Ossian pulls a Trump sketch of Marius from the case.  The contact comes, tentative at first, but then strengthening.
            "Good evening Sir Otter, how are things over there?"

Marius is still studying the very sharp cards...
            ...but  he takes a moment to assess the situation and report.  "Hectic," he  says, brevity being the soul of wit.  Then, not having all of his wits around him, "but act one seems to have ended.  I believe we're looking at the intermission, cliff-hangers and all."

Ossian's mind speak is more playful than Marius has ever heard Ossian be: //I'm on a nice beach with two gorgerous ladies. Who could ask for anything more?//

That can't help but bring a naughty smile to Marius' otherwise pleasantly patient expression.  He stands in place, listening to the crowd, as if he were the total center of calm in a whirlwind.  As people move near him, he weaves back and forth, somehow remaining still, like an otter in the stream.

In a much more serious tone Ossian says, "I have the Queen here. Would it be safe to bring her through to you?"

"It would be for as long as I could keep her that way," he says, sounding fairly honest.  "If you are in a place where she is in no danger, I would beg you give me leave to determine if this place is similar in that respect."  He starts moving towards finding the King.

"Well this place seems safe for the moment. And there's a dragon watching over her." Ossians says "Take your time."
            "He's finding the king." he adds, as an information to the ladies.

Solange sets off with Marius in search of the King.  "I think we'd better let him take charge of these cards, too," she suggests.

The King has not moved. He is smack dab in the middle of the dance floor, speaking with Bleys and Paige.  Martin stands nearby, blade out and eyes searching the dissipating crowd.
            The King and Bleys look up as Marius (and Solange) approach.  As Solange and Marius approach the King, Martin gestures to her to join him where he stands, off to one side of the King. He's doffed his helmet and has his blade out, ready to defend his father if need be.

Fiona leans on Conner's arm a little more heavily than normal. "We will need your Uncle Bleys for this."
            After a few moments of looking around, one of the two locates Bleys, and signals to him. He quickly excuses himself to Random and joins his sister. "What?" he says, looking concerned, and to Conner's eyes, a bit tired.
            "Brita's been taken," Fiona says.
            Bleys' jovial front slips then; he straightens and his hand slides to the hilt of his blade. "Dara--" he begins.
            Fiona cuts him off. "I know. We'll discuss it on the way up."
            Bleys says, "Lead the way."
            And the three of them depart the hall into the innards of Castle Amber.

Marius casually ignores Martin in the way that says as long as he's doing his job, he's more automaton than man, and therefore, as his manhood is not in any question or danger, no recognition is needed.
            "Your majesty, I am available to negotiate the return of," _her most loveliness_, "your Queen, should you give me both time and place.  She is as safe as any of us can be, perhaps moreso.  However, I would hate to give her cause to worry."

Random nods in agreement.  "Yes, she's needed here.  I'm leaving shortly.  By all means bring her back...Where did she go, anyway?"

"That would be a question to ask of my Cousin, Ossian.  Alas," he frowns, "I am more than prepared to ask for her back, save that our connection has failed."  He looks up and around, as if the Trump connection was something you could see, physically, like rainbow cords connecting people.  "I am off, then, to a rescue."
            He will do a sweeping bow and then try to find Folly, the only one he was introduced to as, "Ossian's friend."

As they come out into the main hall, Reid and Vere see that pandemonium has been brought under partial control.
            By the bandstand, Gerard is examining Lucas, with Flora as nurse. Guards are bringing a stretcher to move Lucas. Nearby, Brennan is comforting Solace, although Reid and Vere both suspect he's not particularly successful at that.
            Nearby, Corwin, Jerod, and Merlin are examining Cambina.
            Random is speaking with Marius. Bleys has detached himself from the group around the King and is halfway across the room to meet Fiona and Conner.
            Near Random, Martin and Aisling are having some sort of discussion. Folly and Paige are looking on, concerned.
            Solange is with Martin and Aisling, but moving off to join Worth.
            Caine and Benedict are speaking quietly on what used to be the edge of the dance floor.
            Royal guards, Rangers, knights, and naval officers have taken charge of the situation and are moving the guests out towards the outer works of the castle. The side doors into the gardens and the door into the interior of the castle are guarded.
            After a moment, Julian and Robin also emerge from the room behind Reid and Vere, and head towards the near garden door.

Vere pauses a moment to see what Reid is doing, if he is heading directly to Random then Vere follows and remains silent while Reid speaks.

The dragonman casts his eyes about the room, empty now but for the wreckage, winces a bit and walks out, having a therapeutic draught of brandy as he goes. If no one else demands his attention, he's just about catch up with Reid and Vere, intending to ask what happened in there. Seeing where they're headed, though, he'll hang back just enough not to interrupt their report to Random, but not so much that he can't hear it.

Marius turns from his conversation with the King.
            "That would be a question to ask of my Cousin, Ossian.  Alas," he frowns, "I am more than prepared to ask for her back, save that our connection has failed."  He looks up and around, as if the Trump connection was something you could see, physically, like rainbow cords connecting people.  "I am off, then, to a rescue." He does a sweeping bow and leaves.

Reid sees Marius wander off, looking at nothing and approaches the king. "Sorry to interrupt the fabulous party you've thrown, but it seems that some joker who can cut through space and time like a Ginsu through a tin can has dragged cousin Brita, well, off somewhere. Julian and Robin are putting their heads together, as are Fiona, Conner and Bleys."
            Reid lets that soak in a second.
            "Can I get you a drink?"
            Reid glances at Vere to see if he'd like one too.

"No drink, Lord Reid, but a napkin would be useful," Vere replies.  He has placed himself so that he is facing Random as the king and Reid speak, with a clear view of the interesting drama involving Martin and company nearby.

Reid takes a side glance at Vere's wound, seemingly for the first time, chuckles mildly and hands Vere a handkerchief from his pocket before looking for other dressings within reach. Reid expects men of Amber to be resilient, so he makes no fuss over Vere, thinking "if he hasn't dropped dead yet, there's no great worry."

Jovian approaches the pair from behind and places his bottle of brandy in Reid's hand. "Good for what ails you," he quips, as he beckons with his free hand to one of the team of servants and junior knights hustling to and fro with medical supplies.

Random takes the bottle from Reid and has a quick sip, but doesn't seem to be overly interested in it.  He looks surprised at the news and it is quite likely that he is considering a reply.

As Reid awaits Random's response to the report, Jovian has a closer look at Vere's shoulder, gauging whether stitches will be called for.

Jovian decides that if that were his shoulder he wouldn't need stitches, but he thinks the Women of the lower caverns would stitch him up, "just in case".

Vere's ignoring the wound completely, other than wiping as much of the blood off as he could with the pocket handkerchief given him by Reid.

"I was wondering what set them off in such a hurry.  They're the ones most likely to be able to bring her back.  And, of course, they have full royal blessing if they have to strangle Dara with her own intestines to do so."

"Always a good choice..." Reid offers.

"Barring unexpected good news from the redheaded quarter, we're probably going to need to negotiate with Dara.  So far, we haven't done very well with that.  She does have a flair for the homicidally dramatic.  And she certainly has set my reign off to an unforgettable start."

Reid ponders, "I don't suppose we have a handy way of contacting her for such negotiations? Always rude for someone to make unreasonable demands, and then  compound things by not being around to see if they're met..."

Vere raises an eyebrow at the idea of negotiating with an enemy who has so publicly demonstrated her willingness to invade the king's domain and attack his subjects, but refrains from comment.

Random cocks his head in agreement.  "While I may have a card trick or two up my sleeves if necessary, my first line of attack will be to ask my sister where to look.  She seems to have a vested interest in the matter."
            Random turns to Vere and says, "Vere, can you make sure the queen hears about this?  I'm afraid I'm going to be leaving her with a lot of loose ends."

"Certainly, Your Majesty," Vere replies.  "I will give her all the information I have available."

"Where are you off to, and do you need a wind player?" suggests Reid, as if most affairs of state could be handled all the more smoothly by having a penny whistle involved.

Random smiles and opens his mouth to answer when he hears something Martin says and turns to listen.

Vere also turns to listen more obviously to what is going on between Aisling and Martin.

Llewella approaches the knot of people with Jerod, her steps deliberate but not slow.  She looks disturbed.  She speaks without preliminaries when she arrives, and remarkably calmly.  "Jerod, we need to find your sister. Demond Harga'rel is dead."

"What of the rest of the delegation from Rebma?" Jerod asks.  "Have they been accounted for?  And where is Harga'rel?"

Llewella still looks agitated, although the years of royal training make her speech as calm and smoothly modulated as ever.
            "I have servants fetching them.  We should hurry, I'd like you to be there when your sister arrives.  Harga'rel is in the room with the champagne fountain."  She pauses. "He wasn't killed by Dara.  He drowned.  I mean he was drowned."

"I'll be back." Jerod says to Cambina.  He looks over at Corwin.  "Call me if there's any problems.  With my sister that is."

"I will," Corwin says.

Once that is done, Jerod heads off with Llewella.  "Have the guards on the perimeter been notified to keep an eye out for someone who's wet?  And where are those two Rebman minders that accompanied my sister?  They would have guessed I was going to be questioning Harga'rel further concerning his activities once the coronation and ball were concluded."

"We haven't had time to do that. One of Julian's men found him and they sent for me; I've got people looking for Valeria and her entourage, but it will take a while to find them in all this. Poor Valeria." Llewella says, and shakes her head.

Jerod makes a mental note to verify whether or not Llewella has wet hands.

Her hands do not appear to be wet. But someone like Lamell could have done it without touching Harga'rel.

Yes, but Lamell isn't here, thankfully for some others as Jerod thinks about that.  But he does remember the reference and realizes a need for further resources that he does not possess, as well as a need to prepare for possible unpleasant political ramifications.
            To that end, he adjusts his course to approach the King, being inline with Random (and Martin it would seem as well).

Brennan moves over to the other clump and talks to Merlin.  "You're the resident expert, Merlin.  Anything we should know about these little toys?"

Merlin takes a moment to examine the card. It's not quite so glossy as it was a few moments ago. "It was ensorcelled. A preparatory enchantment of some sort, held in abeyance. There are methods for doing such a thing; she and my other teachers taught me some of them."
            He looks up at Brennan. "How much do you know of sorcerous matters, cousin?"

Paige arrives on the tails of this, listening for Merlin's answer before commenting, "While we're on the subject, Merle. There's a guard that Martin needs you to look over. He's concerned that your mother used his brains for slurpee mix."

Brennan gives her a flat stare at the choice of words under the circumstances, but otherwise says nothing.

Merlin's eyes go wide. "She has *eaten* a guard? We must warn the King at once. Who is in charge of security arrangements here?"
            Corwin has to think about the answer to this question, and Cambina shakes her head, which is apparently a mistake.

"Venesch is aware and I can't attest to what condition the guard is in, but, yes that was Martin's concern," Paige responds, turning to take in the drama she just left.
            Responding to Martin's comments, Paige's body is tense, as if she wants to return there, perhaps to prevent something from happening, but is afraid to provoke things further.
            After Aisling responds, Paige says "Merle, I know 'shifters can survive the loss of limbs, but what about their head?" she asks quietly. "'Cus I think Aisling's about to get hers bitten off. Not sure I'd blame him either. She might've learned our culture, but not etiquette."

Brennan had been watching the slow motion blow-up, as well with at least half his attention.
            "Speaking of which," he says to Merlin and Paige, "Let's make sure that doesn't happen.  Merlin, let's go talk to Prince Martin, if Paige will be so gracious as to intercept Aisling."

Merlin rises from his half-kneeling position next to Cambina and says, "Yes, I believe you are right, cousin. Let us all do that."
            To Cambina and Corwin he says, "Excuse me," as he and Brennan head across the small patch of dance floor that separates them from the potentially impending melee.

Aisling, having finished with Lucas, looks around; and when her gaze falls on Martin, after a beat that is the direction she heads.  To Solange she says quietly, "Excuse me, my lady; this should only be a moment."  Then she fixes her gaze on Martin (and she arranged to approach such that she's not blocking his view of the King, or his range of motion with the blade), and asks (each word clear, no particular emphasis on any one), "Do you have the letters from my father that I left in the cubby where I lived here?"

Martin glances at Solange, then looks at Aisling. What he says is, "What was in the letters you were burning when I arrived?"

"It was my duty to report to my father in letters the doings of Amber.  The return of Oberon was assuredly news.  The beginnings of the letter on that subject were what I was consigning to the flames."  Aisling's gaze stays fixed on the Prince, her speech still with the quiet careful clarity that may be reminiscent of her comrade Jovian's current gait.  She's getting slightly paler, though, as she doesn't quite succeed in immobilizing the part of her mind that's analyzing what his reply meant about the answer to her question.

"What else did you burn in that fireplace?" Martin asks.

Solange, having nodded at Aisling's "excuse me," has been listening avidly to the exchange, but has not seen fit to comment yet.

Aisling's still wearing a mask, so there's nothing visible except a pause.  
            In Aisling's head:  "Wood?  Other drafts?  What the hell kind of conversation *is* this?  This isn't an attack--  She--"  <thought choked, paleness level held steady>  <reconsideration>  "No, better cut to the chase."
            "She framed me for something, didn't she?"  Aisling says, quiet and detached yet.
            Brilliant.  He grew up in Rebma-- maybe he can track the connections between untended-sleeping-place and disposal-of-rivals.  Probably he is. But his entire conception of how Chaosites act is probably based on her (and Merlin).  No wonder any of the people he would have told stuff to treat me like poison.  But the letters--!
            The blood level in her cheeks drops to where she is, in fact, pale, and her jaw clenches.

Folly, having finished tending the injured around the bandstand, is approaching the loose knot of people around Martin and Random.  Her exact destination is unclear; but when she sees Aisling pale she stops several paces away to observe the exchange, her expression unreadable.

Folly is easy to find.  She is standing a few paces away, stock-still, watching Martin and Aisling intently.

Marius sidles up to her, and place an arm in an almost comforting manner across her shoulders, allowing him to speak in an undertone.  

Folly was aware of his approach, Marius feels certain of it, yet she starts at his touch.  Her shoulders are taut as a tightly twisted rope.  
            "Mar.... Marius," she says, the first syllable noticeably louder than the others, as if she changed direction partway through.

Marius' smile is sympathetic, the kind of smile that would be a frown if it weren't, say, Marius.

"If I may break your attention for a moment, lady Swan, I am in desperate need of royalty."

"We may have an explosion of it in a moment, I fear," Folly replies.  She does not turn her eyes from the altercation before them, but she lays her hand over Marius's, there on her shoulder.  He doesn't have her complete attention -- and in fact she may spring away at any moment, if she thinks the situation warrants it -- but she is listening.

Marius nods, glances over with a wary eye, and smiles a more comforting smile.  "Ossian has the Queen.  I have no way of contacting him, but hoped that you, his friend, did.  Perhaps an Empress' grace could improve this situation?"

The Swan regards the Otter with an incredulous look, as if she's wondering whether he found an altogether different sort of crack in his oysters.
            (At least he's really, truly got her attention now.)
            But then she remembers he hasn't been here for the last five years.  He wouldn't know.  She offers up a small apologetic smile.
            "The way a spark improves gunpowder, perhaps," she says by way of explanation.  "Long story.  I do have Ossian's trump, though...."

"One that no doubt will be all the better for you telling it," he says, almost off-handedly, except he's quite SINCERE about even his off-hand comments.  Strange, intense, Marius.

Paige is watching Martin and Aisling's exchange herself, from Random's side. Her attention was taken by Marius for a moment when he said that Lilly and the others were fine, but something about Martin's posture has it wholly now. She fights the instincts to run for cover and tries to remember how he fell when he dove on the King. She replaces the Trumps she didn't resort to on the bottom of her deck, and rolls Merlin's on the top before wrapping them in silk again. All the while, her eyes haven't left Martin, but for a moment to try and catch Folly's. _I'm worried for him,_ high waters will easily catch. _Be careful._

Folly meets Paige's eyes and nods, almost imperceptibly, then turns her full focus back to Martin and Aisling.

Paige shakes her head imperceptibly, her eyes watching Martin's left arm and his posture more than Aisling's masked response.

There's something to the set of Martin's jaw that reminds Solange of that council meeting where everyone hashed the handling of the hoarders and the Wind Grove situation.

"She didn't need to. You've done enough on your own," Martin says. "My father's coronation ball is in ruins, my friend and kinsman is seriously wounded, the Unicorn alone knows who else is dead and wounded just yet, and I'm trying to figure out why we're not dragging the middens for Cambina's *body*, and you come over here asking about letters. As if it were *important*, as if you have some claim, some *right* to an answer--" He draws in a breath. "As if you haven't had too many answers, more than you deserve, already."
            Martin isn't yelling, but he's not quiet, either. Some of the people filing out of the room glance his way. The guards are too professional to be caught looking, but some of the watchers may have the sense that they're curious about what has made the Prince angry.

Aisling inclines her head just a bit.  
            This turn of the conversation is actually faintly a relief to her...  A; she understands anger, and B; these Amberites!  Actually saying what's on their minds!  She knew there was a reason she did this to herself.  But the wateriest of you are probably only picking up bits of that.
            Anyway, so it's easy for her voice to stay lucid and impartial, and she pitches it so that anyone who heard Martin, and cares to, can hear her too.
            "Those letters are a connection to my father.  My father likely knows more about Duchess Dara's current vulnerabilities in Chaos than anyone here.  If she has them, she will use that connection to hurt him."
            And there Aisling (those who noticed it in the first place may notice) is kicked out of familiar-lucid state and back into the previous closely-held-mask state.
            "If you have them, you will be able to communicate with him, with the help of your Friend," she nods to Merlin.  Her jaw sets again.  Quieter, "If you care to at that time, you could then tell me whether he still lives."  She bows, "Your highness."  
            It is then her intention to turn and leave, gliding straight to the nearest door to the inner courtyard.

Solange lets out a noisy breath, as if she's been holding it during the exchange.

Martin turns back to Solange, but before he can say anything, he sees Worth.
            The crowd in the Great Hall has dwindled as the guards escort everyone who can walk out and remove the wounded. A few guards, Rangers, and naval officers move in different directions through the masses. One in particular is familiar to the members of the royal family who have lived in Amber these last few years: Admiral Worth, wearing the garb of a common tar.
            He reenters the hall against the flow of the outbound stream and heads towards the knot of royals on the dance floor. Catching wind of the confrontation that his foster-daughter is in the middle of, Worth hesitates. His expression is concerned, but resigned.

Solange is relieved to have a graceful exit from the peanut gallery.  She takes a few steps towards him, making it clear that he can speak to her without engaging in the current acrimony.

Paige decides that Martin seems to have rein on his emotions, and after all, he wasn't likely to explode like Paige would have. Sure that Folly would look out for him, she decides she can let him go and remembers that she's still mad at him anyway.

Martin lets Aisling turn and start to go before issuing his parting shot, at the same volume. "Your father's in no danger from Dara. He's been in cahoots with her and Borel from the beginning. He was one of Merlin's teachers. Send him my regards along with your report on me when you finish it."

Aisling halts at his words, turning her head halfway back to watch him from the side of her eye as he speaks.  And for a moment more, after he finishes, she stays there, quite still.  And then she loses, and she turns.
            And this may be the section of the evening where everyone realizes that, in fact, they know very little indeed about Aisling.  They've seen her hopeful, and earnest, and concerned, and always, always carefully banked.  They've never seen her like this, with all the fire that forms her core dancing with unholy joy behind her eyes, no tension anywhere in her body or worries for the future to hinder her flowing grace; no one here has seen Aisling throw it all away and fight.  Until now.  Her grin is like the noonday sun in the center of a hundred mile wide desert, her voice measured and clear;

Martin turns back from looking to Solange, who has moved aside to speak to Worth, as Aisling begins speaking. His blade hasn't wavered.

"Why, Martin," she drawls brightly, like Doc Holliday, "If you know so much about the internal politics of Chaos, it's rather mendacious of you to try and make *me* Dara's whipping boy.
            "But then, I suppose as one learns more about a culture, one tends to pick up its traits.  *I've* picked up traits like the willingness to die to bring back your entire army intact, and the willingness to approach you, despite being warned by a full quarter of the Regent's Council that my life wouldn't be worth a speck of dried blood if I so much as looked at you cross-eyed, to approach you to try to get information on how to hit our latest enemy where it would hurt.
            "But if you'd rather attack Dara here in Amber, why, I'm willing to work on that, too -- we could have a puppet show!"  Aisling's left hand, representing Dara, floats waveringly up as she intones its line, "Ambeeer weeeiill beeee destroooi--" and then the bits of her right hand fly up and smack it down with a resounding <CLAP!>  And she grins with expansive, all-encompassing good spirits, barely short of laughing.

Martin lets Aisling run out of steam and, if she needs to, laugh a little, before responding.
            What he says, no longer angrily at all, but still in a voice that carries clearly, even if it is suddenly mild, is: "I must have misunderstood you. I thought I heard you suggest that I might be lying. That cannot have been what you meant. Can it?"

Jerod cuts across the ballroom quickly, leaving Llewella in his dust.  Somehow he thinks she may understand. He brushes by Folly in his haste to intervene.

She'll understand too (well, he hopes she will).

"Your Majesty, a moment if you could spare it." Jerod says, turning in an arc inward to approach the king so Random can see him coming, and interestingly enough putting him within physical reach of Martin, who is conveniently close to the King.

Either Martin's distracted or he recognizes his friend and kinsman's tread, because Jerod is able to step between Martin and Random. Random turns from watching Aisling to see Jerod as the latter approaches.

Close enough in fact that Jerod can, and does, reach out a little with a hand to snag Martin.  "Your highness as well, if you could attend please."

Martin winces and jerks away as Jerod lays a hand on his shoulder. It takes Jerod a moment to realize that Martin's shoulder is too warm, and damp.

Oooh crap...that's all he thinks for a half second.

Only a moment behind Jerod, Brennan and Merlin are approaching Martin and Aisling from the opposite. Brennan is closer to Aisling than Merlin is and gets a moment to look at her before she can reply to Martin.

Brennan will use it to flash a severe glance at Aisling and silently mouth the words, "Beat it!" before turning to Martin and the nearby Random.
            "Your Majesty, Your Highness," he says loudly but not shouting, and ignoring the commotion, "there is an urgent security matter that requires your attention."

Martin's wince and sudden movement are impossible for Brennan and Merlin to miss.

At the same moment, Jovian, who was closer and set off while Martin was still speaking, interposes between Aisling and Martin.

Asiling opens her mouth to speak, but Jovian overrides her.

He is speaking in the clear, controlled tones that served so admirably for shepherding the crowd.  "Misunderstandings can be cleared up, in a way that *doesn't* serve Dara's purposes," this pointedly to *both* of them, "when there aren't wounded to attend to. Aisling, I just got word from T'dor," he lies as smoothly, he hopes, as he has ever lied in his life. "They've got wounded civilians out there that they may lose if you don't help. Please."
            He beckons, with hand and tilted head, toward the nearest route to the bailey. His outward expression is calm, but deep in his eyes, there is pleading, and a deep enough worry to have the ring of truth even if he is, shall we say, mendacious about its cause.

Aisling looks past him at Martin for half a moment, and then abruptly ceases blazing, like someone angrily jerking shut curtains over a window into the night.

"Oh shit," Paige says to no one in particular as she crosses the dance floor at speed. She knows from her experience that this Rebman runs deep before blooding the waters.
            Paige arrives from the bandstand a moment behind Jovian.

"Aisling, there's a member of the guard we're worried that the Duchess attacked. You're our expert on these matters."
            She gently sets her hand on Aisling's arm, "Please?"

Aisling's arm jerks away from Paige's hand in a reflex and the look she turns on Paige has a bit of an apologetic grimace for this, but her head turns again to track the movements of Folly.

Folly turns from the departing Marius and fixes her gaze on Aisling.  This can't *possibly* have been Aisling's objective -- unless this is actually some bizarre Chaosi suicide ritual, or something.  She's certainly digging her own grave,
Folly thinks; she wonders whether Aisling even realizes it.
            With equal parts consternation and sympathy, Folly takes a purposeful step toward Aisling.  Maybe if she can get these two to stop slinging their dicks around long enough to say something *useful* to each other....
            The sudden convergence of cousins around the combatants reminds Folly of a high school cafeteria -- and, y'know, not in a good way.  She pauses, watches each grab for attention, listens to the almost-plausible hyperbole (as clear to her as if she'd made it up herself) -- and frowns.  Oh, yes, people, sweep it under the rug; that will make it ALL BETTER.
            Without quite intending to, Folly takes another step forward and, in a loud, clear voice that cuts through the commotion, says: "STOP IT!"

Folly, if looking, can tell that behind Aisling's startled look is a faint tinge of gratitude.

And in the moment of stunned silence that follows Folly's command, Random grabs Jerod's hand  to look at the sticky red tracery that covers Jerod's palm. "Hey!" he says accusingly to Martin. "You're bleeding!"

Jovian makes his way out of the ballroom to the nearest location that still has a page, liveried servant or guard at loose ends. He orders him to the Infirmary to retrieve a field medical kit, or the contents of one if a jump bag is not available, and bring the lot back to the ballroom five - no, *ten* minutes ago.

"Crap." Jerod says, now saying it out loud.  "We need a room so we can get a look at this." he says quietly, making a glance over to Folly to come help.  She'll know why Jerod wants the room, and so will Martin.

Merlin gives Martin a significant look and waggles an index finger at him.  Martin shakes his head and sheathes his blade. The shattered remnant of his papier-maiche helm lies on the floor where he dropped it when Jerod clasped his shoulder.

He takes hold of Martin's arm lightly enough to nudge him in the proper direction, towards a private room close by that can be used.

Folly can't help but smile as she approaches them.  She has nearly regained her composure after her little outburst, and the sight of Jerod tending to Martin like a well-armed mother-hen puts her in the mood to offer up her own subtler form of medicine.
            "Y'know, I'll bet that crap you usually drink would burn the nasties right out of his wound," she says to Jerod with a smile and a wink.  She lays a gentle hand on Martin's uninjured arm (or his hand, if he's put his sword away) and walks with him to the private room.

Jerod looks almost hurt.  Almost.  :)
            "Hey, the crap I drink would invite the little buggers to stay." Jerod says, not really miffed but going with the flow of humor.  "It's good stuff."

"Your majesty, there is a matter you need to be informed of.  I would be grateful if you could come with us." Jerod says to Random.

Very likely, Brennan is coming with, because he and Merlin really do have something to make Random aware of.  Taking a backward look, if Cambina has keeled over or is in more obvious distress than when he had left her, that would prevent him.  Random deciding not to go would be the other major trigger for Brennan not to go.
            But, assuming that these are not the case, if no one else conjures clean bandages or swipes some from a passing medical kit, then Brennan will.  
            Brennan is currently not overreacting because it's the Prince who is bleeding, but there is a dark suspicion at the back of his mind about the nature of the wound.
            What is Jerod's request?

Medical gear...:)
            Which now that Brennan is wandering over to a spot that he's reasonably sure will have whatever is needed, Jerod's not worried.

As Brennan moves off to get medical kit, Random says, "Jerod, I'm pulling rank.  There's no time for that. Tell the Queen. She's in charge.  I'll take care of Martin."  He interposes himself between Jerod and Martin and takes his son's arm from his nephew. He catches Folly's eye and gives her the signal to get the gear out right now.
            As his father starts to lead him away, Martin turns back and says over his shoulder, "Jerod, we need to find out who else Dara might have talked to while she looked like Cambina. And if she has Madoc's dossier on Cambina, she has the one on you, and Vialle. Tell Lilly that, and be careful. And Merlin, careful of traps on that guard."

"Tell the King there's been a murder while all this has been going on." Jerod replies, knowing full well that Random can hear him.  "Tell him that Dara might not have done it either."

There's a muttered expletive from Martin. Random doesn't say anything.

Merlin frowns as Random, Martin and Folly head out of the ballroom, leaving him with Jerod and Brennan.

Jerod frowns for a moment, looks over at Brennan and Merlin.  "It's good to be the King, I suppose." he says, to no one in particular before he looks over at Merlin, as Brennan makes his departure.  

Brennan is departing, but he hears it.
            He pauses, turns and gives Jerod a commiseratory nod of a shrug before departing.

"You'll be needing to check on the guard I take it?  Can you let your father know what Martin said.  And do it while my sister can hear you?  She'll know who to start questioning about who spoke to Dara while in her form.  I suspect she'll be rather pissed someone imitated her and want to know why.  I'm afraid I have to go look at a body at the moment."

Merlin says, "I shall do so."

Jerod takes his leave of him and heads over to the champagne fountain.  He makes a mental note however to check up on the Chaosian spy - to see just exactly what kind of information it was sending back that would allow Dara to imitate his sister, or him.

Aisling squinches her eyes shut, pained, or 'oh crap', or something like that.  Her left hand rises to rub her forehead, and she slips off the mask and the silver fronded headband, and she looks old and tired for a moment as her hand drops back down.
            "Come, then," she says quietly, turning.  "Lady Paige, if you would tell me of the condition of this guard as we walk, I would be most honored."  And she sets off for the bailey doors.

Paige didn't seem surprised by Aisling's reaction to her hand, nor the Prince's injury. She's already turned to see if she can locate Venesch in the crowd, irecting things. If not, she makes for the first guard she sees.

Venesch is not immediately obvious. There are guards at the doors into the innards of the castle and the gardens, plus guards helping with crowd clearance.

Aisling's willing to sway her course as she listens.

"I don't know much more than I've told you. Our suppositions are just that at the moment," Paige explains. "He was found unconscious and several of us are concerned that, well for lack of a better term, that the Duchess or her allies may have done that to him and may have 'eaten' his knowledge."

Aisling looks amazed.  "She ate him?  I--" she breaks off.
            Stopping, slightly baffled, she says, "I...  I don't think there's much I can do about that.  I mean, if she left his life, it shouldn't slip away from him..."  Her brow wrinkles.  "I think I ought to see to the people Jovian mentioned, first, and then if he hasn't woken up yet, I can try to see if his knowledge is still there..."  Aisling is a bit unsure.

"Won't that be rather apparent in simple things like knowing his name, or wife, or whatever?" Paige asks. "I suppose if she actually left for somewhere else and isn't using the guard's knowledge against us already, it's not a priority."
            "Do as you feel best," Paige says. "I'll find Merlin." She begins unwrapping her Trumps.
            When confronted by a guardsman or Venesch, she explains that they need to examine the injured guard and that she'd be appreciative if someone could direct them toward him.

Whichever guard Paige approaches will have to send for Venesch to be certain, but there's a guard infirmary, and that's where a wounded guard would most likely be. He offers directions for Paige's benefit.

"Thank-you," Paige says.

Aisling, who paused indecisively to hear the guard, tries to explain once he's gone, "If she ate his mind, the only way I could get it back would be to eat her, and then--  it would be messy," she summarizes the sex step.  "But if she ate just his mind, in Amber, she's a lot better than me at eating.  ...And I need to see to those people Jovian spoke of."  She frowns at the inadequacy of that, smiles to try to apologize to Paige, and then moves to flee.

As she leaves, Paige says "Cousin. If you need to talk later, please call."

She turns and smiles a little, a little surprised, a little sad, and she nods.  Then she heads out to the bailey.

Paige watches Aisling go, lost in her own thoughts for a moment before turning toward the stairs and the guards infirmary.

Brennan stifles a momentary urge to bounce the medical kit off someone's head, or, more subtly, to toss it to Martin and make him catch it, to see how badly he's wounded.
            Then he realizes that everything from missing Dara and Redheaded Boy with those knives has been a distraction getting between him and Cambina.  So realizing, then, he turns to scan the room looking for her, starting with where he'd had to leave to help prevent Martin from killing Aisling.

Julian escorts Robin out into the garden, nodding politely at the guards standing at the door as they go by. The guards acknowledge his presence with a crisp nod; there's no pretense of lack of recognition any longer.
            Once they're outside, and out of the immediate hearing of the guards, Julian stops and places his hand on Robin's arm. Unusually, he's bare-handed; normally he wears gauntlets or gloves almost all the time. His skin is warm, a contrast to the cool evening air.
            "You had something urgent you needed to tell me?" he asks.

For the space of a few blinks, Robin is still caught in the currents of what just happened.  And her speculations thereof.  Then the context of her father's question comes home to her.
            "Oh, Dad!"  She throws herself into a hug with him, miraculously keeping her hands untangled from his wings.  "You are the best!"  That, in the middle of everything - the chaos, the pain, the hunt and the loss - he still remembered.  And carved out this one little moment for themselves.  "Thank you."

Julian returns her embrace.

Then, knowing that the time is fleeting, precious and bought with her brother's pain, Robin gets right to the point.  With one arm still around her father's waist, she looks up at him with glimmering green eyes.
            "Sir?  I know you know.  But still, I wanted to speak to you of it.  It's like this - I find myself hunting Vere.  And he seems to have 'tripped in the undergrowth.'" Robin uses a common Ranger metaphor for letting oneself be caught.
            A quiet happy smile illuminates and her eyes shine with a warm glow out of the darkness of her face-paint.  But despite that, she finds herself biting her lip anxiously as she gazes at her father's face.

Julian arches an eyebrow and considers her comments. "As long as the boy didn't break his neck when he landed," he says, finishing an old Ranger joke.

Robin snickers.  "He hasn't yet."  The Ranger grins back to her father.  And hugs him again.  "Thank you, Dad."  Fondness and gratefulness pour through her words and her heart like the flow of a golden sunset over Arden.

"You also mentioned Reid. What did he say that disturbed you?"

"Verde!"  Robin swears professionally.  "It's an ugly one, sir."  She releases her father and makes her report like the Ranger she is.
            "Reid mentioned that some citizens of Amber have gone missing and it was his suspicion that they were moving out into Shadow through Arden.  He said he was investigating with a friend along a trail that began from that elm grove just north of Rainer's Point when they came across a band of civilians doing exactly that.  The en route soon-to-be-ex-citizens said that they had been led by a man, who had abandoned them earlier that evening.  Later that night, Reid and the STBE citizens were attacked by a disciplined mounted band, followed by a wave of trained armed footmen.  Reid indicated that it seemed like a C&C [OOC – Ranger shorthand for 'Contain and Capture'] instead of a hunt.
            "He managed to take one prisoner as he and his friend Trumped out, a man named Turf.  Under questioning, Turf indicated that the leader of this little human poaching enterprise was a man named Girth."
            And there Robin leaves it, with a grim line to her mouth.

"I see," says Julian.
            After a moment, he adds, "Arden is closed. You are to liaise with Reid to make sure no more 'soon to be ex citizens' come into Arden and that no more poaching of men takes place. You will ascertain who is behind this and mete out appropriate justice."
            Because, after all, Rangers take care of their own.

"Yes, sir."  Robin nods, completely satisfied with that answer.  The girl ruffles her wings a little in preparation as names and places start trickling through her mind.  Not exactly planning yet, more like tasting contingencies and possibilities.

"Have you had a chance to speak with Solange yet?" Julian asks.

"Noooo." Robin's voice drifts off as she looks back toward the pile of stones that is Amber Castle.  A disgusted tch of the tongue is followed by a rueful head-shake.  "I... don't even know what to say."
            The girl's button nose wrinkles in disgust as several very bad examples run through her mind.
            'Hey, Solange.  You, me, sisters forever.' Eeeeeewww.
            'So what do you think Mom did that got her name wiped even more thoroughly than Unkie Brand's is going to be?'  Probably not.
            'Well, so you're the one that killed her.  Not me.'  Yikes!  Definitely not!

"You may approach Solange with a message from me. I would deliver it personally, but I suspect she has concerns about my evaluation of her work with the Rangers during the Regency. Don't tell her that, of course. You may tell her on my behalf that she is welcome in Arden at any time, whether to visit or to work with the Rangers. The closing of Arden does not apply to her," says Julian.
            "From there you may see where the conversation takes you."
            He adds, "I must speak to Jovian. Is there aught else you need, and are you ready to go back in?"

Robin looks up at Julian with admiring eyes.  He is soooo good.  "Thank you, father."  She stretches up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the forehead.  "I will carry your message to Solange."  She says with a grateful smile.
            Then she looks around the garden, gathering such calmness from the captured air as she can.  After a moment, she nods.  "Yes.  I'm ready."
            The Ranger accompanies her father back into Great Hall.  Once through the doors, her green eyes search the room, before coming to rest on the rows of wounded being lined up before the bandstand.  Well, she's no surgeon, but she *certainly* knows how to patch up injured men.
            With a thankful squeeze to her father's forearm, Robin ruffles her shoulders and sets herself back into the currents.

Julian accompanies her into the hall, and then breaks off to meet his son.

With Jerod distracted, Llewella steps over to Reid's side. She's half-watching the confrontation between Martin and Aisling, like everyone else in the room, but her primary attention is on Reid.
            "Reid, Queen Vialle recommended you to me as a solver of mysteries. The Crown finds itself in need of your services tonight. One of the King's guests has been murdered--and not by Dara."

"Anyone I know? The victim, that is?" Reid asks.
            Reid glances to Vere and anyone else currently in need of bandages before telling Llewella, "They sure don't make 'em like they used to..."

"Princes of Amber, or coronations?" Llewella asks wryly, as they head towards the champagne room.
            She continues, "The victim is Demond Haraga'rel. His family has merchant concerns here and in Rebma. It's a very sensitive case politically.  Harga'rel is the former husband of Jerod's mother and the father of Jerod's sisters. He's also the fellow who helped Conner and the Gatwegian ambassador escape Rebma. The one we were just telling the Rebmans was alive yesterday. Now he's not."
            Reid feels Llewella may be in a bit of shock.
            They cross the hall and enter the room with the champagne fountain. A tall, craggy-faced fellow who was an invited guest by his costume stands waiting for them. There are several royal guards as well.
            The dead man has been removed from the pool and lies on the floor. The front of his shirt is wet with champagne. One of the guardsmen also reeks a little.
            "Vista of the Rangers, at your lordship's service," says the craggy-faced fellow. "Blister here found this fellow in the drink when he came in here to dummy walk the place. He tried to save him, but he was already drowned.  They grabbed me because I was close and senior, and I sent for Her Highness."
            Vista is at ease with the presence of royalty; he's not lacking in deference, but he's not awed by royals the way some of the commoners are.

Reid gives the body a once over looking for anything out of place, before rolling it over face down and performing a closer inspection on the back, neck & shoulders. "If he went in face first, as is evidenced by the liquid on his shirt, his attacker would have spun him and held him down from behind," he explains to anyone who's listening.
            "Our attacker would have gotten his hands wet, and as we can tell, the bouquet of this vintage is fairly strong. It's too bad most if not all of the guests have departed. Even then, with the chaos we've had elsewhere, an escape would have gone unnoticed."

Vista says, "That's what I thought, too, your lordship. I've already put word out among the guards and such that anyone who reeks too much of champagne should be put aside for questioning on the pretext that they may be too drunk to make it back down to the city. I don't know how much good it will do if the murderer slipped out early."
            Llewella says, "I almost hate to tell you this, but it's possible that a Rebman magician could have held him under without touching him. I think a magician from Gateway could have, too."

Reid scans the floor for wet footprints or signs of slashing from the fountain, which might lead him to his next course of action.

There's some splashing, which could be a sign of the struggle. Some of the glasses were knocked off as well. That could be from pulling Harga'rel out of the drink.
            Llewella adds for Reid's benefit, perhaps in case he didn't hear the approach, "Jerod is probably going to have to talk to his sister tonight, so he'll need to hear your initial conclusions."

"Which I will be interested to hear." Jerod says as he approaches.  "Don't eliminate any suspects simply because of family connections either.  That would include my sister." (he means Valeria).

"Tell Valeria that I'm working on it." Reid doesn't seem too pleased by the prospect, of either the work ahead of him, or the word of his lack of immediate success spreading too far.

Jerod does not appear inclined to do so, though for different reasons than Reid might suspect.
            Jerod does not get too close initially, instead looking over the whole scene for a moment to get an idea of the layout of the area, the fountain in relation to entry and exit points, areas of concealment, places people could have hidden and watched, either as witnesses or as the killer and possible accomplices.  "Is there any sign of magical activity?" he asks, having considered the mage approach.  "Who pulled him out?"

Reid kneels down in a dry spot and pulls out something to sketch on, then works on getting the overview committed to paper, and listens for the retelling of Vista's account, for any new information, or anything omitted.

"Can't say as I would know about any magical stuff.  What we have of that in Arden isn't safe to trouble with."  He shrugs.  "Blister was looking to see if anyone needed help getting out, as we were ordered to do.  Found his nibs here, not needing any help any more.  Blister pulled 'em out and tried to resuscitate him, but..."  He shakes his head.
            Blister is almost certainly the guard who has the most champagne on him.
            There is a gasp from the doorway.  Standing in it are Valeria and Kaia, the former's eyes are wide, while the latter's are narrow.

Jerod sees his sister but nods thanks first to Vista for his report.  Given the confusion of the situation, this is sizing up about as expected.  Then he quickly moves over to Reid and leans in to speak so only he can hear.
            "Keep your breakfast open tomorrow.  We'll talk about what Harga'rel spoke to me about previously.  And see if you can find out where Ambassador Harper is." Jerod says.  "She knew I was going to be speaking to Harga'rel.  In the meantime, I've got damage control now."
            Then, Jerod moves off to intercept his sister and the ambassador, to keep them from interfering with the scene and to give some comfort to his sister.

The ambassador stays in the doorway, taking in the scene.  Jerod's sister is making squid-line for her father's body.  She seems intent on getting to it.

Jerod stops her.  Unless she's a lot stronger and faster than she looks, she's not going any further.  He's not brutal about how he stops her - he works more to get in her way if that will do the trick, but if he needs to, he will physically take hold of her.  Out of everyone here, he's probably the only one who could get away with doing that, regardless of how strong they were.

Reid is visibly relieved that Jerod is going to keep the latest arrivals away from his crime scene. He turns back to the body without giving Valeria or Kaia a second look.

"There's nothing you can do here." Jerod says quietly.  "They need to investigate what happened."  There is sympathy in his voice for her, having been where she is now.

"Jerod, Let go of me.  Father..."

"...is dead." Jerod says, still quietly, the sympathy fading from his voice and hardening a bit.  His grip hardens as well, bringing her to a quick stop, the kind that can jerk a person's focus if done properly.
            "You can't help him now.  And if you go over there you'll interfere with finding out who caused his death.  If I have to I'll carry you out of here and you won't be able to stop me.  Don't make me do that Valeria."  The unspoken 'please' can be heard though.

Llewella comes up and puts her hand on Valeria's shoulder.  She offers the girl a handkerchief.  "Come, Valeria.  You can stay in my quarters tonight.  There's nothing you can do here and Jerod needs not to be distracted."

Reid makes no protests and continues to ponder the scene unless otherwise interrupted.

Jerod goes with Valeria... he does not intend to stay at this time.

Once the room has become less crowded again, Reid turns to Blister and gives him a once over. Not that people who find dead bodies in champagne fountains are always subjects, but, well, yeah, they are. Once he's determined if there's any more evidence on the guard's body, he turns to Vista and asks, "Could you find Ambassador Harper for me please? I don't think she'll have left yet."

Vista nods, very slowly.  "Aye, my lord.  We'll bring her here."

Again, his eyes sweep the room, landing briefly on Llewella any other guards still present, searching for anything out of place, or any undue reactions.
            Reid, too, sits and waits, looking between the scene at hand, the stonelike Vista, the waiting Lllewella and trying not to see who will blink first.

Llewella seems to be waiting to see if Jerod needs help with Valeria.
            Vista has walked to the doorway and squatted down in it.  Were he made of stone and perched atop a gothic building, he would look more like a gargoyle, but not by much.

Kaia and Llewella exchange glances at the doorway and the three of them enter the ballroom, now mostly cleared of people.  Jerod notices Jovian and Robin speaking, and sees a ranger, by the look of him, but not one known to Jerod, standing on the bandstand looking around. There are still servants and a few other people moving around, but the room seems very large and very empty.

Unless there is something radically unusual going on, Jerod does not intend to leave his sister alone for the moment.  He also notices the glances and is going to be curious as to what is up and curious to see whether Llewella tries to discourage him from coming.

Llewella does nothing to discourage Jerod.
            Valeria says to Kaia, "I'm not going back to Rebma. I'm going to stay here and find out who killed my father. You must return to Rebma in my place and tell Grandmother everything. Do you understand?"
            "Yes, Your Grace," says Kaia. Llewella gives her a sympathetic look. "I'll find Montage and Bend and advise them that they'll need to report to you in the morning. Your Graces and Highness," Kaia adds, and gives a half bow to the group before heading out to the outer bailey."

After Jerod, Llewella, Kaia and Valeria have left, Reid turns to Blister and says, "I thought they'd never leave."
            He turns to Vista. "Who'd you send after Harper? Ranger or guard [or perhaps snail]?"

Vista turns back to look at Reid. "Oh, couple of people. Lady Robin, Prince Julian. And Couth called ahead to let anyone down there know to hold her."  He sounds totally unconcerned by Reid's tone.

Reid is unconcerned by Vista's lack of concern.

"What do your years of experience with the rangers tell you about this scene. Anything I'm missing?"

"I don't know much about any magic being used to drown him, but if a man did it--or a maid--they'd stink of the stuff all right. Might also want to look for discarded costumes in case someone was wearing gloves," Vista says.

"Good point." Reid acknowledges. "Can you arrange for enough men to cover the necessary ground in such a search?"

He nods, laconically.  "I reckon I can, one way or another."

Reid does a mental count of the other unnamed guards in the room and considers giving them names. He may also be trying to determine if there are enough for any team sports or other activities to drive life into them.

There are only three guards, including Blister. Now that a royal or three has taken interest, there are several other guards outside, keeping the riff-raff away. The other two guards, Reid catches, are Spend and Shear.

Failing anything more productive, he'll drink from the fountain that recently had a dead body in it. "It's clean," he sniggers at any guards who look at him crosswise, "he was a noble..." Turning to Blister again, "Nice vintage, but not as much body as one might like. Perhaps that was the motive..."