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Bess stepped forward... and the three of them were transported into a messy, subterranean den filled with crates and apparatus covered in oilcloth. John, a tall, lean and handsome man with black curly hair and green eyes, smiled at them. "Welcome to my humble abode, and I do mean humble. But, you understand, it's necessary to lay quite low. Please make yourselves as comfortable as you can. And you were going to explain to me, Eric, how it is that you still live?"

"I do not, exactly, live," Henry said. "I am a ghost, an imperfect reflection of Eric of Amber. I think that I was created to undo some of the damage and to atone for past failures. I took another name, before I knew who I had been, but I will answer to either that - Henry - or to Eric. Whichever is easiest for you, John." Suddenly, his face creased with real joy and he stepped forward to embrace his brother. "Damn, but it's good to see you again, boy! To find you alive was more than I could have hoped for."

John laughed and returned the embrace. "My very obscurity has been my protection, but it won't last. There are so few of us left, excepting ghosts."

The blonde woman drolly said, "Substitute Fiona for Eric and Rowan for Henry, and then my story's much the same as his." She checked the satchel at her side to be sure nothing had been lost in the transition -- and everything was still there, this time -- before saying something very quietly to Bess.

"The evidence suggests that Grace may have lied to you for your own safety, niece."

Bess frowned, "You mean that only Oberon's brood can use these cards to move?"

John overheard her and shook his head, "Corwin and Benedict have used Trumps in warfare, giving them to Shadow or lesser Amberite commanders. Still, I can't deny you have somewhat of the look."

Bess blushed.

"My memories tell me that only the Blood of Amber -- and an initiate of the Pattern, at that -- can use the Trumps to open a connection. Once open, anyone can pass until the connection is closed -- which is what I was attempting to do to you back at the palace, incidentally.

"Fiona was never one for the military aspect of life, so what John says about my older brothers having handed Trumps off to Shadow commanders may well be true."

Louder, she addressed a question to the two men. "Henry, you did promise me an explanation of how this gent fits onto the family tree. If I can get my hands back onto all of Fiona's writings, there's some updating to do."

"Of course," Henry said, letting go of his friend and turning to Rowan. "John is the son of Oberon and Guinevere... In age he fits between Gerard and Julian."

"From the wrong side of the sheets, thank the Unicorn," John agreed heartily, "last thing I ever wanted was the throne of Amber. But now I'd settle for something left to be throned over." His smile faded.

"And there will be, Johnny, I promise you," Henry said. "And when there is, we'll see. At the moment, barring ghosts and Livia, you seem to be our best bet for king, willing or no. And I don't know my daughter at all anymore." He rubbed his hands together briskly. "Now, we need to get Rowan to a Pattern to give her some memories. And then we need to get the Jewel of Judgment. Will you join us?"

Rowan nodded her agreement to the last statement. "A point on which I think you will find both Henry and me in accord. The real question is, what are we going to do about it.... aside from stealing the Jewel back from my dear mother, of course." The phrase 'dear mother' dripped sarcasm thick enough to to serve with a spoon.

"It's not quite theft, either," Henry said, looking still at John. "Since if the thing belongs to anyone it belongs to one of us. I was the last King of Amber, and Fiona was the last owner of the Jewel."

John nodded. "Okay, so first, what's a "Broken Pattern" and second, where do we think Clarissa is?"

Henry looked at Rowan. He did not have an answer to either of those questions.

And the blonde looked surprisingly blank, as well. "I know that it is, but not exactly what it is, if that makes sense to either of you. From something that Mom said, one walks the interstices rather than the traces of the Pattern."

"As for where she is, we were near Hendrake territory when you Trumped me, brother. Leaving Clarissa's villa, we'd been walking for eighteen hours or so, subjectively. But that still leaves a lot of reality to cover."

"Assuming she does not now Trump to an accomplice," John said dryly.

Henry was nodding. "I walked the Pattern in Amber that way... Perhaps you'd care to try Rebma while we're close? Or Tir Na Nog'th if the moon's right tonight. And as for Clarissa... the Pattern's still got some juice, we can see how much of the journey it's possible to cut off. Once you walk the Pattern, transport yourself as close to where you lost her as you can, and we'll Trump to you."

"Somebody just told me that Rebma wasn't safe -- I thought one of you, actually." Rowan looked at her younger brother briefly. "What is the moon like tonight?"

"Tir was out last night," said John, "but the moon is waning, so I'm afraid not. Rebma is dangerous. Very dangerous. But then, so are we."

Rowan said, "Mom, we'll deal with in a bit. In the meantime, one step at a time."

"Alright, have you any idea where a Broken Pattern might be, if not what precisely one is?" John asked.

"From Rowan's description, any Pattern will be Broken now," said Henry. "And dangerous or not, Rebma is close. We're a formidable cadre at the moment - I think we can handle whatever lurks under the waves. And perhaps there is something waiting for us down there other than Fiona's memories." He hesitated and then pulled from his pocket the ring he had found in the fireplace.

"Do any of you recognize this? From its size it seems likely to have belonged to Fiona or Livia..."

Rowan shook her head. "I don't now. Whether I will after a Broken Pattern is a different question."

John and Bess both did not recognize the ring.

"In the interim, shall we creep toward the Faiella-Bionin? Collect anything that you really want; I suspect that you may not get the opportunity to return if you remain with me," said Rowan.

John raised his eyebrows. "Sister, I'm sure we shall return. Whatever you may say or whatever may have changed you, we are scions of Amber."

Bess coughed.

"Well, by adoption at least," John added. "I'll go get my armor. Anyone need extra weapons? Rowan, can you summon light in water? The lamps on Faiella-Bionin have been extinguished."

"It's a long way through shadow from here to Mom's villa. And, if she's done anything to her defenses from what I remember, getting in uninvited can be a bit of a challenge.

"As for lights, I'll try, but I make no promises. One of the side effects of my current condition, aside from more gaps than memories, has been to make certain abilities unreliable, at best."

"My weaponry is fine," Henry said, placing his hand on the hilt of Eric's sword for a moment. "But I would appreciate a change of clothes if you have any handy. And we ought to take some food with us."

To counteract any desire for blood, he thought, but didn't say, not with Bess so close by.

"Definitely a good idea. It's been somewhere between thirty-six and forty-eight subjective hours since I first awoke, with just a cup of tea to drink in there. I'm OK for a little bit, but I think it's going to catch up with me soon." The blonde spoke as though only just realizing the truth of what she was saying.

"My wife might have something that will fit the ladies. They seem almost of a height. Anything of mine may be tight across the shoulders on you, Henry, but otherwise all right. Qalwen may be able to do something about that while we eat." John touched a pendant that lay against the dark skin of his throat and seemed momentarily unfocused.

"Your wife?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "Congratulations, John. When did this happen?"

"Recently. Qalwen came in from the Star of Order. Her high priestess had a vision that they needed a black-haired Amberite. When Qalwen met me, she thought she'd found the one, but then she fell for me and her Order repudiated her. She grew hair. It looks nice on her. But they were such bitches about it, I don't feel inclined to help them."

Henry chuckled. "And maybe you weren't the black-haired Amberite after all... There used to be a good deal of us, and still are a few, even if I don't count anymore."

"All right, there'll be food waiting for us by the time we get downstairs." John gestured at a long, long winding staircase. The staircase led deep into the bowels of the earth. At the foot of it, the air was dark with perspiration, and the walls roared with the sound of the sea. True to John's word, a heavy wood table had been laid with a veritable feast of fresh bread, cut fruit, and roast pheasant.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you besides your skill with a blade," Henry joked, pulling out a seat at the table for Rowan. "Shall we wait for... Qalwen, did you say?"

"No need to wait on formalities. She'll be here when she's here. You know witches."

"Not really," Henry said, though his lips had quirked strangely, and for a moment it seemed he had been about to say something else.

The blonde demurred for a moment, offering the chair to her niece instead.

Bess grinned and gestured back. "You're more the lady, you go ahead."

"If you insist," Rowan answered. She sat, the clothes she had chosen back at Clarissa's villa looking out of place amongst the more utilitarian garb of her companions.

Rowan said, "The food smells wonderful, John. If it tastes as good, my compliments will definitely be due to the chef."

She cupped her hands together to define a ball, gently blew into it and muttered, half under her breath, "Lux."

The ball of light ignited, more dimly than she expected, but it occured.

A faint smile played across Rowan's face. "This should give us a little more light to see by. If it holds on the Faiella-bionin, we should be able to see well enough, I hope. At the very least, we won't be stumbling blind."

Bess grinned. "That's a lot better than nothing."

"That's very pretty," said Henry, reaching for some bread and meat. "And very useful." He paused. "Rowan, where did you say you and Clarissa were going when I contacted you?"

"I hadn't, exactly. We were en route from her villa on the Chaos-side of Shadow to the nearest Broken Pattern. She claimed we were near Hendrake territory when you called."

Henry shook his head. That meant nothing to him.

"Clarissa," said a voice from the hall. "I haven't heard that witch's name in a long time." It was a whiskey voice, belonging to a harsh-featured, tall woman with very short black hair. She wore a long robe of black semi-sheer silk which did nothing to hide her full figure.

"As for John being the black-haired Amberite my Sisters were looking for," the woman, presumably Qalwen, kissed the top of John's head. "He's not. There were a few more requirements to the vision, and there have been quite a few black-haired Amberites, but we're looking for one that's been buried."

"Really?" Henry took another sip of wine, eyebrows raised. "Say, Johnny, was anyone so kind as to bury me?"

Rowan searched her memory around the holes. "I remember a memorial service -- Corwin actually gave a rather friendly eulogy -- but not an internment."

Henry concentrated on eating rather than respond to that. The memory of his hatred for Corwin still blazed inside him, and yet he knew that they had fought together, had even worked through a good deal of bad feeling in the few months allotted them. Those were memories that kept slipping away, however. It made him uncomfortable.

"Actually, yes, I hear that your daughter arranged the ceremony. Though we were very busy fighting Chaos at the time." John smiled and poured the wine for them all.

"That witch, by the way, is my mother," she commented to the hostess. "Is there any particularly bad blood I should be aware of, or do you just dislike her on general principles?"

Qalwen shook her head, "I meant the term as a descriptor, not an insult. Being a witch myself, I recognize that three of Oberon's queens were quite formidable in the arts. But she could be quite a bit of trouble, as I recall."

Rowan said, "She already has been -- seeing as to how she's stolen the Jewel of Judgement."

Henry snorted. "He liked that in a woman. Not that I blame him."

He leaned back and toyed with his beard. "But, sister, we're going to have to discuss your feelings for your mother - you seem apt to defend her, even from insult. If we find the Jewel - if we find she still has it, that is - and I try to take it from her, which I will - what will you do?"

"Isn't anybody entitled to have mixed feelings about their parents? As for what I'll do, I intend to take it back from her myself. The evidence suggests that Fiona was the last legitimate custodian of the Jewel, which means it ought to pass to me."

A strange, cold light came into Henry's eyes but he said nothing.

"One way or another, though, I intend to remedy the mess that is presently reality, and to teach a hard lesson or three to its principal architects."

"Very good," said Henry, nodding. "On we go, then." He looked at Qalwen. "Would you care to accompany us to Rebma, lady?"

Qalwen hesitated. "John and I cannot both depart. One of us must remain to protect the city. Miss Blackwell is a powerful sorceress, but even she cannot hold against the Castle's denizens alone. Which of us would you prefer travel with you?"

Bess narrowed her eyes. "I don't like the way you said that. It makes it sound like Mama is in danger if we leave."

Rowan turned a very dryly amused glance to her niece. "Given the current state of reality, we're all in danger of some kind or another. The only real differences are the types and degrees of danger present."

"I ought to speak to Grace before we leave at any rate," said Henry. "I would like to know her view of matters... and I have other questions. Perhaps I can be about that as the rest of you are preparing for our departure."

Henry's "sister" slightly hoisted the messenger bag she had brought from Fiona's rooms. "I should just need a few moments to change clothes. Somehow, this," she gestured at the emerald green evening gown she had donned back in Clarissa's villa, "doesn't seem quite right for an underwater excursion. Fortunately, the old me did still have a few things in her wardrobe in addition to the important items."

She paused. "I suspect you'd like some privacy when you visit Bess's mother, but I'm available if you feel the need for backup."

Henry smiled at her. "Thank you, sister. I appreciate that very much, but you are right, I would like to speak to Grace alone. If I have need, I will Trump you." He looked at John. "I'll be back as soon as I can, but if I'm too long, Bess has a Trump deck and the card for Eric should reach me."

Qalwen hesitated, then leaned over and touched Rowan's shoulder. "I have something that might be of use to you... but-"

[Rowan receives a Trump attempt]

Rowan gestured to her host to bide a moment, while trying to blank her mind as best she could. Until she had had the opportunity to walk some kind of Pattern, she had no interest in talking to anybody that she hadn't called herself.

Meanwhile, Bess said to Henry, "I'm going with you. These careful words are making me scareder than simple threats or speeches would have." She stood up abruptly. "Thanks for the food, John. We'll be back in a few minutes."

To Qalwen Henry said, "Thank you for your hospitality, lady." And finally, to Bess, "If you would like to join me in visiting your mother, I will not ask you to remain behind, although I would like a private conversation with her. But if you come, please leave your Trumps with John."

Bess shrugged. "Private is fine, but I've gotta see if she's okay. And why should I leave them? One of us should have Trumps, and mom doesn't have any. I bet John does."

"I do," John put in with a smile.

"In that case, of course you can keep yours," Henry said to Bess. "I just wanted them able to contact me - I've got a set myself, although they may not be as complete as yours - Caine always did like Trumps."

He paused. "Where in the City are we? Do you know how to get to your mother's house?"

Bess nodded. "I can get us there. But we need to keep ourselves hooded and draw as little attention to ourselves as possible in the streets. It's dangerous these days."

"I haven't a hood," said Henry, drawing the high collar of his cloak around the lower portion of his face, "but this ought to do if I keep my head down. Shall we?"

To the others he said, "I won't be long. If you need to leave without me, you can Trump me from any step of the journey. Good fortune."

Then he turned back to Bess, ready to depart.

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