Once Martin and Folly assemble their household and its goods, they lead a small flotilla of ships to Xanadu. The trip takes about a fortnight, and on their arrival, Folly finds a number of messages from her relatives waiting: most notably from Hannah and Gerard.
The last one, apparently sent on hearing that her ship had arrived at the Xanadu docks, is an invitation for afternoon snacks as soon as Folly has her land legs again.
The note from Hannah, who is not in Xanadu, reads as follows:
Folly,
This is a salve made from marigolds, butter, pennywort and oil. If Martin will allow you to do it, an application of this with massage would help loosen and eventually break up scar tissue. The massage may even be the more important part.
If you'll allow, he could also massage this onto your skin to prevent mother's marks. But if you start to have any blood-sugar related problems with the pregnancy, stop using it. Your skin shouldn't be able to absorb so much for it to make a difference, but no one with our blood has ever used it before, so caution.
When it stops smelling good, stop using it. I'm gone for a bit, but... I hope to be back quickly. No way to know, though. I'll teach you how to make fresh batches when I'm back, if you like it.
If you can bully Gerard into staying in Xanadu while I'm gone, that would be a good thing. Whenever he leaves, he is starting over his battle to move off morphine. Every time it will be harder to fight again. His wife has come, so I am hopeful she will slow him down a little.
With love,
Hannah
"Looks like Hannah has left us an engagement present, of sorts," Folly tells Martin. She uncorks the jar and takes a tentative sniff. "Not bad. And a little something to look forward to after I catch up with Gerard...." She grins.
"Wedding gift," says Martin reflexively, throwing his sword belt on the side of the bed not containing a cat. He continues unpacking his personal gear--mostly weapons--grumbling something about putting Violet on cat-introducing duty.
Folly leaves the salve on the bedside table and takes a few minutes to make herself presentable. Even without the aid of mirrors, which she's been avoiding even more assiduously since learning of Moire's hand in Lucas's death, she can tell that there's really no pretending anymore that she's not visibly, unmistakably pregnant. Ah, well; nothing for it but to treat it like the blessing it is. She smoothes the fabric of her dress over her bulging belly and murmurs, "It's good Uncle Gerard has promised us snacks, isn't it?"
She checks her pocket for her trumps and for the second little velvet bag she brought from Amber, and sets off to visit Gerard.
Gerard has a corner suite, and he has had a plate of sandwiches brought up by the time Folly arrives. When she comes in, he looks her up and down. "Well, Folly, and welcome. Should I send off for some ice cream and pickles too?" he asks, before he rolls toward her to give her a relatively gentle bear hug.
Folly returns the hug warmly. "We," she says as she straightens again, and lays a hand on her belly for emphasis, "will eat anything." She grins and takes a sandwich. "Have you been well, uncle? Is your wife settling in all right?"
Gerard takes a sandwich of his own, but Folly can tell he's keeping her company for politeness rather than tearing into dinner because he's starved in his own right. "Better than she had been. I think she's ready to see the outside of this castle more than she does, but I canna go with her. And she's grieved about Solange, of course. I reckon ye've heard the rest about all that by now."
Folly nods, but adds, "...Unless there's any news on that front in the last week or so. We didn't check in much during the trip home." She hesitates, then adds, "If she has need of a more-or-less neutral intermediary for smoothing things out with the rest of the family... well, I'm just a few weeks from not being able to do much besides sit around being nearly-spherical, but I can always talk. And listen."
Gerard pauses in his slow demolition of his sandwich to answer Folly.
"If ye want to mend Solange's troubles, ye'll be talking until yer blue in the face. Random's decreed that since it happened on my watch, I must mend it. And since Solange wants to be treated as a woman grown and not a child, I say she must answer for her own actions. So until she makes her peace with Corwin and Brennan and Jerod, Solange is not welcome in Xanadu. And I dinna think any of them wish to speak with her just yet. But if ye wish to take their temperature, as it were, it might not go too badly amiss if you speak with them--after the buryings, though, I reckon."
Folly nods her agreement on that last point.
"I willna be speaking for her. Corvis wants me to turn my thoughts to healing my legs--" and here Gerard pats the side of his wheelchair "--and she thinks I canna do both."
"That does seem the sort of thing that would go best if given your undivided attention," Folly agrees gently, "which I know is not a luxury you've had of late. Solange will make her way in her own time; and in the meantime, I'll do what I can to test the waters on this end. In a climate in which even Huon is given a chance at reconciliation, I have faith that this business with Solange will be set to rights soon enough." She offers up a reassuring smile.
Gerard's expression suggests to Folly that he's not quite so sanguine about Solange's prospects, but he doesn't contradict Folly.
"Talking of Huon, and of Corvis, reminds me, though--- I have something I wanted to talk to you about. A favor, of sorts."
"I'll be glad to help if I can," Gerard says, clearly happy enough to change the subject. "What can I do for you?"
Folly lowers her voice slightly, even though there's no one else in the room to overhear. "Well, I've been thinking lately about Family, and my place in it, and it has occurred to me that it might be politic for me to lay stronger claim to my family heritage on my mother's side, if you see what I mean. And not just because it would put a bit of symbolic distance between me and my sire, although that's certainly what got me thinking about it in the first place -- but also, your kindness and generosity to me since I came to Amber makes me proud to be descended of your mother's line." She sits a little straighter, and smiles at Gerard with shining eyes.
"Martin and I were talking about it, and... if you think it's appropriate, and Julian as well... I was wondering if it would be all right for me to wear one of the rings that used to belong to your mum. As my wedding ring."
"I'd be pleased for you to wear some of me ma's jewelry. Vere won't need it all for Robin," Gerard says. "Did ye have a piece in mind?"
"Actually, I could use your advice about that as well. We brought several things back with us---" As she speaks, Folly withdraws a carefully-knotted piece of silk from the little bag in her pocket and begins working it open. "---but some of them I think may have some symbolism to do with your mum's homeland. And as beautiful as they are, I wouldn't feel right wearing something with such a strong connection to a place I've never been---"
The knot comes loose, and Folly carefully untwists the cloth and lays it out on the table before her, revealing three rings each wrapped into its own fold of the fabric. It is immediately obvious that Folly has passed over the ostentatious jewels of state in favor of more modest pieces, delicately beautiful but practical. She taps the table beside a knotwork ring with a tree-and-crescent-moon motif. "...Like, this one is gorgeous, but it clearly isn't mine. But I could see Vere giving it to Robin. Or you to your wife. You know?"
"Aye, I remember that one," Gerard says, reaching for the moon and crescent ring. "I think Ma intended to give it to Ysabeau, so it might be fitting for Vere to give to Robin anyhow." He examines it for a moment and puts it back down. "Which of the other two do you like? My ma had enough jewelry that she can spare a ring, and nobody's asked for any of them."
Folly touches one of the other rings, a silvery openwork design that suggests a swan curving its neck around to tuck its head under one lacy wing. "This one really spoke to me -- and not only is it beautiful, I believe your mum is wearing it in one of her later portraits meant to commemorate her charity work. That's an association I certainly wouldn't mind reinforcing, since I have every intention of continuing that tradition."
"It's fine by me and I can't imagine Jules would object, either. It seems very fitting. The other girls should all get their choice of Ma's jewels before you choose again, though. It's only fair." Gerard starts to add something to that but snaps shut on it before it makes its way out of his mouth and manages not to flush too much.
Folly smiles, just a little; it's probably no accident the remaining ring is set with perfect little gems in the exact shade of blue Gerard favors. She inclines her head in agreement.
"I'm sure there'll be other jewels for you from Martin now," he says instead of whatever he originally intended.
Folly's smile grows, but she bites her tongue before a 'family jewels' joke can slip out. Instead she says, cheerfully, "I'm sure you're right -- although I predict most of his gift-giving attention in the near future will be diverted toward spoiling his daughter---" From her tone, she believes this is exactly as it should be--- "who is the most beautiful gift he ever could have given me anyway. So it all works out."
She takes another sandwich, but pauses thoughtfully before taking a bite. "You said Corvis hasn't had much chance yet to see the city beyond the castle. I expect I'll be heading back down later today or tomorrow -- we brought Ever and them with us, and I want to make sure they're settling in all right. Do you think she might be interested in coming with me?"
"She might, if there's an easy enough way to get down and back up. I canna wait until we have some sort o' lift or path or some such like the stair up Kolvir," Gerard grouses. He's been keeping an eye on the sandwiches and courteously refraining from eating them all up.
"Well," Folly says thoughtfully between bites of her own sandwich, "if Martin is amenable to providing a conduit, perhaps I can walk down and then trump him to pass Corvis through, if she'd like. You do raise a good point; I should take my sketchbook and work on some preliminary studies of a place-trump near the harbor, to make the downward transit easier while we wait for the paths to be developed." She has a faraway look in her eyes as she takes another bite, chews, and swallows -- but then her eyes sparkle in sudden amusement. "Or the tram to be built."
"Tram? D'ye mean a sky car that hangs from a cable? That was what I reckoned Random meant to build, if it can be done without fouling the bay." Gerard shifts in his chair and it seems as though he's ready to roll to the window to figure out where to anchor the cable.
Folly nods vigorously as she chews and swallows her last bite of sandwich; she can see the whole thing in her mind's eye as clearly as if it were already built.
She forbears to mention the giant slide.
"Or," he adds as an afterthought, "I can give ye mine."
"Your trump?" Folly asks, genuinely surprised. She'd assumed any copy he had would have gone to Solange or Vere.
"I'd want it back; I try to keep a full deck. But I don't mind loanin' it out for a few days," Gerard explains.
"That would make things a bit more straightforward," Folly agrees. "Eventually, when things have settled down a bit -- perhaps after the funerals -- I'd like to work on my own trump of you. If you don't mind, that is."
"Oh, aye, if ye wish. Do I need to sit for ye?" Gerard clearly doesn't have much of an idea of what's involved in trumpmaking.
"At the very least, I'll want to follow you around for a little while and make sketches," Folly says, "although I may ask you for a more formal sitting once I've worked out the basic elements." She gives a little shrug. "I'm still learning, and feeling my way toward the approach that will work best for me. But I know I don't want to make you sit around, bored, holding a silly pose in your fancy jacket, while I muck about trying to figure it out." She grins. "May I see the trump you've got?"
Gerard wheels over to his desk and gets his deck, shuffling out his card and handing it to her.
She is interested to study the image for what she can learn from it as a student of trump. More than that, though, she is on the lookout for any changes -- as well as constants -- between the essence of the man on the card and the man in front of her. She is looking not only for insights into how to construct a new trump, but also for hints as to what might be keeping him from healing properly.
[The trump is roughly like the classic Kucharski trump shown here except that it looks like, you know, our Gerard.]
The card he hands her is the trump from his own deck, which was apparently made by Dworkin. It corresponds to the cards she's seen in Martin's deck, and Random's if she's seen it. The trump has been handled but it's not in any danger of falling apart; there's more of a feeling of it having been used and a lack of stiffness in the card itself.
Since the trump concentrates on Gerard's upper body, it's hard to tell what the difference between a standing Gerard and a wheelchair-bound Gerard is from looking at it.
Folly pays particular attention to the area around Gerard's eyes, the tilt of his head, the subtle details of his posture, that give hints to the disposition and attitude of the man within; but she is careful not to concentrate so hard that she initiates a contact.
After a long moment's careful study, she looks up again and smiles at Gerard. "Thank you, Uncle. I'll have it back to you within a day or two."
Ossian will be pretty busy the upcoming weeks, building the arrival hall from Amber. In Ossian's room in Xanadu is a collection of sketches and models, and people meeting him will see callouses and bruises on his hands from working so much with them. He will do most of the work of building the room himself, except for the enineering parts where more than two hands are required.
The room Ossian prepares has high walls, with an at least semingly random black and white pattern of straight lines. It has a simple wooden ceiling, and hopefully electrical lighting. The floor is different nuances of grey stone, forming a "road" towards an opening to the left (this is where people are supposed to leave the room).
The task starts well, and Ash is happy to find hands to help Ossian whenever he needs it. Some of the workers would like more of the work; Ash pays them well for supporting Ossian.
The electricity is the biggest hurdle, but isn't too hard. It might be done in time for the funeral.
Is there anyone from Amber or Xanadu that Ossian wants to have help him?
One evening when Lilly returns to her room, she finds an origami kingfisher perching on her doorknob.
In the afternoon the day after, in a corridor near the salle, Lilly hears steps catching up with hers. When she turns around she sees Ossian, smiling, trying to catch up. (Lilly might note that this is not on the obvious route to Ossian's room, if she notices things like that.) Ossian is dressed in some kind of worker's wear, with paint stains and dust here and there. He hasn't said anything yet.
Lilly pauses to allow him to approach and offers a warm smile. "As much as I love to find your creations awaiting me, I prefer your presence far more," she says as he nears. She leans forward on the cane and looks as if she is contemplating hugging him but hesitates. Such a thing might not be proper for a girl currently dating a prince.
Ossian smiles and places a hand upon hers on the cane. In a way it's an intimate gesture, but it is almost blocking a hug. He looks into her eyes.
"Not many have said that." he muses "And I prefer yours to any artifact I have seen. I'm so happy Brennan and the others managed to at least partly heal you."
"Hello Nestor." Jerod says.
He is sitting in a rather large, comfortable, and heavy chair in the castle library, a chair that Nestor would have realized was not there the previous day. A glass of something amber sits on the wide arm rest and a thick book would seem to be occupying his attention as Nestor walks into the room.
"I was wondering if you might have a few moments to spare." Jerod continues, flipping a page as he reads the book. "There is a matter that requires some discussion."
"Your highness," Nestor replies, "I am, of course, at your disposal. How may I assist you?"
"Cambina." Jerod says, closing the book while looking at Nestor.
Nestor blinks, slowly and replies deliberately without haste. "A tragedy. The staff and I have expressed our condolences to his majesty, and offer the same to you on your personal loss."
"Thank you." Jerod replies, standing up, still holding the book. "I have no doubt that his majesty was thankful for your condolences. I wonder if he also asked you the same question I intend to ask, as to why my sister was in Tir with a blind Queen. Perhaps you could be so good as to enlighten me?"
"My Prince, I have been wracking my brains for weeks to determine an answer for that question. What I've heard was that the Queen wished to take a ride on horseback, but when I saw the two of them leaving the stables, it looked as if the Queen was leading and Cambina was following.
"And I have no idea why she'd ask Cambina to take her." He looks somewhat glum. "There was a time when she'd've told me."
"How did you happen to be near the stables to notice this?" Jerod asks, making note of his comments. "Did you inform the King of this?"
"I-- Just coincidence, your Grace. The window overlooks the courtyard. I informed Gilt Winters. He told me he'd tell the King."
"I will verify with Gilt before I see the King." Jerod says, looking at the window, placing its position relative to the remainder of the castle and rooms that he has discovered in the days he has spent exploring. "As for coincidences, I hold to the same belief as my father concerning them." he adds, an absent-minded sound to his voice that is anything but.
"I'm curious...why wouldn't my sister have advised you concerning certain things? You had the distinction of being one of those she chose to let into her life." he says, watching Nestor even has Jerod moves to summon a page. "She was not fickle with her choice of who was allowed in, so being removed would be unusual, would it not?"
He picks up a piece of note paper and obtains a writing instrument, all the time watching Nestor. Even as he writes, script flowing neatly onto the paper, he still watches.
Nestor's smile is definitely forced. "Your sister and I disagreed, your Highness, to my regret. I did not approve of some of the company she kept and we had ... heated discussions on the matter." He pauses. "I regret that, now, but do not think I am entirely disproven, given the circumstances."
"If you would be so kind as to explain the circumstances, it would be appreciated." Jerod says. His tone is polite, his expression without deliberate threat, just like Eric was when the option of declining was clearly not an option.
"Well, she's dead, isn't she? It's hard to gainsay that she was taking risks now. There's no one who does well of becoming involved with them..." Nestor says. The identity of the 'them' isn't clear.
Jerod's appearance takes on a vague, almost irritated look for a moment. For an individual who is supposed to be a devoted librarian, methodical and precise, Nestor would appear to be missing some essential requirements for making conversation, Jerod thinks. Like connecting his thoughts. He lets a note of extremely mild exasperation enter his voice, a reminder that Nestor appears to not be...all there.
"Them?"
Nestor leans in, an lowers his voice conspiratorially. "May I speak freely, your Highness?"
[Assuming Jerod does not object...]
"She began spending time with Brand's son, and now she's dead. I don't think it's a coincidence!" His eyes shine. "Everyone knows how obsessed with the City of Ghosts Prince Brand was. It all fits."
Jerod is silent for a moment, his thoughts not comprehending for that instant what is being said. He finds it surprising, after the moment passes, that Nestor's them should turn out to be the redheads, and that Jerod did not make the initial connection. Perhaps there is hope yet for him.
"While Prince Brand's obsessions were many, I would find it difficult to believe that Lord Brennan might have had any form of complicity in the matter." Jerod says.
Nestor says nothing, but his face does not agree with Jerod's statement.
He leans forward just slightly, giving Nestor the appearance of acceptance for his conspiratorial musings. "You're not seriously suggesting that he had something to do with my sister's death, are you?" he asks, a tone in his voice that while sympathetic, should serve to remind Nestor of the dire implications of his previous statement concerning Brennan.
Jerod waits for a moment to see if Nestor has anything to offer before continuing.
Nestor nods. "I am. I can't prove anything, your highness, but months ago they began working on some secret project about Brand and Tir na Nog'th. She didn't tell me much, but when you're librarian, you know what people read. She had all sorts of books about Tir. The last person before her to ask for those books was Brand.
"I'd agree it could be a coincidence, or it could be that whatever thing in the sky it was that drove Brand mad was too much for her and killed her. And he sent her there. We ought to know why, and know if it was harmless or," he pauses, dramatically, "not so harmless."
"A secret project? How do you know that Lord Brennan was involved?" Jerod asks, collecting a pad of paper and a writing instrument and putting them down in front of Nestor. That he wants the list of books involved could not be any more clear.
"She told me. I told her it wasn't safe, and I was right!" Nestor pulls a piece of paper from a desk drawer, and begins copying titles and authors onto it. There is a third column. Almost all of the books have either "Brennan" or "Ambrose" next to them in it.
Jerod scans the list of books as Nestor writes it down, making note of the two names, looking to see if anything about the list of books is familiar.
"Did you provide this information to the King as well?"
Nestor's face turns slightly red, as if he has something to say, but doesn't want to say it. He sits back and says "Gilt Winter is a fool."
Jerod's face doesn't turn red but his expression hardens substantially. "Answer the question."
Nestor's redness of face darkens and he crosses his arms defensively. "I tried! Winter told me he'd tell the King, but obviously he didn't because the King didn't ask me for more information. Why do you think I'm telling you?" His voice is getting louder.
"The number of possible reasons are considerable." Jerod says, his voice even, if still hard. "My question to you was a simple one. I will not rely on speculation or innuendo during the course of my investigation concerning my sister. I will demand a hard and fast answer, not one that is convenient or polite, or in any way that provides a misdirection of convenience for another. Some might find this directness to be rude. Rest assured I do not care about that, only about my sister.
"I have already seen an example of Gilt's behaviour. I recognize it as the work of a court flunky, one who's job is to act as a barrier in power. You should have as well and taken appropriate steps to ensure the information you possessed was forwarded."
Nestor nods, chagrined at the reprimand. His face is no less red than before.
[Jerod] taps the list. "I want every one of these books. I want to know when they were read by Brennan, Cambina, or Ambrose relative to Cambina's death and any other significant events. Also, has anyone else taken an interest in these books.
"And finally. I will be searching her quarters but I am confident my sister would not have kept any notes there, assuming she ever committed anything to a medium other than her mind. Any notes therefore would have been hidden elsewhere. Were there any places or individuals that she frequented more than normal during the time since she started this project?"
Nestor nods towards his office. "I have all the ones that are not in Lord Ambrose's or Sir Brennan's possession in there. You may, of course, have them for your perusal, my Prince. The only other person who looked at any of them was the Princess Fiona, but only a few of them and that was long ago."
Jerod nods, not surprised at that statement. If anything, it means there must be something to the books if Fiona deigned to consider them worth her time.
He pulls himself up. "After we differed, Cambina did not share her plans with me as freely. I do not know much of her activities. Sir Brennan or Lord Ambrose might be able to help you. Or Gilt Winter, who knows more of this castle, if he can be bothered."
"Well, monsieur Winter is about to find himself bothered." Jerod says, the smile on his face a polite court smile more suited to sharks than to orcas. "We'll see how effective his service as a barrier is.
"Should I come across anything of note that I think you may be interested, I will let you know. Now, if you'd be so kind, we shall collect those tomes. I have much reading to do."
Nestor gathers the tomes quickly, from a locked cabinet, and presents them to Jerod. He has wishes the Prince well. The man has a satisfied smile on his face, but not a pleasant one.
Jerod collects the tomes and thanks Nestor. Jerod does not wonder as to the smile on Nestor's face. He has seen enough like it to know where it comes from.
When the page arrives, Jerod hands the folded note over. The name of Gilt Winters is on it.
Gilt Winters:
I am conducting an investigation into my sister's death. Nestor has indicated he spoke to you concerning my sister, the topic of that conversation I would like to verify. Your cooperation in this matter will be greatly appreciated.
Please also be so kind as to advise the Queen that I will be seeking an audience at her earliest convenience to discuss my sister's demise.
Prince Jerod.
After he returns to his quarters, Jerod finds a note from Gilt. "He told me that he'd seen Cambina leave with the Queen. His account was incoherent and speculative. The King found it interesting but unhelpful. Please keep me informed as to the progress of your investigation, so that the King may be apprised and so that knowledge can be shared."
There is a separate note in Ember's hand saying that Jerod is welcome to speak with Vialle any time that he wishes. From the wording, Jerod suspects whatever was said to Ember and Vialle was couched in more delicate terms than the ones he used to Gilt.
Jerod smiles to himself, mirthlessly, noting the adjustment made on his behalf. Always let the crowd see what they think they already know. The stomping brooding brother will serve for now.
Inquires into Martin's whereabouts tell Conner that he is most likely to be found in the salle or the studio. Conner has been meeting too many people over blades lately. Besides, Martin might ask him to spar. So Conner instead goes to the studio with penny whistle and recorder at the ready. After his meeting with Random, Conner considers bringing a welding torch just in case but wasn't sure where he'd find one at such short notice anyway. So armed with music and a mission, Conner strides into the studio.
Martin is seated on a beanbag, strumming on one of his guitars, and Soren is standing nearby, fiddling with another one. They seem to be working on tuning them; their heads are down and they're very focused on what they're doing as Conner comes beside what will be the sound booth.
".... he tried not to laugh at me," Martin says, sounding flat and annoyed.
"He laughs at everything. Don't take it personally. You're in a rough spot; at least he's not making it worse." Soren's tone is sympathetic. "When are you going to tell her?"
"After I talk to Merle."
"Don't you think you need to talk to her before Merlin?"
"I think I need to talk to Merlin first. On the other hand nobody's ever accused me of good judgement. If I had any I wouldn't be in this fix." Martin comes to some break point with the guitar he's working on and looks up, catching sight of Conner. He waves at Conner and gestures to him to join them.
Conner does so love walking into conversations he probably shouldn't have. Such things really make a diplomat's day especially with such delicious hints. Some issue between Martin, Random, a presumed she-meaning-Folly, and Merlin. It is the last that has Conner the most curious as he doesn't fit into most of the scenarios that the first three would. Shame Martin looked up when he did.
Conner strides over to pair of them and pulls over a second beanbag. "Highness, Soren." Conner nods to them in greeting. "Sorry if I've caught you two in the middle of something, but honestly that can't be avoided these days with so much going on. I have brought my whistle for things musical and a burning curiosity for things Rebman. Where shall we start?" Conner asks ceding the floor to Martin as is proper by rank and age. Conner drops back into the beanbag. "I could get used to these." Conner smiles.
"We're just tuning everything that got out of tune on the boat ride." Martin strums the guitar strings, making a slight face at the sound. "You ready to take five, Soren?"
It's a polite royal order phrased as a request. Soren accepts it with apparent good nature. "Sure, I always have royally counselling things to do. Later." He nods at Conner and then at Martin before putting the guitar he was working with in its stand and heading out.
Martin waits for the door to close behind Soren before turning back to Conner. "You have a burning curiosity about things Rebman? I thought you were in Rebma during all the recent excitement." He picks out a few more chords on the guitar, laying down a nice, if not perfectly in-tune, line that Conner could play a melody over, if he were so inclined.
"I have the current news." Conner confirms. "I am looking into the past to solve a future problem." Conner places the whistle to his lips and begins to play. It is a bit of a hornpipe jig if the dancers were extremely mellow about it. He plays for a few moments and then stops for he cannot talk and play at the same time. "Embarrassing revelation time." Conner smiles. "Soon-to-be Queen Khela has taken control of the castle only to find a certain door in the basement locked and the key missing. Getting in there is rather a priority as some serious metaphysical angst is going on down there and we'd like a first hand inspection. As you can imagine when speculating who might have insight on how to break into said chamber, your name was at the top of the list of one." Conner grins at him. "I believe I once regaled you with my tale of escaping Rebma, Highness. I was hoping you might favor me with yours."
Martin continues playing, picking up the melody now that Conner's stopped piping. It's not a hornpipe either, although it's related to Conner's tune. He elaborates on it for a few measures before looking up, without stopping. "I'll say this for Team Redhead: you guys never ask for small favors. Did Khela send you, or are you here on your own?"
"Yes." Conner replies. "To clarify, Khela bade me find a way to enter the Pattern Chamber but the decision to seek you out was mine." Conner takes up the pipe again and adds a few flourishes around Martin's melody. "There is more to this than Khela saving face or buttressing her rule." Conner says softly. "This is the Reader's Digest version. Let me know if you need me to elaborate. Before the battle outside Rebma, Huon came forward to parley and gave an ultimatum. Give him the sword of Cneve or he would detonate a blood bomb over the Rebman Pattern. We determined that the threat was real and managed to send Brennan to the Pattern Chamber. He struggled with some sort of blood construct floating over the Pattern itself. As they fought, the blood thing started to bleed as though struck by wounds though Brennan did not cause them. In a last ditch effort to save the Pattern beneath him, Brennan grappled the blood thing and trumped with it to Amber's courtyard."
Conner pauses for a moment to let that sink in. "Rebma still stands and its people breathe so the Pattern seems to be fine but with all that blood in the water, I cannot say for sure it is undamaged and I think that is something we must know for sure. If you know of a way through that door, please help me." Conner puts every bit of sincerity he has into that simple request.
It is a measure of Martin's precision as a musician that he stops strumming and stills the strings rather than hitting a sour note early on. His eyes narrow at the description of Huon's blood golem, but Conner can tell it's not a new story to him. He's heard it somewhere before.
He waits until Conner is done to say anything. It's hard to tell what he's thinking; Martin has always had a good poker face.
"If you were convinced that someone had bled all over that Pattern, someone would already be inside that chamber. You know one way to get in there as well as I do. It involves the squiggle in the basement of this castle. But you're not down there; you're in here asking me to hand over a hole card I've been hanging on to for a couple of centuries for reasons of my own, not to mention break my promise to my wife to stay out of the Rebman civil war, on the indirect request of one of its architects."
He picks up strumming again, decides he doesn't like one of the notes, and starts twiddling with the string to get it in more acceptable tune.
"I know Khela. If I give her an inch, she'll take about a fathom--and you'd do well to remember that too. If she sent you up here to deal with me, it's because she thinks you can get more out of me than she can, or because she'd rather have you owe me the favors involved.
"I'm well enough disposed toward you to point this out, Conner." Martin leaves the corollary unspoken.
Conner nods in acceptance of that. "Each word beyond the sufficient, 'No,' was a gift and I recognize that, Highness. But to correct you on one point, I am here talking to you first because no one goes for a walk in the basement if there is a reasonable alternative. I do believe the danger is real, and I will be taking that walk if other means fail as well."
Conner plays a scale or two on his whistle to focus and calm his mind. "My congratulations to you and Folly on the impending birth of your daughter." Conner smiles. "Should she have need of an OB, I am happy to oblige. I'm only a trump booth away after all. Also, any in Rebma that show untoward interest in your child will be dealt with. I realize a blanket or baby booties is a more traditional gift but it is what I have to offer at short notice." Conner grins.
"And we both appreciate it, for all that the part of it that keeps me out of Rebma is probably as much a gift to Khela as it is to me." Martin flashes a smile of his own back at Conner. "As far as I know, we haven't made plans for the birth yet. I kind of suspect Folly will want Paige to midwife her if Paige is here."
The smile doesn't entirely fade but Martin's eyes roll ceilingwards in an expression that can only be described as longsuffering. "But Dad says he put Paige in charge of Broceliande, so she may be busy. I'll mention it to Folly and see what she thinks."
"Paige in charge of Broceliande?" Conner echoes. "She always struck me as an indoor gal. Her children must be rubbing off on her." Conner shrugs. "Well, whatever Folly decides is fine by me unless she tries to work a llama in of course. We have to draw the line somewhere." Conner chuckles.
Last modified: 25 April 2010
