Father to Son
The High Redoubt, Late December
I'm sitting at my desk in my study in the High Redoubt, a bottle of wine within easy reach of my left hand and a full glass beside it. Apart from the wedding from Hell in Amber, which turned into a farce from a 1980s TV show, it's my first night back home for almost a year in my personal timeframe. Not sure how long it's been here - six weeks maybe? After what happened in the Zócalo, I realised that it was long past time that I sharpened up my less civilised skills. And I'll admit that playing partisan for a year also had the added bonus of putting off thinking about what to do about my newly identified paternal unit.
Realistically, I can't dodge the fact that I can't put that decision off much longer. If Wendell is right, my relationship to Ian Bleyson is already the subject of gossip in the Helgram bars and clubs. So as far as keeping the rest of the House in ignorance, which would have been my first choice, I suspect it's only a matter of time until that cat is out of the bag. In fact, I'm almost surprised that it isn't already. So currently, the number of people who know for definite is still limited, at least as far as I know, but can I trust them to keep my secret?
Wendell strikes me as well-meaning but potentially indiscreet. When I got back to Seòras, Suhayl told me - with not a little amusement - that the rumour-mill is saying King Swayville is getting revenge on my cousin for his comments on Helgram Autonomy by putting him at the mercy of those ghastly twins of the self-proclaimed 'Emperor' Lucius. Serve him bloody well right for being too loose-lipped, and I hope said punishment will make him more wary of sharing other people's secrets in the future.
Patrick Bleyson - or maybe I should think of him as Uncle Pat - I don't know from Adam. He seemed willing enough to help me deal with the prisoners, but when it comes down to it, he's an unknown quantity, and the details Suhayl has dug up on him for me have been mixed. On the other hand, he did seem to understand my position, and it sounds as if he learned who his father was about as gently as I did.
And Maxim. From something he said when we met in the Zócalo later, I suspect he heard a great deal of what happened after he had allegedly gone off to deal with his own business. Not wanting to step on the toes of whoever had been sent to kill me because of 'professional courtesy' and all. So he never gave me any undertaking to keep my secret. Although perhaps, he choose to say nothing...at least until doing so was to his advantage.
Sadly, though, I suspect the only ones I can be certain about staying quiet until I agree otherwise are mother and Ian.
But this leaves me in the situation where ignoring the whole thing out of the question, so I have to decide whether I should talk to my newfound father and get to know him, before the whole matter becomes common knowledge; should I just give mother permission to fill out the blanks in my birth records; or should I cross my fingers and hope?
I take a drink and then pick up the Trump deck once more and shuffle it. Trump scrying isn't something I do often. In fact, it's usually more of a desperation thing. But right now, I'll take any advice I can get...
I start laying out the cards on my desk, and hope that I can make something of them.
* * * * * *
Well, if I'm reading this right - which certainly isn't guaranteed - the cards are telling me I should contact him and see where things go from there. I also get an impression of haste, although whether that's to do with impending trouble for one or both of us, or whether it's just so that I can beat the inevitable public revelations, so I can meet them on my own terms, I'm not sure.
I collect together all the cards except the ones of myself and him, and put them in their case. Then I sit looking at the two in front of me, trying to figure out what it is that's got half the House speculating that he's my father.
Height and build are always tricky to discern in pictures, although from what I remember in the Zócalo, we aren't that different in that regard. I maybe have an inch of height on him. But I suppose we do have similar general facial features and bone structure, and we share the vaguely Celtic look that many of the House do. Although his colouring is definitely different. Other than that...
Maybe I can't see it because I don't want to. Or maybe it's just hard to see yourself in someone else.
"Ah, to Hell with it," I say, aloud, getting a slightly startled reaction from Taka, who is dozing in his falcon form on one of the bookcases separating my study from the library.
He squawks his annoyance, before tucking his head back under his wing.
I stick my card in the case and chuck it into my desk drawer. Then I pick up his Trump and the wine bottle in one hand, and my glass in the other, and walk through into the library. I put the bottle on table which is least covered with books, then have a drink and put my glass down beside it. At which point I walk step into a bit of clear space, and start to concentrate on the card.
It's not an easy contact, so he's obviously a long way away. Probably up in Amber. I debate forgetting the whole thing for now, and trying again on another occasion. Like maybe next time he's down in Helgram. But then, if I contact him where anyone might see us, the game really will be up.
"Yes?" comes a weak reply, just as I'm about to call it a day.
"Ian?" I ask, concentrating on firming up the link. As I do, I notice him begin to do something similar, and realise that at least one thing we're pretty evenly matched on, is strength of will. He maybe has a slight edge, but no more than that.
"Jowan!" He actually seems pleased to hear from me, and his smile looks genuine. "I was hoping you would call...but please, tell me no-one's tried to kill you again..."
"No...nothing like that," I answer, and I feel him relax a little, "you said we should talk. Is this a good time?"
There's a slight pause before he answers, and then he nods his head.
"Sure. Your place or mine?"
"I have a bottle of wine open, and I can get a second glass."
"Yours, then," he says with a smile, and I offer him my hand and he steps through to join me.
"I hope red's okay?" I ask, trying to remember if he showed any preference at the wedding. But thinking about it, the gunfire started when we were still drinking champagne.
"Definitely," he answers.
I cross to the bell press to summon one of the servants, and after a moment or two Jana, one of the maids, comes in to see what I want. I ask her to bring a second glass...and a second bottle...and she scurries off to get them. When I turn my attention back to Ian, he's walking up and down my bookshelves, scanning titles. The sign of a true book lover, which is encouraging. It's usually the first thing I do when I visit a new person's house, as your reading preferences say a lot about you.
I leave him to it until Jana returns, then pour him a glass and hand it to him, picking my own up as I go. He chinks glasses, then takes a sip and nods approvingly.
"Hmm...very nice. Local?"
"I have a small vineyard in one of the Shadows that are part of Seòras."
"That's your Ways, right?"
I nod, albeit a little surprised that he knows that.
"Can't say I blame you wanting to change the name," he continues, "the whole Fredways, Billways thing just seems pretentious to me. It's why I've gone for Stokesay. I'm still trying to figure out where Ways names end and surnames begin down here."
He smiles again, and then looks around the room itself, and up at the ceiling, which is decorated with whorls and swirls of coloured glass. The central fireplace and lounge are visible between the shelves in the centre. However, rather than heading inwards, he strolls over to the outer wall, where I've inset transparent panels so you can see out over the plane, and stands looking out for a while. Curious, I cross to join him.
"Interesting place you have here," he says, finally, turning back to look at me, "we're somewhere in the Black Zone, I presume."
"The High Redoubt," I answer, "my home away from home, where I base out of when I'm here."
"I thought your base was in the Zócalo."
"No. That's just one part of the Helgram operations in the Black Zone. However there's a lot more to what I'm doing here for the House than that. We're setting up sources of supply, working on security and the Grand Duke specifically asked me to develop communications links back to Helgramways."
I pause a moment, before asking the obvious question.
"How are they doing? Bleys and his new Duchess?"
"I got to them quickly enough to make difference, and they're both up and about again."
"Glad to hear it," I say, but partly out of duty than any real knowledge of Bleys. After all, to my mind, Ian was more the Duke than my father, as he'd actually made the effort to work down here.
"Elizabeth is going to take a while to fully recover, though. There was a poison on the bullets, and about the only thing that saved her was that she's a Channicut."
"Why?"
"The poison was had added efficacy against Helgrams, which made operating rather tricky. But if she had been one of us, I'm not sure even I could have saved her. It's also just as well that Bleys wasn't as seriously hurt."
"Even you could have saved her?" I ask, looking over at him. It's a rather arrogant statement.
"I have a knack for healing. And no, I can't explain it. But it works on pretty much anything from the common cold to Chaos cancer."
"Chaos cancer's incurable."
"No, it's only virtually incurable," comes the reply, "but that isn't something that's particularly publicised. Maybe because so very few people can do it."
"And you're one of them?"
"A few months ago I was asked to help heal Wolf's granddaughter, who had contracted it. I'm still not sure how, although her mother put it down to divine punishment because her father is a ritualist...but then, she reckons all magic is evil. But I managed to help the little girl, and she's doing well now."
"Wolf?" I paused a moment, placing the name. Bleys's Heir Apparent in Amber, and I guess by extension, my brother, "He was at the wedding, right?"
"Yes, although he headed back to Amber Castle very sharpish after everything went down. There's enough paranoia kicking around up in Amber at the moment, what with that asshole Random having had another go at causing mischief a couple of weeks ago, that he felt that someone with authority needed to be on site when the King went down."
"Makes sense."
We stood in silence for a few moments, looking out over the red rocky plain below us. In the distance I could see a patrol coming in after doing the regular rounds.
"Do you still have any samples of the poison?" I ask, finally.
"I can get them, why?"
"Chemistry, and especially poisons are one of my specialities."
Well, give him his due, he doesn't look down at his glass to see if I've dumped anything in it, but he does look surprised.
"I thought that was a Jesby thing."
"They're known for it, but the other Houses need to keep up with developments to avoid being murdered in their beds. Mother's the main Helgram expert in them, but I'm in the top five."
"Making or curing?"
"Both, although I'm more biased towards antidotes and antitoxins," I answer, "But if there's a Helgram-specific poison out there, we need to try to come up with an antidote. So I'd be interested in studying it."
"I'll see what I can do when I get back to Tenterden."
"I appreciate it," I answer, "why don't we sit?"
I grab the bottles by the necks, and take him through to the lounge area near the fireplace. I pick a table with two chairs - one each side, which could be turned easily towards the fire, and we sit. You get the best view of my living quarters from the middle, beside the fireplace, as it's easier to see the shape, and maybe I'm just proud enough of my handiwork to want to show it off. And he seems suitably impressed as he sits back and looks up.
"So this whole place is a single chamber?" he says, finally and I can see him mentally mapping out the lines above us, "It looks almost organic. As if it was grown, rather than built."
"Pretty close. There was a spire of rock here before, but I worked on it to hollow it out, shape it and make it habitable."
"Neat trick. And I like it...it works. But then, I shouldn't be surprised. You're a sculptor, right? The Zócalo fountain is one of yours, I believe, and I'm guessing that a lot of the pieces around here are as well."
I'm a little surprised that he knows that, too, and it obviously shows on my face.
"After the Zócalo, I wanted to find out more about you," he explains, with a shrug, "you're quite the artist. Sadly I can't claim responsibility for that...my main creative area is music. But you're also a lawyer, a businessman, a diplomat...and that's just the public stuff. And you've just added poisons to your list of less public talents."
I'm not quite sure I like the fact that he's been digging into my background, and that obviously shows, as well. But when he sees my expression, he gives me a wry smile.
"In my defence, I spent almost forty years in the intelligence business. It's kind of ingrained. And when all's said and done, you are my son, so I was curious. You've done a lot in a relatively short space of time."
"I skipped the lazy Helgram gene," I say, finally, and he smiles broadly, "up until now, I've always put it down to my mother having Hendrake blood. Although in hindsight, I imagine the bit of Swayville-Barriman apparently running around in my veins probably helps, as well."
"It probably does at that," he answers, with a chuckle.
He finishes his glass, and I push one of the bottles over towards him. He takes it and gives himself a top-up, then passes it back and I do the same. And as I do, I realise that I could get to like him...this man who would be my father. Maybe we do have things in common, after all.
"So what did you want to talk to me about?" he asks, "just the obvious, or is it more than that?"
"Both you and mother have said I ought to get to know you a bit...help me decide what to do. It just took me a while to pluck up the courage to get in touch."
"Quite a while, at a guess," he comments, "I get the impression that you've been away."
"Why?"
"You look like you've been working out, you've got that upright stance I associate with the army, and you seem more wary...more alert...than you were in the Zócalo. If I had to guess, I'd say you've been doing some kind small unit combat training."
"You can tell all that?"
"I have at least three other sons and two grandsons in various militaries, and I served myself back in the day. I'm used to the indicators."
"After the Zócalo I came to the conclusion that I needed to brush up on some skills I hadn't used for a while."
"Sounds sensible. But brush up implies you already had them - you just hadn't used them in a while. Was how you originally learned them anything to do with Caine?"
"You've really been digging, haven't you," I comment, not altogether happily.
"As I said, I did my research," he answers, seeing my expression, "and the fact that you've sworn vendetta against him is on file. So you must have had some kind of run-in with him. Okay, so I'm taking a leap, but I'm guessing it's all related."
"When I was young, my mother decided I should go out into Shadow to be educated. I didn't fit in around here, as I couldn't shift..."
He obviously takes that as a criticism, as looks apologetic.
"I'm only just beginning to learn myself. But I'll get there. I know I need to."
Interesting defensive reaction, and I debate whether to say something or just let it pass. I go for the latter, as the criticism wasn't intentional.
"...so I was sent to one of the worlds on the modern Earth Line."
"Any idea which one?"
"I'm afraid not, why?"
"I just vaguely wondered if it was Tenterden...go on."
"After a while, mother decided I was getting too soft, and sent me off to get some military training. So I spent the next three years in the Peninsula, with Wellington and the Spanish partisans."
"That's one of those periods I'd love to visit," he says, smiling, "I just haven't managed it yet."
"I enjoyed it right up to the moment that someone competent started stalking me, and obviously wished me harm. And as I was too young to duck fast enough, I ended up as a guest of Caine and a couple of the more unpleasant Corwinspawn. It wasn't pleasant."
"I can imagine," he answers, and I can see sympathy in his expression.
"Well, I eventually escaped, mainly because my shifting triggered, and my fight or flight reflex kicked in. But by the time I was free, I had no idea who I was, as the shock had screwed with my head. I got lucky, and fell in with some of the local partisans who hated that bastard as much as I did. So I worked with them to blow the shit out of Caine's organisation for a good couple of years, until the House finally found me and brought me home."
It's curious. As I speak, I get the feeling that he's more aware than he's letting on of how that kind of hit and run life would have felt.
"Did he get you, as well?" I ask.
"No...although I've had my share of troubles from other quarters. But as I said, I served myself. I did a couple of years with the Special Operations Executive before joining the Intelligence Corps. So yes...blowing shit up to cause trouble...been there, done that, bought the t-shirt."
He pauses a moment, sips from his glass, and then sits back in his chair and looks at me again.
"You know, as we sit here talking, I'm beginning to understand why the rumours are kicking around. After I left the three of you in the Zócalo, I went to talk to Dhugal. I wanted to know who your mother was. While I was there, I asked him why he thought people had pegged us as closely related. He said that here in Chaos, resemblance is measured in far more than just appearance. I think I'm finally getting what he means."
The silly thing is, I think I am, too.
"I do have one bit of information you might be interested in," he continues, "One which isn't common knowledge yet, although no doubt it's only a matter of time."
"Which is?"
"Caine is dead."
Really? Much as I wish it were true, I can't help feeling sceptical.
"He's been dead before," I point out.
"Yes. But on the theory of if a job needs doing, do it yourself, I'd be willing to go out on a limb and say its final this time."
"You sound very certain."
"It was a team effort, but I was one of the team. By the end there were a LOT of us out to get him, and one or two different groups had been collecting the little parts of his soul that he'd stashed in various places and destroying them. But helped by Edward and Lucius, who kept a variety of forces off my back, I was the lucky one who got to finish the job. Believe me, it was very satisfying."
"Thank you," I answer, and really mean it.
"I hope you don't mind me stealing your vendetta prerogative."
"No. I'm well aware that I wasn't the only one who had sworn against him. But how did you avoid getting hit by his Death Curse? At least, I assume you avoided it, as you look alive and well."
"Sort of..." he replies, cautiously, which raises a red flag, "the body was long gone by then, so what I did was destroy the last part of his soul. I wasn't hit by a full-on Death Curse, but I'm sure I felt something. No doubt, time will tell what it was, and how bad it's going to be."
"Maybe I can help."
"How?"
"Sometimes I can read people's auras: get a feel for their general health and wellbeing. Maybe I can read yours, to see if there's anything obvious."
"It was fine last time I checked," he answers, "but sure..."
I shift my focus slightly, letting my astral senses take over. As much as anything else, I'm curious as to whether I CAN, as it isn't a trick I can do on everyone.
The first thing I notice is that his personal wards are much more tightly bound than most people's, so it takes longer than normal to get a reading. However, once I've tip-toed my way around that little issue, what I see is very different to what I'm used to. He seems to be much more directly in control of his aura than anyone I've looked at before, maybe because of his skill as a ritualist, and I can see his astral form overlaid on his normal earth-bound one. Normally that wouldn't be the case unless he was either asleep, or at least in a trance, which he clearly isn't.
But the most disturbing thing, is that I can see what look like wisps of black smoke surrounding both his aura and his astral form. They aren't interacting with him directly: it's more that they're in orbit around him, as if waiting for their moment to strike.
"Well?" he asks, curious, and I drop my astral sight.
"I can see traces of something hanging around you. It doesn't seem to be doing much just now, but as wisps of black smoke are rarely a good sign, you might want to watch your back."
He looks troubled, and I see him pause for a moment, as if he's getting in touch with his inner self.
"I don't see them," he says, sounding uncertain.
"Maybe part of it is that you don't know for sure that it's there. But believe me, if I had to guess what a Death Curse looked like, this is pretty much it."
"So noted," he says, with a sigh, "that's a neat trick. Can you do it on anyone?"
"Not anyone. I need to have some kind of connection to them. Be it that they're someone I know well, or someone I'm closely related to."
"Sounds like a useful trick. Have you thought about getting it trained?"
"I wouldn't know who to ask," I answer, shrugging my shoulders, "it seems to be one of those odd innate abilities that falls between the cracks of sorcery and ritual magic. Like my poisons thing...or by the sound of it, your healing thing."
"But you're not a practising ritualist?"
"No...being on the receiving end can put you off something like that."
"I can understand that," he answers, "but you almost certainly have the talent for it if you ever decide to learn. That's more often the way magic manifests in my family. Otherwise you wouldn't have been so able to help with the Fountain of Life thing."
"Do you think that's why Caine grabbed me?"
"Maybe...although it's just as likely that he did it because he was a psychotic, Helgram-hating bastard. Because unfortunately, you're so obviously cut from the Helgram cloth that he couldn't have missed it once first you came onto his radar. The aura thing, though. I could teach you if you wanted. And I think it might be a very handy talent to have."
"I'll admit it's tempting."
"The offer's there if you want to take it up. Just let me know."
"Thanks."
I take another drink and look at him, wondering if this is the point at which he's going to raise the other offer he has on the table, in case I want to take it up. But instead he sits back, watching the fire. I find myself doing the same, and wonder what he's seeing in the flames.
"Is there anything else you want to ask me?" he says, finally.
"Tell me about you and my mother. How did you meet?"
"I'd been widowed about ten years before, and the wounds were still surprisingly raw. However, when I first met her, I knew there was something different about her. Something real and vital. I'd only seen it a couple of times before: once with a lover I'd had in Germany before the WWII, named Greta; and once with Audrey, my first wife."
"Which one was Wolf's mother?"
"Greta...Audrey and I never had children. "
"Were they High Bloods?"
"High Blood wasn't something I had any concept of back then, save that the Nazis in Germany kept going on about the great Aryan Master Race. I found out later that Greta definitely was, but I honestly don't know about Audrey. Her father was mortal, but I never met her mother - she'd 'died' before I came on the scene - so with hindsight it's possible. Although I think, if she was, I would have noticed it in her brother, who was still alive after I walked the Pattern."
"Unless they were only half siblings."
"They never indicated that they were, but I really don't know. Back in the 1940s, it wasn't something you asked, especially if, like me, your own parentage was a little dubious."
"Bleys and Swayvanna weren't married?"
"They were married when I was born, so I'm legitimate, but they divorced fairly soon after. One of those convenient Chaos marriages for the purpose of getting an offspring, no doubt. Except my mother never bothered to share the fact with me, so I grew up assuming I was someone's bastard. I still have no idea why she never put me right, and now she's in her Queen Victoria phase, I can't really ask. She wouldn't be amused."
"Hopefully she'll drop that now she's Thelbane's Foreign Minister."
"I guess we'll see. Anyway, Elowen and I connected, and it turned into the first long-term relationship I'd had since Audrey passed. I was the one who wanted to take things slowly, but after we'd been together for three years, I realised that it was serious, and was considering proposing. And then we were at ground zero of a bomb blast, and we both thought the other had been killed."
Well, the story ties up with what mother told me the night after the incident in the Zócalo, and he seems sincere as he says it. Which helps me with the decision I have to make.
"Thanks. This has been...useful," I say, quietly, "It's put some things into perspective for me."
"For me as well," he answers. And if it means anything, I'd be proud to acknowledge you as my son...if that's what you want."
"I think it is," I answer.
"You don't sound certain..."
"It'll make things very different...admittedly for me more than you. But hey, you only live once, right?"
"How far do you want me to take it? Do you just want me to have my name put on your birth certificate? Or do you want me to talk to Bleys about going the whole hog and getting you legitimised? After all, if it hadn't been for the bomb..."
"Can he do that?"
"He's done it before. Wolf wasn't exactly born on the right side of the covers, and neither was his son Armand. But Bleys made it happen after he became King, even for the Amber succession. And my first child with my current wife has also been retroactively legitimised. So yes."
"If that's what you want."
"It's your choice."
"In for a penny, in for a pound," I answer.
"I'll make sure it gets done as soon as possible."
"Do you want to stay the night? I have guest rooms, and I can show you around the High Redoubt in the morning if you want. Give you more idea of what I do here."
"I'd like that," he replies, and then chuckles, "and it will give me more time to poke around in your library."
"As long as you return the favour sometime."
"I'm sure that can be arranged."
"Let me tell Makhoni that you'll be staying, so he can have a think about dinner."
"As long as you order something that doesn't need me to be a shape shifter to digest. I wouldn't want to risk that with my current paltry knowledge of the subject."
"I'm sure that can be arranged. Mind if I have a wander around while you're doing that?"
"Go ahead," I answer.
I get to my feet, and head towards the servant's lounge, where Makhoni and his staff would be waiting. As I walk between the screens, I him stand up and head into the gallery where I keep some of my pieces. A short while later I hear the piano, and what sound like the opening chords of Rhapsody in Blue.
He's obviously found the music room.