"I can't have been there when brains were handed round,
or get past the cover of your books profound,
and some of your friends thinks it's really unsound
that you're ever seen talking to me..."
    - XTC "Mayor of Simpleton"

My mind swam as the charred nubs on the ends of my hands slowly healed.

It had been a long, slow, process. The fingers had grown back, but just weren't the same. Making Trumps were excrutiating. My fingers lacked the necessary fine control to capture the image properly. Eventually, I managed to make a working one of Muriel. It wasn't my best work, but it worked.

I'm sure she thinks me a buffoon. I mean, who wouldn't, right?

Anyhow, Gerard would have his legs soon enough. Quinn had done a good job patching us up. I've got to hand it to him for that. He's got ideas, lots of 'em. He's always thinking of the next step. Like the meeting. He called a meeting of the family so we can talk about things: the Baron thing and the Osric thing, mostly. We were all meeting in Aretia. I lost myself in thought for a while...only to find Fiona there when I came to.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"...and I may be the Mayor of Simpleton,
but I know one thing and that's I love you.
When all logic grows cold and all thinking gets done,
you'll be warm in the arms of the Mayor of Simpleton."
    - XTC "Mayor of Simpleton"

- I Corinthians 13:11

The family meeting began pretty much as I expected: blah, blah, blah.

Looking around as they spoke of Rebma and such, I couldn’t help but shake my head. We were a discordant group with no real leadership, quivering with fear at the thought of facing our unfathomable enemies. Words came to me; words spoken by my dead father on one of his rare visits to my childhood home: "We are the rulers of the universe," he told me, "Myself, my family, you… we are the only gods they will ever worship, the only ones to truly move worlds. Soon, your turn will come. When the time comes, you will take your place beside me. I will be King of Creation, and you, my prince, will be there with me, ruling over the lambs of shadow."

I never realized how drunk with power and ambition my father was when he spoke.

"…and was forced into it." Quinn said, interrupting my soliloquy. "So, basically, he wants back into the family."

My jaw dropped, "Are you serious? No way." I may have explained my objection, but it hardly mattered. For some reason, they decided to consider it.

Whatever.

I pulled my Trumps, not wanting to drum my fingers against the table. Let’s see… Random… like I care… Caine… like I’m surprised… Kethos… Finndo… Sand… SAND? What the fuck? Identify, isolate, trace… I wanna know who she’s… Flora. And so the other shoe – a red, four-inch, stiletto-heeled pump mind you – falls. Why was she doing it? Why open a circuit so Sand could hear? What where those two up to? Shit.

"Don’t ever trust anyone," Eric told me, "and when you think you know everyone who’s involved in something, you don’t."

No shit, Dad. But I’m tired. I thought I needed to figure out who did it, who killed you off to get some sort of closure. Truth of the matter is, I already know: you killed yourself. Your pride and your stubbornness and your pettiness did you in long before the assassin’s bullet. I can’t let your death be the driving force of my life any more. If I find anything out I’ll act on it, but I’ve got my own problems now. Rest in peace, father… I’ll strive to live in it.

- I Corinthians 13:2

The meeting was over, and I knew the bitch was more involved than anyone else imagined. I thought I should keep it a secret, in case the wrong person finds out and fucks me because of it. But no, I figure the more people that know, the better. If she’s got accomplices, maybe this will flush them out. But who to tell? Someone I can go to safely, but who will distribute the news to everyone under the Unicorn’s blue sky.

"Quinn, let’s take a walk."

So I told him, and no doubt he told Deirdre at least. Maybe Gerard, too.

I walked away, my focus going to the Trump deck in the old melon. Flipping to Julian, I called him to say I would be there in about four hours. He told me to bring Lysander. I nodded and broke the contact.

I had something to do first.

Finding the VR lab Sander was in, I poked my head in. He was training, so I poked my head in, "Talk to you later?" He agreed.

I sat in the hall and started drawing. I needed a mount, something to ride into battle on. Something that wouldn’t die under me. So I drew, and I drew….

I don’t know when I realized I wasn’t imagining a horse, but rather copying one.

As Inigo said, "Let me ‘splain… no, ‘is too much, let me sum up." All of us and everything: you, me, this paper, that rock, the Pattern… we’re all duplicates, copies of an image. The True Image. I realized I wasn’t drawing a horse, I was copying the Image of the horse I was visualizing. I’ve got to look into it but damn, my head.

The Trump of the horse was done. I couldn’t help but chuckle. My mind swam with the infinities.

Journal

Prince Theseus, High Advisor to

I fear the increasing difficulties as of late has had an effect on our dear Queen.

Our meeting went as planned. Every item on my agenda was covered and resolved, yet I feel a growing anxiety in her. She feels she is not doing enough, and this is dangerous.

I’ve worked too hard to just let her rule.

I mulled over my current situation. Work on the Image is progressing at or slightly better than I had hoped. Gerard, Deirdre and Ander continue to be the bane of our existence. Production of Amber gunpowder was strong and steady. However, my sources have been unable to unearth anything new or useful on the rest of the family still in Amber, as the mounting paranoia has made lips all the tighter.

I was lost in my thoughts when the shrill voice of one of the bigger mistakes in my life pierced the silence.

It was Fiona, as dizzy and frivolous as ever. I would have ignored her if she wouldn’t have just followed me. I endured the flagrant attempts to win my favor and moved on.

I retreated to my laboratory and Miriel’s company whilst the final preparations were made. When the fighting was under way, I would watch and wait… I worked best from a distance without distractions. I called Quinn, bearing a conversation long enough to have him prepare some cells in the dungeon for me.

My research had shown I could create an effective trap by opening a portal to a vacuum. Our adversaries’ growing disdain of Trumps will make this difficult, but every possible advantage must be exploited. Perhaps I can open contact with one of them, then redirect them to a cell.

We were grossly out-classed, out-powered and out-numbered. How the Queen and Edward did not see this was beyond me.

When the preparations were done and Miriel and I cleaned up, we joined the Queen. I sat, watching and waiting.

It was not long before I felt the first tremor of Trump activity. Ander had called Quinn, who along with Vaughn, led the remains of the Fleet. Quinn answered all too quickly. A minute and thirty-seven seconds later, the call had ended. I waited for a call with Vaughn to end before I confronted him.

"You spoke to Ander?" I asked gravely.

It was good to see him squirm. It builds character. However, the lack of substance of the call led me to believe Ander was up to something. A ruse, no doubt. Vaughn and Quinn’s success was uncharacteristic. They were coming, the real fleet. I was sure it was only a matter of moments. I prepared to do something incredibly stupid which would buy us some time.

The Fleet finally decided to make it’s appearance. Our ships did not stand a chance. A retreat was in order, but they were pinned. I summoned the strength I had and focused on the Trump sails under Vaughn’s command.

I moved the ships as far as I could. They would be needed to defend our home. Quinn would have to find his own way back as he has in the past.

Sessions 57-58

Waking up, I saw the ethereal glow and heavenly face of an angel. Upon further inspection, I realized it was Miriel. Close enough. She was blotting my forehead with a damp rag, which smelled of herbs. Though it felt good… very, very good, my need for wine outweighed my need for her attention. I sent her away.

It was a good thing I did. No sooner had I focused my attention to the valley below that I noticed a glint of light. That little voice inside told me to jump. I did: off the parapet toward the cobbled courtyard below. The chaise lounge exploded in a cloud of felt and feathers. I focused my energies and Trumped into the Great Hall. Rather gracefully, I might add. I briefly surveyed the room before I realized I couldn’t move my arm. I noticed the wet warmth of blood pouring out my shoulder just before I blacked out.

When I came to again, I was in the infirmary with Miriel again looking over me. What would I do without her?

It wasn’t long before my rest was ended once again, this time by a messenger. Lysander, of all people, had written me a letter. Miriel held it open as I read:

** INSERT LETTER TEXT HERE (I’ll get this to you ASAP) **

Naturally, I was dubious. But I decided to investigate. Since I had never met Lord Lysander, I sent Miriel to fetch my pack from my rooms. Trying to call him, I found him unconscious and unreachable. Then I look for Edward in my pack. Odd that one of Queen Breann’s most ardent supporters was absent from my Trump collection. I concentrated on Edward’s image in my mind… nothing again. I then took a closer look at my cards… the discrepancies between the people and the images were… compelling.

I Trumped Deirdre: "Deirdre, this is Theseus. I offer you the throne..."

We talked, and I informed her of the contents of the letter and of the Trump discrepancies. If not convincing her, perhaps the talk would at least trigger some in-fighting in their faction.

I decided to monitor Trump activity, hoping one of theirs would slip and use them. Hallelujah! Ander decided to ambush someone, but the tables soon turned. I redirected the call to the Vacuum Cell. He was too damned strong, however, and it didn’t work quite like I planned. Hopefully, I would scare them away from using Trumps all together.

I realized that I needed some time: to watch, to think, to plot. I drew the Shadow I desired, and it came to being.

It was dead to everything, save Trump. Good. That suited me just fine.

I replaced myself with a Shadow of myself I drew, and reprogrammed to think he was me. No sex with Miriel, though. That was not in the itinerary.

So I watched and I waited.

I’m not sure how long passed before something unusual happened. Lord Lysander was trying to Trump someone unfamiliar… someone with very peculiar Psychic signature. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where or who he was. I decided to ask. I redirected Lysander’s call to me.

"What are you doing?!" he yelled. He may have been a bit upset. I let him rant.

Once he finally shut up: "Just give me a name!"

"Benedict."

Oh, my.

I let the contact go and searched my own deck. There he was, 'Benedict,’ according to Lyander. An adult, though I knew he died in childhood, beaten to death by Oberon for something stupid. Delving deeper, I found Bleys, who I supposedly saw die over the Trumps, in a coma. There was a strange signature on him as well, though it differed from Benedict’s.

I found three others who were very alive with a similar signature, though none of them were familiar. I correlated these signatures with different ‘universes’ or rather different perceptions of the universe. I theorized that those that had died were actually shocked back into the Prime Universe, and decided to call one of them. There were two men, one woman. I decided on the woman.

I reached, and felt the beginning tingles of a contact, then there was nothing. I tried again. She was far, and she was good. I got nowhere.

Damn, damn, damn.

Right After the Events of the Alternate Universe.

Theseus answers readily, a smug smile on his face.

"Theseus! Something just happened, either a hallucination attack or…"

"I know." Theseus smile broadens, "I know."

"Sander and Daelyn felt SOMETHING but they're busy -- ah. You do remember."

"I do. The Baron's doing no doubt. I got to my destination safely, but I think I am going to return to Amber."

"Good." Quinn answers, "Sort of. If anyone can do that good a hallucination between one step and another I don't want to know about it."

"It was definitely Trump-related, and *I* have no idea."

A pause. Then Quinn starts again.

"I'm in Aramyst with Sander... I'll Trump Fiona and find out what happened with her. We need to talk to everyone."

Theseus thinks for a moment... "I think you'll find her in a coma wherever she was."

"A coma? SHIT. Random and Vaughn too, then."

"Everyone that died," Theseus adds, "If the other me was right. And I think he was. Random, Vaughn, Fiona, Bleys, Florimel."

"I think we'll definitely have to delay the attacks."

"If we can convince Deirdre to listen to reason." Theseus quantifies. "I’m pretty sure the Baron did this to get us to kill one another, so we’d all end up in a coma so his conquest of Amber would be simple."

"With luck they're mostly at the Castle."

"I'm going back. Do what you have to do. I'll talk to Deirdre."

"Any more concrete idea how this all happened?" Quinn changed the subject, "Other than 'Trump related'?"

"That's going to take a lot more time than I have the luxury of dedicating to that course of study."

"It's the personality warping I was most concerned with." Quinn confides.

"That's what I understand the most... he..." Theseus makes an intertwining gesture with his fingers... "crossed our images." Theseus pauses. "I understand the concept, just can't explain it."

"Trump images? I'll take your word for it. Hell, I hope half the family doesn't need psychological therapy." Quinn smiles, then continues, "And yeah, one could argue for it any time."

"Likely most people with think it a dream. I only hope Gerard does. This could really fuck him up."

"Him," Quinn points out, "Dee, Ander, maybe even Fi." Quinn chuckles, "Caine."

Theseus chuckles, then, "I don't ask for much, just the smallest recognition when I save the universe and restore us to our rightful order before we are weakened beyond the point we can save ourselves. Is that too much to ask?"

"You broke the ... spell. Effect?" Quinn asked, almost astonished. "I owe you. All hail Theseus."

"Well, for some reason, Lysander wasn't affected," Theseus says with a smile, "and he got me researching it. We would've been totally screwed without him. But, pulling up a Trump defense kill the tethers of the spell individually. But, we can discuss that later."

"Anyway, you’re right. You should get to the Castle. I’ll be there soon myself."

"Yeah. I'll talk to you soon. Thank Sander for me."

"Fine." Quinn agrees. "I'll scan around Ys, just in case the Baron's up to something more. I'll pass it on. Later."

"Ciao."