Coming to Amber: HelenaHelena was in her very favourite place when the momentous message arrived. House Ishtar's library was dark this day, despite the south wall being all window—dark enough that the floating glow lamps had come on. As a storm raged outside with red lightning and hail, the fire inside crackled in cool colors of blue, aqua, and green. Helena didn't notice either. As she sat in her favorite chair, an ebony monstrosity carved in the shape of a gargoyle with ruby eyes that glowed in the flickering firelight, her attention was focused on a tome in her lap covered in something that closely resembled demon skin and dealt with the history of House Hendrake. Although in most places dry and dull, this paricular chapter in history dealt with the reign of Buforth Hendrake, Lord of the House over a millennia ago, and his odd proclivity toward animals. He was in the process of marrying a goat when Helena was interrupted from her reading by a knock on the door. "Yes, what is it?" she called impatiently, curious to see what Buforth would do next and with what kind of animal. (She should be certain not to omit the chapter on the porcupine. It's most instructive) A servant opened the door and poked in her head. "A messenger is here to see you, milady." "A messenger? From where?" The servant shrugged. "He wouldn't say, milady." Strange. "All right, show him in." The servant paused. "Would milady like to get dressed properly, first?" she inquired timidly, fulfilling her duty to her House and its appearance and reputation. "Great Jehosaphat, no," Helena exclaimed. "I'm decent enough, so show him in now. I want to get back to my reading." "As you wish, milady," the servant replied in a tone of longsuffering. As she bowed and left, Helena closed the book and sat up straight in the chair. She sank her feet into the substantial pile of the blood red carpeting and hoped the messenger wouldn't notice they were bare. A minute later the door opened again and the messenger entered. He was a tall, grave young man - and rather too fashionable in a certain Chaosian way; everything about his was suggestive - he was doing everything shortly of wearing a sign proclaiming 'My Other Form is a Centaur'. But he was also wearing the knots on his sleeve that spoke of a long association with Amber; in the wars and in the aftermath. Helena's former annoyance melted into begrudging curiosity. "My Lady," he said, and bowed. "I bring an invitation and instructions from your Father." She stared intently at the messenger as if he was the main entree at her next supper. "Lord Mandor?" "The same, my Lady," said the messenger. "He is anxious that you come to Amber and spend some time with him—and with your sister." He smirked slightly, and made a miniscule shift to his cravat (without using his hands). It seemed that even the thought of Clytemnestra could have a powerful effect. Helena lowered the tome to the floor. "Anxious? I have had no word from him since I was separated from my sister some twenty years ago and he's suddenly now anxious?" She narrowed her eyes. "What has changed?" "I understand that you have, my Lady," said the messenger. "You have now come to an age when you will be permitted more freedom of action—the old arrangement that tied you to your mother's end of the multiverse no longer holds such sway." This sounded almost like a rote reason—perhaps the messenger was not entrusted with the true one. Helena's begrudging curiosity shifted into wary interest. "You mentioned an invitation and instructions?" she prompted. "In addition to the invitation to Amber," said the messenger, regarding her with a certain intensity that almost seemed to verge on hunger, "you are invited to dine with Lord Despil, your Uncle. Tonight." Her double-take was classic. If Mandor's goal was to keep her off-guard by continuing to throw unexpected situations at her, it was working. "Tonight? Fine," she managed. "When and where?" "Lord Despil's Ways, at sky-change," said the messenger. He gave a slightly predatory smile. "I am to be your escort." Helena matched his predatory smile. "Are you familiar with the story of Atalanta? I don't require a Meleager," she intoned idly. Then she shrugged and her smile turned benign. "This arrangement is acceptable. Rather sudden, to be sure, but I'll adjust." She stood and clapped her hands twice. A young maid opened the library door inquiringly. "Take Lord Mandor's messenger to the knot garden where he may bide his time," Helena said. "Provide him with refreshments if he desires." Though it was storming here outside the library, Helena knew the weather in the garden would be clear and pleasant. The roses were even currently in bloom. "Yes, milady," the maid answered. She looked at the messenger expectantly. "If you would follow me, sir?" The messenger cast a suddenly nervous glance at Helena and then meekly followed the maid, leaving Helena alone. Helena let her breath out in a whoosh and ran a hand over her face as she looked at the clock over the mantle. Sky-change was not far away, maybe an hour. She'd have to wait for another time to find out what Buforth Hendrake did next. Hurriedly she retreated to her rooms and quickly ran through her toilet. She stalled when trying to choose a dress--what should she wear to a dinner in honor of an invitation from a man she didn't remember with an uncle she'd never met?—and finally settled on the dark grey with the red underskirt—House Ishtar's colors, and let them wonder at the meaning of that. No time to curl and pin her hair properly, so she settled for pulling it back in a twist and leaving it at that. Ruby and silver jewely finished off the ensemble and she was ready to go with a good twenty minutes to spare—which gave her a moment to regard herself in the mirror and ask her reflection what the bloody hell she thought she was doing. No time to think about it. She had forward momentum and she ran with it. "Tell Lady Fiona that I've accepted an invitation and I'm having dinner with my Uncle Despil and shall return later this evening," she told her handservant. "You might want to stay outside in the hallway when you deliver the message." And with that she left to join the messenger in the knot garden. The messenger watched her approach appreciatively—and then extended a trump to her. The dark, attractive face of the Lord Despil gazed up at her. Helena composed her mind as she'd been taught, then gazed upon the card and reached for the essence that was her uncle. The face came alive, younger and stronger than she had expected, but perhaps not unexpected for the man who held the Chaosian power base for his influential family. "Lady Helena," he said formally, "I am delighted you are able to join me." He extended his hand towards her. "Uncle Despil," she greeted him back, with a small smile and a slight emphasis on the relationship. "Thank you for the invitation." Helena accepted Despil's hand and stepped through the trump, catching the messenger's sleeve as she did and pulling him with her. She found herself in a large, light, airy room, furnishhed in a cool, clean style. The first disconcerting thing was the angles - they seemed to be in a cube resting on one of its points, the floor being lifted some distance above the point itself (the geometry seemed to suggest it was not mathematically precise) and there were windows on all the six walls. The second disconcering fact was that all the windows showed subtly different views. Fascinating. As Helena took in the room and outside scenery, she also looked for any ways out, like a door. Not that she's expecting to need to leave in any hurry—just a reasonable precaution. There were doors. Doors set at slightly odd angles—and some doors that seemed to led out into the middle of the sky, if the nearby windows were any guide. Of course, this being Chaos, the nearby windows probably weren't guides. There was also a trapdoor in the floor—and what appeared to be the start of a spiral staircase, open and wooden, leading down. From the angle at which she stood, it was impossible to see where it led. She turned her attention back to Despil. "We're expecting further visitors," he said. "Would you care for a drink while we wait?" "Further visitors? May I inquire who?" Helena asked, swallowing her surprise. "A drink would be...welcome." "I believe you know Amba of House Heldt," he said. "Didn't you train together in Hendrake?" "Yes, we did." Helena's mind raced, looking for the connection between her, Amba, and Mandor. Nothing...yet. She took a stab in the dark. "Did Lord Mandor invite Amba to Amber as well?" "Yes," said Despil. He handed Helena a dark green drink that foamed and bubbled. The smell was pleasantly minty—but there was alcohol too in the fumes. He took a sip of his own. She resolved to just sip at it, wanting a clear mind for the evening. "I can see his reasons for asking his own daughter to Amber," he said thoughtfully, "but I know little of these others. Tasha Minobee ... Do you know her?" Helena shook her head and narrowed her eyes at Despil. "So what is your role in all of this?" Despil smiled faintly. "My usual one," he said. "The Chaosian arm of the family business—Mandor Enterprises. And now you're being offered a seat on the Board." "Oh, really? That's...fascinating," Helena replied, though her tone conveyed more bemusement than fascination. "Is he offering a seat to Amba and this Tasha as well, while he's at it?" Despil chuckled. "I think they're more in the nature of recruits ... the boardroom is, in Mandor's eyes, strictly a family affair." He lifted one hand, studying a fingernail that was suddenly glowing green. "I believe our other guests have found the way in. Would you like to go and encourage them to navigate the stairs? Not all of them bite." "The recruits or the stairs?" Helena asked rhetorically, a faint smile on her lips. She shrugged marginally. "Certainly, I'd be happy to. Encouragement is my middle name." She gave Despil one last searching look before depositing her drink on a table and exiting through the door. She found herself in a long corridor, carved from a black stone that looked like obsidian. There seemed to be a flight of stairs at the end of this, leading downwards. Having nowhere else to go, Helena took the stairs downward—watching for ones that bit.
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