A Day at the Races

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre

On my return to House Minobee I talked to the Countess and gave her an edited version of my recent adventures at Brứ-na-Bóinne and elsewhere. The conversation turned to my dream and Lharsa kindly enquired if I wished to have what she called 'dream counselling' - something akin to interpretation and comforting I would assume. I declined the offer in the immediate, once the rescue has been attempted then if they continue I may be tempted.

I also found that I had been invited to a Day at the Races by Sire Melvyn - Lharsa had accepted on my behalf. I suppose I could have taken offence at her presumption, but she has always been kind to me, and in truth there were no other urgent calls on my time. I assumed that Melvyn had provided the invitations to me and my cousins as nominal head of our House.

To entertain me until the appointed hour the Countess asked if I would like to see the sights of the Courts of Chaos - as I was not tired we agreed to visit the Hall of Memories as soon as she was ready.

By the usual diverse ways we arrived at a long, windowed room hung with framed pictures and arranged with statues in niches and items on pedestals. Interspersed with these were windows (and with some on the ceiling), all looking out onto different vistas.

The first painting we came to was Lharsa's second husband in a martial setting and costume - a handsome man seemingly at ease in his armour. In front of the painting is his weapon of choice - 3 spiked balls on chains linked to a handle. An alien and unsubtle weapon, in my opinion, but my experience of battle is rather limited.

The next window we passed showed a battle site - the recent battle, from the looks of it. And then we came to my memories - under a longan tree, my ten year old self lay against the bulk of my father's tiger form. My first transformation - I can still remember the waiting in those last minutes before I became dual-souled. As we were not with my cousins I provided the background for the Countess, who expressed polite interest.

Nearby, in the ceiling, a window showed a star-filled night with a single shooting star. It was Mother - I knew this without any process of thought, in the way my heart knew to beat. Not a comforting sight. As I looked away from this disturbing view, I saw a pedestal occupied by something which could not have been there but which lay there despite this. Mother's axe - the wrist thong was snapped, but otherwise undamaged. Hesitantly, I reached for it - as my hand touched the haft I felt a sudden sensation of falling, falling endlessly. I felt cold with fear, mine or hers I could not tell.

We proceeded down the room after a little while, and saw a painting of a landscape which neither Lharsa nor myself could place. It was the view of a city from the outside countryside - somehow it had the look of Amber but the description I had differed in a number of ways, mostly the absence of a large mountain behind the city. There was a hill across from it, with a large temple on its summit. It seemed familiar but I was sure I had never seen it before. A future memory?

We met up with Darig and his escort - the stone armoured one from our first Amberite meeting - apparently called Nico. After introductions, we continued our wanderings amongst the memories, where we happened upon an explanation of Darig's previous renown with William and others. In a painting of Augustus Swayvil's coronation, 3 old women were represented (as was the Countess, who pointed herself out to us) - these were the Norns, who apparently make prophecies for a King of Chaos' coronation. Two of them had made their prophecies of long life and suchlike, but one demurred, saying that another would make the last prophecy.

Lharsa - who had been giving us this commentary - looked hard at Darig and told him that he was the one who had given the prophesy, appearing out of a bubble above the throne. She couldn't remember the words but they were in essence, a threat to kill the king.

Darig looked rather taken aback at this but speculation on when his visit to the past would happen were shelved at the arrival of Margrath escorted by Haruka Kakka, followed by William.

After a little desultory conversation, Lharsa recommended that we leave or we would eventually see our own deaths.

At some stage Havelock must have turned up because I remember him handing me a piece of gold leaf with two sets of symbols on it (co-ordinates of those falling through the Abyss, apparently), but I must confess I cannot remember his arrival. Perhaps I was preoccupied with Darig's future role as Swayvil's assassin. Nevertheless, Lharsa seemed interested to receive the information, and left to take it to House Drobe immediately.

We were thus left in the care of the lady Haruka from House Sumi to travel to the Thelbane - the next stop on the tour of the sights. On our arrival we found Constance in the upper gallery. It seemed that a meeting was underway, headed by a giant praying mantis, but Mandor's arrival made it clear that the meeting had not yet started. The mantis turned into Mantissa of House Askaris (some form of protocol I would imagine) and I will confess I more than half expected Mandor to tell the assembled worthies of 'our' plan to assassinate Augustus Swayvil, but to my surprise it was the injustices meted out to we Amberites which he chose to raise, starting with the unsuccessful assassination attempt on William and moving on to Constance's mental assault.

A rotting corpse (who did not change to normal form - or maybe this was his normal form) demanded (bravely) to view actual evidence rather than hearsay from outsiders. The demon from Spectrum was brought in and, in a listless monotone, recited the details of the assault. It seemed important that Constance had refused entry to her mind three times (Constance looked stricken in a suitably fetching manner). Although the corpse was not happy with this - due to being seemingly responsible for Spectrum's actions - it seemed insufficiently unhappy to gainsay Mandor, who announced Constance's removal to House Pheon.

I doubt Mandor is a safe person to annoy.

But he was all pleasantry as he joined us in the gallery - even Darig's polite refusal of his little plan did not annoy him visibly. I am not sure what 'Plan B ' is but I can only pray it involves someone other than us.

And yet, somehow, I get the feeling it doesn't.

We all departed to our respective abodes - Constance decorating Mandor's arm most charmingly. As I had no demon, William kindly accompanied me back to House Minobee - en route, we chatted of the Hall of Memories and other things, nothing consequential, and he left for House Askaris as soon as I was back there.

Having a chance to consider recent events, William and I seem to spend a comparatively large amount of time together, and he does seem to be the one I end up talking to of my cousins. Not that there is any romantic attachment on my part (nor on his, I feel) but I think we are similar in ways my other cousins are not - maybe just that faint feeling of not fitting in. Though I lack his talent for tactlessness - fortunately.

When I returned, Lharsa was writing letters but informed me that Suhuy of House Winter was present and wanted a private word.

The word was, apparently, commerce - or to put it in non-Chaos terms, a favour for a favour. Suhuy needed me to persuade Melvyn to undergo the induction into Chaos-lord status and in return he would provide me with a tutor to expand my shapeshifting repertoire. Commerce being quickly transacted, he gave me a document to pass on to Darig, apparently at Lharsa's request, and mentioned that the contents were as accurate as he could remember them. I didn't read the letter, curious as I was about its contents.

As the time for the entertainment was drawing near, I went to change and make myself as presentable as I could - fortunately I had brought my jewellery and kohl with me - and thus, apparelled as elegantly as circumstances allowed, I went to await Melvyn's arrival.

Which was not forthcoming - Wendy, with an uncharacteristic display of emotion, informed me that apparently, she was to take me there. The offence against normal etiquette was apparent in her demeanour - I hope my shocked and annoyed reactions showed sufficient concord with her outrage.

The event was to take place in the Zoodrome, a large edifice jutting out from underneath the Courts decorated with a jumble of building styles and dominated by the eternal night of the Abyss. I spent several minutes persuading my second self that I was not going to fall upward into it and concentrated on the time ahead. Melvyn was there, cringing like a beaten dog as usual. My plan of building up enough self-confidence in him to attempt the initiation seemed doomed, but even if just for his own (noticeably lacking) self-respect it would have to be attempted.

We were announced to the gathered crowd and proceeded in. Constance was already there, again providing decoration for the arm of Mandor - it would seem that I was not the only one concerned with survival and providing herself with options should we have to remain here. She gave me scant attention, but to be honest, I was more concerned with Melvyn, who seemed to be trying to hide behind me. And thus the rest of my cousins and other Amber family members were announced - all with representatives of the House they were hosted with (which cleared up my earlier misunderstanding) followed by various ambassadors and finally Chaos Lords

I must confess I am not at my best at social gatherings - small talk and social manoeuvring are not natural talents to me, and I have to fight the urge to seek out safe routes of escape (though that has proved useful in the past) - but standing by the wall all evening would not get us released from the Courts. I took the lead (which was no great surprise - Melvyn seemed to prefer the wall option, but he didn't have the same goals as I), and so we (I) mingled. Meaningless pleasantries were exchanged desultorily with people whose names I cannot remember - I do not doubt the reverse was also true.

In the midst of this overload of conviviality, William came to add to the joy, immediately reducing Melvyn to a quivering wreck (correction, even more of a quivering wreck) in the course of a short one-sided interrogation. When I pointed out that this was hardly helping, he tartly responded that it wasn't helping me. Even though that was not the reason behind my chiding I was incensed by the presumption of my manipulative nature (and by his casual offering of me to Melvyn in the course of his monologue - as though I was a common whore!)

I think I showed admirable restraint by not shifting and trying to rip his throat out, restricting myself merely to expressing my resentment of this remark. He apologised immediately so I smiled to show my acceptance - which led to a look of pure confusion on William's part.

I forgot his complete lack of social finesse. Maybe I should have tried to rip his throat out.

We moved away from this embarrassment to view the steeds, though they were hardly traditional racing beasts to me - there was but one horse (which was skeletal) and the sole camel was made of metal. The rest were a collection from various surreal dreams - especially the huge fish, which swam through the air with nonchalant ease.

The races seemed to be run in true Chaotic style - the entrants were paired off and then set off over the Abyss on those floating ribbons we had seen in the battle, whereupon they underwent various trials, only one of which actually seemed to involve speed. All around me, people seemed to be betting on the outcome of each encounter.

I had little interest in such (as well as having little to bet with - though favours and promises seemed to have as much worth as coins or trinkets) and went to talk to the ambassador from Heaven, a winged human-looking person called Archangel Gabriel (I think the first part was a title). Not the most garrulous of the guests, we nevertheless had an interesting talk about truth and lies (and the overlap between them), the nature of choice, of chance and patterns. He mentioned the last as though it was important, as though detecting the patterns was vital, and hinted that if I was observant they would soon be apparent.

I doubt he is often comforting.

Whilst I was talking to Heaven's ambassador, apparently Melvyn had obtained an introduction to Dworkin - Oberon's father and the one who originally left our present surroundings. It had something to do with Havelock but details were unclear as to whether Havelock had won or lost a bet. Melvyn seemed scared of this - unsurprisingly.

Melvyn seemed to have hit a small run of luck - on the next race (a spider against a lizard) he won a bet with William which meant that he could call upon William as a champion once. William even refrained from making snide comments to me - well, for the most part.

I would have to have a firm word with him in the very near future.

In the interests of mingling I went to speak to the envoy from Faerie, Alvis Lord Torc, who was in the company of Devorgila who had been announced originally as something along the lines of 'dancer of inappropriate dances' and 'official strumpet' - I never remember titles longer than five words long - and seemed to be carrying out official duties with enthusiasm. She seemed somewhat displeased with my approach, which made it a little awkward but Alvis was mannered enough to cope even though I felt they were not unmatched in character. When he offered a bet on the next race I thought it churlish to refuse but the problem of forfeits raised its head - he offered a trinket on his part (details to be decided later) but on my part (at Devorgila's whispered prompting) it was to be his spending a night in my bed. The official strumpet grinned at this as though I would be shocked and offended by the offer - I sought to disappoint her, and amended it to an evening in each other's company (and allowing events to unfold naturally) which Alvis accepted. Though I say it of myself, it was a more elegant wager than the original. Devorgila resumed glaring at me, but I ignored her as much as I could.

I won the bet - so I will (in the fullness of time) be the proud owner of a trinket from Faerie. Is it wrong to say I was slightly disappointed?

In my meandering back to Melvyn, I saw two of the elder Amberites - Llewella and Sand. As I had walked the pattern in Rebma, I thought it polite to make my presence known and went to receive the warm family welcome awaiting me.

Once introductions had been made (Llewella didn't really remember me but had known my mother), we chatted - well, in honesty, I listened as they complained about being announced before the men, and before the ambassadors. From their tone, this was a catastrophic insult which put our present predicament in the shade. I commiserated, of course, as was expected of me but could not help a sense of depression as I wondered if this was all my Amberite future held for me - fretting about what order of precedence I command whilst eaten up with bitterness at not being born male.

Would it be worse to stay here? It probably would, to be pragmatic about it, and there is no overwhelming reason for me to stay in Amber once we leave here, but it is telling that the Courts of Chaos seems (superficially) a more pleasant prospect than Amber.

Having left the rather depressing conversation, I saw William temporarily alone. The opportunity to vocalise my resentment of his casual misogyny seemed too good to pass so I sent Melvyn to get me another drink and walked up to William.

Suffice it to say I conveyed my complaints in a firm but non-confrontational or overly emotional manner, and things were amicably settled - in deference to his social handicap, I did not mix my non-vocal messages again, which may have helped. Even more than before it seemed that our aims were similar and alliance was thus more fruitful than game-playing.

I think we now understand each other far more clearly.

Two more contests came and went, and whilst waiting for the final race I felt an odd psychic sensation - which I can only describe as like a distant earthquake had developed an arrhythmic reverberation - and as perspective pitched and bucked like an enraged stallion, several bubbles could be seen floating from the Abyss, all going in different directions.

One was coming towards the Zoodrome. When it touched the ground, it dispersed leaving the figure within it revealed - which turned out to be an older and far more, well, corpse-like William. Undead may be the word I am looking for.

I looked hard at the representative of House Karm, who had entered with Lord Julian at the seemingly distant beginning of this event. She looked as you would expect - shifty - but also surprised and not a little nervous. I could almost hear the fear that her House would be blamed for this (as to whether this would be justified, I couldn't tell).

In the meantime, however, Undead William (to differentiate) pointed at Darig and cried 'Miscreant!', and further went to challenge him as the son of his (Undead William's) father's killer. Darig responded 'Liar' - and then, pausing only to consult briefly with Mandor, he joined battle with Undead William.

It became clear that both parties were evenly matched - Darig was slightly quicker but Undead William's disturbingly self-flexing blade meant that Darig could not risk taking the openings he made, as the blade's other unknown qualities could have been extremely unpleasant. The duel looked as if it would either boil down to a slow erosion of endurance or a sudden and messy end for Darig if Undead William got lucky, but then, from behind me, came two sharp claps - at which about half the audience turned.

It was Memsahib Strumpet who had clapped and, as Devorgila basked in the attention, two demons approached her with a cloth-wrapped parcel, which was unwrapped to reveal a coppery spear.

She balanced it and then, in a competent gesture, threw it to near Darig. Unfortunately, Undead William blocked his passage to the spear, but Darig managed to beat him back to get a clear view of it.

A shout of 'Gae-Bolg' brought it to his hand, and after that the fight got rather more one-sided, to Darig's benefit. Suffice it to say that, although not quickly, Undead William was finally forced against a balustrade in the Pavilion and lost the fight.

Messily.

When he finally died, his blood fell surreally upwards, followed by his body, which bobbed like a bubble on some unseen current towards the Pavilion's roof before finally following his blood towards the Abyss overhead.

This was followed by the last race. After that, it seemed an anticlimax.

I have a lot to think about - about patterns, about what the contents of the bubble may have meant (in all senses) and about what the future may hold.

Will we survive the next entertainment?