Duck Soup

The ongoing tale of William, Son of Ophelia of House Rebma, and of the Line of Barimen in the Courts of Chaos.

The Void, then a voice. The quick shift tells me that I dream again and then the sun shines on my face as I drift through the Forest of Arden, my mother calling to me.

I am not real here. My feet do not press on the grass. The wind does not ruffle my hair though the leaves susurrate around me and the river murmurs past. She floats in the river, her dark hair waving like seaweed as she sinks beneath the surface and continues to call my name. I reach, further with my mind than my arms could touch and just as I would reach her, I wake. Her last words whispered in my ear like a mother's wish.

“Come home.”

The quiet but deliberate bustle means that DeLambre wishes me awake. I open my eyes and greet him. “Good morning, DeLambre. Any summons, scrolls or invitations to breakfast for me?”

He nods, indicating my clean clothes and hot water with his usual economy of movement. “Breakfast with your Grandmother, my Lord. And I understand that congratulations will soon be in order?”

I grin. “Thank you. Ever been a best man?”

A million eyes open. “You do me great honour, my Lord. But it would not be my place.”

I grin again and start to rise. “Not here, perhaps. But we will not always be here.”

I go down to breakfast with Grandmother – she seems to have recovered from her uncomfortableness at being in the opera and has regained her good spirits. She opens with a smile “Rachael seems to be taken with you. We are moving ahead.” She then looks at me again. “And what of you? Does this please you?”

A little surprised, I mumble something about that not really being a pertinent fact. Her eyes flash. “My Lord Oberon was the love of my life. I killed a thousand men for him. I would have killed him for him, if you know what I mean. And that started the same way as this. Do you think your Rachael will feel the same for you in 3000 years time?”

There could be heat or challenge in that question, but, surprisingly, there isn't. Cymnea looks inwards as she speaks, partially to herself. To try and raise her mood I say, “I hope she still lives in 3000 years”, to which Grandmother nods. “Caine tells me that the next step is for you to go on a date. What a strange concept! Caine had to describe it to me. I am becoming fond of him, you know. Isn't that a surprise? With all our history, that I should come to like him. He had a message for you, by the way. Something to do with those cards they all play with now. He said to tell you that the Chariot must not drive over Julian. Do you know what that means?”

I have to admit that I did not – the cards are not familiar to me either. But I knew who might and gain Cymnea's permission to talk to Havelock concerning this.

Somewhat surprised at the direction this is taking, I seek to divert her. “I thought I might take Rachael to the Hall of Memories. It would be interesting to see what she sees.”

Cymnea looks at me carefully. “That is a risky choice. Risky for you and risky for her. Every time I go, I see the same picture. Me, in the Court at Amber, losing my temper in front of Oberon. The day I lost everything.”

Her voice, uncharacteristically, trails off slightly as she spoke.

“Would you still see that picture if you went back to Amber and then returned to Chaos?”, I ask. Something was starting to tickle the back of my mind – is it a Hall of Memories, or a Hall of Loss?

She looks at me in surprise. “My dear boy. Have I underestimated you? But no matter – should you and I return to Amber, it would all have changed.”

Again, I challenge her. “But the essential nature of Amber is that it is unchanging. We will still recognise it. The core of it that is home, that is Amber, no matter how its accidents have changed.”

She raises an eyebrow. “William, you are full of surprises today.”

Looking at me closely, she asks, “Will this match make you happy? For I find that this matters to me, when it never has before.”

Slightly unnerved, I reply, “there are both strategic and personal benefits to the match, certainly.”

“But would you be happy? For that matter, will she?”

More confidently, I answer, thinking of Rachael's wish to spread her wings beyond Chaos. “I think the situation has within it that which will make her happy, yes.”

She laughs. “A diplomat’s answer. That is three surprises today, William. I can take no more from you. Here – I will write a response to Rachael's house for you to sign, while you read these letters for you from Mandor and Melvin.”

I glance at them quickly, muttering that all this reading over breakfast is not good for the digestion. Mandor summons me to Woodstock to discuss the Opera. Melvin asks me to be his second in a duel with someone called Akira Tono of House Sundiata – a martial house of the second rank, but not one that Cymnea or I know much of.

“Did you not make a promise to Melvin at the Games?” Cymnea asks. “I did,” I grin in response. “Do you think this Akira knows of it?”

Penning a quick response to Melvin and signing Grandmother’s note to Rachael, I grab DeLambre and we head to Woodstock.

We arrive in Woodstock to see most of my cousins there. Shortly, all but Dirk are assembled. Mandor, in his Socratic way, seeks to dissuade us from a direct assault on Karm. He turns a door into stone as if it is a great surprise. None of my cousins are shocked – they have been here long enough and none of them are stupid. As Mandor pontificates, I find my irritation growing: he seeks to tell us that which we already know and as quickly as I can, I usher everyone to Brú na Bóinne so we might talk in private, promising only to speak to Mandor before acting.

At Brú na Bóinne we gain permission to sit outside and talk – Loeg brings us food and drink and we settle on the sward. I lead the conversation, agreeing that the frontal assault is not our actual plan. I teach my cousins about the reaction loop that any small force can act within if they are focussed. I mention that we can use our connection with Rickard to get us in and to start pitting Karm against itself. We might use Morgenstern as a connection to Julian, and we can use Mandor as a distraction at the front gate while we enter through the back door. My cousins focus on detail without any idea of what we might find so I bring them back on focus to what we can decide with our current level of knowledge. And then I open the discussion.

Sensible Havelock begins with telling us of a trump reading he has done on Julian's current incarceration. Direct assault will not work, but negotiations may. He and I are key, and we must watch against impetuousness. I add the words that Caine gave me of the chariot and that Julian must not be crushed by it – damaged by our impetuous charge. And Havelock finishes that he can see in the cards that Karm might fall, with a dagger pushed into their internal fissures and twisted to break it asunder.

He reads the cards again; Julian’s isolation is caused by lies and deception. Is he poisoned through his wine to drug him to slumber? Or the more insidious poison that drips in through the ears, born thither by whispers of familial untrustworthiness? Even as we discuss these matters, I begin to wonder if Rachael truly deserves to be part of these machinations.

As we gather ourselves to move on, Sorashi admits to being a shapeshifter; something few of us are surprised by. And the revelation of secrets continues: Margrath speaks of his dream of meeting many Un-living and others speak of their dreams too. We agree that our strategy will have three prongs: a simple diplomatic approach. Conversations with Rickard to seek advantage. And a direct assault by Mandor to cover the quiet skulk.

That decided, we head into the hall to speak to Melvin of duels. He is nervous but explains the duel was his challenge, against one he thought made an insult against Sorashi. Constance tries to spar with him but he will not commit to fight against her, pulling his blows. So I warn him then strike at Constance, pushing her back and demanding that he protect her. He tentatively moves in but skitters and skutters around the edge of the fight. Constance can fight – she has a good sense of distance and time, and throws a few cantrips at me. I do not respond in kind but when she attacks Claideb directly he lashes out at her and I must put my efforts to pull him away from her. Seeing his chance, and Constance in real danger, Melvin strikes, digging his blade into my arm.

I grin and withdraw leaving him in shock at striking me. DeLambre moves in to bind my wound and Darig, misreading the situation entirely, begins to push at Melvin, bullying him and pinking him with his blade. I growl at him to stop – Melvin’s instinct is not for self preservation, but the preservation of others. He does not lack for courage; he just does not see himself as a worthy recipient of that courage.

We agree to go about our different tasks – Havelock says something about DeLambre’s behaviour being untoward towards Melvin – dismissive of a Lord of a House but I will have none of it. DeLambre has earned his scars and mine. We leave Darig at Petrus and then head off to Sphere Four to see Rachael.

We are met at her realm by a demon in the shape of an angel who asks who we are and who we are to see. He fetches Rachael and my breath catches slightly in my throat as she approaches, clad in white with a ewer of some liquid and two cups in her hands. Is this how it began with my Grandmother and Oberon?

She addressed me, offering me one of the goblets and filling them both from the ewer:

“And lately, by the tavern door agape,

Came shining through the dusk an Angel shape

Bearing a vessel on her shoulder; and

She bid me taste of it; and 'twas – the grape!”

We drink to each other, eye meeting eye and holding gaze for a second or two longer than might be proper. The niceties resolved, Rachael introduces me to Oromiel – an actual angel (rather than a demon angel) who is to be her chaperone. Oromiel walks behind us and DeLambre behind her as we head to the Hall of Memories.

I remember my previous visit when I saw DeLambre's binding, Rhiannon and the White Hart, and my fall. Those pieces were not evident this day. Instead the first piece was a painting of me and Rickard on the stage, his shield exposed and my hand ripping the cover from mine. Behind us, two stage hands waited with the black cloth to cover us and signify our fall into the Abyss. I marvelled at the detail but Rachael looked at the bandage on my arm.

“I remember this scene, though this was not my view. Is that how it was when ...?”

I catch her meaning. “The opera was strange. It was nothing like the time in Diptera. And yet at the same time, it was full of truth.”

“You were wounded. Assaulted on the way to the stage by some knight of an Order?”

I nodded, catching a glimpse of DeLambre behind Rachael and Oromiel.

“I was. But he was attacking me more because of what was in his head, not because of his Order.”

She relaxed, very slightly. “Please be assured that if I had known what he intended, I would have done all in my power to protect you. But you were aided, I understand?”

Not wanting to cause trouble for DeLambre I demur – “I don't really remember much – I was concentrating on my lines.”

Rachael is perceptive enough that she saw I dissembled. But she lets the matter drop and we moved on.

The next thing that catches my eye is an abstract painting of a star, exploding continually. In the heart of the star is a city of gold and silver spires, and below, winged figures fall.

I look to Rachael. “Those are you, but not you.”

Her face is pale, as she speak, almost whispering,

“Nay, but for terror of His wrathful face,

I swear I will not call injustice grace;”

She gathers herself, then addresses me more directly.

“This is my history, but not my memory. Some fell, some were pushed and some jumped. But a fall is a fall.”

Oromiel looks disapproving and I start moving us towards the exit. DeLambre moves in closer to protect us.

Just before we are to leave a final painting appears. This time it is Diptera itself, not the staged reproduction. And I face Tybalt weaving darkness around his face and myself stepping back and calling the Pattern to mind. Rachael looks from the painting to me to Oromiel. “Did this place hear us?”

At this point I realise that she at least has never been here before, and that this place is causing her at least some discomfort – and I realise that I feel ashamed for not noticing earlier.

Oromiel takes a slight step back from the painting and almost bumps into DeLambre, noticing him for the first time. Her disapproval of his presence here is clear on her face and this, following so closely after Havelock’s casual dismissal of DeLambre’s value, causes an imp of perversity to call. I wave my hand, bringing DeLambre forward and introducing him as my companion, and the saviour of my life many times over. Oromiel is obviously scandalised that a demon is here, but Rachael looks him up and down carefully, then, keeping him in her view, says to me,

“If he has saved your life, my Lord, then I would be pleased to call him my friend.”

We leave, making our way through swirling chaos to the Garden of Delights, both Rachael and Oromiel relaxing visibly as the Hall of Memories falls behind us. The mood lightens and I begin to hope that we can salvage something from this date. Alas, it is not to be so.

As we arrive at the gardens my heart falls. The overwhelming theme here is of Motherhood – statues and art pieces everywhere. One piece, insectoid with the crown of Diptera on its head turns and addresses me: “So, Mother killer. Have you come here to taunt me and mock me in this place?”

I step forward to interpose myself between the thing and Rachael and Oromiel, snapping an order to DeLambre to watch them. His choked “My Lord!” makes me turn and see Rachael, fallen to the ground in a swoon, Oromiel already bending over her. “Protect them!” I repeat and turn to face it once more, bringing Claideb to hand and starting to stride forward.

It is at that point I realise what the painter of the exploding star had been trying, and failing, to capture.

From just behind me the brightest light I have ever encountered; a cold light, a terrible and awe-ful light stands by my side.

“Behold, myself am Heav'n and Hell – Thou are but what you shalt be – nothing! This one is mine! Begone foul Dwimmerlaik and do not trouble us again!”

The Psychomorpha cringes before that awful majesty and retreats to another place. The statue it leaves behind diminishes. The light fades and I turn to see Oromiel whispering to Rachael, questioning the wisdom of what she has just done and DeLambre a foot away, holding his eyes in his hands and sobbing.

Seeing Rachael cared for I move to DeLambre, to find to my horror that the tears he weeps are of grief, not pain. I see my friend crying as if his heart was breaking and my heart tears too. My hand on his shoulder, the first words out of his mouth are to apologise for embarrassing me twice in one day and my heart breaks completely. Words, never my ally, are far from my lips and all I can do is stand, my hand where he can feel it, until his sight begins to return.

Finally, though in truth scant seconds have passed, DeLambre straightens and bids me attend to Rachael. As she stands, she too apologises, saying, “William, there is much I would explain to you, but today is not the day.”

And my heart, so recently torn in two, knits together as I realise that she, for the first time, has called me by my name rather than my title.

We take a few minutes to compose ourselves and for me to briefly explain who the Psychomorpha was, and then we began to head towards the duelling ground again. As we approach one of the rivers that winds through the park I come to a standstill as I realise that the bank and the stream beyond have been taken from the dream of my mother this morning.

My head and my heart completely twisted around, I manage to place one foot in front of the other and not fall flat on my back, but can contribute little else to our group for a few minutes.

As we approach the duelling ground, Suhuy bustles over to meet us. Before he can speak, Rachael addresses him; a tone of disrespect in her voice:

“Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring,

The Winter garment of repentance fling,”

He notes the tone of her voice and replies, warily it seems:

“The bird of Time has but a little way

To fly – and lo! The bird is on the wing.”

Whatever that back and forth might mean, it seems to satisfy them both, and she gives him a slow, respectful curtsey and he replies with a quick but equally respectful nod. I cannot tell if he was offended and then answered, or if he was challenged and respected the challenge. I make mental note to ask Rachael of the matter when things are quieter.

If that day ever should come.

Suhuy addresses me then, remembering the wager I owe Melvin. “He must fight his own battles, William – win or lose!”

With that, we go to the ground. Rachael and Oromiel join the picnickers and DeLambre and myself join Melvin, Sorashi and Darig for a last chance of strategy. Darig has the sword that the Un-living William bore, tight in a box. I look over at Akira Tono of House Sundiata as their seconds approach and see that they dress in the style that I know some people call Samurai.

We negotiate quickly – no sorcery, the duel to first blood, and Sorashi to give her favour to one of the fighters first. As they withdraw to tell their master, I mention, quietly to Melvin “Her fighting style will be linear horizontal and vertical strikes, and big circular motions. Given what the sword in the box can do, your first target should be the wrist – it is protected, but not strongly, and their sword has no guard worth speaking of.” He nods, his face pale as he opens the box and picked up the eldritch sword. Sorashi wraps her scarf around his neck as a sign of her favour and the fight begins.

It is easy to forget that Melvin is not a poor fighter. He suffers in the company of dedicated warriors like Darig and myself, but he is a match for this Akira Tono – scion of a martial house. If all else were equal, they would be fair matched but Melvin is buoyed up by the sword and Sorashi’s favour, and strikes quickly, the tip of the sword dripping Akira Tono’s blood onto the sward.

Overjoyed, Melvin invites all back to Brú na Bóinne to celebrate, but Rachael demurs, asking me if I will take her and Oromiel back home first. Not wanting to miss time in her company, I tell my cousins that I will meet them there and we depart.