A Busy DayIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | A Busy Day
The first thing Larissa did upon leaving the Council chamber was gather up Coirann, who, despite having every right to be there, was skulking--presumably for the practice--behind a potted plant in the corridor, only her bright blue eyes visible and fixed on the guards standing at the door. "We have a busy afternoon, and night, ahead of us," Larissa told her as the two strode through the Castle. "You don't usually dwell on the obvious," Coirann responded, earning a dirty look. "Your opinion of Merlin's condition?" "It looked like he'd gone from bad to pretty normal by the time your uncle kicked me out. The furball didn't have anything substantial to add." Coirann shrugged apologetically. "It's Tear's opinion I want," Larissa said as they reached the door to her chambers. Once inside, she collapsed into a chair, not bothering to clear off several discarded items of clothing first. "Forget Merlin for the time being; he'll be fine." "Forgotten," Coirann said, and watched, concerned, as Larissa scrubbed her eyes with both hands. "Highness?" "You're going to be in charge of running messages," Larissa said, not looking up. "Use as many of the pages as you need. I'll draft you something official-looking to brandish if anyone gives you trouble. Speaking of which..." she gestured to the lap desk on the window seat, left there after the last time she had written a note that had sparked chaos, less than a day before. Coirann fetched it with an alacrity that she would never have displayed in public. She squatted beside Larissa, almost daring to put a hand on her mistress's arm, but then pulling back at the last second as though she had been bitten. "Oh, stop it. It's no one's funeral. Yet." Larissa tried a pen, then discarded it over her shoulder and into the space behind her chair, where it skittered down the wall and to the floor, doubtless to lie untroubled for months. "First, the library," she said as she wrote, having found a satisfactory pen. "Have them pull every last law book and deliver the entire stack here. "Next, round up some scribes. I'll need supoenas for the names in this column." She gestured. "Invitations for these. I'll include exemplar text. All messages are to be en route by dinner." "Your popularity is going to skyrocket." Coirann was not as flip as she should have been. "Hmph. I'll need to you dig someone up from the Diplomatic Service to run a note to Ingrey at the Chaosian Embassy. There will also be something for Chadwick, but that can just be pinned to his door." Larissa paused and stared off into the middle distance for a moment. "That should do it for things with a paper trail." Larissa handed Coirann the list of names, then started scribbling on a fresh sheet. "Once you have the messengers organized, I want you, and you personally, to find Clytemnestra and ask her if she would be willing to help organize the protocol end of this little farce. ...Only leave the 'farce' part out, and make it clear it's a friendly request from me." "Library, scribes, pages, Embassy, Chadwick, Clytemnestra," Coirann said. "And then," Larissa continued, "head to Fair Winds and make sure everything is in order in case I decide it's a felicitous time to take a wanderjahr in Shadow. Send a runner to Whitecliff, too. I'll either be there for a long vacation soon, or not at all for the next century or so." Coirann frowned, but then her expression cleared. "Johann," she said in a tone of dawning comprehension. "Don't even think it," Larissa snapped. "He's caused enough trouble." She glared down at her writing, and the nib snapped as she bore down. "<<Space it.>>" The pen went over her shoulder to join its predecessor. The other woman's eyes got wide, and she knelt in silence beside the chair as Larissa filled several more sheets, sealing the ones that needed it and riffling through the stack one final time after she'd finished. She passed it to Coirann and told her brusquely, "go. And make it clear that anyone who disturbs me does so at the risk of Grave Displeasure." Wordlessly, Coirann rose, bowed, and sprinted out of the room. "<<Darkness between,>>" Larissa cursed, slumping even deeper into her chair. She swept the lap desk to the floor with a sudden impatience, where bits of stationery and writing utensils spilled out, including an ink bottle that began to leak across the rug, staining it with an ever-widening black puddle. Larissa watched it morosely for some time, then got a curious expression on her face, as though trying to chase down a stray thought. "Oh. Oh," she said as she finally recognized the sensation. "What now?" she asked the portrait of Eric that had watched the entire scene smilingly from the from wall. "This is all your fault, you realize." Then she took her call. It was strangely appropriate that she had turned from a portrait of Eric to the Trump call, for her sister had not looked so regal, nor so confident, since their father's coronation. Islain wore royal purple, and her hair was twisted and braided so that it recalled a jeweled tiara. Behind her was a stunning bedchamber which she subtly matched (and which I suppose Larissa will recognize, judging from her earlier 'Queen thread). She wasted no time. "Hello again, Larissa. May I come to you? We have not much time and a good deal of work ahead of us." Larissa's scowl changed to a smile when she saw her sister. "Of course...just a moment." She rose from her chair to take a position where Islain would not materialize into an ink puddle or a stack of unfiled papers, and where the unmistakeable rainbow of Trump travel would not be visible from a window. "You look positively imperial," she said, and offered a hand. "Thank you," Islain smiled. "It's due to Petra and some of her friends. But as Mandor has been kind enough to allow me to return, I decided it were better to arrive in style." She took Larissa's hand, took a half-step forward and embraced her sister. Drawing back, she examined the other woman critically. "And how are today's events treating you, 'Rissa? Are you surviving?" Larissa returned her sister's embrace with a good will. "I want a long vacation, but I'm surviving. What's this about Mandor?" She swept an armchair clear, which only made the floor messier. "Sit. I've freed up some little time for us to talk." Islain slid easily into the offered chair. "Mandor sent me two messengers - or they both claimed to come from him, and they had similar though not quite identical messages. Both told me I was invited back to Amber, and that I might entertain some political ambitions should I prove... more friendly... to Mandor and Merlin than before. It was, considering the situation, too good an opportunity to pass up." "I mislike that." Larissa scowled. "A century of glaring at each other across the table, and now he moves all at once. Assuming it is actually Mandor--if it's someone else's ruse, I don't know where to start unraveling it." She shook her head. "Two messengers. "Well, have some tea, anyway." Larissa opened a small chest carved with stylized, snakelike dragons chasing each other through the clouds. "It's Deigan." As she listened to Islain, she laid out handleless cups and an earthenware teapot etched with pictographs. "Thank you, I'd love some tea." Islain looked around as if assuring herself they were not being watched, and then sighed. "I've spent most of the morning being filled in on important events and I still have the wretched feeling that I'm steps behind everyone else. I'm reasonably sure Petra was sent by Mandor, and if he did not send the Chaosian boy - Drake I believe was his name - I'm not sure what could be gained by someone else sending him. More likely Mandor decided to accelerate his timetable and ended up redundant. How is cousin Merlin?" "Worrisome," Larissa said. "He is not well, and this morning's events have made me wonder how deep-rooted the cause is. Morgan would know better than I--have you met Morgan?" She removed a piece of laboratory glassware from a stand positioned over a strange-looking device that had a crystal trapped in a mesh of metal, replacing the flask with a kettle from beside the tea chest. "No," said Islain. "I've seen a likeness, and heard some tales, but we have not met. I do rather look forward to it. A man without an agenda on the table at the beginning of the meeting is always refreshing." She twisted a sapphire ring around her finger. "But Merlin... yes, that is worrisome. He's taken the Pattern, yes? So it should not cause him such distress? Unless he was... doing something else or using some other power while you manipulated Pattern energies? I'd like to see him, but I doubt I'll receive such an invitation until after I present myself to Mandor, and probably not until tomorrow." "He claims to have walked Corwin's Pattern, and he feels mostly as an Initiate ought to my higher senses, taking his Logrus attunement into account." Larissa looked quizzically into an empty pitcher on the sideboard, then began rooting through drawers. "And Morgan. Don't assume he has no agenda. He's as dangerous as any of us. He only plays the lightweight--though I sometimes wonder if the actor is becoming the role." Having found what she was looking for, Larissa returned to the table, carrying an un-Amberish plastic bottle with picture of a waterfall on the label. Islain nodded, but her expression was mildly amused. "The next order of business is Johann Payne. I have more questions on that score, but only dear Damien can answer them. Is there to be a trial at all, Larissa? The only good thing about his burning down of private property is that it makes the crime intensely public. Mandor will not be able to quietly and subtly get rid of the boy. There will have to be at least an announcement before the execution, which should probably be public. There we have some help, at least." "I am, at this very moment, organizing Johann's trial," Larissa said drily, pouring bottled water into the kettle. "It happens at dawn tomorrow. I expect a frightened someone up from the library with a cart of law books within the quarter-hour. Fortunately, I already did all this research a hundred years ago, so I have Coirann doing most of the work." She squatted and blew on the crystal, which began to glow a dull red. Larissa turned to look at her sister. "Islain, I do not believe the man who stands in the dock tomorrow will be Johann. It's too unpredictable a situation. Mandor cannot afford that loss of control. You didn't sit in the Council session--the family are livid at Damien, and by extension, Mandor. Coolly so, of course," she added with a flash of humor, "but I've not seen so many all angry at the same person in decades. "It occurs to me," she continued, hesitantly, reluctant to make her distasteful suggestion, "that you might cultivate Damien--not obviously, but simply by being less unwelcoming than the rest of us. He will be needing allies badly, and if we two maintain our facade of ill will, that will elevate you in his regard." "I had considered that," Islain murmured. "It won't be a hard sell, either. I am not as angry at Damien as the rest of you, perhaps because his actions in no way surprise me. You can trust a man to be true to his nature, and Damien's nature is to rise by stepping on the necks of others. Your point about a possible similacrum raises an interesting challenge, however. If Johann raves that he is not Johann, will anyone listen? No, he'll have to be spirited away tonight, by miraculous escape. That is, always assuming, the man in the prison now is Johann. The whole mad spectacle you saw might have been a charade, engineered to get Damien in good with Mandor. The only reason I misdoubt is that Johann is that rash and he's waited longer than he ever wanted to... "We'll be the logical suspects should something happen to Johann, you because you have more concern for the life of family members than most, and I for my previous connection with the lad and his purposes. We'll need air-tight alibis, or we cannot risk it." "Trumps make alibis difficult," Larissa mused as the kettle began to rattle. She pondered for a few moments while she selected one of several small jade boxes, and breathed a word Islain could not hear over it, opening it to reveal a few ounces of dried black leaves. "Mandor will hardly send a messenger to Julian to ask if you were in Arden all day. Best if you were on the Queen being pampered, I think. Islain frowned. "Petra has been very kind, but I would not ask her to lie for me. One should never require an alibi from a witness one is not certain of. Unless you wish me to return to the Queen? I would... prefer... to make my appearance today. The longer I wait, the more difficulties will stack themselves against me." "As you like," Larissa said. "So long as you think you can manufacture an alibi." "I trust I shall come up with something that will do." "As for me, I can cut down the time I'm out of sight. I'll attend family supper, and make sure to be seen haranguing the staff over trial details later in the evening. Chadwick would be a good witness, too--I'm not sure he ever knows what time of day it actually is." Larissa took the kettle off the heat and rinsed the teapot with some of the water, then placed the kettle back on the stand. Her timing was flawless, since she had just finished scooping tea leaves into the pot when the kettle began to whistle. "This afternoon we'll do our reconaissance," she said, and filled the teapot. "I want to spend no more time on the rescue itself than we absolutely need." Islain cocked her head to one side. "Agreed. The longer we tarry the more likely we will be discovered. I don't expect it to work, but has anyone even tried to Trump Johann?" "I certainly haven't, but in addition to being quite hopeless with Trumps, I don't actually have a Trump of him." Larissa leaned against the table and folded her arms. "I would think Mandor would have taken steps to prevent so obvious an avenue of escape. And if he's doing to the poor boy what I think he's doing, Johann's own mind may serve as the trap." Islain sighed. "To be honest, dear sister, I don't have a Trump of Johann either. I should have begged Petra. But please, elaborate as to what you think Mandor is doing. Remember, you have years of knowledge of the man, and I had only a few minutes followed by a good deal of hearsay." "Lucky you," Larissa muttered. Then, aloud: "Time is Mandor's enemy. If we accept that he must...neutralize Johann as quickly as possible, any interrogation must also happen as quickly as possible. The way to manage that is through here." Larissa tapped her temple. "Unicorn alone knows what Mandor has done to his mind--and Johann wasn't the fastest ship in the fleet to begin with. "And, logic aside, Mandor truly loves mind games," she added darkly. "Even if he thought he had nothing to learn from Johann, he would do it for the sheer joy of tormenting an Amberite." "Would he now?" Islain said quietly, and there was a hint of pleasure in her voice, for some reason. "Well, in that case, you are quite correct, we should go tonight. For reconnaissance do you fancy a real excursion or a sorcerous scry? Either are dangerous..." "There is also Pattern scrying." Larissa scowled down at her toes, just peeping out from the hem of her skirt. "I have a century as the Loyal and Occasionally Strident Opposition. I could manage a visit without undue suspicion. You would have no excuse, and you'll need to evaluate the sorcerous defenses, regardless." Islain nodded, pursing her lips as she thought. Larissa lifted the lid of the teapot and eyed the brew critically before pouring. "I think, together, you and I could demolish any defenses in place, by wielding the Pattern as a blunt instrument. The question is how quickly, and whether it will harm Johann further." She handed Islain a cup. It was unornamented porcelain so white as to be almost translucent. The tea within was a fragrant amber liquid set off to perfection by the white china. "I drink it when I'm melancholy," Larissa said, "and try not to think about the day I drink the last of it." She sipped, and closed her eyes against the world, just for a moment. Islain took the cup and sipped and then sighed. "It must have been very hard for you, all these years," she said finally. "Dear Larissa. Well, we will soon put an end to it." She rose and squeezed her sister's arm, looking into those deep blue eyes which sometimes reminded her of their father, and sometimes did not. "Is there anything else we should discuss now, or should I make myself useful? We are... running out time..." "I can't help but think Dad would have fixed things by now," Larissa said, but she half-smiled and covered Islain's hand with hers. "If I were to Pattern-scry the dungeons, would you want to ride along in my mind? Would your sorcery work through my perceptions?" "Father was dealing with a far different sequence of events. And I think he would let Johann die. It may be that it would be wiser if we did, as well. But I feel I... owe the boy something... for the state in which he grew up." "And I'm just hopelessly soft-hearted," Larissa said with a wry smile. Islain raised an eyebrow and ... Islain shook her head. Thinking of Eric always seemed to make her feel weepy, even now. "I've never tried through someone else's head, so it's worth an attempt. I am sure I can't cast spells through your brain, but Pattern ought to be enough to read any sorcerous traps. And if not, I can do my own scry, later." "All right." Larissa set aside her tea. "Now?" She dragged a second chair as close to Islain's as the junk on the floor would allow. "Better if I mindwalk first, then bring you in. You might get dragged along on the Pattern walk otherwise, and we don't both need to be tired out." Larissa settled into the chair and shut her eyes. Her breathing became deep and slow, and Islain could feel the Pattern energies gathering in the room, centered on her sister. Larissa, with the smallest of possible motions, extended her hand. With only the briefest of hesitations, her sister reached out and took that hand, and sent her consciousness... forward... Islain was more closed, less receptive than Larissa... her mind was cool and distant and somehow very dark. Sorrow and anger were there, but leashed...and at the same time, a sense of welcome, and relief. And underlying it all, woven through Larissa's mind, was the Pattern, solid as stone and deep as the sea, glowing with power. ~Sister.~ Larissa's smile warmed Islain's mind. Larissa could feel Islain's inaudible gasp. She had not felt the Pattern so strong in a long, long time. A breath. ~Are we ready?~ ~Yes.~ And Larissa, fast as thought, flew through the Castle to the depths of the dungeon... And at some point - Larissa began, startled, to realise that speed was not solely of her choosing. She was being drawn ... pulled in ... And Islain too was conscious of the rush, like flying through the air - exhilarating and terrifying all at once ... And then, before they could do more than start to resist, it ended. They were standing in a corridor - a corridor painted in two shades of green, the bottom half a grey-green, the top half a pale washed-out green. The floor was covered with linoleum that perhaps had once been liver red, but was now cracked and scuffed by years of feet. And the corridor was long, long ... There were windows, periodically, on either side, looking out over gardens that had been bullied into a state of terrified submission, where not a leave strayed from its appointed place. Inside the corridor was an institutionalised smell of over-cooked cabbage and thin disinfectant that didn't quite cover the smell of sick humanity. Here and there in this achingly long corridor there were doors - and from behind those doors came shrieks and giggles and oaths and strange, highpitched singing ... It took them a moment to realise their clothing had changed. They were both dressed in the starched white uniform of nurses from a long lost time. Islain looked down and frowned. It was difficult to say which bothered her more - the trap they had fallen into, or the not very flattering outfit. "I take it you haven't done much Pattern scrying in Amber lately," she said dryly. "Do you think we're in a trap, or really looking where Johann is? Or both? And if either of the latter two, why are we... for lack of a better word... corporeal?" She flexed her fingers in emphasis. "We're in Johann's mind, I think," Larissa said, eyes closed. "Or a psychic Potemkin village to keep his mind entrapped. We, however, are not trapped--but what it would take to get out would reveal ourselves to anyone watching." She opened her eyes and looked in bafflement at her clothing. "I'm not sure I like what this says about Johann's psyche." "Did you want to flit into Johann's mind?" asked Islain. "If not, there is still something odd at work. But I do not think the implication about the state of his consciousness is warranted. If, as you implied, Mandor is playing with the poor boy's mind, whatever we find here may be controlled - or at least monitored - by the Prime Minister. We should be very careful." "No, I only meant to scry the location. I was...pulled. I might have been able to resist, but the compulsion was in the direction I meant to go..." Larissa trailed off. A tall, physically fit man with a close-shaven head bearing a pale scar across the brow rounded a corner with a purposeful stride that was nearly silenced by his soft-soled white shoes. He is dressed as an orderly, but he could just as well have been a bouncer or bodyguard. Part of his ear was missing, and his nametag read 'Chad.' "Ah, good. Nurse Role, Nurse Arden," he asked with a voice which was pitched far too high. After clearing his throat and rubbing his voicebox, he managed something closer to a tenor. "If you follow me, the patient is right this way?" he said as he indicated the direction he had already been heading. Islain's expression barely wavered. One corner of her mouth twitched as she regarded Larissa, then she nodded to the orderly. "Of course, Chad, of course. Let's not dawdle." Larissa followed silently. Chad nodded, and seemed to appreciate the agreement. He continued down the corridor, glancing down at the chipped stripes when he reached an intersection. He was apparently following the yellow line, which led down one corridor off to the right which terminated in the door to a stairway. Up he went, then down the corridor. "The observation room you'll need is 12 B. Mr. Payne is quite deluded, and we've had to place him in isolation," he said as his lips took on a cruel smile and he traced the missing bit of his ear. The hall had twelve doors on each side, labelled in a sensible fashion, but in the same poor repair as the rest of the hospital. The main portion of the hall had been swept, but dust and bits of hair had gathered in the corners and protruded from the heating vents. Chad showed no indications of heading towards door 12 B. Islain nodded sharply and sashayed down the hall, her low heels clicking on the linoleum. She knew enough about numbering to be able to walk until she reached 12B. While the numbering was in a form of the common Thari character set Islain and Larissa were familiar with, and Chad had certainly been speaking Thari, whomever was speaking behind that door was howling in some foreign tongue. It might well have been Johann, but it was difficult to tell from outside, as the words were muffled. Whatever he was saying, it was accompanied by other sounds-- further muffled thumping. Without any hesitation at all, Islain turned the knob of 12B and opened the door. Years of caution, training (and possibly assassinations) had taught her to stay outside the doorway as she did this and sweep the room carefully but instantaneously with her eyes before she entered - all save the blind spot caused by the opening door, of which she was extremely aware. Islain's concern for the blindspot behind the door was unnessisary, as there was just enough room behind the door for it to finish opening. The room was perhaps five feet on a side, with a bare lightbulb the only potential source of ilumnation. The walls had once been painted white, but mildew and cobwebs were the dominant themes about the perimeter. In the center of the wall opposite the door was a window, or perhaps the business end of a one-way mirror. It looked down on a larger room with padded walls and better lighting, down one floor from where they stood. With the door opened, they could now make out the yelling more clearly. The language was tonal, and Larissa could hear a certain similarity with lost Deiga, though it wasn't Deigan. "... Que shuo mei hou wang rong gui gu li . zi jiao liao hun shi mo wang . duo liao yi kou da dao . zhu ri cao yan wu yi . jiao xiao hou kan zhu wei biao . xue mu wei dao . zhi qi fan . da shao zi . yi jin yi tui . an ying xia zhai . wan shua duo shi . hu ran jing zuo chu . si xiang dao . . wo deng zai ci . kong zuo shua cheng zhen . huo jing dong ren wang . huo you qin . shou ren ci fan tou!" Apparently, the speaker was quite agitated. The straight jacket in which he was bound might have something to do with that. His blond hair and beard were tangled in knots, and there were indications he'd soiled himself. While he ranted, he continued to bash his shoulders against the walls- this was what was producing the pounding sound they'd heard earlier. Islain stepped inside, right up to the window and watched. She was not familiar with the language, but she recognized Johann, and the state that he seemed to be in. "Poor boy," she murmured to herself, perhaps not meaning to speak aloud. She looked back to see if Chad had followed them. He had headed back down the cooridor and decended the stairs, presumably to do whatever it was orderlies did when they weren't working. Given his figity hand gesture, smoking a cigarette seemed likely. If this was Johann below, his babbling certainly hadn't ceased, although he did pause as he struck his shoulder such that a sickening pop accompanied the thud. With a moan, he fell to the floor and started to wriggle as his lips continued to work in the strange language. He was now repeating one phrase, over and over. "Wo shi Sun Wukong. Bao you Tu an! Wo shi Sun Wukong. Bao you Tu an! Wo shi Sun Wukong. Bao you Tu an! Wo shi Sun Wukong. Bao you Tu an!" Islain slid the one chair back and sat down in it. Suddenly, Larissa heard in her mind (and Islain was aware Johann might hear it too), ~Can you tell what he is saying, Riss?~ Before she even heard the answer, she focused her mind again. She was in Johann's mind but it might not be a fantasy entirely of Johann's. If another mind could interfere with Johann's, perhaps she could too, in order to subtly help him. It would be more difficult to rescue him physically if his mind remained imprisoned. So she focused on the glass in front of her. If it was a two-way mirror, she wanted it to become clear. She wanted Johann to be able to see her - and then she could see if he could recognize those he'd known in another life... The lightbulb flickered to life. While it was clearly on its last legs, perhaps it had been left on?.. And it seemed that the glass was clearing ... he could indeed see them. Whether he was capable of recognizing them, or understanding their intent ... that was another matter. Larissa, who had been standing at the mirror, lost in concentration, took a step back when the glass cleared. ~'I am...something. I have...design--' Or, no... 'I have -pattern-,'~ Larissa thought back to Islain at last, though her mental voice was hesitant. ~I'm having to guess by cognates. I think he means 'the Pattern.' Not sure who or what he's saying he is.~ "Sun Wukong?" she asked Johann, aloud. Meanwhile, Johann (or whomever this was with the blnond hair, wild beard, and wilder determination) had wriggled free of the straight jacket. His arm was still dislocated, and he was favoring that side, but his bow-legged stance certainly wasn't passive. All he wore was a linnen adult diaper, and the balled-up canvas straight jacket in his good right arm. As Larissa called out 'Sun Wukong,' he looked up with recognition. "Wo shi Sun Wukong!" he said as he bashed himself across the chest with the balled canvas, stomped on the floor, and did something with his left hand. He had to repeat the process twice more, with more of a stifled screech than words, but he managed to reset his own shoulder. His face was a mask of anger, more than pain, and both women were now sure they were dealing with Johann. "He thinks he is this Sun Wukong," Islain murmured. She looked fascinated, as she drifted closer to the window. "Why... I wonder at the significance of the name. He can see us... does he know who we are?" She picked up the chair and threw it hard at the glass. It bounced off. Islain shrugged, taking this in stride. One would expect the "glass" to be plastic, or else somewhat reinforced. Johann jumped up and punched at it with the balled-up canvas. His face looked mad. Islain righted the chair and sat in it, watching. Larissa heard her telepathic voice say, ~I made the glass transparent. So I can affect his mental projection of this place. Do you suppose we could affect his mental
Johann smashed the window in his first attempt and caught ahold of the windowframe with his other hand. After hanging and swinging for a moment, he flipped up into the room. Brow frowning and teeth bared, he didn't look happy to see either woman. ~Get ready to get us out of here, Riss...~ Islain sat still as a statue and regarded the maddened Johann impassively. "Quietly, Johann," she said in a tone of voice that was gentle but firm, as if she were speaking to an angry adolescent. "My sister and I have come to visit you because we care about you." ~Just...keep him busy.~ Larissa's mental voice was strained, her face tight with concentration. If he understood, the words did little to calm him. He was advancing on the pair with a suspicious look in his eye and a martial cant to his stooped-forward shoulders. "Pan bian! Pan tu! Pan ni zhe!" he yelled as he snapped the canvas which had once bound him like a wet towel, or gladiator's net. Larissa was momentarily blinded as it passed in front of her face and snapped over her right shoulder. In that instant, he lunged out with his free hand for Islain's ankle and stood up to his full height with it still in his iron grip. Islain's jaw clicked together, her hands dropped behind her and caught the seat of the chair, as her ungrasped foot slammed upwards between his legs. Johann's knee turned to the side, and caught some of the blow, but Islain was well practiced at injuring men's particulars. It was a blow strong enough to make an ordinary man's eyes water as he doubled up in pain. Even Bleys or Random would wince. In the grip of madness, however, Johann would take it with barely a grunt. (While he had a cool, calm grip on sanity someowhere is his core - that core was currently biting its lip and swearing). "If you hurt me, I swear I will leave you here to rot," she muttered under her breath. And then he was off with one hand around Islain's ankle. He rushed towards the door through which both had entered by, kicked it squarely beside the knob, and was out into the hallway. He seemed content to drag her about and let her bounce into whatever came his way. A flash of pure rage and humiliation turned Islain's glass-green eyes into lamps, but she looked at Larissa, grit her teeth and fought no more, allowing herself to be dragged, sending her mind away from any pain this mental imagining of herself might be feeling. Perhaps they could learn more here, and she was curious to know what her sister had in mind. Drawn by the sound of breaking glass, his howling, and so forth were three orderlies. Their nametags read 'Chad', 'James', and 'Darren', and they bore a passing resemblance to Chadwick, Morgan, and Damien respectively. Each bore a truncheon. "More of you!" he said, finally in Thari... unless it was Islain's more distant view of the situation which allowed some comprehention. After Islain withdrew herself from the situation, her doppleganger in white continued to struggle, but with much less competence than Islain had been displaying. Johann circled and stomped, still dragging the nurse by the ankle. The floors in this section of hallway hadn't looked cleaner, but unfortunately for Johann, this did little to assist in his escape. Other orderlies had obviously barred the door through which Islain and Larissa had entered from the opposite side. The trio of orderlies continued their menacing advance, each eagerly brandishing truncheons as they grinned cruelly. Johann suddenly broke into a simmian grin of his own and hurled his linnen-clad-cargo with a spin on the spot, as one would the weight in a hammer throw. Chad and James went down in an ignominious pile of arms, legs, and bruises, but Darren hopped to one side at the last moment. Darren's pride in avoiding the tangle was short lived, however, as he was struck by Johann with his (full) diaper square in the face. Now naked of all but a quilt of scars, he howled and leaped up and down on the pile. Chad managed to grab Johann's ankle, but he rolled over the pile and towards the exposed doorway. How far he would make it remained to be seen, but for now, he was out of Larissa and Islain's sight... if not hearing. Larissa gritted her teeth and tried to drag Islain and herself back to what she knew was reality--her rooms, where the two of them lay dishelved on the floor, their experiences in Johann's mind echoed across the Castle to their bodies. And then she was aware of her own room ... she seemed to be sprawled somewhat uncomfortably on the floor over a sharp-edged pile of books, with an unslipped foot resting on something wet and soggy ... Islain had pulled back further and was blinking, similarly sprawled on the ground but on her side - and becoming uneasily aware that her dress seemed just a little torn. And there seemed to be a third person in the room with them ... He walked in on a scene of utterdevastation - which was not unusual, of course, for Larissa's rooms. Indeed, if someone were to ransack them, the odds were good that the overall tidiness would probably be increased. But it was not usualto find Larissa sprawled on the ground, her arms locked around a dark haired beauty who was unknown to Morgan (but who bore a slight resemblance to Larissa), both of them looking, from their general state of dishevellment, as though they had indulged in either a wrestling match or a rather passionate encounter. Whatever it had been, it had been sufficient to render them unconscious ... or very nearly so - for both seemed to be coming somewhat groaningly awake. "Never a vid recorder around when you need one," Morgan said. He looked around the room, making certain that there was no one else there, and then walked past the two ladies to peer into the other rooms as well, before returning to where they lay. "You two awake?" he asked. "Or should I go get a bucket of cold water?" Larissa opened her eyes just long enough to confirm that Morgan was alone, then made a hand gesture that could have been construed as either a dismissal of concern, or an insult, depending on the recipient's mood and Shadow of origin. The unknown woman groaned and rolled over onto her back, then slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead. "By all means, if you'd like to be drowned in it," she said sourly. Then her eyes popped open and she seemed suddenly aware that the speaker was not who had been expecting. "I'm... oh dear. I thought it was..." She picked herself up, smoothed her torn but still extremely fashionable (and flattering) violet gown. Her coiffure, once regal, was a mess, and there were bruises along one side of her extraordinarily beautiful face. Pale green, like translucent jade, her eyes, and there was something smoldering beneath the icy perfection of her smile. Morgan watched her with obvious appreciation. "Forgive me for the outburst. My... travel... was not as smooth as I'd anticipated. I am Princess Islain, daughter of Eric and Moire. And you are..?" From the floor, Larissa said, "Princess Islain, may I present Morgan, son of Dierdre and bearer of several titles that he himself cannot be bothered to remember? Morgan, may I present Islain, daughter of Eric and Moire, Princess of Amber and Rebma, etc.? Morgan, find a bottle of something. I need it." "Islain?" Morgan asked. "Now there's a surprise. Mandy know about this?" "Mandy invited me," Islain said breezily. He squatted down next to Larissa. "I've got a couple of things to talks about with you, quickly," he said quietly. "Private stuff." "Well, I was about to make my presence known to Mandor, but I can't go looking like this," Islain shot a disgusted look at her sister. "And after Petra's girls spent the better part of an hour beautifying me too. Has anyone been moved into my old rooms or are they much the same? I can give you two some privacy for your talks, but I will want a raincheck on that bottle." She grimaced and opened the slit in the side of her dress, revealing a goose-egg of a bruise on her hip. The next string of words she muttered sounded more pirate than princess. "Your rooms are unoccupied and untouched, or someone will be answering to me," Larissa told her. "The secret ways will get you there, like always. Though if you want to check my closet, there'll be some dresses in the back from the dawn of time before I started wearing all black," Larissa told her. "No one will notice. There are also cosmetics in the lavatory, and you can probably find a shade of concealer appropriate for your face." Larissa displayed no indication of a desire to relocate from the floor. "Knocking is customary," she informed Morgan. "I knocked," Morgan answered. "You didn't answer, and I was worried that something might have happened." "Something did happen." Larissa folded her hands behind her head and gazed speculatively up at her cousin. "I'm not yet certain how much I'm going to tell you." Morgan nodded absently at Larissa's words, but said nothing, still watching Islain. It was clear he wasn't going to speak until she left the room. Islain winked at him. "If you're trying to get rid of someone, Captain, it's traditionally considered polite to say goodbye," she said. Then she nodded at Larissa, somewhat coldly. "Well, I've got all that in my rooms, and all I should need is needle and thread, bobby pins and concealer. I will see you both later I'm sure." And she slipped from the room, closing the door silently behind her. "Nice girl," Morgan remarked as she closed the door. "Wears her clothes well." "Not particularly," Larissa said. It was clear she wasn't talking about Islain's sartorial choices. Then he turned back to Larissa. "Right, then," he said crisply. "For background info, there's a war starting between noble houses in Chaos, I assume we'll here more about that at supper tonight. Next, if you're going to make an attempt to rescue Johnny-Boy, and I strongly advise against that, by the way, you should know that Mandy has him locked in some sort of virtual-reality spell. For him it's been at least several decades of hellish experience, possibly a century or more, and he's quite mad. And, finally, while I was absent from the castle Merlin enchanted his guard and went walkabout. I thought he might have come to look in on you, since I know he was concerned about what you might do. Mandy is almost certainly using this whole situation to set up traps for anyone who might try a rescue." He frowned. "I just hope Merl isn't down there trying to rescue him on his own." "He's smarter than that. Or, even if he weren't, he'd at least be smart enough to come to me first." Larissa extended a hand to Morgan to be helped to her feet. Morgan straightened up from his crouch and took Larissa's hand, assisting her in standing. She fluffed her skirts. Aside from a few stray hairs, Larissa displayed none of the hard use that had marked Islain. "Now, in order: War in Chaos. I can't bring myself to care until, oh, next week at the earliest. Johann. Of course I'm going to rescue him. The question is, are you going to help me? Merlin. When he exerts himself, he's capable of being quite competent, much like other cousins I could mention." Morgan shook his head. "A rescue attempt would be am exercise in futility, for no good purpose. The assassination attempt was a stupid plan, if there was any plan at all. I'm giving Johhny-Boy the benefit of the doubt and assuming that there were parts of the plan that would have worked just fine, but he was counting on Da-manio to carry them out. Doesn't really matter, what counts is that this has now turned into a way for Mandy to lure someone into making a foolish rescue attempt. It won't work, 'Rissa, and even if it did you'd just wind up with a deranged madman with Amberite strength. Let him go." Larissa shook her head. "No. I'll do no less for him than I did for you. Alone, if need be." She settled next to Morgan on the couch, a few discarded sheets of scribbled notes crinkling underneath her. "Your comment on Johann's situation implies you did, in fact, try something. Tell me." "What, you'd do as much for him as for me?" Morgan asked with mock disappointment. "And here I thought I was special." He sighed, then said, "All right, I'll give you the quick run down. But I'm leaving after that to try to track Merl down." She ignored his teasing. "If you haven't found him by midnight, let me know and I'll join the search." "So. The great and mysterious power behind, around, under, above and all through the throne took me on a tour of Johnny's cell right after the Council meeting. Which you should wonder about right there. I won't insult your intelligence by pointing out all the possible reasons Mandy could have had for that, other than to repeat something Jurt said once, which is that his elder brother never does anything unless there are at least three reasons for it. His cell is on a higher level of the dungeon, which makes it suspiciously easy to stage a rescue attempt. Supposedly that's for the guards' convenience." Morgan snorted, showing his opinion of that. "One guard outside the door, three in the cell with Johnny. One assumes magical wards and sensors of some sort, though I have no confirmation of that. He's chained to the wall, nice thick naval quality chain. Shackles on wrists and ankles hooked to the chains with pins that have been fused in place. They're not coming off easy. A single lock connects the chains to the wall, but it's a real piece of work, and even if you got it open Johnny-Boy would still have the shackles and chains on him. A little obvious." "I asked Mandy about the possibility of someone trumping him, and he oh-so-obligingly handed me one to make the attempt. It put me right into Johnny's VR nightmare, where he's in a madhouse. From what he said in there it's just the latest of a long lifetime of nightmare scenarios, from which he is occasionally allowed to escape or awaken, to be betrayed by those he trusts or the reality he believes in. So he is primed to assume any rescue attempt is just another sadistic fantasy." He shuck his head. "Really, 'Rissa, even if you could get him out, I'm not sure I see the point. And the whole thing really is a trap, so unless you're willing to take him and run, I really, really, really advise against it." It was Larissa's turn for mock disappointment. "Really, Morgan, you underestimate me." Turning serious, she laid a hand on his arm. "Morgan. Dear Morgan. -Of course- it's a trap, but, worse come to worst, -I- will be fine, even if I fail to save Johann." A brief flicker of pain, quickly suppressed, crossed Larissa's face, and for a moment she was far away. "Mandor underestimates me, too," she continued, flashing a small, hard smile. "Morgan, Johann is family, and since Damien turned on him, he has no one to look out for him but me. You keep doing the same for Merlin. If there's truly war in Chaos, he will be the most vulnerable of us all." Morgan smiled back. "I don't underestimate you, 'Rissa," he answered. "It's just that I don't know Johnny, other than from his writings. You, I know, and like. I'd sacrifice a hundred family members I don't know for you, and never lose a moment's peace over it." Larissa leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. "I love you, too, Cousin." He laughed then. "Right, enough with being serious. Anything else before I go king hunting?" "Will you give me your account of what happened this morning?" Larissa asked. "Something about the whole scene rang false, beyond even Damien's set-up, and his weaseling about gunpowder during Council has klaxons going off in my head." Morgan nodded, "Yeah," he agreed, "The whole gun thing was pretty bizarre. Mandy stood there as though he wasn't concerned at all, and the shots went wide. Or at least I'm assuming they went wide, since Mandy wasn't hit, and Johnny was firing at him from short range. Are you thinking it could be there were no real shots at all, it was all a sorcerous trick on the part of Backstab-Boy?" "Wouldn't it make sense?" Larissa said. "Much easier, and safer, to rig the weapon ahead of time. Johann wouldn't have noticed a spell, especially since he had no reason to believe Damien would betray him." Morgan sighed. "I was really hoping I might be able to get hold of working gunpowder," he said regretfully. "And there's another reason. It would only be a matter of time before one of us duplicated or stole the formula--if there's no formula, then we'll just be wasting our time." Larissa shook her head. "I'm not entirely convinced yet, but if Petra doesn't dig a few stray rounds out of the Queen within a couple of days, I won't be losing sleep over facing Chaosians with guns." "Their sorcery is bad enough," Morgan said with a grimace of distaste. "Why I make it a policy to immediately gut anyone who looks like they're doing magic around me without notifying me first. Better safe than a newt." "You'd get better," Larissa said, then frowned. "At least, I think so. Sorcery tends not to last in Amber--against the metaphysical status quo. Morgan shrugged. "When you find Merlin, tell him I want to talk to him," she said, rising. "Affirmative." He smiled. "One of the last things he said to me before I left him earlier today for the Council meeting was to look out for you. He'd probably prefer me to stay with you." He laughed. "But of the two of you, I think he needs the more looking after." He winked at her, and headed for her doorway. He paused before opening the door and turned back to her. "Anything else, beautiful?" he asked. Larissa smiled. "Should you happen to see a page with a library cart, tell him to hurry. I'll see you at supper." "Library cart, check. Supper, check." He flashed a grin at her, then turned and left the room.
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