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AMBER
Boadice’s diary,
Session 72
Played on January October the 31st, 1997
Written by Jopie Schekkerman, based on a campaign by Astrid Tops.
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had stopped trying to call me. This was distressing but not unexpected: I had
refused to take his calls of yesterday, this morning and this afternoon. But
when Gran's insistence had softened my resolve and I had almost decided to let
him plead his case, the attempts ceased. It placed me in an awkward position:
Tir-na Nog'th had warned me not to drive him into the arms of another woman,
so I should at least provide a glimmer of hope, but Fiona was of the opinion
that Gran should show me more respect so I should not be too forgiving.
That is why I trumped to Li-Tin Two, a shadow of quiet contemplation and blue-blossoming cherry trees. Months ago (it seemed longer), I had brought Gran here to recover from his shapeshift disease. We had had a little vacation here, and just before Gran came with me to Amber, I had asked him if he wished to be engaged to me. Gran had refused, for practical reasons. We had an argument but made up later.
It took me some time to find a twig of the blue cherry blossom Gran had painted so often during his recovery. Spring had come and gone and the first hard fruits of these remarkable trees were already forming. It took me even more time to find a suitable bird to take the flowers to him. The bird would have to find its way to either Galoria or the Courts of Chaos before the blossom had wilted. After some shifting I found a little white swallow, of a species that is used to flying around its world on a regular basis. I trumped to Ygg to get it on its way, and let it go. The blossoms would set Gran to think about our relationship, I hoped, and tell him that I was thinking of him. That would be just enough to give him hope but not so much that he would think he got away with what he had done.
After the affairs of the heart, I had the affairs of Family to deal with. The closest family I had, to be precise: Yaslin. I visited the beauty parlour my agent: Mrs. Smidt had set up and got myself a manicure and a dose of gossip. A baroness who came in to get her hair dyed told me that Prince Gerard had shot and killed a bat-winged monster last night. It had fallen into the sea. The rest of the invading army had not been discovered yet, but she had no doubt that our brave Prince would slay them all single-handedly. I sighed contentedly and confirmed that my uncle was a real hero.
When I got Ludwina (Mrs. Smidt's first name is Ludwina) to myself for a moment I gave her instructions to find out everything she could about a young nobleman named Treon. She said she would have it looked into, but had to admit that she had let the information gathering side of the business slip a bit, lately. I had not made use of their services very often, and the beauty parlour business had proved to be very profitable. I told her I did not mind as long as they did their job when I needed them, and a good facial is a thing of value in itself.
The cooling of Alexander’s trump on my wrist interrupted my manicure.
In the ladies room I took out my trump deck and saw he was trumping Random.
Ah what the hell, this time I listened in on the both of them.
"... have a situation in which I might be able to help you", Alexander
said. Random's answer was a noncommittal murmur.
"I found some documents that contain information that might be of interest
to Corwin, amongst others," Alexander went on. "I can't keep them
in my possession for much longer and I can't reach Corwin, so I thought..."
"Can you come through?" Random asked. "I would rather not talk
about this over Trump."
Darn.
Alexander said he could, and the contact ended.
Darn again. Why can't people be a bit more careless? But still, this snippet
of information could be useful one day, you never know.
When I left the beauty parlour, the sun had almost set. It was time to be an employee again instead of a lover, a sister or a spy. I had to deliver to whatshername, Ornach’s daughter, Malketh, a letter from her daddy. She had last been seen in Overshadow, and I was told I could get to Overshadow via Tir-na Nog’th, so it was time to brave the silver city again. Before I trumped to Kolvir, I went home to change into something that could withstand my shapeshifting: plain trousers, boots and a shirt, sturdy and unfashionable but practical. Then I used the sketch I made of Kolvir's peak to transport me there. Before I stepped through, I checked to see if Uncle Gerard was there, guarding the stairs against an invasion of monsters. He was not and I reached the three stone stairs unmolested. The hours between sunset and moonrise gave me time to finish the sketch and turn it into a full-blown trump. Perhaps I will destroy the trump later. It would be dangerous if it fell into an enemy's hand, and now it is finished I have it fixed in my mind anyway.
. . . _ . . .
While I walked up the stairs to Tir-na Nog'th, I shifted into my chaosform. I was lucky. The night was clear and the moon was fuller than she had been the night before, and the silver city showed itself in all its glory. But even if Tir-na Nog'th would not vanish again to drop me into the sea, I preferred the safety of my wings and armour. It makes me feel smart and competent, and the wings are my symbol of freedom. Inside the silver city I ignored the ghosts and looked for a way to put some distance between the pattern and myself. A way to leave Tir-na Nog'th presented itself when I found a dim reflection of a road leading from a minor gate in the city walls into the silver-white bushes. In the real Amber downstairs, that road led into the forest of Arden. As I followed it, the little path became wider and clearer, and after a few turns I could see the outlines of the reflection of the forest of Arden, an Arden that could not be seen when you look up at Tir-na Nog’th from the ground.
Exited, I quickened my pace. I didn’t think the existence of the reflected
Arden was common knowledge among the Family. I had learned a secret!
When the silvery trees began to take on a green hue, I decided I must have entered Overshadow. To stay in keeping with the local traditions I changed my appearance into something I had designed right after Fiona had rescued me from the Overshadow and my own madness: I turned myself into Mouse. It is hard to tell if Mouse is male or female, he just looks like an adolescent without breasts or Adam’s apple. Mouse has skinny legs, large narrow hands and an egg-shaped head crowned with thin brown hair. He has nice, grey eyes (my one concession to vanity) and his narrow shoulders are stooped. Mouse dresses in brown and grey rags, and his mantle is torn and mended. Now let us see who will recognise Boadice.
I saw my first fellow disguisee soon after I had changed. By a crossroads,
a tall man in a dark suit was pacing the dirt. His black jacket had a snow-white
trim all around the edges, a fashion that looked just plain weird to me. He
saw me as soon as I saw him, and called out:
"Ah, finally. We have been waiting for you for ages."
I looked around and behind me in case he was addressing someone else. The man
put on the straw hat he had been playing with, and before he turned away with
the words:
"Wait right here, I will fetch the others," I saw he wore a white,
round button with a black number 6 on it. What a strange man...
An odd collection of people then entered the crossing. The first was a man with a dark beard and a red robe and turban, whom I was glad to recognise (from the description Murlas had given me) as the Red Magician. Then Number Six returned with a tall, pale woman with hair that was the colour of the blush on peaches. A woman with white hair and curly, decorative silver lines on her skin – her name was Filigree and I knew she was really Fiona — joined the gathering from the path on my right, and from the left a man on horseback, dressed in red and green entered the stage. I saw the harlequin I had met before, and an oriental woman with her black hair piled high and a man dressed in grey who were strangers to me. The man in grey wore his dark brown hair in a ponytail. The last to enter were a woman in green and black, she would have been the one who called herself Dagger, and a man dressed all in black. The man's mantle caught my attention. It was made up of square patches of black material that flashed in impossible colours when he moved. The mantle disguised his form in a way I found aesthetically quite pleasing.
The people then divided themselves into two groups. The Red Magician, Harlequin, No 6, the tall woman and the oriental woman, the man with the interesting mantle and the man on Horseback clustered together on my left. Dagger, Filigree, and the Man in Grey stayed together on my right side. I was glad to have missed Lord Wolf and the pirate Redbeard. The strangers had split themselves into their political fractions: the Guardians on one side and the Circle on the other, and I noticed there seemed to be a lot more Guardians than Circle members. Perhaps they know who Mouse is. It is known (though not widely) that Boadice is the daughter of the Red Magician. I briefly wondered if that got me a reduction in club fees. Come to think of it, they probably do know I am Boadice. They had been waiting for me, after all. Waiting for the newbie to show up.
The Rider dismounted and addressed me.
"Are you familiar with the procedure?"
I fidgeted and shook my head. "I don't think so, sir."
The Rider said that he and his companions were part of a group that called themselves
the Guardians. Their goal was to maintain the status quo, but mainly they had
been formed in opposition to the group that called themselves the Circle. Filigree
then spoke up and explained that the Circle was a collection of individuals
who co-operated to further their own goals. She mocked the Guardians' conservative
stance and stated that the goal of the Circle was to increase its member's independence,
power and influence.
She made a convincing case, but my choice had already been made: I would join the Guardians so I could keep Fiona/Filigree informed about their plans. It had been a relief to me that this order allowed me to follow my natural inclinations: the Guardians' goals did not matter to me so much as the fact that my father was a member, and I longed to get to know him better, even in disguise.
I stated my choice and the Rider smiled. The Circle left, and I was welcomed with smiles and nods and curt pats on the back. The members of the circle I had not met before introduced themselves. The tall woman with reddish-blond hair was called Dusk and the oriental woman called herself Slive. The man with the flashing black mantel was called the Raven, and no 6 was indeed number 6. Mouse stammered his appreciation and smiled back, and soon I was alone again. A thought was nagging for attention and it had its friend Speculation in tow. Gran knew my father as the Red magician. This is my father's identity in Overshadow. So: does Gran also have access to-, and an identity in Overshadow? A possibility and an intriguing idea, but nothing definite. My mother, and indeed the whole shadow of Verdiga had known my father as the Red Magician. But still…
. . . _ . . .
I decided to make a little hop, like Filigree had explained to me. It’s the way to travel in Overshadow, here mind-over-matter is the whole of the law. It involved visualising the place where I wanted to go and mentally transporting myself there, and it was easier said than done. It took me the better part of an hour to 'hop' to the clearing where I had made such a fool of myself in front of Taureth. Before I got there I had ended up in a tree, upside down in a rabbit hole and quite often in totally unfamiliar places in Overshadow, or back where I started. But once I got where I wanted to be, tired but satisfied to know I had gotten the hang of this transportation thing, I hopped to the road leading to Orchis' herb garden. Orchis was Malketh’s ‘secret’ identity in Overshadow.
Her garden was still guarded by a high wood palisade. I knocked on the door
and waited, and soon Orchis opened the door. She wore her baggy pants and her
gardening gloves, her brown hair in a ponytail, and she peered at me suspiciously.
"I h.. have come to deliver a letter," I said, cringing under her
stare. "May I come in?"
Orchis defrosted a bit.
"I don't see why not."
She opened the door wider and let me in. Her garden was as I remembered it:
beautiful and well tended, and peaceful. This felt like a stable place, quite
the opposite from the forest outside which for me had a random feel to it.
"I have a letter for you," I repeated. "From your father."
I took the letter out of my rags and handed it to her.
"Let's see what the old geezer wants this time," Orchis mumbled while
she opened the letter with her gardening sheers.
"He said that he wanted to see you," I said while she read the letter.
"He is very keen for you to come and see him."
"That is what he writes here too," Orchis said with her eyes still
on the paper. Then she sighed and looked up. "This comes at an inconvenient
moment. I am researching something and I promised that I would finish that first."
"Can't you put it aside for a moment?" I asked. "Seeing your
father needn't take long."
Orchis/Malketh shook her head.
"The sooner I deal with it, the sooner I can leave. You are welcome to
help, if you will."
I considered this for a moment and asked what she was researching. The answer
she gave made my heartbeat speed up a notch or two.
"A while ago, someone who went by the name of Malachie has disappeared.
Someone else was supposed to look into it, but he hasn’t done anything
about it for quite some time now."
I had heard that name before! Murlas had been after a list of Malachie's friends, and Brand had referred to him in relation to his theories about the Pattern. If I could speak to Malachie, I could ask him about his theories and get it all straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak. That would show Dorian and Murlas and all those haughty cousins of mine! I would find out if there was anything to the rumours of Brand’s research; my mad uncle’s recorded speech had sounded awfully important and sincere.
"We found traces of violence in his home, but I have found a trail that
could mean he survived and fled. I should follow the trail and find him, and
see if he is really still alive."
I said I would like to have a word with this Malachie, if I could, and I would
be most happy to come along and help. Orchis held out her hand. After she had
assured me we would stay in Overshadow, she 'hopped' and took me with her.
We ended up on the doorstep of a little cottage. Claws had scored deep marks
on its door and something had made a hole in the roof and pulled down most of
the thatch. Inside, books had been torn and scattered everywhere (barbarians!),
chairs and tables had been smashed and huge claws had torn the wallpaper down.
Yet, in spite of the damage to both the outside of the house and the inside,
the hut looked remarkably well preserved: it seemed as if the damage had been
done only yesterday. When I remarked upon this, Orchis agreed and explained
that this could be taken as an indication that Malachie was still alive. If
he had died, his cottage would have disappeared with him.
"There have been cases," Orchis went on and I remembered the Hermit's
triangular fort, "in which this was not exactly the case. Some people take
this as a sign that that person has not died."
I nodded and thought about Brand and all the people who would be very disappointed,
to say the least, if he was still alive.
"Can you see it?" Orchis asked. "I don't know if you can, it
is hard to explain."
"Can I see what?" I asked while I inspected the shards of what had
been Malachie's teapot.
"When people go somewhere they leave a trace of their energy behind. It
is kind of like a signature, and if it is strong enough you can follow it like
a trail. Malachie was an odd kind of man, I think we can find his trail again
and follow it, but it will be difficult because it all happened so long ago.
This is why I could use your help."
"Isn't time relative here, just like the rest?" I asked.
"Yes, and no." Orchis answered with a frown. "Time passes here,
in a linear way. I'm not sure... Sometimes it goes by fast, sometimes slow,
but never everywhere the same. Sometimes you find places where things do not
change. Do you understand?"
"I think I do," I answered. In shadow, time passed at different rates
too.
"The start of the trail will be easy to find, but things will have changed
in places."
"So teach me this way of tracking," I urged, eager to learn.
"I don't know you will be able to learn," Orchis said, and it turned
out she was right to have doubts.
It took her a full hour of statements like "let it flow through you, the
knowledge must come from within", and "Feel the essence of your skill",
before I was able to catch her drift. What Orchis wanted me to learn was a way
of feeling and seeing power like I had seen and felt it when I was a Djinn.
Once I knew what she meant things went smoothly but I wished she could have
been a little more straightforward.
When I knew how to go about it I quickly learned what this mental tracking was
all about. With a few extra exercises I could see a trail leading away from
Malachie's door into the woods. It looked to me like a sort of yellowish glittery
line, sometimes pale but visible as long as I kept concentrating.
The trail led through the woods of Overshadow. When it crossed a clearing or a crossroads, I would clear the place of other tracks while Orchis held on to the original 'line', until Malachie's faded yellow was visible again. When Orchis taught me to wipe out tracks I had asked if we left any tracks ourselves. Orchis said we did. Then I asked if we could prevent this, but according to her this was not possible. All life has energy and leaves a trail, and wiping away a trail means you are spending energy too. If I wanted, if I took the time and had the skill, I could try to leave a mental trail that looked like it belonged to someone else. But I would always leave one, simply being alive in the Overshadow means spending energy, it was like breathing. Some people would leave stronger trails than others, and violent actions or intense confrontations would leave a mark on the landscape that could be sensed for a long time after the incident. So, the more active I was, the 'brighter' my trail. This was why Malachie's trail could still be followed after such a long time: he had been, or was, a singular old man with strange abilities.
At first the trail ran through the forest that to me looked like the default
background of Overshadow; trees, undergrowth, narrow tracks and wider dirt roads,
but after a while we made out buildings through the trees. The architecture
of the buildings had the feel of wealth and decay to it that I had seen twice
before: once in a book and recently in Tir-na Nog'th.
"Hmmm," Orchis said. "I think we are approaching a sphere of
influence."
"Whose influence?" I asked but Orchis said you could not always tell,
but you could try to read the clues by looking at it. A ‘sphere of influence’
most of the time altered the way Overshadow looked to you.
"Like your garden?"
Orchis nodded, her eyes on the buildings in the distance.
. . . _ . . .
Malachie's trail led into the city and soon we were surrounded by stone. Tall
cast iron lamps made yellow circles in the foul grey fog. Orchis frowned.
"Can you feel it too?"
The hair in my neck had been standing on end from the moment I set foot on the
cobblestones but that was just normal fear. We stood still and when I looked
around, I thought I saw a glint of red. It winked out before I could see what
it was.
"Are we being followed?" Orchis whispered. I shrugged and we drew
closer.
After a while we noticed that as we went deeper into the city, a sort of pressure
began to grow. It felt to me like the pressure I felt when I tried to brave
Overshadow without Taureth’s protection, and I had to concentrate on the
pendant Fiona gave me to keep the weight from overwhelming me. On top of that,
we were now sure we were being followed. Shapes darted from one shadow to another,
and on an impulse I turned around so I stood back to back with Orchis. Just
in time, because two wolves had been trying to sneak up on us from behind. They
snarled and slavered but hesitated to attack. Parts of their body had been replaced
with bits of metal.
"Can we leave quickly, if we need to?" I asked Orchis.
"Oh yes," Orchis said, "we can go, but then we'll never get anywhere."
"I'd rather run," I said but I had promised I’d help her. Slowly,
as not to startle the wolves, I drew my sword. What was it again with wolves?
I seemed to remember being warned against an enemy called 'the wolves'. Was
it by Brand? Another question for Malachie, if I ever met him.
Suddenly, behind the wolves a huge white balloon loomed. It had bounced up
the road without a sound and it scared the hell out of me, but I had my back
against Orchis and could not run. The balloon covered one of the wolves and
the beast whined briefly before the ball covered it completely. The balloon
bounced up again and the wolf was gone. At the same time the second wolf went
up in the air and down again, swung by it's hind leg by the man called Number
Six. Number Six swung the wolf over his head a few times before letting it go.
It flew a hundred feet, screaming like a demon, before it hit a building and
shut up. Number six straightened his jacked and gave us a gallant bow.
"Ladies," he said, "Can I be of service?"
I was very impressed and would have bowed back but Mouse is not that smooth
so I stammered and stared at my feet.
"Oh, I am sure we are doing fine," Orchis said archly, "but please
accept our thanks anyway."
Number Six smiled and nodded.
"Perhaps we could explore this city together? I find the atmosphere rather
interesting."
"If you wish," I said, and regretted it when number six said coldly:
"I do. Don't you?"
I had not meant to sound hostile and stammered that he was very welcome to join
us. Number Six shrugged and the three of us walked deeper into the city. I looked
for the bouncing white balloon but it had disappeared when I was not looking.
Odd, that.
There were more wolves than the ones Number Six had slain, and they kept a
watch on us from the shadows. The hostile feeling of pressure increased steadily
as we walked on. Fighting against the pressure took most of my strength but
I kept on going, and it seemed to bother Number Six as well. Orchis probably
had more experience in dealing with the Overshadow, as it did not seem to bother
her. It was she who warned us when the wolves closed in for a second time. I
drew my grey, nondescript sword and stammered:
"I as..assume running away is not an option?"
"Err, well, you can if you want to, but I thought we had a deal,"
Orchis said. I made no move to leave. Mouse is a coward but Boadice keeps her
promises.
Suddenly a shape flashed past Orchis, right at me! I caught it on my sword,
skewering its throat: huge yellow teeth flashed and I looked into two red eyes
in a grey steel mask. With my left hand I drew a dagger while my right leg shot
out and gave the wolf a serious short-out in the groin. It slid off my sword,
crumbled to the ground and started smoking.
Then the whole pack was upon us and we let loose. Swords flashed, wolves died and, I have to admit, blood flowed. Mine, mostly. I could not fight as well as I would normally have done because of the need to resist the pressure and stay in Overshadow, so I got wounded and I bled. A part of me realised that I need not bleed because everything was symbolic in this place; I was losing energy, which manifested itself as pain and wounds and marked me as a rookie.
A change in the scenery to the side of our little battleground drew my attention.
A mirror like the one I had seen in Tir-na Nog'th had appeared, an image of
Llewella reflected within it. I could not leave, the fight was thick and heavy
and I was having trouble keeping two wolves at bay and keeping my mind on my
pendant at the same time. Then Number Six pulled one of the wolves away by its
tail and Orchis slaughtered the other one, and the fight was over, for now.
We all had suffered, Number Six showed some blood too. Orchis had no wounds
but she looked tired. I went to the mirror but dared not touch it. Llewella
looked back at me, imploring. She looked even more haggard than she had in Tir-na
Nog'th.
I turned to Orchis and Number Six.
"Who is that?" Orchis said and pointed at the mirror.
"She is… a princess of Amber," I said, swallowing the word 'aunt'.
"I think she’s in trouble. But this could be another illusion..."
A wave of dizziness washed over me. I could not keep this up for long, the
pressure and the blood loss--, err, energy loss had tired me out.
"I don't know if I can stay awake," I told my companions. "I
would like to help the princess but I also want to help you find Malachie. Can
one of you do something about this pressure I'm feeling?"
Orchis shook her head. "No," she said. "And it will only get
worse the further we go."
Suddenly Number Six grabbed a brick and threw it through the mirror.
"I hope that works!" I yelled as I ducked to avoid the shards.
"So do I," Number Six said, but the mirror had not shattered but disappeared.
I almost panicked. If the mirror had been a prison, Llewella could end up like
Bihaye: a bodiless wisp of nothing! I franticly searched my pockets for a bottle,
a pot, anything! To my surprise I found a bottle in a pocket of my mantel, it
had to be an Overshadow-y manifestation of my desires. It looked like an ordinary
green wine bottle with bits of white paper where the label had been. I held
up my bottle but the air was frighteningly empty of Llewella-shaped green smoke.
Still, I had the feeling something had escaped when the mirror 'broke', but
what? Then I got my one allotted good idea for the day: I concentrated on my
newfound way of perceiving trails and yes, a tangle of green hovered in the
air. I was sure it represented the essence of Llewella but she would not go
into my bottle. Then I realised that the bottle was a representation of some
of my own energy, and I concentrated to make the bottle a safe haven for a body-less
creature, like I the one I used to inhabit for a while.
It worked. The green that was Llewella seemed to hesitate but then drew itself into my bottle. I felt I was spending energy in protecting her. It doubled the strain caused by the pressure of the city, and I felt my 'wounds' flare up. She was there, I had her, and I had almost finished putting put a mental stopper in the bottle when I passed out from the effort.
. . . _ . . .
