Monkey Business

The personal diary of Havelock, son of Bleys

I returned from my sparring with Constance at her current abode having enjoyed the exercise, it is something we should organise again. I do not know if it was early or late when I retired into my room in the Spiral, time being what it is here, but I awoke refreshed so I must have had adequate hours. I would hate to think what could be done to sleep deprive us if they tried.

At breakfast I met with Zubenelgenubi and over the meal enquired after his health, given his cards reversed appearance in my reading of the previous night. Nothing seemed amiss and my query led to how Lord Ariel of Pheon appeared aware of my divinatory talent. The answer I recall was unsatisfactory. However, Zubenelgenubi did say that I should speak to Poliziano and Mirandola about the private matter I had raised with Despil. Two invites awaited me; the first to Constance and Julian’s duel in the Garden of Earthly Delights, the other to Mandor’s unveiling of his coalition’s nomination for High King at his family estate.

Gathering my things for the day I also considered that I needed to seek out Dworkin, or Uncle Brand’s spirit. I feel a little for Brand, no Amberite deserves to just fade away, so I aim to discuss with them matters of Trump and whether this could be used to preserve my old tutor.

First stop though was early morning in the Garden of Earthly Delights. After DM+589 led me there I did a quick survey of the artworks and noticed a change. There was a new work that consisted of two disembodied eyeballs, suspended in the air at eye level. I considered the meaning of this as I climbed with the other invited spectators into the torso viewing platform. Here my answer awaited, in the shape of Melvyn of Barimen, who had assayed his heritage but, as we had been warned, was changed by it. In the sockets where the orbs of his eyes had once rested there was now the Logrus. The same black ichor that I had encountered in Poliziano’s dream, the stuff that had caused me to recoil and so devastatingly lash out, now stared out at me from the face of one whom I felt I had come to know. Although his nervousness seemed gone it was now replaced with despondency. He spoke of those who insisted he needed to catch up in learning sorcery and thus he was now buried in books. I presumed these taskmasters to be the two Keepers and given my aim to find Dworkin resolved to visit Brú na Bóinne at the next opportunity. Melvyn also declared that these two said he needed to wed. When Dad light-heartedly quipped that marriage was not the only option he looked very glum and stated that unfortunately it was.

Then the duel commenced. Cutting to the chase, Constance was outclassed by Julian. He was able to defend against her style and turn its tiring effects against her. The result was she came away with a scar on her left cheek to remind her of the moment. Although he is better than her on the same ground I think I would come away his better. I cannot fully describe the cut and thrust because for duration I tried to sense if anyone present was the cryptic influence represented in Constance’s spread. Unfortunately my effort was not revealing.

Whilst most of Julian’s brothers, including Dad, went to congratulate him after the fight, I joined the party of my Aunts who descended on Constance. As William had been her second, his batman Delambre was on hand, and was about to stitch the cheek wound until my Aunt Fiona intervened with her own neat needlework.

The Princesses exclaimed their disquiet at her obvious fey style and nature whilst also dismissing duelling as if it were a game for the boys and beneath them as ladies. Refreshments were brought for the fighters and at a distance across the garden both father and daughter saluted each other with raised cups. I hope now the air is cleared between them.

I saw Queen Cymnea break from the party around the victor, who had after all been her nominated champion. As she was now making her way to the vanquished Constance I crossed over to the group of my Uncles and offered Julian my own congratulations.

With Dworkin still in my mind’s eye, I left the garden with Cousin Melvyn, who had to get back to his studies in our ancestral hall. I had DM+589 tag along but Melvyn lead on a route that felt much smoother and rapid than when that demon guided me. Brú na Bóinne, like its master, was changed. With my artist’s perception I believe the great central chamber has enlarged marginally, but more noticeable are the radiating corridors. On our first visit I recollect there were only a few darkened arches, yet now there are obviously more, and further, several are lit.

I expressed my desire to see Dworkin and Melvyn bade Loeg show me to his chamber. Before going deeper I talked briefly with my distant cousin about Trump. I offered to train my distant cousin in the divinatory arts if he wished and leave him a deck before we departed home. He gave the impression of being genuinely pleased and for a brief moment the cloud over him lifted only to quickly return as he twisted back to the grimoire on his desk.

Loeg guided me down a passage leading further into the mound before coming to a halt in front of a doorway. As he knocked the voice of Suhuy called upon me to enter.

The room in which the Keeper of the Logrus acknowledged my presence was small with a further doorway at the back. There were books and papers as if in some study, but there was also a strange gameboard. Recalling their overheard conversation before the incident at the Duomo I asked how the game was going. His response was noncommittal, nevertheless he picked up a piece that was strongly in my colours and rolled around between his fingers and considered it. Quickly I turned the conversation back to the purpose of my visit, seeking Dworkin. With a gesture at the other door Suhuy declared that the Keeper of the Pattern was apparently meditating.

Through the door Dworkin indeed seemed to be in a trance. The image of him floating in the air, his dhoti being the only thing separating his ancient body from full nakedness will stay with me for some time. Talking to Dworkin takes effort. It is not that he is mad, after this and other conversations I am sure that it was a malaise due to the damage Brand wrought to the Pattern. No, it is more that he has different perceptions of reality, ones into which the listener must squeeze their mind, despite that it doesn’t really fit. The result is that unless you try hard he still sounds crazy. I came away with some revelations about Trump though. Although he became their master Dworkin did not invent the art of Trump. He found it and developed it. He appraised my work leafing through my deck before declaring them to be like Brand’s but with more mud.

That led me onto the shade of Brand. As I tried to search for a way of asking whether Trump could hold such a shade to maintain their existence the old man laughed and called forth the very shade of my Uncle. Dworkin talked of Trump traps that look like one thing but connect to another and mirror Trumps, prisons for holding the psyche of another. When asked if he would accept such imprisonment by the maestro Brand silently demurred. He was then dismissed with the reminder that the old man had still not forgiven him.

Still thinking about Brand and my most recent reading I enquired whether another artist could tamper with a divinatory reading, changing the cards turned. For my trouble I received a potted lecture on aerials and reception of a psychic signal which I think I understood. Dworkin then revealed that he himself had given up on Trumps because of their limitations, particularly as regards the creation of shadows. It was this dissatisfaction that was the origin of his pursuit of the Pattern, its conception and eventual inscription to satisfy a need for creation not met in Trump.

Finally we discussed talking to the long dead using spirit magic with the Trump as the focus. I was left with no uncertainty that this is dangerous. How then can I try to reach out to those I think I need to speak to like Osric or Finndo? He suggested that a form of automatic writing could add a layer of protective separation from the possibly unquiet or downright hostile dead.

Reminded by this that I wanted to speak to my fellow Order members at House Cyril before being called to the party at Vanguard we brought the lesson to a close. On leaving I passed though Suhuy’s chamber again. He was in study so I left quietly. Before leaving I chanced to glance at the board. New pieces had appeared, a dozen each of Icthyian figures and purple, black and silver ones. As I strode down the rock-lined passageway towards Brú na Bóinne’s centre I considered that the fish men resembled members of House Chanicut, but the others I did not know. One thing I felt sure of was they were gathering to attack en mass.

At the entrance to the mound I met up with DM+589 and had him lead me to House Cyril. Here I left my demon at the door and met up with Poliziano. After a quick greeting, a mention of Despil and also meeting with Mirandola, he showed me into a private room and called for our fellow to join us. When I told them I had come from seeing Dworkin they were impressed that I had been in the Maestro’s presence. As we started to form the idea of a commission for the order to help Benedict I fished out the cards I have of him. They gently murmured appreciation of both Dworkin’s and kindly my own art.

We discussed how the root of Benedict’s current trouble stemmed from the unresolved events surrounding his brothers’ deaths. I told them what I knew of both the lead up to and events of battle in which they died caused by Osric’s actions and Oberon’s minor punishment of him. How they had abandoned Amber with Cymnea when she was divorced yet came back to the Royal City’s defence when forces from Chaos attacked. Benedict had been the Marshal of Amber in this engagement and, although he was victorious, his timing had been off – Osric’s position had been overwhelmed and Osric killed. On hearing this Finndo had concluded that this had been a deliberate act on Benedict’s part, to clear a competitor to the throne or ingratiate himself with their father by disposing of a troublesome son. So Finndo stormed up to Benedict, they closed into melee and Benedict slew his other brother. Now assured that Benedict sought the throne, as he died Finndo placed his blood curse on his killer so that he never would take the throne. Trouble is that Benedict did not want his brothers dead and did not want to be King. Now since he has been maimed himself he is troubled by the thought that could he have disabled Finndo rather than kill him. His physical wound causing him to dwell on his long held mental one, working at slowly causing it to grow into a debilitating sore.

So we debated the nature of the commission like writing a script for a play. After some time we had a format that will hopefully work. The setting will be the end of the battle in which Osric and Finndo die. Benedict encounters one of our characters cloaked in Finndo’s likeness who declares, in as close to the original dialogue as possible, that Osric has been slain and he holds Benedict responsible. They face off and if they fight it is ever so brief.

Before Benedict overpowers our Finndo, a second actor intercedes as Osric, claiming that his death was due to the fortunes of war and no fault of Benedict. The Finndo actor should best closely resemble the actual man and has to stand against Benedict until Osric intervenes without either of them getting hurt, this really sounds like Cousin William. We need someone to lead Benedict from his own dream into our constructed dreamscape. That could be our Finndo or Osric as I am sure Benedict would follow either out of curiosity.

The more experienced Mirandola suggested that a token would make the healing more effective. Of suitable items Airgetlám, the Silver Arm of Nuada of Brú na Bóinne is a prime candidate as artefact of choice. Osric in the dream says he found it on the battle field and gives it to his brother for future use, and then Benedict finds he has hold of it when he awakes. So this needs to be found and fetched.

Finally we talked on the use of Cyrillic for automatic writing. In times past House Cyril used a script in their writing of Ages that resonated with Trump due to its beauty. This Cyrillic font in tune with Trump is likely to be the best for the automatic writing to find the form of words used in the actual battle. My colleagues will research this.

Finally I needed to get to the big social gathering at Vanguard and again my demon guided me by diverse ways. The hall I entered had several large groups of mainly our family and close allies. I note that Corwin has returned, but is surrounded by a large group and anyway I have important news to impart.

Firstly I go to Benedict, Cymnea, Caine and Dad when I arrive they are talking about how far from home we are. I interrupt with what I have learnt about the Keepers’ game and that I believe this suggests an upcoming threat from Chanicut and another unidentified force. Cymnea cannot identify the purple, black & silver pieces. When I propose that they pieces look set for an all out attack Caine points out the obvious, that the smart move would be for them will try to pick us off individually or in small groups and that we need to be vigilant after this unveiling.

Onto a group nearest the main hall doors where Sigebert of Lanfranc is talking to William’s fiancé, Rachael of Seraph, about spirits, whilst William himself discusses war with Rikard of Karm. Sorashi joins us. I proceed to warn them of what I saw in Brú na Bóinne and again suggest this presages another attack.

After this I ask Sigebert about the Colossus of Augustus which they want destroyed with the Pattern. Apparently it is a modest mile-high ego-piece made out of gold. It is a reminder of the dictator and, in my understanding, an affront to aesthetics, but as with all things Chaos it can be unweaved by our Eidelon. I am aware that Gauri goes upstairs sometime during this conversation. Then suddenly the lights in hall dim, although the mezzanine above remains well lit. Into that light steps a figure identified as Merlin, Corwin’s son, who Gauri introduces as Mandor’s choice for next High King.

At that moment the main doors fly open and four berserk assailants burst into the room. These four throw themselves at the assembled of thirty of us; Amber Princes and Princesses, scions of those Elders, as well as a good number of Lords and Ladies of Chaos Houses. These suicidal attackers are robotic in appearance with a purplish, black and chrome finish. Each bears a cutting/chopping blade and an electric stun rod. From our group William piles forward into one of these and Rikard and I follow to guard his flanks. The creature strikes at Rikard with its shock arm and he is suddenly downed, but William’s massive Claideb shears off that arm. Deftly I stab into its midriff, nonetheless it continues to operate. Then the hairs on my neck start stand upright as the sound of multiple words of power echo off the hall’s wooden beams.

Darig’s voice rings clear above the clamour calling Gáe Bolg and four more charge into the room. I am driven off William’s flank by one that throws itself at me. However, I do find I have Archduchess Belissa of Hendrake to my left as I give ground. Wary of this one’s still active stun rod I take another few steps back and fanatically it follows, ignoring probably the best swordswoman in the Courts. She returns the favour by cutting it down quickly. From somewhere down the room I smell the smell of ozone and hear the crackle of flame as two Pattern blades wielded by expert swordsman go into action.

Momentarily free of the press I look around. There are a mass of combatants deeper into the hall to my left fighting a handful of these robotic warriors. It seems another four have thrown themselves piecemeal into the melee. Caine’s words of a few short minutes earlier come to mind – it appears not so much that they plan to pick us off in small groups but instead to feed their own small groups into a mincer made of Pattern weapons. I see Dad drawing his sword from one blue burning fiery corpse. Nearby Julian, supported by Constance behind him, fight another. Further across the room Corwin and Deirdre are closed up on third.

To my right the situation is more precarious. William is standing alone, guarding the still downed Rikard, facing two of our assailants. The one we initially charged is down. However, its presence at his feet impedes William in aiding Rikard, who is barely fending the second from the floor.

As I move to assist them by rolling around behind William to come up on his left side, I am aware of two things. The most immediate of these is a cream and olive striped Bengal tiger leaping from the direction of the stairs at the upright opponent stood over Rikard. The other is that through a gap in the fighting on the far side of the room I can see Benedict. He seems to have broken out of our defensive line then, fighting alone, had fallen to a shock rod even whilst he cleaved down that opponent. Unfortunately he had engaged two of them, which still leaves a second stood over him. He is too far away for me to act and locally the fight presses in. I parry for William whilst he engages one. The tiger bears another from its feet as magical incantations reach a crescendo, I hear Mandor’s voice and by the time this one hits the floor it has been blinded. The tiger does not stop keeping moving, just pushes off in another bounding leap, I think in direction of Benedict.

Now the berserk robots have stopped coming, a group of blasphemous fish-frogs of nameless design attempting a more formed order try to force entry into the room. Before they can truly gather themselves the last of William’s and my opponents are dead and he is barrelling towards them. He uses his mass, his great sword and spiked armour to break them up. I do believe he deeply relishes the close destruction of such formed troops. Again I find myself following on his flank, stepping past Rikard, who is now half risen to his feet.

Briefly my eldest cousin and I are faced by two each, guardians at the gateway as it were. He immediately cuts clean through one and even as I offer my own pair a tight defence I realise the two of us outstrip these. On top of that our numbers are beginning to tell and the din in the hall behind starts to reduce. Constance dances in on my left, utters a sharp word, causing that fishman to juggle his trident; as he does so she runs him neatly through the eye. As I cleanly drop my own icythoid with a swift thrust to the throat, I see Claideb bisect the foe on my right. Then a great notched Celtic spear passes over our heads to pin the formation’s leader to the hall’s wooden floor by his fishy head.

In the few seconds their companions took to be slaughtered, another tranche tries to pass the entrance that William dominates. These four escort a robed serpentman of Amblerash. Even as these five try to enter they are assailed by arcane energies from direction of the mezzanine. As the central figure tries desperately to gather his own magical power, his robes smoulder and starts to ignite, quickly causing it to break off to try extinguish them. Of the guards; one runs screaming in mind-blasted terror and a second, assailed as if by numerous invisible razor blades, falls into a bloody heap. The remaining pair take all this in and, faced with the corpses of their colleagues who attempted to cross the threshold just ahead of them, fallout to surrender.

William, I and the guardless mage exchange the briefest of glances it stands alone before us. The serpentman turns to run, but we are instantly on its heels, I am sure Constance also follows us. However, the mage only makes a short distance before he stumble slightly and in a flash William tackles him to the ground. Then rolling over, he clamps one meaty fist around its mouth and drags it back into the hall.

As we pass back through the doorway with the prisoner, Sorashi, still as a tiger, is sniffing around the doorway as if trying to find a last elusive prey.

Upon entering the hall again, it seems that one of the Chanicut prisoners spontaneously sprung a fatal leak of the throat, leaving just three of them and the robed figure we dragged back. Mandor asks his assembled house who gave these attackers the inside help they needed to penetrate Vanguard? Whone, my own principal suspect, defends herself, saying she would not breach hospitality that way. Abruptly Jurt shoots to his feet and in a tantrum lays claim to the action, saying Mandor wants to make Merlin High King ahead of himself and that this is unfair. Mandor promptly shuts this whining off, dismissing Jurt as incapable.

Mandor swings back on his father, the Archduke; saying that he needed words with his father alone, he makes an attempt to dismiss everyone to the dining room. I object to leaving the four prisoner’s unsecured. Then noticing as if for the first time that one of those who surrendered had died, Mandor calls the demons from the chamber immediately next to the body. Delambre tries to remain insignificant but knowing glances were exchanged between Mandor and several Chaosites. Then we sojourned to the dining room whilst Mandor spoke to his father.