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Garrett pulls the apple out of his pocket and bites into it as he sits back down at the table. He opens the book that Lilly recommended and peruses the table of contents, trying to determine whether he wants to start from the beginning or read the good parts first. Opting for the good parts, he starts flipping pages, mostly because concentration at this point is impossible. If there are any drawings or portraits in this book, he studies them, looking for resemblances.
After a time, Garrett's mind wanders. Dark, almond eyes and an elusive smile start creeping in and a grin sneaks onto his face. That went better than he expected. Way better. He now has an ally, one who is not likely to run out and spread rumors. One who is among the most dependable cousins here. One who is -- Gods, is she pretty. He shakes himself. "Mind on business, Bailey," he says out loud, trying once again to focus on the book.
He never noticed how young she was before. She couldn't be more than three or four years older than him. Not that much difference. But she could cut you into little pieces before you could even bleed, he reminds himself. Not if I don't give her reason to. He growls at himself. Remember what Dad always says - you screw around with the royals and you get screwed. Garrett never knew Dad was speaking from experience. He'd do well to keep that in mind. It was what got him here in the first place.
Garrett closes the book and goes over to the small table where Lilly got the parchment and ink. He has work to do, or she really will have reason to kill him. He brings the supplies back to the reading table and sits down to compose a note to Lady Folly.
Garrett had always gotten on well with Folly, ever since she arrived around the time of the Sundering. He had just turned thirteen. She had never ridden before, so he had picked out a horse for her and given her a few lessons. The riding lessons had been a welcome distraction for Garrett after the Sundering -- the worst day of his life. The day his grandparents died in the fire and his father was hurt when the stable collapsed. The day the guards ran the badly injured horses through, and burned their bodies in the pyre. The day his childhood ended. He had needed those riding lessons more than Folly had. Over the years, he had come to see her almost like a big sister. They always talked and teased when he was getting Sprite ready for her. Lady Folly had long been Garrett's favorite royal.
He thinks about how to word the note for a long while, wanting to get it right the first time. Parchment is expensive, after all. While he's thinking, he chews the apple down to nothing but seeds and stem. Finally, he writes, in his best handwriting (which still isn't very good):
Lady Folly,
I hope your journy went well. When you get back, could you pleese come see me at the stable? I'm worryed about Sprite. For the last 2 weeks, she hasnt eaten well and has no energy. I've ridden her and tryed to get her to perk up, but nothing works. Its possible she just misses you, but if you could spare an hour or so, I'd like to take her for a short ride with you so I can be shure its nothing more serios.
Thanks,
Garrett B.
Since he has nothing to seal it with, he carefully folds the note so that one end tucks into the other, creases it, then writes "Lady Folly" on the outside. He tucks the note in his pocket (the one without the seeds and stem). Garrett gathers up the books, all but one, opens the door, and starts putting them away.
"Religion," says a voice behind him. "Faith, creed, persuasion - in a very specialised sense of that word. Cult. A perjorative - much in demand by those of an-other per-sua-sion.
"In short, I seek the consolations of moral philosphy ... a study of comparative religions, perhaps several volumes of hagiography providing the Blessed Martyrs all came to sufficiently gory and lovingly detailed ends."
"Huh?" says Garrett, rising from replacing the Jewel Harper book on the bottom shelf.
The tone - clipped on some words, drawling on others - is unmistakable. Lord Lucas, Marquis de St Cyr. Dressed all in cream - a linen suit trimmed with a braiding in candy stripes of pink and white, his dark hair swept to one side to hide his mutilated ear, his glance like that of a starling - quick, dark and penetrating.
"In short," says Lucas, "my quest leads me to ... "
There is a pause and his voice changes.
"Not to you, I think. You are not a librarian's assistant, are you?"
"Uh, no, m'lord. I'm just putting these books away. If you need the room, I'll have it cleaned out in a moment." Garrett nods toward the reading room and quickens his pace.
"Take your time," says Lucas generously, propping himself up against one wall to watch, in a way that doesn't spoil the set of his suit. He is watching Garrett with a faint frown.
"Your face seems familiar," he says presently, "and yet somewhat out of context. I don't associate you with the library ... with books ... "
Almost unconsciously his hand rises to his injured ear.
"We have met before?"
"Many times, m'lord, though I'm trained to be invisible," he says, continuing to shelve the books. "The name's Garrett Bailey. I work at the stables."
Garrett is in his late teens, short and thin, but wiry from years of hard work. His dark-brown, collar-length hair tends to fall into his eyes, which are a bright blue. He's wearing a white shirt with castle livery, black trousers and highly-polished black riding boots.
"Ah!" says Lucas, enlightened. "Yes ... yes, of course. Someone was saying you were just the chap to teach my daughter to ride. Now ... was it Cheval? I fancy it might have been a cousin ... "
"I don't come up here often. Sudden desire to brush up on me history, I guess." He goes back into the room and quickly puts away the writing supplies. He grabs the book that Lilly had recommended and brings it out with him. "There. All set, m'lord....
"It might have been Lady Folly that suggested me. I taught her to ride several years ago, back when she first arrived," says Garrett.
"May I?" says Lucas indolently, holding out a languid hand to take a look at the book.
"Certainly, m'lord," Garrett says as he hands Lucas the book. It is a large volume bound in red with gold lettering. The title is The Blood of Amber, written by Orison Dove. "Dame Lilly recommended it. I was looking for something about the Royal Family of Amber, what with all the excitement about the Coronation." Garrett watches him warily, as if he thinks that Lucas might take the book away from him.
"Beg pardon, m'lord, but I thought Lady Hope already had an instructor. I've seen her ride before."
"Cheval has given her a few lessons," says Lucas, leafing through the tome. "He is a little dour ... He communicates better with horses than with children - for which I do not fault him as, after all, I pay him to tend my horses ... You know, this is hardly a Book at Bedtime. It's rather ... dry. Dull. Lilly is a splendid creature, of course, yield to none in my admiration for her prowess and all that ... but I don't see her as the type to recommend a good racy yellow-jacketed novella to curl up with.
Garrett's stance becomes just a bit defensive.
"If you're looking for some history, I can recommend a few more enlivening volumes. Annals of Amber is a good one - we're bound to have a copy. Complete with the woodcuts, if you're very lucky. Mind you, I've always thought the actions of the houri Oberon encounters in Chapter 16 are anatomically impossible unless she was a shapeshifter which I suppose - all things considered - one cannot wholly discount."
Garrett's eyebrows go up. Deference or not, his natural good humor can't resist this one. "Lord Lucas!" he says in mock-indignation, "are you trying to corrupt my young mind?" The glint in his eyes and smile on his face are mischievous. "That's hardly the type of material I'd want my daughter's riding instructor devouring on his off-time."
Lucas looks at him in slight surprise.
"Whyever not? After all, I read it."
He closes the volume and hands it back to Garrett.
"Here you go. If you are determined to stay with the dry-as-dust material, this should suit your inclinations admirably. The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee you may wish to omit. It is somewhat too sensational. Even these metallic problems have their melodramatic side."
Garrett doesn't remember seeing anything about falling rupies, whatever those are, but he makes a mental note to look for that chapter. "Thank you, m'lord," he says as he takes back the book and tucks it under his arm.
"Are you available to instruct Hope?"
Garrett thinks quickly. He had hoped to spend his free time doing research. On the other hand, having one more royal brain to pick might not be a bad thing. Nor would being on Lord Lucas's good side once his identity comes out. Garrett knows he needs all the friends, or at least associates, he can get.
Besides, it'll be fun.
"I'd be happy to, m'lord," Garrett says sincerely. "I've seen her ride a few times and she seems to enjoy it. 'Twould be a shame for her to lose interest because of an overly harsh teacher. Are late afternoons a couple times a week all right? I don't get off work until mid-afternoon."
"Well," says Lucas, "if it is by my request, I trust it will become one of your duties - although, I trust, no less a pleasure to you. But it would seem onerous to add this to your usual duties and occupy your no doubt limited leisure."
The drawl suggests someone who possesses infinite amounts of the stuff.
"There will be additional payment," Lucas adds politely - and delicately. "Multifarious terms of opprobrium are levelled at my head, but to my knowledge 'cheapskate' has never been one of them."
Garrett calls on his best poker face to hide how far over his head that just went. He did get the "additional payment" part, though. Times being what they are, he sure can use it. "I haven't given lessons for pay before, m'lord, so I'll have to trust you to determine a fair price. As for the scheduling, you'll have to talk with the horsemasters. They decide on our duties, sir.
"By the way, Lord Lucas, I heard Lady Solace has been ill. Is she feeling better?" he asks with concern. "I'd be happy to give the children horseback rides for an afternoon if she needs to rest."
"Thank you," says Lucas. "I trust she is largely recovered. In fact, if she continues to improve, she will probably be the one to bring Hope to the stables. A gentle hack might be just the thing she needs to aid her recovery ...
"Phillippe, however, is still a little young for riding. Nanny Starch will ensure he receives his fresh air by pushing his perambulator around the terrace."
Garrett laughs. "Don't tell me dad that, m'lord. He had me on a horse by the time I could walk!"
He looks thoughtfully at the tome Garrett still holds. "An interest in history ... I don't suppose this would encompass religious history, would it?"
"No, sir. Me family's never really been religious," says Garrett. "Me grandfather was quite interested in history, though, and used to tell me all about it when I was young. With the recent change of reign, I had the urge to learn more about the new king. I never heard much about him in the old days. I reckon he was so far down the line no one paid him any mind."
"Ah," said Lucas. "A pity. My thoughts were tending towards ... well, never mind. So you want to learn more about the King, eh? Very commendable. And in the old days ... well, he wasn't much in Amber for a long while. Until he came back and tried to kill King Eric. Then he was rather ... erm ... a fixture of the castle."
So that's why he was under guard the first time I met him, thinks Garrett. Garrett had been about eleven, and nearly crashed into Random in the kitchen while running back to the stables with an armload of apples. The Prince had dodged and Garrett, braced for the impact that didn't come, stumbled and dropped the apples all over the floor. While Random helped him retrieve the rolling apples, Garrett had noticed the two Royal Guards, fully armed and on alert, standing nearby. It didn't seem polite to ask why, since Garrett didn't know who the blond stranger was. When he introduced himself as Prince Random, Garrett definitely didn't ask.
Garrett's mind swirls with questions for Lucas. "He tried to kill King Eric?" Garrett asks incredulously. "But, m'lord, that's treason. Why didn't the King execute him?"
"Well, having spared Corwin after the assault on Kolvir, which slew half the army, I think the King felt it might be a touch melodramatic to execute Random of the basis of one poorly aimed potshot," says Lucas. "Although Random kept his eyes - I imagine that was down to his being in unexpectedly high favour with ... "
He breaks off and looks at Garrett thoughtfully. "How much of our history do you know?"
"The thousand-year version or more recent, sir?" Garrett asks with good humor. "On this subject, I know what made its way 'round the servant circles. I knew Prince Random was under house arrest for several years before King Eric's death, but I never knew why. In fact, the first time I met him, down in the kitchens, he was under heavy guard.
"I also heard about the rumors that King Eric wished to marry Queen Moire of Rebma, and that Prince Random's wife was Rebman. Most of those I heard about later, since I was quite young at the time.
"Naturally, I know the parts of our history that I lived through." Garrett uses the word "our" on purpose, but carefully fails to emphasize it. "Prince Corwin and Prince Bleys' assault on the realm, King Eric's coronation, the Black Road battles and Prince Corwin's return, and the Sundering.
"And along with the historical facts, m'lord, I hear the personal rumors that make the rounds, but those are too numerous to mention. And, of course, totally unreliable," he adds with a mischievous grin.
Lucas nods. "Doubtless," he agrees, smiling.
He is watching Garrett thoughtfully, nonetheless.
"Would you be interested in earning money for other things than acting as a riding instructor?" he asks suddenly. "This ... ah ... would be in your own time. It's not remotely connected with the stables."
"That depends, m'lord," Garrett says cautiously. "It's not illegal, is it?"
Lucas' brows lift in faint hauteur. He is clearly not used to being challenged like this by servants.
"That," he says, "as with most things in life, would depend on how you interpret my instructions."
Garrett catches the look and realizes he's overstepped. "I'm sorry, Lord Lucas, I didn't mean to offend. It's just that I'm not aware of any skills other than me work with the horses that might interest you. I'm not well-educated or well-connected, and if it's manual labor you need, there are servants here in the castle as strong as I am." Deferent servitude, deferent servitude, Garrett reminds himself.
"Still, I should not have spoken out of turn. What is it that you need, m'lord?"
"A shrewd mind and a quick curiousity," responds Lucas. "Both of which you seem to possess. Also - an ability to keep a still tongue in your head. You've related castle gossip to me - can you also refrain from gossiping, if you should hold a secret of importance?"
Garrett may have high enough water to be aware that Lucas is probing here, testing. There's no sense that it is hostile, however - mere prudence.
Garrett knows a little something about keeping secrets of importance, but he manages to maintain the poker face. "Lord Lucas, I believe anything specific I've mentioned is old news. As for the rest, I said I hear it. I didn't say what it was. I can keep secrets, sir," he says seriously.
"Good," says Lucas, and motions him to take a seat.
Garrett sits in a chair opposite Lucas.
"Now ... I have it in mind to write a little mongraph on the state of religion in Amber post Sundering. I shall have one of the booksellers bind them ... cream vellum pages, I think, and a calfskin binding ... I suppose it will be too difficult to get manticore with the current situation in Arden, which is a pity, a great pity - for manticore hide always gives a book such a flare, I feel. But no matter, no matter ...
"And the font ... I suspect I shall have to design a font for the printers myself ... they are all obsessed with the Gothic ... and I want something clean and crisp ... I suppose a Gill will be too much to ask ... while as for Garamond italic for the title font ...
"Still. No matter. These are molehills we must surmount of the way to the mountains of creativity. What is pertinent to our discussion is research."
Garrett narrows his eyes, listening.
Lucas fixes Garrett with an unwavering eye.
"I'm not tallking about books. I have books a-plenty here. Also pamphlets, leaflets, tracts ... No, I'm talking about fieldwork. Out there in the city, nose to the ground and both ears open - not an attractive image, granted, but a necessary one. I, you see, am Of The Blood and enquiries on my part will attract attention. Similar suspicions might be engendered by the appearance of any of my staff turning up with bright shining morning faces at the mass, or service, or celebration, or reading of the entrails, or mass sacrifice. Whereas you should pass wholly unremarked, especially if you sing - do you sing? I gather it is almost de rigeur in the more enthusiastic forms of worship."
Garrett winces at the mention of "entrails" and "mass sacrifice." This is not something he wants to be involved with.
He looks at Lucas, then at the floor, gnawing on his lip, thinking. Hopefully, he will soon reveal his identity to the King. If he's spotted singing at some ritual sacrifice, there will be no shortage of fellow worshippers lining up outside the offices of the Amber Crier to report on his activities. No way. Telling the King that he exists is going to be hard enough without adding complications. He hasn't even acknowledged me yet and already I have to worry about me image, Garrett thinks. Now he knows why Martin is so intense.
As Garrett stares at the floor, he notices his attire and thinks of an out. "Lord Lucas, while I appreciate your confidence, I don't think I'd be as anonymous as you think. I spent the last five years as one of the primary messengers between the Regency Council, and recently, the King, and people in the city. A lot of people down there know me as a trusted servant of the Crown. Even without the livery, someone is bound to recognize me. Once that hits the broadsheets, I'll have to answer to the King and risk losing me job. For me, sir, nothing is worth that."
Garrett looks Lucas in the eye. "I'm sorry, m'lord, but I'm not the man for this job. You can rest assured, though, that no one will ever hear about this conversation from me."
"I trust so," says Lucas somewhat dryly. "Very well. Cheval will be in touch with you about my daughter's lessons."
He moves to one of the shelves in this bay and begins to examine the titles of the books. Garrett, it appears, is dismissed.
Garrett's been a servant long enough to recognize a dismissal and not take offense. "Very good, m'lord," Garrett says as he rises, gives a slight bow of the head and takes his leave, making sure he has his book.
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XIX: Drinks at the Club | Index | Breakfast with Maman
