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The Sculpture Garden on the grounds of the Hattusas Museum was one of Claudio's favorite places. True to both parts of its name, it mingled three-dimensional works of art with decorative vegetation—sometimes both at once, as in the Flower Dial or the Topiary Maze. It also featured plazas, terraces, fountains, walks both populous and secluded, and while it was never quite the same twice running, most of its visitors had their own catalog of favorite spots.

He'd agreed to meet Helena and Amba at the Papingo Terrace for a sketching party. Since their initial encounter on the sword dancing grounds, the three young people had pursued the acquaintance and saw each other with fair frequency. Though hints dropped to their respective families had not produced the spate of invitations they hoped for, there was nothing to prevent them getting together after a match; making a date to go to a theatre or concert together; meeting at a museum or gallery; sharing food, drink, and conversation at a favorite cafe.

For most Chaosians of the Courts, "sketching party" would suggest a group of well-bred young ladies gathering with their pastels and water-colors to render scenic views. Claudio and his friends, however, had something else in mind. He and Helena were both studying Trump Artistry, and they'd agreed to get together and practice on each other. Amba had also consented to be practiced on, and possibly to learn some of the basics of the discipline.

A few minutes before the agreed-on time, Claudio arrived at the Papingo Terrace. They'd chosen it mainly because it was well lit at almost any time of day, but also because it was away from the more populous areas of the Sculpture Garden, screened from the main path by a thickly planted trellis of vines and multicolored tropical blossoms, and provided with a semicircle of comfortable benches. After glancing around to make sure they'd have the place to themselves, Claudio chose one of the benches, set down the bakery box he was carrying, unslung his artist's satchel, then leaned his walking stick against the bench as he sat down.

As Amba had classes, she and Helena agreed that they would meet Claudio at the terrace, rather than arriving together as usual. Thankfully, the class she'd had to attend was more meta-physical than physical, so she'd been able to come directly from class rather than having to go back to Heldtways. As they day had been warm, Amba wore a simple sundress, the sky-blue cotton fabric directly corresponding to her mood. Carrying a tube as she tended towards paintings and had various canvases within, the only other thing she carried was a sling bag with some of her books from class. So it was that she came upon Claudio, and cheerfully greeted him as she set up her own area. "Hi! I suppose Helena will be along in a bit... How've you been?"

"Pretty well, thanks," Claudio replied. "What have you been up to? Since your last tournament, that is. I was there," he reminded her with a grin.

As she began setting up her equipment, Claudio also took his sketchbook, pencils and colors from his satchel. At the same time he let himself appreciate, as he always did, the simple grace of her movements, and the way the light slid over her hair.

Amba went along setting up as if she didn't notice Claudio's attention. But from watching her sword dance, he could tell that she was very aware of her surroundings and probably knew in any case. And if that was not enough of a reason for him to know, her almost surreptitious glances back in his direction would.

What Claudio couldn't tell for sure was whether she minded. He hoped she didn't think he expected anything from her. He just liked to look at her.

"Not much, other than classes," she said. "I can't believe that you're supposed to learn all of this—true, you have a lifetime to take it in, and I'm getting the 'abbreviated version', but so much, and most of it seems to make no sense. Poisons, etiquette, heraldry, etcetera, etcetera..."

Claudio chuckled. "It's not supposed to make sense. It's just the way things work."

"There," she said, her easel set up, a fresh canvas awaiting her efforts. "So. What are we concentrating on today?"

"Symbolism," Claudio said. "Trump works by psychically activating the resonances between a symbol and the thing symbolized. At least, that's how it was explained to me. Of course, I've also heard it said that what a Trump Artist does is steal a little bit of the subject's soul and put it into the representation, to connect them." He shrugged. "It's all in the way you look at things, I suppose."

Amba frowned, thinking. "For example?"

Claudio turned a hand palm up. "Well, you've used Trump. What do you concentrate on when you're activating one? I mean, what goes through your mind?"

He began to untie the string of the bakery box that was sitting on the bench next to him.

"I don't know," Amba said shrugging as she sat on the bench. "I guess whatever is on the card?"

Claudio grinned. "What's on the card is a bunch of lines and blobs of color," he pointed out.

Amba looked over at him in mock annoyance, then unable to hold the expression, settled for sticking her tongue out instead. "I knew that," she said. "Ok then, Oh wise teacher, tell me the answer."

"The answer—or rather, the beginning of the answer," Claudio demurred, "is that the lines and colors are arranged in such a way as to cause you to perceive the subject of the card. Now, that happens any time you see a representation of something or even hear a word, a name. Language works by symbolism too. The difference between a Trump and an ordinary portrait is that the infused power of Trump amplifies your perception to the point where the correspondence between representation and represented becomes unity."

"So is a trump always connected to its subject on some level?" Amba asked, crossing one leg under the other as she turned to face Claudio on the bench.

"That's a good question," said Claudio. He eased the lid off the bakery box, which was full of crispy cinnamon star cookies, and explained parenthetically to Amba, "I didn't want anything too greasy, flaky, or powdery today," before resuming. "You could say that any symbol is connected to its subject on some level, even if it's only in the mind of the percipient. But yes, part of the technique of creating Trump is to make the connection part of the object."

"Chocolate is always the right choice," Amba said. "Though those do look delicious." Looking up from the box to Claudio, she said, "It's always 'object'. Can you create a trump to more than one subject?"

Claudio looked thoughtful. "I've never heard of one," he said. "I've heard of Trump that connect to someone or something other than what they seem to depict, but that's different. Are you talking about, say, putting more than one person in the same Trump?"

"Yes," she answered. "So maybe you could contact more than one person at the same time?"

"As I say, I've never heard of it being done," said Claudio. "I don't know if it's possible. I'd think there'd have to be some kind of...link between the subjects already, or it would, I don't know...fragment the unity? The resonances would..." He fell silent, thinking, his brows drawing together in a frown of intense concentration.

"Would what?" Helena asked, coming up beside them. She reached down and snagged a cinnamon cookie. "What were you saying about a link between subjects?"

"That's going straight to your hips," Amba said, smiling.

Helena ran a hand down her buttock and smiled back at her provocatively.

Claudio looked up. "Hello, Helena. Amba was asking me if it would be possible to create a single Trump with more than one subject. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

Helena thought briefly. "Suhuy talked about a lot of weird things, but no, that wasn't one of them. So are you going to try it?" She walked around the bench and sat near Amba. "You can draw us on one trump to try it out. What do you think?"

She gave Claudio a smile that was pure cheese as she threw her arm over Amba's shoulder.

Claudio rolled his eyes. "Right. You take something Master Suhuy hasn't even tried and expect a novice like me to dash it off in his sketchbook. Helena, you are the limit!"

She looked warningly at Amba. "No comments from you!"

Claudio looked at the two girls for a moment, shaking his head. Then the thoughtful expression crept back into his eyes and he said slowly, "I can't help wondering what would happen..."

"So... let's find out?" Amba said at last.

Helena performed an exaggerated double-take at Amba and turned to Claudio. "Was that impulsive? I don't know...I think she might have been impulsive. What do you think, Claudio?"

"I think..." Claudio appeared to be only half listening to what Helena said. "...I think if it's only a sketch, even if something weird happens, it won't last long enough to create major problems." He looked back up at Helena and Amba with a trace of a smile. "I tend to look at the two of you as a sort of unity to begin with."

Amba smirked at Helena. "I guess that means that this bit of impulsiveness is your fault." She winked at Claudio. "Now, how do you want us to pose?"

"It ought to be a pose you can hold comfortably for a while," said Claudio. "Otherwise I'd suggest Dragon starting position or something like that." He reached for a cookie. "I do know I'm going to need fuel for this."

"Well, it's just a sketch and an experiment, so perhaps just sitting where we are?" Helena suggested, folding her long legs under her. "Toss a few of those cookies down here too, would you?"

Claudio popped a cookie into his mouth before leaning over to pass her the box. He studied the two of them, head tilted slightly, while he ate it. "I think..." he said at last. "I think if this is going to work, you should make a physical link, the way you do when you take someone across a Trump gate."

Helena took Amba's hand. "Physical link accomplished. So can we talk to you while you work? Or would you rather we were quiet so you can concentrate?"

Amba squeezed Helena's hand, smiling with her, then looked at Claudio, her eyes bright with excitement as she waited for his answer.

"I am going to have to concentrate on this," Claudio said apologetically, picking up his sketchbook and a pencil. "So anything you have to say to me, say it now," he added with a grin. "And it may take a while. Be sure you're comfortable."

Helena nodded. "You gave us the cookies already and that was the important thing," she replied, laughing. "Amba and I will talk amongst ourselves."

"Gave you the cookies," Amba said patting Helena's hip. "In this at least I maintained discipline," she added, punctuating the statement with a smirk.

Claudio smiled at the already familiar byplay as he focused his gaze, outer and inner, on the two young women. It shouldn't be hard to conceptualize the two of them together; he'd rarely seen them apart. Not that he was in any danger of confusing one with the other. They were distinct...they balanced...they complemented. Helena bright, sharp, funny, impulsive, golden; Amba deep, thoughtful, intense (warm hands taking away pain), exotic. The link was there too, he'd seen it, sensed it but not articulated it, there in their glances and stances and touches, the reason he hadn't— (Concentrate! Detach! Symbolize!)

His hand had begun to move, scoring lines onto the paper, focusing all his perceptions and channeling them into the complicated, charged symbol that was a Trump sketch.

As he drew, Claudio noticed something strange with the sketch. Helena was starting, in the lines on the paper, to look remarkably like Amba.

He frowned. That wasn't right. He turned his attention to correcting that, concentrating on the details—the look in the eyes, the quirk in the smile—that were uniquely Helena's.

"He's frowning," Helena said in a low voice to Amba. "Should we be concerned?"

"Shhh," Amba admonished. "You'll make him nervous."

But Claudio did not seem to be paying any heed to their conversation as he fought to correct the imbalance.

Well, it seemed to be working. Helena's face was taking on its distinctive characteristics beneath his pencil.

Only now Amba was starting to look remarkably like Helena.

Claudio's frown deepened into one of even more intense concentration. Obviously this was going to require a delicate balancing act. He began to correct Amba's image, while keeping a weather eye on Helena's.

It was odd, really, how like Amba's Helena's nose was, especially seen from this angle...and the curve of her lip too...it seemed...

It seemed he had two perfectly good representations of Amba on the paper in front of him.

Claudio let the sketchbook fall to his lap with an exclamation of annoyance. "This is not working right!"

"What's wrong?" Helena asked, concerned.

Claudio turned the sketchbook around so that Helena and Amba could see it. "At one point it was going the other way," he explained.

"Well," Amba said slowly, "It certainly looks nice, but wasn't the object to make a trump of both of us?" Leaning closer, she added, "It's really amazing actually... from a distance, I'd say it was both of us, but you sketched me perfectly in Helena's clothes! How did you do that?"

"It wasn't what I meant to do," said Claudio. "I mean, I don't suppose it would be much of a trick, really, to do it that way, but I intended to draw both of you." He blew out an exasperated breath. "It didn't seem to want to come out that way."

Helena rolled up to her knees and leaned forward to look at the sketchbook. Then she looked at the sketchbook, seeing if there was anything trumpish about it.

It does feel trumpish ... but who knows what will happen if you use it?

Helena handed the sketch back to Claudio. "It has power. Are you going to try it?"

Claudio turned his attention back to the sketch and noted the same thing. "Well, there's no altering it now," he said. "It's charged. I don't know what will happen if we try using it." He looked at Amba and Helena questioningly.

"Did we do all of this just to falter when the answer is in front of us?" She looked at the sketch again. "Or at least, *an* answer," she added doubtfully.

"Try it," Helena said, smiling.

"All right, I'm willing if you are," said Claudio. "How about if the two of you go off a little ways, in separate directions so that we're all out of line-of-sight from each other, and then I'll try Trumping you with this. I'll give you a count of a hundred. Would that work?"

Helena nodded and moved off to the right, behind a stand of trees.

Amba nodded also, and moved off similarly to the left until she couldn't see either Claudio, nor Helena.

Once they were both out of sight and had had time to move a sufficient distance, Claudio concentrated on the sketch in front of him in the way one did when making a Trump call.

Amba felt the tug of a trump call...while Claudio felt the beginning of a powerful headache...

Expecting the call, Amba almost instantly answered it.

There were two Ambas, identical...both responding...it was dazzling...noisy...and an ache in his head...

It was like a very bad migraine...

"Claudio?" Amba said, concerned. "Are you ok?"

"Amba? I'm sorry, I'm going to have to break contact. Come on back, I'll tell you when I see you." Claudio passed his hand over the trump sketch to end the call.

A quizzical look on her face, Amba trotted back to where Claudio was.

She found him massaging his closed eyes with one hand, though he looked up at her when she arrived. "Call Helena over, too," he suggested. "I don't think she got the Trump call, but I assume she'll want to know how it worked out."

As Amba looked up, she saw that Helena had actually already arrived. She looked at her, then back at Claudio.

Helena, having heard Amba and Claudio converse about _something_ and Amba walk back over, appeared beside them. "What happened?"

"You didn't get a Trump contact, did you?" Claudio asked her, just to make sure.

Helena shook her head.

"I didn't think so. I didn't sense a contact with you. Well, you already saw what happened when I tried putting both of you in one Trump sketch. With the double image... I contacted Amba, but I think the reduplication must have set up some wicked harmonic in the resonances." Claudio massaged his eyes again.

Then, lowering his hand to partly cover the sketch in his lap, he went on, "I don't know whether it can't be done, or it's just that I can't manage it. Yet. I can't imagine that no one else has ever tried..."

"I wonder," Amba mused, "that even if you had been able to do it, would the resonance not be a problem in any case?"

"But Claudio thought that resonance essential to the dual trump," Helena said, looking at Amba quizzically. "Do you think instead that there should be no resonance between the multiple subjects?"

"Well, no, by 'resonance' I meant the one the Trump sets up between itself and its subject," said Claudio. "What I was talking about between the subjects themselves was a unity. Or maybe it's a consonance," he mused. "But it may be that with a dual subject you couldn't avoid the harmonic in any case." He shrugged. "Without being able to create a Trump sketch of two people in the first place, how would you find out? I suppose we could ask around," he went on doubtfully.

Helena nodded, accepting her mistake in terms. "If you're right and you can't avoid the harmonic, then it sounds like you need to find a way to compartmentalize or isolate the various subjects in the trump, so that when you activate one, the other remains quiescent." She paused. "That is, if that's your intention for the trump. Or did you want to try to contact both of us at once, a three-way-call?"

"Both at once," Claudio answered. "What would be the point of it otherwise? If you're going to isolate the subjects and only use them separately, you might as well just have two different Trumps, like usual."

Helena laughed. "Convenience, I suppose." She shrugged and snagged the last cinnamon cookie. "I could ask my mother about the three-way, if you like. She's had some experience with trumps."

"I hadn't thought of that. Good idea," said Claudio. "That's right, she studied with your notorious ancestor, didn't she?"

Amba looked down and away, silent as they finished the conversation.

Helena laughed again. "Yes. She studied with MNA."

"Are you carrying a Trump of her?" Claudio asked hopefully. "Though she's probably busy..."

"Of course, though she doesn't always answer..." Helena wiped her fingers on the grass and procured the aforementioned trump. A study in red and green and white, the trump emphasized Fiona's hair and eyes. It was the latter Helena focused her attention on, willing them to come alive.

Claudio sat back and let her get on with it. He glanced at the box of cookies and then away. The migraine caused by the malfunctioning Trump sketch had left him a trifle queasy as well.

Looking back at Claudio, Amba asked, "Are you better?" Then after a moment she added, "I'm sorry I suggested this-- it was pretty reckless, and you could have been hurt."

Claudio waved a hand in negation. "It's passing off." He grinned at Amba. "And you should have figured out by now that 'reckless' is my middle name. Or at least, curiosity will win over caution every time. Anyway, don't you know that it's not art if you don't suffer for it?"

She gave him a half smile. "Still, be careful," she said. "After all, I already have one reckless friend to look after."

He laughed, his glance flicking over to Helena. "'Impulsive,'" he said. "I think she prefers 'impulsive'."

Amba laughed then, something that she did rarely lately. "Yes, I do believe you're right," she agreed smiling.

The card in Helena's hand came to life. Fiona was in a small, polished room of dark woods. She had a pair of protective glasses pushed up into her hair, and was wearing a robe of green that served to protect her clothes.

"Helena," she said. "What is it?"

"A question concerning the possibility of incorporating multiple subjects in one trump. Can it be done?" Helena asked.

"No," said Fiona at once. "Although every idiot tries it at least once. Why?"

Helena grinned. "Because I'm an idiot and so are my friends. Do you have a minute to come through and talk to us, or are you in the middle of something?"

Fiona looked at her daughter, exasperated.

Helena was used to this.

"Yes, I am. Are you injured? Are any of your idiotic friends injured in such a way that they're in need of assistance?"

"Um...well...Claudio looks like he has rather a headache, but he seems to be the only casualty," Helena replied.

"Then as long as he doesn't do anything taxing or tries to draw more trumps this afternoon, no permanent damage will have been done, and you may bring him and anyone else with you to tea."

"Mother would like to know if we'd like to come visit for tea," Helena announced to Amba and Claudio.

Claudio perked up. "That," he said, "would almost be worth the headache."

From just Helena's half of the conversation, Amba wasn't sure if the answer was yes-- she was certain they were in for one of the most subtle, but painful, tongue lashings ever. But she knew better than to say anything but the required response.

"Yes, of course."

"We'll all be there, thank you," Helena informed Fiona, then cut the contact. She looked at Claudio and Amba for a brief moment, then burst out laughing. "She said it wasn't possible and that every idiot tries it at least once and for Claudio not to do anything taxing this afternoon."

Claudio laughed too. "I might have known. You'd think one's teacher would warn one ahead of time."

"Sometimes I think that's how they have their fun," Amba replied wryly. "So what do you want to do until gallows-time?"

Putting it that way earned Amba an odd look from Claudio.

"Nothing taxing," he said with a grin. "I suppose that means, 'sit in the sun and let you two draw me,' if you want to."

"We can do that," Helena agreed. She walked over to her knapsack and started breaking out supplies. "Do you mind if I create a trump of you, Claudio? I have one for Amba already."

"Please do," he said. "And I'll do an individual one of you ... some other time, if that's all right."

Helena flashed him a grin over her shoulder before turning back to her supplies. "Sure, whenever you like--I'm at your disposal.

"Amba, I also brought paints today and you're welcome to use any of them," Helena continued, knowing that Amba liked painting better than sketching. "They're the acrylics, though, not the oils."

"That's fine," Amba said gratefully. "I think your paints are more suited to his coloration, so I'll take you up on that!"

It would be orangesky before time for tea, and that was at least a good turn-and-a-half away. Helena used part of the time to take her preliminary sketches for Claudio's trump--apparently he was going to be sketching in her trump of him, for she gave him the props to hold while reminding him sternly he was not to do anything with them.

"Just sketching isn't strenuous," he protested. "Not if it's not Trump. Never mind, I know ... you don't want me to move."

Though oils stayed wet much longer, acrylics were less fussy and better suited to Helena's temperament. She spent the rest of the time playing with the paints, doing quick studies of Claudio and Amba and landscapes, her style some unique combination of impressionism and pop art.

For her part, Amba stood behind Helena, watching her technique and learning.

Claudio found it oddly relaxing to be the subject rather than the artist for once, and it was also interesting to see himself from an outside perspective. By the time the sky began to turn orange, the headache and the other effects of trying to use the defective Trump sketch had mostly passed off.

When orangesky finally came, it didn't take long for Helena to put away her paints--one of the advantages of acrylics. "You haven't met my mother before, have you, Claudio?" she asked as she cleaned up a brush. "She can be a bit intimidating."

Amba's mouth quirked at the understatement, but she said nothing, composing her face once again into the model of innocence.

"So can my mother, if it comes to that," Claudio noted cheerfully. "I'm used to it. And I've wanted to meet the Lady Fiona for... oh, the longest time, even before I met you."

"Oh? And why is that?" Helena asked with a hint of protectiveness.

"Well, because of the family connection, for one thing," said Claudio, "and also because I know her to be a very learned person." He held up a hand. "No...I promise I won't behave like a worshipful fanboy, or plague her with questions. But if we end up discussing today's incident, we'll have to talk Trump theory at least a little, won't we?" His eyes were bright with anticipation.

"I'm sure that's what she has in mind--discussing today's incident, that is," Helena replied, her tone more resigned than eager. "There's a good chance we'll get lectured, and Mother's lectures are sharp and pointed...though having a new face present might soften her jabs."

"That would only be fair, if so," said Claudio. "I'm sure I got far less of a dressing down than I deserved, the day we met, because Pavlo and I brought you and Amba to tea." He had collected up his artist's satchel and walking stick, and was ready to go.

Helena made sure Amba was ready as well, then brought forth her trump of Fiona and concentrated on it.

Amba smiled hesitantly at Helena as she looked over at her, nodding, then waited for the other woman to make contact.

Fiona was seated in a small open summerhouse in the garden -- or perhaps it was more of a pavilion, six-sided. Three of the sides were open, the other three were closed by delicate screens, each decorated with unusually simple illustrations of flowers, drawn with a few simple strokes in blue and grey.

It seemed that tea had been set out on a side table. The main table though, in the centre of the pavilion with comfortably cushioned wicker chairs arranged around, was set with cards. Most showed the obverse, a complex sigil that seemed to show a snake twisted around a dagger whose hilt was a branch supporting a blooming rose. But one showed its face -- an image of a woman kneeling on a riverbank, her face intent as she bent forward to study the still, dark water. Her two arms, long and white, were stretched out before her, and her hands were cupped around the reflection of the moon as though any minute she would lean that little bit further forward and draw the moon from the water.

Helena smiled at her mother and kissed her on the cheek as she came through. Her brow wrinkled in bemusement at the cards on the table as she sought to place them and failed.

She tore her attention away from the cards and looked up. "Mother, this is Claudio Barimen. Claudio, my mother, Princess Fiona Barimen of Amber."

Claudio had not taken his eyes from Fiona since he was handed through the Trump. Now he bowed and said, "It is an honor to meet you, Princess." His expression and tone of voice made it plain he was utterly sincere.

"Yes," said Fiona. "Yes, I imagine you believe it is. Which, I'm afraid, serves only to suggest that the other side of my family is as foolish as those in the Eternal City -- but in different ways. Do tell me -- how much do you know of trump? Who's been teaching you?"

A gesture suggested to Helena that she should quietly serve everyone tea.

Which Helena aptly did.

Amba sat quietly, and turned her attention to Claudio as he answered.

"Master Nikoly of House Heldt has been instructing me," answered Claudio, "who in turn studied with Master Suhuy. As for what I know..." He turned a hand palm up. "Enough to know I've barely started." A smile twitched his mouth, irrepressible. "That I won't be running out of it anytime soon."

"But far enough advanced that you feel confident about risking the lives of my daughter and her friend?" said Fiona, with polite interest. "To say nothing of your own."

Amba fidgeted in her seat, worrying her lip as she looked from Claudio to Fiona and back. Then, looking at the table, she said, "It was my fault."

"It was both our faults," Helena replied as she set down the teapot. "I was there too."

"No, I won't allow that!" Claudio said firmly. "We all agreed on it, and I was the one sitting there with the sketchpad and pencil. It was up to me to call a halt, and I didn't."

Amba looked up, startled. She'd expected Helena's statement, and at least half expected Claudio to say something. But nothing so forceful. She studied him worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

"Indeed," said Fiona, lifting her tea cup to her lips and sipping delicately. "And that fact has brought home forcefully to both Baroness Heldt and me that we have neglected your training in the esoteric arts quite shamefully. A failing we have agreed should be rectified immediately. Helena, you will find Volumes 1 to 7 of Trump Art, Its Practices, Pleasures and Problems in your study. I will give you a viva voce examination in ten days' time. Until you pass that, I'm really afraid you won't have time for any other pursuits at all. But if you fail, I will be happy to give you a further examination after another ten days. Amba, you will find that similar arrangements have been made for you at House Heldt. I will be coming there to conduct the examination, with your guardian in attendance."

Helena sat down with her hands demurely in her lap. She accepted the the punishment without offering a defense or trying to negotiate terms--she knew better. Besides--though an examination by her mother would be grueling--as punishments went, this one could've been much worse.

"Which only leaves the question of what the consequences should be for you, Claudio Barimen."

She regarded him thoughtfully over the rim of the tea-cup.

"Do you have another set of the books?" he inquired hopefully. Then, more earnestly, he went on, "I'll gladly endure any retribution you wish to set if you'll only explain what happened!"

Helena's mouth twitched. She didn't look at Amba, or she knew she'd burst out laughing.

Amba raised an eyebrow, still looking at Claudio. Then finally, she switched to looking at Fiona, waiting to see how she was going to respond.

"I have every intention of explaining what happened," said Fiona, with a razor-edged smile. "It is, however, a task that will take no little time, so I shall take over your training myself for the present."

Claudio's sharp intake of breath was clearly audible.

She sipped her tea. "Your current master will not be pleased, I imagine. Part of your ... ah .... punishment for your behaviour will be to make your apologies to him and explain how your reckless behaviour has endangered his reputation."

"Yes, my lady." Claudio knew that explaining to Master Nikoly would be child's play compared to breaking the news to his parents. But he would undertake that as well, with the fervent hope that they would not cast a rub in his way.

Her smile widened. "And the rest, I think you will find, is attendant on being my pupil."