ItsGoodToShopIt's Good to ShopThe rainbow light faded and Meriel gazed at ... herself. Naked still, she was standing before a full-length mirror. Her eyes widened as she took in the change of her skin tone ... and she stretched out her arms to verify that this was no trick of the looking glass. Reassured, she looked back at the mirror and gave a slow nod, a wicked smile dawning. From behind her, there was the polite cough of someone who wished to be noticed. "Your ambient fur, m'lady." Meriel turned, only now taking in the dimensions to the room. It was small, with a deep (in every sense of the word) blue carpet, and there was the faintest smell of violets in the air. Behind her stood a rather plump man with receding grey hair and eyes of the richest orange, his arms filled with what appeared to be a rather large fur stole. Meriel stretched out her hands towards it and the fur seemed to flow from him to her. A gesture, and she threw it around her shoulders. It settled, swathing her in warmth ... and something more. Meriel stretched in sensuous pleasure. "M'lady is so right in wishing to wear such a fur next to skin," said the assistant approvingly. "There is nothing better than a good bio-engineered ambient." Meriel purred. The fur purred back. "It loves you already," said the assistant. "And the Class J ambients are quite famously faithful." "Charge it to my account," said Meriel. "Is the hand-made lingerie ready for me to see?" "Oh yes, m'lady," the assistant said warmly. "The nuns have been working double shifts to complete the lace. Exquisite work!" Meriel gave a contented sigh. The fur purred again, and part of it snuggled against her neck. "Take me to my lingerie," she said. "Of course, M'lady." the assistant promises. "This way, please." Down a circular staircase with a banister trimmed in silver,the assistant leads Meriel away from the mirror. The fur continues to purr as the man leads Meriel to the room below. "I am sorry, M'lady, that we were not able to find live models to show off your choices on such short notice. I hope that the mannequins here are suitable for you to inspect the lingerie and see them to adequate advantage." This room has a dozen and a half mannequin torsos with a variety of selections, both in shape and color, all in lace. A mirror similar to the one upstairs stands nearby for Meriel's use. The lingerie proves a tribute to both the industry and the taste of the nuns. As delicate seeming as gossamer, the merest whisper of lace and silk, it nevertheless caresses Meriel's form with all the certainty and support of the church triumphant. It is - possibly to the disappointment of our readers - definitely not ambient. "Would M'lady like to see her dresses next?" the obsequious orange-eyed servant asks after a respectful amount of time to allow Meriel to inspect the merchandise. Meriel has done more than inspect; she has set the fur aside so that she can try on some of the more delicious items, and is currently considering herself in a looking glass (one which gave a strangely liquid shiver before freezing into immobility when she first glanced at it). "Do I really need dresses?" she asks. "Won't lingerie and my lovely fur ... " The fur purrs from the chair on which it has been tossed ... "be sufficient?" A glance at the pained expression of the assistant suggests that they will not. "Oh very well," says Meriel, not entirely dis-satisfied, and she plunges forthwith into a orgy of taffeta, damask, silk, satin and velvet that would make the most rapacious of Roman emperors turn away, sated. But Meriel has taste as well, and the purchases (the amount charged to her account would meet the arms bill of a small but singularly belligerent planet) include riding outfits, cocktail sheaths and linen suits of impeccable style of taste. It is one of these that she is wearing, in a pale lemon with light blue piping, that she is wearing when she leaves the dress department, the fur having seemingly shrunk itself into a narrow (but still extremely happy) fur scarf. "Shoes," she says. "I suppose I must have shoes ... " The train of page boys, summoned to escort Meriel and her bandboxes to her apartment whenever she should have finished, visibly wilts. The train of page boys may be quite put out by the concept. The orange eyed assistant, however, lights up with delight. "Of course, M'lady is quite aware that we have a conjoined satellite building which is *entirely* devoted to shoes." he says with a perfectly cultivated cultured mien which masks any greed or avarice in his voice. "Perhaps we should send some of the boys to your pied a terre with your purchases so that the rest can be available to continue your shopping needs?" The groan from the page boys is muffled, but audible. We will not dwell on Meriel's progress through the shoe store. Pallid and shaking assistants interviewed afterwards by breathless journalists likened it to a rampage by a numberless horde of cheerfully rapacious barbarians who were bent on a scorched earth policy. The line of laden page boys that marched after Meriel into the hat store stretched for a good hundred yards, with no gaps. After the hat store ... it seemed every available young person in the city under the age of twenty had been pressed into service carrying Meriel's parcels, and tales were beginning to circulate of infants torn from their mothers' arms to clutch a bandbox in chubby arms and toddle in the procession. Meriel was having fun. And then she saw the jewellery store. In the midst of experimenting with earrings, armlets, bracelets, necklaces, chokers, hairpins, a lovely set of ivory hairpicks with a silver chain connecting them, chatelaines, and other things, "Have them packaged," says Meriel without hesitation, "and sent to my suite." "Very good." the clerk says, and snaps a finger to package up her choices. It must be confessed that unless Meriel's suite is something the size of the Paris Ritz in its entirity, she will have some problems stashing her loot away ... it is when she gets to the rings that one of the staff takes the initiative. "M'lady." the woman says. There is something about her subtly and slightly different than the rest of the staff she has met to date, in an undefinable way. Less obsequious, more forthright. "This has been reserved for you." She opens up a velvet lined box to show a white gold ring. In the setting are a stylized unicorn and a dolphin, the latter wrapping around the former. The unicorn is done in ivory, and eye of the unicorn is a small green emerald. The dolphin, carved in blue jade has the eye of the dolphin as a small sapphire. Meriel looks down at the ring and then up at the shop assistant, her own eyes unblinking. "Perhaps," she says calmly, "I might try this on in private." "Indeed." the tawny haired woman says. "We have a display booth right over here, M'lady. I am sure that this piece will look perfect under the light. Please, this way." The assistant urges Meriel toward a small curtained booth in the corner of the area She stops a few paces to allow Meriel to pass inside alone with the box. Beyond the blue green curtain is a stool, with mirrors at 120 degree angles, allowing easy viewing of jewelry from any and all angles. "How delightful," says Meriel flatly. "Perhaps you could set the ring out on that shelf, the one before the looking glasses." "Certainly, m'lady" the assistant adds mildly. She moves aside to let the woman pass, casually moving as she does so as though to examine the sole of her shoe. But when she straightens again, timed to co-incide with the woman's bending to place the ring, her mirror knife is in her hand, and her determination is in her eyes. The closeness of the dressing room should allow her to get close enough to stand behind the woman with the point of that wicked blade pricking her ribs although, if she can, Meriel would prefer to set that great carved blade at her throat. While Meriel is not yet as facile in such matters above the waves as she might be below, Meriel is still faster and better than the woman in such matters. She is able to slide into position so that she stands behind the woman, with blade in position underneath the woman's chin. "M...m'lady?" the woman squeaks as she freezes. Her extended hand drops the ring and its case,falling to the floor rather than the indicated shelf. It is at this point, perversely, that Meriel starts to get the feeling of a trump call. Meriel says a very rude word, expressive of the flatulence of the manatee. "I just hope this is you, Martin," she says. "Because if it isn't, my hand is going to slip and that could just *cover* all the looking glasses with gore ... " She opens her mind to the contact ... but Martin will swiftly realise she is a little distracted ... Indeed, as the contact opens, Meriel can see that the caller is Martin. Actually, there are, in Meriel's mind, two callers. Martin, and the clockwork Godfrey as well. From Martin's point of view, the mirrors all around give a solid view of Meriel and the surprised shop assistant, who trembles as the blade Meriel holds rests against her throat. "The quickest way of negating these mirrors," remarks Meriel almost conversationally to Martin, "is blanking them with her blood. Do you want me to do that, or shall I just go somewhere else to bring you through? I think I need to collect my bags." Martin's expression, and emotions, are immediately guarded. "Somewhere else, I think. Do you need help?" "Milady, what have I done?" the shop assistant squeaks again. "Entered my employment," says Meriel. "At least on a short tide contract." She removes the knife from the immediate proximity of the woman's neck, but does not sheathe it. "Now, pick up that ring and follow me," she instructs. To Martin she adds, "Fifteen minutes. I chose fast." She looks at him questioningly to see if this meets his approval. Even if the knife is not sheathed, the removal of the knife allows the woman to pitch forward slightly, reaching for the fallen ring and ring case on her hands and knees as Meriel continues to talk to Martin. The young woman produces the ring, still in its case after a moment of reaching for it. She turns toward Meriel with the ring in hand, but awaits Meriel's permission and readiness to rise and follow her. "I'll be there," Martin says, and lets the contact fade away. He frowns at Godfrey. "Seems we wandered into her business. I take a hands-off policy on stuff like that. I'll ask what's going on when we call her back." "Yes, Martin." Godfrey agrees. He lets go of Martin's bags for the time being. In the meantime, when Martin calls her back, fifteen Amber minutes later, approximately an hour and a half of time in Meriel's shadow has elapsed. In that time, when Martin calls, Meriel is in her apartment, with all her goods neatly packed away,and her unexpected new employee sitting nervously on a Louis Quinze chair. It might be Meriel's first attempt at this sort of thing, but from the perspective of Martin when he calls and sees it, the apartment does show impeccable taste. Meriel bounces in her chair with excitement when Martin contacts her. The new employee looks at Meriel with slight alarm at Meriel's semaphoric reaction to the trump call. "Do you want to come through?" she demands. "I bought so many *gorgeous* things! Is there any way I can get some of them back to Amber?" She directs a melting look at him that would melt the heart of a tiger shark. "Probably," Martin says. "Is there anything you need help with before we did something like that? You know, maybe stitches or hiding a body or something?" "There's a ring I want you to see," says Meriel. "Well, actually there's lots of things I want you to see - Martin, do you realise that landies generally wear *two* layers of clothes? Even when the temperature is sun-warmed. Aren't they odd? But I do have this simply divine ... oh, you'd better see the ring first." She turns to the unfortunate erstwhile shop assistant. "Hold it out!" she instructs. "Y...yes, lady." the woman says. Meekly, reluctantly, the auburn haired woman, brings forward and opens the case, holding it in Meriel's direction. Martin can see that the ring is made of white gold. In the setting are a stylized unicorn and a dolphin, the latter wrapping around the former. The unicorn is done in ivory, and eye of the unicorn is a small green emerald. The dolphin, carved in blue jade has the eye of the dolphin as a small sapphire. And even through the trump call, to Martin, the ring positively reeks of the Pattern. Martin's expression immediately becomes a scowl. "You better bring us through. Away from the ring, please. Know where it came from yet?" "Just from the store," says Meriel. "But it didn't feel right to me." She rises as she speaks, and starts to move towards the long windows that lead out onto the balcony, with billowing muslin curtains. "Stay!" she says firmly to the erstwhile shop assistant. The shop assistant looks startled at Meriel's latest sharp command. She remains in place, obediently if not quite pleased with the situation. Then she holds out a hand to Martin. Martin takes Meriel's hand, intending to bring himself and Godfrey through. Godfrey follows Martin easily, carrying his baggage as he steps behind Martin into the shadow that Meriel has been shopping in all day. The soft sound of a nearby ocean is aural counterpart to the twilight view of a city spread out on a horseshoe shaped atoll. The setting sun frames the sight of the mainland, or a larger island, with yet another city's buildings providing a familiar silhouette. Martin will also note that the shadow is just slightly lower than Amber's gravity. "Glad you're all right," Martin says, relinquishing Meriel's hand. "That ring, it's not something you just find in a store. Nor do you just pull it out of a crackerjack box. The design looks Rebman..." Meriel nods, clearly pleased to have had her worst suspicions confirmed. "That's what I thought," she agrees cheerfully. Then she focuses her attention on the hapless erstwhile store assistant. "Who told you to give it to me? Tell me truthfully, or I shall shone a light into your soul - and that *hurts*!" The young woman looks alarmed. She has remained quiet and wide eyed through the trump contact and the passage. Meriel's questioning changes her wide eyed silence to a look more like alarm, and fear. She backs up a pace, still holding the ring as if it were a talisman. "I...it's b..b.been in the records. For years!" The shopkeeper's voice is high, almost a squeak. "Pppre ppaid and hhheld in reserve aagainst yyour aarrival." She pauses and reduces her stammering. "I swear!" "Should I examine it, Martin?" Godfrey puts in at this point, with a whirr of gears. Martin only pauses a second. "Yah," he says. "especially look for signs of low-heat forging or casting, like Rebma would have. And you," he addresses the shopkeeper, "should have some kind of record to show us, some kind of info on the buyer, I'm sure." Meriel nods, and waits for the shop assistant's response - and Godfrey's findings. Godfrey walks forward, past Martin and Meriel, extending a hand toward the shop assistant. In response, her eyes widen, her skin pales and a look of alarm crosses her face. Instead of handing the ring and the case to Godfrey, the woman drops it into his waiting metal palm. The sound of moving joints proceeds a telescopic extension of Godfrey's left eye, turning its appearance into something resembling a telescope. As he holds the ring in his left hand, his right eye, so augmented, stares at it. The woman stares at Godfrey for a moment, and then looks at the waiting Meriel and Martin. Finally, she reaches into a inside pocket and produces a black book of some kind. She opens it, and starts flipping through the pages. Godfrey is still staring at the ring when the woman edges forward around him, and holds the open page in their direction. A small page, neatly typed, with the letterhead of the store indicates an intent to purchase the ring, fully described, by someone only indicated by the printed initials "F.B" and to be reserved indefinitely for "Meriel Mirellesdottir", bill paid in full. "Dated twelve years ago." The woman says to Meriel. "Of course we were happy for the custom and the special services required, given the price of the object." Godfrey turns to look at Martin and Meriel. "I have a preliminary analysis." A whirr of gears is heard as he continues "It may be more prudent for me to relate the results in private to the two of you." Martin raises an eyebrow at this, then glances at Meriel... before turning to look at the shopkeeper. The shop assistant doesn't need confirmation from Meriel, given the glance from Martin and the nearby presence of Godfrey. With a hasty and sketchy curtsy, she backs away from the pair. She remains on the edge of the balcony, but out of easy hearing range. Godfrey adjusts himself so that his back is to the shop assistant, and with a whirr of gears begins to speak. "The ring appears to be an artifact created or conjured with strong Pattern energies, Martin. Miss Meriel." Godfrey explains, extending the ring forward toward Meriel. "It shows energies and arcane marks from the Pattern that I now see within Meriel herself." "The shop assistant." Godfrey continues "appears to have a similar nature. I did not think, Martin, that she would wish to hear this." Meriel frowns. "So what does this mean? That this is something I did myself? Or that someone else did? Did I create the ring and ... do something ... to the woman? Why would I do that?" She looks worriedly at Martin. "I do not know." Godfrey offers with a whirr of gears. Martin shakes his head. "I don't think you did, no. I think our mysterious benefactor, F.B., was responsible. Strong Pattern energies? Someone who's walked Amber's Pattern conjured this up. F.B. sounds like Fiona Barimen, one of the people who could make something like this. But that means she would have known about you and Mirelle twelve years ago in this shadow's time stream." Martin produces his PDA and starts checking to see what the relative time streams are between this shadow and Amber. Meriel opens her lips to say something - perhaps how Fiona seemed surprised by her choice of destination - and then thinks better of it, leaving Martin to do his calculations. Martin has to check the figure twice to make sure that it is correct.The time stream difference here is ferociously twisted, suggesting that the shadow is distant from Amber, and has been tampered with to obtain such a difference. Martin is aware that, in general, unless manipulated by someone with Pattern, shadows do not generally have more than a 24:1 ratio to Amber, or less than a 1:24 ratio. According to the PDA, though, 1 year here is approximately a half hour in Amber.The shadow was created six hours ago, Amber time. "Well?" says Meriel, who has been trying to float impatiently while Martin has worked this out - and her failure to do this satisfactorily seems to have have a detrimental effect on her patience. "What is the time stream? I don't like the thought that someone knew I was coming here. I don't like to feel ... watched." She gives a ferocious glower at the looking glass - or rather the side of the looking glass, for it has been positioned to reflect the bare wall. Martin shakes his head. "I've got to get her to show me how she does that," he mumbles. Then, louder: "Somebody set this place up about six hours ago, Amber time. The time stream has been twisted and ramped up here like nothing I've seen. I think our dear Aunt Fiona is responsible for this one." He nods at the ring. "Going to try it? We're here to help if you need it." With clockwork patience, Godfrey silently regards Meriel, hand still holding the ring in his palm. Meriel hesitates. "I've been acting under others' commands all my life," she says slowly. "A ring ... could be a very definite way of controlling someone, you know." Godfrey gives a nod of his head. Then she stretches out her hand to Godfrey and takes it, turning it between her fingers - even holding it up to her eye and squinting through it ... testing it as far as she can before slipping it on. It mostly feels like an ordinary ring to Meriel as she studies it before the final moment. Does Meriel imagine the slight smell of sea salt...and pine needles? Is the skin buzz that she gets by holding the ring real? In the end it feels like, well a ring. To Martin, nothing overt occurs when Meriel takes the final step and slips it on. To Meriel, nothing overt occurs when she takes the final step and slips it on. At least not immediately. And then, five seconds later, Meriel hears a mental voice, in her head, as the ring tingles slightly. The voice sounds something like Fiona's, but it is not an exact reproduction. Much like twins will have similar voices, such this mental voice resembles Fiona's.
"And I was not expecting a passenger in my head," says Meriel aloud. Internally she adds, "So ... why have you done this? Is it so you can see my art for yourself?" Her eyes are fixed on Martin as she speaks ... and they look a little wild with clear alarm. Martin holds out a hand, in case Meriel wants him to take the ring off. His other hand is pulling a flat leather case out of one of his pockets. Godfrey bends his head, to see what tool Martin is removing from the case. In the meantime, the ring continues.
"Hmm," says Meriel, suspiciously. "Well, you would say that, wouldn't you?"
By this time, Martin has unfolded the leather case far beyond what one would expect, and has removed a bar of soap, a screwdriver, and a can of Mr. Zog's Sex Wax. "It was for my surfboard," he says. "I swear. Meriel? Need help?" Meriel looks up at him, and gives a brief nod. "A gift," she says, "should be welcomed to the extent that one trusts the giver. The giver here has demonstrate power of considerable force ...not least the power to manipulate me. And that does not make me happy. Or amenable." She pauses, and waits for a response ... but her eyes flick to Martin - and then down to the can of Mr Zog's Sex Wax. "As if!" she says. "Query" Godfrey says to Martin, with a whirr of gears. "Nature and purpose of the items that you have produced. My data banks do not compute an actionable use of the items in question."
Martin takes Meriel's hand, oblivious to the conversation going on in her head, and turns it over, back and forth. "No barbs, at least. Godfrey, the screwdriver is for leverage, the other items for lubrication. As I always say, there are few problems in the world that can't be solved with a little lubricant. Tell me when, Meriel, and we'll have a go. Then we can always drop it in a volcano, or something." "Yes," says Meriel. "That's what she said you'd recommend." She pauses, considering. "Martin, could you make me a chain, strong but durable, that I could snap at need? If I wore this around my neck ... well. It would be available if I needed it. But not ... omnipresent." She sighs. "How was she able to prepare a Shadow exactly as I wanted, when I only decided at the heart of the Pattern that I wanted it, completely to my purposes? And yet I swear she was surprised when I said where I wanted to go." She looks at Martin, troubled, but she is also open to the voice of the ring. "It _is_ Fiona," Martin says. "She might have tried temporal displacement of space through tachyon manip... er, looked ahead in the future. I'll get started on a chain..." At this point, Godfrey speaks. "Martin." he says, with a loud whirr and a tilt of the head to look at Meriel as he speaks. "Information you downloaded into my memory core suggests that Princess Fiona has strong control over manipulating Pattern and shadows. Query: Is it a reasonable possibility that she instructed the Pattern to take Meriel to this shadow?" Martin will find that conjuration in the shadow is relatively easy, the magic level is high enough to make it a trivial and quick task.
Martin's mouth closes with a snap. "Yeah," he says. "I reckon she could. You don't necessarily have to threaten to bleed all over the thing to get it to negotiate." He shakes his head. "It's the other way 'round, Meriel. I think the Pattern sent you where Fiona wanted you to go, not where you wanted to go. There may have not been all that much choice on your part." Meriel glowers, but when she speaks again, her tone is surprisingly calm and level. "All right, Ring. Tell me your mandate." She glances at Martin and Godfrey. "I am just hearing this in MY head, aren't I?" she asks plaintively. "I can detect that there is an extremely mild esoteric link between you and the Ring that would be suggestive of a mental contact* Godfrey says with a whirr of gears. He gives a glance to Martin "However, I am unable to extract any content from the detection of the contact." "Hmmm," says Meriel. "I suppose that's something."
"Just you, yeah," Martin says to Meriel. "I'm, uh, not all that big a fan of mental contact, you know. I can see your body language, though." He's doing something with a length of wire and some needle-nose pliers, twisting the wire in two different directions, and a thin metal chain is rapidly forming. "All right," says Meriel. "It says it's approaching level 3 on the aeai sale of AI. Does that mean that holding it under water for a prolonged period of time would be a good thing?" She waits for the chain. Godfrey watches Martin's quick spinning of the chain for a moment, whirrs his head in Meriel's direction, and speaks with a clanking of gears. "I am not familiar with the scale that the ring refers to." Godfrey says. Despite the automation voice, it sounds apologetic to Meriel. "However, an AI is an artificial intelligence, suggesting that the ring has a full mind of some sort. I am certain." Godfrey says, his tone now confident "Martin can parse the ring's meaning. It seems that Princess Fi-o-na designed the ring expecting you to consult him on its use and properties." "And I think that, given the ring is made of non-oxidizing metal, holding it underwater would not be an effective method of drowning the artifact." Godfrey adds. The ring, for Meriel, remains for the moment quiet. Martin grins. "Well, maybe if you dropped it in the Ganges River," he says. "Eh. Never mind... if I remember that scale right, it'll take orders and be reasonably creative, but won't run off and do its own thing- it needs orders from you. Pretty fancy work from Fiona, especially since she had to be in a hurry." He holds out a long, thin chain to Meriel. "I'll make you a shorter one with a clasp later, if you want it." "Thank you," she says. "This is perfect. She slides the ring on the chain and thence around her neck. Then she tests it to make sure that the chain is thin enough to allow her to slide the ring onto her finger while it is still attached. Although on the spur of the moment, Martin's craftsmanship is, predictably, more than adequate to the task. Its thin and resilient and long enough. "Perfect," she says again.
"Hmm," says Meriel. "You may want to take on board the fact that I have am aversion to commitment."
Then [Meriel] issues a low whistle - which draws the erstwhile shop assistant into the room. "You're now my housekeeper," she tells the woman. "You'll keep the place spotless and immaculate, cos I could return at any time. My man of business will contact you and pay you a fantastic salary. If you reach retirement age before I return, you'll choose and train a worthy successor." The woman nods and listens intently until the last sentence. This last bit causes the shop assistant to part her lips in a look of uncertainty. "Yes, milady." she finally says after sidelong looks at Godfrey and Martin. "It shall be done." The shop assistant turned housekeeper bows her head. She looks at Martin. "Does that cover everything?" she asks. Godfrey turns his head toward Martin as well. The grin returns. "I think so," he says. "No other hidden packages, clothes, or employees? Are you ready to go?" "My bags are packed," says Meriel, "and I'm ready to go." There are three comparatively modest sized suitcases by the door and a serviceable backpack. "It will be difficult but possible to carry all of the luggage, Martin." Godfrey puts in, with a whirr of gears and a turning of the head between Meriel and Martin. "Um. Yeah. That's more than I usually bring on a trip into Shadow," Martin says. "I usually conjure clothing along the way, or bring enough tools and such to build something when it's hard to use the Pattern, but I try to keep it down to one bag or so. And that bag, I'm willing to part with when things get dicey." He scratches his head. "I could get us horses, which we'll want anyway since we're going to be searching around in Shadow. Unless, of course, your ring there is also a direction finder for runaway Shadows." "All right," says Meriel, displaying a cheerful lack of concern. "Let's go then. And we can shop along the way." The new housekeeper - who has witnessed at least part of Meriel's last heroic shopping expedition - pales, and risks a warning glance at Martin. Godfrey walks over and picks up the four pieces of luggage in one of his hands, transferring Martin's into the other in a flurry of motion punctuated by the sound of gearwork. Thus arranged, he turns toward Martin and Meriel. The former's bags are in his left hand, the latter in his right. "Let's take a walk around the neighborhood," Martin says. He leads them around a block, then another, then another... eventually making a left turn at a corner instead of a right one, and coming up upon a stable for riding horses on pleasure tours through the city. "I don't know what they look like," Martin says, "but we should find at least a few high-quality horses here instead of old, retired ones. Godfrey, I know you're capable of riding- I assume you also know how." "I have the necessary biomechanical knowledge and reflexes to rider at an adequate level, Martin." Godfrey replies. "I conclude that my overall weight would be conducive only to the stronger breeds." "Oh good," says Meriel, settling her fur comfortably around her shoulders. "Perhaps one of you could teach me." The fur purred invitingly. Godfrey turns his head toward Meriel as he continues to plod along, his pace just fractionally slower than Meriel and Martin due to his encumbered state. "I believe myself capable of instructing you in the task."
Indeed, Meriel, Martin and Godfrey have reached the edge of a park, or perhaps the edge of the city itself. And in front of them stands an A-frame stable. Inside, there are a variety of horses and breeds available for rent. Martin reaches into his pocket and extracts a wad of cash that Meriel recognizes as the local currency. He nods once at her pocket (or other convenient cash-carrying part of her clothing, whatever she is wearing.) He makes a few pleased grunts as he checks out various horses, but seems to keep coming back to ones with sleek, racing lines. Meriel chooses a mare - her coat a rather unusual shade - it should be black but is, in fact, almost steel grey, with a white foamy mane and tail. She watches Meriel with an intelligent eye as Meriel smiles, strokes her neck and offers her a treat that she seems to have found in her pocket. The mare's stall bears the name EbbTide. "She will be perfect," Meriel says happily. "Put her on my account." Meriel's shopping experiences seem to have taught her the value of a good line of credit. "Very good, ma'am." the short dark haired head of the stables says, delightedly. "Mar-tin." Godfrey says, once Martin has picked out a horse to go along with Meriel's steel grey mare. "I have chosen a horse that will fit my frame. I predict a 06% probability that the horse would win in a race against either of your choices." The horse Godfrey has chosen is somewhat larger and bulkier than the sleeker ones Martin and Meriel have chosen. Its an near albino horse, with a cream colored coat, reddish points, and blue eyes. The staff of the riding barn seem nonplussed at the prospect of a speaking clockwork man, even one which wants a riding horse. Meriel distracts them by purchasing tack for her horse. Between her liking for pretty things and her total ignorance of how a riding horse should be equipped, EbbTide could have found herself somewhat eccentrically arrayed. Fortunately Meriel will be willing to accept advice from the most handsome young groom in the stables. Or from Martin, if he intervenes quickly enough. Martin, looking slightly amused, lets Meriel go ahead with her plan, but is ready to intervene if the saddle and tack drift from the practical into the esoteric. The saddle and tack almost go into the level of the absurd. Fortunately for Meriel, this shadow is well equipped with staff and service personnel. Not only the shopkeepers she has already employed, and not only the army of pages she employed to move her purchases to her Pied-à-terre, and not only the ring store saleswoman now re purposed as her assistant, but the stable hands as well. With quiet suggestion, the esoteric choices that drew Meriel's eye are soon ameliorated into much more practical and useful suggestions for equipment. In likewise fashion, Godfrey's horse is equipped, although the staff seems to preternaturally sense that Martin is more than capable of outfitting his own kit of saddle, tack and other accouterments. "We recommend " the handsome stablehand that Meriel pigeonholed with her gaze earlier. "that you begin your riding experience with a ride around Shetek Lake." He pauses and smiles. "Although if your more experience friend is willing to lead you, Cloquet Ridge provides wonderful views of the city. On a clear day like this, you may be able to see the Great Lighthouse on the coast." "Now that sounds like a place I'd want to see," Martin says. "I think I'd prefer to take them up to the Ridge. It may take some time, though. I assume the horses can be rented for extended periods?" Meriel nods her eager agreement to the plan. "The horses can be rented for several hours, or for up to a week if an additional deposit is placed." the man replies. "We have visitors and customers who will ride all the way across the ridge, and further,along the Knapflint trail all the way to Great Portage and back." "The lady's credit can certainly handle such an outlay for such an expedition" the stablehand adds. "Fine, fine," Martin says, giving the other two and their mounts a critical eye before checking his own gear. "We'll be renting for the maximum time. I assume you have all the info you need for the arrangements. It'll be a trip to remember..." Thanks to the stablehand's suggestions, Meriel's more outlandish and impractical original choices have been moderated and ameliorated to a much more practical set. Godfrey has been programmed well, or has simply adapted the choices Martin has made. With a few touches and additional items for a possibly longer ride, the gear can be brought up to par for everyone. The stables quickly finish the preparations, and with only a single signature from Meriel (who seems to have adapted to the custom quite well here), the three horses and gear are rented for 7 days. The gear purchased does happen to include a very nice set of topographical maps of the city, trails and region. Meriel, used to navigating in three dimensions as a matter of course, is fascinated by the concept of two dimensional maps. She allows the most good-looking of the stable boys to assist her to mount. "It's rather different to dolphins, isn't it?" she says to Martin cheerfully. She favours riding astride (as one rides dolphins, of course), and is wearing her fur now as a hunting stock. "Closer than you think, really," Martin says before he clucks at his horse and leads them slowly out and towards the general direction of the trail. Once out of sight of the stable, he adds, "You know we won't be returning, right?" Meriel nods. "But it was fun while it lasted," she says. "And you'll be surprised by the amount of clothes I was able to store in my saddle bags." She considers this, head on one side. "Well, you probably won't," she finally concedes. She is silent for a while, getting the feel of the rocking motion of being on horseback for the first time in her life. She has a beautiful sense of balance, and an elegant seat in the saddle. "One day," she says at last, "I shall make a place like this for myself. Now - where are we going?"
Meriel frowns but says nothing. Martin has his PDA out. "We ride along the trail for a bit, then start shifting. Dad's got a feel for this kind of stuff better than I do. I'm trying to get a fix on our wayward shadow by looking at the disturbance it has to be causing." "Right," says Meriel. "And how does one shift? I know it can be a pain to track through the looking glass." Martin explains, with demonstrations. Moreover, he gets Meriel to make small changes in Shadow too, while they are riding along. Meriel's imprint is new, blankly new, of course. It takes Meriel to get the hang of it, and the shifting seems a little slower and harder than how Martin does it. It is of course, perhaps fitting that changes that involve the element of water are much easier for Meriel to manage than other changes. For example, Meriel's creation of a rivulet for the riders to cross comes preternaturally easy for Meriel. [Martin] "Very good. Just remember, when you're starting out, pick a point and make the change as you pass that point. Baby steps, but constant ones, to start. Later on, I'll teach you how to hellride, which is much more difficult and strenuous. You fix a point and let everything else go nuts. But that will come later." "Mar-tin." Godfrey puts in at this point, whirring his gears as he turns his head toward his creator. "Would this hellride leave behind any who lack the imprint that the two of you share?" Martin has figured, by this point, that the Fiona-created shadow is moderately far out from Amber. It probably would take a good while, even with a hellride, to come within spitting distance of the Golden Circle or any other mapped landmark. "Godfrey: yes," Martin says. "Unless you're careful, and stay close, you could get lost. Generally we carry a lot with us when we cross Shadow, and a shadow-walker can be tracked, but yes. I don't know your limits yet for tracking someone. "I do not know" Godfrey responds before Martin continues. "Which leads to the next thing. We're pretty far away from our goal, Shadow-wise. Riding there would take a long time, and hellriding might lose someone... or I could Trump us to a place on the Golden Circle. Or part of one and part of another. Anyone have any preferences?" "Let's get there quickly," says Meriel. "I'm not perfectly prepared, but I'm better prepared. Although I must fit in some more practice at shooting things. And when you stab someone, there's far less resistance in air than there is in water ... have you noticed that, Martin? I probably need to work on that too." "I am trained in some basic hand to hand techniques of combat, Miss Meriel." Godfrey puts in with a whirr. "However, I believe that Martin would far better suit as a practical teacher for such things." "Maybe." Martin waggles his eyebrows at Meriel. "Okay, we'll go with a Trump. Give me a little time to figure where we want to jump to, and I'll start drawing. Maybe an hour or so." Meriel nods, and swings down from her horse. The start of the movement is easy and graceful, but the gravity of the ground comes with a bump and she looks chagrined. She says nothing, however, but spreads the fur stock on the ground, where it happily becomes a purring blanket. Meriel settles down to enjoy the sun while Martin works. Indeed, it is hard to tell whether Meriel or the purring blanket are enjoying this simple sybaritic pleasure more. Godfrey finally dismounts after Martin and Meriel do. He looks around with a whirr of gears, and finally returns his gaze to Meriel. "Where did you find the furry symbiotic creature, Miss Meriel?" Godfrey asks Meriel. "My databanks hold no records of such an organism or artifact." "It was in the store," says Meriel, languidly stroking the blanket. Then she lies back and stretches sensuously. "Mmmm. One could get to enjoy this sunlight thing. Althought it probably feels better if ... " she breaks off and glances at Martin. Martin growls at his PDA for a while, punching buttons, and finally shakes his head. He pulls out a trump-sized rectangle of pasteboard out of a pocket, a pencil out of another, and starts sketching a tiny island out in the middle of a vast ocean. "Have to be Deiga, I guess," he says as he blocks in the island shape with heavy pencil lines, then starts filling in details. "Deiga it is then," says Meriel cheerfully, unbuttoning her blouse. As she sees it, she might as well explore the effects of fur below and sunlight above while she has some time to spare ... Martin eventually looks up from his sketching, and does a classic double-take. "Um, Meriel, you know that surface cultures, most of them ban nudity? Not that lots of people cheerfully ignore that, but if there's any law enforcement around, they'll have something to say." Godfrey whirrs his gears and then speaks. "My memory banks have information on Deiga." he says, droning. "Deiga is a member of the Golden Circle and is signatory to all treaties and bilateral agreements to that effect. Deiga has one town of significant size on the island. The Mayor of the town, elected by the Elders of the city, is the ruler of the island. The Merfolk population in the harbor and surrounding waters are in a state of anarchy, with no known government representing them. Deiga is known for its exports of seafood and a small crop of tobacco grown on the heights of the island." "I find no information on statutes about clothing." He whirrs his head as he turns to face Martin. "It is possible you did not provide that level of detail." In short order, Martin has the trump sketch complete well enough to allow passage for the three of them. If he wishes to take the horses as well, a little more detail would be required. As soon as they are ready to go, Meriel resumes her clothing, the fur becoming a scarf on her shoulders. Her skin seems to have tanned well, with no pinkness to mar the golden brown. She is equally happy to ride or walk. "I like the sound of anarchy," says Meriel. "All that consensus decision making usually makes for the most ferocious sense of order. The only trouble is that it can lead to inertia. "Shall we bomb the post office?" "Shall we not bomb the post office?" The consensus would be that we sit around all day discussing it." She smiles wickedly. "It would be fun to shake them up. And mermen can usually do such clever things with their tails." "Let's not try to bomb anything just yet," Martin says, deciding that they'll need the horses for a little while longer. He bends back down to his sketch. "I should have thought about this before I started looking for horses- there's every possibility we'll have to leave them on the island and start thinking about a boat." "It must be relatively uncommon to find horses suitable of carrying me." Godfrey puts in as Martin firms up the sketch. "I think it would be advisable, Martin, if some way of keeping these mounts were possible. Do not certain classes of vessels carry enough space and supplies for horses?" Without any difficulty, and only the application of an ampule of time, Martin is convinced that the sketch, now further strengthened, will allow the safe and complete passage of riders and mounts alike. In the increased detail that Martin has had to provide, the lighthouse almost seems to call like a siren to him, and to Meriel. Perhaps more importantly for the latter, there is a hint of one of the mermen sunning on a rock not far away from the tall, cylindrical beacon. "There are," Martin says to Godfrey. "I just like to travel fast and light, and hate dragging stuff along. If something happened to the boat, I have no worries for the three of us- but we'd lose the horses. You're right, though, that's the best plan. Really hard to conjure horses up on an island, you know." He smiles, breathes on the Trump, and flicks it with a finger to set the scene in motion. "Looks like it's ready, if we are." Meriel has finished dressing, and approaches her horse with far more confidence than she showed back in the stables. She takes the reins in one hand, and then stretches out the other to Martin ... Godfrey stands behind Meriel, vigilant and prepared. The pass off of Meriel through the trump connection goes smoothly and quite as expected, along with her horse. Next is Godfrey and his horse. Godfrey's horse, which he has precede him, goes through without incident. Although nothing overt is seen, Martin feels a surge in the trump energy when Godfrey steps into the trump contact and through. The trump connection definitely flared, with a resonance and power surge centered firmly on his creation. It is close, but Martin is able to get himself, and his own horse, onto the rocky beach that he has chosen as the arrival site. As Martin comes through to where Meriel, Godfrey and their horses are standing, the trump sketch of Deiga disintegrates into ash in his hand. Otherwise, the nearby lighthouse, a partially cloudy sky and a cool breeze off of the ocean greet the arrivals. Meriel's fur purrs, snuggling to keep her (or itself, perhaps) warm. Meriel reaches up and strokes it, encouraging it to settle itself a little more fully around her shoulders. She is gazing in the direction where she earlier sensed the merman ... but she addresses Martin. "What do we do now?" Martin has a raised eyebrow at Godfrey. "We'll do a little manipulation of probability. I've decided there's a ship that's going to be available for us to use, by the time we get there. We'll make arrangements to book it or buy it or whichever. And if there's time, I'm going to find out why Godfrey just did weird things to my Trump." Godfrey cocks his head toward Martin. "If you wish, I will analyze the data of the experience of the Trump connection, Mar-tin." he says. The sound of his gears is a little louder than it has been previously as he speaks. "Preliminary analysis shows an absorption of energy into my gears during the passage through the trump connection." Off the shore, there is a laugh, and a splash of water. Meriel briefly sees the iridescence of a piscine tail on a human sized body, before it slides beneath the waves. Martin doesn't miss the turn of Meriel's head. "Why don't you make some friends, see how much trouble we'll have getting a steamship past all the mermen? I'll take a look at Godfrey, here, then arrange us a passage." "Yes, Martin" Godfrey says mildly. "All right," says Meriel cheerfully. "Look after my fur, will you?" She passes the fur to Martin ... and then heads off towards the rocks over looking the sea. Before she has gone more than five steps, she's shaking her hair free of restraints, and her fingers are unbuttoning the top of her blouse. Even though there is no immediate sign that the merman has broken the waves, as Meriel prepares for her dip, she hears some splashing. In addition, well used to the refractive index of the water, Meriel can see something...someone, lurking just beneath the waves, a few dozen yards from the spot where Meriel disrobes. Waiting. Backlinks |
