"Although a subtler Sphinx renewRiddles of death Thebes never knew."
"Although a subtler Sphinx renew
Riddles of death Thebes never knew."
- Percy Bysshe Shelly
Have I met my match? I feel I have just stumbled into the most perplexing puzzle of my life.
It all begins in Vmrtnz, as it usually does. I was relaxing over Solomon's Squares, when my eyes found the headline to the "Wzrob Mvdh."
TRIO OF TREKKING TEENAGERS TORN TO TINY TIDBITS
Naturally, this caught my attention, as death of this sort is unheard of in Vmrtnz. Putting the puzzle aside, I read the article. I describe the grizzly sight: three bodies, rended and torn. Blood everywhere. Apparently they fell victim to a large beast, or a pack thereof. Odd. Police admitted they were stymied as to a motive or a suspect. They had also invited members of the "Nzhgvi" social class to participate in the search...
About an hour later, I was at the scene. I think the smell of pooling blood is one of the few things you can ever get used to. At the very least, the smell stays with you for a long time.
At the scene, the Inspector General was distributing the clues: artist renderings, guesses as to claw size, paw imprints. It was obvious to me there was more than one beast responsible. I also know it happened very quickly, as none really had a chance to run. They were also very strong, as they tore through a maze wall.
I decided to venture further into the maze. Hopefully there was some sort of trail. I signed a standard Safety Waiver and was off...
I followed the most logical path of the beasts. At first, nothing seemed amiss. But I soon learned differently. As I continued, the maze became darker, danker... foggy. Then I came upon It. I still do not know what It is. It was blackness. That is all I can say. A strip of black, which had swallowed maze and ground and sky.
I regarded the Abysmal space for a long moment, then I turned away and began looking for an alternate route. What is this thing? Why isn't the climate being controlled? Why is... My thoughts were interrupted by my prey. Or my predators, depending on your point-of-view.
They were large, ugly things. They much resembled hounds, but had aspects of reptile and rodent as well. They also smelled bad.
Whatever they were, they were mad and they were hungry. I guess I was a tasty way to relieve their frustrations.
Their tactic was simple enough: devour the food. They assumed I would be frightened and wouldn't struggle. They thought wrong.
I broke into a run, rounded a corner, and stopped. They thought it was playtime. They wouldn't bother to smell ahead.
I lunged forward, sinking the tip of my rapier into the shoulder of Ugly Beast #1. He shrieked in pain...I guess he wasn't expecting that. Good. I thought it might have spooked it: scared it away. Nope. It just made them mad.
They started advancing again. Slower this time, more determined. It became obvious to me they weren't trying to eat me any more. I proved to feisty a catch. No, they were herding me; pushing me back to the blackness.
Quickly, I pulled out my Trumps. But who? Father, of course. It has been a long time since I had seen him. Perhaps it was time we were caught up again.
I shuffled through the deck for his card. One-handed. The only thing I would ever thank Random for teaching me. Finding the card, I reached, searching for my father's presence.
Nothing.
No Father, no temperature, nothing. Not to worry, he's probably in another Shadow, I thought, not thinking of his medical ailment. Hmm...big dog-rat-lizard things...Julian! Of course.
I shuffled through and found his card. I searched for temperature first. I wanted to waste as little time as possible.
Nothing.
"Well, shit on me," was all I could get out.
Damn it all! I've got to figure something out. Someone who'll actually help me squash these things...Yes!
I realized I had about 18 inches of breathing room before the darkness consume me as it did my Shadow. I rifled through the deck, found the card, and called.
"Who?" came a frail-sounding voice.
"Theseus, uncle. Pull me through...please."
"Why, what is wrong?"
"Something which we can discuss upon my arrival." I then took two clearing swings, to give me some breathing room. "Please, Uncle!" I extended the basket of the rapier toward him and spread my fingers. A strong hand grabbed the basket and pulled me through.
Unfortunately, Ugly Beast #2 had attached itself to my boot and was pulled through as well.
The force of Gerard's pull had knocked me onto him. It also sent the dog-thing hurtling...along with most of my boot.
Gerard squirmed under me a moment. The dog had sailed toward Lysander, Gerard's "most non-heinous" son. Neither Gerard nor Lysander were happy with the situation and decided to throw their respective to the center of the room. I sailed through the air...
There was sickening crack as we collided. Perhaps one of it's legs. It doesn't matter, as I punched it as hard as I could on it's ugly nose. It whelped a bit, but I ran it through without further incident.
It was then that I realized Gerard had no legs.
He recounted a horrible story of war and misery. I forget most of it, save for one fact: my father, Eric, Regent of Amber...was dead. Killed by Corwin. Who was killed by Gerard.
Words cannot describe the tempest of thought which raged in my head. I could only excuse myself and work on a puzzle. Something to quiet the voices screaming in my mind.
Hours later, I awoke from my daze and decided to inspect the body and pay my respects. On my way down, something...unusual...happened.
I saw a door.
But not just any door. A door I had never seen before. A door that was never there.
Stories from my childhood rushed through my mind. Stories of the Hallway. Father told me it was a bad place. Nothing good could be found in it. IT was somewhere I should never go. So I did the only thing someone in my position could do...
The hallway was lit by some eerie, unknown magick. On each side, there was mirror, after mirror, after mirror. Most of them were dark, casting no reflection. Some where not...
"I didn't do it," said Corwin's image. "I would have loved to, but somebody beat me to it. I had him in my sights...and he fell. By the way, I wasn't going to use the guns. I thought it was too early. I didn't want it to come to that, but somebody convinced me otherwise..." And he was gone.
The next image was my father's. "Theseus," it said, "what Corwin said is true. Our mutual sister was responsible for the guns being there. I am your Dad, and Corwin was framed for my murder. Which means my murderer is still out there. Watch yourself. You may be next."
The next image was Florimel. "Deirdre is the murderer," she told me. "I have proof. Corwin and Eric were in communication. Everything is in those letters. Find me and get them from me." During our conversation, a Shadow was creeping across the mirror. By the time we were almost down talking, it had almost consumed her. She looked at it with surprise. "I have to go," she said. And she did.
"Who are you?" boomed the next voice. I remained silent. "WHO ARE YOU?!?" And I saw the mighty face of Oberon.
"Theseus, sir."
"Theseus?" He then regarded me. "Corwin's boy?"
"No, Eric's, sir."
"Eric? Why that little...he was smart keeping you a secret. Where is he?"
"Dead, sir."
I spent most of the time with Oberon trying to explain what had recently occurred. The only thing of note he offered me was: "Deirdre on the throne?...Watch out for Florimel." And his image vanished.
I left the opened the door at the end of the hallway and exited. I found myself exiting my Father's mausoleum.
Just outside of it, Vaughn was sitting...communing. He saw me and smiled. "Studying the architecture or just visiting?"
"Just visiting." Moron.
"Where you going?" he asked
"Back inside. Why?
"Can I come with you?"
"Yes," I sighed.
I escorted him inside and went on my way, I still hadn't visited my Father.
Return to Theseus' main page.
Caesar's spirit, ranging for revenge,
With Ate by his side, come hot from hell,
Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice
Cry, 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial.
-- William Shakespeare, "Julius Caesar"
After exiting the mausoleum, I escorted Vaughn inside. Returning to Deirdre, I passed Vaughn off to Lysander. Thankfully, I was in no mood to have a shadow.
I then went down to examine my father's body. I first stopped at the infirmirary to get some supplies: a magnifying glass and some glass rods. Reaching the morgue. I sat my father up and examined the killing wound.
From above...behind. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall..." The wound was precise, clean. 7.62 apparently. M-14? AK-47? FN FAL? Who knew? Only one person, and when I find him or her...
I accepted the responsibility to direct the ground troops. At least for the time being. I didn't trust Deirdre, no secret there. She could well be sending me to my death soon, suspecting I suspect her. But I didn't want to openly defy her. "Keep your friends close, but your enemies even closer." My father told me that once. Besides, you never know how useful it could be.
As I was talikng to Deirdre, a call came. "A moment, please," I told her. Yeah, it's good to be me.
Accepting the call, I found Robert, a friend from Vmrtnz, frantic. The darkness was getting worse. There were creatures of all kinds approaching. He said I should come and see...
He was right. It was bad. Something had to be done.
I didn't waste any time. I left immediately. Returning to Amber, I coaxed Lysander into coming with me. He's a nice kid, if not a bit too gullible. Lysander was a good fighter. He would be useful.
Returning to Vmrtnz, I realized I should have wasted some time before leaving. Wasting it by, oh, assessing the threat, for example. I felt so stupid. I didn't need Lysander, so we went back to Amber. It would be a day or two before I knew whether i had to worry in earnest or not.
I then got to thinking the situation was possibly not confined to my Shadow. So, I decided to call family...ask them if they'd seen anything peculiar.
I pulled out my cards. Who to call, I thought. Flipping through the deck: no, missing, dead, dead, dead, no, dead, gone, Flora!
Flora was as clueless as ever. There was nothing out of the ordinary where she was. Maybe if she looked away from a mirror once in a while...
I decided to play a gambit. "Flora," I said, "my father had left notice of some correspondences. Do you know what he was referring to?" I studied her.
"No." Either she was clueless, as always, or she is a queen of deciet...a master without equal.
"Perhaps," she continued, "we can discuss this some other time."
"I may have misunderstood," I closed, not caring to pursue the conversation any longer. "Goodbye," and I covered the card.
Who else to call? Flipping through the deck: legless, comatose, no, imprisoned, Breann! Someone with a brain. Another good kid, as far as I could tell...
"Who?" she answered
"Why, cousin, have you forgotten already?"
"No, Theseus," I think I was annoying her, "what can I do for you?" she asked.
"Have you noticed anything...weird?"
"Weird?"
"Darkness growing and swallowing areas. Assorted strange creatures. Weird..."
After talking to her, I decided there was definitely something rotten in Denmark. I told her I'd be happy to help if she required it.
Closing contact, I made my way to Deirdre. I was directed to the Pattern room.
Stairs and stairs and stairs. Years later, I reached the bottom. I found the seventh hall to the left and turned. There I found the big door, open. Inside, Deirdre was watching someone walk the Pattern. He was bathed in sparks. His hair was standing on end. He looked like hell.
"And that's why I won't walk that thing."
Deirdre wasn't expecting me, I guess. She looked at me like a house guest who over-stayed his welcome.
"Theseus," she asked, "why are you back?"
I didn't notice Quinn walk in. I later learned Quinn was Julian's son. Seems O.K. A bit cerebral. Tall.
"I spoke to your daughter. It seems the problems at my Shadow are not an isolated incident."
I told her what happened. Then Quinn started speaking of Mars and their problems. They eventually asked me to excuse them.
I went in the hallway and started drawing Quinn.
"Eric...............Jewel.........His room."
Huh?
"Maybe you should ask someone first," as she gestured at me.
Quinn came over. I put the drawing away. You wouldn't believe how touchy some people can be.
"I would like to search your father's room. I hoping he had some notes as to the use of the Jewel of Judgement."
Sure...fine...whatever.
"May I...or we?"
"Fine, let's go."
Return to Theseus' main page.
"I feel no pain dear mother now
But oh, I am so dry!
O take me to a brewery
And leave me there to die."
- Anonymous
Searching through father's room yielded little at first. Eventually, Quinn found a hidden panel behind a bookcase. Heaving the bookcase aside, we noisily revealed the compartment.
Inside were a journal and a set of notes. Looking through the journal, I found it was a diary of sorts. I found what Quinn was looking for, information on the Jewel of Judgement, and I also found insight into my father.
Most importantly of all, I found a mystery. Trumps. Four of them. Family trumps, I saw. There were three men and a woman. One of the men and the woman were apparently true siblings. One looked like a young version of Oberon. One was thin and pale.
Apparently, moving the bookshelf cause too much noise, as someone came a'knockin'. Using my best female voice (it's not that good), I amazingly convinced the person outside, apparently Deirdre's SOB son, Ander, to leave. I went back to my room and did what anyone who'd had the day I had would do...
A call, but who? Must be Breeann. Waking me up. Gotta have a talk with that girl.
It seems she was in trouble. I decided to help. When she pulled me through, I felt a sword being swung at me. I parried and kicked the miscreant in the...jewels. Down went Dog-Boy. There were more, but not for long.
Eventually, we found the cave which was their HQ. After quickly ransacking the place, Breeann came out with a bunch of crap in her hand. We Trumped back to Amber, horse and all, and right into the Great Hall, horse and all. Looking through the stuff, we found some letters and stuff.
Hello! What's this? Another Trump of Oberon Jr. Bree held on to it.
Returning to my room, the Trumps were burning a hole in my pouch. I had to use one, but which? The first one, I guess. Lessee...hmmm...Obie-Wan, Jr. This should be fun.
I tried calling. Surprisingly, it worked.
His name is Finndo.
He is my uncle. A big man, that. He seemed more than surprised to see me.
To make a long story short, I found out he wanted Deirdre to call him, to discuss their mutual enemy. He told me to give Deirdre the Trump I found in the cave. I told him I'd do it.
I then Trumped Brea. She was being a snot. Wouldn't give me the damn card. Said her mom was ignoring her (as if walking the Pattern didn't require every ounce of concentration) and that Deirdre would have to wait if she wanted the Trump. Whatever. I'll just give her this one. I can always draw another one later.
Needless to say Deirdre was surprised to hear the name. I told her Breeann had another Trump of him. She already knew Bree wasn't minding the boats. Hope I didn't get her in trouble.
So, I gave Deirdre the message and left. Oh, yeah, I met Ander.
He knew I was in Eric's room. Heard my voice, figured out it was my female voice. Good ears. He didn't seem nearly as bad as every said.
Anyway, I went back to my room, eager to try the other Trumps. I tried the Dynamic Duo Sibling Pair...nothing. Then I tried the other guy.
I made contact, but I didn't see anyone. I went out on a limb. "Uncle?"
Then a figure came into view, into the shadows. "Nephew," he said, "what a pleasant surprise..."
Darkness.
"God, Schm-od...I want my monkey-man."
- Bart Simpson
Return to Theseus' main page.
"Please don't shoot the pianist, he's doing his best."
- Oscar Wilde
I had a dream. A chess game. I was a bishop. The white king's bishop, I think. Or was it black? It doesn't really matter.
Hours later, I woke up.
Once I got the jackhammer out of my head and the butterflies out of my stomach, Quinn came to make my life miserable once again.
"We're going to try and rescue Fiona. We could use your help. Are you in?"
I grunted an affirmative and continued to work on my sandwich.
"I think I shared your chess dream."
I looked up at him. He smiled.
"We'll be in one of the sitting rooms whenever you are ready."
I nodded.
Before long, we were in the sitting room: Deirdre, Gerard, Quinn, myself, and the walking stomach I had earlier learned was named "Anax."
Simple game: Trump in, get Fiona, Trump out. 1, 2, 3. However, things are rarely simple with this family.
For this particular mission, I was 'finesse.' I was the steering wheel. It was their job to power the call. It was my job to direct it. They got me there. I did the fine tuning.
And find her we did. She was chained to a wall. That was the only distraction I would allow myself. It would be easier if I just held the contact while they did whatever they were going to do.
Convincing the chains to release her proved futile. At least mentally. Yes, this was going to require Quinn to lower himself to the lowest common denominator...his hands. It was obvious a more direct approach was necessary. Then Quinn suggested they cut the chains using Greyswa...
I woke up, lying face up. At least that's what I thought. I was blind. It just wasn't my fucking day.
Sitting up, I realized I was lying down, instead of floating on a cloud with a harp in my hands. Then, something flew over me. Close. Too close for comfort, thank you. Then there was another one.
I yelled, praying I wasn't alone. Luckily, I wasn't. I heard a faint reply to my calls. I really wasn't sure whom it came from. I figured regaining my vision was of the utmost important, and hoped the affliction was only temporary.
I lay as still as I could. Eventually, my vision was returned. The floating shapes were rocks...nay, boulders...mystically floating of their own accord. Some were big, some small. Some moved slowly, some quickly. It seemed the smaller they were, the faster they moved.
I needed to find the others. I needed a better vantage point. I needed to...
"Tell Lysander about this, if you ever get back," I thought to myself.
From the top of one of the bigger and slower boulders, which I was on, I got a better idea of what I was up against.
The rocks were everywhere, forming a veritable stone sea. I saw a tower in the distance. No doubt it was our destination. I also saw what I figured was Anax, looking like a giant manta-ray thing. I decided to ask him later about it.
The others, however, were gone. For all intents and purposes, anyway. Once that rock came flying directly at the one I was on, it didn't really matter much. I had to act fast.
I sprang toward another rock. It should have been close enough that I wouldn't have to worry about it. It wasn't. It barely caught it with my fingernails. Ouch.
I was only able to take three breaths before I had to jump to a smaller one. I used my sword to cut into the target stone. It gave me a handhold. I was still alive...
Then I saw the big one. We're talking Gibraltar here. We were on a collision course...someone made sure of that.
I looked up. Seeing Anax, I called him. He saw me and clumsily swooped down. I say "clumsily," because it's a lot shorter than "crashed into a rock and came careening to the ground." Oh well, it's only about a twenty foot drop...
I'm not sure how long I played 'pinball' to those pumice bumpers, but I eventually found a few moments' breathing room.
I pulled Quinn's Trump and called. I was the last to reach the tower, apparently. Well, besides Anax. Anyway, I asked him to pull me through: to take me there. Then I felt a Shadow; something approaching through the Trump.
It was coming fast. I was leaving faster.
Diving through, I found myself in the room Fiona was imprisoned in. A thought struck me: the view from the window was the same as when Osric did naughty things to my brain. That's when I started to worry.
After voicing the resemblance, Quinn started to ask me for my sword. It was in Gerard's hand before he finished the question. Then I looked at Fiona.
Fiona: in Gaelic, it means "Fair." At that moment, She was the very definition of the word to me. I could have looked upon Her, in Her serene anguish, forever.
I had seen her before, but never like this. She had always seemed so powerful; always in control. She often seemed petty...even devious at times. But no longer. All of that was washed from my mind like a message in a bottle, the note reading "Here be Monsters." Now, She was fragile and weak. Her ribs were angrily protesting the diminishing space of her frame.
She hung there, like an animal on display, so Her captor could do as he pleased. I felt tears in my eyes. I felt a pang in my stomach. The feeling brought me out of my stupor.
A few moments later, She was pried from the wall. A robe was hastily put on Her and I picked Her up.
A million emotions rushed through my head as I cradled Her in my arms, each more potent than anything I had ever felt. I put my mind to the task at hand, and soon we were back in Amber.
We had appeared in the infirmary. There, I begrudgingly put Her on the first empty cot. Deirdre and Gerard left. Quinn found another cot and went to sleep.
When everyone was gone, either to another room or to dreamland, I regarded Her once again.
She was so still; so quiet. The sound of Her breathing barely caressed my ears.
Every other time I saw Her, Her hair had a marvelous sheen. It was like liquid rust: a beautiful golden-brownish-reddish, gleaming with brilliance, an emblem to the time spent on its care. This time, though, it was different.
The luster was gone. It was mottled and split from neglect and malnutrition. Though short, it usually had a bounce and...life. At that moment, it limply poured from her head and lay beside her ears. Defeated.
It did not matter, though. I was still enraptured.
Her forehead was always beautiful. Smooth and without blemishes. Thereupon, her impossibly light pallor made it look ill, and the small cut over her left eye cried out "Injustice!"
I did not care, though. I was still entranced.
Fiona's eyebrows were perfectly sculpted. Even Her jailer could not change that. They reminded me of Paris. She and I, sitting outdoors at a quaint café, the Arc de Triumphe glimmering behind Her in the Paris night. Discussing art: Should Seurat and his pointillists be included as part of the impressionist movement, or should they have their own school. She believes the latter, and is right. My mind returned back to reality. She was still there, weak and feeble.
I was not concerned, though. I was still fascinated.
That nose; that sweet, charming nose. Exquisitely small, ending at a fine point. I was so relieved to see it was not broken. It was intact: defiant of the abuse.
I did not worry, though. I was still spellbound.
And then there were Her lips. Pale, dry, cracked, parched...how I yearned to kiss them. Ever so gently. A soft kiss to let Her know She was finally alright; that the nightmare was no more; that She was safe. I would kiss Her and gently rub Her hair...just to soothe Her. But I knew I could not. I knew I never might.
I did not sigh, though. I was still captivated.
Her neck was long and slim. The lines running along it quite pronounced. She would have to crane that neck to look the taller among us in the eyes. There were bruises there now. Obviously, She fought back. She would not bear the indignity of being held against Her will. But She was unable to resist. I do not know many things, but this I know: someone was able to capture Her...She, who seemed the most fearful and dangerous amongst us. We were dealing with quite a powerful enemy. But Her neck...I thank the Unicorn it was not snapped by that bastard.
I did not shudder, though. I was still bewitched.
Her shoulders were milky white. Whiter than usual, and her collarbones were garishly pressing against her skin. The notch between them seemed even more alluring than ever. How I yearned to run a finger along those bones. To trace the delicate lines of her pleasingly sweet...
I grabbed the blanket and moved it higher. It did not want to aggravate her condition by letting her catch pneumonia. I pulled it up to the base of her neck.
I closed my eyes then. She was there.
I rubbed those eyes. She was there.
I opened my eyes and looked at the cot. She was there.
I looked toward the door. She was there.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair. The pain from the wounds brought me back to reality, if only for a moment.
How long? That torture, that pain. I couldn't help but look at her and think...
I was afraid. Afraid of what I felt. I thought...no. By the Unicorn, I knew...
"I love you, Fiona," I muttered under my breath, in case Quinn were awake. Uttering those words, I realized I was more alone than I had ever been.
Return to Theseus' main page.
"Wandering between two worlds, one dead,
The other powerless to be born,
With nowhere yet to rest my head,
LIke these, on earth I wait forlorn."
- Matthew Arnold, "The Grande Chartreuse"
So I set about to the drawing of a Trump. A Trump of not a man, but rather a sword. An extraordinary sword, yes, but a sword nonetheless.
After an hour of this mindless task, Gerard came calling. He asks my opinion concerning the recovery of Greyswandir. I told him of the Trump I was casting. He nodded approvingly, then frowned. It seemed neither of us was in any hurry to rush headlong into oblivion. He asked me to call him when the card was complete. I told him I would do this thing.
And I returned to my work, only to get interrupted again.
This time it was Quinn. He checked on Fiona's status, then visited with me briefly. We spoke for a few minutes. He asked if I could teach how to identify a Trump caller using a deck. I told him I had not tried to teach it, but perhaps it was possible. We chatted idly for a few moments...he was repressing something. Apparently, my affections for Fiona were blatantly evident. Damn them all if they mock my adulation.
Quinn finally left. I sighed, rubbing my eyes and returning my mind to the proper set. I sat down and continued working.
Another hour passed before I finished. I put the card down. It was good; it would work. So I went to sleep. I would have slept forever if the nurses had not come to replace my bandages.
When I finally woke up again, I checked on Fiona. She seemed to be doing better, which warmed my heart. I used a damp rag to wipe her brow a moment, then left it there to cool her. I would not leave her side until she was better, I told myself before returning to my drawings.
I spent several hours then, drawing Trumps and caring for Fiona. My heart sank more and more each time I watched over her. I was so alone. I was an island of isolation and despair. I knew my love would be unrequited. I knew she would not care. Yet I stayed, tending to her. It did not matter, for I was expressing my love however I could. I knew I was not going to be able to just tell her how I felt when she woke up. It would not be that easy. No, I would love her through the only avenue available, then I would perish: my very heart revolting against my body and bursting in the throes of love forlorn. How I longed then to be able to rise and leave: to return to my Vmrtnz and forget about this place and its inhabitants. But I could not. My love knew no bounds; death itself was a voluntary sacrifice. I was lost.
"The dupe of friendship, and the fool of love; have I
no reason to hate and despise myself? Indeed I do;
and chiefly for not having hated and despised the
world enough."
- William Hazlitt, "On the Pleasure of Hating"
“Just because you’re paranoid, Scully,
doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”
- “The X-Files”
I sat there and drew. The world became foreign to me. I forgot the pain that lay just outside that infirmary door. I forgot the fear. I forgot the family.
Then Quinn returned.
He informed me of a “War Council” to attempt to devise a strategy against our current adversary. It sounded like a good idea, since we desperately needed some unity. It was obvious to me the foe’s main weapon was ourselves. We were so disjoined...it would be easy to eliminate us, one at a time.
I told Quinn I would be there. He left, and I continued my tasks until the correct time had come.
The meeting was interesting. Breann apparently broke her jaw, or had it broken for her. Lysander’s hand was bandaged up. And me...my body was still a road map of pain.
Fiona was not up to coming down to the dining hall, and who could blame her. She probably still felt pretty miserable. Quinn agreed to open up his mind to her, so she can listen in on what was happening.
At the meeting, several things were discussed. We determined our opposition was probably more than one person, considering the scope. Their objective is not absolutely clear, but the Throne seemed to be likely. Let them have it for all I care...at least it’s not Deirdre.
Anyway, after a while of speculation, I reminded Deirdre to call Finndo. I could smell the fear. It smelled good.
So she finally mustered up the balls (literally) and called him. She had a wonderfully pleasant conversation. My suspicion grew. She told Finndo she was anticipating his arrival. My misgivings grew more. She then said she would gladly bring Finndo’s son Kethos through now. She did. The paranoia set in my stomach like a double portion of Kung Pao Chicken: heavy.
I think it was then that I finally lost whatever sanity remained.
Kethos offered pleasantries to all that would listen. It was typical fashion for a back-stabber. I pulled out my sketchpad then, and wrote a letter. It was overly suspicious. It named names. Most of it was probably wrong, but if I put in every possible angle, the recipient would know what to do with it.
It read:
MAJOR PREMISE: The forgotten children of Oberon rebel against the throne.
Theseus
Benedict read the note, then looked up at me. “The Gardens, 8 P.M.”
I nodded, and I left. Kethos’ stench was starting to annoy me. I returned to the infirmary. Fiona was awake and hungry. She sent a servant for me.
"Murder most foul, as in the best it is;
But this most foul, strange and unnatural."
- William Shakespeare, Hamlet
So, there I was: still alive. Fiona dressed behind a screen, then invited me to breakfast. Naturally, I accepted. Arm in arm we went to the Dining Room. Bliss.
As we finished breakfast, Fiona received a Trump call. Quinn said his father’s wounds were mostly healed, but was still in a coma. He asked for advice.
"Try to Trump him and pull him through..." Fiona advised. "No, wait, I should be there. If you do it wrong you'll pull him inside out." Gotta love Her.
We went through the Trump and returned to the infirmary. The three of us contacted Julian through the Trump and started kicking around his brain. While Quinn and Fiona considered what to do next, I had an idea. Oh, stop cringing, this was a good idea.
I thought, "People think in pictures, right? And reality is just our perception to the pictures around us, right? Well… what if I could re-draw his reality?" I figured I’d try. I mean, what could be the harm? To me, anyway.
Medium? What to use as a medium? If only I had a palette… And one appeared. I grinned. Mental conjuration. Nifty. I needed something quick, something that could create the entire panorama in a relatively short period of time. Spraypaint.
I drew a tree, then another, then another. I added the sky, the grass, a bird, a rock. Julian sat. Quinn and Fiona looked on, hopefully impressed.
As I finished, Julian gave me what I think is the greatest compliment he has ever offered anyone: "Ahhh." Then he frowned. "Nice scenery, but my neck is killing me." Thanks, Unc.
I couldn’t resist: . "You're feeling pain again. Good…" I paused for an instant longer than I should have, "…good that you're feeling things."
When I was done, Fiona proclaimed, "Well done!" Talk about a compliment. I had to start my heart again as I exited the Woodsman’s head.
After Quinn told his father Sander took Morgenstern for a ride (that took balls) Quinn asked me if the Trumps were being monitored as Finndo suggested. I wasn’t sure, so I tried one. One with my mug on it. Oh yeah.
Quinn then suggested I try the Trump I made of Greyswandir. No thread, no ears, no bug.
"Let’s go for it!" I said. You can cringe now.
"Wait! Weapons, backup.." Quinn temporized.
Don’t trifle me with details! "I don’t want any help." I wasn’t worried about myself too much, but I’d be damned if I got anyone else killed.
Quinn turned to Fiona. "Do you have a Trump of Theseus handy?"
"In my rooms," Fiona replied, " I'll stay here. Go and have the servants let you in."
Quinn ran off. I shook my head and gave the Trump of me to She.
The activated Trump showed a courtyard identical to Castle Amber's, with Greyswandir stuck through a big white stone.
"Interesting," said Fiona, almost purring.
No shit. Interesting indeed. I mean, do I write checks my ass can’t cash or what? Should I go? The sign reading "Certain Doom" hung in the air. Fuck it. Can’t back off now. Maybe if She weren’t here, but…
So I went. Nothing. Nobody. The place looked like Amber all right, but first, the sword. Greyswandir was thrust into a large slab of white stone. The damn thing was stuck. Man, I felt like Wart. Screw you, Walt!
I swore a blue-streak, trying to pull the damn thing out. I picked up the rock a little bit trying to pull it out. Picked up the rock.
I didn’t know what to do, so I looked around some more. That fuzzy haze. That wispy air. Tir’na. A feeling of dread came over me. Tir’Na Nog'th, mystical city of the moon. On a clear night, it presents itself in the sky, all splendid and silvery. There was just one problem… IT WAS FUCKING DAYLIGHT! Need I say the feelings of dread escalated?
Fine. Stranded forever in Tir? At least I’ll have Greyswandir. This time, I stood on the stone and pulled with all I had. It held tenaciously, but finally began to give. Slowly, the sword slid free.
Now what?
I took a walk around. Exiting the courtyard, I saw something going on outside. Deirdre was talking. Everyone was wearing black. Must be the funeral service. I found good balcony seats and watched the fun. Man, was it quiet. I only heard my breath.
Turns out, the fun was someone with a crossbow, taking a shot from about fifteen feet away. He or she, we’ll say He, was hooded, so I couldn’t make anything out.
I sneaked towards him. Shit, I knew I wasn’t going to make it in time. But I wanted to see his face before he disappeared.
He popped out, and there was that unmistakable *twang* as he shot. It hit…Quinn? Why Quinn? I jumped out, trying to get a look, but he was already gone.
Benedict is fast. I never realized how fast until this dream, as he was already there when the assassin-to-be appeared once again. The second shot whizzed by me, but hit Benedict in the heart. He fell off the mountain like a dress on prom night. Bummer.
I will forever hate two-bolt crossbows, as the… Caine? But Caine’s de-… Aw, Crap. Let me just say, if you’ve never been shot by a crossbow in the shoulder, you haven’t lived. Fucker. I bled, and he fled.
Ander was next person on the scene. He looked at me and started talking. Of course, he wasn’t making any noise, but he could see me. I love that sword.
I tried to speak to him, again to no avail.
Then Ander had a brilliant idea. He scrawled "SWORD" in the dirt. I nodded and offered him one of the bars of the swept-hilt. A connection opened up. We could communicate.
"GET ME OUT OF HERE!" I cried.
"Where are you?" he asked.
I’minTir’Na,butit’sdaytimesohowcanIpossiblybeherewhogivesashitjustgetmethefuckoutofhere!
"In your dream, please…" I offered my hand, he tried to take it to no avail.
I had an idea.
I turned the blade slightly, and slapped him in the head with the flat of the blade. That woke him up.
Then he hit me. Punched me, right in the jaw. He’s really strong. Oh, well, I guess I deserved that. I could have warned him. At least I was all right.
I was lying on his bed, rubbing my jaw, struggling to stand, struggling against Ander to keep hold of Greyswandr, bleeding from the shoulder all over the place.
Then Fiona walked in, with Quinn in tow. You could here the sound of my balls hitting the floor from across the room. Oy, the humiliation!
As Fiona and Ander chatted, I shared my dream so someone else knew it as well. I showed Quinn the would-be shooter’s Trump, and told him to wear a breastplate. He did not seem pleased.
Then Gerard walks in. "Looks like you had a little trouble." He observed. No shit. All I wanted to do was go to the infirmary. I should get my own damn cot, as it has become my home away from home.
Gerard gestured at Greyswandir. "May I?" he asked. Hmmm… what were the chances of me holding on to it? Yeah, right.
I tossed Greyswandir in a looping arc, making it stick a few inches into the stone floor in front of the legless giant.
Then we all took the party to the infirmary.
"I am barely breathing, and I can’t find the air.
Don’t know who I’m kidding, imagining you care.
And I could stand here waiting; a fool for another day.
I don’t suppose it’s worth the price, the price that I would pay.
But I’m thinking it over anyway."
- Duncan Sheik, "Barely Breathing"
Great. I don’t have Greyswandir, and I lost Ophan in Tir’Na. Just peachy.
I get myself patched up in the infirmary. I sleep there.
In the morning, Deirdre comes by and asks if I would like to say anything at Dad’s service. Being his only son, I suppose it’s my duty.
Fiona then invites me to breakfast. I love Her more and more every hour. It frightens me. I know nothing can ever come of this. Oh well, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
Breakfast was good. As always. It’s odd, I’ve never had a bad meal in Amber, which is to say the food is always perfectly prepared. It’s eerie.
At the ceremony, Quinn is wearing a back-and-breast. I was just kidding there, buddy. But maybe he has the right idea.
I said a few words in memorium. They weren’t very original or good, so I’ll spare you. Afterwards, Ander offered his condolences. I was shocked: concern and compassion in this family? I was aghast, I was speechless.
As I was walking back to the castle, the daughter of Lord Calbi tried to console me. She was being *very* friendly. She hinted at going somewhere a little more private, where she could better… console me. I turned her down. What the fuck is wrong with me? "Lord Theseus, I am beautiful and I offer you free sex, without commitment." "No, thanks." By the Unicorn, has there ever been a bigger moron? Don’t answer that.
I escorted Fiona to the Dining Room. There, Ander named Anthony captain of the "La Roué," and Rodrigo the First Mate. Fiona invited me to go for a walk. I told her I had to change, to meet me at my chambers.
I should have been paying attention to where I was going. I shouldn’t have been daydreaming. I must have something which the Hall of Mirrors likes. Probably the ease of driving me batty.
In the Hall, Eric torments me. Then Sand annoys me. Then The Cloaked Figure pesters me. Then I see Florimel about to puke her guts out. It’s just not natural.
Anyway, she leaves her room, and the mirror is still active. Weird. Then I notice there’s no exit out of the hall. Even weirder. So I get another idea. Yeah, I know.
I step through the mirror, and I’m in Florimel’s room. Well, since I’m here, I may as well look for those damned "correspondences" Mirror-Dad had mentioned.
One of my strengths apparently lies in ransacking, as I tear through the room quickly, efficiently, and without mess. And I find them. Well, letters from Dad anyway. I was hoping for letters from Corwin, but no matter. These will do for now. I pull a Trump of my room and use it.
I read the letters as quickly as I can. Nothing I didn’t already know. Then there was a knock at the door. It was Fiona. She was ready for our walk. I invited her in and offered her a seat in the front room, as I was finishing.
Back in the bed chamber, I rattled off a quick sketch off Florimel’s room. Nothing permanent, just enough to get me there.
So, with Fiona in the front room, I Trumped back to Florimel’s room, replaced the letters, and returned to my room.
Fiona noticed the potpourri. Damn, forgot about that. "I… went to the bathroom just before you arrived… I think Gerard was in there last." And I kept walking.
Fiona and I went for a walk in the gardens. I had dreams of spending the rest of my life this way. She asked about Ophan, and I told Her where it was. She suggested we go get it. Gotta love Her.
Tir’Na was a blur. I’m not sure exactly what happened. I remember finding Ophan. I remember going to Tir-na-Fiona’s room, then Tir-na-mine. In 'my' room, our Tir-na-reflections were… going at it. She was on top. I would have figured as much.
She complained about feeling strange also, so we returned to Amber I think.
Then I remember, "Take me, Theseus." Of course, I don’t remember anything after that, so that may have been a hallucination.
I wake up the next morning… in my bed. Then Fiona walked into the room, wearing a green terrycloth bath robe. "Are you still in bed? Get up already."
My jaw dropped. "You don’t want to miss Lysander’s wedding, do you?" she asked. My jaw dropped further.
I looked for Rod Serling. He wasn’t there. Damn, is this weird.