The Next Generation

One morning Ossian knocks on Brennan's door.

Brennan comes to the door dressed casually, and apparently a little in the middle of something. He starts to reach out to clasp Ossian's hand, then notices that it's got dark dust of some sort on it. Ossian can probably tell that it's stone dust or residue of some sort. There's a little on his clothing, too.

"Ossian," he says. He looks around for a rag in sight, and steps back to put his hands on it and wipe them. "Come in."

"Thanks." Ossian says as he steps in. He might look slightly older than he did last time Brennan met him, but calmer.

"Working on something?"

Brennan gives a sort of a half-shrug. "Something to occupy my time and my hands, really." To keep from going crazy. "I've had a few projects going on for a while, now, in various stages of neglect. Seems like I should finish one."

Brennan's suite looks more like a workshop than a dwelling place... which suits him. True to his words, it does seem like Brennan has more than one project on his mind. On one bench, there are the fragments of a broken sword-- one of Brennan's own, if Ossian has an eye for that sort of thing. On another, there is something about the size of a bowling ball, but it's under a drop cloth, and there are enough papers around it and poking out from under the cloth to fill a medium sized notebook. Some of the notation is Thari, some is that horrid, cramped ideoglyph language they use in Uxmal.

The third one is very obviously the one that Brennan was engaged with. It is-- or will be-- a stone statuette about three fists high, the same color as the dust that was on his hands. Also, the same color as the Pattern chamber under Amber. It isn't finished, but the outlines are clear enough for Ossian to be sure that it is the figure of a broad, deep, solid-seeming man. There is no convenient scale object associated with it, but it suggests height as well as breadth. The proportions are wrong for Brennan, so it is clearly not a self-study. The figure looks like it's walking forward, though hunched forward as though walking through hurricane force winds, and one hand is holding something-- it might become a lantern-- ahead of it.

The dust on Brennan's hands-- which is also on that bench-- is there because Brennan has started the fine detail phase, although he's started at the bottom with the boots. One feature that Ossian's trained eye is likely to pick out, though, is the flaw in the stone at the statuette's chest. Among other things, that flaw makes the work very delicate, with no room for error. Evidently, whatever anyone might think of Brennan's meager artistic talents, he has a steady, disciplined hand.

Once Brennan's hands are clean, he offers one to Ossian in a proper greeting. He stands in a way that does not block access to the work benches. "Social call?" There's some irony in Brennan's tone, but not the nasty kind.

Ossian shrugs. Brennan might notice that Ossian is keeping some comments about the sculpture to himself.

"I promised to look into the question of children. I am not certain, but you might have a granddaughter."

Brennan looked as though he was going to invite comments on the sculpture, but when Ossian mentions a daughter, his focus changes. He doesn't even bother to feign disinterest... or if he is, he's exceptionally bad at it. Ossian has Brennan's full, undivided attention. "Might?"

"I have claimed the fathership. But it is hard to be certain. I know of no method to find out that I would want to impress on the child." Ossian smiles. "But I won't press grandfathership on you if you don't want to."

Brennan's eyes narrow, just a bit, in the suspicion that someone is, once again, keeping back vital information. "I can think of several that would be reasonably conclusive and reasonably painless to establish whether she is or is not Family," he says. There is a question nibbling at the center of that sentence that Brennan would prefer not to voice, so he gives Ossian the chance to address it.

Ossian smiles "She is family alright. And without me she wouldn't have a father anyway. How would you do that, anyway?"

"To establish Family status? Present her to the King," Brennan says. "Present her to Brita. Present her to me. In order of decreasing certainty." Brennan's eyes are still narrowed, as he asks, "Just what is this girl's situation, that her Family status is not in doubt, but her parentage is?"

Ossian sighs. "Lucas could be the father too, I have learned."

Brennan favors Ossian with a flat stare. "I doubt that the first two methods would suffice to determine paternity," he says. "Does she have a name? This girl, and the girl's mother, both."

"The girl's name is Jasmine. The mother's name is Darling." Ossian's eyes narrow. "Does paternity really matter?"

By Brennan's expression, he must have thought this would be one of their few points of agreement. "Ask Flora if it matters," he says. "Or better yet, don't, until we actually know something. Are they coming to Xanadu, going to Paris, or staying in Amber?"

"They are here. I did not consider Amber safe."

Brennan nods. "Probably wise, but in one way unfortunate-- it will be harder to establish paternity here than there."

"As for Flora. If I was a child I'd rather have you as my grandparent."

"Maybe so," Brennan says, "And I don't doubt your motives in this matter. But put on your practical hat for a minute and ask yourself this: Should Flora decide she has an interest, and should you be unable to prove your claim-- or be wrong-- do you want to be involved in a custody battle with her? This may be a concern over little or nothing, admittedly, but it is a concern. What, if anything, does Flora know, or did Lucas know?"

"Lucas knew. Knowing Lucas, I doubt Flora knows. And I'm willing to risk her wrath by not informing her either. But yes, a custody battle with her would be rough. Let's hope I'm not wrong, then."

Ossian thinks for a moment. "What would we need to do to establish her paternity? It might be best after all."

"That's a good question," Brennan says. "And we want to consult with Fiona before proceeding. And perhaps Brita. Fiona may know her sister well enough to tell us this is not necessary. But the thing that comes to mind is to have objects important to or well-used by all of you, Lucas, and young Jasmine in the same place at the same time. That might be difficult to arrange, given Lucas' fate. Failing that, having a strand of her hair provides another path." Brennan thinks about how that might sound, then adds, "And we are firmly speaking of methods that do not involve working Sorcery on the child."

Tactfully, Brennan does not suggest introducing the child to Clarissa.

"That's a relief. I'll see if I can dig up something that belonged to Lucas." Ossian sighs "It's hard to think he's gone. I never learned what happened to him or..."

Ossian goes quiet. "Do you want to talk about her?"

Brennan thinks that over for what is-- for him-- a respectable amount of time.

"No," he says. "No, I want to talk to her. I want to ask her why she left. I want to ask her what she thought she was doing, that a blind Queen was the right choice for a spotter in Tir. But I can't do that, can I? Ask your cards that," he adds, bitterly, "Ask them, if you think they'll answer."

Ossian ponders for a moment. "I can do that. She probably consulted them before." Ossian flinches a bit at that. "Do you want me to?"

To the extent that Brennan even expected an answer to his question, this isn't the one he expected. Still. "Yeah. Do it." He looks around, sets his eyes on two chairs, and a table that can be configured appropriately for the task, and sets about doing that.

"Do you have any cards you want to add to the reading? Cambina's Trump? I don't have much except the standard deck."

Ossian sits down and starts to shuffle his deck with nimble hands. "Now we don't want to make Brand's mistakes here. Don't involve your desires in the reading. It's not that easy."

"I don't actually have one of her," Brennan says, "Nor did she have one of me. Presumeably she would show up as Eric, reversed. The only ones I have that you're not likely to are Uxmal and Huon, and I will be very cr--" Brennan breaks off and at least tries to follow Ossian's directions. If Ossian wants to include the Uxmal, or the Bleys, Fiona, Caine or Amber that are also in his pack, he'll hand them over. "I would prefer not to use the Huon card, as he might not even know it exists, much less that I have it, and I see no need to do anything at all which would even slightly activate it and alert him that it remains." Huon's card remains face down or in the pack.

Brennan follows any reasonable instructions Ossian gives.

Ossian will want the Fiona, Caine, Bleys and Amber Trumps. Other than that he will have cards or sketches of Brand, Folly, Jovian, Marius, himself, Reid and Vere in his deck.

From this, Brennan infers that Ossian doesnt' have a complete Elder deck, either.

He shuffles the deck a bit more, then hands it over to Brennan. "Shuffle" he says. When he takes it back he cuts it once, and starts laying the spread.

Brennan puts Uxmal and Huon back into his pack, and puts the pack back at its customary resting place, on his hip. Then he shuffles as bidden. He takes the first reading he'd seen done, after Dara's coronation assault, as inspiration. Not for any flashyness of shuffling technique, but for the length and depth of the shuffling.

He passes the deck back to Ossian to cut.

Ossian deals out the following cards:

Bottom row:
The Usurper
Brand, reversed
The Fish

Middle row:
Vere
The Fool, reversed

Top row:
Trickery

Brennan watches the cards as they come out, scowling especially as Brand, reversed comes out. But, uncharacteristically, he isn't the first one to venture an interpretation. He looks across at Ossian waiting to hear what he has to say.

Ossian looks at the cards and nods. "Do tell me if this does not make sense.

"Since the theme is Cambina's last visit to Tir, it is reasonable to interpret the cards in a time frame centered on her visit there. The Past could be the reason she went there, but I think it rather is the reason she went to Tir at earlier times. The Usurper. This could be something to do with Chaos, maybe Dara. A more interesting interpretation is that it has something to do with Tir itself: Tir's major force. The Moon...?" Ossian trails off.

"Brand reversed. The obvious interpretation is you, I guess. Either she went there because of you, or made some desicion up there because of you. Brand could also represent the Trumps, in this case, them not working properly. But... that's far fetched, I think.

"The Future is more interesting. The Fish could be Vialle, as a Rebman. But then the cards do not tell us much we didn't know. The Fish says 'The Soul Prevails'. Let's wait with that for a moment.

"Vere as the Virtue is very interesting. Of course the card could represent any cousin, or Gerard for that matter. I'm at a loss as to what Vere's role in this is. We'd better ask him.

"Lack of Connection" Ossian points at the Fool "This ties in with The Fish. There is a dangerous interpretation here, which you should approach cautiously. Her soul might be out there. Disconnected from the body.

"Another interpretation is ties in to the Trump problems here." Ossian points at the Brand card.

"The fate is always the hardest. Who is performing trickery here? It could very well be Cambina herself. Or Vialle. Or this." Ossian points at the Usurper again.

"I think there are things to be learned here. Go talk with Vere. And if you really want to you should go looking for her soul."

"You're right that the obvious interpretation of Brand, reversed is me," Brennan says, scowling, "which I do not like at all because I have no idea what it would mean. If the timing was not extremely urgent, it would even mean she kept something from me. Another possible referent is Ambrose, though-- he has a lot of Brand's notes on Tir-na Nog'th, but we haven't decoded them all yet. As for the Usurper, yes, I normally interpret that as Chaos. How that fits here, I have no idea. For the Fish, the simple interpretations would be either that we will soon understand what this was all about, or that this event will lead to a greater understanding of something, presumeably Tir-na Nog'th. Which again refers back to Ambrose."

"Do you know if Cambina had any contact with Ambrose before going there?

"Or", Ossian says "Did Dara use Cambina to get to you? Could Cambina do something in Tir to get even with Dara?"

"For the virtue and the fault, consider that the one isolated right now is Solange, in counterpoint to Vere." Brennan says. "How much do you know about that?" Brennan keeps his voice almost conversational as he asks that, but his eyes are cold and hard.

"Has something happened to Solange?" Ossian asks, with a worried voice.

"Solange has been banished from Xanadu," Brennan says, flatly. "After Cambina's death, before Jerod or I returned, conceived the plan of having Vere summon her shade and interrogate it. Despite being told flatly not to do that by several interested parties, she proceeded to do so anyway. In order to do this, she not only defied the Regent's commands, but conspired to remove the body from Xanadu by subterfuge to bring it to Vere. The formal terms for these actions are 'graverobbery,' and 'necromancy.' She has been banished from Xanadu until she makes things right with Jerod and I, at the very least. And at the very least, this means she will not be attending the funeral. She's also crossed Corwin in the process and though I have heard no formal pronouncement, she would be wise to avoid Paris. Vere has repented formally, by my understanding, and I don't think he was fully informed of how many people he was crossing. If he has any sense, he will also be very angry with Solange for using him and abusing his trust. But he is not banished.

"So when Vere appears in the Virtue slot, and disconnection in the Fault slot, I think naturally of Solange. Are Solange or Gerard in your deck?" Brennan asks.

Ossian shakes his head. "No. Although Solange was never good at following the rules this surprises me.

"But it can shed new light at this" Ossian gestures at the reading "Why would Solange and Vere try to resurrect Cambina? What would Cambina know that was so important to them? One possibility would be Gerard'legs. Corwin found an arm for reednict up there. Maybe Cambina was looking for a replacement for Gerard's legs?

"Then the Usurper could be the Sundering. Brand reversed could very well be Gerard. The disconnection could be the legs? Or Solange, of course." Ossian trails off, obviously waiting for Brennan.

"I can tell you directly what Solange was trying to find out. She was looking for information about Vialle who was, at the time, still missing. Solange is involved in this primarily by being unlucky enough to have found Cambina on the shore. Vere is involved primarily after he got dragged in by Solange," Brennan says. "Although thinking about Vialle makes me think: if the Fish is Vialle, as you say, we may have this backwards. Instead of Cambina using Vialle as a spotter, Vialle may have asked Cambina to do something for her-- something a sighted sensitive could do-- in Tir-na Nog'th. Like read omens and portents of her future, or the King's future, or Rebma's future.

"Which makes me realize, all of these should be read as applying to Cambina. Cambina's past, present and future at the time of the event. Cambina's Virtue, Fault, and Fate. Which you probably already knew," Brennan says.

"I'm not as certain as you seem to be on that point. Why would Vere be Cambina's Virtue?" Ossian looks confused. "Just because he did the honourable thing?"

"If we knew that," Brennan says, "we probably wouldn't have needed to do the reading. And I'm not happy with the implication, either, because Vere is the one with the ability to actually speak with shades, and I'm not happy about that at all. But if the only insight that comes of this is to start thinking of Vialle as a potential actor, here, rather than a reactor, then it's been useful. Cambina was always going to visit Tir. Nothing anyone said or did short of locking her up in Xanadu, Paris or Rebma was ever going to prevent that. But there's no reason to assume that Vialle going with was Cambina's idea."

"True" Ossian says "Vialle is not harmless, even if she is blind. What happened to her after the walk. She disappeared? I have been out of the news circuit for too long."

"After what walk?" Brennan asks. "The timeline that I know is that Cambina and Vialle went up to Tir-na Nog'th; Cambina was recovered the next morning, I believe; and while Solange was busy getting herself exiled, Vialle was found by an expedition led by the King. I've heard two perspectives on that last, and neither of them makes any more sense than what happened to you and Brita under Rebma."

Brennan is at this point wearing that expression he gets when the universe disappoints him by failing to make sense. It is closely related to the expression he wears when dealing with Trumps.

Ossian nods. "Two perspectives? As in contradicting ones?" he asks. "As for me and Brita, you are free to ask any questions."

"Three perspectives, even," Brennan says. "Garret's, which I was lumping in with Brita's, and then Signy's. Not so much contradicting as partial. For example, only Signy described the dead creatures they found precisely enough for me to identify them as Grackleflints. Minor point, but potentially important. They all seemed to agree on the critical point, that they found Vialle somewhere in a very strange Shadow, on a throne, behind which stood a Moonrider I took to be their Marshall by description. He, in turn, was holding chains around the throats of a Shadow of Random and a Shadow of Robin.

"I'm leaving some things out of that story," Brennan says. "Because from there, it feels more like gossipping about something I didn't see." That's one reason, anyway.

Ossian shrugs. Or shivers. "The Moonriders. I don't know much about them. Are they connected to Tir in any way? What about this being them?" He points at the Usurper. "Just a thought."

"I've met some of them," Brennan says, "including their High Marshall, but I don't really think I know that much about them, either. I know they're descended of the same stock as the Altamareans, who I've also met. They were allies, led by Bleys at Patternfall. I remember hearing once that when they sacked Amber, they rode down from somewhere, which is a good trick considering the geography. I'd always considered that a pretty good indicator that they had some tie with Tir-na Nog'th," he says. "What, exactly, I don't know.

"For the Usurper, I always read it as Chaos or something of that origin which hasn't broken its ties. So, the Courts, but not Oberon. The Dragon, but not Dworkin. You tell me, though-- am I right in reading it that way? Or am I too fixed on my experiences," Brennan asks.

"I don't think it is always associated with Chaos. In my experience The Usurper signifies something that can overturn whatever you make the reading for. The Dragon for Arden, maybe. Certainly Chaos for Amber...." Ossian pauses. "For Tir or Cambina, I'm not sure. Dara for instance would of course fit for Cambina at least."

Brennan absorbs that for a while. "I only seriously started casting cards around the time I got serious about coming back to Amber," he says, "Which wasn't too much before the Black Road showed up, in the long scheme of things. Which means in that context, at least, the Usurper was probably always Chaos. I understand why the Moonriders might signify for Tir-na Nog'th, in those lights. Why Dara for Cambina?"

Ossian nods "Back then Chaos would be Usurper in most situations, yes. As for Dara, it is speculation from my side, dating back to the Masquerade."

"That's a long speculative memory," Brennan says. "And as much as I'd love an excuse to go heading back to Chaos with a strike team and do something about her, I never had the sense that impersonating Cambina was anything more than a best-fit opportunity." He raises an eyebrow, inviting anything Ossian might know that he doesn't.

Ossian just shakes his head "You probably know more than me there. I don't think we can glean more from the cards today. If you want to talk to Vere, I have a sketch there." Ossian smiles and points at the Vere card.

Brennan stares at Vere's Trump long enough that he almost activates it inadvertantly, before picking it up and turning it over. From his frown, the idea probably hadn't occurred to him. "No," he says at length. "No. But thank you. Right now I'm still too angry. Unlike Solange, no one has banished him from Xanadu or barred him from the funeral. We'll speak then, when I've figured out what to say and how to say it."

Ossian nods.

Fiona is supervising the preparation of a laboratory for her work in Xanadu. It looks as though she's brought some equipment into the castle from Shadow and some workers are setting it up under her instruction. When she sees Brita, she leaves the workers to their task and comes to greet her daughter.

She reaches to put her arms around her daughter. "Brita. It's been too long. How are you?"

"I'd be Better if there were Fewer Deaths to Deal With," Brita says wryly as she hugs her mother. "What have You Heard of These Incidents?"

"Of Cambina's, quite a bit. Of Lucas's, less so. Which one do you want to talk about first? And shall we find somewhere more private to have this discussion?" Fiona suggests.

The workers don't appear to be listening, but there are some matters that need to be discussed in privacy.

"It is Cousin Lucas's Death that I have heard Little About although Both are Of Concern. Do you Have Rooms we could Talk in? I have Just Returned with Cousin Paige's Armada from Former Reality Amber and would Rest as well." Rest here obviously means eat.

"We can go back to my quarters," Fiona says. She moves to lead Brita there, stopping only to arrange with a page for a substantial meal whose details include an emphasis on meats and starches to be brought to her chambers. Along the way there is some small talk, or at least apparently small talk, about various features of the castle and various personages they see on the way: lessons about who and what matters in the new regime in one form or another.

Once Brita is settled in her chair, Fiona speaks. "The gist of it seems to be this: Lucas made a trump of Moire and she killed him for his presumption. The murder weapon was a mirror shard through the heart."

"Cousin Lucas Made a Trump of Queen Moire." Brita blinks. "Did he Have to Use it to Alert Queen Moire or Does the Act of Making it Alert the Subject? Or was she just Spying on Cousin Lucas at the Wrong Moment?"

Brita looks up at her mother with a slight frown and asks, "If Cousin Lucas's Murder is As You Say - a Rebman Vendetta - that would Seem to Imply it is Unrelated to Cousin Cambina's Death. Has anything New been Discovered about Cousin Cambina's Demise?"

"No, but there's all sorts of trouble with that, too." Fiona presses her lips together tightly for a moment before returning to Brita's questions about Lucas. "We don't know how Moire became aware of it, exactly. But she did, and early on. The report of the murderer comes through Vere, who arrived in Paris soon after the murder. He has a gift for speaking with the dead." The tone invites Brita's thoughts and comments on Vere's gift.

Brita cocks her head to one side, thinking. "Where does he Go to Talk to them? Valkyrie Radgrid was Good at Counseling the Dead - She had a Simple Hut near the Lake of Memories, but it Was decorated Well - Soothing for those Troubled by their Deaths."

Brita becomes pensive, "Mother, How would I Protect Myself if I were Making a Trump of Someone and they Did Not Wish it? I Did Not Feel anything - any Alert - when I Made the Trump of Myself."

"Vere's problem isn't where he goes to talk to them; it's how they're brought to talk to him. But--I don't know that you can detect when a Trump is made of you."

This is clearly a more interesting question to Fiona than speaking to the dead, at least for the moment. "You must always ask first." She reaches out to take Brita's hand. "Promise me that you will never make a trump without consent of either the subject or, absent that, on the King's orders."

"I Promise, Mother," Brita says. "I am Only Making Place Trumps right now."

"Good." Fiona squeezes Brita's fingers. "Because that is what your uncle Brand did--made a trump without permission and then used it to attack someone. If Lucas had lived, and people had learned that he could make secret trumps, it would have gone ill for him."

"And Cousin Cambina's Death? You Mentioned Trouble with That?"

Fiona sighs and relinquishes Brita's hand. "You know that she fell from Tir at the same time that Queen Vialle went missing?"

Brita nods and adds a "Yes, Mother" for emphasis.

"Your cousin Solange became convinced that if she could speak with Cambina, she could find out from her what had happened to Vialle. It was an interesting plan, but one that would have required some careful negotiation to carry off without incurring a certain amount of family wrath."

As a redhead, Fiona speaks with some expertise on that topic.

"Solange asked Gerard, who was acting as Regent, and he forbade it. Apparently Corwin was in the room and he didn't like the idea either. So Solange stole Cambina's body and took it into Shadow where Vere was to get him to speak with Cambina. When the body was returned, Gerard exiled her for her disobedience."

Fiona presses her lips together for a moment. "If you ever have to take a chance like that, be sure you have someone's backing first. And for the Unicorn's sake and your own, be sure you succeed. Success obtains forgiveness where permission will never occur."

Brita digests what is said, but she looks confused. "But Mother, Finding the Queen was Critical. Why would Regent Gerard Deny an Opportunity to Find Out Key Information?"

"That's a complicated question. Had Solange been willing to ask Jerod, or Corwin, who were Cambina's nearest kin, Gerard might have agreed. But Corwin forbade it for his own reasons--" and Fiona frowns here, as if she doesn't entirely understand them himself "--which probably have to do with his own experiences with magic in Shadow. Or maybe he thought Jerod wouldn't approve. I don't know; I haven't asked them.

"In any case, once Corwin said no, because he's so senior in the family's council, it would have taken Random's word to override him. Solange didn't wait for that; instead she acted on her own."

Fiona purses her lips and considers the question from a different angle. "Had Corwin known or understood exactly what she was proposing, he might have said something different. But she's a woman and Corwin always underestimates women. And worse, she'd already argued with him about something he considered vital for his trip to Tir with Hannah. So she was already withholding information important to Vialle's rescue, or so he thought.

"But I think a lot of it goes back to whatever necromancy he expected Vere to perform. Most of the family isn't comfortable with that kind of thing. To them, it's as if Solange stole Cambina's corpse and desecrated it."

Brita looks attentive through all of this. When Fiona is done, she merely nods in acceptance and then changes the subject. "Mother, the Silver Chain that the Gaunt Marshall used on the Apparitions of Cousin Robin and Uncle Random, do you Think it Resembles Valkyrie Herfjoturr's Magic Chain - the one that Earned her the Name 'Freeze with Horror'?" Fiona can see worry in Brita's eyes.

Fiona narrows her eyes to think about that. "They might be related. I don't think you could call Herfjoturr's chain a shadow, necessarily, in that there was something Real about her. But the power of Tir--and that seems to be what was in play--reflects many Real things. Or perhaps both were related to a third chain. I don't have enough information to be certain." This answer is clearly not entirely satisfactory. "What do you think?"

"Uncle Huon was Traipsing about Through Shadows to Gather his Armies. What if Others have been Gathering Forces Too? In Shadows like Shadow Asgard? Dara and cleph, Uncle Huon, Moonriders, Queen Moire - How many Enemies Do We Have? Is it Really Many or One?" Brita shakes her head. "I am Young, Mother, and have No Politics. Even in Shadow Asgard I could Not Understand the Infighting and Back Stabbing. How am I to Understand the Reality of it all?" She seems a little lost.

"What of My Brother? Is He Well? Have you Heard from Him?"

"Conner has come back from Rebma for the funerals, so we'll see him soon and you can ask him yourself. Perhaps when we're all together in Paris, we can all speak of what we've seen and heard and decide how to advise the King on dealing with these threats," Fiona suggests.

She reaches over to brush Brita's hair, now almost the same color as her own. "If your strength isn't in politics, don't be a politician. What do you think your strength is? Because you can hardly apply your strength if you don't know it."

"Cleansing. Seeking. Unfortunately, I've been Finding More than I Want and Not what I Need."

"What do you want, then? And what do you think you need?" Fiona asks.

"I Want Time to Learn and Appreciate my Family. I Need to Know my family is Safe." Brita is quiet for a moment. "What do You Think I Need to Do to Achieve That, Mother?"

"I know you cannot make them safe," Fiona says sadly. "If I knew how to do that, your Uncle Brand would never have gone mad and died."

Brita pats her mother's hand in comfort. "Some Chart their Own Path Regardless of what We would Wish. I Must Ask the King what he would Have Me Do. There are So Many Enemies at the Gate. He will Likely Need to Delegate Defense. I would Wish Dara and clef Neutralized Soon; they are like Uncle Loki - insidious and Sneaky. Uncle Random may Wish my Services on a Different Front, however."

Fiona's delicate eyebrows arch slightly. "How would you neutralize Dara, if the King grants you that task? She's an initiate of the Pattern and a powerful sorceress in her own right. Assuming you don't want to kill her, what would you do to bring her to heel?"

"Uncle Loki was Neutralized by Tying Him Down with Entrails from one of his Innocent Victims, but That may be Difficult to Do with Dara. I Assume that the King will Find One who is a Better Match in Sorcery Skills to Best Dara. What do you Think are Her Weaknesses, Mother? Or clef's? I have Battled them Twice and Lost Each Time."

"If you fight them two against one, it's no surprise that they can work together to defeat you. You must find someone you can work with as well as they work together to even the odds." Fiona delivers this piece of maternal advice with a smile.

"Dara's weakness in the past has been her overconfidence, and her affection for Corwin. Now, she seems obsessed by her son, and perhaps by this woman Meg. That is a weakness. Cleph--I don't know enough about him to say. We'd have to learn more about him to defeat him."

"Children. That was One of Uncle Loki's Weaknesses as well. Cousin Ossian and I were Not Successful as a Team against Dara and clef. Perhaps M... Cousin Brennan. I will Speak to Him on That. I would Speak to Brother Conner as well. Shall we Go Find Him?"

"We can do that. Or send for him." Fiona rises and summons a page to find Conner and tell him that Fiona and Brita want to speak with him.

It is apparent that even after years in the castle, Brita still doesn't think of using a page first. She nods, however, at Fiona's suggestion. "A Castle Page would be Able to Find Him Faster." After the page is sent, Brita converses with her mother about her laboratory preparations until Conner or news of him arrives.

Some time after Conner's return to Xanadu-- the day after or perhaps the next-- Brennan seeks out and catches up with Conner.

"General Conner," comes the call from halfway down the hallway. "Dignity tells me he has you to thank for bringing him and the Aelfs back to Xanadu. How fares Rebma?"

"It stands," Conner replies as he pivots to face Brennan. "and unless you're enlisting you can drop the General stuff. We've been through too much for formalities." Conner smiles. He is holding a leather bound book with ribbons marking several places within the tome. "They are still recovering from the battle and the quake. So am I truth be told." Conner stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. "How are you holding up?"

"Keeping busy," Brennan says, "and looking for outlets to my frustrations." Clearly, Conner is neither of those. "The king mentioned an earthquake, but I didn't get much detail-- we were discussing the aformentioned frustrations at the time. What happened? When?"

"Almost immediately after the culmination of our sorcery, the area was struck by a seaquake. It could be felt on the battlefield but its only affect was to obscure our vision with floating earth. Damage to the city was mostly in the poorer areas but the pattern of the damages mirrored that of the Sundering, if less severe." Conner adds quietly. "Did anything happen in the Pattern chamber that would explain this?"

"You mean other than brutalizing the laws of time and space?" Brennan asks. "Nothing that would be more disruptive than that. I'm not sure there is a short version of what happened, but I'll try to give you the edited version. I've already had several rehearsals. I arrived right in the blood cloud, or clot, or whatever you want to call it, and was stuck in it for a short time. It's very possible that we were looking at me inside of it, through your device.

"The thing ruptured, which was painful, and at that point I was outside it and facing a man-shaped construct of blood. The remains of Eater were still there, too. When I was in contact with the blood, there were strong hints of a mental contact not completely unlike a Trump... and I have a feeling I was in contact with the Aelfs or their prince. So, while I have no idea how Huon did what he did, I still think it involved those Aelfs. At any rate, the blood golem and I fought, while the Eater remnant and I argued and bargained." Despite having told this tale several times, he still suppresses a shudder and reverts to a thousand-yard stare as he remembers it.

"Just as a piece of advice, never get yourself in a position where a creature made of royal blood is trying to stab you a few hundred feet over a Pattern. There are really no good options. Sorcery is a non-starter. So is hacking it to pieces. I've had nightmares that weren't that bad." His eyes focus back on Conner. "But my guess is, someone was stabbing the real Huon while I was fighting this golem thing. I'd guess Jerod, from what I've seen of his style. The bad thing is, it started springing leaks. The good thing is, it was distracted and in pain. So I activated Amber's Trump, and tackled it through the opening. I'm guessing that's when you must have seen Huon, Jerod and Khela disappear, because we all ended up in a pile in the courtyard. And since the universe hates all redheads except Bleys, I was on the bottom of the pile," Brennan says.

"But," he continues, "the Pattern was very much resisting my will when I was there, so it was still functioning. You and the rest of Rebma aren't dead, so that's good. I haven't heard anything about the Faiella-Bionin reconfiguring itself, which is very good. Have you been to the chamber to inspect it yourself?"

"We tried." Conner replies with a frustrated sigh. "The key to Rebma's Pattern chamber is missing and I was too drained to try anything more than trying the handle and looking about in the nearby rubble. I suspect Morie has it secreted as a bargaining chip." Conner adds. "Wherever she might be."

Brennan closes his eyes and shakes his head slightly in frustration. "My advice would be Sorcery, not to try to open the door, but just to see if the Pattern is still resisting. Assuming you didn't already do that," he says. "Must be frustrating for Khela not to be able to reach the heart of her own realm. That's not just a bargaining chip, that's a grave embarassment, especially among the people that know what's in there."

Conner nods in agreement. "She is trying to keep it quiet of course. Assessing the damage of the seaquake makes a nice cover for poking into nooks and crannies looking for it though. I plan to seek it with the Eye when time permits. I wasn't up for anything after the battle. I've never pushed myself to those limits before. I hope I won't have to again for awhile but somehow I don't think I'll get the respite."

Brennan nods at the mention of the Eye. "Well, we know that should work. I doubt you'll need the help, but I'm willing to assist just to get another look at the thing. I assume you've heard what happened to Huon-- any chance of locating him?"

"I tried and viewed only darkness." Conner replies. "Huon is no fool. He is employing the common countermeasures against mirror work. After all, he knows every mirror witch in Rebma will be after his head. I plan to try again later when I can sorcerously enhance the Eye. In the interest of keeping you busy, I have been wanting to analyze the Eye in more detail. I tried once with Merlin but the experiment yielded no usable data. I should like to try again."

"Hmm. What if I told you I have a Trump of our dear uncle Huey?" Brennan asks. He does not take the Trump out of the pack.

Conner just blinks for two beats. "I would ask where you obtained such a thing," Conner replies. "and further inquire if you have tried to use it."

"From my brother," Brennan says. "He found it some time ago among some of Brand's effects. It's clearly in Brand's hand, and given the history with Huon you can guess what he was intending. Ambrose gave it to me to offer to the King as a gesture of good faith to the Family. I presented it, but Random didn't take it.

"As to using it, the answer is, no, I'm not a fool. I know my strengths, and Trumps are not one of them. I try not to even take it out of the pack, because it is my sincere hope that Huon doesn't even know Brand created it. My thought-- and we'll want to consult with an expert when the time is right, before we do this-- is that the Trump might be used as a sympathetic token for the Eye. On the one hand, it should work. I can't imagine a better token unless I'd managed to take his own eye out. On the other.... Order and Chaos don't always play well. If it works, it could provide enough anchor to Part the Veil and either drag him out or go there and get him, with great surprise." Brennan pauses. "Just a thought."

"An intriguing thought at that." Conner agrees. "Though I recall speaking to Merlin on a related subject. At the coronation he used Grayswandir as a prop in his sorcery and has vowed never to do anything like that again. So there is one data point against. Uncle Bleys seems to take both in his stride but then I only know of one occasion that broke his unflappable nature." Conner smiles warmly in remembrance. "I have been wanting to speak with him anyway. I am having doubts on a course of action. I am not sure if I want him to reassure me or talk me out of it." Conner chuckles. "But he is the expert in the subject."

"As I said, just a thought. Contingent on expert consultation and finding the right squad of people before the next great crisis hits. I can only assume that after he crawled out, trailing blood, he found somewhere fast to recover. Prudence dictates we assume he's fully healthy and fully paranoid," Brennan says. Then he thinks over what Conner said about Bleys, and changes the topic. "Something about a sword, I take it?"

Conner nods. "I named a price for my aid to Rebma and Khela agreed to it." He says simply. "Now I wonder if I have negotiated myself into a bargain I no longer want." Conner pauses a moment. "You see, I made the bargain I did in part to safeguard the blade and the Pattern of Rebma. Why should one that has not even walked the Pattern be allowed to be the guardian of either?" Conner points out. "Then came the battle with Huon and I saw how well Khela wielded the blade. Now I question if putting the blade in my hands makes things better or worse. After all, how much of that was Khela and how much the blade?" Conner shrugs. "No way of telling without walking the trail I have blazed."

Brennan gives a cynical smile when Conner mentions that Khela hasn't walked the Pattern. "I caught that," he says. "I had my suspicions, but I was surprised to hear her admit it outright. I'm not sure if Moire has walked it, or was able to walk it, but if I had to guess, I'd guess no. Khela, on the other hand, as Llewella's daughter, ought to be able to do so. Which causes my suspicious, red-headed mind to wonder why exactly she hasn't. I'm also trying to imagine, say, Corwin's reaction on learning that she's neither walked nor seen the Pattern of the realm she claims.

"I'm also curious about this geas she mentioned. Planning on asking Bleys about that, too?" Brennan asks.

"Most likely. I've not heard of such a pact coming with the other blades. Should Werewindle bear one, I should love to hear how Uncle Bleys managed to fight his way up Kolvir." Conner remarks. "As for Khela, that's easily explained. Moire sealed the Pattern chamber tighter than a oyster. No one got anywhere near it without her approval and with Khela actively opposed to Moire even in her early years, it would not have been given. No doubt, Aunt Llewella had a plan for getting her onto it at some point but things seem to have swam away with themselves." Conner shrugs.

"There was a reason I was not impressed with giving the sword away," Brennan says. "Among other things, it may have been the blade's geas whispering that suggestion in her ear as the fastest way to get him to go away. Fine for Rebma in the short term, but unacceptable in the larger scheme."

Brennan pauses, then asks, "Has she walked any Pattern? And is she coming to the Funeral?"

"To the best of my knowledge, the answers are no and yes," Conner replies. "but I cannot confirm either absolutely. If she does come, I plan to have my sister get her scent and see if that answers a few questions. I always seem to be trying to answer a few questions. The redhead's burden I suppose." Conner smiles.

Brennan just closes his eyes and shakes his head. He seems to be doing that a lot, lately.

"Formally," he says, "I'm a redhead and take no position on the Rebman succession. I do take a position on the destruction of Rebma's or any other Pattern. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. I have very little desire to get sucked into the swamp of Rebman politics. Informally... while I like Khela, she's really got her work cut out for her. It would probably go better for her if people weren't asking in public the questions we're asking in private. And it won't be long before it's an open question among the Family at large."

"Agreed." Conner nods. "As it happens, I share your views only I have decided to venture into the swamp to try add influence things. Sometimes you just have to get your hands dirty to get things done."

"Khela and Llewella over a presumptive Celina and Corwin?" Brennan asks. "Good luck with that. All the more reason for me to have that conversation with her as early as possible.

"She is on my list of people to talk to, for what it's worth. If not in Xanadu after the funeral, I may want to catch a ride back with you to Rebma," Brennan says.

"Certainly." Conner nods. "I will let you know when I am returning if you don't get your chance to speak with her sooner." Conner looks over Brennan's shoulder. "And speaking of messages it seems one of us is wanted." The castle page arrives and delivers the message to Conner that his Mother and Sister wish to speak with him. "Well it seems the family confab can start sooner rather than later." Conner comments to Brennan. "Shall we?"

Brennan nods. "I'm expecting a full redheaded conclave after the funeral," he says, "But there's no reason not to attend the precursor. This is a Family in desperate need of some planning."

A page finds Conner (and Brennan) and leads them back to Fiona's quarters.

Like all the suites in the castle, it looks like it was furnished in beige Ikea, although Fiona has contrived to bring or conjure some tapestries and pillows in heavy greens for the sitting room. There is a seating area with several low chairs and a couch where Fiona and Brita are sitting. The low table in the center is covered with the remains of a heavy repast which Brita and Fiona--probably mostly Brita, from the look of the leftovers--have shared.

Fiona gestures to Conner and Brennan to join them.

"Good day, Mother," Conner plants a kiss on her cheek, "and to you sister." Conner braces himself for the crushing hug that usually follows and then sits himself down. "How are you both today?" He inquires.

The joyous "Brother!" is indeed accompanied by a big hug that almost lifts Conner off his feet.

"Aunt," Brennan says, by way of greeting, and "Cousin." He waits to see why they've been summoned.

Brita is more reservered in her greeting to Brennan, offering him a hand and then pulling him into a one armed hug, but her smile is just as big. "It is Good to See you Both Well," she says as she releases Brennan's hand.

"Brita wanted to see Conner now that she's returned to Xanadu. Your presence is a bonus, Brennan," Fiona says pleasantly.

Brita nods in agreement. "We have been Discussing Recent Events. The Losses in Our Generation are Unacceptable and I was Seeking My Mother's Opinion on the Possible Instigators and How Best to Deal with these Troubles." Brita turns to the two men. "What of Your Views on the Recent Deaths of Two Cousins?" There is an obvious stress on the word Deaths that implies Brita consciously chose that word over another.

"I think Lucas let his desire for good lightning override his good sense and he paid the ultimate price for doing so." Conner remarks bitterly. "I am not even sure that Moire acted wrongly. Any one of us might have done the same given the circumstances and means." Conner pauses to brush some non-existent lint from his pants. "Aunt Florimel will kill her for it though." He adds. "That is as it should be too.

"As for Cambina," Conner looks at Brennan a moment before continuing, "I don't know what to make of it except for being sorry it happened. Very little of the affair seems to make any sense."

Brennan doesn't dignify the question about Cambina with a comment. "I haven't heard much beyond the basic facts, that Lucas was trying to make a Trump of Moire without her knowledge and permission, and she took grave offense. I'm sure Corwin is wroth with just about everyone right now, and I'm glad I don't need a favor from him." Brennan shakes his head and looks annoyed, more with himself than Lucas or Moire for some reason. "Part of the dangers of having an unadvertised skill, I suppose-- no one can warn you when you're about to do something catastrophically stupid."

Brita glances between the two men but focuses on Brennan. "How do You think former Queen Moire Knew of Cousin Lucas's Attempts? I Know Trump contact can be Dangerous with the Separation of Several Generations from the Royal Blood, but I have not Experienced any Knowledge of the Trump when it was Being Made. Why did She Know?"

Brennan gives something between a laugh and a snort. "My days of hiding my skills are over, but that's still not one of them," he says. "Nor is it ever likely to be. But, thinking about it, there's two broad classes I can think of-- spycraft, or metaphysical. She could have been spying on him, either with mirrors or servants, and gotten lucky. That's easy enough to imagine. If something deeper then..." he spreads his hands, "Ask Ossian. He'd have a much better idea than I do. What do you mean, dangerous?"

"Merlin has a theory," Conner adds. "He thinks that Lucas may have made a first sketch and in testing it harmed and alerted Moire. He then rushed to complete a second sketch while thinking his target was weakened and unable to strike back. Then Moire or one of her retinue struck back."

Fiona nods. "That theory makes as much sense as any." She looks at Brita to confirm it, since she is the artist of the four redheads present.

Brita also nods, "That is Possible. The Danger in Making a Trump of one Removed by Generations from the Blood is that Using it Causes Physical Pain." She winces slightly as she adds, "That is what Happened when I attempted to Trump Lord Vidar. I thought it Might be the Speed of the Sketch, but Lady Solace was Potentially Similarly contacted or Attacked. I Remember Discussing that with Cousin Lucas..." She fades off in memory for a moment, her brows drawing together in thought.

Through the conversation with Fiona, Conner and Brita, Brennan starts frowning to himself. It's a characteristic frown actually directed at himself rather than his cousins or his aunts.

"...When he no doubt artfully diverted the conversation," Brennan says, flatly. "I was discussing Trumps with him on another occasion-- not about that-- and he diverted me away from the topic, too. It's not a mistake I intended to make again. Looks like I won't have the chance. So, hypothesis number one: Moire is vulnerable to Trump contact in the way that non-Amberites or very distant relations are. But, to fit this circumstance, Moire is also strong enough to retaliate.

"Let's hold that thought while I ask two questions to anyone who might know," Brennan says. "Question one: Is Mirror work Ordered or Chaotic? Question two: What do you suppose would happen if someone were making a Trump of you-- actively making the Trump, not just had a partial lying around unattended-- while you were engaged in Sorcery?" Brennan looks around the room hoping to learn something new.

Fiona frowns thoughtfully in a gesture not entirely dissimilar to Brennan's. "There's no evidence that making a Trump while you practiced Sorcery would be harmful. Using it, depending on the type of sorcery, and your own control, could be bad."

Conner nods in remembrance at the last statement. "As for Rebman mirror work, it is ordered. I had the opportunity to examine a piece of Khela's mirror work. It is unlike any sorcery I've witnessed."

Brennan raises an eyebrow at Conner's statement. "Interesting," he says.

"I can reinforce what Fiona said: being contacted by Trump while you're engaged in Sorcery is not good. It's disruptive, and potentially painful. I'd conjecture that having a Trump used while you're engaged in any Chaotic exercise would be painful. I'm not sure about having a Trump made while you're engaged in something Chaotic, and I'm not sure how strong Fi's statement of 'no evidence,' is. But I'm not volunteering for the experiment," Brennan says. "My conjecture was running along the lines that Lucas made or engaged the Trump while Moire was engaged in some Chaotic practice or other, which is why she felt it as an attack."

He shrugs. "Not as well-supported a hypothesis as I'd hoped."

"But not too wide of the mark, perhaps." Conner adds. "Merlin explained that making a Trump of a non Ordered being would be painful simply because it is an imposition of an Ordered construct on a Chaotic being. Celina and Merlin heavily implied that Moire may have more in common with a Chaotic ancestry than is currently ascribed though that seems based on intuition and visions more than anything else." Conner shrugs his shoulders. "By their reasoning, just living might be Chaotic practice enough for these purposes."

"Didn't Cousin Paige Make a Trump of Cousin Merlin? He is Fairly Chaotic. And the Farther Up the Tree you go, the Closer to Chaos. Were there Trumps of Grandda or Great-Grandda? I would be More Inclined to Believe it was due to a Separation of Blood or some Link to Use of Sorcery while Being Trumped, as you suggest. To That effect, I would be Willing to be a Test Subject, but we would Need Another Artist."

"I believe there are Trumps of Merlin. But Merlin is less Chaotic than, say, Mother or Madoc. He has all the marks of humanity. Whether this is true of Moire is not a question I am willing to put to Corwin, who has the best chance of knowing an answer. I will leave that to one of you two--" Fiona gestures at Conner and Brennan "--or Bleys if we must have that answer." She makes a moue of distaste at the idea.

"What I do know is that Moire has never been described as having any inhuman traits. The manner of dress in Rebma is such that it seems likely any strangenesses--extra fingers and the like--would have been noted by now." Fiona turns her attention back to Brita. "If there were trumps of your Asgardian family, they were made by Reid. We could ask him, or Paige, to assist in a test, or one of us could stand as a sorcerer."

Brennan was hiding a ghost of a smile, until Fiona started talking about him questioning Moire on the marks of humanity. At that point, it's no longer funny. "Well, let's explore the idea to its logical ends, then," Brennan says. "Assuming that Trump reacts badly with all other forms of Chaos, where does that leave us? Possibly Sorcery, based in part on my personal experience. Nothing but supposition that Moire's a Sorceress, though. Possibly Shapeshifting, based on general theory, but again nothing more than supposition for Moire. Mirror work is apparently Ordered," Brennan says, but he has the polite skepticism of someone who likes to see, not be told. "Pattern is obviously Ordered, and apparently not one of her gifts anyway. Tritons, though: I know with my own eyes that those scaly things are Chaotic, and the royal family of Rebma seems to have a link with them. Any possibility there?"

Brita holds back the one comment she would make as she waits for the others' inputs.

"Hard to say." Conner shrugs. "The Tritons are known as sons of the Dragon and what little of Dragon lore I've learned seems to paint Dragons at Chaotic beings constrained by Order. I think of the Tritons as the same. The only known link between the Rebmans and the Tritons is the binding laid down with Cneve and Paxblade apparently having a central role. Anything else is conjecture from me."

Fiona turns to Brita with an inquiring look.

Brita almost rolls her eyes at her mother's look, "They are Green. They Smell Different than Amber Blood. I cannot say if they are Chaos, but they are Different than Amber Order."

"If you ever return to Rebma I should have you sniff around the Tritons." Conner remarks. "I wonder if they would seem more like a Chaosian or the Green to your senses. For while we ponder the background of Moire and her ilk, I wonder that if a Dragon is the mother of Tritons, then who was the father?"

"Sniff around Moire, is more like it," Brennan says. "Although I'm not sure Brita's nose is community property," he adds, to make it clear that he's suggesting, not pressing. Then, on a chord both practical and philosophical, he asks, "Even if we're talking about the same Dragon of Arcadia, here, why assume it's the mother and someone else is the father? Dragons are chaos. It could easily have been the father. Or both. Or something else."

"I merely use the terms the Trtions do." Conner explains.

Brennan nods-- a perfectly reasonable explanation he had obviously failed to consider.

"Moire is a sorceress of some sort, and to the extent that mirror-work and sorcery, true sorcery, are functions of Order and Chaos, it suggests strongly that Moire's ancestry is Real even if Moire herself isn't fully so," Fiona points out. "None of you are old enough to remember Moins, any of you, but I do. She might not have been your grandfather's equal, but she was a being of some power, one that I would place on the Ordered side of the Order-Chaos continuum. My question about Moins was never 'is she Real?' but 'how is she Real?' and I suggest that the latter is also the correct question to ask about Moire."

"That does seem to be the question about Rebma in general." Conner concurs. "Even down to the state of its Pattern in recent days."

"If the path to Paris is still there, and Sorcery still doesn't work," Brennan says, "those are good indicators. As for Moins, the only thing I know is how much I don't know. Which is essentially everything. Not her history, not her origins, not her relation to Oberon-- if any-- and despite rampant speculation in that direction, not even whether she drew Rebma's Pattern."

"What is Wrong with the Rebman Pattern?" Brita asks. "Did Cousin Ossian and I Hurt it with our Encounter with Uncle Pinnabello?"

Fiona politely does not look at Brennan as she says. "Unless you bled on it, I doubt it."

Brennan politely does not return a tight, thin smile.

"It sounds like you have a story to tell me, sister." Conner grins at her. "As for Rebma's Pattern, we are more concerned about any stray blood from Huon's construct having caused some damage. As yet, I have been unable to directly view the Pattern to verify its integrity." Conner explains.

Brita's brows are furrowed. "Uncle Huon's construct? Was That what Cousin Ossian and I encountered in the Hall? It Smelled like Reality, though." She shakes her head. "I will Give you My Story First and then You can Tell me Yours." She thinks for a breath and then dives in, "Cousin Ossian and I were Searching for Cousin Meg or, more Specifically, Dara - who had Taken Cousin Meg. In Mirror Rebma, we Gained Permission to Search Below for our Quarry. Walking the Halls, I Smelled an Odd Hint of Tobacco and Amber, but we did Not, At First, Trace it. We Came to The Door, but it was Locked with No Key. We went Back and Followed the Scent and came to a Barred Gate. Behind it was Uncle Huon - smoking. We Spoke to Him and it Seemed he was Out of Time as he did Not Know of Our History. He Mentioned that His Brother Pinobello Walked and he was Waiting for Him. We Returned to the Door to find it Unlocked and As Uncle Huon had Described with our Lost Uncle Afoot and Approaching a Rift in the Pattern." Brita turns to her mother with a lost little look. "It Seemed to Me, He would have Died to Set Foot on the Rift and we Thought to Save him and Set Aright what had once Gone Wrong." She shakes her head. "We were Able to Swim out and Grab Him Off the Pattern, But the Pattern became Red and Enraged. Cousin Ossian Trumped Uncle Caine and He Pulled All of us Free. Or so it Seemed. We Turned Out to be Trapped within a Strange Trump Place of Uncle Caine's Office, with Uncle Cain and Cousins Paige and Signy. Cousin Paige and I were Able to Make Trumps within by Drawing on the Surface of the Trump Place. Cousin Paige Trumped King Random and I Trumped Mother. I Thought She could Take Uncle Pinobello, but He..." She seems to be searching for a word and sends a questioning glance at Fiona with the next word, "...Disintegrated? in Silver Light on the Attempt to Pass him Through."

Conner took this all in and then wordlessly turned to Fiona for her comments on the fantastic tale.

"You were out of time somehow, and when you came back into time, our time, it destroyed Pinabello because he wasn't real or because he hadn't finished walking the Pattern. He would have died either way. But the part that concerns us here is that being out of time in that way is something we don't normally associate with the Rebman Pattern. We associate it with Tir," Fiona explains. "That Rebma's Pattern has that effect is disturbing. Bleys and I have been examining the equations to see what we can discover, but nothing is conclusive.

"We need to examine the Rebman Pattern sooner rather than later. Something is terribly wrong."

Brennan looks rather grim at Fiona's statement, not least because it sounds so obvious after she says it. His first comment is to Brita, answering one of her side questions: "Huon's construct looked like an actual man made out of actual liquid blood. If you were close enough to see it's features, you couldn't mistake it for anything else."

Then, to the group as a whole, but especially to Brita, he says, "Smoking. You were in Rebma, at ground zero for its Pattern, but Huon was smoking? That bothers me every time I hear it."

"Only magicians smoke in Rebma but every house has a chimney." Conner comments. "I had a recent conversation with his Majesty about the idiosyncratic nature of Patterns and the reality they reinforce." Conner waves that away. "I agree on the need to get into Rebma's Pattern chamber. The problem we have is a massive locked door and a missing key."

"Maybe we could ask King Random or King Corwin about How to Enter a Pattern Chamber that is Locked," Brita suggests.

"I would prefer, for Rebma's sake, if this information not make it back to Their Majesties." Conner asks gently. "You can imagine the embarrassment for the Rebman Royals if this got out. Besides, if we here cannot crack this, there is likely little anyone could do." Conner smiles.

If Fiona has any commentary about the likelihood of keeping the news that Khela is locked out of her own Pattern chamber from Random and Corwin, she keeps it to herself.

"I doubt my brothers are likely to advertise any methods they have for circumventing their own security. But perhaps you might to talk to someone who'd taken the Pattern against the will of its master, or mistress, as the case might be. We assume there's only one key. Do we have evidence for this assumption?"

"A search of Castle Rebma turned up no duplicates." Conner replies. "Though that is hardly definitive."

"And if Martin declines to answer," Brennan says, "and all else fails, there is always brute force: Walk another Pattern, go directly, and who ever does it Trump others in. Tir's is unwise for obvious reasons. Paris's and Xanadu's carry with them the risk of questions from uncles. That leaves only the Primal as an obvious first choice."

By tone as well as word, Brennan is suggesting this only as a last, drastic course of action.

"If Martin declines to answer, I have two less drastic plans to try." Conner replies. "The first is a manhunt for Moire which is already underway in Paris for other reasons so I leave it to them for the moment. The second is to cast another key. I have no evidence to suggest the lock is anything but a typical mechanical mechanism and I am quite adept at getting through those." Conner smiles at his mother. "Yet again Mother your training room proves its usefulness."

Fiona smiles. "The casting of the key may work. I am not so sanguine that Moire will be found in Paris, or that it will be so simple to persuade her to give up her secrets if she is. But we have three angles; we should attempt to work with them before resorting to the brute force method Brennan suggests."

Brennan inclines his head. He's used to nothing being simple, but if one of the simple approaches work, so much the better.

Even after Brennan and Fiona can speak in some privacy, he hesitates rather uncharacteristically.

"I may need your advice," he says, "On dealing with your sister. Flora. If necessary."

Fiona settles herself into the chair she has selected, her delicate eyebrows arching slightly at Brennan's hesitation and phrasing. "What have you done that might put you at odds with Flora? You're not involved in this business with Lucas." She states this as a presumptive fact, or at least a prescriptive suggestion.

"Ah, no," Brennan says quickly.

"Ossian believes I am a grandfather, to a child named Jasmine. The child's mother is a woman named Darling, of Amber. But Ossian believes that Lucas may be the father instead of him. We have no idea what Flora knows, suspects, or has heard. Probably nothing, since mother and child are here in Xanadu and Flora has not swooped down on them as she had Hope and Philippe." Brennan sighs, and rubs the bridge of his nose with both hands.

"Under the right circumstances, I think I can establish paternity Sorcerously. Or not, as the case happens. What I don't know is whether Flora would accept that, if suspicions ever came to light. I'm pretty sure inviting her to the test would be a bad idea, especially if she's as unaware as we hope she is.

"So, first question is, am I being paranoid or prudent? Second, are we going about this in right fashion? Third, what am I overlooking that I shouldn't?" Brennan asks. "I don't think I've spoken to your sister more than half a dozen times in my life. I barely know her."

"My sister likes to be underestimated," Fiona says with the dispassionate expression of one who has made a different choice and may not quite approve. She rises from her seat and moves to summon a page to bring Ossian to join them.

When the page has departed, Fiona turns back to Brennan. "Do we know why Lucas believed he was the father, and why Ossian now believes that he is? Apart from feminine flattery of the masculine ego?" This question is clearly not meant to be part of the conversation with Ossian.

Brennan sighs. "Well, when I learned I was his father, one of the first conversations we had, I asked him if there were grandchildren. I think that set him looking. I'd hate to think--" Brennan cuts himself off, looks away and says quietly, "I think it may be more important to Ossian that the girl actually have a father. Your sister is talented, but she can't be that. I don't want to think about what happens if I find out she isn't his."

Fiona's eyes narrow slightly. "Did I ever mention that Lucas rather inexpertly solicited my services as a tutor not long after the return? I turned him down."

She lets that hang for a moment before continuing.

Brennan does not answer the clearly rhetorical question.

"My judgement was correct. He was hiding something from me and wanted to use me. Now I think we have some idea of what he was hiding, don't we? I believe we need to dig into this child a little more closely before we decide what course we take."

Brennan nods, because of course that was his point all along, if for different reasons. He's not contemplating Sorcerous lineage tracing just to show off.

Fiona gives Brennan an assessing look. "Do you think Ossian thinks she needs a father or do you think he feels the need for a child?"

It doesn't take Brennan long to answer that, uncomfortable as the topic is for him. "The former, certainly. With Lucas gone, without Ossian's intervention, the child grows up something of an orphan. The second... perhaps that as well. But if just the second, there are easier ways."

Fiona gives Brennan a look at the last sentence. Clearly she has some opinion of her own about that matter.

"In any case, we must now look into the mother. You should do this as soon as possible, before Lucas' funeral, if possible. Ossian will need to decide whether to speak to her then or delay; either course has its perils. My sister has ways of punishing people who don't give her her due. If Ossian wants a place in Paris, he'll do well to negotiate with her sooner rather than later."

Ossian knocks on the door. When he enters he smiles a somewhat ironic smile, as if anticipating something. He bows slightly towards Fiona.

"Father. Aunt... Heh. Grand Aunt does sound wrong."

Brennan looks up and greets his son. "Hello, Ossian." He's wearing his own ironic expression. Ossian knows what he and Fiona must be talking about, Brennan knows that Ossian knows, Fiona knows that Ossian knows... so Brennan keeps the preliminaries to a minimum. "Fiona and I were discussing methods of establishing paternity, among other things, and Fiona suggests that we have some need for speed. Such as before Lucas' funeral in Paris. And the thought occurred to me as well that Lucas liked to hide things, such as his Trump abilities. Which in turn made me wonder if this Darling either knew anything about them or was a means for Lucas to hide some where few would think to look. Finding more Trumps in his hand would go a long way to explaining what it was he thought he was doing."

Not to mention, might provide leverage over Flora, he doesn't say. "My going to look would only arouse suspicion."

Fiona, perhaps, has more of a sense of the proprieties than Brennan. Before addressing the necessities, she offers Ossian a kinswoman's embrace. "You may always call me aunt, Ossian." If he permits, she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "As you can see, Brennan told me your good news. Congratulations."

It does not seem to be meant ironically.

Ossian nods "Thanks. Lucas' Trump abilities?" Ossians voice raises just a bit. "I might have been used" he adds with a weaker voice.

Whatever reaction Brennan was expecting, that wasn't it. And if Brennan realizes his total lack of grace, he evidently decides that if he's in for a penny, he's in for a pound.

"You suggest I find something belonging to Lucas, soon then? Because of Flora, right?"

"At least something of yours and something of Jasmine's," Brennan says. "Something of Lucas' would be nice, but it's not worth risking your neck over. Ah. Not a Trump, not for this purpose. There is no possible way I am using Sorcery on a Trump of anyone by anyone for this."

Ossian nods. "I'll get you some things."

Brennan nods in return.

Then, with concern and suspicion for Ossian and Lucas, respectively, he asks, "Used, how? You have heard the circumstances...?"

"Why don't you sit down before we have this discussion, Ossian?" Fiona indicates a chair next to hers and moves to seat herself again so there's no reason Ossian can't do the same.

Ossian takes a seat. "I once painted a Trump for him. If he could make them himself... How did he die?"

Brennan's manners and social graces are the last to arrive for this meeting, but they have finally arrived. Once Ossian is settled in, he rises himself to fetch some refreshments. He knows Fiona's taste well enough to fix her whatever fortifier she prefers for a conversation that's likely to turn unpleasant, and fixes a second for himself. He doesn't know Ossian's, though, and so catches his eye-- he can either fix a third of what Fiona prefers, or something of his preference.

He waits until the drinks are made and delivered before he relates the details, quietly: "Ossian, Lucas was murdered in Paris by Moire. She used mirror craft to do it." Brennan doesn't give the gory details unless Ossian asks. "He was making a trump of Moire at the time, apparently against her will."

Some unlikely angel of better judgement keeps Brennan from asking the question he very much wants to ask, until Ossian has a chance to process that... but his expression has gone from concerned to gravely concerned.

Fiona takes her fortifier--mixed and of limited alcoholic content, but she is tiny--and waits for Ossian to speak.

Ossian wrinkles his brow. Then shakes his head. "No, it wasn't Moire I painted. And I don't know what his involvement with her was."

He takes a deep breath. Sighs. "Lucas said he suspected Solace was family. Wanted me to try to paint a sketch. It worked. Sort of."

Brennan looks both relieved, and more concerned, at the same time. "Oh," he says. It's almost a groan. "Sort of?" he asks, and he looks like he's got an idea in mind of what that means, already.

"And who was the subject of the sketch?" Fiona asks, her tone neutral. Ossian and Brennan are pretty sure she has an idea of what the answer will be.

"Solace. We almost killed her." Ossian looks sick. "So I learned that not all relatives should be Trumped.

"Not the smartest thing I have done. I'd rather prefer if you keep quiet about it.

"Wait. Why would a Trump of Moire work at all?"

Brennan closes his eyes as if to ward off the news. There's a question on his mind, but since Fiona can more authoritatively answer the Moire question, he waits before asking it.

The Trump of Moire is not the question Fiona chooses to dwell on. Perhaps, like so many other questions, she considers the answer so obvious that it's not worth restating.

What she says, her green eyes resting heavily on Ossian, is, "Have you made any other secret trumps, Ossian? Trumps of people who don't know that you made them? If you have, you must tell your father and me now so we can do what is needful to protect you."

"No." Ossian says "I've made a sketch of Merlin without asking him, but he knows about it, and it's broken anyway. The Solace sketch is thoroughly destroyed.

"Is there anyone in particular I should be protected from? Except for Martin, Jerod, and the King, of course."

This is a question Brennan thinks is a little obvious, too, but in addition to the obvious answers, he says, "Anyone with a motive to blackmail you. When did this happen, Ossian? It is important."

"Yes, because any enemies you may have, or anyone who seeks to discredit you, can use this against you. In particular, my sister is not always wise and if she were looking for an alternate trump maker on whom to throw suspicion in the putative attack on Moire ..." Fiona lets that thought linger in the air for a moment before continuing. "Brennan is right. We must know everything. When did this happen, and how?"

"Everything." Ossian says that tonelessly.

"Some time after the coronation. A few days before Marius and I left for Abford, I guess. There were rumors about an affair between Harmony Vesper and Eric. Lucas wanted to find out if they were true.

"He wanted to know. And get some leverage against his mother and mother-in-law.

"I painted portraits of the whole family for Lucas' office. To hide the fact that I made a Trump sketch. No doubt someone could make that connection.

"When I tried the sketch, the connection and the sketch broke immideately. And Solace collapsed."

"I have heard of this before," Fiona says thoughtfully. "Brita has encountered the same phenomenon. But I understood that Solace had collapsed twice. Lucas said nothing to you of any other attempt to use a trump on her, did he?" The suspicion encapsulated in that question is somewhat nasty, but that doesn't seem to concern Fiona overmuch.

"No. But we discussed who might be behind the first collapse. Lucas claimed he had no idea. Why would he involve me at all, when he was an artist himself? To confirm something? To put blame on me if something went wrong?"

"The obvious answer is, to set you up as a frame in case suspicion ever fell his way," Brennan says. If Fiona isn't willing to say it, Brennan is. "He clearly had the ability to make a Trump of Solace, himself. If he was testing the theory that this was a Trump related incident, he did not need your help. He could have done it himself, in private. But then," he continues, "how exactly did he connect her symptoms to a Trump incident in the first place. Not exactly common knowledge, is it."

"Or perhaps he simply lacked confidence in his own art," Fiona muses. "Particularly when it had apparently already failed him once."

Ossian nods. "He did not necessarily know the first fainting was due to a Trump attack until after I painted her. While I think it's quite obvious that he knew more than he let me know, I also think it is dangerous to blame everything on Lucas in this mess.

"A very intersting point here would be to find out what determines if someone is hurt by Trump or not. Is it a simple generation issue?"

"Seems unlikely," Brennan says, "As we're both pretty far down the line from Dworkin, and you can not only accept the calls but make them-- the cards, not the calls-- yourself. And as for Lucas knowing more than he let on, here is some extra information: When we discussed Solace's attacks, he referred to them as Trump attacks although I wasn't quite clear on why. I am now. And when I asked him if he was able to draw them, he denied it.

"So it may be too easy to lay everything at Lucas' feet, but that is the risk you run when you keep secrets. I still expect to catch hell for my Sorcery, but my defense is that I showed my hand in defense of a Pattern rather than spying on, and getting killed by, a Queen," Brennan says.

Fiona doesn't roll her eyes, exactly, at Brennan's description of Lucas' demise, but the slight intake and release of breath would definitely qualify more as a disdainful sniff than as a sigh. "My advice to both of you is that the best defense in these matters is a good offense. I understand Random and Corwin mean to have a family meeting after Lucas' funeral. If you make a clean breast of these matters, our kinsmen may disapprove of what you have done, but your secrets cannot be held over your head further, or, in your case, Brennan, be revealed further in a disadvantageous manner."

Ossian nods. "I will do that then. For the matter of Jasmine, shall we do that immediately?"

Brennan waits to hear Fiona's answer-- this is part of why he asked for her advice in the first place.

"Unless you have an objection. Do you mean to fetch the child here or shall we go down to her?" The answer is a matter of some indifference to Fiona. "It will be significantly easier to do it in shadow. The atmosphere here is not as conducive because of the Pattern, although its influence on matters sorcerous seems slighter than it was in Amber."

"I didn't think you needed her, just something belonging to her. But if you do, I should probably fetch her alone, not to scare her, or her mother." Ossian says "Can we get into Shadow and back quickly? I do have some Trumps, but nothing to bring us back here."

"It will be simpler if I have her to hand. I have a laboratory in Shadow that will do; you've both been there. We'll need to get out of the influence of Xanadu's Pattern to make the transit easier, but I can Part the Veil directly there myself." Fiona says this in a way that implies Brennan should not offer to perform that piece of sorcery. "The time involved may be such that it's better to wait until after the funerals, because of the potential dilation effect."

Brennan looks as though he might object, then suddenly realizes that Fiona is offering to do for him the work that he had meant to do himself. He elects not to refuse the gift. "I had thought to work off tissues and effects only, primarily because I was going to work in Amber and did not want to draw attention to her," and because people get strange ideas about using Sorcery on people.

Brennan wonders if Fiona realizes she just laid a gauntlet down, though.

If she does, she doesn't care.

Ossian looks worried. "I know nothing of sorcery. How scary is it? She's just a tiny girl. We cannot have her tell scary tales to her mother."

"I won't hurt her, if that's what you mean. If she is an imaginative child, she may well fear anything done to her." Left unspoken is Fiona's estimation of the likelihood that Ossian's daughter, Brand's great-granddaughter, is likely to be imaginative.

While Fiona does her best to smooth her impatience with the question out of her expression and tone, it's clear to Ossian that she doesn't think this is a major concern.

Ossian nods. His voice is a tad more tone-less than usual. "So we wait until after the funerals. I guess that means keeping quiet about Jasmine at that meeting?"

Brennan doesn't say anything, but by expression he considers that wise.

Fiona's expression is more neutral, but she necessarily has more experience of family meetings than Brennan, and probably than Ossian, even given the Regency council. "You must do as you think best, depending on the circumstances at the meeting. I'm willing to stand surety for the results of paternity testing, should it come to that in the discussion. My sister's actions are unpredictable to me in this; she may be anxious to lay claim to Lucas' legacy, if she knows of it. Or she may have too many other things on her plate to deal with it right now. In any case," Fiona finishes, clearly meaning to be reassuring, "possession is most of the law of family, even if not the full nine-tenths, and we have the child."

Ossian nods. "I will remember that."

"And thank you aunt, for doing this for me." Ossian says as he rises from the chair.

When he and Brennan have left the room, Ossian turns to his father. "You are doing great."

Brennan blinks at that, although not unkindly. Whatever he'd been expecting Ossian to say, that wasn't it.

Ossian puts his hand into his pocket, obviously looking for something.

While Brennan waits for Ossian to find what he's looking for, he says, "This is the moment where, if I had one, I'd give you a Trump in case you need to get in touch with me. But the only one that exists is in the Trump booth."

Ossian's eyes glimmer, and he nods. "Why, thanks. Do I have the permission to paint one, if I need it? You know, I'm actually quite good at that." that last is clearly meant as a joke. He stops searching his pocket for a second to pick up his black leather Trump case. The pile of Trumps is much thicker than last time Brennan saw them. "I should have one of myself."

Ossian picks out a Trump of himself with one motion, without flicking through the deck. "Take it."

Brennan does take the Trump, and nods, "Yes, of course you may." Under the circumstances, a joke about not killing him with a mirror seems in poor taste.

Then he picks out a small empty pouch from the first pocket. It is neatly embroidered, with a moons an stars motif. He hands that too to Brennan. "The king gave me a set of cards. I don't think I am the right owner of this, however. You, on the other hand..."

Brennan recognizes the case for what it is, instantly. He reaches out and takes it, but doesn't respond for a moment. "I... don't know what to say. Thank you."

Ossian offers a little smile. "Good night, father."

Brennan nods. "Good night, Ossian."