious distaste for that particular branch of his father's family tree.
Fletcher clenches his jaw momentarily, mentally files away Benedict's nomination for 'Father of the Year' and quickly returns to his smiling conversational demeanor. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. What's she like?"
"She'll kick your ass if you mess with her," Martin replies, which from the tone seems to be a good thing. "Very serious. Served as the Queen's guard when Dad had to be away. Last I saw her was on something of a diplomatic mission to Madoc. I was going further in, so we travelled most of the way together. My first stop back was Texorami, so it hasn't been that long for me, but time does funny things on the other side sometimes."
"Well I look forward to meeting her. I take it she makes her home in Amber or Xanadu then? Ah. Um. She isn't another one of those secret agents you talked about, is she? I mean, it wouldn't be a breach of protocol to greet her as a sister when I meet her, would it? Dad never let me know about her, so I don't know how much a of a secret he intended her to be. Does she have other family in Amber?" [probable subtext: did Dad re-marry?]
"If I recall correctly," Folly says slowly as she searches her memory for the details, "she spent her first few years in an orphanage. After that, she was fostered in... Tecys?" She glances at Martin for confirmation.
He nods once.
"Whether or not she was meant to be a secret before, though, she certainly isn't anymore," she continues. "She joined the family for the battle at the Abyss. It's possible you only haven't heard of her on account of being out-of-touch for a while. She's quite young."
"I've met her foster-parents; they seem like decent people. Her foster-father's a smith, trained by Weyland himself if I understand the stories correctly," Martin says matter-of-factly. "Obviously I haven't met her mother."
"This raises so many more questions, but I should probably be asking her, or Dad. Still, the three of us are here now," Fletcher pauses a moment to consider if now is the time for more detailed conversations. After two seconds he continues. "If the paths are realigning, how are two new Patterns being spliced into the place of one? And what are they like?"
"We're probably not the best ones to describe the intimate details of the metaphysics, if that's what you're after," Folly answers with a wryly apologetic smile. "I can sort of visualize it in terms of harmonic resonance, but I don't understand enough about it yet to work out the maths or anything. But the paths are definitely realigning: the stair from Rebma goes to Paris now, and the one to Tir starts in Xanadu.
"As for what they're like... Xanadu is becoming what Texorami has been, only moreso: all warm water and electricity and bustling port and music. Paris I haven't seen yet, but I imagine it is Corwin in the same way that Xanadu is Random."
"The steps to Tir are at Xanadu, and there's a passage to Rebma beneath the sewers of Paris," Martin adds.
"Did any of the old paths into Shadow realign, or are they just gone now? For that matter, what happened to pathways out through Arden?"
"They're all rearranging," Martin says. "As far as we can tell things are stabilizing now, but it's not like we've had a chance to do systematic exploration to be sure. But we lost the old routes during the Sundering."
"Now all roads lead to Xanadu," Folly says. "Well, or Paris, I suppose." She adds that last almost as an afterthought; it's abundantly clear where she'd rather end up.
Fletcher pauses to try and picture the new geography. Looking back to the other he asks, "And how far apart are Paris and Xanadu? Are the connected by some link like the stairs?"
"How does one count the distance between shadows?" Folly asks; it's clear she means it as a rhetorical question, because she continues, "There is no direct link between the two that I know of, unless it's sprung up since I left Xanadu. As to the other, I'm afraid I don't have a good answer; I haven't yet been to Paris. Although I have met Corwin."
She pauses thoughtfully and asks, "How far apart are cockiness and arrogance?"
"How far apart are drums and e-z listening flugelhorn?" Martin asks, and it's not entirely a rhetorical question. "There doesn't seem to be a direct-line path or shortcut, if that's what you mean. I haven't ridden the length between them, so I can't say, though."
Fletcher may not be entirely sold on this fantastical story about Oberon dying but and Amber fading, but he at least seems to at least find it interesting.
"Length shouldn't matter but I'd think the shape of things would." Fletcher opines, "I suspect something will eventually come to fill the space in between."
"Let's just hope that 'something' isn't an enemy of the realm," Folly says with a grim little smile.
Last modified: 26 December 2009