Alaric in Mirabeau part 7: A Feast of
Knuckles
In The Doom that Came to
Amber
Another New Day – A Feast of Knuckles
Not having ever really been one of the Dawn
Brigade, you wake some time after dawn but hardly late.
When he awakes he washes quickly. Finds a new and clean shirt and
under clothes, pulls on his boots and wig, picks up his sketches, covers over
the picture of Mira, picks it up and heads out the door. Alaric is going
towards Mother Bellano’s Church to gift to her the
portrait of Mira. Is someone about that he can leave the painting with?
You enter the church to find Mother Bellano
holding a service for a congregation of a dozen.
Alaric takes a place towards the very back of the congregation.
The painting of Mira is carefully placed next to him.
It’s a short service, apparently for people on their way to work.
It’s quickly over and the congregation files out. Mother Bellano
talks to a couple of her congregation before cleaning up as they leave. She
doesn’t seem to see you at the back of the church.
Alaric waits until they leave and then comes forward into the
aisle of the Church. He holds the cover on the painting lightly and peeps to
ensure that the image is still there!
One brief glimpse cures his attack of acute paranoia.
“Good morning Mother Bellano. I have
come with a donation to your Church as I promised last night. Will you accept
it from me?” Alaric smiles. He is pleased with the
image and pleased to be able to give it to someone who may love it well.
She straightens and smiles. “Ah! Richard! You look better now you’ve
slept. Please show me what you have.”
She asks you to turn it to the light, then
gasps. “Miraculous! You are to be congratulated, the
Goddess has indeed blessed you.” She examines it minutely, talking the while. “And
you wish to donate it to my church? I am...astonished, it should be in the
cathedral.” She looks back to you. “In fact, there may be no choice in this. It
will have to go before the Archpriest to be assessed and he may decide it is
too esoteric for public display, putting it in the Chapter House. Have you
named it?”
“No Mother Bellano. I have not named it.
It has been in my past that a painting such as this develops its own name. As
it was gifted to you by the artist it ought therefore
by named the Bellano portrait.”
She shakes her head vehemently.
“If you find that name pretentious, or
inappropriate by your religious terms then I suggest that you name it yourself.
And as for where the painting should hang. I gifted it to you for your Church.
If you choose to offer it to the Cathedral than that is entirely your decision.”
“It’s not really a matter for my decision. It’s a question of
whether the laity are ready for such intimate contact
with the Goddess. But if the Archpriest allows, I will gladly have it in my
church. Thank you!”
“I should like to think that next time I am in Mirabeau
that I might find it here – let the high and mighty visit here to worship for
once. The exercise might do them good”! Alaric smiles, bows –
and leaves.
He walks into the nearest place to eat and eats a lot – paying for
the meal with one of the sketches he made of the iconography in the Cathedral.
He walks straight to Paolo’s rooms and lets himself in.
You let yourself in and start bustling.
He collects his brushes and the studies of Paolo sleeping.
You can’t find them! You’re looking underneath the bed, thinking a
draft could have blown them, when you hear a girlish giggle behind you. You
turn to find Paolo’s model, Laura, sat in a chair and half hidden by the screen
across the kitchen area.
She giggles impishly as she waves the sketches at you. “It’s
Richard, isn’t it? Are you looking for these?”
“I beg pardon of you Lady. I did not realise that you were here.” (Please
Gods let her be clothed he’s thinking.)
She is, in an obviously expensive and tastefully cut dress of blue
and green, adorned with exquisite embroidery. Over it is a hooded cape of black
wool. She wears expensive boots, suitable for walking or riding and there’s
some mud on these, though the rest looks fresh.
He bows to cover his discomfort. “I am Richard Allars
and you must be Laura for a more pleasing model I have not had the pleasure to
meet in many, many years. Paolo told me that you had been visiting your family.
I trust that they are well?”
“All very well, thank you for
asking.”
She rises and advances, holding the sketches out to you. “But why are you
poking around Paolo’s room? Will he be long?” She’s the living spit of Flora,
only the hair’s different!
Alaric gestures back to the
chair and says “Please Lady, be seated.” He waits for her to sit again.
She doesn’t, she remains a few feet away, offering the sketches.
He paces slowly back towards the door and stops between her and
the door and turns and begins. “I came back here to look for some sketches of
Paolo that I drew yesterday whilst he slept.”
She smiles wryly and a little impatiently, flourishing the
sketches in her hand.
“I was intending to complete them today and we were to travel
together – later today, although I know that he would not have left Mirabeau until he had spoken with you. But, I deeply regret
that there has been a vast change of circumstance. Not on my part, but on Paolo’s.
He decided last night that the Goddess has called him into her service as a
Priest... and in my absence he has begun that process...”
She pouts, clearly disliking your news.
“…and, yes, he will be a long time. You have my word that I would
have argued against it for he is a man of the World, a man of passions and he has
given up that world – and, I deeply regret, your part in it.”
“Damn!” She stamps her foot in pique. “Why does this always happen
to me?”
“This is perhaps ill news to await your return to his rooms – and
perhaps you would some wine – or stronger spirits, with which to ponder the
changes in the world. May, I, as one also suffering from rejection escort you
to somewhere convivial where we might both imbibe of sweeter things this day?”
Her eyebrows rise in an ‘are you hitting on me?’ expression. Then
she smiles and shakes her head dismissively. “I don’t think so, Master...Alars? I’m going to find company less tiresome than
artists: the attention’s nice but you have no stamina.”
She flounces toward the door.
Alaric is between her and the door I believe!
Correct.
He blocks her way and says “Oh, I have the stamina Lady, I only lack the inclination – on this occasion. Please
hand me the sketches and I will be happy to escort you safely to your home – where
ever that may be,” he smiles but his hand is held out expectantly for the
sketches.
Perhaps because she’s been offering them to you for the last
minute and a half, she looks you contemptuously in the eye as she balls them up
and throws them on the floor at your feet. She stands defiantly, waiting for
you to get out of her way.
Alaric glances briefly down at the sketches and looks at her
amusedly. “Oh dear Lady, they may have been Icons and now you’ve damaged them.
What would Mira say to that I wonder?” Come. Cease this display of high temper
and I shall escort you to wherever you choose.”
“I choose my own escorts, sire, and I choose not to spend one
second longer in your company than I already have. Pray, stand aside if you
have any pretensions to being a gentleman.”
Alaric smiles again and says “I am a Lord of Amber, Lady and only
if you were who I fervently wished you to be would I have any care as to
whether you considered me to be a gentleman or not. And as to your status as a
Lady – I should have more care as to who you declare them to. I am sure that
Paolo’s most recent portrait of you is of Icon status and I am sure that your
family would enjoy watching the hoi-poloi of Mirabeau admiring your fine body.” He stands aside to hold
the door open for her. He is trying to disguise a grin.
Her defiance fades slightly, to be replaced with perhaps the
glimmerings of respect. She moves toward the open door but halts, uncertain.
Saying nothing, she half turns and glides closer until her skirts almost touch you,
her eyes upturned to your own, lips half parted. You suddenly recall Paolo’s
portrait of her and the urge to kiss her is overwhelming.
Yes, but she’s either a relative – or the shadow of a relative.
Alaric is torn – boy is he torn but he observed the real Flora at work on
As your lips brush hers, you feel a quiver of erotic tension,
followed by a blast of mind-numbing agony as her knee slams into your groin.
Unable to prevent yourself doubling up, your face meets her fist in a perfectly
timed uppercut. Feeling your teeth shatter, in a moment of inner calm you
recognise the knuckle-duster she’s using as auntie
Flora’s. Then a third blow behind your right ear fells you to the floor.
Dimly through the pain of your bruised manhood and ruined teeth
[things could be worse – it could be the other way round] you hear her say, “Treason
is serious, Alaric. Wait till your mother hears about this!” followed by the
door slamming and the sound of her feet on the stairs.
It’s a good minute before you can even get to your knees. Blood is
pouring from your mouth and your head’s ringing like a bell. Man she hits hard!
Both your hands remain clutched to your groin and you’ve not yet raised the
courage to see if there’s blood there too. The room is a blur through your
tears.
No. Actually I think he’ll stay crumpled up on the floor for a
while. The door’s shut and he’ll just lie in pain occasionally spitting out
vast amounts of blood and teeth from his mouth. In midst the pain he’s thinking
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Eventually, he’ll lift his hands from his groin and
check them for blood. If there is blood then he probably needs urgent
treatment.
Blinking back tears, you see no blood and the pain in your
testicles subsides to a sickening ache. You find you can breath
again.
He’ll start to get up and lurch towards Paolo’s sink so he can
rinse out his mouth and he’s looking for a mirrored surface so he can check the
damage to his teeth and face.
You’re a mess, though the bleeding is slowing. After you’ve washed
your mouth and face, it’s stopped and you can survey the damage. Flora’s
knuckle-duster smashed all your front teeth and the pain knifes through your
jaws every time you suck cold air over the raw nerves. Recalling previous
damage like this from your mercenary days, your best bet will be to have the
stumps pulled and grow new teeth. This will probably take a year, perhaps
longer. Your lips are badly cut, too and you’ll probably need stitches or you’ll
have scars for a long time.
As you wipe your face, Paolo’s painting of you catches your eye.
Flora was looking at this from her stool when you first saw her. No doubt she
also saw your painting of Paolo. You wonder what else she’s seen in Mirabeau.
“Oh God,” he’s realised what she’s thinking. “Good old Flora, put
one and one together and make five. Oh, my life.”
[Surprisingly good at arithmetic, Aunt Flora, isn’t she? :-)]
He’s already thinking ahead. He has his Trump deck and his brushe, he doesn’t need to get back to Amber immediately
but both his lute and La Poeme’s sketch of him are
still in his rooms in Amber and he would sooner that they were not destroyed.
Curiously he’s not really keen to see any of his family right now. If he’s
accused of treason than it is unlikely that any of his aunts/uncles who might
help him will help him. They’d just hand him over to Roger.
How do you think Fiona will react?
She is probably furious at Alaric already. But treason is a
serious charge and I feel she will listen to him (she isn’t particularly fond
of or tolerant towards Flora) – then berate him for being a fool. Because of
what Alaric heard Mira and the old man discussing he has reason to believe that
Fiona herself has been here before him. She may at least understand and Alaric
is her son (to piss about with).
What I mean is, does he trust her not to
sell him out if he contacts her?
Yes, Alaric would trust her not to sell him out – after all she
hardly had a clean slate during the Patternfall War
did she – and she protected him from the worst of it anyway.
Yes! She must love him somehow or other. Where does he think he
rates in her overall scheme of values?
Not sure I don’t think that he does rate at the moment – but he
might if he gets really good at Trump artistry and Fiona doesn’t have the time
to develop her own skill in this area. The red heads stick together and he’s a
useful pawn but I suspect she wants an awful lot more out of him in terms of
ability.
So she’s fond of him for his potential utility?
Yes – but he is also her son and he does respect her if not admire
and love her. It’s just hard to live up to someone’s expectations when you’re
not always sure what he or she is.
OK, let’s hope he’s right.
He does need medical treatment. I’m not sure which bit of him is
most pressing and I guess he’ll know better after a few hours. The lip needs
stitches and a headache’s developing. Did she fracture the skull?
He would need to check his blood pressure to ascertain that. And
he cannot. I would think not. If Flora meant to kill him she would have. He’s
probably got a bad concussion instead.
And somewhere safe for a bit
which to him means getting to Golter. Golter
is Trump blocked and so is Mirabeau so he needs to
get beyond Mirabeau’s Trump boarder and produce a
useable sketch of his apartments in Golter.
If Golter
is trump-blocked, no trump will get you in, not even yours. You’ll have to shadow walk to
it.
He’s still trying to work out his best strategy. Not returning to
Amber leaves him completely open to treason charges. Returning almost certainly
means his arrest and if he stays here people will come looking for him. He
could reduce the damage by alerting Mira to Flora’s presence but that is
treason. It occurs to him that he won’t be able to ride – and that he probably
can’t speak properly and that even walking is difficult right now.
Yes, I appreciate that – but a crumped
head is not really going to make shadow walking fun – so he’ll need an amount
of time to recover before he can attempt it. Looks like you’re marooned in Mirabeau for the time being. :-P
He draws Mira’s trump and attempts to contact her.
You fumble the trump out and look at it. The headache’s getting
worse and if you don’t use it soon, it may be too late. Luckily, Mira comes through
with literally no effort on your part.
“Alaric!” She sounds shocked. “What has happened? Have you been
mugged again?” Without you even being aware of the transition, you find
yourself in her personal chambers again. She examines you while you talk.
“No. One of my Aunts was waiting for me in Paolo’s room...”
She stiffens. “Which one?”
“Flora! ...I took her for a shadow, not the real article.”
Mira’s not listening. She stops examining you and paces
back-and-forward, preoccupied.
“She’d seen Paolo’s depiction of me as your Prophet warrior and
jumped to the right conclusion. I fell for her subterfuge.”
Mira clucks in irritation.
“Teeth are beyond saving.”
“Yes, yes, but they’ll grow back.” She stares into space, thinking
hard. “Tell me about...Flora!”
“Unexpectedly vicious with
knuckle-dusters.” Alaric’s trying to get his thoughts together. “She’ll head for
Amber and straight to Random to tell him of my treason – wants Brownie points, Random’s got them. She’s cunning – but not clever... No
idea I was here...” Alaric breaks off to spit large amounts of tooth and blood
and then groans as his head starts to explode again. “Mira – I need medical
treatment. My head’s fractured; mother or Gerard will help whatever – or, Golter.” He’s doing his best to lie really still and not
move any more (the way people do when they are really in pain).
“Nonsense! You’ll be fine!” She seems
dismissive of your welfare. “Anyway, what do you think will happen if you
contact either of those people?”
“Trust Fiona.” He struggles to sit himself
up. “No Mira – bring her here or check it yourself!”
She rounds on him in sudden fury. “Listen little man! You do not
give me orders here! Do I make myself clear?” She pushes you down onto a
beautiful sofa that wasn’t there last time you were here. “Now I can’t get you
to your stupid ‘Golter’ and I am not having any more
of your family in my home so stop bitching and shut up!” She puts her hands on
her hips and glares down at you. “If she’s not clever, then what does that make
you?”
He’s trying to remember treatment. “I must sit up if it’s
fractured. Check for uneven pupil dilation; severe head pain; weakness in body
equates to part of brain being pressured; clammy.” He’s wobbly and wishes for
anything that he was in Golter; or somewhere else
with decent medical facilities.
She shakes her head in firm decision. “No! You’ll have to stay and
leave in a few days but you’ll have to move fast then. You can reside in one of
the outlying hospitals.” She grins impishly. “You’ll be able to get some basic
schoolwork done while you’re in bed.”
Alaric shut his eyes and ignores her – doing his best to loose
consciousness – even meditate to keep the pain at bay!
You open your eyes when you hear Mira talking to someone. She’s
conversing through a trump to a priestly type. After a few words of low
conversation, she turns and takes you by the hand. “See you soon, my Prophet!”
Abruptly you find yourself in a hospital with three priestly
physicians, one male, and two female. They steer you to a bed and start
examining you.
Alaric mumbles “Check skull; teeth – jaw even; face – stitches – no
embroidery!”
After a while, you drift into sleep.