Two to the Tower

The three arrive at the outskirts of Wayland's Tower, in the foothills of the Great Barrier Range of mountains, and too close to the Dvarts for Kestral's happiness. There have been signs of other nomads, but no one approached closely.

"That's the tower," says Circling Kestral. "It's an ugly stone scar on the land like a bone sticking out of a broken leg. Weyland chooses to be there."

Behind it are the mountains, and apparently under them are Dvarts. Somewhat to the west of the spot Kestral has led them to is what looks like a nomadic camp. This one seems less open and welcoming than the one where they found their guide.

"Is this where you leave us?" Raven asks. "Or are we headed there first?' She points to the village.

Kestral looks at the tower. "Depends. I have nothing to fear personally from this or any so-called Tower Lord, but I don't know what your plans are. If you intend to rush in with swords drawn, then yes, I'd prefer to watch from a distance and recover your bodies for proper return to your ancestors. If you intend something more peaceful, I'm not averse to going onward. I might get a good story out of it."

"Do you know that tribe?" Conner asks looking at the camp to the west.

He turns to Conner. "From the looks of it, it's one of the wolf-tribe's hunting parties. Awfully far north for those lads, but they always did like the cold and the treeline. I can introduce you, if that's your pleasure."

"The plan's talking to him," Raven offers. "Peacefully. Ain't trying to start a war or anything."

"Might be useful." Conner nods. "After all, we aren't even sure the Smith is at home. Let's see what they have to say." Conner motions for Kestral to lead on.

Kestral points his horse down the trail towards the camp, and the other two horses follow. They've clearly been spotted, and a young rider comes towards them, meeting them a half mile from the encampment. Kestral looks at him. "Ninetails, I bring visitors."

"Greetings Uncle Kestral, we thought it might be you. What brings you north?"

"My companions seek the lord of yon tower."

"Their luck is poor. He returned a day or so ago. Strangers, I offer you the hospitality of the Wolf-tribe, as friends of Circling Kestral, which you may partake of either before or after you venture to the tower."

"Let us partake of it before for who can say what happens after." Conner replies with his usual smile. "I am Conner and this is Raven. I would hear of the Smith's return if you are inclined to tell the tale."

The youth nods. "I am Three Pines. Follow me back to the Greywolves." He leads them towards the paddock at the edge of the encampment.

"There is not much to tell, as we are not on terms with the wizard. We saw a storm, and lights atop the tower, and the arrival of a crowd of Dvarts. A tower is like a geyser. One does not approach too closely, lest it erupts."

"Is that normally how you know he's come home?" Raven asks, curious.

Conner would like to know that too so he waits.

The young nomad shrugs. "We normally stay far from his tower. Tower lords can be determined to be home by the ill omens that they bring. But when we needs must be near a tower, we keep watch over it, lest it send bad fortune our way. We have no more than a few days before the last of the hunters return and we move along."

The camp looks, when they arrive at it, to be as temporary as Three Pines suggested. The people live in tents, albeit large ones. There are probably a dozen here, and each could easily hold ten nomads. The paddock could hold that many as well, but there were no more than twenty or twenty five horses.

An old woman walks over to greet them. She looks cross, but maybe that's just the way she looks. "Welcome to Graywolves, strangers. I see you brought my troublesome friend Kestral with you." Kestral is grinning at her.

"I needed to come see if you'd gotten into too much trouble, so I could move my people further away from whatever you stirred up."

Three Pines seems unconcerned. "These are Conner and Raven, Mother Grackle." The old woman nods, and apparently considers them properly introduced.

"Thank you, lad. Back to your post, now."

Three Pines heads back towards the paddock and Mother Grackle turns to Raven and Conner. "You're here about the Tower Lord?

"That is so." Conner nods. "He recently visited the land of Gateway and toppled the government as part of a personal Vendetta. The new government of Gateway has sent us to be sure his Vendetta is concluded and they are not considered enemies. I also have some personal business with the Smith."

Raven nods. "Got a bit of personal business with him myself."

She snorts. "That place? Probably deserved it. They say that's where the tower lords came from originally. Wizards who couldn't get along with their own kind so they came here." She looks over to the tower in the low foothills in the distance. "He trades for fresh meat and supplies, or his creatures do, at sunup outside the tower. He'll try to scare the piss out of you, but most of it's smoke and mirrors."

"Sounds like a family reunion. Only without the smoke. Possibly mirrors." Conner smiles. "So come sunup, we will see if the Smith will trade information."

Mother Grackle thinks this is the best plan they could have that runs through the tower. "When one of ours fancies himself a trader or more clever than the clan, we often send him to bargain with a tower lord. It's often educational. They almost always come back. But you look less hot-headed than my lot."

Kestral chides her. "They aren't going to scare, Grackle. They're not Gatwegian."

"You are as keen-eyed as your namesake." Conner grins. "I have a fondness for Gateway but I am not of their number." Conner gazes towards the tower. "If rumor is to be believed I am distantly related to the Smith. Very distantly." He assures them.

Kestral bows slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment. "If he's immortal, then many people may be distantly related to him. Some call him the Father of Towers. He may literally be the father of multitudes. Very distantly."

"Including you, Kes?" asks Mother Grackle.

"Aye, including me." He looks at the woman. "I should go on a quick hunt to add something to the pot. You are welcome to join me."

Conner does decide to hunt and produces either sling or bow to match Kestral as they look for game. At dinner, Conner strikes up conversation with the few brave enough to trade with Weyland to get a better idea what to expect from the dvarts. After dinner, Conner observes Weyland's Tower with his Third Eye to again get a better idea for what should expect tomorrow.

Raven doesn't join in on the hunt, but does volunteer to be put to work by the folks actually preparing the food. She'll join in Conner's conversation during dinner with questions, as she has them.

Weyland's tower is opaque to astral viewing, as if it were a living thing.

The nomads are happy to brag, and they're not dumb, or even unaware of the civilized world, but they don't have much in the way of concern for it. Only a few have actually been in the tower, but they will speak freely of it. Going in and trading raises their status, amongst the Wolf Clans.

"It is a maze inside, but the maze is in your mind. Trust your instincts, and the walls are not there."

"He locked up his insane wife in the topmost floor of the tower and she died there. Her spirit is angry, but will assist any who offer to help her escape."

"He trades for wolf-hides in tremendous quantity. We have no idea why he wants so many, but there's profit to be made..."

"Do not eat or drink anything inside the tower, or you will never leave it."

"He likes to disguise himself as his own servants, to observe guests firsthand before revealing himself."

Conner politely listens and manages not to outright laugh at the more outlandish tales. After all, as old as Weyland is, this could be like visiting Clarissa. The tales become more plausible in that context.

The sun hasn't risen when the camp starts to stir. Raven and Conner are offered warmed stew from last night and their horses have been curried in the local fashion by the nomads. Kestral is up around the time they are. He's managed to shave and clean himself, although it looks like he's wearing the same rough clothing as yesterday.

Conner happily breaks his fast with the stew and decides that he should dress appropriately for an audience with Weyland. He is about to look into a saddlebag for the change of clothes he is sure is within when he turns and walks over to Raven. "Raven, have you learned the family trick of looking for needed items in a bag you haven't packed?" he asks.

Raven thinks for a moment. "Sort of?" she answers, with a bit of a shrug. "Jerod went over it, and I tried it a time or two, but we were mostly traveling. Got a lot more practice on that. Can't say it would hurt my feelings if you were offering to show me again."

Conner nods. "Well one of the more useful aspects of our heritage is that we can give probability a nudge in our favor. As long as we don't know it's impossible, we can make it happen. In the case of this saddlebag," Conner gives the one in his hand a little lift, "it wasn't packed by me and I have no idea of its contents. There could be anything in it. So, if I need a fresh set of clothes and a shaving kit," Conner reaches into the bag and pulls out a set of clothes in his colors, a notch in quality above his traveling clothes and a notch below full court dress. A second dip into the bag produces a small leather pouch which he opens to reveal a straight razor, strop and soap. "I have one. As I was careful to not look into the bag again, I can repeat the trick later. The trick is to be absolutely sure that what you want is in there before you go looking for it."

Raven watches this process intently, her eyes slightly narrowed. "And if you know what's in there?" she counters. "Ain't possible then, aye? Unless you can trick yourself into believing otherwise?"

"Precisely." Conner nods. "If I looked in and saw the bag full of clothes, I could easily convince myself something small was buried under them or kept in a pocket." Conner reaches into a pocket of his new pants and produces a small Rubik's cube. "Doesn't even have to make sense. Just be possible."

"Seems like forgetting what you've got would be hard," Raven says. "But maybe I'm just used to keeping close watch on what's mine and trying to get it all home where it belonged. Where's it come from, when you just make up what's there?"

"No idea." Conner smiles. "Quite a lot of theories of course but it is the kind of thing that is hard to test. The leading school of thought is that the stuff of shadow is malleable and that the family gift molds it into what we ask for on demand."

Raven considers that for a moment. "Hadn't thought about that," she says finally. "About it being hard to test. Guess it would be a bit like trying to figure out where a handful of water came from in an ocean." It's not entirely an analogy she's happy with, but an ocean of dough... "So... Is this," she asks dryly, with a gesture at her clothes, "a hint?"

"And you picked up on it beautifully." Conner smiles widely. "No need for court formal but we are an official delegation. Best dress the part."

Raven snorts and shakes her head, smiling slightly. "Never was much for fashion. You're gonna have to give me more of a hint than that if you're wanting something other than 'the uniform for Admiralty visits.'"

"If you want fashion advice, you should seek out Princess Florimel." Conner chuckles. "But if you want my advice, you could try this." Conner reaches into his bag and pulls out a white dress shirt and a pair of black pants tailored to fit Raven like a glove. Both are of fine fabrics with accents of gold and ruby. "Will that do?"

"That's some awfully present advice, " Raven says dryly, still smiling, as she offers to take the clothes. "Aye, and thanks. I figured out dressing like the captain all right, but this whole 'being a Royal' thing - pretty sure I'm going to be stuck learning the rules for a while yet."

"Or how to break them with style and poise." Conner smiles. "Upon reflection, I can't think of a single female peer of yours that chooses to follow the traditions and fashions of Amber royalty or nobility except for occasions of great formality. Moreover, Random's court will never be Oberon's. As with so many things, it really only matters if you think the people you will be dealing with will care. I can't say that Weyland will care from a fashion or tradition standpoint but I would have our dress show that we take meeting with him seriously."

Raven shrugs a little. "Not sure I mean to follow what Amber's royalty does either, but you don't join a new ship and keep doing things how the last captain wanted, aye?" She snorts in amusement. "Learned that one the hard way. So - armed or no? Getting the feeling the locals are going to be armed to the teeth, but if we're being peaceful..."

"I will be armed and openly." Conner replies. "This is untamed land. It should not be taken as a sign of hostility to be armed. Besides, my sword is Weyland's work. That should provoke a reaction."

Raven nods at that. "Fair enough."

Conner returns to his morning ablutions, dresses and shaves and then gathers up Raven to ride towards the tower.

When Ossian steps back in, Jerod is no longer sitting with the woman at the back.

Ossian probably looks shocked for a fraction of a second. Is Regenlief still there?

She is not. But the Maghee woman is. As is Epiphany. Only Tara seems to pay attention to Ossian's return.

Ossian returns to her at the bar. He gives her a look of disbelief. "What happened? Did my uncle just leave without me?"

Tara takes her drink. "That's hard to say, Slackerboy. He didn't leave by the front door and you were out the back. Me cousin and I were discussing, well discussing you, and then he nudged me and said your uncle had disappeared." The barman nods. "He was there, with that woman who looks like the legends of Dierdre, Brunhilda, and the triple-goddess all in one. Then he wasn't. And I haven't had a drop, before you ask."

Ossian swears. "The bastard... That changes things. So what did you figure out about me? I am curious."

"Well, Finn doesn't think you're his type, but I do," she says. "And I would really like to perform a reading on you to see if what your arrival forebodes. You're more important than you want us to think, but anyone could tell that."

Finn looks over at the table where Patience sits. "Might want to check in with herself. She's probably expecting you."

Ossian finished his conversation with Tara, trying to assess the new situation. He talked to Epiphany and found out more about Jerod. He had been talking to her, and suddenly seemed to be talking to someone else, He looked surprised, and he reached out and grabbled at his bodyguard. Then they both disappeared.

Ossian left the inn, with the mystery of his missing cousin and his foreknowledge of the probable attack on the port weighing on his mind. Tara did not press her luck, but he got the feeling she'd welcome him if he came back when he was less troubled.

Undoubtedly Ossian's cover is already blown- people whose uncles vanishes into thin air are noticed. He finds it unlikely that Jerod would just leave without a very good reason. He'd better find out what happened and decides to call Uncle Corwin. Maybe too safe a choice, but Ossian has to start somewhere.

Corwin answers quickly and Ossian can sense his relief through the connection. "Ossian. Where are you? I'm in the harbor at Xanadu holding the city in case the Moonriders come back. Marius went up to the castle to find out what's happening, but I haven't heard back yet."

Ossian frowns. " No news from me regarding that, I'm afraid. I am in a harbour not too far from Avalon, dealing with corsairs. I had Jerod here until a few minutes ago when he was Trumped away without telling me.

"He may not like me, but that was really unlile him. Figured I should try to find out what's going on."

Corwin shakes his head in the negative to the implied question. "I haven't heard from Jerod. I'm still waiting on word from the castle, whether it's Marius or someone else. What are the two of you supposed to be doing?"

"We are supposed to help Benedict by fighting corsairs in one of his coastal towns. I haven't heard from the castle either. We did fight off some Moonriders earlier, closer to Avalon."

"I can't come through to you but if you want to come here, or the loan of a Trump of Benedict, I can spare those," Corwin says, and reaches out to Ossian.

Ossian shakes his head "I have a Trump of Benedict myself." he says "And I think I can manage here on my own for a while, unless things are getting out of hand at your end. I am really curious why Jerod left so quickly, though. That worries me a lot more than my own situation."

"I'll report Jerod missing in action when I know who to tell," Corwin says. "Is there anyone else you want me to notify?"

Ossian shakes his head. "Not at the moment. I'll call back." He ends the call and proceeds towards the docks, asking for the bailiff.

What Ossian discovers is that the docks are the domain of the Excisemen, who work for the Harbormaster. Not very far off the docks are the Sheriff's men, including the Bailiff and her deputies. The Bailiff is easy enough to find, and she's apparently in a good mood this day. The Bailiff is sitting on the porch outside it, looking over the town. She nods at Ossian's approach.

"Good den, traveller. Have you need of assistance?"

Ossian smiles. "Not at the moment, but I think you might be. I am Lord Benedict's nephew, sent here by him."

The Bailiff sits straighter and sucks in his gut. "We received no forewarning from the Lord Protector," he says, not quite making it a complaint. "I am at your service." He looks at Ossian, sizing him up.

Ossian nods: "The Lord Protector is very busy right now. We have already stopped some dire threats to his realm. And he sent me here to deal with yet another.

"How well is the city prepared for an attack from the sea?"

"Should be good enough, I recon. We have a defended harbor, and we'd see an attack coming in and be able to mobilize the town." He looks towards the sea, reflexively. "Although we haven't had much call for it in years. This isn't where most people would land, though, even as a feint. We're too close to the capital and too far from the trade routes. It's why we trade in transport more than goods."

"The probability of an attack soon is high, so if you quietly could raise the preparedness, that would be wise." Ossian frowns. This bailiff is very relaxed. "My main concern here is with a band of corsairs. The Lord Protector asked me to investigate. Do you know anything useful about them?"

The Bailiff squints at the dockside, and carefully refrains from spitting on the ground in front of the Lord Protector's nephew.

"We have a few people who we suspect of being corsair agents, but no one I can think of who might actually be a corsair, just opportunists who like a paycheck.

"Shall we bring them in for questioning, my lord?

Ossian shakes his head "Start with just one of them and watch the rest. I can do the questioning."

"Yes, my Lord. I shall take care of it myself. Please meet us in the Harbormaster's office."

"Thank you. "

Ossian leaves the Bailiff, taking a stroll through the city, especially dockside. He is especially interested in if someone follows him, but also to get a general feeling of the city. (And give the Bailiff time to arrest the suspect.)

It's a pleasant if slightly warm day on the docks, and traffic is bustling. There are recruiters with tables signing up boys and men to be soldiers and a marketplace with notices for sell-swords.

Even if this place was invaded, most people seem to be pretty heavily armed.

Ossian does notice someone following him. He's not hard to spot. It's the bartender from before, or someone who looks a lot like him.

Ossian tries to identify for whom the recruiters are recruiting. He chats with them, seemingly wanting to be recruited, but always finding a reason not to accept their offers.

It's easy to get them to talk, and if Ossian ever wants to work as a mercenary, it's quite possible. As to the recruiters, they have a mix of jobs. Some are recruiting defenders, or caravan guards. The highest paying ones are looking for either mercenaries to fight wars or 'adventurers', with unspecified duties. Ossian thinks a number of them are planning to go attack the new island of the Maghees, or maybe reinforce troops already there.

The bartender, is he trying to listen in, or is he really seeking contact? Or just trying to see where Ossian is going?

Ossian thinks he's trying to see who he's talking to. It's probably a safety measure, since he and his people are not allies of the Protector and the port has a bunch of people recruiting to attack his King. Or he could have darker motives.

Ossian turns around to face his follower. He smiles and starts walking towards the bartender, trying to look non-threatening.

The bartender pretends to be very engrossed in a mellon-seller's cart but eventually nods when Ossian approaches. He doesn't even try to pretend he hasn't been following. "Any luck finding your uncle?," asks Finn. He's not very good at casual spying.

Ossian shakes his head. "No. I wouldn't expect to see him here.

"So. It's quite obvious you are following me. I'm curious as to why, as I'm not you enemy. Enlighten me."

Finn blushes, "I'm not surprised I'm not good at it. Sorry. Terror was concerned that you might go looking for trouble, and not have anyone nearby to help. Then you made the Bailiff straighten up like he'd joined the Protector's Own Housecarls.

"So, I'm trying to figure out if you're safe for danger or if you're danger. I figured Terra would want to know."

Ossian does not smile. "Well. I'm not safe. And I'm as dangerous as they get." Then he smiles again. "You do want me as your friend, and I could use all allies I could get.

"What is your judgement of the bailiff? I got mixed messages there."

Finn nods, seemingly happy with Ossian's self-assessment. "I'd fear for the safety of a friend who thought himself harmless. Avalon is a challenging place. As for the Bailiff," Finn pauses. "There are those who say we exist to test the theories of the Gods, and the Gods of Avalon have no theories that require the truly incompetent to test them. Still a man can be ill-suited for a job and not a complete write-off. I believe the bailiff is here to test the Gods' theories that we should solve our own problems."

He frowns, briefly. "As a publican and suspicious foreigner in this town, I'm inclined to that sort of belief. I've no idea how he sends 'mixed messages' to someone who he sees as a superior."

Ossian nods. "Good. I guess I will figure him out soon. I did understand that we have mutual interest in doing something about the corsairs. Do you have anything on them? By the way, you can ask me questions too."

Finn looks over the fruits in a nearby stall. "The Corsairs are likely to make a move, somewhere, but it's hard to say where. They have an uncanny ability to strike someplace while everyone else is diverted by some other event. Their agents in town have been particularly busy the last half-week.

"And in this case, some other event is the Ard-Righ returning to the Silver Towers. I'm sure they'll harass us, but I'd expect they'll use this as a way to make something happen elsewhere as well.

"And thank you for letting me ask. I'll be blunt. Who are you that the Bailiff takes your orders?"

Ossian smiles. "The Protector is my great-uncle. "

Then he adds: "That does not make us enemies unless you wish it to. "

Ossian has more on is mind but wants to see Finn's reaction first.

He blinks. If blinks were audible, he would have just blinked loudly. "In some versions of the history of Avalon, the ages of man are based on the god who reigns in the tower. The First was Lir Swanfather, who reigned in Tour d'Argent. Then the Witch King in Caer Avalon, and The Protector in Montmartre. We have no history when the Gods of Avalon live at peace with each other."

"I am at peace with the Protector." Ossian says "and I am quite uncomfortable with the notion of being considered a god."

Finn nods. "Different Places, and I've been to a few, have different relationships with their Gods. In Avalon, we live with ours, work for him, some go to war on him." He looks over at Ossian. "It's not that way everywhere. Oh, you might be what some call a 'Demi-God', if you lineage is only partially divine. To be honest, most people don't take notice of that distinction."

Ossian smiles.

"I am, in the tradition of the Maghee, a storyteller. Would you grace me with a story of yourself? For it seems to me that if you walk these islands, it should be known, and being known, told and remembered.

"It can wait, but I wanted to be sure that my request was first." He grins.

Ossian smiles. "I will tell you a story, but not here in the street. I will come to your bar later. Do you have any notion on what the agents of the corsairs are working on right now? I will probably meet one of them soon."

"You're always welcome in my place and I'll want that story when you're ready. And as for the corsairs? Not much different than anyone. Right now everyone is going crazy about the Risen Towers. They're either Maghees, agains the Maghees, or getting in petty attacks on their enemies while those enemies are out against the Maghees." Finn frowns. "Ram doesn't so much have friends as he has people who would rather attack their old enemies than us."

It's at about this point when Ossian feels the tap of a Trump contact.

"Now, I have some urgent demi-godding to do." Ossian says with a grin. "See you."

He opens the Trump contact. Yes?

It's Gerard. "Ossian, lad, glad I could reach you. I'm in Xanadu. The King's feeling more himself and we're touching base with people and bringing them in. Will you come?" He reaches for Ossian.

Ossian frowns and then reaches out his hand. "Of course."

"Wait," Finn says, as Gerard pulls him through. He'll have a story to tell later.

Fletcher inspects the luck of his draw: Robin, Brita, and Ossian. He steps into a convenient corner and focuses his intent upon Robin's card.

Robin rather ungracefully accepts the mental contact.

As Robin connects, Brita hears the exchange between Vere and First and notes softly to Robin, "Our Uncle Appears Well."

Fletcher is either oblivious to Robin's lack of grace or else is the soul of courtesy. Or both. He's all smiles and cheer as he says, "Hello Robin, this is Fletcher. It's breakfast time in Xanadu and Random has asked us to check and see how things are turning out. Are there armies of Moonriders on the move or other nefarious plots afoot?" He glances aside briefly. "Also: we have waffle-tacos."

"Fletcher!" Robin says in surprise. Of all the people. "There are no Moonriders on the move. We have a couple of minor nefarious plots afoot but nothing that important." The thought of waffle-tacos makes Robin wrinkle her nose, not an inducement in her book. But she remains cordial. "How are things where you are?"

Fletcher shrugs. "I just arrived. I thought there was going to be a family meeting. Random says everything's fine here. He's having us call everybody to check in though. Is there anything you'd like me to tell him?"

Brita asks, "You are Near to His Majesty? He is Talking with Cousin Vere." She tilts her head as if pointing out her cousin.

Fletcher raises his eyebrows. "Yes, he is talking to Vere. He's right here. So the two of you are with Vere then? As convenient as these trumps are, I swear they're no substitute for a face to face meeting."

Robin smiles; though she doesn't really agree.

"I don't think there's anything to tell the King that I can't already hear Vere saying. Ooop, one thing. I found a really, really sharp sword stuck into the stack on Cabra. I don't know if that's relevant to anything but there it is." Robin shrugs one shoulder.

Brita looks to the side behind Robin. "Skidbladnir is At The King's Service. Could we Also Travel Via Cousin Fletcher?" and she nods towards Fletcher's location in front of Robin.

"Well, going back by Skidbladnir would allow us to take our leave of Caine's men instead of just disappearing..." Robin answers.

Fletcher gives Robin a moment to think. "Well, I'd be delighted to bring you through if you want. About that sword... are there any markings on it or any indication who might have left it there?"

"I didn't notice any," Robin says. "Of course, it was dark with a strobing light. And snow. And eggs."

Robin takes a moment to look over the sword in her hand.

The blade is long and gracefully curved and looks to be more-than-razor sharp. The blade has no scuff marks or knicks at all, not even from sharpening. Robin can't see a join where the blade was attached to the hilt.

The hilt feels as if was built for her grip. It's exactly the right dimensions to fit naturally in her hand and the balance is as good as she could dream of. There aren't any engravings or maker's marks on it.

It feels as if she could swing this sword hard and fast enough to cut the very air.

Victor would either love this sword, or decide it was a demon.

Fletcher simply must ask, "Are you saying the sword had eggs? What happened to these eggs?"

"Nope, I was looking for eggs when I found the sword. And the eggs I found all got smashed when I rode the sword down the stack. Nothing else got broken which is good."

Fletcher nods, glad he asked. "I'm assuming this is a 'Finders-Keepers' situation regarding the sword. I hope it's not haunted. If anyone else with you needs to come through or wants me to pass on a message, let me know."

"The sword doesn't have any marks or anything. But it does fit like it was made for my hand. And it is really, really sharp. First to the Fray described it as 'bright', by which she meant... err, magical or enchanted." It's obvious that Robin's not comfortable with either of those words, but they're all she's got.

"I don't think there's any other messages or things of cosmological import. We'll meet you in Xanadu when we get there."

Fletcher looks off to one side and speaks to the people in the room where he's standing. "Robin and Brita report only minor nefarious plots and Robin got a new sword. Anyone want me to pass on anything else?"

Vere walks over to Robin and Brita and very quietly says to Brita, "We shall take your ship, cousin."

Brita gives a side nod to Vere. She remains with her hand on Robin's shoulder as she listens to the sword discussion.

A dart of Robin's green eyes to the side, lets Vere know that she has heard as well. Then she returns her attention to Fletcher.

As the call ends, Brita drops her hand from Robin?s shoulder. "Shall We leave Now or In the Morn?" she asks her cousins. "It should Take only a Few Hours to Return if I Push."

"We all need rest," Vere answers. "Let us have a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, and we needs must let the good captain and his men know that we are departing, so that they need not worry over what has befallen us."

"If it's not a rush, I'd vote for a night of rest." Robin smiles. "And maybe the tide will roll back and we can get the mystery chest off of the wreck. You know, to play with on the way back."

Celina relaxes and looks to Alice and Felicity. "So sorry. Just family checking in."

"That was one of those Trump things, wasn't it?" Alice asks. "Can Moire use those?"

Felicity is also interested in this answer.

"Moire is of the line and can use them," Celina answers, "The art seems more rare in Moins' line than in Oberon's. Is there someone in Paris who has provided art to the King?". Merlin may know but Celina finds the line of this question suddenly useful.

"I don't think he meant to provide them to Corwin, of course, but Lucas was here for somet time. Not that Moire was working with him," Felicity clarifies. "Corwin doesn't talk about family matters very much with me--"

Alice interjects "--or with me, though sometimes he does with Bill--"

"--but," Felicity continues, "I don't think the art is that common. Of making Trumps, that is."

Celina makes a mental note to talk to Aunt Florimel.

"So tell me a bit more about the exclusive crossover between opera and brothels. For instance, who exactly would be the magnet for money and adventure in that social overlap?" Celina sips her tea.

"The money comes from the men, of course, of business and those in the court, most of whom are also in business of one sort or another. Corwin respects military men the most, I think, and he likes his bards, but in Paris the businessmen, the traders, are who get things done. It's like it was in Amber in that way. The opera singers--a lady of good family doesn't put herself on stage. None of Corwin's bourgeois would permit their wife or daughter to join the opera," Felicity explains.

Alice adds, "Also it pays terribly. So to live in the lifestyle they'd like to be accustomed to--" She shrugs. "I'd read about nineteenth-century French courtesans in history books, but seeing it in real life is different."

"They're not just whores who service men," Felicity explains. "To really engage the sort of man who has money, they have to be maintained and well-spoken so they can appear in society with their men. Educated and able to talk about art and business. They don't live in brothels; their men settle apartments on them, and annuities, and the like. But they have to be prepared to attract those men, and groomed for their stage careers. And that is where the madams come in. Those are the ones, the ones who educate and make arrangements. Do you understand?"

Celina does not show a reaction to the question. Her heart aches in secret. "Rose-colored slavery. Where would Moire gain leverage in this system? I see the men are the key resource, not the girls. How do the madams make their profits from all that initial grooming and education? Or does the regular brothel trade then support the high-reward later trade in dreams and roses?" Celina thinks how eerily this parallels what Moire did to her. Of course, the queen needed a malleable girl to present to the Pattern; well-spoken, able to reason on art and government. What told the queen she could not approach the Pattern on her own? Was it only Moire's fear of losing her life? In fact, was that a key to gaining edge here? Moire had fled Rebma, giving over all of it in the face of modest danger. Huon would not have killed her.

"The financial details vary from what I've heard," Felicity answers. "I only talk to the mistresses, really, so I'm sure I don't know everything. But generally the gentlemen pay for lodging and an income for the ladies. One woman talked about an introduction fee, and another pays money from her own income. So it's not obvious."

Alice frowns. "Will it be money she needs, or can she get something direct? Like would this be a way to get the mirrors she uses?

Celina answers choosing words with care, "Money is a very helpful component here. The materials and crafting of glass is difficult, or rather it is quite precise. She would favor access to mirror furnaces or industry of precision. But money isn't a good path to holding secrets. I would think she'd care more about being hidden."

Celina asks them, "Has there been any sudden discovery in the art worlds in the past twelve months? Any strange skies?"

"There are always fantastic artistic discoveries," Felicity says.

Alice agrees. "It's Corwin. He loved that kind of thing back in New York."

"And if you're wondering about mirrors--" Felicity begins.

And Alice says, "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten that part. Mirrors are everywhere because half of this Paris still uses gaslight instead of electricity. But they're not good mirrors."

Felicity makes a tch noise. "Corwin told me that Celina already looked in the outer arrondisements for mirror-making facilities."

(Celina may be intuiting about now that Alice and Felicity bicker like an old married couple because they enjoy each other's company.)

"Do you know who might have some insights into women's power and magic in the areas outside Paris, though? What's her name, Felicity? The Dannan priestess, the one who's a half-sister to Vere?" Alice frowns thoughtfully.

Felicity says, "Avis. Her name is Avis."

Celina is immediately intrigued. "Avis? Outside of Paris? How far outside and what's her situation as you understand it? If we wanted to visit and pay respects?"

Alice frowns. "I know they're meant to be settling in permanently. Corwin gave them a building in the city as well--I don't remember which one, but I could look it up."

"The Abbaye-aux-Bois," Felicity supplies. "It's on the rue de la Chaise in the 7th arrondissement. South of the river."

"The river," Celina says, "well that could work. How awful would it be to just show up there, Alice? I assume it is rather public that Avis is there. I'd need to let my brother know our destination. He could watch over us remotely I believe. Felicity, I need to know what you can find out about money being spent for glass craft. Can you help me?"

"I can ask, but it will be a few days before I have anything useful. Alice can help too--Alice, what if you put about that I've asked Corwin for some new glassworks? Can you and Bill note who approaches?" Felicity asks.

Alice agrees, "Of course. If that will help. And Bill can find an excuse for you to go to the abbey if you need one."

"Abbey?" Celina asks pleasantly enough. She doesn't expect Corwin to have let the Klybesians rest here but....

"Yes, the King has a number of older buildings that were formerly abbeys. Apparently--" Alice wrinkles her brow "--I think it's like the Shadow where I came from, but after the Revolution a lot of the old abbeys became royal properties. The revolutionaries dispossessed the Church. I think there was some kind of an interregnum here, but it may have been the previous monarch who dispossessed some of the religious here."

Felicity nods. "There are still some religious here, which Corwin is wary of, but they're in Montmartre in the 18th Arrondissement, north of here. I forget what the details were, but he was concerned by something Reid told him, may the Unicorn hold him."

Celina nods once. "I have zero interest in second guessing my Father's concerns but for the safety of you, Alice, and all of Paris I ask if father had time to finish checking out these religious groups or was that interrupted by recent events?" Her tone is steady. If there is something worse than Moire bartering with the Sapphire, it would be her mother working with the Klybesians.

"You'd have to ask Bill. I think it's an ongoing process. I know the work started with Reid," Alice explains, "but I don't know who's currently carrying it on. If Bill doesn't know, it may not be happening, but also talk to Lance. Sir Lancelot."

Felicity chimes in, "Or your Aunt Florimel."

Celina smiles. "Well then I think we are done for today. I thank you so much, Felicity. I extend an invitation to you to visit Rebma as my guest. I hope that works out for you some time soon."

Celina collects Alice and makes clear she's going to be back to let Felicity know more about what is going on.

Off to see Bill and Merlin.