Peter’s Diary part 9: The Fae Summit

In The Doom that Came to Amber

The 21st day of Bull, in the Amber calendar

Such a day this day. The Amberites call this the 21st of Bull, though I know not why, and it started with the most delicious morsel. The Princess Bathsheba, all prim and proper, military bearing and surly disposition, carried unconscious (or swooned?) to her rooms by Lord Aylwin. Through secret servants’ routes they went, for servants see all and say nothing … or so they hope.

Of course, discretion forbids me from mentioning this to anyone and who would want to hear that a Princess of the Blood was trysting with one of her cousins?

Later in the day Lord Aylwin tells me that I am to accompany him to a land called Emeraldheart, there to meet with a delegation from Faerie to renegotiate the Compact. He wishes to know what I might tell him of Faerie? How can I explain the Shifting Lands to one who has never been there? I tell him the child’s tales of Gonfalon that each of us learns with our mother’s milk. Accept no gifts, save you give one of greater value in return. Play the game, but know your life is on the line each move you make. Dance, knowing that you dance on the edge of the blade.

He seems to accept so I search out Vine Street where the costumers of repute are. They tell me that Lord Aylwin’s colours are in short supply in silk, will some other colour do? “Would the Sun appear in blues and greens?” I ask, not expecting them to answer. There is a problem in a demesne called Cordoba, they explain, and the silk trade is disrupted. I seem to remember that Lord Nathan has been dispatched to bring a speedy resolution to the disruption and sigh a great sigh for the scions of Amber, doomed to wear satin and linen for ever more.

Princess Bathsheba, much recovered, informs us that she will be joining us for Lord Aylwin’s protection. When I politely point out that she might consider expanding her wardrobe somewhat for such a delicate political mission, she appears flustered. Perhaps she has not been getting enough sleep? I direct her towards Vine Street, wishing good fortune to whichever artist of fabric and frippery is given such an opportunity.

Lord Aylwin summons me and we walk the gates of moonbeams to a far off country called Minjoninita, where no servants bear swords and all sword bearers serve. We sit and drink tea in a peculiar fashion, and discuss gifts. This land creates the most beautifully simple wares; each one an exercise in restraint, and Lord Aylwin and I pick several gifts that will delight the nobles of Faerie, whichever is sent.

At my suggestion hawks are arranged as gifts, the Lords of Faerie will understand the subtlety of a gift of a hooded hawk.

We speak of the Compact also, though Lord Aylwin calls it a Treaty. It is 2,500 years old, which is a long time to those of Amber, and it speaks peace after a terrible war when Faerie knights rode to the very gates of Amber, vainglorious and headstrong. It speaks of death, and the wish for life, and peace. And it is a Compact that is kept. It will be our task to make it so, but not to let Faerie advance. A splendid game, no matter which side one chooses to play on.

Then, preparations complete, Lord Aylwin and I trumps to Emeraldheart, where I oversee the placement of his encampment whilst he returns to Amber. I fear treachery by the forces of Faerie (for treachery is a story in itself) and would see the ground they wish us to meet on, hopefully before they do.