Relationship Advice
Amber and Elsewhere, Late-Spring
I headed back to Amber the following morning. Just then, I'd had enough of Germania and everything it stood for, and I found myself actually longing for the Family Pile and the quiet of the Castle Library. Gods help me, that doesn't happen often.
Trust me to pick the day when Bleys was officially proclaimed King of Amber, and I had to show up for his first Court. And bloody Hell was that adviser's chair uncomfortable with three broken ribs.
When it was done, and we'd returned to the relative quiet of the family wing, my father stopped me for a word.
"Are you alright, son?"
"Long week," I answered.
"You did the right thing yesterday. I'm proud of you."
"Right now, I don't feel proud of me."
"You did what had to be done, Ian. And you proved to me that I can rely on you to make the difficult choices. That's important to me."
"Thanks for the pep talk, Dad," I answered, and began to turn away, when he put his hand on my shoulder and gently turned me back to face him.
"Have you been to the infirmary?"
I looked at him, surprised. I'd been very careful not to mention my violent argument with Wolf since I'd got back.
"Please, son. I've been fighting wars for far longer than you've been alive, and seen a lot of friends hurt and killed. I recognise busted ribs when I see them. It's the way you move. Have you had them looked at?"
"The medics couldn't do anything. But I'll heal in a couple of weeks. One of the benefits of an Amberite constitution, eh?"
"Who was it? I'll have them arrested for treason."
"No..." I said, with a shake of my head, "no you won't. It was a private disagreement."
"Where's Wolf, Ian? I was surprised he wasn't in Court, today of all days."
"He's dealing with some stuff...as am I. Nothing to concern yourself about."
"Did he do this to you?"
"Please...let it drop."
"Alright...this time. But weren't you the one who said we were all in this together?"
"Hopefully, we both proved the truth of that in Germania," I answered, quietly, "may I be excused? I need a bucket of painkillers."
"Go," he replied, gently, and then crossed to talk to Auntie Fi while I headed up to my rooms to sleep.
When I woke up the following morning I still felt like shit. I carefully made my way to the bathroom and stood under the shower for a while, letting the water pummel the bruising for a bit to ease the overnight stiffness, then headed back to my rooms to dress. As I opened the door, however, I found a note had been pushed under it in my absence. I picked it up, threw it on the table beside the chess set, and then went through into my bedroom and put on a black silk shirt and a pair of smarter trousers. This morning, my staff would have to deal with the Lord Mayor saying to Hell with a business suit.
As I headed for the door, I picked up the envelope again and opened it. It contained a note wrapped around a Trump card. To my surprise, the card was of Marina. The Gothic handwriting on the note, however, was the last thing I wanted to see just then. With a sigh, I read it through to find out what Cousin Dieter wanted.
"So it is official, Your Highness.
Congratulations.
I will be presenting myself to your father, to offer my Oath of Allegiance, in due course.
However, I am also informed that you have been appointed to the new Pattern Council. If that is true, then I would make a small petition to you. I am not entirely sure how serious your relationship with my daughter is, but if there is any chance that it will end in her becoming known around Amber, she will need the protection the Pattern offers her. I would therefore formally request that she be given the opportunity to walk the Grand Design, at a time of your convenience.
I enclose her card so you can contact her directly.
Dieter."
I wonder if Marina realised that her father had just given me her phone number? More to the point, was the fact that her father had given me her phone number tacit approval of our relationship, or a typically political attempt at matchmaking? I quickly came to the conclusion that sadly, it was probably the latter. From what she'd said that afternoon in Berlin, and later at the Wewelsburg, he'd brought her there from Tenterden for the sole purpose of offering me 'comfort', so no doubt the wheels were already turning by then.
I shuffled the card into my private deck - the one my father had given me on our travels - and the letter into my pocket, and headed down the corridor to knock on Wolf's door, to see if he was around. No answer. But then, perhaps that wasn't entirely a surprise. His mood when we'd left Germania had been dark, and I could see him having headed home to Tenterden, to give himself time to think. I'd need to call him later, to make sure he was okay.
Thankfully, I wasn't descended on by a group of screaming debs as I entered the breakfast room. I got myself coffee and toast, then sat quietly in a corner, not wanting to deal with the Family just then. Obviously I sent out that vibe, as I wasn't bothered, and about twenty minutes later, I was making my way to the main gate, for my usual stroll down to the Guildhall. However, as I was about to leave the Castle precincts, I was stopped by a guard wearing Dad's livery.
"Your carriage is waiting for you by the stables, Your Highness," he said, firmly.
"I didn't order a carriage."
"New instructions, Your Highness. His Majesty requests that you refrain from walking into the City."
"Did he say why?" I asked, slightly annoyed, but checked that annoyance when I realised it wasn't the guard's fault. He would just be doing what Dad had said, which would no doubt have something to do with security, at least until Random was caught and punished. "Never mind. Have it brought around will you?"
He saluted smartly, and five minutes later, my transport arrived. It was one of the less obvious coaches from the Castle stock, without any visible arms or insignia, and was drawn by a pair of bay horses. Very nondescript. Definitely not the kind of carriage the newly-appointed Crown Prince Elect would be riding in. Which was presumably exactly why Dad had chosen it. With a sigh, I climbed aboard and settled back into the seat, secretly thankful for the respite. Being chief target and bottle washer was going to take some getting used to.
I spent most of the morning with the Infrastructure Committee, working on prioritisation for the programme we would need to get under way to start repairing the damage Random's repeated hailstorms had done to the City. Then I adjourned to my office to catch up on paperwork. However, when I reached into my pocket for a fountain pen, to start working my way through the accumulation of documents awaiting my signature a few days absence had generated, I found Marina's card again, and that got me thinking.
What exactly was our relationship?
When we'd first become lovers, after the Danzig bomb, I'd been Mikael Cuijper, and the world had been a far simpler place. The shock and adrenaline from our near-death experience had driven us together, and after that, on the times we'd met, it had been little more than a mutual scratching of itches. Friends with benefits, as they like to say nowadays. Hell, most of the time, we weren't even playing on the same side - she had been working for the GGR, and I most definitely hadn't - so even friends was a stretch, but somehow it had worked.
After Kirishi, I'd fully expected never to see her again, until I spotted her at one of the middle tables during the Pulitzer awards lunch the following April. When I'd gone over to greet her, she'd been no more than polite, but that night she'd sought me out in my hotel room and we'd renewed acquaintances. However, there was no time to explore where that might lead, as within a couple of weeks, my father had come back into my life, taken me to the Pattern, and everything had changed.
Mikael Cuijper's 'death' the following July, should have seen an end to it. And yet, to my surprise, as his empty coffin was interred in the cemetery in Pretoria, she had been there. More to the point, at my second staged funeral of the year - Ian Cushing's interment in October - she had been there too. I hadn't seen her, as I was busy being the corpse that time around, but Wolf had told me she was among the mourners when he let me out of the family mausoleum.
That October, secure that my new appearance would mean that I wasn't recognisable to anyone who knew me - after all, Ian Cushing was dead, and Ian Hawke looked to be in his early-thirties - I moved to the US, to study at Brown. Then, after graduation in 1985, I began working with the Institute for Conflict Analysis and Resolution in Virginia, to fund my Masters. I was surprised as Hell when Marina turned up for one of the Press Briefings. I was even more startled when she cornered me afterwards to discuss some of the points I'd raised. She used my current name, but I was left with the distinct impression that she knew exactly who I was the entire time.
And that had become the pattern of things when I was on-Tenterden. I would travel, first for the Institute and later, once I had returned to journalism, and surprisingly often, she would have been posted to my destination by her paper. Once was coincidence. Twice was getting fishy. Three times, and I was bloody sure she knew exactly who I was, and was following me around. Always in the background, was the fact that she still worked for Die Welt, was still a good little Party girl, and she still had sources which were way too accurate for a normal journalist, and yet somehow, we kept ending up in bed together anyway.
She never said anything, never referred to my past identities as Cushing or Cuijper, and more to the point, never brought the Gestapo down on my head, even when I ventured back towards the edges of the GGR. But it was the fact that she also never changed, much like myself, which first raised my suspicions that somehow she was related to Kasimir Ritter. For my own security, I kept a careful eye on the German papers, and every so often, I would see his picture. He was still head of the Ahnenerbe, and appeared as unchanging as me, or Wolf, or her. And then, one evening in Tbilisi, she sashayed into my hotel room and the light from the window hit her in such a way that I first saw the resemblance between them.
I asked her about it, but she laughed it off. However, after that, she was noticeably more careful about how and when we met, and rather than being casual lovers, we effectively began having a more serious affair, sneaking around as if one or both of us was married. Maybe that was when I first understood that I cared more for her than I'd realised. I caught myself missing her when I arrived on a new assignment and she wasn't there. I caught myself worrying when she was unexpectedly late for our meetings. And I caught myself wondering what Ritter would do to me when he found out.
He bloody well knew now, even if he hadn't before.
I finished up the paperwork, signing approvals where necessary, and sending some of the more bizarre proposals back to their originators for a second look, and then called for the carriage around two. Once I was back in the Castle, I went looking for Marcus.
"Ian," he said, looking up from his desk in the Castle Constable's office when I knocked on the door, "how goes it?"
"Strange," I answered, "this is quite an adjustment period."
"That it is. How can I help you?"
"Pattern Council."
"Yes, that one caught me out, too...although I suppose it makes sense. I very much doubt your father would have been happy allowing access to be solely in the hands of a pair of nephews, especially when one of them was Gérard's son."
"I've been asked to take a candidate downstairs. I wondered if you'd act as second."
"Anyone I know?"
"Not sure...but she is your niece, if it makes a difference."
"Niece?" he asked, and I could see the cogs whirring as he worked down possibilities. "On the theory that Geran or Dalt don't have daughters yet; Matthew just doesn't seem to be interested; and Rinny and Jorrah are a) too young, and b) out of town, that narrows it down to her being Dieter's?"
I nodded.
"I'm surprised at you, Ian. Associating with a psychopath like him. I wouldn't have expected it from your file."
"Yes, well...I wouldn't have expected it from my file either, but right now, he and I seem to be in each other's orbits, and reaching escape velocity is not proving easy."
"Good job on Random's troops, by the way. Grandfather would have approved."
"Does everyone know it was us?"
"Probably not everyone, but you and Wolf weren't the only cousins there," he answered, with a wry smile, "and while you two are reasonably discreet, not all of the others are."
I guess that's why he was tied up with the intelligence business, as well as the constable business.
"Who is she?"
"Her name is Marina. She and I have known each other for a while. Her father has requested that she be given access to the Pattern."
"And you're inclined to give it to her?"
"Yes."
"I'm guessing you haven't run this by Walter?"
"I thought I'd ask you first, as she's more closely related to you."
"Tell me one thing, Ian. Are we going to have this chat often? Are you planning to exercise your new rights as a member of the Pattern Council to run a steady stream of your cronies down there?"
"At this point, I don't have a steady stream of cronies to run," I answered, with a wry smile.
"I'm just asking, as it's the kind of thing your father would do."
"I'm not him."
"No...I suppose you aren't," he replied, then paused before adding, "why did Dieter ask you?"
"We've known each other a long time, one way or the other. And while he probably could have approached you, I'm on his radar currently. That and the fact that she and I have a...thing."
"Is that why you agreed?"
"It's not quite as cold as that."
"The screaming debs the other day got to you, didn't they?"
"Yeah."
"I know you don't enjoy adulation, but you should try to enjoy it before the full burden attached sinks in. As time passes, it will become lonelier at the top, more than imaginable."
"Trust me, Marcus. I'm already well aware of that."
He looked at me, pondering for a few moments, then nodded.
"I'll meet you at the top of the stairs at ten this evening."
"We'll be there," I answered, "thank you."
He nodded again, and I turned on my heel and headed back to my quarters.
Another dose of painkillers later, I dug Marina's Trump out of my pocket and gave her a call.
"Miska," she said, surprised, as she answered, "I didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Where did you get my card?"
"Dieter gave it to me," I answered, "Can I come through? There's something I need to talk to you about, and I'd rather do it in person."
I offered her my hand and stepped through to join her. I knew immediately that she was back on Tenterden, in her flat in Munich, and extended my senses to check for time flow versus Amber. It felt like it was running slow, which meant that Wolf wasn't here. I'd given him a token so that he could also control the speed of things if he wanted to, and he usually kept the place at close to Amber time. But if he wasn't here, where was he?
"Something wrong?" she asked, as she saw my puzzled frown.
"Probably nothing," I answered, speeding it up to match Amber, then returning my attention to her. Her expression was curious, as she tried to figure out what I'd just done, but when it became obvious that I wasn't going to enlighten her, she changed the subject.
"So, Crown Prince of Amber, eh?" she said, finally, "I bet you didn't see that coming five years ago?"
"Not so much. How much do you know about the Family Pile?"
"Only what papa has said...which isn't a great deal. But when I joined him on Germania the other day, he did mention that your status might be changing soon. When I asked him what he meant, he gave me the basics. How long have you known who your father was?"
"A while."
"You never talked about him."
"I didn't know that his name would mean anything to you, and until he came back to Amber, I hadn't seen him for over fifty years, so I didn't have anything to say. Neither did I learn that Dieter was my cousin until after I'd first got to Amber."
"What about while you were at medical school. If I've got my timing right, you knew by then. Why didn't you tell me? After all, we didn't spend all our time with you demonstrating your newfound knowledge of anatomy."
"I could ask you the same question," I replied, "you're his daughter, but you didn't exactly share that information with me."
"I thought you'd figured it out. You were the one who asked me about him, that night in Tbilisi."
"And you ducked the question...as usual."
"A girl likes her privacy."
"So does her lover."
She paused for a moment, before answering "Touché."
"It wasn't until Wolf told me the other evening, that I knew for sure."
"How is Wolf? He didn't seem to be doing so well."
"I don't know. I haven't seen him since we left Germania."
"You've not checked in with him?" She looked somewhere between surprised and incredulous, "What kind of father are you?"
"One who fucked up royally, and wants to give his child some space. I don't think he likes me very much right now."
"That was pretty obvious from your suite in Berlin," she replied, "but still...aren't you worried about him?"
"More than I want to discuss," I answered, firmly, "Let it drop, eh?"
"Alright. Coffee?"
"Thanks."
"Plant yourself, and I'll be back in a few minutes."
I collapsed thankfully into the soft, overstuffed couch, propping a down pillow behind my back, while she went ducked out to the kitchen. A few minutes later, she came back carrying a tray with a cafetière of coffee, and two mugs, and put them on the table by the couch.
"Still black?"
"It's the best way to appreciate it."
She poured, then handed me a mug of the warm black liquid. It smelt delicious. Then she sat at the other end of the couch, curled her beautiful legs under her, and looked at me.
"So how are you doing?"
"Still bruised. Still hurting."
"I wonder if it's psychological."
"Oh no. Those ribs were well and truly broken."
"I mean the fact that magical healing doesn't seem to be working. Of course, I'm not any kind of practitioner, but I've never heard of the cause of an injury affecting whether it would heal."
"Amberites are an odd breed. Most of the time we heal just fine, but occasionally, even we keep the scars."
"Like the gouge in your thigh."
"Yes. A permanent reminder of the first time I met your father."
"Why does it happen?"
"I don't know. Dad has a theory that it's something to do with the importance we put on how we got them. Life-changing experiences mark us."
"The scars on Wolf's wrists?"
"That's another example," I answered, but I found myself wondering when she'd noticed them. More often than not he wore long-sleeved shirts to hide them.
"I hope you're not telling me you're always going to have broken ribs. That would put a serious crimp in our sex life."
"Now that would be motivation enough for me to kick myself into touch and get over it," I said, with a wry smile, and was rewarded by her musical laughter.
But then she was suddenly more serious again.
"How are you holding up? Really?"
"Everyone keeps telling me we did the right thing. If I listen to them long enough, perhaps I'll start to believe them. After all, it was for the good of Amber, right?"
"Heavy is the head that wears the Crown?"
"Right now, given he's not actually holding the Coronation until next year, I give it evens that he might not stay in post that long," I answered, with a sigh, "but who knows, maybe I'm just a born pessimist."
She fell silent for a moment, then wisely changed the subject.
"You know I always like to see you, Miska, but it really hasn't been that long. So forgive me for asking, but why are you here?"
"Your father sent me a note," I answered, "has he ever talked to you about the Pattern?"
"Only in vague terms. I asked him once how he got from world to world and he muttered something incomprehensible. When I join him on Germania, it's always by Trump, but most of the time, he seems to want me to stay here on Tenterden. Maybe he's protecting me."
Or maybe he thought that I'd protect her on my home world. That was an interesting possibility.
"Well, now he's decided he wants to take that a step further," I answered, and handed her the note. She read it a couple of times before handing it back to me.
"It does beg a question," she commented, sipping he coffee as she thought, "What exactly is...well, whatever it is we have?"
"He's obviously got ideas about what he wants it to be."
"You're far more marketable than you used to be."
"What, than when I was humble Mikael Cuijper, slightly crumpled journalist?"
"Or Ian Hawke, lecturer at King's College. Or the venerable Ian Cushing."
"You say the sweetest things," I answered, deadpan.
"Well you are something like twice my age," she said, with a chuckle.
"Sad, but true," I admitted, although I was curious how she'd figured it out. But then, if she'd always known who I was, through all my various incarnations, I suppose it wasn't that much of a shock.
"So what are we?" she asked again, "after all, it's not as if either of us is monogamous."
Her tone was light, teasing even, but no doubt my expression wasn't quite as cavalier. The trouble was, I didn't know how to answer her question. I suspected I was still just a friend and lover to her, but I over the years, she'd become more than that to me.
"Are we?" she added, more cautiously.
"And yet we've kept coming back to each other for what...thirty years."
"Ian? When did you last sleep with someone else?"
"I'm told things got somewhat riotous at a bachelor party I was a couple of weeks ago," I answered, although given that I only had the others' word for that, and I'm not sure any of us were sober enough to notice, who knows if that was actually true, or just someone winding me up.
"And before that?"
"It doesn't happen all that often."
"You've never said."
"It's not as if I had a claim on you. And given that after Tbilisi we started sneaking around so no-one found out about us..."
"Which worked out so well."
"At least he hasn't hung me by the balls from the flagpole on top of the Great Hall of the Reich."
"That's back to marketable, my friend," she answered, with a wry smile.
Perhaps it was my turn for a subject change.
"So would you like to walk the Pattern?"
"Are there any strings attached?"
"Not from me. Although Dad might want an Oath of Allegiance at some point."
"And if I say yes? Will you start parading me around Amber?"
"Only if you want me to...but it would at least give us the option of taking things further if we wanted to. Dieter's right. It would offer you another measure of protection, which given that he isn't without his enemies, mightn't be a bad thing. Especially as my life is probably going to be under far more scrutiny from here on in. Hell, I half expect Dad to bugger off on Progress around Brandenburg, Parys and Chaos for months, and leave me holding the proverbial baby. And there's also the fact that if anyone wanted to cry War Crimes over either Rebma or Random's army, I'll be bang in the frame for it. I just hope to Hell I don't take him down with me when that comes out."
"They aren't War Crimes unless you lose," she pointed out, "then who follows in the Succession?"
"Wolf. And he was involved in both as well."
"But I'm sure, if you wanted to, you could swing that one in terms of you exerting undue pressure on him to participate because he was your son."
"The Nuremburg Defence? Probably. If he let me. It's not that far from the mark as far as the other day is concerned."
"And then?"
"My little brother John. And he has a lot to learn before he's ready to step onto the Succession stage."
"Why?"
"He reminds me a bit of your uncle Matthew. Lots of book learning, lots of training, but not that much experience outside the classroom. Even the projects Dworkin has Matthew working on are classroom projects, despite the fact that they affect whole Shadows, and I'm not sure he sees them as anything but intellectual exercises."
"Do you think I should walk it?"
"Yes."
"How soon can you arrange it?"
"This evening."
"Do we have time for dinner first?"
"Probably. It's what, six-thirty here?"
"About that."
"Then we have a few hours."
"Maybe dinner isn't what you have in mind?"
"Tempting as that is, food would be better. You'll need all your energy to survive a Pattern walk."
"Shame. Still, perhaps afterwards."
"We'll see."
She ordered take-out from a place around the corner, and once it arrived, we tucked into it with gusto, before she snuggled against me on the couch. However, we resisted the temptation to do anything else, and instead just sat there. It was almost domestic. And then, at about nine-thirty, it was time to move.
I wasn't sure I wanted too many people to see her, as no doubt there would be questions, so I suggested that she wear something nondescript, probably with a hood. Of course, I was still going to be pretty obvious, but I had one or two ideas of routes to the meet with Marcus which passed at least a minimum of people. It being ten o'clock in the evening would probably help with that, as the Family would likely be finishing dinner or drinking in the Library, and the day servants would have gone off shift.
Once she was ready, I brought out the Trump of the arrival area, and took us through. Then I pulled the brim of the baseball cap I'd borrowed from her (which inevitably had the Bayern Munich logo on it) down over my face, put a hand around her shoulder and we headed inside. I guided her through what I hoped were the quieter corridors, and we arrived at the top of the staircase at around ten. Thank the gods the family had departed by then.
"Shall we?" Marcus said, as he joined us, and we headed downwards.
Which was all well and good for the first few steps, while I introduced uncle and niece, but began to be a really bad idea about the time we got to the second landing. Maybe I should have thought a little harder about the combination of the Pattern Room steps and broken ribs.
"Are you alright?" Marcus asked, looking at me as I failed to nix a gasp of pain around the sixth landing.
"Give me a couple of minutes," I answered, and leaned up against the wall to try to cast a pain-relief spell. It didn't make much difference, but at least it was something.
By the time we reached the bottom, I was pale and sweating and it was proving hard to stay focused. But I took a few minutes to pull myself together before approaching the guards. Marcus saw us through with little argument, although Marina was asked to remove the hood she was wearing, and eventually we reached the Pattern Room door. We unlocked it, and headed in. Just inside, she stopped still and stared. As she did, Marcus closed the door behind us, and then took up position beside it.
"Are you alright?" I said, quietly, remembering my own reaction when I'd first seen the Pattern. And that was in Tir-na Nog'th, where somehow the full impact is muted by the nature of the place.
"Why am I standing here feeling as if it wants to kill me? Burn me to a crisp?"
"That's a perfectly normal reaction," Marcus commented, "and certainly healthier than the occasional idiot who's seen it as an easy way to power."
"How often do they survive?"
"Occasionally," he answered, with a shrug, and to be honest, I wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or winding us up.
"Is it safe?" she said, looking first at him, and then at me.
"Relatively..." I answered, "as long as you follow the basic rules."
"Which are?"
"Keep going. Don't stop. Don't step off the line. And don't let the memories it gives you put you off. Walking it is your birthright. Remember that."
"My birthright just gets more and more complicated," she said, with a sigh. "Where do I start?"
"Over there. I'll show you."
And I put my arm over her shoulder again and led her round to the start.
"So are you doing that because you care? Or because you're about to fall over?"
"Right now? A bit of both."
"Your confidence always was one of the things I liked about you, Miska," and then turned to me and gave me a kiss on the lips that made my toes curl.
"Get a room!" Marcus bellowed from the other side of the Pattern Room, in his best parade ground voice, and the pair of us burst out laughing.
Which was almost as bad an idea as walking down the fucking steps to get here in the first place.
"So what now?" she asked, looking back towards it.
"Once your foot touches the line, you're committed. It's going to be hard, probably the hardest thing you'll ever do in your life, but I'm confident that if I can do it, you can."
"Why?"
"We keep up with each other in bed, don't we?"
"I love your empirical measurement system," she answered, with a chuckle, "what else?"
"Initially you'll feel something like a current flowing through you, and then you'll start remembering everything that has happened in your life. Good and bad. Don't let that put you off. There are also three sections which get successively harder as you go along. They're called the Veils. When I first walked it, they brought to mind my darkest times. Overcome those thoughts in your mind, and you should get through. Then, when you finally get to the end, you can ask it to send you somewhere. Make sure it's somewhere safe, because you're going to be exhausted and weak as a kitten, which will make you vulnerable."
"Do you have anywhere in mind?"
"If you had rooms in Amber, I'd suggest there. Maybe your flat?"
"It's a rental. I've only been there a few months. Where did you go?"
"Probably not a good place to suggest. Although Dad made sure I got back to my place in London in short order."
"I'll see you there."
And then with a last kiss on my cheek, she put her foot on the line, and began to walk.
I watched her for the first few steps, and then crossed to join Marcus.
"So how long have you been together?" he asked, as I came over.
"I'm not sure if we're really together now?"
"Come on, Ian. Don't be so bloody naïve. The way you look at her? The way she flirts with you? And I've not had a single report of you visiting the whorehouses of Amber, or bedding the servants, since you got here. You have it bad for her."
"It's more complicated than that," I protested, but he just gave me a knowing smile and I decided to shut up while I wasn't too far behind.
I stood beside him, and then turned to watch. She was making decent progress, although it was obvious that the Veils were giving her trouble. But that didn't stop me praying to the gods to protect her as she walked.
Maybe this was how Dad felt when he took me to Tir. Every time she looked to be stumbling, I held my breath. Every time she seemed to be stalling, I willed her on. And eventually she made it to the middle. She was too far away for me to see how she was doing, but from the sag of her shoulders, she was exhausted. And then she was gone.
"Any idea where she went?" Marcus asked, as she faded away.
"Some."
"Then I suggest you call her before she passes out. Because you're certainly not walking back up those stairs."
"Thanks for helping with this. I owe you one."
"You never know when I may need that favour," he answered, with a slight smile, "see you in the morning, Ian."
"And you."
With that, we stepped out of the Pattern Room, locked the door behind us, and then I pulled out Marina's Trump and called her. It took a while to get through, and when it did, she sounded groggy.
"Can you to pull me through?" I asked, and she offered a hand to me. When I arrived, I realised we were in my bedroom in Albion Close.
"You know, you've never brought me home before," she said, looking around.
"You're not normally in London," I answered, although it did leave me wondering how she knew where to visualise when she left the Pattern. Was 'Ian's home' that distinctive a destination?
"I like it. Cosy."
"It suits me. Bachelor and all that."
"Hmm..I think I'm going to pass out now."
And she crumpled bonelessly against me.
Very carefully, I undressed her, so she wouldn't be sleeping in clothes which had just been through a Pattern walk, and then redressed her in a clean t-shirt from the drawer. It would serve as a nightdress at a pinch. Then I tucked her into my bed, and pulled the duvet up around her. Once she was comfortable, I walked the room, putting up an additional set of wards, just in case anyone tried to follow where she had gone, and then I finally sat down in the armchair between the windows, so that I could watch and protect her while she slept.