Chapter 15: Plots

Gavril smirked to himself as he counted up the coin Avarro had brought. Enough to pay the girls their pittance, and plenty left over for himself. Good. He swept his share into a purse and secreted it away, leaving the rest for the girls to gather later.

Avarro was the wealthiest of his customers by far–and in some ways, the stupidest. A prize combination. Gavril had hoped, when he first targeted Avarro for cultivation, that he could use the lad to gain entry into King Henrick's Court, where Gavril's unique set of skills could be sold even more dearly to the duplicitous court members.

But the stupid boy remained aloof from the Telmarine Court, whining that as his uncle was the Queen's brother, he'd not be allowed to have any fun if they went to the royal court. So Avarro insisted they stay down here among the common folk. That would have been enough for Gavril to drop him, except for one thing.

The boy was still fixated on that girl of his, the one in Narnia. Gavril liked solving problems, but so far had not been able to resolve this one; frustrating. This was a problem, since Gavril's whole livelihood revolved around getting his customers exactly what they wanted, no matter what.

And the longer Avarro went without this dream girl, the greater the chance he'd decide Gavril was no good to him. There was also the risk that his reputation for making anything happen would be damaged, and then where would he be?

Part of the puzzle was that Gavril still didn't know who the girl was. From the little Avarro had said, the girl was young; pretty, of course; wellborn; and she had a protective family. She also seemed to have some sort of job. He had thought perhaps she was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, or something similar, but so far had come up empty. He had been researching all the well-to-do and highborn families in Narnia, but he hadn't yet found anyone who quite matched Avarro's hints.

If Gavril could only discover her identity, he'd be able to learn about the girl, find her weaknesses (everyone had them), and exploit them. Maybe even work to soften the girl up for Avarro's taking, if that became needful.

If he could give Avarro the actual girl, Gavril would be set for life. Avarro would pay him a king's ransom right now just for the chance. His fixation on her bordered on the obsessive.

Which was all to Gavril's benefit, of course. And once Gavril had his hooks into the girl, well, clearly that was a path into the Narnians' upper echelons. Narnia had untapped wealth, but past attempts to get anyone there to give into their vices had been for naught. But once he'd brought one of their own into his circle... Gavril should be able to name his price, either to help the uptight Narnians indulge their darkest desires, or to keep mouths shut when they had been fulfilled.

You only needed one loose brick to bring down a wall, after all. Providing it was the right brick.

He thought Avarro's mystery girl might be just the one to let the wall around Narnia down, and open the field to his unique kinds of services.

He'd just have to keep working on Avarro.

As though on cue, the boy returned from his latest appointment with one of Gavril's girls. As usual, the boy was frowning—pouting, really.

Ridiculous. The boy wasn't so experienced yet that he should be feeling anything other than grateful to Gavril for arranging these evenings of drinking and gambling and, occasionally, women.

"What is it now?" he said, allowing some of his impatience to show. "Petunia's teeth are wrong?"

"No, she was… fine." Avarro said. "It's just… I had another letter from Her, and again… no invitation!"

"Why not invite her here?" Gavril suggested, but paid attention when Avarro actually seemed to consider it.

Avarro sagged, disappointed. "No, her family wouldn't let her come alone; her rank would mean a guard at the least. It'd be expected."

"Bah, expectations," Gavil waved this consideration off. "Avarro, you need to learn how to get her to decide to do the things you want her to do, like come visit without a guard."

Avarro gave him such a helpless look, it made Gavril want to slap him. "But how?"

"You seem to be under the misapprehension that this girl is unique." Gavril lifted a hand to cut off the automatic protest. "At base level, all women are alike. They want to be taken care of. They want to be praised and flattered/ They want men to take charge of things. But they want the illusion of choice." Avarro gave him a blank look. Gavril sighed. "You want this girl to come here and visit you, yes?"

"Yes."

"And you don't want her to bring a servant or guard or whatever with her?"
"Yes."

"Why not?"

"They make her remember propriety," Avarro spat. "They twist what I say. And she listens. And others always want something from her. She doesn't seem to see I'm the only one who doesn't want her to do something for me!"

"Oh," Gavril smirked, "you want her to do something for you, all right." Avarro's ears turned red. "But you're right, you'll never get her on her own if there's someone hovering around concerned about propriety." Gavril thought a moment. "She's fond of you?"

"I think so…"

"And she doesn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Don't bother to answer, that's how every woman is; soft-hearted," Gavril informed him. "So how if you have a birthday celebration, and invite her?"

"But the guard–"

"Ask her, 'doesn't she trust you? Not even in your own home?' Surely sending a guard would be insulting. Or would make you sad, and on your birthday too. Come up with something!" Gavril leaned forward.

"The point is, you set two options in front of her. Come to your party, or don't. If she doesn't, you'll be crushed and convinced of her heartlessness. If she does come, surely she can trust you, her dear friend, to not feel the need to bring a guardsman?" Gavril clapped his hands together. "And there you have it. If she doesn't come, she'll feel so guilty that the next time you ask her something, she'll need to say yes. If she does come, she'll feel guilty bringing a guard, so she won't."

"That could work. That could really work!"

"It doesn't take much to get a woman to do what you want her to do; you just need to show her how your decision is best."

"I'll go write her now," Avarro declared, and in ten minutes was heading toward the stables.

Petunia came out of the room to grab her share of the money. Gavril's arm went around her waist; she ignored him. "Did he say anything, pet?" he asked her.

"No," she said woodenly. "He didn't say the mystery girl's name, and I got him up to a fever-pitch."

"Keep trying," he ordered her. "There's a bonus for whatever girl gets her name out of him."

"I know," she said flatly.

Her indifference amused him. He knew Petunia hated him, and this job, but she was very good at it. She should be, after the years he'd had her. And at this point, what else could she work at? She was known, and certainly nobody in Telmar would hire her in any other position now.

Speaking of positions… He slid his arm around her a little more tightly. "Would you like to earn a little bonus now, pet?"

She sighed, but let him draw her down to sit on his lap. She knew what side of the bread her butter was on. And Gavril might just have another use for her, when this mystery girl arrived…

In Narnia, the days melted one into the next, and Lucy struggled to forget about her sorrow over Rorin's letter and the loss of his friendship.

It didn't make it easier that it was virtually impossible to simply talk to anyone about the situation; so far as her family was concerned, Rorin had given himself distance from Lucy before leaving for his new master's abode. No matter what she said, everyone supposed that Lucy was mooning over lost could-have-beens. And nobody seemed to feel this should be anything other than a momentary sadness in an otherwise happy life.

The overly-sympathetic looks she received–which all had an air of patting a child on the head–made her want to scream. It wasn't that people doubted her feelings, but everyone seemed vaguely puzzled as to why she was still upset about it.

It didn't help that Lucy wasn't certain herself.

Every time Lucy thought of coming clean on exactly why she and Rorin were no longer friends, doubts assailed her. Occasionally, she'd take the letter out and read over it and wonder how much truth was in his words.

Had she been causing scandal and rumor while in Archenland?

Had she been behaving in an improper way?

Would she and Rorin have remained friends without those rumors?

She didn't know, but she missed the ease and support he'd offered her. It wasn't his fault that everyone else in her life needed something from her. Rorin had needed nothing, and had offered simple, uncomplicated friendship, and she found she missed it sorely.

Even though he'd gone and made it all complicated, when it wasn't at all.

She'd tried to confide her torn feelings to Susan, but it went nowhere.

"I'm sorry Rorin didn't write you, dear, but I'm sure 'tis just his busyness. And his new place is so remote, you've said so thyself," Susan said, holding fabrics up to her face and looking in the mirror.

"It's not that he doesn't write–" Lucy tried to explain. "It's the last thing he did write."

"What, from those many months agone?" Susan laughed. "Surely he doesn't think anything of a note he scribbled out so long ago, and neither ought you. Anyway, do you think the red or the blue suits me better? I need to have a gown made for when the Calormenes arrive. Rab–Prince Rabadash won't be coming, of course, but I do want to look well, anyway. Which do you think?"

"The red," Lucy said. "But, Susan–"

"Thank you." Susan said, and turned from the mirror. "Lucy, he's busy training for his knighthood and his career and adulthood. Surely he hasn't time to write a young girl letters, no matter how fond he might be. This is the way things are, and being sad about it shan't change anything." She smiled kindly at Lucy. "So 'tis better for you to simply decide to make the best of it. Now," she said briskly. "I agree; the red is better for me. I think you ought to take the blue fabric and have a new gown made, yourself. Won't that be nice?"

Realized she'd get nowhere further, Lucy accepted the gift, and despondently went on her way.

As she turned over her sister's advice, though, she wondered if it were possible to simply…forget her sadness? Perhaps she should just focus on the happiness she did have?

It was worth the attempt, anyway.

Gradually, with time, Lucy's greyness seemed to lift. She went to events like the solstice celebration on Dancing Lawn. She kept up with correspondence. She continued her lessons. And most of all, she did her best to forget about Rorin's letter.

The Calormenes came and made their visit, and said many mysterious and portentious things, and left hinting that their visit had been a positive one.

Nobody quite knew what this meant, until Susan started to receive regular correspondence and gifts from Prince Rabadash. She'd send him trinkets and such back, but Peter put his foot down at the idea of any locks of hair or portraits being sent to Tashbaan.

"A man should openly declare himself, and have a betrothal in place, before a lady sends such personal things to him," he said, when Susan, blushing a little, revealed the prince had asked for such things.

"But Peter–" she tried to plead, when the four of them were dining one night. "He sends me such lovely things, and asks so little!" Her fingers toyed with a beautiful jade bracelet that had been in that month's delivery.

"Susan, I've hardly even met the man!" Peter exclaimed. "The four words we exchanged at Ramilka's funeral last year hardly count. They certainly don't count as Narnia officially meeting a serious suitor for a Queen's hand. For all that, you've not spent any serious time getting to know him, either. How if this is all some sham?"

That idea caused real hurt to show on Susan's face, and Lucy put her arm around her sister. "Our royal brother doesn't say these things to be cruel," she said. "Prudence bids him speak so, and love. None of us wish to see thee heartbroken, Susan."

"I know," Susan said miserably. "But if you only could spend time with him, as I did in Anvard…"

"In Anvard, thou wert distracted by recent grief and many duties," Edmund reminded her gently. "Your recollection of time spent with him may be colored favorably as being neither sorrow nor obligation."

Susan looked down at her hands. "I suppose thou has a point. Although I do believe his feelings are true," she added earnestly.

"I do believe you," Peter assured her. "Neither do I wish Prince Rabadash ill, if he be sincere and serious in this endeavor. And I shall try to not hold his antecedents against him, for thy sake." He said, a slight smile on his face.

"So how do we wish to move forward? The Calormenes have made a visit; Rabadash has… well." Edmund turned to Susan. "Has he made his intentions clear?"

"Hints, but he does not say he wishes to court me," Susan said glumly. "But surely a man who isn't in love wouldn't be so… extravagant in his correspondence?" She twisted the bracelet again.

"Assuming anything with the Calormenes is a dangerous path to step on," Peter cautioned. "Without an open statement, you could well walk all unknowing into a trap, sister; and if he changed his mind, all Rabadash should have to say is that he was merely playing out a flirtation."

Seeing Susan's expression change, Lucy jumped in. "He's not saying it is only a flirtation, Su; just that if something changes, such as if his father the Tisroc decides his son should marry someone else, it would put you in a very delicate situation indeed."

Susan's expression cleared. "I do see," she said. "And I take all your wise counsel to heart. I am sure, if I hint well enough, he will understand he needs to speak his heart openly. He has shown me to have a sensitive soul, really."

The others raised their eyebrows in mild disbelief at this statement, but it was true Susan knew Rabadash the best of all of them, and who were they to naysay her belief in her would-be lover?

During this time, Lucy received an unexpected letter from Avarro. She was surprised to receive it, as Avarro was inclined to write only in reply to her own letters, and she hadn't had a chance to write him recently.

Dear Queen Lucy, it read,

I am writing you to ask you a personal favor and I hope you do not take offense. Would you be so kind as to attend a celebration for my birthday at my uncle's manor house this year? It will be myself and a number of Telmarine friends. You can finally meet them and ask them all the questions you put to me in your letters. We had such fun at Cair Paravel during the party you so kindly put together for me last year, that I am moved to repeat your generosity here.

However, as I do not wish for this event to turn into any kind of problem between Narnia and Telmar, could it just be my friend Lucy who comes to the celebration? And not Queen Lucy? I hope you take my meaning. And I hope you do come! My celebration will be incomplete without you. The details are enclosed.

Reading his plea, she felt a pang of guilt at her neglect of her friend: it was clear, he was lonely and missed her. Somehow, she'd never invited him to visit since he'd gone back to Telmar, she realized. An unwelcome thought dawned: Had she been so absorbed in her own hurt that she had inflicted pain on others?

Lucy hoped not, but a visit would go a long way to assuaging any pain she'd inadvertently caused.

She paused over his request that she not travel as Queen. How would that even work? She was a queen, where ever she went. It wasn't like she could just not be a queen. Who could she ask to help solve this? Tumnus would be aghast at the idea of her dropping her royal title, even for a day; Orieus wouldn't like this, either. Alissa would fuss.

But the very idea of just being Lucy, even if only for a single day, for a single event, was very tempting.

Who could she ask? She'd need at least one of her siblings on her side to convince the others.

Susan was busy sighing over Rabadash, and Peter was away, so... She took the invitation to Edmund for his thoughts.

"You want to what?" Edmund put down his quill and looked up from his desk.

"I wish to attend a gathering in Telmar," Lucy repeated. She knew he'd heard her. "Tis a celebration of my friend Avarro's day of birth."

"Let me see that letter," he said, and she handed the packet over.

As she stood there, she began to doubt the wisdom of this move. Edmund had never liked Avarro. He was probably the worst person she could have asked to help her figure out a way to go. It was far more likely he'd bury her in reasons not to go. And this was a real security risk, she knew; Edmund took the realm's security very seriously.

How could she tell Avarro no, though?

"Well, I suppose if you travelled under an assumed name, 'twould be acceptable," he said.

"What?"

"Thou'd certainly need an escort–the road runs through bandit territory, so you'll need to be protected–and you'll need to take a maid, at the least." He mused.

"A maid?" She repeated.

"Didn't you read the details? He's having a masquerade. Bit extravagant for a birthday, but it's his money. And I do like the idea of your face being obscured. Just in case an enemy of Narnia should be there and attempt thee harm."

"I can go?"

Her brother looked at her, surprised. "My dear sister, 'twas always up to thee whether you would go; I am merely offering my opinion on whether you ought to go. And I think t'would do thee good. The affair seems innocent enough."

She could only give him a surprised look.

"Lucy, you've been sad and lonely recently, and much concerned with duty and not much with joy. I know it. Peter knows it. Susan would know it, if she weren't so bound up with this Rabadash fellow.

"The trip will only take three days in total; I'll help you come up with an assumed role to play, so none shall know thee as Queen of Narnia; and I think you'll enjoy yourself. It is all right to enjoy yourself, betimes. I think mayhap you have forgot that, recently."

"I don't know how I could forget, with such people around me as I have," she said warmly, and felt a real smile come across her face.

Maybe Edmund was right: perhaps she needed this.

"Well then," he said. "You have a month; let us set to planning your Telmarine excursion."

She grinned. "Let's."

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