Chapter 4 – Omega and Bet(t)a
Random worked the kid harder than a dog for the rest of the day (although in truth he labored just as hard and harder himself alongside his dodgy charge, keeping a careful eye on him the while), until his mother came to collect him for supper; Vialle would have kept her out, but the prince insisted on showing the woman her son's grotesque 'handiwork' as well as the bit of the kitchen he had legitimately managed to strip that day, and was satisfied to see Igan dragged out down the stairs by his ear.
It felt good to be dragged off to dinner himself…
The City in the Bay made the most visual sense to topside Landers in the evening: the streets comfortably warm and well-lit, the noisy crowds packing the sidewalk cafés, restaurants and shops vaguely polite to fellow passersby in an uninterested cosmopolitan sort of way. The occasional expensive-looking open chariot roared down the Avenue of Mirrors heading either from or to the north side of the city, but most people seemed content to walk where they needed to go.
Or swim – that was the main peculiar visual incongruity. That the and fact that the lower-to-middle class native populace had the tendency to all dress in the exact same utilitarian unisex garb, like they were all members of the same unspoken corporation or cult, the only true differences being in hair color and style, and jewelry worn for the most part; full-body and back necklaces were popular with some of the women and no wonder, with all of them exposed like they were down to the lowslung waistline of those of those fishscale trunks. Arm and neck torques of abalone and huge winding nacreous shells, strings of pearls set off in brilliant pastel hair, which was elaborately coiffed and braided or long and luxuriantly flowing: this was what shadowmen dreamed of when they lusted for a mermaid paradise.
Of course, such vague sexual fantasies never took into account things such as economic status… and the green fog, generated by the tide going back out on the mainland, forcing clouds of detritus back down the steep slope of the continental shelf far above them…
The corner of Random's brand-new manta-leather cloak was held loosely over his nose and mouth against the sudden gusts of decomposed lifeforms as Vialle led him down a series of small side-streets with a confidence in her stride that bespoke long familiarity. It was literally the blind leading the blind; he'd no idea where he was in this part of town – mentally switch/flip – which might have had some correspondence up to with the old partly derelict neighborhoods, fishmongers and rough taverns down in Amber's harbor district. It didn't particularly bother him to be in such a locale himself, but for his wife's sake he hoped she knew what she was doing here.
For as much fin-fish, shellfish, cephalopods, seagrasses and the like that comprised Rebma's diet (as much out of a sense of tradition as physical necessity) few outsiders had any working knowledge at all of the city's fishing practices; most assumed that the natives patrolled the waters above in regular wooden vessels, merely sinking their netted bounties to the bottom from anywhere. It was true that many crabs and lobsters were caught in the more usual way with box-traps, but when it came to fin-fish nothing could be further from the truth. While net trawling was utilized in very specific areas around the far city limits within a precise decompression strata, the activity was conducted from below, not above, with the aid of pods of carefully trained dolphins; so long as the creatures returned to Rebma's waters, they never had to surface for air. Schools of tuna, cod, mackerel and even black sea-bass were echolocated, their position, speed and swimming direction relayed back to the trackers; the weighted nets were positioned, the dolphins herded their prey into them, and down the whole writhing, struggling mass went, down to the holding caves where the dolphins freely ate their fill of the live catch – until the signal was given to get them back out to safety before the carefully trained electric eels were introduced, the door firmly bolted after them. The eels took their share of the booty, too, but they shocked everything that moved to death, not just their own meals, rendering the literal bloodbath that a more traditional butcher would make in such a physical setting unnecessary.
Even so, it went without saying that whole sections of the city reeked of dead fish; they were currently traversing one of the main offenders…
Vialle suddenly stopped at a corner, obviously checking her bearings.
"Lost, babe?" her husband finally ventured through a wry half-smile.
"No," she answered definitively – and smiled back at him momentarily, "but I haven't been to this restaurant in years and I would hate to walk you into the wrong establishment if it isn't here anymore. It shouldn't be much further down, on the righthand side – do you see a painted hanging sign with a reversed mermaid reclining on a large serving platter with her legs spread around a garnish?"
The prince both balked and blinked at the unabashed description that had just matter-of-factly rolled off her quiet, demure tongue… then did peer down the street for it: yep, there it was for all the world to see. Random was certainly no prude (part of him was really enjoying the view just where they were) but Rebman culture tended toward the casually flagrant in a way that could really catch him offguard at times.
"Yeah, it's there all right," he confirmed for her, "just seven doors down. You really want to go there?" he gently asked a little dubiously.
"Why would I not take my husband to the best cheap fin-fish in our quarter?" The question had been serious, but she made it sound like a flirt. "I can afford a good dinner for you there. Come."
As they led each other down Net Street, Random was appalled to see a man walking in the opposite direction attempt to trip Vialle with his ornamental bleached bone walking staff – and was equally astounded that she was able to sidestep the obstacle as neatly as if she had seen it!
"Good evening," she hailed the stranger casually in passing.
"Hey!" Random caught him by the shoulder; the Rebman stopped, but didn't even turn to face him; the aqua-haired native fairly rippled with muscles. "What do you think you're trying to do tripping a blind woman, you green bastard?!"
The stranger looked over his shoulder, down at him, very slowly.
"We treat omegas as we please – you'd do well to learn that, Lander, if you don't want the same treatment," he pronounced scornfully through a sneer, brushing him off as if he were a fly.
The last thing the guy expected was a connecting punch to the jaw that sent him sprawling to the shell-paved ground in a small cloud of dust, unconscious!
"Husband, please!" Vialle protested. "You don't understand what you're doing! Leave him alone!"
"The guy's an asshole, he had it coming! Can't I even defend your honor?"
The big aqua guy was already coming around, shaking his head, pushing himself up on his forearms, beginning to stand; other people were starting to gather around.
"We need to get off the street now – please!" she hissed through her teeth, groping for his arm, finding it, dragging him away with her at a dash as the crowds parted for them. She stopped just as suddenly on a hairpin turn and flew through the tavern door, closing it behind them, panting; a few curious glances shot their way from patrons at the scattered glass tables, the bar sculpted from a slab of dead bleached coral, but their attention drifted away nearly as quickly. Random carefully unhanded her, pointing a finger lightly into her upper sternum, leaning in close; it was the only way she could 'see' the gesture.
"Ground-rule number one: you don't ever pull me out of a fight like that again – I don't pick 'em unless I can win 'em," he whispered harshly into her ear, backing back up.
"He was over twice your size; he could've killed you!" she whispered back. "And he had folkway on his side, which is good as law here! We must hope he did not see which way we went, and avoid this part of town for some time," she lowered her head in shame.
"Hey," he said again, but softly this time, gently tipping her chin back up with the crook of his finger, "you're the one innocent party here – you don't get to go there. But what was that shit he was talking about you being an… omega, did he say? What does that even mean?"
"Would you mind if we had this conversation sitting down? Away from the door, where we…" she turned in the general direction of the dim, warm inner room.
Random exhaled and placed her hand back in the crook of his arm, leading her toward the back and around an L-shaped turn, so that the bar shielded them from the line-of-sight in the front of the house; picking a small unoccupied table for two, he dropped her hand and pulled out a chair for her to the right, watching her feel the edge, the wall, seating herself as he scooted it in, seating himself across from her. To his annoyance Llewella had informed him that it would take a few weeks for the best jeweler in the city to craft the silvered eye-coverings to his specifications for Vialle; the girl was still wrapping her eyes in seaweed, but the strand was folded in thirds now, thinner, just large enough for what it was actually for. It couldn't be helped.
The proprietor was prompt in serving them.
"And what'll be your pleasure this evening?"
"What was the trawl this morning?" Vialle replied so promptly that her husband didn't even have time to think!
"We got a nice healthy batch of bass off of Siôn and his team today, just after the tide came in; his dolphins even leave some of the better ones behind," he added with an air of gloating confidentiality and a wink at the prince.
"But when were they shocked?" Vialle calmly continued with surprising authority.
The equally dark-haired, dark-eyed Rebman narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you take my house for? The Old Chum Bucket on Eel Alley? The ones put down for dinner were shocked three hours hence – and I suppose you're going to ask me next when my cool storage was last cleaned and I'll tell you it was scraped this morning! Don't get too many like you in here; they're usually up on Mirror Avenue."
"She's only just become a duchess two days ago," the prince cut in cheekily, "cut her a little slack?"
The proprietor appeared confused, then his eyes widened a little as if really seeing Random for who he was for the first time; the man's sight was hardly to blame, though – the room's 'ambiance' was actually just insufficient lighting.
"Of course, your highness!" he nearly stammered. "So that'll be two catch-of-the-day, then?"
"No," Vialle quickly interrupted, "just the one, for him. Do you serve a vent-crab, urchin and sea-greens mélange here?"
The man seemed a little stunned again, but for a completely different reason: a significant drop in ticket price. "Yes, we do that, madam," he continued more respectfully regardless. "Do you want the whole crab then?"
"No, just claws like normal, but could you removed the meat from them and mix it in as you would prepare it for a child? And we'll have the meal with two water ampules to start."
"Very good, madam," he was eying them both a bit uncertainly. "Your dinners will be prepared shortly." And with that he disappeared around the corner like lightning; Vialle suppressed a laugh, feeling him run.
Random wasn't smiling. "Babe, that's barely any food for you at all. You should've ordered something more."
But Vialle just smiled at him a little apologetically. "This is all I can afford. I only wish that I could feed you better at home for what you did for me today, for-" she suddenly interrupted herself, frowning through a smirk, "not what you did outside just now."
The prince scoffed a laugh. "You should be flattered, you know; I can't even remember the last time I did that for a girl. And speaking of which, we have a little privacy – will you tell me what that douchebag was alluding to back there? I've never even heard that term used before."
Vialle's head lowered a little. "That is because there is no direct analogue for it in your home world, on Land. I have heard that you have a large genus of animals that roam in packs like sharks, but with a lead beast like a father-king, the alpha male." She paused a moment, swallowing. "There are many genus of fish that have such a strict strength-based hierarchy that the weakest female is so constantly harassed that she must live alone, and still she will be sought out for abuse by others in need of reaffirming their own status within the school. This creature is called an omega-fish: the last. Someone has to be last; Lir has merely codified it, providing us with an example. You may think this unnecessarily cruel, but it does serve a purpose: a weak or deformed animal is deliberately kept from breeding with healthy, keeping the population as healthy and strong as possible by default. I am an omega because I have never been able to see; I could pass it on, you know. My weakness is a liability, a danger to my pod. Weak members of a school of fish can get stronger members injured or even killed when under attack if they try to aid them. When you… leave me," she faltered, "I will be provided for financially in the dissolution, and Queen Moire has pledged to make me one of the ladies of her court – unheard of for one such as myself, she is truly kind – but regardless of what she may think my mating with you will do for my status, no Rebman man will ever marry me. That is what it means to be an omega. My patients are literally risking their reputations by consulting me, which is why I never turn away the poor."
Random was so shocked by what she had just told him, his mind going in so many directions at once, that all he could do was stare at her in dumb pity and revulsion – pity for her, revulsion for everyone else – until their water ampules arrived a minute later. Vialle found hers, fidgeted with it uncomfortably.
"You would have bargained for a prison sentence instead of marrying me if you had known; it was cruel of them not to have told you of this beforehand." Her hand stopped. "Won't you say something, Husband?" her voice shook a little. "I don't have to see your eyes in order to feel them."
The prince slowly shook his head. "What you've just described to me is so incredibly fucked up I don't even know where to begin. You're telling me you've been bullied like that your entire life and people just treat it like it's normal?!"
"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "Tripping is the least of it. I didn't have friends as a child; they were all afraid of catching what I have. I suppose it's part of the reason I was pushed to learn medicine: so that my parents could better understand my condition. Even the ceramic vessels and sculptures that I make for a little extra spending money would never sell if my name were carved into the bottoms," she observed as a lavender-haired serving boy in his teens arrived with their meals, depositing them before them on the table with the accompanying utensils a bit sullenly, disappearing again without a word. Vialle located her fork.
The portion of sea-bass on the prince's heat-radiant platter seemed about on par with the lewd sign above the door: the entire fish covered the oblong serving platter and it seemed to be stuffed with something besides.
"Hope you saved enough obols for this," he muttered, sawing off the head with a knife sharp enough to take off the fingers of a clumsier diner.
"Why? What did they add?"
"This is 'seafood ala prince' if I'm not mistaken; it's stuffed with something."
She frowned. "Cut it open and let me sniff – I should be able to identify whatever it is even minced up."
The prince did as he was instructed, chopping the whole thing in half, separating it so that some of the filling spilled out, gingerly shoving the plate toward her; it was surprisingly hot to the touch. He watched the girl bend forward, giving it a few judicious sniffs like a bloodhound – or a shark. The left side of her mouth curved upward into a smirk.
"It's only a type of seaweed, urchin, and shaved brine mussel – all cheap ingredients, probably foraged by someone in the family. The bass might not have been as well handled beyond what the proprietor intimated in storage between receiving and preparation, but the fish still smells basically alright. He just dressed it up a little to make it taste better is all," she straightened in her chair. "Eat up. If he tries to charge you extra you can complain, but I doubt that he will."
Random required no second bidding: he was starving. They ate in silence for a few minutes, until he began to feel a bit uncomfortable at having so much before him while she daintily picked at the little she had ordered herself, doubtless to pace him, to make the meal last, until he couldn't stand it any longer. Eyeballing his fish, he hacked off the back third and lifted it across onto her small circular plate; he still had more than he could possibly eat.
"Husband, what did you just do? Did you actually…give me part of your own dinner?" she asked, looking amazed.
"What kind of a man would I be to let you starve, babe? You're eating that and that's final," he continued his own meal, sucking dry his small kelp-bladder flask.
Even in this light he could tell that she must've just blushed with a repressed smile; it was cute.
"Thank you, Husband," she whispered, using her fork to split and skin the fish, scooping out a mouthful of the stuffing, trying it, nodding approval. "I must confess I am more accustomed to people stealing food off my plate in public than putting it there." She ate a bite of the tender bass with relish.
"I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that people here really treat you that badly on a regular basis," he irritatedly stabbed the piscean corpse, spearing the facing eye with one fork tine, eating it – he was tired of it looking at him.
"I know; it must seem so foreign to you, especially being a prince of Amber," she twirled long wakame on her own fork, as if it were pasta. "Who would ever have the nerve to bully you, let alone be able to get away with it unpunished?"
"Other princes of Amber," he responded tersely, scraping some of the spent charred skin aside.
A sudden understanding washed over her features. "Of course, your elder brothers picked on you when you were little – but I thought that you were far younger than they. How many of them were still around when you were growing up?"
"Too many," he rolled his eyes, taking another drink. "Benedict had already moved out, but most of the others still came and went as they pleased. Dad tried to enlist nearly all of them into the navy at some point in time or another to keep them from making trouble at home, but it never lasted. I think we've all viewed each other as fair game over the years because our old man never bothered to codify the succession to the throne; there could be as many as four with a clear legal claim – including yours truly, believe-it-or-not, but mine's probably a longshot considering who two of the contenders ahead of me are. It's got to be why we're all so awful toward each other now; even when we're getting along, you can't quite stop waiting for the knife that's going to find your back." He suddenly gave a rude-sounding snicker. "Okay, fish-lady: if you're an omega, then me and my brothers are all bettas now that we're grown up. You've probably never even heard of these things: they're little blue-and-crimson – oh, clear water and blood, there you go – well, they're fin-fish originally bred in the Shadow Earth country of Japan. I mean, they're pretty enough that Landers buy them singly as pets that are more like living décor that you'd put on a shelf next to your knick-knacks: feed 'em, watch 'em drift around with those gauzy oversized fins, some people think it's relaxing. But if you ever put two males in the same tank no matter how big it is, they suddenly turn into crazed little homicidal maniacs: one or both will be dead in five seconds flat, the drive for territorial dominance is so strong. They're just dandy… so long as you keep them apart," Random got real quiet at the end, scraping at the carcass awkwardly, focusing on his platter. He hadn't meant to say so much; that had just come out of nowhere! And he was almost taken aback to see her reaching across the table to his wrist, gently grasping it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her dark brow furrowed up over the slight bridge of her nose. Not quite knowing what to do, he took her proffered hand between his own.
"Well… I probably deserved a little of the trouble I got; I went out of my way to annoy the living daylights out of everyone for years," he admitted with sordid amusement. "You know, I'll never forget the time that Corwin and Bleys managed to convince me that they wanted to take me on this grand shadow-exploring expedition, like playing at conquistadors, just us three, even though our father would be against it if I told him, I was warned; I was eight years old and still dumb enough to believe them. They must've been planning this caper for half a ngan at least in order to ensure that Bleys had shore leave at just the proper time. Corwin stole into my bedroom and carried me out in the middle of the night: I woke up slung over his shoulder like a sack of rocks, getting walked down the servants' stairwell in the back! By the time he'd smuggled me down to the harbor I was so full of his stories and promises of adventure I could've popped from excitement. My tip-off should've been how nice they were both treating me during our two-day jaunt south to the Isles of the Sun, the alleged starting point of our continued journey. They must've really wanted to do this to me; even though we were on one of Caine's smaller private pleasure vessels – which was stolen, it later turned out – that was a lot of work for only two men. And they wouldn't let me help, either, when I could've easily done a few simple things even at that age: they were priming me, you see, for the payoff."
"We never got all the way to the Isles, of course; even that much had been a lie. Bleys dropped anchor in the midst of this tiny coral atoll with coconut trees and white crabs dashing back-and-forth like crazy into and out of the surf, and I begged and begged them to let me go ashore to help them collect the aforementioned foodstuffs; I even had this little dagger and a chisel I'd found below deck that I'm sure they'd planted for me… only to see them sailing away without me, laughing their asses off as they marooned me there!" Random chuckled himself. "I cried and screamed after them, jumping up and down on the beach making a real scene, but they just kept right on going until they vanished clean off the face of the map, the vessel fading out of the middle of the water in a shadowshift. At first I thought they would come back for me in a few hours once they figured I'd been scared enough, but they didn't come and they didn't come. No one came for five days; I had to survive on those damned coconuts – I don't even like the taste, and they knew that, too! And try as I might, I couldn't come up with any means to cook those crabs properly even once I got a measly friction-fire going with the spent coconut shells and some dead leaves – and they all congregated around me every night, just outside of the perimeter of the light; it was the freakiest thing, I couldn't sleep! Apparently those two jokers floated back on into the Bay of Amber still having giggling fits like they were drunk or high, and Dad was furious and Mom and my little sister were all worried because I'd vanished without a trace, and then big old Gérard boxed their ears for our old man, quickly outfitted and crewed a more proper vessel and set out to save me! It took him the extra three days just to find the right shadow; it was sufficiently off the beaten track that only two days had passed in Amber."
"And were you still all right?" Vialle's genuine concern felt a little strange to him; he wasn't used to anyone being concerned about him.
"Well, I was badly sunburned, starving for meat and furious, if you call that 'all right'. The coconuts had been their insurance policy against my dying in a hurry; there's enough fat, starch and water in them to keep you alive. But my stash wouldn't have lasted longer than ten days tops. Once I was back and adequately recovered, I waited for my chance and snuck into Corwin's bedroom while he was out, with a hammer and one of those squared five-inch carpentry nails I'd stolen from the fleet yard and whetted down to a needlepoint with a file. I knew Bleys had only been along for the ride; he would've far more happily marooned Corwin and left him there to die for real if he'd thought he could get away with it… you know, thinking back, it's really weird that we never bothered to lock our doors when I was still a kid. Anyway, I snuck in and found his favorite dress boots and pounded it into the heel of the right one because he always pulled them on right-left; it stuck up almost a full three inches inside. You could've heard his scream halfway across the castle when he finally put it on," he nodded, remembering.
"And did it make you feel better, to have gotten some revenge for what he did to you?"
Random shot her a sharp glance: that had been a perfect psychiatric tone.
"You're not by any chance still trying to analyze me, are you, babe?"
"I just wanted to know."
The prince warily studied her a beat longer, then sighed, rolling his eyes. "No, it didn't – actually I felt pretty guilty about it, watching him hobble around for a few weeks after. He never even knew it was me; he blamed Julian, who it turns out he'd mortally insulted just the day prior, someone who would genuinely enjoy pulling off a prank like that. I don't know, it… it was a step too far. I mean, yeah, he scared me shitless and all that coconut oil probably didn't help either, but he hadn't physically hurt me, not personally, not like that. The retaliation wasn't just – and then someone else took the rap or the credit for it, take your pick."
"Did you ever tell him later?"
"Are you kidding me?! He would've strung me up by my toes in the castle dungeon at the very least! I lucked out!"
"I meant ever – as an adult."
The prince balked. "That happened centuries ago! I hope the memory didn't come back to him when he walked the Reversed Pattern! Why would I even bring it up?!"
"Because it obviously still bothers your conscience."
Random relinquished her hand, leaning back on his chairlegs. "You are trying to psychoanalyze me. In a restaurant in public, no less."
"I am just trying to be a good wife, by being concerned for my husband's peace-of-mind," she carefully demurred, sitting straightly herself, daintily wiping at her mouth with the napkin, sucking open her own water ampule, draining it; they were quickly replaced with fresh ones by a passing server.
Bullshit, he thought, watching her use a little piece of seaweed to sop up the dregs of the jellied dressing that had come on her salad. But not totally. It was weird. He could've understood if she had just been probing to see how vengeful he was prone to be – that much would make sense for someone in her position – but there had been more to it than that. And besides, he was gradually becoming consciously aware that he was dealing with someone who kept seamlessly slipping on and off a mask, but he hadn't lived with her long enough yet to be able to tell when it was on.
"So, what are you, then?" he put to her bluntly.
"I… beg your pardon?" she faltered, confused.
"You can play a pretty good ingénue when you want to, but I think we both know you're too smart for that role," he continued casually, unfazed, "and for as confidently as you conduct yourself at times, I suspect that armor is quite a lot thinner than you let on. How you present yourself to the world doesn't wash; I've seen the complete act. So which is it really?"
The prince was satisfied to see her twist her small mouth a little, as if she were thinking; there was still fish on his plate and he nearly rued that there was no way to take it home with him: no reliable cold preservation, at least not where normal people lived.
"I think the answer that you are looking for is that I have always been who I needed to be. I had to."
"Ah, so it's that old song-and-dance," the prince sighed, slightly more at ease. "You never had anybody to lean on for support? Not even your parents?"
She was silent a moment. "It is not a particularly nice feeling," she responded with a distinct steel in her voice, "to be using a crutch when you don't actually need one. Let us say that I did not get where I am today, obtain what little I have, by asking for a lot of help; it would not have been forthcoming. Well…" she finally stepped it back a little.
"Do you ever need a cane or a staff to get around alone?" Random pressed, knowing that he was finally getting a few unvarnished answers; that last little statement alone held reams of truth.
"Never in my own house," she smiled proudly, "and only rarely in the city, in boroughs I am less familiar with. I have been told on more than one occasion that it is much more difficult to be blind on land, where the aether is so thin that you can only sense it in a gust of wind or a full-on sprint. You did not even think to question how I knew the size of that man in the street before we came here, my response seemed so natural to you: I felt the water he displaced as he passed by me, and I avoided the impediment he placed in my way in like manner," her smile turned smug. "Even in here I could easily tell you the exact dimensions of this room from where and how the sounds of the other patrons, of our own voices, reflect off the walls and other surfaces; the currents and eddies are most still around solid barriers. An aqueous solution allows one to sense all of this. I cannot even imagine being independently mobile sightless without it; it must be like sensory deprivation!"
Random's glance casually flicked over to one of the mineral torches burning and bubbling away in a rather charred-looking sconce in the nearby opposite wall. It was one thing to scholastically know about the native Rebman love of their element (as if no one else in the worlds could possibly enjoy a body of water), but he had never spared a single thought for what it would be like for a humanoid creature to be dependent on it for reasons beyond respiration. Usually he himself was busy trying to ignore the claustrophobia-inducing feeling of being constantly submerged down here; this was the polar-opposite frame of mind. He glanced back at his plate; he was stuffed, and even the concepts of dessert, after-dinner coffee and a cigarette were a world away – as were the chances of after-dinner alcohol, probably. He resignedly sucked his second tiny kelp canteen dry, feeling the back-pressure from the suction at the end.
"Ready to go, babe? Or did you want to try and put away a little more of my leftovers? I can slice away the part I've been eating off of."
"No, but thank you; I really wish I could," she replied, moving to rise. "I must go and pay the manager."
Random was immediately on his feet, ready to assist her, when a different green-haired serving boy popped around the corner carrying two shot-glasses filled with brown-jellied liqueur; he seemed surprised to see them leaving.
"Some gentlemen at the bar bought you these, your highness, your…grace?" he tried the title awkwardly; Vialle smiled at the attempt. "Probably shouldn't have been eavesdropping, but they guessed who you were."
Random grinned. "Anybody who wants to buy me a drink is perfectly free and welcome to do so," he took the one proffered him from the nervous kid, watching him carefully give the other glass to his wife. "Autographs and souvenirs are going to cost, though," he casually toasted the server's back as he darted back around the corner – but Vialle caught her husband's arm; he automatically looked at her, irritated. "What."
"Just let me see your drink first."
He barked a laugh. "I'm not the king; you don't have to test all my food and drink! I don't remember that one being in our vows or on the license!"
Undissuaded, the girl's hand quickly slid down to his wrist, grabbing it firmly, bring it up; she bent, sniffing the contents of the glass in his hand and paused. The prince's eyes widened a little, his brow rising as the smile dissipated from his face.
"You're kidding me," he breathed. "Somebody actually spiked this?!"
She nodded wordlessly, solemn. She gave her own glass a quick sniff. "Drink mine instead," she whispered, offering him her own, "this one's safe. We can dump yours," she took the other, "behind the table on the floor. Once diluted by the passing water, there won't be enough of it left to harm anyone. I wouldn't dream of sending this back to the kitchen to contaminate their cleaning station as-is."
Random caught her hand before she could do it, though; she had begun lowering into a crouch, shaking his head at her – then remembered. "Uh-uh, babe, not until you tell me what you think it is. And I'm not drinking yours; you deserve it," he rebutted firmly, seating himself in her vacated chair.
"I am not guessing – I know that this has been heavily laced with a medicinal compound normally prescribed for flushing marine parasites from the intestines; the regular dose is only two drops in a day. This amount of it would cause a rapid onset of uncontrollably violent diarrhea, possibly even damaging the intestinal wall; you wouldn't even make it back to the house before it went into effect."
Random was stunned for the second time that evening, both by her knowledge and by what had very nearly just happened to him! Vialle pushed her shot glass into his hands.
"Go ahead. I don't want it, really."
This time the prince accepted it. "Here's to your teacher," he knocked it back. "Why don't you give me the money and I'll pay; I'd like to check out the bar. Wait for me outside."
"Oh, Husband," the girl sighed exasperatedly, "must you always-" She suddenly froze, as if listening.
"What is it now?" he whispered.
She made a sign for him to be silent, standing stock-still for several seconds. Leaning in close, she whispered, "There's a detachment of the queen's own guard in here!"
"How can you even tell?!" he hissed quickly.
"I just distinctly heard a scabbard hit the back of a stool, hard, like one of them misjudged how much room they had, followed by the chafing of those thick Land-leather cross-braces she purchases from Amber for the army. Civilians aren't allowed to carry weapons like that in the city, certainly not into a business!"
Random rose, taking the remaining glass from her. "I don't expect you to like this, but don't interfere or contradict me this time. Can you find your way down to the east end of this block without help?"
"Yes," she sighed.
"Then do it and wait for me there; be just behind the north corner. I'll give you about a minute to get into position; make it look casual. Now give me what we owe."
Vialle withdrew a gauzy drawstring purse from where she had tied it about her waist, handing him the whole thing, her expression schooled carefully stoic.
"Be careful, Husband," she touched his arm in passing as she walked away from him, drawing up the hood of her own grey manta-cloak.
Random sat back down, regarding the remains of their meal – or, rather, his meal. With nothing better to do, he reached across the table and forced down another couple bites of the succulent stuffing; for such a hole-in-the-wall dive bar, this was likely a commoner's idea of a feast.
Which, for all practical purposes, he basically now was…
Finally judging that a sufficient amount of time had elapsed, he got back up, offending shot-glass in hand, and casually worked his way over to the bar, around the small circular tables that had been crammed into the main room. The place would never pass fire-code on land, and for a moment the thought made him smirk.
Vialle had been right: there were a half-dozen burly-looking pastel-haired men in the short sea-green capes of Moire's guard, scabbards conspicuously sticking out from beneath them; a trident rested against the bar as if it were nothing more spectacular than a walking staff! Sidling up to the bar, the prince insolently strode right into their midst, reaching between the occupied stools to pay the middle-aged lavender-and-salt-haired bartender his tab; a few of the coins he had given him showed a little verdigris when the man dumped them out into his hand, sorting and counting, but it was apparently the correct amount for he immediately thrust them back into the purse and tossed it down onto a low inner shelf with an accompanying affirmative grunt. Meanwhile, the metaphorical temperature in the prince's general vicinity had dropped about twenty degrees: the soldiers' conversations had stopped on an obol the moment Random had stepped into view. To a man, they were currently glaring daggers in his direction in icy silence.
"Good evening, gentlemen," the prince greeted them with peevishly theatrical cheeriness, clapping the nearest on their muscle-bound shoulder just a little too hard; seated, they were only slightly taller than the prince was standing. "And to what do I owe the distinct pleasure of a round of drinks?"
"To seeing a prince of Amber on the throne," one further down the bar to the left muttered; a couple of his fellows bit back chuckles.
Bingo. Random walked over oozing confidence and ease, his annoying ingratiating smile firmly plastered in place. "I'm sorry, I'm a shade over five-hundred years and my hearing isn't what it used to be. Would you mind repeating that?" he leaned right into the blue-haired man's face, which was quickly darkening in anger.
"I-"
Random tossed the shot right into the soldier's open mouth, dropped the glass on the bar and made a mad dash for the door while the man was still coughing and choking! The erstwhile trident whizzed by his ear like a spear, piercing the salvage-wood door with a reverberating thunk! The prince knew he had little chance of eluding them in an out-and-out chase; even had he been alone, his tanned skin, slight build and blonde hair made him stick out in Rebma like a sore thumb. But he had already figured out that he didn't even need to outrun them.
Sure enough, the whole pack of them burst out onto Net Street a second later, but there was absolutely no sign of the offending fugitive…
It was the easiest trick in the book: Random had simply put up his hood and calmly entered the thick of the foot traffic, meandering away with the crowd. When he reached Vialle, he took her hand without a word, placing it in the crook of his arm.
"Husband?" she whispered.
"You still expecting Prince Charming?" he murmured into her ear, leading her north on the cross-street. They walked for nearly a full city block up Fisher Lane, past family net repair and trawling supply businesses that were closing up shop for the evening, before Vialle spoke again.
"Dare I ask what happened?"
Random was partially distracted by the sight of a dolphin getting noisily shooed out of a live bait shop for bigger game fishing like it was a stray dog; it chirped and clicked as it approached, playfully circling them a few times, gently nosing them to see if they were carrying anything edible before soaring off down the street at roof-level, hunting for open windows.
"Let's just say that I gave the culprit a taste of his own medicine," the prince wickedly smirked at the memory.
"Oh, Husband, you didn't!"
"You better believe I did," he helped her cross another street. "I've lived with palace guards long enough to know just how stupid and petty some of them can be. I don't put up with behavior like that when it's directed at me. It was just beautiful, like sinking that last eight-ball into the back pocket of a billiards board. Hole-in-one. Perfect. I didn't even mess up the place; the manager ought to be pleased about that."
"He won't be pleased if they come back and claim it as food poisoning to cover the incident," Vialle soberly observed, "and who's to say that I didn't do it myself? They could've used real poison and they deliberately chose a medicine, something I've prescribed and sold to patients out of my own clinic!"
Of course, the prince irritatedly remembered, one of the main unwritten rules when working directly for a totalitarian monarch was to always have a viable scapegoat – something or someone to blame – should anything ever go wrong, because their jobs were on the line at the very least. And it also reminded him of something Caine had told him when Random had first discovered womanizing as an overly eager lad: any female that you actually cared about was bound to become a liability sooner or later. If Vialle was right, this bunch had thought of everything.
But it still didn't explain their presence there in the first place. Unless…
"I don't want to risk looking behind us," he whispered, leaning in, "but you don't hear anymore weapons on the street, do you?"
"…no."
"Good," the prince sighed. "Let's just pretend I'm being unduly paranoid for the time being."
"Do you really think we're being shadowed?"
"I don't know," he answered in all honesty, his pale brow furrowed; he turned them left onto the next street. "That was almost just a little too propitious, to see that many of them congregating in uniform in one place on this side of town, so far from the palace, without an obvious disturbance to draw them. How like the queen to try and keep tabs on my doings and whereabouts while I'm on the loose, so-to-speak. I can guarantee you that if she knew what an ankle monitor was and could get her hands on one, I'd be wearing it right now. In any event, if you feel up to it I think a slight detour may be in order, to the last place they would ever suspect me of going."
"And where is that?"
"The Gardens," he half-smirked, shaking his head, turning north again, heading toward the center of town – and the Mirror Palace.
"That is quite a hike," his wife quietly observed.
Random looked down at her, obediently pacing with him wherever he would lead. "I could always carry you home," he nudged her playfully, "you're light enough."
The girl smiled in spite of herself. "I think I'm beginning to understand why Mo- sorry," she cut herself off, quietly apologizing, remaining silent.
Why Morganthe had taken a fancy to him? Why she had been willing to run away from a court that waited on her hand and foot, for him? Why she had been willing to die… The set of thoughts had never gone anywhere productive in retrospect, when he found out what had happened to the Rebman princess, and Random was allergic to the idea of guilt over someone else's choices and actions, performed alone, no less. But it bothered him just how readily Vialle's thoughts wandered in that direction. It was a point of distinction, he supposed: being married to a man that at least one other girl had killed herself over losing. But caring about the fact in that superficial light didn't really suit Vialle's personality, what he knew of it anyway. But that could mean that…
Vialle nearly stumbled on the first in a series of shallow steps; the prince irritatedly shook himself out of his reverie, forcibly reminded that he was personally responsible for watching where someone else was going, literally.
"Sorry," he muttered belatedly without much conviction. "Got a bunch of these coming up, about two-feet wide apiece; you need to pick up your feet a little higher – it's one pace forward, one step up."
The girl's look of recognition was accompanied by an open-mouthed smile. "I know where we are again! This is the south entrance, isn't it?"
"Appears that way," the prince steadied her, his arm firm as a banister, leading her on up the long, straight flight in an even dancing rhythm, until they reached the bright warm plateau, swarming with color, with life.
The Mirror Palace of Rebma (so named for its most distinctive feature rather than its visual echo of Castle Amber: millions of mirrors, both intact and mosaic shards, covering the outer walls, scrubbed to a high shine every day) had been constructed (or formed, depending on who one talked to) on the pinnacle of a guyot – a flat-topped underwater hill – but the fortress was not the sole feature of the summit: an exquisitely vibrant coral forest had been slowly and carefully cultivated there into a miraculously kept park over the long millennia, complete with imported denizens of other oceans, exotic fauna usually only found in much shallower waters, bred to thrive in the higher oxygen and lower salinity of the Undersea Kingdom, supported by myriad torchlamps that kept the habitat the proper temperature and also allowed for limited photosynthesis.
Giant seafans in brilliant red and purple, like sprays of dyed ostrich plumes, hypnotically waved in slow-motion in the gentle current, as distant toadfish vocalized at each other in their odd swallowed burping fashion and other more colorful schools darted two and fro about the coral menagerie, unmolested by their natural predators because they had not been imported with them. A sudden explosion of tiny blues, bright as a handful of tossed tiddlywinks, resettled into a thick bed that bore a remarkable resemblance to a pile of grape hyacinths without stalks. Everywhere he looked, the prince's senses were assaulted by color, by motion, as they casually strolled a bleached crushed coral avenue: black gorgonians as tall as palo verde trees towered over their heads here and there, their red-and-white fish-inhabitants perched in their 'bare' branches like floating flocks of cardinals – or autumn foliage, the 'missing' leaves, with pearl-oysters glinting in the light, baring their steadily growing treasures. Ornamental anemones undulated their many fuchsia and orange tentacles, filtering their dinner out of the green murk, their inhabitant damselfish brazenly darting through; yellow-black sea cucumbers and other more alien creatures were constantly feeding, some even using their dozen spongy appendages like fingers, drawing them into their central round mouths again and again, sucking them clean. A veritable salad of rounded lime-green anemones almost like tiny heads of lettuce were artfully interspersed with fronds of imported red seaweed amidst a planted rockbed that was rapidly being overtaken with new life. A cadre of painfully delicate peach and baby-pink 'feather-dusters' zipped into their tubes for safety as they walked by, cautiously reemerging as they passed.
Off on the east side far away he could just make out the famous Octopus Garden, its pampered tenants every bit as meticulous after their own fashion as his eldest half-brother Benedict raking the sand in the Japanese gardens he personally installed behind Castle Amber. Hand-fed several times a day by palace servants from infancy, the medium-sized color-changing cephalopods had no reason to go hunt the gardens' other occupants or bother visitors, but the prince was still leery of them: they were still technically feral animals, too intelligent to fully tame even if they seemed outwardly docile, making their geometric 'houses' with the taste of hoarding jackdaws, kept well-supplied in shiny shells and smooth colorful pebbles.
The remains of an ancient brine pool occupied the center of the property; drained off eons ago as a general health hazard (unlike the gardens of Amber, the coral paradise of Rebma had always been open to the public during 'light' hours), the ground had remained too saline for anything to successfully live there. In the end it was covered over with an immense sheet of seaglass, smooth and reflective as ice – and more often than not used as such by the local children who made a game of daring each other to slide across it barefoot like an impromptu skating rink; four were there at the moment, three girls and a boy, giggling and shouting, horsing around.
They were hardly alone out here in the walkway, which the prince had also counted on: several other couples were in the various sections with them. The prince had gotten used to the sight during his initial stay at the palace, albeit from a third-story window…
"Husband, is there a bench nearby?"
"Oh – right. Sorry, babe, I keep forgetting," he led her to an intricately sculpted limestone affair that didn't have too much algae in the delicate carvings, turning her so she could feel it with the backs of her legs, sitting down with her, letting out a breath himself, relaxing, taking it all in. Heck of a place. Disturbed green-striped parrotfish wheeled overhead briefly before coming down again in the bed right behind them, noisily crunching away on the coral itself.
Vialle leaned into his arm, clinging, at perfect ease in his company, and for a bittersweet moment the prince had the incongruous feeling that hermit crabs must have upon changing their shells – that he had just stepped into some other man's life; this moment was too absurdly idyllic to be any part of his own.
Oh, what the hell, he thought as he wrapped his arm around her, snuggling her in even closer.
"I have not had reason to visit this section in ages, she sighed, "not since my apprenticeship, over a decade ago."
"You think a decade is a long time?" the prince wryly observed. "Then you sure don't want to know how old I am. And I can't imagine you having free access to something like this and not using it at least once in a while. Good grief, it feels good just to be here!"
Vialle smiled tolerantly. "You feel the coral – it is therapeutic, good for enhancing communication skills and warding off bad energy and illness. I suppose I am happy that you brought me here, now that I think on it: it is also said to bless marriages. I have sent patients here myself, to absorb what beneficial magic they can. But apart from the apothecary garden closer to the palace, there really isn't anything at all here for me to enjoy."
Random instantly winced his eyes closed in belated understanding, feeling like a grade-A nimrod: Moire's ornamental reef was nothing like a terrestrial garden! There was nothing to smell – not sweet perfume of blossoms or sharp greenery or even petrichor after a rain! There wasn't even anything Vialle could safely touch here to experience tactilely with her bare hands! Everything was coated in slime, in spikes, in strong chemicals and stingers! The assorted bubbling noises, croaks, grunts, and droning tones of the many fishes were a poor substitute for birdsong! This was strictly a paradise for the sighted… and they had been getting a few assorted looks from passersby: curious, pitying, put off. He just shook his head slowly; she could feel it.
"I wasn't thinking," he sighed tersely, moving to rise, but Vialle stayed his arm.
"We don't have to leave for my sake," she reassured him. "Won't you describe for me what it is that you see, what you find beautiful here? I have some detailed knowledge of the different species in regards to their technical biology, but not from direct experience, you understand."
The prince let out a breath, shoving his left hand through his water-waved hair, looking above them at a drifting black-and-white angelfish. "The only words I have to describe any of it all reference features of land-worlds which would be completely alien to you; you wouldn't get much out of the exercise," he stroked her hair; it felt good in his right hand. Actually, that last little statement had been a partial lie, now that he thought about it longer than two seconds: he could easily describe most of the non-fish life forms present here in terms of humanoid anatomy, but the trouble was he wasn't trying to seduce the poor girl.
She smiled up at him, seemingly oblivious of his thoughts.
"Try it anyway?"
He lightly snorted a laugh. Why not. In his mind's eye, the corals quickly became beds of exotic flowers, the gorgonians young trees, the fans shrubbery, the schools of fish transforming into flocks of brilliant tropical birds and butterflies and other insects, the atmosphere warm as a clinging summer evening. The words flowed from his tongue with remarkable ease – the descriptions of sight and sound, smell and texture, all new to her and wondrous. He spoke for quite some time, losing all track of it, his memory pulling him back through many different epochs in many worlds, different stages in his incredibly long life, stream-of-conscious after stream-of-consciousness… until the children left the park for the night, and many of the adults began strolling toward the exits as well; the lights in the palace windows were being extinguished one by one, signaling the end of the court 'day' – that he finally noticed upon briefly opening his eyes.
"Good grief!" he stood up in surprise, taking in what time it must be: going on ten-thirty at least! "How did I talk so long?!" He felt like he had been dreaming!
"The coral!" Vialle laughed, standing up a bit more slowly, stretching her legs, her knees. "I had thought of stopping you but I was enjoying myself too much. I must visit the land someday before I die; I had no idea it was so rich in such varied kinds of stimuli," she found his arm, linking hers through, nuzzling against him for a moment. "Thank you for telling me of it. I hope your voice is not too sore," the lip-smile she turned on him playfully rueful.
"I'm not going to forget about this little incident," he warned her only half-teasingly, one eyebrow raised, starting their way back to the stairs, pausing for a lost moray eel.
"I hope that you don't."
Random spared her a sharp look as the beast settled into a coral-crevice to hide: Vialle looked calm enough – happy even – but the proverbial mask was definitely back up.
She'd make a fantastic poker player, maybe, he thought with a note of regret, watching the gently glowing blurry skyline of all those tinted windows; only the water kept one from being able to clearly make out the southern edge of the city from here, upon the descent from the palace. Two-thirds of the way back to her townhouse, he could tell that his wife's steps were flagging, and without ado or verbal warning he simply scooped her up underneath her knees, making her yell in surprise, then laugh when she realized what he was doing, continuing to laugh through her feeble protests to be put back down. The prince, for his part, either ignored the stares and strange looks they were garnering from passersby as he placidly strolled down the streets and avenues carrying her, but some he couldn't resist returning in kind, even amiably wishing a few particularly scandalized parties good evening. It was hard not to be in a good mood with such a young, pleasantly firm body squirming in his arms: she was small but perky, barely enough in the right places, but exuberant enough to make up for the fact he'd wager…
Except that this was a bet he had planned from the start to never win – not if there was going to be any chance of an early parole.
Random got his wife home without incident; by the end she had ceased even the pretence of struggling and had simply curled up against his chest, her long lithe arms wrapped about his neck, practically daring him to do something; had he been able to relax, it might have even been mildly tempting. Once inside, she immediately set about laying out gel-filled pallets for them to sleep on on the floor of her still-lit clinic, not about to force him to endure the use of the bedroom in its current state (it wasn't quite as toasty as some of the inner chambers, but it was still comfortable on the first floor), when he finally decided he shouldn't put off telling her any longer.
"Dollface," he uttered gently from the doorway, "I didn't want to ruin your night, but you've got some bad news waiting for you on the top floor."
Vialle stopped immediately, her jaw instantly clenched. "How many pieces ruined?" she asked through gritted teeth, getting up, walking over.
"Four," he gave it to her straight and calm. "Three urns and a bust – shame about the sculpture, looks like it was nice once. I didn't know what to do with them so I left them on the table, away from the rest."
Vialle forced herself to breathe, nodding resignedly. "They must be gotten rid of before the polyps spread any further – and I should put a sail-tarp over the entrance to keep others from swimming in," she made for the stairs.
"You don't have to do this yourself if it's that painful; I can do it for you, just tell me what to do," the prince offered gallantly – but she had already passed him on the risers; he climbed after her.
"They were mine to create; they are mine to destroy," he heard her call back to him in the darkness. They could not afford to waste the mineral tapers when they were not needed, as some of their more affluent neighbors could; Random was currently carrying his own, taken from the room below. The girl came back down the stairs almost immediately bearing the bust in her arms.
"Sure you don't want any help with this?"
"You can help me to convey the rest to the kitchen if you want," she finally relented a little.
Random swam up to the top landing, screwed the taper into a newly-cleaned wall sconce, and managed to balance two urns in his arms, with one partially stacked in the other. "Coming through," he darted past her on the right, mindful of the wall anemones and their stinging tentacles. Vialle appeared with the final vase in under a minute – and unceremoniously fed it to the heat vent!
"Is there really nothing to be done for them? Not even the sculpture? Couldn't you just break off the bad part and display it as an abstract?" he asked astonishedly, seeing her faint outline chuck in the second vase, then the third, as if simply taking out the garbage.
"A ruined piece is a ruined piece; no one pays for broken clay, nor should they. Not everything can be mended," she replied bluntly.
The prince watched with mixed emotions as the half-barnacle-covered sensuous face disappeared into the abyss, to be destroyed by the fires deep below.