One Judges a Man by the Bank Balance of His Enemies
Seòras, Mid November
Field justice. I thought I'd left that behind in Russia, many years ago. But given that the whole Zócalo project is a blue sky venture on the wild frontier, incidents were bound to happen. However, the couple of years I spent in Russia - first as a prisoner and then living rough and on the run as a mostly amnesiac partisan, trying to get revenge on my captors - taught me a variety of skills with applications for life in the Black Zone. I just need to dust them off a bit before someone tries to take a pop at me.
It's been a while since someone actually tried to assassinate me, and Maxim is almost certainly right: I'm going to need to watch myself going forwards, especially there, in case someone else gets hired for the same job. If I'm lucky, it won't be him, or I could be really screwed.
However, while the whole Crossed Swords attempt to kill me and take over the Zócalo is a worrying development, right now, if I'm being honest with myself, I'm more disturbed at the fact that Ian Bleyson is apparently my long-absent father. The individual previously only known to me as a blank on my birth certificate.
The former is just business, and given that my job in the Black Zone bears a lot of similarities to being the sheriff in a Wild West town, I'm not even particularly surprised that someone might try a hostile takeover. But the Ian thing…that kind of puts a lot of what's happened in my life into a totally different context. The obscurity of being from a cadet line always made me think that what I'd achieved, I'd done on my own merits. It also gave me a measure of safety. Anonymity even. Now though…
Believe me, I really hope that those who know can keep a secret.
Still, I suppose that, as scenarios go, this is a far better one than I'd conjured up for myself over the years, which at its worst imagined my father as a mortal who had taken advantage of my mother, maybe even raped her, and then left her with the consequences. But I have so many questions. How did Bleys's son and my mother even met? Why did she bring me up alone? And why did she never tell me any of it?
Booze, a long bath and some vigorous exercise with a willing companion are definitely in order, so I don't have to think about this any longer tonight.
* * * * * *
When the Trump call comes in, I'm dozing in a warm bed, curled around a particularly attractive courtesan in one of those Thelbane establishments which cater for no strings attached, discreet company. I try to ignore it, but it soon becomes apparent that it isn't going away. With a sigh, I climb out of bed, and move so that the scene behind me is as non-descript as I can manage - my private business is exactly that…private - before answering.
"Jowan…Child. Are you alright?"
"Good morning, mother," I say, with a sigh, gritting my teeth at the 'child'. I hate it when she calls me that.
Still, I'm not surprised she's calling. In fact, if anything I would have expected to hear from her the previous evening. Unless I was too busy to notice. But at least one of the advantages of being a shape shifter is that you don't blush when your mother calls you in a high-end brothel.
"Darling, I just heard that there was trouble in the Zócalo yesterday. Something about a gunman?"
"It was just a business dispute," I answer, "and the perpetrators won't be causing any more trouble".
But I hear the coldness in my own voice as I say that, and I see her flinch. Don't get me wrong. I love my mother. I really do. But she and I…we're not really on the same page any more. We were a lot closer when I was growing up, but things changed when I was brought home from Russia. The instincts that had kept me alive back then never really went away, and since then she's never considered me entirely civilised. In fact, there's a lot about how I go about my business, that she doesn't approve of.
"That's good," she says, just about managing a weak smile, "you know I worry about you. That place is barbaric….I'm always afraid that you'll get hurt. Or worse."
"I know you are," I answer, not wanting that argument again this morning. Not after such a pleasurable night.
"Well, I'm glad you're alright," she answers, "I'd better leave you to your…business".
Odd. She suddenly seems eager to leave, and moves to break the link. However, we do need to talk - just not now - so before she can close the contact, I manage to get a final word in edgeways.
"You and I need to talk. Join me for dinner in Seòras this evening. I'll make sure Suhayl is expecting you."
She looks at me, her expression resigned, and then nods and is gone, leaving me with the impression that she has a reasonably good idea what I want to discuss. Annoyed, I wonder if Wendell has told her something, despite assuring me that he would keep my secret.
I sit on the edge of the bed for a while, trying to figure out how that conversation is going to go, but in the end, I give up trying. I return under warmth of the covers, feeling the need for physical contact again, and start gently caressing my lover once more.
* * * * * *
I make my way back to House Helgram, cross to the colonnade arch that acts as the doorway from the Central Nexus to Seòras, and press the correct sequence of carvings on the pillar to go through. When I was appointed as Representative to the Black Zone - effectively a Helgram ambassadorial position - I got promoted from an obscure pattern of tiles on the courtyard, to the colonnade around it. In a way, it was the first acknowledgement by the Powers that Be within the House that I was stepping up to the big leagues. Now, though, I couldn't help wondering if there was another reason for my promotion. What if it wasn't anything I'd done, but solely because of Him?
I step through, and stand for a few minutes on the glass bridge which acts as the Seòras side of the gate, connecting it to the island that's at the heart of my own Ways. The air is blissfully clean after the heavy scent and incense atmosphere of my lover's rooms. Fresh water, mown grass and wildflowers all drift to me on the breeze, and off to one side I see a pair of Delphina leap out of the water, playing and obviously happy to be alive.
They're beautiful creatures: something like a cross between a dolphin and a salmon. They're about four-feet long when fully grown; silver-scaled, mammalian, intelligent and incredibly graceful. I have a pod of about a dozen in the lake, and visit them on occasion if I need some uncomplicated conversation. Given what's happened in the last twenty-four hours, it's a great temptation to change form and join them, but I have work to do, and resist.
With a sigh, I cross the bridge onto the island and head for the Spanish-style house where I live when I'm in the Ways, rather than out at the High Redoubt. When I found the house out in Shadow it reminded me of some of my happiest memories of being in Spain, many of which involved a beautiful woman named Pilar, so I asked grandfather to incorporate it when he was weaving my Ways. It reminds me of a time when I was young and innocent, before I ever met Caine bloody Rilgason, and life went sideways.
"Afternoon, Lord Jowan," Suhayl says, as I walk under the carriage porch and into the house, "I've put the latest reports on your desk for your perusal."
"Thank you," I answer as he falls into step beside me.
"I hear you had an eventful day at work yesterday."
"That's one way of putting it."
By the Serpent, did everyone know? Hopefully not. And at least Suhayl's sources of information are better than most. I know, because I pay them to be.
"No Helgrams were harmed in the incident itself…although the perpetrators had previously killed one of us."
"I'm sorry to hear that, my Lord. Was it anyone we care about?"
"His name was Herminople."
"I'm not sure I've come across him," he answers, although I suspect he's just being polite because he's realised that I'd never heard of the poor lad. He can be annoying like that sometimes, but I'd rather that than get caught out.
"He was a distant cousin, but family nonetheless." I answer, "however, we managed to recover the body, the matter was dealt with, and I've taken precautions to make sure that it doesn't happen again."
"Very good, my Lord," comes the reply, "do I need to send flowers to his kinsmen?"
"Probably a good idea," I say, with a nod, "I assume you can get the details."
"I'll see to it at once."
"Efficient as always, my friend…oh, and my mother's coming for dinner."
"We haven't seen Marquesa Elowen for some time. I trust she's well?"
"She seems to be."
"Any preference for the menu?"
"It's pretty informal, so no need to do anything too fancy. And if the weather stays good, we'll probably eat upstairs in the sun room."
"I'll see that the staff know."
I pause for a moment, trying to decide whether to mention the whole Ian business.
"Is there something else, sir?" he asks.
"I heard a rumour yesterday," I say, finally, "from cousin Wendell."
"Archduke John's lad? Which particular rumour?"
Fair question, given what a rumour mill the House is. Although I was a little surprised at how loose-lipped Wendell had apparently been in Amber. Was he really so naïve as to believe that comments made against King Swayville, declaring his support for a potential Helgram secession, wouldn't get back to the Dragon Court? Even if he uttered them in Amber? Or did he think he was protected because he was the Grand Duke's grandson?
Common sense should dictate that whoever you are, however much you might believe such things, you sure as Hell don't voice them in uncertain company unless you're trying to provoke a reaction. And, given Maxim's efficiency at saving my sorry ass, that's one quarter where I wouldn't want to see the results of that reaction. I suspect Wendell might be in for some trouble with Swayville's people down the line.
"Apparently there have been stories kicking around about some kind of relationship between myself and Crown Prince Ian. I was wondering if you'd heard any of them."
"The subject has occasionally come up at the Junior Ganymede Club."
Ah. The club for major domos, senior domestic staff and gentlemen's gentlemen. And probably the best source of intelligence in the Courts of Chaos. Suhayl has been a member since long before he came to work for me.
"Why didn't you tell me that I was subject of those kind of rumours?"
"This is House Helgram," he teases, gently, "speculation about who's related to whom, and how, are the common currency in bars, cafés and salons. As long as none of them implied anything improper - and they never did - I didn't see any reason to intervene." He pauses a moment, then adds. "In fact, I'm a little surprised you hadn't heard them yourself. Especially when you've been lecturing at the Academy. That seems to be where they originated."
"The subjects of rumours are usually the last to hear them," I answer, kicking myself that I hadn't paid more attention. But then, I've never really shared the House love of gossip.
"Should I infer that these incidents - the trouble in the Zócalo, your questions about the rumours, and your mother coming for dinner - aren't entirely unconnected?"
"You can infer whatever you like," I answer, trying to sound light-hearted about it, and realising that I hadn't quite managed it.
"And the truth?"
"The Crossed Swords tried to take a pot shot at me, both for political reasons and because they think Ian Bleyson is my father. And the worst of it is that it looks like they're right."
"Should I congratulate you or commiserate?"
"Right now, I honestly don't know the answer to that. I'm still figuring it out for myself."
He looks at me, nods in understanding, and then leaves me to my thoughts without a further word.
* * * * * *
"Hello sweetie," mother says, as she breezes in, bringing with her the smell of expensive scent, apples and spices.
She's perfectly dressed, as always, in contrast to my own chosen evening attire of a long-sleeved cotton shirt and comfortable trousers.
"Mother," I answer, giving her the dutiful peck on the cheek. She accepts, then puts her hands on my shoulders, and pushes me out to arms-length from her.
"Well, at least you look to be in one piece," she says, after she's given me the once over.
"I told you earlier, I'm fine," I say, gently removing her handers, "the would-be assassin was stopped before he pulled the trigger."
"Did he survive the experience?" she asks, deceptively mildly, although I can see a hard look in her eyes.
"No."
"Glad to hear it. Any idea who his employer and his target were?"
"He'd been hired by Samuel FitzHenn, of the Order of the Crossed Swords. A charming piece of work, with the open and balanced outlook of Caine Rilgason towards House Helgram. And despite the company I was keeping, it turns out he was after me. The Order wanted to make a move into my territory, and I was in the way."
I can see she isn't at all happy with that snippet of news, but she tries to gloss over it.
"Really, darling. You know I hate it when you start sounding like a gangster. The Zócalo is a business venture, not the Wild West."
"Oh believe me, it's both," I say, "that's why I like it. It keeps life interesting."
"I've been afraid of something like this happening since you started spending so much time in the Black Zone. I warned you that it was dangerous out there, and you ignored me."
"I didn't ignore you…I just saw the opportunities and thought they were worth the risk. And I went into it with my eyes open."
"I just hope that your impetuousness…and your pig-headed stubbonness doesn't result in being the end of you," she says, "otherwise I don't know what I'll do."
"No need to worry," I reply, offering her my arm to lead her upstairs, "I'm not exactly easy to kill."
The sun room takes up about half the upper floor, with bedrooms and bathrooms accounting for the rest. There are windows in two of the external walls, and French doors leading out onto a balcony in the third. I've also had skylights put in, and sometimes use the place as a studio. Suhayl has set up a table for two just inside the French doors, and has opened them to let in the warm air.
My mother steps onto the balcony and looks out over the lake. Since she last visited me, I've done some modifications. I've played with the sky somewhat, giving it a similar look to the glass sculptures I enjoy making, and have adapted the climate to stay at roughly early summer.
"You do have an eye for the dramatic," she says, and as I look at her, there's a half smile on her face.
Forget everything I've done for the House. The thing about me that I think she's most proud of is my secondary career as an artist. In her eyes, it's a much more appropriate pursuit for a Chaos nobleman than living and working out in the Black Zone.
"I try," I answer, crossing over to join her.
She seems tense, so I rest my hands on her shoulders and begin massaging them, to try to help her relax. And we stand there in silence for a few minutes, watching the world go by. It's at times like this that I feel closest to her: the fact that we can just stand in silence and exist.
However, if we stand there for too long, the kitchen staff will disown us, so I give her another peck on the cheek, and go back to the table to pull out her chair.
"So formal," she says, looking at me uncertainly.
"Aren't you always on at me to be more civilised?" I answer, lightly.
"Oh, Jowan," she replies, her expression softening, and she surprises me with a hug. Obviously she was more shaken than I'd realised about the gunman, because she isn't normally given to displays of affection like that.
"I'm fine, mother," I say, quietly, "really."
We get ourselves settled, and a short while later Lily, one of the maids, brings in the starter. I know of old that mother will never get down to business - or let anyone else do so - until the usual small talk has been exchanged. So it isn't until we reach the main course that we finally get to the subject in hand.
"So why the dinner invitation?" she asks, "not that it isn't lovely to see you."
"Ian Swayville Helgram Barriman," I reply, watching her closely for her reaction. I see a number of emotions I cross her face before she settles on polite neutral.
"What about him?"
"I want you to tell me everything you know about him."
She pauses while she decides how to answer that.
"He's an asset to the House," she says, finally, "we've been the major beneficiary of whatever the argument between him and his father was about, which led to him walking away from the Amber succession. Probably, without that, he would never have set foot in Helgramways. But argue they did, and he came down here, where he went out of his way to make a good impression. And at the time the smart money was on the fact that he was trying to build up his own power base, to make a play against his father, much as Bleys had done against Oberon.
In some quarters, the fact that he's also King Swayville's grandson is the icing on the cake, and would probably have swung a portion of the family in his favour, if that had been his intention. I've even heard occasional speculation about whether Bleys should abdicate to concentrate on ruling Amber, and let Ian become Grand Duke."
"Do you have a view on that?" I ask.
"I think he'd do a good job, if there's any truth to the stories we hear about how well he's been doing at sorting out Amber City - which by all accounts was almost as much of a hellhole as the Black Zone when he first became Mayor. However, I don't see Bleys standing down any time soon. He loves himself too much."
Answering the question without answering the question. My mother is no fool. Perhaps Wendell should come to her for advice on politics, as well as just gossip.
"But then, I hear he was kicking around the Zócalo yesterday, so presumably you've met him?" she continues, and her tone is such that I suspect she knows my dinner invitation isn't entirely unconnected to that fact.
"A couple of times. Yesterday and once before, in Amber."
She looks at me quizzically. Maybe she hadn't realised I'd ever been up to the other end of the universe.
"Long story," I answer, "My friend Alexander…"
"The monk who's hunting Unlife?" she asks, and I confirm with a nod.
"He introduced me to his father, Geran. I helped them sort something out up there, which Ian was also involved with."
"Then if you've worked with him, surely you've formed your own impressions."
"Impressions are one thing…but what I lack is information."
"You can find that out in the papers, or by listening in the cafés, bars and…those other dubious places you frequent. And failing that, I'm sure Suhayl can deliver whatever dirt you want on the man. Why on earth do you need to talk to me about it?"
"Because of what happened yesterday. As I said, I went into the Zócalo project knowing that there were bound to be people who didn't like what I was doing out there. But what I didn't expect was that my father would ever be a factor. After all, it's not as if I've ever actually had one."
I see a variety of emotions cross her face before she forces it into a more impassive mask, but she doesn't seem inclined to speak, so I continue.
"That hurt when I was a child. But as I got older, I tried to convince myself that it didn't matter. Instead, I built myself a very unflattering mental picture of him, as proof that I didn't need him in my life. Probably mortal…after all, I had enough problems learning shape shifting and walking the Logrus that it seemed likely I was a Half-Blood. Definitely someone you were embarrassed to acknowledge. It even crossed my mind that maybe he'd raped you, and I was the result."
"You really believed, even for an instant? That I'd let a mortal do that to me?"
She looks at me directly, the flash of outraged anger in her eyes reminding me that she isn't just the fluffy socialite she likes to pretend to be.
"Oh I believed it for more than an instant. After all, it's not as if you gave me an alternative scenario. You never gave me anything."
Her eyes narrow.
"I'm sorry you felt like that, child," she says, although her tone doesn't sound particularly apologetic, "but I fail to see why you're bringing it up now."
"At least do me the courtesy of being honest with me," I answer, annoyed at how patronising she sounds, "I think you know damn well why I'm bringing it up now."
"Language, Jowan," she snaps, and I see the flash of anger again.
I consider making some scathing comment to that, but in the end I bite my lip and drain my wineglass. She does likewise and we sink into an uncomfortable silence.
* * * * * *
"When did you find out that Ian was your father?" she says, finally, her tone much more conciliatory.
"I think you already know the answer to that."
"You'd never shown any interest in who it was before. What changed?"
"Circumstances overtook me."
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
"I'd bumped into Patrick FitzBleys and cousin Wendell, shopping in the Zócalo…"
I decide not to mention Maxim's involvement, as he strikes me as the kind of person who doesn't want his movements discussed.
"…And then the whole incident with the would-be assassin happened. After he was stopped, it became obvious that one of us was his target, which led to the inevitable discussion about enemies. Wendell thought he might have been the target, because of that business with Yanick Caineson, which sounded plausible - and worrying, as you can imagine, given that the twins were up to their necks in that."
"I was so proud of them when the Grand Duke came to see them."
"So was I," I answer, thinking of my children, Cadan and Lucretia, and allowing myself a smile.
"But it wasn't the only option," I continue, "after all, Wendell may be Bleys's grandson, but Patrick is his son and was just as viable a target. But when I suggested that, they looked at me oddly and asked me where I fitted in. Of course, I didn't understand the question, so I let it pass.
Later on, as we were trying to figure out who had hired the man, we found ourselves in need of an expert in ritual magic, and Patrick called his big brother."
"That makes sense…I hear Ian's quite the ritualist nowadays."
"He helped us trace who'd hired the assassin, which led us to a nest of Crossed Swords types and a funeral wreath with my name on. That shook me somewhat, as it actually hadn't occurred to me that of the three of us, I might be the target. We took a couple of prisoners, and asked them some pointed questions. Patrick favoured violence, but Ian just looked them in the eye, and they started spilling their guts to him. They told him that they wanted to seize the Zócalo, as it apparently has strategic importance in the region, and one of them made a comment that his son was in the way."
Well, Ian seemed as surprised as I was, and asked who they were talking about. And it turned out that their boss had done some kind of blood test - the Serpent knows where he got the actual blood - and had concluded that we were father and son. As you can imagine, I was somewhat surprised…although in hindsight I suppose it explains why the few Amberites I've met have looked me as if they thought they recognised me.
Of course, neither of us was sure whether to believe them, and I wasn't at all sure I wanted to know. Not after all this time. But after they'd been dealt with, he asked Wendell if he could confirm it, which he did. I presume he didn't make a mistake?"
"No, he didn't," mother answers, and I see what almost looks like relief on her face now the secret is out, "How did Ian take the news?"
"Initially? His exact words were 'ah crap'." I see her flinch again, but I bowl on regardless, "After that, from his lack of surprise at the news, I suspect you're not the only person he's screwed and left with the consequences."
"That's harsh."
"What other view can I take? He sure as Hell didn't take responsibility for dumping you with me." I can hear my voice getting heated as I say it. "is that why you never bothered to tell me? Because he got you pregnant and ran away?"
"It was nothing like that," she snaps, obviously annoyed with me now.
"Then what the bloody Hell was it like?" I retort, angrily. I'm just not sure if my anger is at him or her.
"Enough, Jowan," she commands, bringing to bear all of her quite formidable force of will, so that I find myself unable to disobey. I'm probably more shocked than anything else, and just stare at her, feeling mutinous.
"Enough," she repeats, more quietly this time, "now eat your dinner before it goes cold."
There are some phrases that you just can't fight when you're with your mother, however old you are. We fall quiet and start paying far too much attention to our food.
* * * * * *
It isn't until Lily has cleared away the main course, brought in dessert and poured the cognac, that my mother speaks again.
"He didn't desert me," she says, quietly, "I thought he was dead, and I suspect he thought the same of me."
"It's pretty bloody obvious that he isn't dead, so why would you think otherwise?" I ask, still feeling mutinous.
"Because while I knew he was a High Blood, I had no idea who he was, or even if he was from Amber or Chaos. And neither did he."
"How could he not know?" I ask, incredulous.
"From what I understand, he was stashed in Shadow as a child, and his father never told him."
"Maybe you'd better start at the beginning."
"We met on one of the Earth-line Shadows. Early-60s. Alternate timeline. Too many Fascists. I was doing a hospital rotation in a version of Madrid."
She looks at me and gives a weak smile.
"I've always loved Spain…it's partly why I wanted you to spend some time in at least some version of it. I just wish it had ended better for you."
The words slip out before I can stop them.
"What, with not being Caine Rilgason's ritual bitch? Yes, I wish it had ended better, too."
"Jowan!" she says, surprised as much as angry, "that was uncalled for."
I realise that she's right and apologise.
"Good," she says, only partially mollified, "Now, do you want to hear this or not?"
Did I? Actually, by then I was beginning to get curious.
"He was calling himself Mikael Cuijper and was a South African journalist reporting on the anti-Fascist insurgency that was going on at that time. He came into the ER with a gunshot wound: upper chest, missed his heart by millimetres but punctured a lung and he was in a pretty bad way. As soon as I started patching him up I knew he was a High Blood. If he hadn't been, he would have died on the table. As it was, he was in the hospital for nearly a fortnight - he had the Cornelian regenerative capability, even if he isn't a shape shifter - and as I was his attending physician, we talked.
After he was discharged, we started seeing each other, and eventually one thing led to another and we became lovers. He wasn't like the various cousins I'd known grown up with: he seemed far more driven, and a lot more adventurous. And yet it became more and more clear that he genuinely appeared to have no idea that he was any different to anyone else. I couldn't even figure out if he was from Amber or Chaos, but as the unholy Karm/Rilgason alliance was gearing up into massacre mode around then, I came to the conclusion that he'd been stashed in Shadow for his own protection, and it wasn't my place to tell him the truth.
We saw a lot of each other over the next few weeks, and I realised I was falling in love with him, but eventually his paper reassigned him and he left Madrid. However, he was a pilot and I was a Logrus initiate, so we still managed to see each other semi-regularly for almost three years."
"Did you ever talk about marrying?"
"Once or twice. But he'd been widowed a few years before, and said he wasn't ready to marry again."
My cynical side immediately goes to maybe that was an excuse and he didn't want the responsibility, but I wisely don't voice the thought.
"It all fell apart one evening, when we were having dinner in one of our favourite restaurants. He'd just got up to go to the bathroom, when a bomb exploded, and the whole place came down around our ears. After the rubble stopped falling, I tried looking around for him, but I was wedged and I hurt so much I could barely move. I called out, but there wasn't any answer, and I couldn't even concentrated enough bring up the Logrus to look for him.
My evening bag was just in reach, and gritting my teeth, I pulled out my Trump of father and called for help. After all, I could barely concentrate, but the chances were he would be able to compensate for that. But rather than coming through to me, his reaction was to pull me out. Once I was back here in Helgram, I pleaded with him to go back and look for Mikael, but he refused to leave me. I was taken to the infirmary for treatment, and it was there that they told me I was pregnant.
After I'd recovered, I wanted to go back and see if he had survived, but father wouldn't countenance it. And more to the point, he's good enough with the Logrus to make sure I couldn't defy him. With hindsight, he was probably right. I'd initially thought the bombing was insurgents, but it soon became obvious that he believed it was that bastard Caine and his people, and they certainly wouldn't have balked at killing a restaurant full of mortals to put a Helgram out of their misery. They really did hate us that much.
So I never went back. In fact, since then, I've not left Chaos much at all. Which didn't stop me from going through as many of the Thelbane records as I could get access to, trying to find out if Mikael Cuijper came from here.
However, by the time you were born, I'd drawn a blank. No-one had ever heard of him and there was no reference to him in any of the records, which led me to conclude that he was either from Amber, or he hadn't been using his real name, or quite possibly both. So when it came to registering your birth, I didn't know what to put, and left your father's name blank."
"When did you find out the truth?"
"After the War," she replies, "I'd never had much to do with Bleys Clarissason in the years that he spent down here, plotting against Amber. However, I was introduced to him after he became Grand Duke, and when we did the obligatory polite smile to each other, I saw your eyes looking back at me from his face. It was so obvious that I couldn't understand why I'd never seen it before."
"Did you ever think he was Cuijper?"
"I knew he couldn't be. He'd spent most of that time down here, or building armies in Shadow, not playing journalist on an obscure Earth-line Shadow. And anyway, I would have spotted if your father had walked the Pattern when we were lovers, and he hadn't. However, like everyone else in the House, I knew by then that Bleys's sons butchered in the Amber Civil War: the fact that Ian and John had survived came out later.. So it wasn't that great a leap to the fact that Mikael had been one of them."
"So when did you realise that it was actually Ian?"
"After his falling out with his father in Amber, Ian came down here and started going out of his way to get to know his Helgram Family. He did a lot of glad-handing: paying social calls and becoming familiar with how things operate in the House. I was working at the IMS the day he came to visit, and recognised him when we shook hands. His face was different - he must have been disguised when I knew him - but his eyes were the same, as were all those subconscious cues you get from body language…handshake, stance, movement. And I think he was as surprised as I was, when he recognised me.
We met up for coffee the following afternoon and talked. He'd been closer to the bomb when it went off than I had. I guess, in hindsight, if it was planted by Caine's people, he was probably the actual target, and I was collateral. As he couldn't shift, he couldn't mitigate the damage, and spent a month in hospital, recovering from a lot of broken bones. By the time he had recovered enough to find out what had happened to me, I was long gone, and had been declared dead in the explosion."
"But from the surprised look on his face when Wendell dropped his little bombshell, you obviously you didn't get around to telling him about me. Am I that much of a disappointment."
"No Jowan," she answers, "not at all."
"Then why didn't you say anything to him?"
"I was going to. I really was. But the right moment never came up. He has a wife and family now, so up and telling him that I had a son with him was never going to be easy. Especially as she's my niece on my mother's side. And anyway, I like her."
"I suppose I can see that," I have to conceded, "but I don't understand why you didn't you tell me."
"Sweetie, I've hardly seen you since then. You've been out in the boondocks for months."
"You could have called."
"Even if I'd wanted to have this conversation on a Trump, you'd not shown any interest in the subject until now."
"So you decided to come clean once you were pretty sure I already knew?" I answer, and I realise I sound sarcastic, even to myself.
She looks at me, trying to decide whether to clip me round the ear, or just let it lie. But she just shrugs: it's as if she's saying "well you know now…why does it matter?"
"Out of interest, does grandfather Daveth know that Ian and Mikael are one and the same?"
"He's the House Master of the Arcane, so he could probably have found out if he'd wanted to. But if he does know, he's never said anything to me."
"I guess that's par for the course. He's not exactly known for sharing information."
"So what do you want to do? Do you want all this properly registered in the House records?"
"Ian asked me the same thing."
"And?"
"And I still don't know the answer," I say, with a shrug, "I already apparently have the target on my back, even if I haven't been acknowledged. So maybe it would be a good idea. But on the other hand, it isn't well known yet, and I'd like to put it off. Right now, there's some query as to my birth status: with the blank in the records, you may have actually been married when I came along. But when this comes out it will tar me as a bastard now and forever."
"I suspect that Bleys could fix that, if it mattered that much to you. He is the Grand Duke, as well as your grandfather."
"Maybe, but it wouldn't be popular. So I just don't know. And strangely, it's actually more important in my eyes that he didn't just dump you and leave you with the consequences…that you actually cared for each other."
"We did," she says, obviously mentally reminiscing about times past, and I saw a smile of regret on her lips, "perhaps what you need to do is get to know him…see what kind of person he is. And then you can decide. After all, there's no rush to change anything you don't want to."
"I'll see how things play out."
"Good," she says, "and when you're ready, let one of us know."
I look at her and nod.
"And now, I should be getting home to my own Ways."
She gets to her feet, and I do the same.
"Thank you for dinner. We should do this more often…minus the drama, of course."
"Maybe we should."
I step round to her and offer my arm to escort her downstairs. We walk in companionable silence, until we reach the bridge. At which point she turns and hugs me again, as if she never wants to let go.
"Oh Jowan. Child. I'm so glad you're okay. Please be careful when you go back to the Zócalo."
"I will," I answer, "but I'm seriously thinking of brushing up my survival skills before I go back. Just in case. "
She looks at me, trying to decide if I'm joking. But I'm really not.
"I didn't like being caught out like that," I say, quietly, "and I don't want it to happen again."
"If there's anything your grandfather or I can do to help you with that, just ask."
"I'll bear that in mind."
She releases me from the hug, blows me a kiss, and then then she's heading over the bridge. Moments later, I see the shimmering effect as she steps through the Ways gate to the Central Nexus, and she's gone.