§ § § - - May 22, 2009

The triplets, who had known for some months that Ingrid wasn't coming back with them so that she could marry and have her own family, had apparently not quite believed this was actually going to happen; so they had put up quite a fuss when Christian and Leslie rearranged the room Ingrid had used and set it up for Anastasia. For the first time, Susanna and Karina evinced resentment of the sister they'd been so glad to get. "Why does she get her own room and we have to share?" Susanna had demanded. It had taken a lot of persuasion, some scolding, and a night or two of proof—in the form of Anastasia awakening for a feeding every three hours or so and crying enough to rouse all three of her older siblings—to convince them it was best this way. Karina had been heard to grouse at one point, though, that Christian and Leslie should keep Anastasia's crib at the foot of their bed as they had done in the castle.

But by and large, they seemed to have adjusted to Ingrid's absence; they had had a long interval at the castle for this, so it wasn't as difficult as it could have been. Because it was their first weekend back, Christian and Leslie had decided to have both Brianna and Noelle stay with the children; they set up Karina's old infant bassinet for Anastasia, moved it into a shady spot in the side yard, saw to it that there were snacks and water bottles for both the children and their sitters, and made sure the baby was sound asleep before meeting Roarke in his study.

Rogan was there at the moment, leaning against the front of Roarke's desk with his hands in his pockets. He was dressed much more casually than Roarke, who was wearing his customary white suit; Rogan had on a pair of white jeans and one of the ubiquitous Fantasy Island souvenir T-shirts, black with white lettering that proclaimed simply, FANTASY ISLAND STAFF. "That must be a new design," commented Leslie.

Rogan grinned. "We anticipated you—here's yours." He shook out a pile of folded emerald-green fabric and displayed the same message at her before tossing her the shirt.

"Well, good, now I feel less left out," said Leslie through a laugh.

"Maybe you should wear it now; you look a bit formal," Christian remarked with a teasing smile. Leslie had worn her usual weekend work attire; she hadn't completed recovering from bearing Anastasia, but she was able to fit into the outfit all the same.

"Oughtn't you to be on maternity leave?" Rogan queried.

Roarke grinned at Leslie's dirty look. "We can work that out later, Rogan, and don't worry, Leslie, as I said. Why don't you all have a seat, and I'll issue the summons."

They settled down and watched Roarke lean back in his chair, gazing intently toward the middle of the study ceiling. When Rogan's eyes followed suit, Christian and Leslie looked at each other, then twisted in their chairs to watch that spot as well. In about thirty seconds they were rewarded by the sight of five clouds in a ring, each a different Easter pastel hue, hovering almost playfully around the ceiling fan above its slowly rotating blades. The pink cloud flashed gently in time with a voice. "You called, Roarke?"

"I did. As I'm sure you can see, my daughter has returned from abroad, and since her husband is often involved in my business whether he wishes it or not—" this generated a few chuckles— "I felt he had as much right to know as she; so he is with her."

"Ah, young Leslie," said the green cloud. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Leslie stared at it, then turned to Roarke. "Is this the tribunal? A bunch of clouds?"

"This is merely the disguise we found most convenient for us," the yellow cloud said, sounding apologetic. "If you wish, we can take a different form."

"Aye, that'd suit me," Rogan said. "Last time I saw ye meddlers, I had a crick in me neck for three days."

Roarke cast him an amused, if quelling, look. "I think it might be most comfortable for the rest of us if you would kindly accommodate us. This is likely to be a lengthy discussion, so I suggest that you take on something more...human, perhaps?"

"That's such a complicated transformation," the lavender cloud complained. "I always have to rest for days after I've changed back again."

"I'm sure you'll survive," Leslie told it sarcastically. "But if you'd rather be a cloud, at the very least, you could move down here to eye level."

Christian shifted in his chair and offered, "Perhaps you could try changing into some-thing like...a cat? Talking clouds seem a little...odd."

Rogan threw him a look. "And talking cats wouldn't?"

Christian's return look made Rogan blink. "Suppose you make a suggestion, then."

Roarke cleared his throat and broke in, "I think it best not to waste our time; we have a great deal to discuss. I see no reason for you not to remain in that form, but please do come down here so that it will be easier on us all, thank you."

The clouds drifted down from the ceiling and hovered just off Roarke's right, gathering in a sort of stunted pyramid that seemed to be missing its top. "Very well, Roarke, here we are. Now what's the first topic?" the yellow cloud inquired.

"First of all, I want to know what in the world gives you the right to force Father to retire," Leslie said with heated outrage. Rogan and Roarke both grinned; Christian let out a small sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair, eyeing his wife with resignation. She continued without noticing. "The lot of you really have a hell of a nerve, marching in here like that and announcing that it's time for a changing of the guard. Do you have any idea at all just how many lives you're trying to disrupt here? Do you even care? Did it make any difference at all to you that I'd have had something to say about it if you'd bothered to wait till I was able to contribute my two cents? You took advantage of my absence, threw me right out of my job, and decreed that I needed to stay where I happened to be at the moment, ostensibly because of pregnancy difficulties. And if you think I'm up in arms, just look at Father. I'm sure he's no happier about having to give up this business than I am. Just who do you...characters think you are, anyway?"

"Aren't you going to stop her? She's got far too much to say for herself," the lavender cloud said indignantly.

"She has a right to say it," admonished the pink cloud, which seemed to be the leader; it was ensconced on the top tier of the "pyramid" alongside the blue cloud. "We apologize for the abruptness of our actions, Leslie, but the timing left us no choice."

"What's so important about the timing?" Leslie demanded.

"The fourteenth of January," said the blue cloud, speaking for the first time in a gentle, feminine voice. "That day, a vital piece of Roarke's spirit departed him. We can't explain any more than that; if we tried, you couldn't understand it. Have you truly looked at him, Leslie? Do you not see that he is not fully what he once was?"

She studied Roarke for a moment, then caught her lip between two teeth. After a few more seconds, she sighed. "Well, he does look a bit more...wan, maybe."

"You're seeing the effect of the departure of that spirit," said the green cloud. "I am sorry to say that there's no retrieving it; its time had arrived, and it was obliged to go. Roarke is still able to conduct his business, yes; but as time passes, you will find that he will grow gradually weaker, will tire more easily, and will depend more and more on Rogan Callaghan to attend to his guests. You may certainly return to work then, if they deem your assistance necessary and desirable. But when Roarke's deadline arrives on the next fourteenth of January, Rogan Callaghan will step into his place, and it will be his decision alone as to whether to have you continue as his assistant."

"So I have absolutely no say in it at all, is that what you're telling me?" Leslie cried, sitting up straight, her voice filled with mingled horror and fury. "That's—how can you—why are you..." She shook her head and sagged, hiding her face in her hands.

"Don't you think that's unduly harsh?" Christian put in, scowling at them. "You speak of her as if she were just a throwaway object—directly to her, no less. You people...or whatever the hell you are—you're cruel."

"I must agree," said Roarke, turning a stare of high disapproval onto the clouds. "My daughter is not some faceless, nameless member of a vast army of drones. She has been my assistant for nearly nineteen years, and she was a great help to me and my former assistants for another six years in her teens. I object strongly to this treatment, and I'll have you know I won't allow it, no matter what you intend to do with me."

"What did I ever do to you to make you carry on like I'm nothing?" Leslie added, her eyes full of tears and her face red, but her voice strong with rage.

Rogan snorted. "Even if the decision really were entirely mine, I'd just end up tellin' her she could stay solely to spite the lot o'ye. Sure an' ye're one heartless gang."

"Have you all had your say now?" the yellow cloud inquired in a dust-dry voice. "We have explained to you that time is of the essence. More than that you don't need."

At this Roarke bolted up straight in his chair, startling Christian, Leslie and Rogan; even the clouds seemed to flinch back toward the wall. "This grows tiresome," Roarke snapped. "I warned you that you'd be in for a very long interrogation once you made it clear you intended to remove me from my island and see to it that my daughter was made obsolete in the process. My memory is very clear on this: you agreed that she deserved to know why you insist on turning her life upside down in this fashion. Now you're merely giving her useless platitudes. Whatever you may think of 'mere humans', you will kindly remember that when the clans were in desperate need of a refuge, those who already occupied this planet were generous enough to offer us a home! There are yet good and decent humans here, and I believe you'd know that if you were truly as observant as you pretend to be. These three are very much among them, and while you are here, you will show them the respect and common courtesy they deserve. Furthermore, you will cease insulting Leslie's intelligence and give her a full explanation of what she faces and why!"

A ringing silence thumped down when he was finished, and no one moved; Roarke continued to glare expectantly at the clouds, and Christian and Leslie dared trade glances of wonder. Then Rogan snorted. "Maybe they can't find the words they need to explain it, so it might well be up to ye, uncle."

"Perhaps you're right, Rogan," said Roarke, without removing his gaze from the clouds. "Were it in my power, I would insist this tribunal be dissolved and new members put in place—those who appreciate this world and its natives, rather than taking it for granted, complaining about it and trying to manipulate it to their own selfish ends."

"Roarke, Roarke," the pink cloud said in a weary tone, "you have just pointed out one very important argument in favor of bringing you into our ranks. I am leader, but often only nominally. We need an ameliorating influence with the vast experience with humans that you possess. Perhaps then there would be a little less cruelty on the part of the rest of us, as you say. There's little you can do to change minds in the position you now occupy; you'd have so much more influence as a member of this tribunal."

"You're avoiding the subject," Roarke said icily. "Do as you were told to do, and give my daughter the explanation she deserves."

"I'll do it, since the rest of you seem to find it beneath you," the blue cloud said. "To begin with, Leslie, there are some things that Roarke hasn't told you, mostly about himself and his roots and origins, but a few other things as well. One of those things is that we have come to him before this with the same issue at stake. You were not aware of it, because we did as we have always done: we froze time at a crucial moment and called Roarke to us. It was at the changing of the millennium, at precisely the stroke of midnight. Two of us have left the tribunal since that time; however, we have all agreed that this time he simply cannot talk us into indulging him any longer."

Leslie was staring at the blue cloud. "You tried to make him retire once before?"

"Yes—his time had come, or so we thought. However, Roarke did a compelling job of convincing us that he was not yet ready and that there was pressing need for the service he provides. That was nine years ago; now, with the passing of that vital component of his being, he will gradually reach a point at which he will no longer be capable of it."

"It just so happens that there's still a pressing need for the service Father provides," Leslie informed the cloud. "I have no doubt that all the arguments he presented you with back then are just as valid now."

"That's why we have chosen Rogan Callaghan to step into his place," the blue cloud explained. "Rogan protested greatly, I might add. He has claimed more than once since our initial encounter on January 14 that horticulture is his true calling and the profession he was meant for. We don't begrudge him this, but at this time he's the only candidate who's capable of taking over for Roarke. Once young Rory Callaghan comes of age and is sufficiently trained and prepared, it will be he who assumes the fantasy-granting business."

"What'll happen to Father after...after the deadline?" asked Leslie.

"He will join the tribunal as a sixth member," the blue cloud said. "We have been short that crucial sixth participant for some time now, and he will lend a much-needed note of compassion and sanity and calm to this group. Some tempering is needed here...and you know who you are, too." This seemed to be directed elsewhere; the three clouds on the bottom tier reacted like storm clouds for a moment or two, roiling as if in resentment.

"And there's nobody else anywhere who could be just as suitable?" Leslie persisted.

The yellow cloud sighed. "You don't let up, do you? What did we tell you about Roarke's physical condition?"

"Oh, for crying out loud, all right," muttered Leslie, exasperated; fortunately she missed the grin Christian couldn't repress. "But I still find it incredibly presumptuous of you to just stroll in and take over, and throw me right out of my job, and pretty much tell me I'm worse than useless. I suppose if I were Father's 'real' daughter, with the clan abilities, I wouldn't look nearly as undesirable and expendable to you."

Silence greeted that, and Leslie's expression became stony; Roarke sighed gently. "Your prejudice is showing again," he said. "I think now would be a good time to remind you that, due to your incorporeality, you don't have quite the level of control over the situation that you believe you do. Rogan and Leslie will talk it over and make the decision between the two of them, and you will most certainly abide by it. We have other matters to discuss that don't concern you, but you will be obligated to come to our assistance should I find it necessary to summon you."

"Don't forget, Roarke," the pink cloud said then, "you'll see all your most cherished loved ones again. We promised you that the last time, and it still holds now."

"You made no such promise," Roarke retorted. "As I recall, you tortured me with their images in an attempt to persuade me to give up my life here. And I told you then why it was vital that I refuse; those reasons still apply."

"Not all of them," said the green cloud. "Your daughter was alone then; her husband was then married, however unwillingly, to another. That isn't true now. Not only is she married to him, she has children with him—and his family have welcomed her as a member, haven't they? The argument you gave us about her having nowhere to go and no one else on earth is false now. She will be well taken care of after you join us."

"So her loss of her father doesn't matter then," Christian put in cuttingly. "Are you beyond the concept of parental love, or do you just fail to understand it, for whatever reasons? You can be certain that I'm more than willing to take care of Leslie, but that doesn't mean she won't feel a great loss in her life once you take Mr. Roarke from her."

"You do carry on as though uncle's disappearance won't matter a damn," Rogan agreed. "He has a certain amount of fame because of what he does. I'm not convinced the business won't be adversely affected once word gets out that he's 'retired'—what a misnomer for what ye're tryin' to do here—and someone else is tryin' to fill his shoes. Particularly when it's one who'd rather be tendin' his plants."

"I think you've all made it very clear to us just how much you resent the imminent changes," the lavender cloud said angrily, "but the fact is that they're coming and you're just going to have to deal with them, exactly like every other human on this planet and all the clan members, past and present! Just for your information, I was all for petitioning one of the remaining LiSciolas to take the vacant position with us, but I was unanimously shouted down. They were too damaged, I was told. No one in the Liljefors fold is in a position to come up, so that leaves you, Roarke."

"The Liljefors clan?" Christian repeated.

"Later, Christian," Roarke said, and the prince subsided, though it was clear he had a whole new batch of questions now. "I believe what needed saying has been said, and now we are merely making accusations and airing grievances. I'll speak with my daughter and son-in-law about the issues that concern them; for now, we are finished here."

"Dismissed, are we?" said the yellow cloud. "Maybe next time we will show up as talking cats, just to give that prince a little scare."

"Too late, you've warned me," Christian said lightly, with a crooked grin. Leslie slumped in her chair, snickering in delight, and Rogan ducked his head, snorting with glee. Even Roarke grinned at that, and waved the clouds away; they floated toward the ceiling and faded like so much smoke.

"So then," Rogan said, "ye have other matters to discuss, presumably more earthbound than whatever the tribunal is involved with?"

"Indeed," said Roarke. "It has to do with ownership of the island, as well as stewardship and administration. Have you mentioned any of this to Christian, Leslie?"

"We talked about it some, the night you told me what was going to happen," she said. "Obviously we didn't come to any hard-and-fast conclusions, but we do know what we're looking at. I know you've said I'm your heir and therefore you're leaving the island to me, so that I suppose I'll be the owner. But I can't do what you do. I don't know anything about island law—at least, not about enforcing it, and certainly no more than what I was taught in the obligatory eleventh-grade class on island law and history. That wouldn't qualify me to be the last word in things like court matters or extradition."

"No," Roarke mused, "and I don't imagine Rogan has much interest in such things either." Rogan rolled his eyes at that, and they laughed.

"Perhaps Grady would be willing," Christian offered then. "He's the only lawyer on the island, isn't he? That would give him extensive knowledge of island laws and legal code, and his experience and profession would carry weight. He's in his late fifties—for that matter, it amazes me to realize he's the same age as my brother Carl Johan—but I haven't heard any talk yet from him of retirement. Still, you might speak with him."

"That's an excellent idea, Christian," said Roarke with approval. "I'll certainly do so at my earliest convenience. You see, Leslie, there are solutions."

She smiled a little. "But there's no solution to what'll happen next January."

"Leslie," Roarke said gently, "surely you are aware that no one lives forever—not even I. Perhaps it's time for me to tell you a few things about myself and my origins, things that you never knew, that no one else knows—including Tattoo, as well as Rogan."

"Is this where I'm asked to leave?" Christian inquired, already tensing to rise.

"No, Christian," Roarke said, freezing him. "You are my daughter's husband, which makes you the closest thing I've ever had to a son. And Rogan, you're a clan member—to the best of my knowledge, only you and I and Rory are left of the clan, and I think you're entitled to know. I ask only that this not be circulated. There is too much that people would find impossible to believe, even of me, and I prefer that it be kept confidential."

"We'll do it, uncle," Rogan promised, and Christian and Leslie both nodded.