Chapter 088: New Cover

"I need a new voice, a new law, a new way

Take the time, reevaluate

It's time to pick up the pieces,

Go back to square one

I think it's time for a change"

Take the Time - Dream Theater

             Much as it was to my dislike, there was nothing for it but to leave Quendor and report back to Random once again, just like Aurelia had commanded. I did not bother to hide my frustration and even anger at Fiona's rash behaviour as I told the King what had transpired, and he could only sigh and admit it sounded all too much like the sister he knew of old.

            "So," he said, "they're a force to be reckoned with. Do you think there's any chance of getting her out of there? Brute force would not be an option, I guess."

            "No, decidedly not. And if I have to go back covertly, it will simply take its time. If I had known that Fi would fall back on such a course of action, I would never have asked her over in the first place." Yes, I was quite mad at her, but with good reason.

            "If it wasn't for Fiona being there I would counsel you to leave things well alone for a while," Random said with an awkward look, "but I don't know what they're going to do to her. I mean, she may be impetuous, but she's still my sister. We just can't leave her there for them to lord over us, much as she may deserve it. And don't quote me on that either."

            "Hmm," I said, calming down a little, "I don't really whether know they will make her into much of a public display. Have they really done anything publicly yet, something to acknowledge their presence?"

            "No. After that Sherwynian assault on Galoria, in which you yourself got quite mixed up, they haven't taken any kind of overt actions, and I've received only two reports of situations in which they appear to be involved, like the one in Quendor."

            "That's not what I meant. Have they done anything officially to announce their presence? Something to indicate who they are and why they're here, like Galoria did once they had established the Nexus?"

            "No, they haven't done anything like that."

            "Well, if they're not interested in p.r., it simplifies our problem a bit, don't you think? I suggest that for now no one else need be told about the pickle Fiona has landed herself in. If they're not saying anything, we don't need to either. Although we might inform Bleys before he decides to check up on the Quendor situation."

            "I'm not certain that's such a good idea. Knowing Bleys, it might just give him cause to go snooping around."

            "But he already knows there's something amiss in Quendor," I objected, "so he might go in unprepared for what's waiting there."

            "When he hears they're holding Fiona, he would storm in without any kind of preparation," Random said.

            "It's your call," I shrugged. I guessed he probably knew his brother better than I did.

            "Oh, believe me, this kind of impetuosity runs very strongly in that side of the Family. If it should come to it, I'll warn him not to underestimate them, although I doubt he'll listen." He sighed. "What a mess. Did you happen to learn anything new while you were in Quendor?"

            "Nothing apart from what I've just told you. We hadn't been there long enough to discover anything before they snatched up Fi."

            "Do you think you would be able to make contact with the Quendorian underground?"

            "I might be, I guess…" It would have been a lot easier before this whole mess. Stupid, stupid Fiona! "If I'm going back there, however, I'm going to need some new disguise."

            "Alright, I suggest you lay low for a couple of days at least, let things simmer down a little, while taking some time to prepare a suitable new identity. Then return to Quendor very carefully, no Powers, avoiding watchful eyes…"

            I supposed it made sense, especially since I had proposed not to bring anyone else up to date about this situation. Mad as I was at Fiona for letting things get out of hand, I still felt an obligation to keep her loss of face in Family terms to a minimum. Somehow it was that affair with the black and white Trump all over again. The thought of having to do without Powers altogether was less than appealing, though. I know that I'd had some practise, so to speak, whilst in the other Reality, but in a way this was much more serious. When I stopped to think about it, the ease with which Aurelia had taken out Fiona was absolutely terrifying. What was I going to do against such odds without even my Pattern abilities to rely on? Still, in the end Random was right: we couldn't just leave her there.

            "I'll see what I can do…," I said hesitantly. "I'll try, but…"

            "If you think you need some help," he offered, clearly glad that I was willing to take on the job, "it's easy to arrange some Family back-up. I've heard it said that there are some tricks one can learn to suppress one's Pattern abilities to the point where it cannot plainly be detected…" Yes, Fi had taught me how to do this, and I didn't think this part was going to be any trouble. However, I frowned doubtfully at his notion of getting someone else involved. It had only been recently when I had followed a similar suggestion of his, and if I had not done so we would not be facing our current difficulties.

"Oh, I don't mean someone you have to take along," he quickly added, "but someone who can assist you with your preparations. There are a few noted specialists in undercover work in the Family. Take Caine's side, for instance, both father and son." I had to suppress a smile of private amusement here, of course. Unaware of my true parentage, Random failed to notice any resemblance between me and my father, although I should be fair and admit that I had never shared Caine's interest in covert operations and espionage as Murlas apparently had. And it was true that he could be a great help in this kind of situation.

"However," Random continued, "Murlas may perhaps be a trifle too busy with other matters. According to a report that's just come in, it seems that he's been nominated for the kingship of Chaos. It's only a first round nomination, of course, but still..."

"Meaning?" I inquired. I never knew you could get nominated to become the King of the Courts, and frankly the idea of my brother even being considered for that throne seemed rather ludricous. An upstart outsider with clear Amber ties? Remember what happened to the last king.

"It means he'll probably not be the one who gets the job," Random replied. He sketchily explained to me that the Courts officials had apparently dug up some ancient and nearly forgotten procedure for settling the issue of the succession. Basically, it was a knock-out system, in which the new king was ultimately selected by consensus, however small that consensus finally was.

There were going to be a number of consecutive rounds in which various candidates were to be presented by the different power blocks within the Major Council, and since this was only round one, the candidates were still of relatively minor importance. There were three at present: the Lord Grendel Escallwyn, the liberal candidate and of course Boadice's boyfriend, the Lady Berice Omega, whom I knew to be a close friend of Emall Grice's, and finally brother Murlas, or to give him his rightful title, the Lord Murlas Ysarn. What was surprising was that he had been nominated by Jaill Helgram, the undisputed leader of the conservative forces in the Courts.Apparently, there were more than a few ways in which hopeful candidates could be taken out of the running, ranging from the one extreme of murder to the other of relinquishing the claim oneself, with a whole asortment of options in between, each one constituting a different degree of gain or loss, both for the party as for the individual and their House, measured according to the arcane and intricate rules of Chaos. In any case, I could see that Murlas had to extra careful for a while. Politics...

"It will be good to have someone fill the Royal position again, though," Random mused. "It would certainly be a lot easier to come to terms with a single individual than with that whole Council of theirs, and maybe we can finally get some things done for a change. As it is, it's getting harder and harder, for the Courts are more and more turning in upon themselves, shutting out all the other Powers. Anyway, if you require anything - assistance, knowledge, anything - just Trump me and we'll arrange for something. Do you, for instance, have a Trump of Quendor? No?" I saw him open a desk drawer and take out an absolutely astoundingly huge pack of cards, through which he proceeded to rifle with the ease and dexterity of a professional poker player (which I'm sure he must have been for at least a while sometime in his earlier life). In two blinks of an eye he'd found the one he had been looking for and handed it to me through the Trump contact. It was a Pattern Trump of the city, and I thought I recognized Fiona's particular style. The question was, of course, whether the thing was going to work with the ever-growing interference from the Crystal Spire. There was only one way to find out.

"One last thing," I said, "how does Murlas himself feel about his current situation?"

Random shrugged. "I haven't spoken to him personally, I've only heard about it by and by from a very good source." He grinned. "The good thing about the current threat is that people have suddenly started to volunteer information, without much prompting on my part. I have never been so well-informed since the moment I took on this job."

"Good for you," I muttered as a goodbye. "Not that it always helps, though."

Since I required some time to prepare myself for my new task, I shifted a number of Shadows away from Quendor until I couldn't feel the influence of the Spire anymore. It was a good thing its Power was still so very localised. The world I settled upon was close to Quendor in nature, but here the possible capacity for magic had been less thoroughly explored, making it closer in appearance to Shadow Earth. Using the Pattern to speed up the local time to a rate of three times that of Quendor, I found myself a nice and quiet spot where I could practise and experiment.

Before asking anyone for help, I had decided to try and see how far my own abilities would get me. True, I knew but little of the art of disguise, but there were some applications of Power I had not essayed up till now. For instance, the weaving of Pattern strands which I usually employed in shielding my conversations from eavesdroppers could also be used to construct visual images, which might serve as a mask. The trick lay in bending the light in particular ways, or in other words, in rightly positioning some supernatural smoke and mirrors. It was far from easy, however, and without an instructor it took me a good deal more time than I would have liked, since I had to figure everything out for myself. Finally, after many a failed attempt, I was able to create a complete disguise, both visual and aural, and I admit I felt rather proud at my accomplishment.

Then came step two: suppressing and masking my Pattern abilities. You could say that it went still further than this, for I would have to do it to such an extent that no one would be able to discover that I had walked the Pattern or that I would even be able to do so. In other words, I would have to make certain that no one could tell that I was an Amberite. It was something that Fiona had had me practise before, but I'd had no need of it until now, especially since it constituted a complete and utter Power shutdown. And that was where my two objectives clashed, for while I was able to mask myself in the aforementioned fashion, I could not suppress the Pattern energies of the weave as well. They would not be screaming for attention, but anyone looking at me with more than ordinary senses would be able to spot them immediately.

            Theoretically there was a solution, but I was very, very reluctant to try it, for it entailed giving the whole weave a sort of permanent status, effectively altering my appearance. I had never tried anything like this before and would certainly not have done so on myself.

            It may seem strange in a Reality where I dealt with shape shifters on a regular basis, but I felt my sense of identity to be closely tied to my physical appearance. Changing it in such a drastic manner went against my every sensibility. What if I would not be able to undo the change?

Of course, it would have been possible for me to construct a weave with ordinary magical energies, which would have made it much easier to hide, but the problem with this was that the magic had to be local, and the whole point of this exercise lay in being able to move about unrecognized in order to find the local Quendorian magicians. Whichever way I looked at the problem, there were always some new complications.

            In the end I cursed, sighed, shrugged, and dug out Caine's Trump. At least I had given it a try. Naturally, Caine was interested in knowing the reasons why I needed to disguise myself, but mentioning Quendor and the Enemy together with an assurance that Random had already been told was enough to convince him to come through and begin my instruction. Random hadn't been wrong in suggesting him as an expert either, for I learned quite a lot in those few days.

            Caine was business-like and to the point, but I had the impression that he rather enjoyed passing on his skills, especially since it was me whom he was passing them on to. He quickly taught me the dos and don'ts of colouring one's hair, different haircuts, false facial hair, rubber and latex prostethics, and much, much more. He had, for instance, no trouble in fixing it so that my face looked perfectly like the late King Oberon's, which I guess would have been slightly easier because of the general Family resemblance.

            Then, of course, there was acting the part: the moves, the mannerisms, the voice. Caine had an uncanny way of having someone else's way of walking down to a tee, and it was so strange to watch him patter about just like Flora or to see him copy Benedict's peculiar stride. Finally, he had some quite useful hints and tips on contacting people, setting up networks, and other general undercover activities, too many to go into really.It didn't surprise me that he showed at least a bit of curiosity about my mission during those few days, but I adamantly refused to tell him any more. He would just have to ask Random, then the King could decide how much he needed to know.

            What did surprise me was that Caine was as yet unaware of Murlas's new activities in the Courts, which suggested that the news Random had told me had at least been fairly recent. Caine wasn't entirely happy with the idea of Murlas being only a first round candidate, muttering something about an inordinate amount of danger with but little chance of reward. He would be sure to check up on the situation, though.

There was another matter that also needed to be raised: Deirdre. It was in the course of our final day of training that I informed him of the fact that I had at long last talked to her, and that she had come with me to Ornach Ways. His reaction was typically noncommittal. "What was her response like?" he asked me levelly.

"Negative. Not that I had expected anything else."

"I'll talk to her," Caine said.

"It probably won't help."

"Probably not."

We left it at that. Deirdre's confirmation was the only thing that stood in the way of us being a hundred percent certain of our true kinship, Taureth's conclusions about the hereditary nature of the Curse being not much more than circumstantial evidence. Despite her denial, however, I remained totally convinced that Caine's theory had been correct and would continue to behave accordingly until she showed me some concrete evidence otherwise.

Only when I had tested my final disguise on Caine and had been judged successful would he say goodbye and good luck and leave me to the task at hand. I had already prepared all the identification papers I woud require in Quendor, as well as a small firearm complete with a permit. My name was to be Dennis Duval, a licensed private investigator, which would give me enough opportunity to nose around. I had not altered my overall built, but had changed my walk and posture a little to suggest a person who had at one point been in some kind of police or military service. A touch of remodelling had left my facial features somewhat heavier and broader, and I now sported a regular black moustache. They only thing that I regretted was my decision to cut my hair, but I'd figured that it would be more in keeping with the kind of role I was going to play; besides, it had not had enough time to regain its former length after the fire in the alternative Vale of Garnath anyway, and I guessed I would be able to regrow it afterwards. Its colour was now black to match the moustache, and my eyebrows had been darkened as well. Looking in the mirror, I noted the resemblance to cousin Alexander, save for the eyes which I had left in their original state. It would be good to have at least one feature people could recognize me by.

            When I was almost ready to go, I hesitated. The information Random had given me about a second Crystal Spire in the vicinity of Galoria had been haunting me for the last few days. Somehow I felt I ought at least give Alexander some warning about the threat it represented, although by now he might have discovered this for himself. There were two considerations that kept me from Trumping him directly, though: my current appearance and all the awkward questions Alex was bound to ask about the Quendor situation, questions which I'd rather not answer. Still, there were other ways. The swallow was a streak of black and slightly blue-ish grey, dropping out of the sky and swooping down to perch on my outstretched hand. It twittered and waited patiently for me to finish the concise admonition and tie the tiny scroll to its leg. I whispered the name and it took off, disappearing into the cloudy sky within seconds. I did not know how much time would pass before the bird would reach Cousin Alexander and he would read my message, but it did not matter: he would know that I had bothered to warn him, and the slip of paper would crumble to dust as soon as read, leaving nothing that would be awkward for me to explain to King Random. After all, I didn't think he would take kindly to me passing on classified information to another major Power.

Opening the way back into Quendor, I performed an elaborate series of tiny shifts which I had prepared in advance to shift my new identity into place, and then I shut down my Pattern completely. A nagging, empty feeling remained, even though I knew I could undo the process with one slight gesture, yet there immediately seemed to be an advantage to it as well: no more Pattern meant no more headaches.

It was reassuring to see how my disguise stood up to the few patrols I met on my way to check into a new hotel. The "no magic" document in itself worked miracles, of course, but I was fairly sure that my description had been circulated after what had happened, and I was, therefore, glad to see that none of the Thaumacops even looked twice at me. After a while I realised that I started to get used to them regularly asking for my i.d., which was presumably what had happened with a lot of the local population, considering the way they carried on as if nothing had changed.

It was rather unfortunate, but I felt it wouldn't do for Mr. Duval to take up residence in the same upper class hotel as Mr. Dorian Grey had, so I settled for a more regular small tourist hotel. The room was clean, plain, and boring, but I wasn't here on holiday. Down in the lobby there was a little waiting area with a big pile of newspapers and magazines, which came in handy for me to ascertain that in my absence some five days had passed, just as I had calculated. One image immediately caught my eye, though: one of the dailies that specialised in any kind of glamour and gossip had a big colour picture on its front page of Lucius, smiling, with an enthralled Fiona at his side. "The Happy Couple" was what the headline shouted at the world, and the accompanying text announced the engagement of the Thaumos to Miss Eugenie Lablanche, proclaiming the upcoming marriage to be the Wedding of the Year. The happy couple were said to be very much in love, which seemed to be true, looking at the bride-to-be's doting eyes. Well, this would make for a perfect souvenir to confront Fiona with once this was all over.

Leafing through the various magazines, I tried to look for some report of the occurrences that had led to Fi's capture, but the only thing I could find were stories on an anarchist attack on the Thaumos, which had resulted in the bombing of a downtown office building, presumably the one that had been hit by Fiona's fireball. There was no mention of any Amberite involvement. Of course, the papers stated, the perpetrators had been captured and punished. In other words, Lucius had taken the opportunity to arrest and even execute some of his political opponents, thus further strengthening his own position. However, from the wanted ads that still featured on the back pages of all the papers it seemed that he had so far been unable to apprehend any of the five people associated with the former Magic Council. The only change was that the rewards were now even slightly higher.

            With the new knowledge from Caine's lessons I had come to the conclusion that Simon La Fleur, the young street musician, might be a good choice to serve as a contact between me and Miss Fabre. For one thing, he had had quite a bit of information for a mere street musician, while the bar he had taken me too had had the air of a place where people could talk freely without having to worry about prying eyes and ears. If Simon himself was not a member of the resistance movement, he was sure to know at least some person who was, and from there, one step at a time, I might finally get to Miss Fabre.

            Through the lovely Quendor weather I took a stroll to the place where I had first met Simon, but seeing he wasn't there I headed on to the bar. It was early in the afternoon when I entered, and there were only a few other people sitting around. They cast strange glances at me, but when I merely ordered a drink and sat down they proceeded to pay me no mind. Simon wasn't there, either, however, and I had to wait for more than an hour before he showed up, his guitar strapped in a case on his back. He didn't appear to notice me as he sat down at the bar. I waited a few more minutes until my glass was empty, then walked forwards to order a new one. Instead of going back to my seat, I also sat down at the bar, just a couple of places down from Simon's. He looked up at me and nodded a greeting, plainly failing to see through my disguise.

            "You're a musician?" I asked, nodding at the guitar.

            "Sure. Why? You in need of one?" He grinned. "I have no trouble with playing in groups, and I'm available for any kind of weddings or parties. I even do the occasional serenade. Second one half price," he added with a wink.

            I couldn't help but smile at his way of peddling his talents. Racking my brain, I finally seemed to remember one of the tunes he had been playing the day I'd first met him. I hummed it for him and asked  whether he knew it. He took out his guitar and gave fair rendition of the piece. "That the one?"

            "Yes. I see you've played it more than once."

            "Oh, it's one of these things that crop up now and again."

            "Like, say, five or six days ago…?"

            He immediately became more guarded. "Could be…," he said, cagily.

            "To an audience of one?" I persisted.

            "The size of the audience doesn't matter, as long as I'm getting paid."

            "A young man?"

"It's possible. My memory for faces is not all that good."

            "He's told me that the two of you had quite a conversation going."

            "Oh, it happens, you know. Sometimes people just talk." He clearly didn't know what to make of me: I could either be someone sent by the young man he'd been talking to or some government agent following up on a lead. It would take some smooth talking and slow convincing to get him to confide in me, but Caine had warned me that this was always the hardest part.

            "He'd said that you were quite well-informed," I ventured, calmly taking a sip from my wine.

            "What do you expect? I spend most of my days outside, playing on street corners. You get to meet a lot of people that way. But I'm not into any illegal business, if that is your drift."

            "Oh no, no. It's just that well-informed people are often more cognisant of current affairs than the average joe. And of course, there's lots to see out on the streets." He nodded noncommittally, so I continued: "Sometimes certain events are reported on in the papers, while the people who make their living outside can often tell you some interesting details the papers

failed to pick up on."

            "Well, naturally I only know what I've seen and heard." He gave me a coy smile. Still playing it safe, but I think he was smelling some possible profit in this exchange.

            "Take that recent terrorist attack, for instance...," I suggested.

            "Yes, that was supposed to be some quite serious business." He suddenly leaned a bit forward and took a long good look at my face. I sensed he was still undecided, although I think he might eventually recognize me. After all, I was making things easier for him, and besides, we had spent quite a few hours in close conversation that first time. "Yes, that was quite an event," he added.

            "The way that has been presented by the media is not entirely in accordance with, say, my own personal experience." I put forward.

            "That seems to be something that has been going around quite a lot," Simon said. "Quite a few people I know have been coming down with these kind of symptoms."

            "No wonder. There are a lot of bewildering things happening lately."

            "Such as...?"

            "Such as our illustrious leader's recent engagement, for instance."

            "That was quite unexpected, wasn't it?"

            "To say the least. I do wonder whether anyone had ever laid eyes on this Eugenie Lablanche before the actual announcement." I found that I was rather starting to enjoy myself. Perhaps this covert operations stuff wasn't all that bad after all.

            "Oh, I'll readily admit to never even having heard of her before all this," Simon said. "She's quite a looker, though. Nice red hair. Looks a bit like Marie Lablanche too."

            "That's not too surprising, I'd say."

            "Well, she's said to be a direct descendant."

            "No, I wouldn't say she is." Simon looked at me in mild confusion. "I'm fairly sure," I said, "that no one in Quendor had actually spoken to this Eugenie Lablanche until some five days ago."

            "I see...," he said, not actually catching my drift quite yet. "You mean she's some kind of fake?"

            "Oh no, she's the real thing." I permitted myself a sly smile. Simon, not being able to figure out what I was on about, sighed and ordered another drink.

            "Frankly," he said, "I can't deny that he's got good taste in women. And by the look of things she's not really being coerced into this either."

            "There's coercion, and then there's coercion."

            "For someone who's being coerced she seems frightfully happy, though."

            "She wouldn't be if she was aware of the state she's in," I replied firmly.

            "You believe she's under some kind of spell?"

            "Something stronger even..."

            "That's something I don't know anything about," Simon said, moving just an inch away from me as his earlier caution flared up again.

            "But you do know about magic, then?"

            "Of course not. That's one subject that is much too dangerous to know anything about in Quendor these days."

            "You're right, you're right, but still... Being out on the streets all day, you hear some things, you witness some other things, things happen to you. You know a few people, they know some other people… You catch my drift?"

            "Okay...," he hesitated slightly, weighing the odds, but finally he seemed to decide on taking the plunge. "I gather you're rather worried about this Eugenie Lablanche?"

            "You could very well say that."

            "And you're looking for someone who can break the spell she's under?"

            "If it's at all possible, yes."

            "Hey, it's not for me to say what's possible and what's not, mister."

            "I guess not. It's a case of try and find out."

            "Well, what might be possible is to locate somebody, even in these dark times, who knows about such things, but it won't be easy. I'm sure you can imagine how extra careful such a person would have to be."

            "I can. I don't exactly feel all that free and easy myself either."

            "Right. Yet on the other hand, if it's for a good cause and all... I mean, this wedding is of course one great propaganda stunt to keep the masses in check. And they're loving it too," he sneered. "Just eating it up, each and every one of them. And nothing is wrong, there's no cause for alarm, Quendor's just the same as it ever was. Lablanche forever!"

            "Lablanche isn't what it used to be," I muttered, but apparently Simon didn't hear me, being too caught up in his own sudden train of thought.

            "Hey," he said, "wait a minute. If you're that close with the Lablanches, you wouldn't be needing any outside help, would you?"

            "Read my lips: Lablanche isn't what it used to be." I heaved a weary sigh. "I took the trouble of explaining all of this to one other person some while ago."

            "Did you? Well, perhaps this other person can help you then?"

            "If I would be able to get in touch with her, she might. But I'm afraid our recent contacts have been far from direct."

            "Perhaps you could give me some idea whom you're talking about?"

            "I could, but there is a bit of a problem if I do, see? If I tell you her name, it might attract some unwanted attention, even in this place."

            "Oho, one of that bunch, eh?" He looked around and picked up a discarded newspaper, placing it casually between the two of us on the bar. The back page, featuring the wanted ad, had somehow miraculously ended face up. I took a handful of nuts from one of the complimentary bowls standing around the bar, nibbled a few, then offhandly shot one with my thumb and forefinger in Simon's direction, letting it bounce once on the paper, or more precisely on Miss Fabre's smiling image. We exchanged a meaningful glance and he nodded. "It will indeed not be easy to get in touch with someone like that," he said, "but I guess that she would be of the right calibre for your particular kind of problem. And, well, as a street musician I do meet a lot of people, and I could spread the word around. What particular words would you like to have me spread around?"

            "Just tell her her old burgling partner is back in town. That should suffice."

            Simon nodded sagely, although I'm sure the message must have meant little to him. He stood up and drained his drink, then waved at the barman. "The drinks are on my friend here," he said, indicating me with a shake of his head. Then he strapped his guitar back on, grinned at me in passing, and walked back out on the street. I shrugged and paid the man. If Simon would really be able to get word through to Miss Fabre for me, who was I to begrudge him a few drinks?

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