Talking About the Ladies—Morgan and MerlinIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | Talking About the Ladies -- Morgan and Merlin Morgan watched them leave, a smile still on his face. Then he turned to Merlin. "A risk, don't you think?" he asked. "Well," said Merlin, giving it judicious thought, "not for me. I won't be going in there." "Not the going in there so much," Morgan replied, "Hells, you know I'd be happy to do that all by myself, just for a bet. No, I mean trusting them at all. She is your brother's daughter, after all. Do you really think you can trust her not to carry back word of what you're doing?" He thought a moment, then added, "Or is this whole thing intended to give you a reading on her and her friend, so you can decide how far to trust them in future, for things that you really don't want anyone knowing about?" Merlin smiled. "There's several levels here," he said. "How good they really are, how far in tune with Chaos they are—and where their loyalties really lie. To each other, yes. But to Fiona? To Mandor? If they're to come to be loyal to Amber...and not whatever dream of Amber Fiona might have fed them...well, they need to start sometime. And now's as good a time as any." Morgan nodded thoughtfully. "You're changing the game," he said. "New rules, new goals. Right, then. What do you need from me, right here and now?" "Some of that brandy," said Merlin. "Never do to end an evening sober. Inspiration while I write a letter from Lady Heldt to the Duke. Hell, you'd better write it. No sense in my making hostages to fortune by giving him a sample of my handwriting. "And then...I can't go sauntering into the barracks. But I suppose we should have some sort of fall back plan. Are there any good taverns nearby, do you recall?" Morgan tossed the bottle to him. "It's the Saurian stuff," he warned. "You remember how strong that is." Merlin grinned and took a slug. "In every detail," he said, a little hoarsely, as he lifted the bottle from his lips again. "There are a couple of nice little places in Jagger Circle, right along the edge of the Scar. People do business there, and there are always off-duty soldiers." [Morgan] walked to an ornately inlaid desk, enameled dragons fighting each other across its surface while unicorns frolicked with scantily-clad maidens along the edges. He sat, opened a drawer, and began examining different types of parchment, paper, and vellum. "Don't suppose you happen to have any samples of her handwriting, or have at least seen it enough to describe it?" he asked. "No," said Merlin. "But if we keep it in general enough terms, it could have come from the nib of a secretary. Oh damn. It should be written in the blood of a demon. Do you still have that inkpot I gave you for your birthday? Have you been feeding it like I said?" "Umm, sort of," Morgan answered. "Turns out he really prefers his food live, so I've been indulging him." He leaned over and pulled a bottom drawer halfway out, then reached in and felt around. A second later there was a faint click, and he pulled the drawer completely out of the desk. It wasn't quite as long as the desk was deep. He set the drawer on the floor, then leaned further over and said coaxingly. "Hello there, Caine. How's my little fellow today, huh?" He reached to the very back of the desk and pulled out a Chaosian inkwell, with a very fat demon inside it blinking sleepily at the light. "Sorry, no mice today. But I've got a nice glass of brandy for you." He shot a glance at Merlin. "All right, I'm a bit of a softy. I always get him drunk before taking any of his blood." "This time you'll just have to get him drunk afterwards," said Merlin, wielding a sharpened pen skillfully. "I don't want to..." a startled scream from the demon, "put our cousins into any unnecessary danger. Well. Any additional unnecessary danger. And a letter that reeks to Chaosian nostrils of brandy would do that." He handed the filled pen to Morgan and took the glass of brandy, lifting it to the demon's lips. After a pained look, the demon started to drink. "Most Honoured General Cyrillus Hendrake, from House Heldt, greetings," Merlin began. "Put in some suitable flourishes." The demon hiccupped happily as though in agreement. Morgan grinned and set to writing the letter of introduction with a smile on his lips. "Ah," he said. "How the old skills come back. I really need to do more forging, or else I'll get rusty. That would be a shame." "It would," agreed Merlin. "I could use your scrawling my mark on all those tedious documents Flora and Mandor expect me to read. What do you think's happened to those two? Shall we open a book—gone running to Mandor, trumped Fi, or struggling to find something suitable to wear?" "Not Mandy, unless I'm completely misreading them," Morgan answered, continuing to write. "They might decide to throw their loyalty to him later, but if so, they'll want to gather more information on what you're doing first. I don't think Helena has any interest in just being a dutiful father's girl, unless she does it on her own terms." He paused and stared thoughtfully into the distance. "Helena," he mused. "Lena? Ellie? Hee-Lee? It doesn't lend itself as easily to a diminutive, does it? And Amba? Whatever am I going to do about that. Ambie, I suppose..." He shook himself, and bent back to writing. "Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Trumping Fiona is possible. Heh. Fiona. At hand. That's a good one." "Go the whole hog and make it Bambi," said Merlin. "And Nellie. Those should cause suitable offense. Be a bit deferential—in the letter. House Heldt is martial—they respect military rank." "General sort of, 'please assist her in settling in' sort of thing? And a note about her great respect for the general, and her pleasure at being able to meet him? Or is that laying it on too thick?" Morgan paused thoughtfully, then said, "I could call them Helenamba and Ambalena." "And have Nessie holding you down so they could take it in turns trying to skewer your liver?" Merlin asked. "No, don't answer that. I know you'd enjoy it." Morgan chuckled. He set down the brandy (the demon was by now hic-cupping gently) and sauntered across to inspect Morgan's work. "Not bad," he said. "Anyone would think you'd done this sort of thing before." "Flatterer," Morgan answered. "Now, how would she sign it? Love and Kisses? And are you going to conjure up an appropriate seal, or is it going to be an unsealed letter of introduction?" "If I conjure it, he'll be able to spot my fingerprints all over it," said Merlin. "Best get one of the girls to do it—Amba for preference.It's the sort of job her Head of House might have her doing. "Of course, he'll guess that one of us is behind it. But Mandor. With any luck, he'll think Mandor." "Where are you planning on having me during all this?" Morgan asked curiously. "Disguised as a servant and dutifully following the girls around? Lurking outside waiting for all hell to break loose? Or have you got something else planned you didn't want to mention to them?" Before Merlin could answer, the door opened, and Helena and Amba re-entered. "Mmmmm," said Merlin. "Perhaps I should cook up an expedition every night if it gets you dressed like this ... " Amba looked back at Merlin directly. "Are you the best example, the worst example, or a typical example of what Amber has to offer," she asked irreverently. "After all, I'm still deciding whether this is worth all the trouble." "Let me know what you decide," Morgan said. "Myself, I live for trouble." Merlin laughed. Helena crossed her arms and lowered her chin, gazing with an impatient frown at Merlin and Morgan through lowered lashes. "All right," said Merlin. "We'll go. Horses, I think. But not the King's charger. More inconspicuous ones." He looked at Helena and Amba. "I presume you can ride horses...and you don't scare them immoderately?" he said, a little doubtfully. "I can probably use a glamour but horses don't really like it..." "We can ride just fine," Helena replies, straightening. "Lead away." "Here's the letter of introduction," Morgan said, handing it over to whichever of the ladies seemed inclined to take it. Helena gave it to Amba. Then he made a quick grab for the small, obviously drunk demon sitting on the desk. "Back to bed for you," he said. "Mice to follow once you sleep it off." Merlin swept up a long dark cloak that hadn't been in the room a few minutes earlier. "Let's go," he said. I suggest we head for the tavern, part with you there, and then I'll secure a private room against your return. Morgan can then show the way to the gatehouse—and decide how best to accompany you—whether as an escort or...by his own means." He glanced at his cousin for confirmation. [continued in First Night in Amber] |
