After the Fat Lady Sings

The personal diary of Sorashi, daughter of Deirdre, pt 8

Mother seems to be in a better mood as we leave the Opera House, and seems rather taken by the sword she took from the Cathae. Her axe she gifts to me offhandedly as we return to Cloud 9.

At breakfast, Tajal shows off her new skill – she has learnt a power word, and as she says it, she flips herself up to the ceiling then, after a second or two, flips back down. Strangely, I feel what seems like a tug on my left arm, pulling it upwards, as though the ceiling was the floor. Emboldened by my praise, she shows me another skill – opening her mouth wider than would seem possible or comfortable, two snake-like fangs protrude from her jaw. These are her ‘poison’ fangs, or will be – she pouts at being too young for such things.

Mother, fortunately, is not here for this. I forget, sometimes, of how alien this must seem.

She has apparently decided to spar to ‘iron out the kinks’ so I take my leave of Tajal to go to the practice room. To be honest, it is mostly watching Mother fight House Indra’s demons, though I do join her for a little knife work – she wins, but the fight lasts long enough to avoid any embarrassment at my abilities.

I am given a message that the Order is meeting again – following the train of thought, I go to my shapeshifting lesson with Rama. The combined form seems easier this time though not as instinctive as the tiger – in view of Tajal’s conversation at breakfast, we talk about poison and delivery systems, of making your own and delivery systems for the same as well as the necessity not to poison yourself at the same time.

The conversational topics in Chaos are certainly not humdrum, whatever else.

And thus in the fullness of time (a meaningless phrase, here), I go to the latest Order dinner assisted by Mahabali.

The setting seems the same as before in what seems to be the same location as before, but I am welcomed in graciously.

As I am seated, the dish of the day is brought in – some sort of largish reptilian creature. I engage in conversation with an elderly being (vaguely humanoid if one is not too observant) called Eubuleus of House Cthonos and discuss the previous Opera and my part in it – apparently he remembers Psychomorpha faintly and we discuss my part. As we chat, one of the other diners leans over and with a lascivious grin asks me ‘when shall we taste you?’ The interjection is not well received by either of us, and Eubuleus is rather astringent in his rebuke.

In the continuance of our conversation, I learn that a scion of Hendrake had married well but there were whispers of an affair with an Amberite.

As we talk, I can feel the meal digesting within me and the feeling is a disquieting one. Not indigestion just a feeling of something – changing? shifting? within me!

Given what I have learnt of the Logrus, I am more than a little concerned about side-effects. I could use Pattern to negate the effects but it would be like using an avalanche to kill a mosquito.

Perhaps I will reduce my luncheon attendances – it is not mandatory, after all.

I suppose I had better see how Darig is and if he needs anything (and if anyone has been to see him). The answer to my last question is answered even before I get within the Cathedral, judging by the queue of visitors waiting their turn to see the latest attraction in the Courts of Chaos. I presume upon familial rights, and walk in, avoiding the queue and meeting Dirk on the way out. Dirk seems disinclined to chat, but I do get a smile and a half-bow in my direction.

Darig seems in reasonable spirits, lounging with mock nonchalance against the low railing and eating an apple. I ask if there is anything he requires but everything he needs is being provided by other cousins. He has had some of the family visiting him, and he is, as he waves his arm languidly at the assembled gawpers, hardly lonely.

I go back to Cloud 9. Tajal is still at her lessons and Mother is ‘indisposed’ so I go to visit the Alhambra to see how bad it has got.

The answer is fairly bad. Asfar’s robe is more frayed and threadbare, the whole environment is in need of maintenance despite whatever efforts House Indra are putting into it. Maintenance that I am unable to provide.

Apparently I need to either get more demons or use conjuration – somehow I do not think that demons can be bought at market like poultry and I assume the secret of ‘getting’ them falls outside my skills – as does conjuration.

To add to the urgency of the situation, the chimera in the basement must be faced or, not only will Alhambra never be mine, it may free itself. I get the impression this is bad. I promise to rectify the situation but the only way I can think to do so is to speak to Margrath and ask for his help.

Pondering on this problem, I leave the Alhambra. I haven’t got far outside its walls when I suddenly feel a sharp pain behind my left ear, like a red hot needle had been inserted. As I whirl round, hand pressed against my neck, I see something large – in the interests of accuracy, I see claws and teeth – launching itself at me. There is no time to think, or change, or form a strategy so instinct does its damnedest to keep me alive, rolling my body out of the way.

Its next leap opens up its belly to the axe, but it seems to have harder skin than I would have expected and the weapon fails to make as much of a wound as I would like. And so it continues, I manage to hold it off enough to avoid serious injury, but my arms and side are bearing the brunt of its claws and I have serious hesitation in biting it in case of nasty surprises which only Chaos can provide.

Mahabali comes to my aid, but it is not a fight we are winning. I call out to Asfar to help, and I hear what sounds like a chant of magic but before whatever it is culminates, we finally best the creature. Which immediately disappears.

I have no idea whether it was Asfar’s spell which achieved this, or it left when the fight turned against it. Asfar insists on bandaging my wounds, unfortunately using the frayed hangings to do so – the cleanliness of which would be highly dubious if they weren’t obviously nowhere near clean.

Mahabali’s injuries are light enough to avoid the bandages, but on our way back to Cloud 9 I remove mine – I would rather bleed.

Once I had time to think about the attack, I concluded that the earrings must have given warning. I had worried that the creature had some form of poison dart, but there was no wound there and I didn’t notice any spines on the creature. So fairy gifts have unexpected benefits – hinted at in the letter they came with.

Another thing to worry about – why the attack? After some thought, there were too many motives for me to pinpoint one. I am an Amberite (and this is my second assassination attempt) and, moreover, an Amberite who owns the Alhambra, that repository of interesting powerful magical objects. Also, one who owned the place but had not yet mastered it. Notwithstanding the convoluted and treacherous environment of Court politics.

Mother is horrified – or possibly just very annoyed – at the attack. As my wounds are cleaned and dressed, I relay the details of the attack, and then have to include the story of the previous attempt. I am sternly warned to ‘be careful’.

I am, for all the good it seems to do me.

But, speaking of the Alhambra, I realise I have no card of Margrath. I borrow Mother’s card of Sand.

Sand does not have one, either, but promises to get a message to him. I do not have a card either, so have to ask her to contact Mother. The conversation is amicable, and I remember to be suitably respectful.

It being a good idea to warn Mother of this arrangement, I go in search of her. She is in a kitchen attached to her rooms (which I am fairly sure wasn’t there at breakfast), cooking dinner. The two of us in a kitchen, me rolling methi seeds onto roti – like being back in my childhood. Well, a very rare part of it, anyway.

The call comes through when the Trump call from Margrath arrives. I explain about the Alhambra and he promises to have a look at it – interpreted by Mother as my clever accomplishment of getting him to agree to fix it for free. She is so pleased at my achievement I decide not to correct her – her approval is so rare anyway and it seemed petty to ruin her happiness.

Before this happy state, however, Margrath invites (or is invited) to join us for dinner, along with the other cousins. And so we have Margrath and Havelock on the floor of Mother’s rooms, with the promise of Constance and William who are travelling with the demons.

It must be said, dinner is very good and I take small and petty pleasure in teaching my cousins how to use the roti to scoop the food into their mouths. The only thing to mar this pleasant gathering is when the subject of my attack is broached – when I (in a misguided attempt to make light of it) make some aside to William. I cannot recall the exact wording but some witticism about the Assassination Survival Club. Unfortunately, his response is a look of disdain and a response of ‘I didn’t know we were supposed to keep count’ delivered in a tone of cold contempt.

Well, that certainly put me in my place. I just shrug and eat my roti – obviously attacks on my life are insignificant according to Lord Destroyer of Rimlord Houses. I can only hope his intended eats him as part of the wedding ceremony.

Havelock receives a call from Mandor and, as the meal is finished, he and Margrath leave through Trump. William and Constance will walk – it would be almost sweet how they endeavour to spend as much time alone as possible. I am invited, but demur – I have had enough of the company of cousins for the time being.

I do, however, agree for Havelock to paint my portrait – the benefits outweigh the potential risks, and he has, so far, failed to insult me. Mother would think it unwise, but I am not Mother and we have no other Trump artists in Chaos.

I pick up a sleeping Tajal and prepare to put her to bed. As I tuck her in, she asks me again when we are going to Amber.

I still have no true answer to that.