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The Castle Wall

Without further ado, Jabrel cloaked himself, muttered the words of a spell, closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around his hidden blade. Moments later, he appeared at the point where the dark-haired woman and the black-bearded man were talking. There was a time for stealth and a time for speed. This occasion, he judged, required the latter.

"Good evening," Jabrel said evenly.

Henry spun around, sword exiting its sheath with barely a hiss. He held it lightly but firmly, blade pointed, for the moment, down and to the right of Jabrel.

Jabrel didn't react in the slightest, his dark cat-like eyes unblinking.

Flashing a fantastic smile, Henry said to Bess, "Now, you're certain there are only female vampires in the Castle?"

"I am not a vampire," Jabrel replied, "nor a habitual visitor to the castle. Now Ms. Blackwell I know," he said, giving her a respectful nod, "but you...you remind me of someone long dead."

"I am Montparnasse; now tell me of you," he said evenly.

"I wasn't aware we were acquainted," Bess said, and the look she gave Jabrel was neither warm nor trusting. She glanced at Henry. "He's no vampire, though. A wizard definitely."

"Ah," Henry nodded, sheathing his sword. "In that case, come inside. We can speak more comfortably there."

Jabrel hopped down lightly from the wall. He cast back his hood, and his features seemed to change as the thin light played upon them. Jabrel was dark-skinned with piercing blue eyes and black hair. There were traces of silver in the obsidian curls above his ears, testament to his age and perhaps his experiences. When he moved, he did so with cat-like grace.

"Thank you, I shall," he smiled.

Henry led them down from the ramparts and, after a brief hesitation, bypassed the throne room in favor Eric's quarters, where he pushed the doors open and gestured them inside. "You asked about me earlier," he said as they walked. "I am the Ghost King, the Regent. I am Henry."

"Pleased to meet you," Jabrel replied. "I take it you haven't yet had the dubious pleasure of meeting the other royal ghosts? Tell me what you know of La Conta, the Maestro and Il Diavolo. If you don't know, then you need to."

"The only ghost I have met at present is Rose Red," said Henry as they reached the doors. "She does not seem to require a title. As for what I know of the others... I know that they, along with my - Eric's son Richard, have slain most of the blood of Amber upon the Primal Pattern, exacerbating the damage caused by whoever killed Bleys all those years ago. I know who they are modeled on and I know that I oppose them. I hope that you do also."

Bess said, "I know of Montparnasse by reputation. He's a member of the Blood Guard. Fighting the Count is about all they do."

Jabrel bowed his head slightly, acknowledging a truth.

Henry smiled at that.

She shot Jabrel a considering glance. "There's quite a bit about the Quincunx we never got to telling Henry, actually. But I bet you're a bit better informed than we."

Henry turned to look at Bess at that point - "we" was interesting. Back at the Blackwell's home, she had shown no eagerness to tell him anything. He hoped this meant she trusted him now.

By this point, they had entered the ruins of Eric's chambers. The doubledoors opened on to a large sitting room with three other exits: two doors and an archway. The arch led to a dilapidated study, and the open door showed a dirty, pitted metal bathtub. The other door, presumably to a bedroom, was closed.

This room had been blessedly free of fire, but not from the games and mischief of the vampires or the ravages of time. The black leather couch looked habitable, though it was ripped and dirty, but the smaller wooden chairs looked decidedly rickety. Most of Eric's wall hangings and knick-knacks, which were in masculine, understated style, had been thrown to the floor, or else had fallen and broken.

Only two pieces were unharmed - a large painting of Amber Castle as she had been, and a long frame, containing four paintings - a set painted of Eric's sisters: he had, rather facetiously, stenciled the symbols of the four card suits onto the top left-hand corner of each, a spade for Deirdre, a heart for Florimel, a diamond for Fiona, and a club for Llewella, respectively.

Jabrel paused in front of the portraits and raised his finger in the air. Tilting his head as he did so, he traced it over around each oval of the face, carefully outlining each of the princesses. For the first time he stood tall, and the watchfulness was replaced by calm reflection.

Henry laughed richly to see this reaction. "Lovely ladies, aren't they?" he said.

Jabrel didn't react at all to the laughter, and his eyes seemed distant. "Yes they are," he answered.

Bess peered at that frame sardonically. "It would have been interesting to play bridge with Eric," she commented.

The smile remained as Henry turned to her, but the laughter was gone from his eyes. "He was never particularly good at partner games."

Jabrel pulled his gaze away from the pictures, a little reluctantly. "There are more important games afoot. Artifacts to be found, alliances to be made, broken things to be mended."

Bess shrugged. "Montparnasse, you were going to tell us what you thought we ought to know about the Quincunx." Her sharp black eyes focused on him.

"Yes I was," Jabrel nodded. He looked down from the portraits and looked about himself, as if he had only just arrived.

Henry nodded, sat down on the couch and rifled through the trump deck, quickly, counting, checking to see if he had a full deck - or even extra cards. His attention remained on the other two, however.

"At the risk of stating the obvious and what you already know I shall begin at the beginning. First there was the triumvirate; La Conta, Il Diavolo and the Maestro; ghosts of Brand, Caine and Benedict respectively. These are the backbone of the Quincunx and it's likely at least one of them is homing in on you right now, to recruit or destroy you. Sanvanista the android and Richard the traitor are the other two; the former may be salvageable and converted to our cause, Richard you have my permission to erase in any sadistic fashion you choose," Jabrel smirked.

Henry's lip curled at that. His expression was difficult to read.

"The last information I had put the Maestro in this vicinity," Jabrel continued, "though I have seen no recent signs of his passing. I believe La Conta and Il Diavolo are elsewhere for now, but I see no reason to be complacent. By the way, have you come across any ghosts of Fiona in the Castle? I have a project in mind for a suitable subject."

"Sure," said Bess, "Rose Red has been here for ages. As long as the Snow White, maybe longer. You didn't know she was a ghost of Fiona?"

Jabrel shrugged. "It never hurts to seek a second opinion."

"Rose is in her tower, but I doubt you'll find her helpful, unless your goals coincide with her own. At least on the subject of Richard you seem to agree. The question that arises, however, is why do I need your permission to do anything? Since you oppose the Quincunx, we are here in common purpose, but I would serve no man living... and only one ghost, were he to appear." Henry snorted. "And that reluctantly."

"My dear fellow," Jabrel chuckled. "Who said anything about permission? If you wish to hold the castle, good luck to you. I shall keep in touch now I know you're here."

Henry smiled and nodded. He didn't consider it worthwhile to mention that he had been referring to Jabrel's earlier statement about giving permission to kill Richard.

"Well, I'm going to go and visit this Rose and see how she likes being plucked," Jabrel continued. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help with your regency. Adieu." He sketched first Henry then Ms. Blackwell a bow, then begsn to lope off into the darkness.

"Until we meet again, then," said Henry. He took a deep breath, glanced at Bess. "Would you mind if I tried something quickly?"

She shrugged.

He took out the trump of Fiona and concentrated.

At first Henry felt nothing but blackness and inescapable, dark emptiness. A headache started to pound in his temples. As he pushed harder, however, a form appeared before him. It resembled Fiona strongly, but had golden hair.

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