Log available here in Word format
The next letter Lucas receives is from Madam Golightly. It arrives Tirsday noonish by a courier who often brings Lucas' tobacco supplies.
Monseigneur
I have terrible news for you. Master Prudenter was taken into custody this morning by the Sherriff's men under suspicion of murder. The body of a man who used to be a groom at the castle was found in his shop when he came to open it.
We will follow your directions in this matter.
Your obedient servant
Golightly
Lucas sits still for a moment, contemplating this, enough time for him to run over the options mentally.
A groom? A possible connection with Lunging, the groom Cheval has told him about. And his fate - first his leg broken (and all the guards believe by Martin), and then dismissed. Now dead? Possibly.
But still ...
Pert is summoned.
He arrives a little breathless, crumbs around his mouth to suggest he was taking an impromptu snack.
"Yes, Monseigneur?"
"Pert, I find I have unaccountably run out of snuff. Run down to the tobacconist and get me a tin of Lord Lucas's special mixture, will you?"
Pert brightens. A trip to the city comes his way rarely, and is something to be regarded as in the nature of a treat.
"Yes, Monsiegneur!"
Lucas flips a coin at him. "The surplus you may regard as a reward for your services."
Pert's face is glowing now. Clearly he has visions of hot pies and perhaps ale and a meeting with the band of urchins he lords it over by virtue of the fact that he serves Blood of Amber .... and is also a better pickpocket than any of them.
"Thank you, Monsiegneur!"
"Oh, and Pert?"
"Yes, Monseigneur?"
"You will wear your livery."
Pert droops. Could there be any more despondent boy in the world? Clearly his pleasure is crushed. In the livery of his Lord, he might meet and swagger with his cronies, but the backstreets will be closed to him.
Lucas hardens his heart. He may also reflect that Pert may well have the sort of adventure that delights him when he reaches the tobacconist if there has been an 'orrible murder there (and the shop sealed off by the Watch. And if there hasn't, and the note was forged, then Pert will return with the snuff. And Lucas will know the note is a forgery.
While Pert is gone, Lucas composes three notes.
The first is to Madame Golightly. It is written on coarse paper and in a near-illiterate scrawl.
It reads:
"Barker is willin."
This, she will know, means that Lucas has received her note and is acting. She need worry no more - she will be contacted when needed.
The second note is to Salter, the editor of a popular family-orientated broadsheet called "Amber Titbits". The contents are mere fluff - gossip about popular artists and those possessed of sporting prowess, interspersed by fawning stories of the royalty of Amber. Stories about Lucas and Solace and their children, accompanied by charming etchings, are a feature of the publication - and play a not inconsiderable role in Lucas's improved reputation in the city.
This note reads:
"My dear Salter,
"I am proposing to hold a children's concert in the castle in the near future, at which my son and daughter will both perform, and where I am expecting Lady Paige's twins to attend. It occurs to me that the presence of one of your most discreet etchers would be welcome. Perhaps you would care to come to the castle to discuss arrangements? This morning will be acceptable to me."
He seals this with the St Cyr crest.
A third note is addressed to Sir Archer:
"My dear Archer,
My page has informed me of a distressing occurrence at the shop of Prudenter, the tobacconist. As the man is known to me, I would be interested in discussing the circumstances of this event at your earliest convenience.
Luca de St Vire."
This note, like the first, is set aside in a secret drawer in Lucas's bureau. It is possible that no murder has occurred, and that this is a ruse to smoke him out. If a murder has occurred, then the opposition will be watching closely to see what kerfuffle this raises. And Lucas is determined to do nothing precipately, nothing yet that might betray his hand in this.
Cheval is summoned, and sent with the note to Salter. And then Lucas awaits Pert's return.
Pert returns with the news that the watch has closed Prudenter's shop, and that gossip on the street is that Halfhand's men are questioning him about a murder.
Lucas unlocks the secret bureau drawer.
Cheval returns with word that Salter will be following him in the near future.
Lucas warms Pert's heart by allowing him to change out of his livery and dispatching him into town again, this time to purchase some flowers for Solace at her favourite florists. He is to give her the note for Madame Golightly.
Cheval is sent with the message to Sherriff Archer.
Lucas then changes into a silk smoking jacket, adds a smoking hat complete with tassel, thinks better of the hat and puts it away, mixes up a seven percent solution of cocaine and injects it, and then takes out his Stradivarius and puts in half an hour's practice until Nanny Starch bustles in to inform him that Solace is reacting badly to what she assumes to be the prolonged and agonising deaths of all the cats in the castle.
Lucas, ever the considerate husband, puts away the violin.
He sets Gaston for hunting for his meerschaum pipe and is triumphant when it is found - until his lugubrious valet informs him that he is out of pipe tobacco. The possibilities of replenishing the stock are, at the moment, in some doubt.
Lucas is not amused.
He settles down to wait for Salter, whose arrival by now should be imminent.
Salter does indeed arrive not long thereafter, cap in hand (as it were), to be presented to Lord Lucas by the ever-mournful Gaston.
"Ah good," says Lucas genially, and dispatches Gaston for some tea.
"I presume you know why I've summoned you, over and above the children's party.
"It seems Prudenter's cover has been blown. And that is ... troubling. He is - as we both know - among the best. If they can do this - they are good. Very good indeed. We should assume that potentially we might both come under suspicion. That is why it is important that whatever action is taken, I must not be associated with it."
He smiles thinly. "You might say, Salter, that is the usual requirement. But now ... it is more important than ever. I want the lamplighters out in force, watching the streets. And ... ah ... the scalphunters in reserve. I don't want to move them into play until we know exactly who is behind this. Get the girls onto it. Golightly will have the canniest ready to sift information. Everything that comes in, no matter how trivial it seems. Collated and cross-referenced - yes?
"And unobtrusive protection for Silken. What's she on at the moment? Level Two, I think. Step it up to Four." He frowns, thinking. "You'd better ensure that for Violet too ... I trust Martin will have taken care of it but ... " He hesitates, then continues smoothly, "It never hurts to be certain, does it?"
What he does not say is that Martin seems to be acting hastily - and sending messages. To Lucas, the tale of the servant woman at Random's door is not just an amusing piece of gossip - it is also revealing of something more than the putative parentage of the stable boy.
"The House of Sorrows ... it needs to be checked out - but with extreme caution. I'm suspecting it's hot ... that might be worth a couple of your most expendable scalphunters. But that must be tackled with extreme delicacy.
"And Golightly isn't going to like this ... but the Houses are in for a makeover. Suddenly, looking glasses are so outre. All the funds she needs, but every mirror where it might be sensitive, it goes." He smiles thinly. "As you might guess from that, Salter, we are dealing with Rebmans. So nothing - and I mean nothing - happens where there is a looking glass, or an attractive pool, or a bowl of washing set to soak.
"Now - do you have any other suggestions or ideas?"
Salter has three questions:
First, is Lucas bringing to bear any resources to counter whatever magics Rebma may be using beyond the mirrors? (Since magic doesn't normally work in Amber, it's not like recruiting magicians is easy/trivial. Lucas does not have any on staff.)
"It will be taken care of," Lucas says superbly. "However, my precautions will not excuse carelessness one anyone else's part. They have spotted Prudenter. They will be capable of much, much more."
Second, does Lucas know how Prudenter was caught?
"I have my suspicions," says Lucas darkly. "When I know more, I shall, of course, alert you."
Third, what should the scalphunters expect to find at the House of Sorrows if all went well?
"A female prisoner," says Lucas. "My intention was to behave with considerable consideration for her person ... I find such happy sentiments now withering on the vine, as it were.
"If she is there, she is to be removed to a place of greater safety. I have plans for her. If she is not ...
"The scalphunters should be two you can afford to lose, as I said. You will lose them. Permenantly and untraceably."
If Salter has no more questions, Lucas dismisses him, and then turns to his desk once more to write a short note.
"Uncle,
I think I may have discovered who might be behind the attacks on my wife - or at least their allegiance.
I believe I need your help."
He signs it simply, without his usual flourish, but still seals it with the St Cyr crest. Some habits are hard to break.
He flips it over, hesitates for one moment, and then writes a single name on the front. Then he summons Gaston. The lugubrious one enters.
"Here," says Lucas. "Take this. And wait for an answer."
Gaston puts the unsealed envelope in front of the prince, who breaks it with his freshly manicured hand.
He looks up, over a pair of reading glasses. "We do not look favorably on those who assault the wife of the son of the chatelaine of our brother. Some things are not to be borne, eh, Gaston? This calls for stern measures. Your master is invited to tea with me. Terce. You may go, Gaston, thank you." The prince returns to his perusal of "The Dirt".
Gaston delivers the message to Lucas, who he finds dis-satisfied with his current apparel. Lucas casts aside the silk smoking jacket and changes into clothes of a more sombre hue (but perfectly exquisite cut), favouring a shade of rich, dark green that has the effect of making him look unusually pale (and Lucas is hardly a man of ruddy cheeks at the best of times). This appearance, however, he is satisfied with, for he takes up station in his living toom with a rather vulgar French novel to await the arrival of Sir Archer.
Gaston announces the arrival of the Sheriff some time later. Lucas has dealt with him on occasion during the Regency; he's a reasonable fellow with keen political instincts. He had been out of favor while Eric was king for unfortunate alliances, but he served Gerard and the Council faithfully during the Regency.
Like Lucas, he is maimed, having lost three fingers in some long-ago battle. Unlike Lucas, he's never going to grow it back.
"Sherriff Archer," says Lucas, rising with affable politeness. "I'm sorry you drag you from your duties. Might I offer you refreshment?"
Actually, it will be Gaston who does this, if Archer is desirous. Lucas himself has a whisky soda is an elaborately carved crystal tumbler.
Archer does indeed accept, which isn't surprising, since he keeps good whisky in his own office for just such occasions.
Once they are seated and Gaston has withdrawn, Lucas says, "I asked you to call about a piece of news that has come my way. My page went down earlier for some tobacco, and found the shop closed - a murder had been committed there, I understand. He further informed me that the tobacconist - M.Prudenter, of course - had discovered and reported the crime ... and had been arrested."
He takes a sip of his whisky.
"I do hope the last was merely page gossip, Sherriff, and that Prudenter is merely making a statement. Or that you have very compelling evidence to suggest his complicity. Otherwise the arrest of an upright, stalwart citizen for simply reporting a crime is not going to inspire the sort of confidence that we on the Committee have been striving to build in the city. To say nothing of making honest citizens extrely chary of reporting a crime, lest they themselves should be accused of its commission."
Another sip of whisky.
"What makes me disbelieve the rumour - in addition to my personal marked distaste to treating seriously the rumors dredged from the dregs of the street - is the fact that you know the man personally; he has sat upon the Committee with us. But I am interested to learn the particulars of the case as it is known. A crime that seems directed against one of us in this fashion ... well, it reflects on us all, does it not?"
"You'll be pleased to hear that your page has garbled the rumor," Sir Archer says, leaning back in his chair. "Prudenter's not in jail. He's in protective custody. Somebody gutted a man all over the inside of his shop in a way that suggests he's made a powerful enemy. I don't know whether it has anything to do with his work on the Committee or not, but someone is extremely unhappy with him."
"Nasty," comments Lucas. "And was enough left of the unfortunate man for his identity to be known? Rumour has placed him as an ex-groom at the Castle - but ... well."
Archer nods. "Preliminary identification says his name was Lunging and he was a groom here at the castle. He'd been recently turned off, and the Steward hasn't yet returned my inquiry about that. I'll be visiting him later to check on that, but I'd appreciate hearing anything you've found out the matter."
Sir Archer takes a sip of his own whisky. "As for Prudenter, I'm planning to release him this evening, but he'll have someone watching him, for his own safety. Purely unofficially, you understand. I have no desire to see the business with the printers repeated, whatever that business was."
"Absolutely," agrees Lucas. "Our aim as a Committee has, after all, been to prevent any such further occurrences in the City.
"But it strikes me that this seems to be an oblique attack aimed against the Castle and its inhabitants - or some of its inhabitants, perhaps. The man was a groom here - and Prudenter has many customers among the Castle residents. Myself and Prince Martin, for example."
He is watching Sir Archer over the rim of his glass for any response to this (for example, to see whether the man shows any reaction that suggests he might know about Martin's encounter with Lunging - and Lucas has (I trust) high enough water to read even small signals).
Sir Archer nods at the suggestion that the attack might be directed at the castle. Lucas feels that this isn't a new idea to him, but he doesn't seem married to it. He doesn't feel Archer knows about Martin's connection to the matter based on his reactions.
"Do you have any leads on who might be responsible for this outrage?" Lucas may have his own methods - but that does not mean he takes no account of the highly competent services originally put in place by previous regimes. Sir Archer, he suspects, will have formed his own opinions - which may be supported by tangible facts.
"Not yet. I have some lines of investigation, but nothing tangible enough that I could say I have suspects. I'm following up with some of Lunging's friends and acquaintances, particularly about how he got his leg broken, which no one seems to be able to answer satisfactorily."
"I'm not surprised," Lucas murmurs - but when Sir Archer raises his eyebrows interrogatively, Lucas makes a gesture that signifies, "Let it pass, let it pass."
"There's also a boy from the stable who has gone missing, but I've heard that matter has been resolved satisfactorily." Archer smirks and takes another sip of his whisky.
Lucas nods slowly. The revelation of Garrett's probable origins has not passed him by.
"I think it only a matter of time before you learn the cause of Lunging's injuries," says Lucas. "It was His Highness Prince Martin - although I do not know the cause of the disagreement between them. Let us say I judge it unlikely to be that His Highness had objections to the way Lunging was wielding a curry comb."
Archer looks surprised for a half-second, but he covers it well. Then he seems to be thinking, and Lucas can almost see pieces falling into place in his head.
If Lucas smiles at the reception of this news, it is entirely inwardly.
"However ... if friends of Lunging wished to avenge the attack by carrying it to someone who is known to be patronised by His Highness, the use of Lunging as a ... ahhh ... billet doux seems a little ... unexpected. The man was hardly marked for death because he had a broken leg. And yet ... he was so marked - by someone."
"I'd have expected a response to be more directly aimed at His Highness under those circumstances," Archer agrees. "Unless, of course, Prudenter has connections to the Prince that we're not aware of."
Archer's tone suggests he might.
Lucas shrugs. "Martin is known to be fond of tobacco," he points out. "If someone wanted to cut me to the quick, they might aim for my tailors. Or my bootmakers.
"This attack," says Lucas thoughtfully, "if such it is, might be by those not powerful enough to strike directly against us ... but will be targetting those involved with us who might be more ... vulnerable." He seems to be considering. "I think your men should have the somewhat pleasant task of guarding the Red Mill. As well, as you say, as Prudenter. Where are you holding him? I wonder if it would be possible for me to see him without ... ah ... attracting undue attention."
"He's currently at my office. If you wait until this evening, when I've formally released him, you'll have a better chance of avoiding most observers. He'll still have a friend of mine with him, but he's, ah, discreet," Archer says.
Lucas nods. "I shall do that. You might warn Prudenter that he might expect a visit at around the turn of the night. And the person will present my seal.
"Tell no-one but Prudenter and your friend of this."
Archer nods slowly.
He lets Sir Archer drink his whisky in peace for a moment before asking, "Is there anything else I should know? Or can I in any way assist you?"
"You've given me quite a bit to chew on as it is, thanks. But if you come up with anything more to suggest why Prudenter was a target, please let me know. I recognize that a certain amount of discretion is required in dealing with matters that involve the royal family, but I find it harder to maintain that discretion when I'm stumbling blind. Also, if you speak to Prince Martin, you might tell him about what's happened. I understand he left town several days ago and presume he isn't even aware of Lunging's death."
Lucas nods. "I hope to be speaking to Prince Martin in the near future," he says. "And I shall endeavour to ensure you are not stumbling blind. This is no time for petty demarcations of interests to interfere with the safety of our citizens.
"If I might venture a suggestion ... if I were you, I would concentrate on Lunging's contacts, rather than Prudenter who may well have been a blameless target. But something Lunging did excited His Highness' ire - and then the more deadly malice of persons so far unknown.
"I would be very interested in learning if Lunging had connections with interests outside the Castle - wouldn't you?"
"Oh, yes, we're already investigating those. If I find anything useful, I'll be certain to let you know. And Prince Martin." Archer finishes his whiskey and sets the empty glass down on the table.
"If Your Lordship will excuse me, it's probably time for me to question Steward Vent. I appreciate your hospitality and your assistance, and I'll give Prudenter your message when I cut him loose this evening."
He rises, offers Lucas a bow, and unless Lucas has anything else to add, will be on his way.
After Sir Archer has left, Lucas spends some time with his family, and hears, with approbation, the poem that Hope is proposing to recite at the Children's Concert. While Solace reclines on the chaise longue with her favourite shawl spread over her legs. He then proceeds to teach her a song of such nauseating cuteness that it is guaranteed to have certain cousins rolling their eyes in disgust (it contains copious references to nautical vessels and a certain kind of sweetmeat, linked by a series of improbable metaphors), and then a pungent limerick, certain to draw gasps of horror from certain rather different sections of the audience. He plays a grave game of roll-the-ball with Phillippe, the rules of which elude Lucas a little, but his son's beams suggest that Lucas had performed at the very least adequately. But then, this is Lucas; he would have expected no less.
At the end of a hour he rises, kisses the top of Solace's head, and retires into his dressing room, where Gaston has laid out the dark and sombre suit of a gentlemen of the Third Empire, to which Lucas adds a brilliantly hued but infinitely tasteful neck-tie. To this ensemble he adds gloves, a cane (but not a swordstick such as he might usually carry) and a top hat that he carefully sets at the angle known as jaunty.
He fogoes, with some reluctance, the spats.
Thus accoutred, he sets out for tea with his uncle.
On arrival, he hands the hat, gloves and cane to the valet, and moves to join Bleys in his den (whether that be a study, living room, smoking room etc). He checks the room for mirrors - if there are any, he will suggest that they move to a room where there are none. That accomplished ...
There are none, although there seem to be places where there should be mirrors.
Bleys wears a smoking jacket, that is to say a jacket for smoking, not a jacket that is smoking. He has a stack of papers beside him and is wearing reading glasses.
"Uncle," he says with a smile and a very proper bow, before taking the indicated seat.
"Solace is much better," he begins (if invited to do so). "These attacks appear to be of short duration - although intense - and so far they have not had any lasting ill-effects - although anything that weakens her is of grave concern. She is, as you know, not strong.
"Martin has a theory - to which I am not wholly certain I subscribe - that it could be Rebma behind the attacks. And certainly, we have recently been presented with such compelling evidence that I am beginning a cautious investigation along those lines."
Bleys nods. "Rebma is ... well known for disliking the current holder of the Jewel of Judgement. And by Rebma I mean 'Moire' and by disliking I mean 'loathing'. This unfortunate business with my nephew can only end badly in a society where my sister can challenge the charges in a sorcerous duel. I don't see any likelihood of improvement in the relationship between the two cities, or between Rebma and Xanadu, if it comes to that.
"I am quite interested in both the evidence you have and your assessment of the advantage they would gain by showing their hand by attacking your wife." Bleys drops his chin and looks at Lucas over the top of his reading glasses.
"I do not fully share Martin's apprehensions," Lucas says slowly, "and for the reason you give. What advantage is there in attacking my wife? Save, perhaps to make me angry ... perhaps to make me act rashly. And, Uncle, I try never to act rashly. It is so hard to do so with that certain elan which one would wish to cultivate.
"And the first attack occurred when Martin was out of Amber. Even if the Rebmans wish to provoke him by striking at ... ah .... known associates of Martin, it seems an odd choice to make."
He shrugs. "No matter. That is one of the mysteries I trust to resolve - but you might say my position on it is ... ah ... agnostic. The other evidence is rather more troubling."
He looks straight at his uncle. "While he was here, Martin discovered that a Rebman spy circle is operating in the castle itself. Perhaps not wholly unexpected, you might say, and I would agree. But it seems to have a rather high level of effectiveness. Martin managed to track down a minor player in the game and took certain rather ... ah ... rigorous steps. Far be it from me to critique his style but ... he was not particularly subtle. And there has been a response. Not a particularly subtle one either."
He is interested to see how much of this is news to his Uncle, and to what extent Bleys may be joining the dots.
It's a fine interest to have, and a topic of which Lucas gains no insight by watching Clarissa's oldest son.
"I want to proceed," says Lucas quietly. "I want to get to the bottom of this. I will not have my family, my associates, my friends threatened in this way. And I have sworn to uphold the security of Amber for however long that may be necessary. I do not take my oaths lightly.
"But - as much as it may ruffle my amour propre to admit it - I cannot act alone where sorcery may be concerned. I need your help, Sir."
Bleys nods. "What would you have of me, nephew? I have, as you have surmised, some sorcerous talent that may be of use in your endeavors."
"I think I need someone to watch my back," said Lucas. "Or - to extend the metaphor - to spread a sorcerous cloak over me and mine while I go about the investigation. Certain people, who operate at a distance, will also need to feel ... ah ... secure.
"I don't know yet how much is known," he went on. "That, at the moment, is my other great priority - to collate - and hopefully assimilate - the information that's out there. And at some point, I shall probably need to inform the King. If what I suspect is right, this is becoming rather more than a personal crusade ... even a joint one between Martin and me."
"While the job of King is frequently to not notice things, our current monarch is inexperienced at it and may well be more aware than you expect."
He dusts off the sleeve of his jacket. "I can only help you if I have some idea what your suspicions are, my boy. You should tell me what you know and what you suspect and I will think on what can be done while you do so." He settles back into his chair.
"What I know," says Lucas, "is that there appears to be a Rebman spy ring operating with apparent impunity within Amber, and within the Castle itself. Martin became aware that the Rebman embassy was tracking his movements with alarming accuracy. He made enquiries - and discovered a link in the Castle - a groom called Lunging. He questioned Lunging - somewhat forcefully - and discovered the name of his contact - a woman called Eyelet. At this point Martin had to leave for Xanadu - he entrusted to me the task of tracking down Eyelet and bringing her in for questioning. I was proceeding with a sense of what was expedite and effective, when Lunging was discovered, gruesomely murdered, his body stuffed into the shop of my favourite tobacconist - also Martin's favourite - you probably use the man yourself. Prudenter."
He pauses to pick a near infinitesimal piece of lint from the sleeve of his jacket.
Bleys nods.
"Prudenter is a citizen of high renown. He is prominent on committees that strive to improve the civic life of Amber. He has also been employed by me in incidents designed to improve the civic life of Amber in rather less overt ways. His most recent task was to find the woman, Eyelet. This makes his targeting at this particular moment somewhat ... troubling. It suggests a degree of perspicacity in this spy ring that verges of the uncanny - or possibly the sorcerous. I need hardly tell you that Prudenter is a man whose discretion in matched only by his skill.
"I have people who are capable of discovering a great del of the information we need. Their enthusiasm for the task will be somewhat diminished if they believe that this would be a quick way to embrace Lunging's unfortunate end. If they are to function efficiently, I would wish them to be protected."
"Martin and Montage are sending each other messages with bodies attached. Although the message usually quite clear, the postage is often too high a price to pay. I presume you heard about their little encounter at your favorite brothel?"
"Yes," says Lucas. "I had not realised it partook of the nature of a public discussion."
Bleys smiles modestly.
"As to protection, your best protection is to convince them not to interfere in your affairs. We can't provide magical protection from being killed in any of the ways Montage and Bend could arrange to all of your people. Even if we did put some sort of shielding on them, all it would do would be to mark them as targets.
"In any case, the kneecapping to corpseplanting escalation requires some answer, or else you threaten to make Prince Martin look weak. Perhaps one of Jovian's pets can accidentally burn down Kaia's country manor with the stupid name. Aquaria, isn't it? It's quite an eyesore, really."
"Hideous," says Lucas with a faint shudder. "Anyone burning it down would be likely to be hailed as a saviour of rational architecture."
He pauses for a minute, considering.
"Martin," he says slowly, "has different objectives from me. And different methods. I'm not looking to face off Bend and Montage to discover who has the biggest cojones. I want to break up a spy ring that could threaten Amber.
"Although," he says thoughtfully, "if one could take pleasure in the revenge that would be icing on the cake."
He stands up. He seems to feel a need to pace.
"Uncle," he says after a minute, "if you feel it would be unwise to protect my people from the enemy ... how about we distinguish the enemy instead? Very, very subtly."
He turns and looks at Bleys. There is a faint, slightly cold smile on his thin lips.
"I'm thinking ... birds," he says. "Rebmans are not so aware of birds. But birds ... could become aware of Rebmans. In fact, as far as Bend and Montage are concerned. birds would be unable to fly over them without resisting the urge to drop a little ... message. A rather pointed message. And a contagious message ... afflicting those they meet ... secretly.
"Let's flush them out."
Bleys frowns. "Dame Fortune favors the bold, nephew. Audacity, always audacity! Now you might do this as a rococo effect after you'd had an osprey poke out someone's eyes, but without such, it's too much like an opening move. You'll seem weak to respond to bloody murder with guano." He pauses a beat or two. "It would make a good diversion. They'll spend a lot of time looking for the 'real' attack. If you pull it off while they're on hyperalert, that would be a feather in your cap."
"Poking someone's eye out with an osprey is not as easy as one would think," says Lucas with the bitterness of experience. "Next time I'll drug the damn thing first. One does, after all, like to have one's victim cowering in terror rather than staring in wide-eyed amazement as one attempts to control a demi-eagle that insists on tangling itself in its jesses.
"Not," he adds with quiet satisfaction, "that he was wide-eyed for very long."
"A pity your bird was not better versed in his role."
"It confirmed me in my resolution not to work with children or animals," says Lucas.
He takes out his cigarette case, stamped with the St Cyr crest, and shoots an enquiring, "May I?" glance at Bleys (he'll also offer one if he receives an affirmative).
Bleys nods. As Lucas picks up the cigarette, it spontaneously bursts into 'lit'.
"Still - a lesson to me that one can over-strive for an effect."
"It's an advantage to keep one's audience unaware of how much effort was involved any particular endeavor."
"As for revenge - well, I tend to side with the Italians on that in preferring it served cold. But one should not, or course, ever miss an opportunity to deliver the coup de grace.
"Can you help me deliver the diversion, Uncle? Dragons roaring around the Castle periodically should doubtless have loosened the bowels of our small feathered friends ... it will just be a matter of directing it appropriately."
"How much do you understand about the basic principles of Sorcery, my boy? It is an ancient art, powerful and primal. And limited. I can rewrite the laws of physics, but there is no simple law of physics covering bird dropping targets and schedules. Sorcery is a power which relies our imposing our will on the universe, but the complexity of the universe scheme to defeat this plan.
"I could possibly transform some of your henchmen into birds, to let them take this task on personally. If they were willing."
Lucas shakes his head. "I can see that causing nothing but problems. They might manage the transistion successfully, but then they would not only have to master the mechanics of flight and aerial bombardment, but the social interaction that governs the skies over Amber. Quite frankly, if I have henchmen with the communication and motor skills to pull off something like that, I can find better uses for them on the ground. It would be far easier to find a Shadow where I am worshipped as a god by sapient avians and import some of them into Amber. I think I shall either do that, or change my plans."
He rises, holding his hand out to his uncle.
"My thanks for your advice - unless you have any further suggestions?"
Bleys also rises presses a card into Lucas' hand. "Tell this man I want you to have a few of his special pendants. They will alert your agents to the most gross magical scryings, although they aren't good with subtle magics. Sadly, they are also short-lived. Father didn't really like competition from uppity magicians and priests."
Lucas nods.
"Thank you, Uncle," he says, with sincere gratitude. "I shall make good use of these.
"I suspect," he said, "that my next step should be to put the King in the picture."
He did not seem to be relishing this task.
It is late that same evening that Lucas makes his way to a discreet tavern where he is rumoured to keep an occasional mistress. His clothing is plain, simple, suggesting discretion, and the landlord at once shows him to a private room at the back of the house where a pretty young girl awaits him. But Lucas does not linger. A kiss, an embrace, the passing of a gold coin, and Lucas is on his way through a hidden door to one side of the room, which actually leads into the next building entirely.
Here a thick, darkset man - one of Lucas' most trusted lamplighters, is waiting.
"All clear?" Lucas asks. "Is he here?"
The man, a foreigner by the look of him, nods. It has always struck Lucas how common the misperception that not speaking well implies that one cannot listen well. He leads Lucas back to a small alcove towards the back. A fire burns in a makeshift iron basket. "Monseigneur ," a raspy but familiar voice replies from the far side of the bright but smoky fire.
"Prudenter," says Lucas. "What happened?"
There is no accusation, no blame in the tone. The words are calm, level. But also ... unavoidable.
"I'm afraid your request has not been fulfilled, Monseigneur. I suspect that my lads who were to put the grab on were made, and didn't hide their tracks well enough returning. They failed, by the way. The pox-ridden whore had fled by the time they got to 'er rooms." He coughs.
"Sloppy work," says Lucas, displeased. "And your cover blown besides. You have taken steps?"
"There are two possibilities, Monseigneur. Someone was sloppy, or someone was bought. Given the somewhat gruesome nature of the killing, I will have a bit of trouble hiring clerks for the business side of my store. Risk-takers will be harder to find. Sir Archer didn't know who, but that goes with someone who can get back to me." He pauses. "I'm not sure it was sloppy on my lad's part, my lord."
"Then we have an informer within the ranks," says Lucas. "Is that what you're saying?"
"I hate to think it, but I don't see another way it could've happened."
Lucas nods.
"Can you handle the investigation, or shall I bring in my own man?" asks Lucas. "If the Circuit is infected from within ... I think Smiler could be recalled from retirement."
"I'm not sure we know enough. What of the corpse in my shop? All I've heard was that he was a stableboy, recently dismissed."
"Indeed," says Lucas. "And the source of the information about a certain quarry. His death was payment for his betrayal, I think."
"His allies are... thorough, Monseigneur. Whatever other messages they sent, the one sent to me was 'leave town'. Amber is not so appealing as it was when I was a younger man." He coughs again. "You know your lads as well as I do. Are there any you'd be particularly likely to suspect of being turnable?"
"Of course," says Lucas. "I also know those who could be made to appear guilty even when they're not. As for leaving town - is it the profession you tire of, or the air of Amber?"
"The one affects the other, Monseigneur." Prudenter moves closer to the fire. "Do you think, perhaps, that these friends of the stableboy are trying to get us to rip our own organization apart looking for a turncoat?"
"Oh indubitably," says Lucas. "But setting us to rip ourselves apart doesn't disprove the existence of a traitor. That was why I would call in Smiler. The investigation will proceed in the background. For the mean-time ... you are a humble tobacconist, plying your trade. Recent events have disturbed you ... You may shut the shop up for a while. Allow yourself time to recover.
"And all that you have on the quarry - before and after the failure of the mission - give it to me."
"A room in a boarding house on Half-moon Street, but she's left that. It was her sister's, but the woman who let the room said that the sister wasn't there half the time. She had a lad docksides, the sister did. Eyelet went to ground at the sister's, which is where we should've put the grab on."
Lucas nods. It seems like another place for an accidental fire.
He allows a pause to develop. "I shall have a new mission for you shortly, if you choose to remain within my service." There is a faint interrogative in the last sentence.
"I think retirement is in my future, Monseigneur. But not my immediate future."
"Then rest," says Lucas. "Recover your equilibrium.
"And be prepared to leave Amber at a moment's notice."
Read this log here in Word format
XXX: Planning with Paige | Index | XXXII: Tea and Talk of Thrift
