Critical List
Sable Palace, June to July SY151
Day One
I've never truly appreciated the phrase 'things happened too fast' quite so much before. One moment I was arguing with Paolo, the next Troilus was down and Delatz was present, and then the lead started flying, most of it at me. It went straight through my magical shields, which surprised me more than hurt in the first instance. But then the pain hit, and was nothing like I had ever experienced. I've been shot before in my long and varied career, more than once, but never like this. Moreover, the last time I was at the business end of a machine gun my shields held, whereas this time I was being treated to the full effect of ten bullets a second.
As I fell backwards, it was as if I could feel each individual projectile burying into my very being, interfering with and blocking my fundamental abilities, and yet I barely felt the impact as I hit the floor. The last things I was consciously aware of were that my head felt like it had been split open, my entire body felt lacerated, and my inherent abilities as a shapeshifter were doing nothing about it.
Then there was darkness, although there was a strangeness to it as if I was suspended between life and death. Some moments it was as if I was on the brink of waking up, and yet I couldn't do it, and then almost immediately all I wanted was to be gone and free of the pain. I felt rather than heard voices, and somewhere in my subconscious realised that I ought to be dead and back in my Pattern. And yet that wasn't happening, and I could feel vain attempts to heal me. Then there was a flare of a Pattern not my own, close at hand and yet beyond my reach, and then, finally, I felt the familiar aura of my own creation. And yet I couldn't have been recalled, as every fibre of my being still hurt too much for that. Still, I was home, and I finally felt safe, and with that realisation I let myself go into the welcoming darkness.
* * * * *
"I'm sorry, Claire," came a half familiar male voice through the blackness. Still, at least the pain told me I was still alive. Just. "Most of the techniques I'm used to aren't working, and the damage is so extensive that I'm not even sure why he's still with us at all. Not that I'm complaining, I hasten to add. This Carl you mentioned must be a miracle worker."
"It's the bullets," answered my wife, her tone insistent but bordering on desperate, almost obsessive, "they're doing something to stop him healing himself. We need to get them out."
"I suppose we have nothing to lose," came the man's voice again, "he's sufficiently badly hurt that it's time for kill or cure so the procedures needed probably won't make it worse."
I heard her gasp, and the man instantly cursed when he realised what he had said.
"That didn't come out right," he said, quietly, "Claire, I'll do what I can - you know that - but please don't take this the wrong way when I say that you can't be here."
"Why not?" she protested.
"Because you're in no fit state to operate."
"Grandmother, he's right," came a voice I semi-recognised as that of my eldest granddaughter, "Gray's outside, and has..."
My tenuous grip on consciousness failed again and the blackness was wrapping itself around me once more.
* * * * *
I could feel the bullets hitting me again, and every single iota of the struggle my body was putting in to try to do anything about them. Nothing. Why did nothing work? In my mind I could hear voices, and slowly images began to form in the darkness. Paolo, first as himself then transforming into an inhuman monster in front of my eyes as he smiled and fired; Troilus, looking with surprise as the bolt of energy hit his chest; and most of all Delatz. His presence troubled me most, as I didn't even know why he was there. What had brought him to the scene there and then? Was he working with Paolo? It seemed unlikely, as my instinct was telling me that his actions in the Courtroom had been contrary to Paolo's designs. But in that strange, floating state, I found it impossible to work out if they had been contrary to mine. I had wanted Troilus out of there, out of danger. Delatz had acted, and as far as I could tell had killed him there and then. And yet, something was nagging at the back of my mind that all was not what it seemed, but I couldn't pin down what.
Then the images and thought processes began to repeat, and I could feel my subconscious slipping into a cycle of memory that the detached part of me which was a doctor of the mind was telling me would be very difficult to break.
* * * * *
"The dreams are back again," came a voice, "at best guess, they're repeating on a roughly half-hourly cycle. He seems completely focused on them and is drawn deeper and deeper into them each time they recur."
"Can't you do anything, Gabriel?" the man I had heard before replied, "every time they replay he starts trying to escape from them, which means that his injuries are being strained by the violent movements. I'm also worried about the fever he's running, as I wondered if it might be related to the dreams."
"Malcolm, I'm doing what I can," came the answer, "but I've never had to work with a mind as strong as his, even if his shields are in rags. I'm not sure if I'm helping or causing more harm. As it is, the physical damage the bullets did to his brain is so severe that he's going to be lucky to be functional when he wakes up, let alone have all his memories. Hell, I honestly don't know how he's held on this long."
I tried to put faces to the names, but the only faces I could picture were the ones from my dreams.
"This is the King we're talking about."
"I know it's the bloody King," came the heated answer, "dammit, if it were anyone else I wouldn't even be trying, as I'd know it was a lost cause."
"Mer thinks that once we're sure that every last scrap and shard of the bullets is out of his body, he should begin to regenerate."
"Believe me, Malcolm, I truly hope..."
And then the faces, and the images, and the pain once again took away my awareness of anything outside my own body.
* * * * *
"How is he?" came Gray's voice.
"At least he's finally beginning to shift," Mer said, quietly, "albeit slowly. My guess is that he's through the worst of it, although he still seems plagued by the dreams."
"Have we any more idea what they are?"
"Gabriel says that when he's been inside grandfather's head he's been seeing faces, and reliving the experience of being shot by Paolo. His subconscious seems fixated on them, which isn't really surprising under the circumstances."
"Is it safe to let Claire see him?"
"Probably, now," she answered, "physically he's stable, and the wounds are bound. I'm even detecting occasional periods when it almost seems as if he's about to waken, but then he fades again and I can't pull him back. What did they hit him with, General?"
"A substance called kregora," he answered, "it has the ability to block Powers of all kinds, including shapeshift. Even if she wasn't very rational about it, Claire was absolutely correct when she realised what it was and said you had to get out every last piece as soon as possible."
"We're relatively sure we've done that now, although as you know all too well, its taken several days..."
She paused, and then spoke directly to me.
"Grandfather?"
I tried to respond, to make some indication that I had heard, but my body was non-responsive.
"What is it, Mer?"
"For a moment I thought he was with us," she answered, and I could sense disappointment, "but there was no reply."
I tried once again to tell her otherwise, attempting to reach out to her mind, but a tidal wave of pain hit me and knocked me into oblivion once more.
* * * * *
Day Eleven
"Have you detected any more signs that he might be regaining consciousness?" Andrew asked.
"Nothing definite, sir," Malcolm answered, "although Gabriel and Mer have been taking shifts to watch him."
"What about Claire?"
"She's been here when she can be - she's exhausted, though, so I sent her back to her rooms for a couple of hours to get some sleep."
"Is he even still in there, Malcolm?"
"Of course I bloody am," I tried to send to him, relying on the link we had shared over so many years, which had slowly been coming back since he had built the Nexus, and then almost screamed as the backlash hit me. I heard a gasp from my son.
"Robert?" he asked, and I could feel his presence nearby.
"What is it, sir?"
"I could have sworn he just tried to make contact," he answered.
"How?"
"Mentally, magically, I'm not sure."
"Your Highness, the chances of that are very slim. The damage..."
"Malcolm, he can do mental tricks that neither of us can dream of," Andrew answered, "and the head wounds certainly appear to be improving, from what you've said. Maybe... send Mer for Claire. I think she needs to be here."
"But..."
"If you don't, I will," Andrew snapped, and I could hear the doctor leave. I hovered between conscious and unconscious for a while, heartened that I had managed to get any form of message out at all, and about ten minutes later I heard a commotion.
"Malcolm, let me though," I finally heard Claire say, and I tried to move my head towards her voice, very slowly to avoid a recurrence of the pain. I could hear her approaching me, and then I felt her hand on my forehead.
"The fever's not as bad," she commented, and I could hear a chair being brought up, "Andrew, what happened?"
"I'm not sure," came the answer, "I thought I felt his mental presence in my head, just for an instant."
"So you aren't even certain..." Malcolm began, his tone definitely underlain with anger, "Gabriel, do you want to throw them out or shall I?"
"Malcolm, it's alright," Claire said, quietly, "I'd rather be here if there's any chance Andrew really did feel what he thinks he did."
I bent my whole will - noting that it wasn't as strong as I was accustomed to - to opening my eyes, and finally I saw a crack of light from under my lids. I flinched slightly at the brightness, and Claire must have noticed.
"Robert, can you hear me?"
I concentrated again, focusing on her voice, and after what seemed like hours, I eventually managed to lift my eyelids and looked up at her. I could see streaks of old tears on her cheeks, and it upset me that I could. I tried to lift my hand, but it felt as heavy as lead. However, she saw what I was trying to do and took it in hers. I wanted to speak, but as yet that was beyond my ability.
"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me," Claire said, a note of urgency in her voice. It took me all the energy I could muster, but I managed it, and I saw an amazing smile cross her face. Just behind her, hand on her shoulder for support, I could see Andrew, who had also noted my gaze, and saw his serious expression relax slightly.
"What is it?" asked 'Malcolm', and I refocused my eyes towards the voice. After a few moments I recognised Malcolm Carlisle, head of the Palace Infirmary. Behind him were my granddaughter and Gabriel Steinbeck, the best mind mage in Sable besides myself and Mer.
"I think he's conscious," she answered, and even as I lay there, I could hear the happiness in her tone.
"What did you say?" Malcolm asked, his expression incredulous.
"I said I think he's conscious," she replied, sitting on the edge of the bed beside me, "Robert, talk to me."
I tried to form words, but couldn't. Instead I squeezed her hand twice, and tried to make a mental link with her. It hurt like the blazes, but after a couple of minutes I could feel her emotions: worry, relief, happiness that I had responded at all.
"What date is it?" I tried to send, although to do so was far from comfortable.
"June 17th," she answered, vocally, rather than mentally, "and you have no idea how good it is to be able to wish you a Happy Birthday."
She leaned over, and kissed me on the cheek.
Eleven days. I'd been out for eleven days. I saw stress and fear almost melting from her face. I would have laughed physically if I'd been able, but instead had to resort to expressing my amusement mentally. As I did so, however, I realised just how much even that light contact was taking out of me.
"Maybe I'll save the party until I'm up and about," I sent to her.
"I'll hold you to that, de Lacy," she answered, her tone lighter than it had been.
"I'd expect you too, my love," I replied, but I could feel my grip on the contact slipping, and a migraine which was threatening to split my head open, "Can't hold link... must sleep now." And let go of the contact.
"Claire?" Malcolm said, "speak to me."
"He's tired," she answered, "but he was definitely communicating."
I noticed that Andrew's expression was distinctly one of 'I told you so', which I guess was directed at Malcolm, and the doctor held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"One day I'll get used to what your family can do," he commented, his expression resigned.
"I wouldn't count grandfather as typical of us anyway," Mer said, quietly, slipping her arm into his and laying her head on his shoulder, and I found myself thinking what a fine couple they made, even after all this time.
Once again, Claire placed her hand on my forehead, and I could feel the coolness of the contact, and then I felt her sending me to sleep and was willing to go.
* * * * *
Day Thirteen
The next time I opened my eyes it was nothing like as hard as it had been before. Looking at my surroundings I was still in the infirmary, and I could feel that my shoulders were half-propped up on a pillow, which made looking forwards a little easier.
"Evening, Robert," Andrew said as he noticed. I tried to smile, and actually felt as if my muscles were beginning to do what I told them, "you've had us worried."
"I've had me worried," I managed to croak, and slightly relieved when I heard my own voice, "how long?"
"You've been asleep for about thirty-six hours straight - and proper sleep this time, rather than virtually comatose. Claire did a good job of putting you under. She's been here a lot of the time, but she's resting at the moment, and this time I won't get Malcolm to disturb her. I imagine asking you how you feel won't be appreciated."
"Like I was mown down by an Uzi on full auto," I answered, weakly, "Christ it hurt. How bad's the damage?"
"It was very bad. The only reason you're here at all is because of Carl, who seems to have braved bullets, Paolo and everything else to stop you from dying. I think he took you to Inverness first, and once you were stable enough to move he brought you back to Murray - apparently getting a Creator home improves the odds of his or her survival dramatically - and James and Claire brought you here."
"I owe him," I said, quietly.
"I got the impression he thought he owed you, for something in the past," Andrew answered, although for when I tried to recall when it might have been, I couldn't.
I propped myself up higher on the pillows so that I was closer to sitting, noting how weak I was as I did it, but considering it a small victory that I could manage it at all. My head spun slightly, but after I close my eyes for a few seconds, things began to stabilise.
"Initially, Gabriel and Mer were most worried about the serious head trauma, including the chunks of your skull which were missing. Malcolm's concern was the internal injuries and the lack of a number of functional vital organs."
"Ouch."
"But once they got the kregora out of your system, things started to improve - you'll have to teach me the shapeshifting trick one day, by the way, as I'm beginning to see the benefits."
"Willingly - assuming I ever get out of here."
"You will," he said, confidently, "but please don't drive Mer, Malcolm and Gabriel mad in the process. I know how bad a patient you are."
"Oh cheers," I answered, with a snort, but noting that my voice was getting stronger with use.
Then his expression changed slightly, "And I have a Hell of a lot of questions, but most of them can wait. I have to ask this, though. What possessed you to try a case in Thelbane, under Swayvillian Law, when you've always spoken against it in the past?"
"The answer to that one is for the life of me I can't remember. In fact, I'm not remembering a whole lot as yet, except for those last few moments in the Courtroom, which are graven on my mind and keep coming back. Any word on Troilus."
"Nothing."
"What about everyone else?"
"Later...now you need to rest and heal, and not worry about the Outside. William and James have everything in hand in Murray, and I'm talking to a variety of people..."
"Outside?"
"Yes, Outside."
"You swore blind that you'd never deal with any of the family again."
"Yeah, well, that kind of went by the board when a psychotic Italian bastard gunned down my father in cold blood," he answered, no trace of humour in his tone, "I'm going to get bloody Paolo if it's the last thing I do, and I'm willing to make the deals that will let that happen."
"Don't make promises like that, Andrew...even in jest."
"As if you don't feel the same."
"Oh, I do. I really do. I want to rip his mind from his body," I answered, sitting up slightly from the pillows, "but not today. I'm physician enough to know I've got a long way to go before I'm even walking. Still, the thought of turning him into a vegetable will sustain me until I can." And realised that I wasn't joking. He met my gaze and down at me and realised it too.
"You'd better not let the Oversight Council hear you talking like that," he said, alarmed, "however much you might think it."
"What could they do to me?" I asked, "strip me of my Powers? I don't think so. Throw me in prison? That isn't going to happen either..."
"Stop it," he snapped, "not funny, Robert."
"Not meant to be, Andrew," I answered, the coldness in my tone surprising me. "Enough," he said, with an air of finality, "you need to rest. Try to do it without thoughts of vengeance in your mind."
"Andrew, right now that's about all I can think of. I know the basics - who I am, who you are, where I am, who the rest of the family are...and maybe even who one or two people I've seen are, like Gabriel and Malcolm. But at the moment I'm not remembering much else."
"Then you definitely need to rest and let your brain continue healing," he said, concerned, "literally. When did you last walk the Pattern?"
"I do it most mornings when I'm Outside," I answered, "I know what you're thinking, and yes, when I'm well enough that's a solution. But it's going to be a long time. Right now, me and my vengeance is about it. That and trying to figure out why Delatz grabbed your grandson."
He tensed, and a variety of emotions played over his face, before he finally answered.
"That's my vengeance. If he killed Elaine's son..."
"My gut feeling is he didn't," I answered, "although another of the things I don't remember, or can't explain is why I think that."
"We'll see," he said, flatly, "I'm going to have a word with Malcolm. You...sleep."
"You said it had just been thirty-six hours straight."
"And you need the same again," he said, "don't worry. One of us will be here whenever you wake."
"Yes boss," I answered, and laid myself back down again to try to follow his advice.
* * * * *
Day Sixteen
"You're looking better, love," Claire said as she saw me open my eyes. Prior to that, I had been half aware that she was there, sitting beside the bed, but hadn't quite had the energy to do anything about it. I did feel better overall, though - the migraine-like pain in my skull had reduced to a dull ache, and the pains in my torso, which had been constant since I'd first woken up, were beginning to subside. On the downside, the IV lines that were feeding me were beginning to annoy me, and I still didn't much feel like getting up and running a marathon, but I could tell I was on the mend.
"Thanks," I answered, taking her hand and kissing it, before holding it in mine, "I'm still not sure I'm counting days right but at least I don't feel to be at death's door any more."
"If it's any consolation, both Mer and Malcolm are amazed at how fast you're recovering. It's been about five days since you first woke up, over a fortnight since you were shot, and a lot of the external injuries are all but gone now. You're going to have some interesting scars, unless you consciously get rid of them, though. The internal injuries aren't all healed yet, but they're certainly well on the way - hey, you even have most of your vital organs back...Malcolm thought it would be a good couple of months until that happened."
"Maybe that extra effort I put into improving my shifting is finally paying off now that the kregora is gone."
"I would say so," she answered, from a position of authority given her skills both as shapeshifter and surgeon, "Oh, and Andrew says you're back to your usual argumentative self."
"I think he's being a little harsh..." I said, feigning hurt, "I merely tried to explain to him what I wanted to do to Paolo."
"So I heard," she replied, and her expression darkened, "Robert, he said you were very odd about that." "The bastard tried to kill me with extreme prejudice," I answered, "how am I expected to feel about him? Oh, Paolo? So sorry to offend. It must has been my fault that you shot me, so I forgive you?"
"No, but..."
"Claire, I don't want to talk about it," I said, as firmly as I could manage, which was a lot better than the last time I was awake, "Paolo owes me big time, and I intend to collect. End of story."
She looked as if she was about to say something in response to that, but then thought the better of it.
"Yep, he was right about argumentative," she said, finally.
"Snarl," I answered, more lightly, then changed the subject, "How's the Outside world?"
"No," she said, firmly, "No, no, no, no, no. Forget about the Outside. Andrew, William and James are marshalling the troops out there and keeping things in order in your absence. Your main job is to keep getting better"
"Okay, now I know there's a conspiracy to keep me in the dark. Andrew said almost exactly the same thing to me...how long ago...?"
"Three days," she answered, "you've been sleeping again since. It's the best way for you to heal: if you're sleeping you can't try to influence your body to do anything too major, too fast. With injuries like yours, slow and steady is the way to go."
"No, normally, with injuries like mine - if they were as bad as I think they were - I'd have been buried a week ago," I answered, trying to sound light-hearted, but it was obvious that she didn't appreciate the joke. I sighed. "So, to sleep, perchance to dream, eh?"
It certainly hadn't been the most restful sleep - unlike before, when she had knocked me out - as this time the faces had been back. And the bullets. And occasionally images of Paolo the monster with his expression slack jawed as I destroyed his mind in retaliation - although those bits were almost enjoyable.
"Preferably not," she answered, "Gabriel's been worried about those, but naturally wouldn't go into details...patient doctor confidentiality and all."
"It seems like a lot of people are worried about a lot of things. Which leads me back to my original question...despite your valiant efforts to divert me from the subject...What aren't you telling me? What else happened in that Court Room? Has Troilus's body been found...is that what you're all afraid to say?"
"No, there's been nothing more on Troilus," she said, quietly, then added, her tone firmer, "and as for anything else. Right now, it's not your concern."
"So there is something else..." I pressed, and she frowned.
"You're impossible," she answered, a trace of impatience in her voice, "the only other thing I can immediately think of is that Andrew was also talking about some business he and Will O'Connor have in the Technocracy. Something about commissioning the De Lacy Space Fleet."
"Excuse me?" I said, almost sitting bolt upright in surprise, until I realised that that was a bad idea and let myself lean back again.
"That's what he said. Why I have no idea. He mentioned something about Shadows."
From the way she said it, I didn't think she meant multiple worlds, but what she was referring to was beyond my ken, save that the word made my blood run cold with some kind of primal fear that I felt I should damn well understand. Obviously that showed on my face, and I could see that it worried her.
"Love...?" "Blast it," I said loudly, frustration in my tone, "that should mean something to me, and it doesn't. Did he say any more?"
"Not to me," she answered. She paused a moment, her expression thoughtful, and then asked, "Robert, how bad is your memory loss? Andrew said you'd discussed it, but he seemed unwilling to go into details, as he gave the impression you thought it was temporary. A degree of amnesia is to be expected after such severe head trauma, and Gabriel has said that there is certainly something amiss, but he isn't sure how badly as he's been concerned about those dreams, as I said."
"Would I be right in describing the massive head trauma none of you - except Andrew, who said it with way too much glee, so he might have been joking - seem to want to go into details of as major skull damage and severe brain injury by virtue of multiple bullet impacts? Sufficient that a persistent vegetative state should have been all I had to look forward to?"
She looked surprised. "How...?"
"A) I'm a doctor...and a doctor of the mind, at that. And B) I heard things while I was unconscious - I'm not sure if they were real, but it seemed as Malcolm and Gabriel were discussing things in those terms of severity."
"Go on."
"Well, my memory loss isn't quite as bad as the damage would suggest," I answered, and she looked as if she was going to strangle me, but I gestured for her to let me finish, "but it isn't at all good."
As I said that, her expression became deeply concerned.
"On the positive side, I'd like to think I'm reasoning and communicating, and I think I should completely recover physically, given time." A guarded nod. "I'm managing identities relatively well, all things considering - better than many amnesiacs." Another nod. "I still seem to be able to talk like a doctor, and can lie here and analyse what's wrong with me, so that knowledge still seems to be around." Another nod. "And I remember what happened immediately around the time I was injured. So not brilliant, but better than nothing. A lot better than where I should be a fortnight after receiving such injuries."
She squeezed my hand, her expression sympathetic. "I'm so sorry."
"No need to be sorry," I answered, "once I'm fit and healthy again, there's a way to get it all back - well, all but the last couple of days before I was hurt, and that's probably as good as I can expect - it's pretty normal under the circumstances. It's just that for now, you're going to need to bear with me."
"You seem so sure..."
"It's one of the reasons I take a stroll in the basement most mornings when I'm dealing with the Outside," I replied, "honestly, Claire. It will be okay. It just needs time."
"I'm going to have to trust that you're right, Robert," she said, quietly, kissing me on the forehead.
"I know I am," I answered, trying to put as much confidence into the statement as I could.
With that, I lay back down again, my wife's hand in mine, and we sat for a while like that, until I finally drifted off to sleep once more.
* * * * *
Day Twenty-Three
Over the next week, once word got out around the family that I was capable of something approaching an intelligent conversation, pretty much all of the family resident in Sable called in to see how I was doing. Even Wilhelm put in an appearance, although Malcolm was very firm that his bodyguards should wait outside the door, but there was no sign of Rupert - for gloating, sympathy or otherwise - and that slightly concerned me. I was relatively sure he was in Sable, rather than Outside, but what he was up to I had no idea. Never a good state to be in, but there was little I could do about it there and then.
During the week I took it easy, reading a little when I could to pass the time. As I rested, I could feel my strength returning, and soon most of what I was still experiencing was the hangovers from my injuries, rather than the injuries themselves. By Day Ten after my first foray back to consciousness, I surprised my physicians by insisting on tucking into a non-IV meal, and shortly after that, rather against their wishes, I finally tried to get out of bed and walk around the infirmary. I managed it, just, but I was surprised by how weak I still was, and how quickly I tired, although the doctor in me put it down to the fact that I hadn't been eating much up until then, and not eating does do strange things to a shapeshifter's physiology.
The downsides were the frustration I was beginning to feel that my memory still doggedly refused to return, and my inability to concentrate for long periods of time without the headaches coming back. And as soon as I felt up to it, pacing the infirmary impatiently became part of my daily routine, much to the annoyance of my physicians.
"Any ideas why nothing's coming back, Gabriel?" I asked the young mind mage when he came to check in on me, a couple of days later, "and why I can't even read for more than half an hour at a time."
"Besides the obvious? That your grey matter was riddled with holes less than a month ago," he answered, with a half smile, knowing that by now he didn't need to hold his punches when discussing what had happened, "Robert, you're in a way better state than I ever expected you could be again when you were brought in. I'd have laid money on it that you'd never walk, talk or think again, and yet look at you."
"So I was telling Claire," I replied, "but it's beginning to drive me mad. I'm so used to remembering everything, and relying on that to some degree, and yet currently I'm still in the dark about so much. And not even being able to read to try to remind myself seems like adding insult to injury."
"Both she and Andrew have mentioned that you have a solution for that," he commented.
"Yes, but not until I'm 100% fit again, and even I know that's still going to be a couple of months."
"Look on the bright side. Three months from death's door to 100% is bloody good in any book, even if you are one of those annoying people who normally just never gets sick," he answered, and while I instinctively knew he was trying to cheer me up, it didn't help. "Look, Robert, I can carry on working with you, to see what we can retrieve if you want. Andrew has also suggested someone else who may be willing to assist, and has offered to go and fetch him."
"At this point, I'm happy to listen to anyone who might be able to help," I answered, slamming my hand down on the side of the bed in frustration, and unaccountably I saw him grin. "What?"
"Claire told me that you were a lousy patient. I'm beginning to see what she means."
"I want to be out of here," I answered, "I'm getting stir crazy."
"I'll talk to Malcolm, and maybe he'll let you go back to your quarters. After all, you've recovered beyond what we need you to be in here for...especially if last night's rare steak is anything to go by. You're going to have to promise not to overdo anything, though, and one of us will check in on you every day."
"Agreed. Just get me out of here."
"As Your Majesty commands," he replies, his expression impish.
"You know, if I were a harsher monarch, I'd take you to task for not treating your duly anointed King with the proper respect."
"But you aren't, and we both know it," he answered, "I'll go and talk to the boss."
"Thanks, Gabriel," I said, and he headed for Malcolm's office. When he came back about ten minutes later, he was brandishing a piece of paper.
"Release orders. You're allowed to go back to your rooms, and if you feel up to it, you can venture out into the gardens occasionally. But swear to me that you won't do anything else."
"I swear."
He handed me the paper and then I saw him casting his eyes around the room.
"What are you looking for?"
"A wheelchair."
"No. No way. I'm not being wheeled around my own palace like an invalid."
"Robert, you are an invalid."
"Give me a bit of a break."
"We're letting you out. What more do you want?" Under the tone of joking, I heard something slightly harder.
"Surely I can transfer the quick way from here."
"Magic? I wouldn't recommend it," he replied, and suddenly he was deathly serious.
"Why?"
"I'm not sure you're up to the strain."
"What strain is involved in a simple teleport?" I asked, surprised.
"Think about it. The way we mages function is to draw on our inner reserves, both mental and physical."
"So?"
"So yours are nothing like as strong as even one of us mere mortals right now, let alone what you're used to. You're walking, but admit it, it's an effort. And the state of your memory is of concern to both of us...there's obviously still damage otherwise you'd be remembering more. In all conscience, I couldn't sanction you risking setting your recovery back. So if you want to leave, you do it on my terms. And that includes no magic...or any of the other neat little tricks the Royal Family can do...until Malcolm, Mer and I are happy that you're up to it."
I considered arguing, but eventually consented. Then I suggested, hopefully, "You could always give me a lift home."
He pondered a moment, and then finally conceded. "I'll compromise on that."
He put his hand on my shoulder, and triggered a teleport, and instantaneously we were outside mine and Claire's suite.
"I'll see you later, you troublemaker," he said, half joking, half serious, and headed back towards the public wing of the palace, leaving me to head inside on my own.
I crossed the lounge and opened the window beside the door onto the balcony, which looked onto the central courtyard. The brightness of the sun caused me to blink after the curtained gloom of the infirmary, as my eyes reacted, but more slowly than I was used to. I could see Mer in the courtyard, talking to John's wife Cathy, and from where I was standing, I could just make out the golden darts of the fish in the fountain. I pulled a chair over to the window - which took much more effort than normal - and was actually quite relieved to sit down as I sank into it.
I must have dozed off, because I was awakened by the light touch of a hand on my shoulder.
"Welcome home," Claire said, and bent down to give me a long kiss. Then she lent over the chair back, her forearms resting lightly on my shoulders.
"It's good to be home," I answered, "I wish one of you had sprung the no-magic rule on me earlier, though."
"We didn't realise you were about to try and use it," she answered, "don't worry. Hopefully it shouldn't be for more than a couple of weeks, maybe a month. We want to keep an eye on you to make sure you carry on recovering at the same speed."
"So what you're actually telling me, is that I haven't really been checked out of jail at all...I just have a much prettier jailer."
"Live with it, de Lacy," she answered, without a trace of remorse, "and I'm sure everything will come right."
* * * * *
Day Twenty-Five
Two mornings after I was freed from the infirmary, I was sitting by the open French windows out onto the balcony outside the Royal Suite, when there was a knock on the door.
"Enter."
The door was opened by a familiar looking woman, but a nagging in the back of my mind made me think that she wasn't a usual resident of Sable. I was still trying to place her when she spoke.
"You're staring, Robert," she commented.
"Sorry," I answered, "I..." and then the penny dropped - it was Claire's sister, Sian.
"I was surprised to see you," I continued, realising that she wasn't that frequent a visitor to my end of the universe, preferring to be in Aurellis with Roland and his system, "What brings you to Sable?"
"I've been looking after things around the palace, while my little sister has had other things on her mind," she replied, then smiled at my puzzled expression, "you know, like the fact that her husband's been at death's door for three weeks."
"It was good of Roland to spare you," I commented, and saw an odd expression cross her features.
"You don't..." She paused before continuing. "No, you don't. They said I shouldn't mention it."
"Mention what?" I asked, slightly impatiently, "this sounds like another manifestation of keeping poor invalid Robert in the dark."
"No I mustn't..." she answered, as she sat down on the chair opposite me and attempted to change the subject, "you're looking better."
"So people keep telling me," I replied. Looking in the mirror to shave that morning, I had seen that most of the outward signs of my visible injuries had gone - albeit that there was some scarring disappearing from beside and above my left ear back into the hairline, which had now pretty much grown back. Short hair still wasn't for me, "but it's what people aren't telling me that is beginning to concern me."
"I think they're just worried for your well being," she protested, weakly, although her heart didn't seem to be in it.
"Neither my well being nor my continued survival seem particularly in doubt, now," I retorted, then regretted the sharpness of my tone, "Sorry, Sian. I shouldn't take my frustration out on you."
"I just wish that none of you had ever stepped Outside again," she answered, "if you'd all stayed in here, as I wanted you to, this wouldn't have happened." She paused a moment, then said, finally, "Dammit. I am going to tell you. After all, it's my husband as well!"
"Roland? What's wrong with Roland?" I asked, suddenly concerned.
"Paolo has him," she answered.
"Excuse me?"
"Paolo took him when he left the courtroom."
"He's a prisoner?" A nod. "Why didn't he fight?"
"He used himself as a diversion to give Gregory time to get away."
"Is he okay?"
"As far as I know," she answered. She paused a moment, obviously considering whether to continue, and then took a deep breath. "He isn't the only prisoner."
"What?"
"Paolo also took Nimue and Art von Mecklenberg. Art was badly hurt in the process."
"That bastard Paolo left that room with three Creators as hostages, as well as having taken me down?" I repeated, making sure I'd heard right. In reply she nodded, and I could see her eyes becoming tearful.
"Oh, Sian. I'm so sorry," I said, more quietly, and crossed to her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder which she covered with her own.
"It's not your fault, Robert," she replied.
"Maybe if I hadn't argued with Paolo...if I'd surrendered Nimue's children, rather than challenging him..."
"Don't be silly," she answered, "you followed your conscience...if you hadn't you wouldn't have been true to the man Claire knows and loves."
"But still..." I gave her shoulder a squeeze, and she smiled weakly up at me
"But still nothing," she answered.
"Has anything been done to free them?"
"I believe William and Andrew are talking with the Mecklenbergs, who are about as keen for blood as they are. Michael has been speaking with Alana. But..."
"But what?"
"But I'm afraid for him," she answered, "Art and Nimue I care less for, as they seemed to bring this on themselves - Art smart-mouthed Paolo, even after he had his ear chopped off - but Roland...I know what Paolo's capable of, Robert. I don't want my husband sent back to me in weekly parts."
"I can certainly see that Paolo could be a serial killer..." I said, before I realised what I'd said. I looked at her, and she met my gaze, and then unaccountably she burst out laughing. Then, before I could help it, I was doing the same and the tension was broken. Claire hurried in a few moments later, worried at the unaccustomed noise, and found us still trying to control the helpless and completely inappropriate, laughter.
"What happened?" she asked, her expression unamused, "he's supposed to be resting."
"Sorry, love," I answered, "I said the wrong thing..."
"Actually, it was probably exactly the right thing," Sian answered, drying her eyes, then looked up at Claire, "your husband's twisted sense of humour appears to have survived unscathed."
Claire just looked at the pair of us, baffled.
"Tasteless joke," I explained, "and unintentional at that."
"Hmm..."
Sian rose at that point. "I should probably be going..."
"No need on my account," Claire began to protest, but Sian held up her hand to quieten her.
"I need to go and think some things through."
"Sian, I promise I won't do anything to risk hurting him," I said to her, and she nodded, before heading for the door.
"Hurt who?" Claire asked, warily, turning back to face me.
"Roland."
"She told you," her tone flat.
"Someone was going to eventually," I answered, "what were you afraid of? That I'd go off half-cocked and do something stupid?"
She nodded.
"Please, give me credit for some intelligence," I replied, "I know I'm not at full strength yet. I also know that until I am, I don't intend to do anything. But when I am..." I paused, then asked "Do you know what William and Andrew have planned? Are they going to war?"
"Andrew certainly favours it. William...I'm less sure, although he will if he feels he needs to."
"I think that perhaps I need to talk with them to find out what their current thinking is," I said, staying her protests, "talk, nothing more."
"I'll let them know," she answered, "oh Robert. I was hoping to spare you this. At least for a little while."
"Roland is my friend, and Nimue is my niece - however much I disapprove of her choice of husband. I don't want to see either of them hurt in the crossfire once everything hits the fan. What is the state of hostilities?"
"The Pope has declared Spain a Papal State, and there have been attacks on one of the Mecklenberg worlds, although I don't think that was Paolo. I think it was the Shadows."
"That's the second time you've mentioned Shadows, and I'm no closer to understanding what you mean."
"But you've been involved in some of the planning against them..." she began, then stopped, "you don't remember, do you?"
I shook my head, idly noting that to do so didn't hurt for the first time since I had awakened.
"I'm very much an outside party to a lot of the family politicking, but from what I've heard - and from what you've said - stopping the Shadows is much more important than fighting Paolo."
"However, I imagine they've never gunned me down in cold blood."
"Not yet," she replied, "and I hope they don't."
"Paolo made me his enemy, Claire. I intend to see payback."
"I know," she answered, "and I know you too well to truly believe otherwise. But remember what I've said - don't lose sight of the bigger picture."
"I won't," I promised, "but get word to Andrew and Will for me."
"Of course," she answered, a little reluctantly, "you should also talk to Kita."
"Kita?" I asked, dredging the face of a Eurasian woman from the mire that was currently my memory.
"You know," she answered, "your daughter."
"I know Kita," I answered, although I was still trying to place her to some degree, "but I don't know why I need to talk to her. She has her own life and her own business..."
"And she's been asking to see you," came the reply, "in fact, she called in a couple of times while you were still in the infirmary. She says she has something for you from the Council of Nine, whatever that may be."
I shrugged. The name was unfamiliar.
"If she wants to drop by, then maybe I'll find out what it is she wants. In the meantime, I have a feeling I need to get better quicker...it seems like too much is happening Outside for me to be trapped in here."
"You promised you'd let yourself recover," she protested.
"Oh, I intend to," I answered, "but if I remember correctly, I can make Sable faster relative to the Outside, so while I have time to heal here, less time will pass out there."
"That would involve you using your Powers. And you agreed not to do that only yesterday, when Malcolm let you come home."
"I'm going to have to do it eventually," I replied, "and at least this one is instinct...part of my link with this place...rather than actually having to use the parts of my mind that are still healing."
"Just be careful, love," she said quietly, kissing me as she did, "I'll see if I can reach Andrew and Will."
"Thank-you, Claire," I answered, squeezing her hand, and then watched as she headed out once more.
Then I settled back in my chair and started feeling for the link I have with my world to try to make the time flow more favourable.
* * * * *
Day Twenty-Six
I dressed and ventured downstairs the following day - pleased to note that I was considerably stronger even than when I had left the infirmary three days before, and could pretty much walk without looking and feeling as if I was about to fall over. After ordering coffee from one of the servants, I settled down in the library to read - even that was easier now - which is where Kita found me about an hour later.
Of my various children, Kita Hoshi was the one I had had least contact with: she and I moved in different circles, and it was rare that our paths crossed, which is why I had been surprised when Claire had mentioned that she wanted to see me.
I had only discovered that she was my daughter by chance, when we had had dealings back before Sable was created. She certainly hadn't been particularly forthcoming on the subject of her mother, and I had never pushed the issue - during my one spell in Japan I had little recollection of playing the field, as I had been in the relationship with Thérèse at the time, but beyond that I couldn't figure out when I might have met her mother, unless it had been during the wild years of the Roaring Twenties, much of which I couldn't recall before I was ever suffering from lead-induced memory loss. Still, the fact that she had walked the Sable Pattern confirmed the blood link between us, and so we left it at that.
"Konnichi-wa, Roberto-san," she said as she entered, with a slight bow of her head, "how are you feeling?"
"Better, Kita-san," I answered, "much better."
"I am glad to hear it. I was shocked when I heard what had happened."
I couldn't help smiling. "Probably not as shocked as I was," I replied, lightly, which made her chuckle, "Claire said you wanted to speak with me."
"Yes. I have been asked to give you something by Konrad, and Caryll of Egypt."
Puzzled, as neither name was familiar, I waited while she reached into her pocket and brought out a flat velvet box. This she handed to me, with an expression which indicated that she thought I would be expecting it, and then sat down in the leather armchair opposite the one I was occupying by the fireplace. I lifted the lid to find a bracelet lying on the satin cushion inside. Still none the wiser, I looked up at her, and noticed that round her left wrist was a similar piece, next to her Aurellis ID bracelet (the latter by virtue of the occasional job she did for Roland).
"This seems like an odd time for you to be giving me father-daughter bonding gifts," I commented.
"It is not from me," she answered, and I thought I detected a slight undercurrent of surprise at my reaction.
"Then who are Konrad and Caryll? And why did they want me to have this?"
"Caryll is one of the Mecklenbergs - Pharaoh of Egypt, I think, although he recently made some kind of pronouncement about someone else being Queen there. William has had dealings with him since the Sudan Crisis, as have I. Konrad is the head of the Council of Nine...surely you've met him?"
I shook my head: neither description was ringing bells. "Right now, I'm not even sure what the Council of Nine is."
"I was under the impression that you were a member of it," came her response.
"Kita-san, I may well be," I answered, "but I honestly can't remember who they are or why I'm involved."
"Claire told me something about your memory being...damaged. I had not realised to what extent."
"Believe me, it's as frustrating from the inside," I answered, "perhaps you'd better start at the beginning. Why are they asking you to act as their messenger?"
"A few days ago I was invited to join the Council," she answered, "I am not sure why they asked me, but after they showed me what they were fighting, I agreed to do so - if only as some of the others they have asked seem very young and irresponsible, and therefore someone is going to need to keep them in order. Caryll thought I would see you again before he did, and therefore asked me to bring you the bracelet - apparently it has healing properties, and can shield against kregora to some degree."
"Pity they couldn't have provided that before I got filled full of the stuff."
"I suspect that it is partially in response to what happened to you that they have now been made available to the Council members. Caryll also gave me a ring - some kind of communications device, I think, but basically a ring of office - although he said you already had one of those."
She lifted her right hand, and I saw the ring on her middle finger. It did look familiar - I had a similar one in my quarters, although until that moment, I had had no recollection of where it had come from.
"That explains one of my many mysteries - yes, I do have one of those. It's upstairs."
"I suspect you're supposed to wear it," she commented.
I looked down at my hands - two signet rings, a wedding band and the gift from my father already adorned four of my fingers. Add to that the ID chain marking my status as Deity Without Portfolio in Aurellis, and the soon to be worn shield - if nothing else, because the idea of having some protection against the cursed substance appealed - and I was beginning to look like an advert for a jeweller's shop.
"Point taken, Roberto-san," she said, with a chuckle, as she followed my gaze, "Still, I'd suggest you at least keep it with you, in case they need to contact you."
"They probably won't succeed here," I replied, "we're a little off the communications network. But I'll bear that in mind - maybe keep it in my pocket or something. Tell me about the Council. Claire mentioned it yesterday, but wouldn't go into details - in fact, there seems to be a dearth of anyone willing to give me details about anything right now."
"They were founded to co-ordinate efforts to fight the Shadows. It seems as if this Council is a successor to other similar bodies down the ages."
"Down the ages?"
"The Shadows are a very old force. They..." she broke off for a moment, as if considering something, then continued, "...it might be easiest to show you, rather than tell you."
"How?"
"To take a leaf out of your book, through a mind link."
"You would mind link with me?" I asked, a little surprised at what she was suggesting. That was a level of familiarity and trust she had never shown towards me before.
"As part of my initiation onto the Council, a rather unpleasant and very demanding being called Kosh downloaded the history of the Shadow War into my head - in among torturing one of the Mecklenbergs."
"Torturing...? Aren't we supposed to be the good guys?"
"Apparently they were afraid he'd betrayed them to the Shadows," she answered, a lack of sympathy in her tone - although I knew she could be very dispassionate, or she wouldn't be as good at what she did as she was, "and in fairness, he made it worse by smart-mouthing the said Kosh."
"Smart-mouthing people who want to hurt you seems to be the in thing at the moment," I commented, thinking back Sian's comments about Art von Mecklenberg. Boy did there seem to be a lot of that family.
"Are you speaking for yourself," she asked, mildly.
"Not intentionally," I answered, although thinking about my conversation with Paolo before the lead started flying in the Courtroom, I could see why she was asking. "Touché."
She gave a wry smile, then commented: "If we do link, you'll need to guide me...despite being a mage, I know there's no way I can get into your head on my own."
"Actually, right now it's probably relatively easy," I answered, noting her surprise at the admission - I still hadn't had the mental discipline to restore my shields, and was therefore much more mentally vulnerable, than normal "but I'll try to guide if you do the work. You are sure about this?"
"It would seem that mutual trust is in order - if you are as weak as you say, then you must trust me not to take advantage of that; and in return, I do this knowing that if you're lying, you can destroy me."
"Trust has to start somewhere," I acknowledged, "here and now are as good a place and time as any. Physical contact between us will make this easier, so I suggest you take my hand."
She leaned forward in her chair and did so, and I cautiously felt her establishing a mental link with me. Compared to my own mental strength, she was relatively weak: had I been on form, she would never have reached into my head without my co-operation. In this instance, though, I could feel pressure in my head as she made the link, probably a holdover from the damage I had taken. Still, soon we had a functional connection.
"He hurt you badly, didn't he," she said, quietly - almost sadly, "he must have done for you to be so open to me."
I nodded.
"You will recover, Roberto-san - I know you will," she added, firmly and with unexpected emotion in her tone - I had the impression that she was actually concerned, "are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," I answered.
With that, she began to send me the images of wars fought and barely won, and an implacable enemy who kept coming back for more, as well as information on the most recent incarnation of the Council formed to fight them - and her feeling that at least some of them were too immature for the responsibilities they had been given. I channelled the images away from those memories of my own I had access to, with the intention of going through them later, when I had some time to think.
I'm not sure how long the connection lasted, but eventually the images faded and we let the link subside. I could feel a headache building behind my forehead, but decided to try to ignore it until after she'd gone, as the stubborn part of me felt I had shown enough weakness for one day. However, as the link dropped I realised that something in our relationship had irrevocably changed: we had trusted each other, and neither of us had broken that trust.
"Now you know as much as I do," she said, releasing my hand.
"It'll take me a while to process the information," I said, finally.
"It took me a while, too," came her reply, "when you're ready, I'm sure Konrad will be pleased to see you back in the fight."
"From what you've shown me, I might be needed," I replied, "still, at least now I understand why Andrew is building a space fleet."
"Of our family, he is the one best qualified to do so," she answered.
"Our family?" "The de Lacys, "she replied, "it seems that my relationship to you is more common knowledge than I had realised - certainly Konrad and Caryll were aware of it - so I suppose I might as well get used to thinking of myself as one of you."
I smiled. "Whenever you're ready."
"I think the time has come," she answered, "now, though, I must go...I have a meeting to attend Outside. "
With that she rose gracefully to her feet, and to my surprise she crossed and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead - a daughterly gesture I'd never seen before from her.
"Be well, Roberto-san, and keep on the path to recovery. Then hopefully, between us, we can keep the children on the Council focused on the job in hand so that we can all survive long enough to make a difference."
"Be careful, Kita," I said taking her hand briefly, and squeezing it, before releasing it once more, "if you're known to be one of my kin, people might use that against you."
"They're more likely to get a nasty shock if they try," she answered, smartly, only half joking.
And with that she turned on her heel, and headed out of the library, leaving me to consider what had just happened, process the information she had given me, and try to ease the headache that even that little use of magic, and not even mine, had left me with.