The Grand Ball

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

The morning of the ball is unusual. I wake, wash and dress with DeLambre in attendance but before I can go to breakfast there is a knock on the door. Caine enters at my call, looking, for want of a better word, shifty. He looks around the room, plain as a commander’s tent on campaign, with a satchel of essentials by the door in case a speedy exit is needed. We exchange pleasantries, and I brace myself for combat.

He tries flattery first, telling me the room reminds him of Benedict. I thank him but do not press further, allowing him to commit. He tries avuncular jocularity; asking if I am addressed by a diminutive at all. I stare blankly until he coughs slightly and says, “William it is.”

He then tries to address the subject of Cymnea – explaining that her stance on ‘Faella’s brood’ has softened since Byblow Eric’s and Faella’s deaths. Indeed, he and Cymnea shared much in common, and he has entertained her with stories of how Amber has changed since our departure.

Then he comes to what he claims is his point. I do not claim it as such; the elders of Amber, Benedict aside, twist like snakes. But he claims concern for Cymnea’s fate when Rachael and I depart Chaos. There may be little for her here in Chaos. (Could Mandor’s plans for Darig cause problems for Cymnea afterwards?). But, according to Caine, she does not wish to overshadow myself and Rachael on our return to Amber. 

I look carefully at him, though with little hope of penetrating the defences of such an arch manipulator. Then, choosing honesty over deceit, I state simply, “There is much in the Universe for Rachael and I to explore that is neither Chaos or Amber. But whether Cymnea is there or in Chaos, we will find her.”

And with that, he leaves, and I continue dressing for the ball.

Doublet and hose on, and a small dagger at my belt, I allow DeLambre to brush me down without too much protestation. Leaving Der Rückenschild behind is wise, though I do look at Claideb a couple of times before grinning to DeLambre. “Bare fists and brawling, I suppose?”

He nods, a slight sparkle in his eyes as he pulls the yellow undershirt through some of the blue slashing of the doublet. “Some might suggest that puts you in your element tonight – remember the campaign against the forces of the Green Hornet?” And we grin, and I slap him on his shoulder before picking up the corsage and we leave to find Rachael.

We enter in order of precedence; me after all my cousins both because of my age (and more importantly, Finndo’s) and also my title as Earl of Cabra. This makes for interesting strategy as this also determines the order in which we will be presented to the High King when that happens.

So, me, then Lord Torc, then Darig. Constance will deal with Torc tonight if there is any chance. Next Dirk, which is problematic, as I don’t trust him. And after him, Havelock. If Dirk were not to be there then the three of us would be in front of Swayvil when Darig made his move.

Oromiel announces Rachael and my engagement, the wedding to take place immediately following Oberon’s funeral. People congratulate us both but I only have eyes for her, fastening the corsage Cymnea gave me to her wrist. She smiles, the flowers suiting her colour and dress perfectly.

More announcements. Spandrell are exiled for their attack on me though I note the specific wording. “For attacking the High King’s guests before the end of Oberon’s funeral” and I look over to Rachael to see if she caught the significance of the timing. Our wedding will need defending.

Mandor, sotto voce, mutters that they will be back soon. Spandrell being too useful to keep away.

Constance executes a colour using turpentine for its assault of her and it thins towards the ceiling.

And then we are called to be presented to the High King and I look at Darig. “Is this it?” He looks confused, but then nods. This may be our only choice.

I run through the order of precedence and realise that if Torc can be taken out, then either Dirk or Havelock will be closest on the left, and me to the right when Darig acts. I move over to Dirk and Caine quickly to warn Dirk that he may need to run interference for Darig but Caine says it has all been dealt with. I lock eyes with Dirk and say, “Just be ready”.

Soon enough, my name is called. There are two rings of guards. The first take all edged weapons, then on advance to the second circle, all demons and obviously Swayvil’s personal guard, who check again.

I am presented to Swayvil and he barely acknowledges me. As I leave, Torc is presented, and then Darig. He is checked twice, then a third time by Belissa and at that point something happens. I’m not close enough to see but change is suspicious. Did she pass him something?

Darig approaches and Mantissa begins to announce him. He drops to one knee and Swayvil leans in to speak to him. Darig makes his move then, almost too fast to see. The Rimlords start to move, a pretence to defence, but the demons move more quickly and with purpose. I dive towards them. The deed will be done by the time I will be there, but I will aim to keep the swords from my cousin’s back.

Swayvil kicks his legs and starts to crumble to dust under Darig. I shoulder past the demons to Darig’s side. He stands, and I take the bodyguard’s position at his side as the commander of the demons approaches and hands its large mace to Darig, and says. “Thank you, lord. Now we are free.”

With that, Mantissa announces that the prophecy is fulfilled and the festivities can continue. And with little fanfare, Chaos moves on.

Belissa recovers her dagger, and I pass Darig’s dagger back to him. I promise to keep within sight in case of any attempts to take revenge.

A beautiful woman arrives on a white horse out of nowhere. From the red hair I guess that it’s my aunt Fiona, brought through by Trump. I suspect Havelock’s intercession. Mandor whisks her away and I begin to dance with Rachael on Swayvil’s dust.

She greets me: “Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend”.

I smile and we begin to dance. I tell her of Caine’s words and say, “My understanding is that we will spend more time exploring than in Amber, but is that your understanding too?” She assents, and we discuss what Cymnea’s role might be. “But where she is, we can visit.”

Lord Torc reads a poem extolling Constance. She doesn’t look happy – perhaps it is particularly bad. I have little to compare it to save the poems Rachael says to me. And then the second dance.

Torc then goes to speak with Constance – he is hesitant at first, treating her as if she has a sword in her left hand. They speak, and she gestures, and then they begin to dance.

Llewella approaches me and we dance; she tells me that I am a creature of legend to her. I ask her if stories are told of my mother, or just of my father and she says “some stories of her, including her death, are told in Rebma.” It appears that after Finndo died and I never returned, Ophelia’s grief turned to madness and she was put away in Garnath, by the River Oisen. One day, the legend goes, she tripped, fell into the river and drowned. 

At this I raise an eyebrow. “Would a daughter of Rebma be so easily hurt by water?”

She pauses, then looks straight at me. “We of Rebma do things differently to Amber. I was ... listening out for my family in Rebma when on ... a different wavelength I heard a Rebman woman calling your name.”

“I heard that too,” I nod. “One of Chaos who sought to be my mother was laying claim to me. My mother interceded and I saw her, lying in the water”. 

“I know Rebma still stands, and I have a home to go to. My lord, I do not know if the same is true of you. Something has changed in Amber and it will not be the place you left.”

I look at her as the dance ends. “The Amber I left was never there for me to return to.”

There’s some yelling from Constance’s dancing partner – not the usual response to her – some weird simian in a loin cloth screaming as he fled the room. She looks satisfied and there is obviously no need to intervene.

I take Cymnea’s hand and we dance; a slow, sedate pavane. She asks me what Rachael and I would like as a wedding present and, lost for words I say ... “Ummm ... The rings perhaps?”

She removes her hands from mine and takes the ring from her left hand – a large, flawless, multifaceted topaz. Pressing it into my hand she says “I think the colour will suit her. There is no mystical value to this ring; just sentimental value. Your grandfather gave it to me.” I promise her that Rachael will be wearing it before the night is out. We spoke of a need for home, and how difficult it sometimes is to know where that is. “Home”, she says, “Is where you want to go back to when you are away, wherever that may be.”

Three figures appear. One is the Chaot who duelled Melvin. They declaim a poem about Sorashi then one kills themselves with a knife. Seems to be the evening for my female cousins to be the focal point for trouble. Then Sorashi screams as the death curse of the woman that Melvin spurned for Sorashi hits. She claws at her eyes and then doubles over.

An ichorous slime starts pouring through the ceiling and forms into a human like form – Melvin has come to take the curse from Sorashi. I run up and stand by him, ready to aid if I can, though if I’m honest I don’t know how. He looks as if he were half way through a transformation and had lost the instruction book. He pulls the eyes out of his head into his palms, and Sorashi exclaims with relief as the curse abates. Once he is sure she was safe, Melvin pours away, leaving only his eyeballs behind. I scoop them up and put them in a bowl of water, in case he needs them on his return. Zae lost her tongue. Melvin his eyes. Perhaps the Logrus cannot be attempted without personal sacrifice?

I see Rachael across the floor and make my way to her, determined to dance at least half the dances with her. She wants to head straight for the floor, but I take her to one side and show her Cymnea’s ring. She recognises it immediately, knowing that it is the ring that Oberon gave to grandmother. When I tell her that both Cymnea and I wished he to have it, she blushes, and then kisses me; the first time that we have been so intimate. She tastes of honey and Autumn mists, and my heart races.

After a few eternal moments, we break apart and smile shyly at each other. I place the ring onto her finger and she admires it on her hand for a second and then grins. “We should dance!”

As we whirl around the floor, eyes only for each other, Rachael asks after Sorashi and Melvin. We agree that what he had done is very worthy of praise, and that should he survive his ordeal or no, we would acknowledge him as Lord of Barimen for his bravery from this moment on.

We were just about to dance again, when Oromiel intercedes. She asks for my hand and we begin to dance.

“Your reputation, Lord William, which I suspect you have fostered yourself, declares you to be without grace, a person careless and cruel. But during your courtship of my sister, I have had the opportunity to observe you closely. So has Rachael, and I have seen what she has seen. I have seen how you are with your demon and neither you nor he are quite what you seem. While lacking panache, you dance perfectly satisfactorily. So I no longer fear for Rachael at your hands. In fact I am glad you are taking her away from the pollution of the Thelbane.

“But you should understand that she is a true innocent, the first in House Seraph for a long, long time and I fear that Rachael is lacking the faculty of the perception of evil. She does not understand that there are people out there who will show an… ‘unholy’ interest in her: the denizens of Hell possibly, who might believe she belongs to them; definitely the Nephilim, because frankly that is where House Seraph originates – but you should also be wary that Rachael herself does not show an unhealthy fascination for the Celestial City.

“I am concerned about the amount of attention that the Archangel Gabriel has been showing Rachael. I confess this is partly my fault, for when you first courted her I was against it and encouraged Gabriel towards her. But I have overheard him describing the Celestial City to her in a manner I can only describe as ‘enticing’, and offering to let Rachael ‘blow his trumpet’ – there is something about his manner I find disquieting and makes me fear that something is deeply, deeply wrong in Heaven. So have a care, brother-to-be, and beware the Angel of the Darker Draught!”

The final dance of the evening is called, and I return to Rachael’s side. She greets me with a smile and we began to dance.