A cold fall morning, and Martin's on his way down to the harbor,
stopping in the Crown and Anchor for a top-up.

A wild wind follows Martin in, before the door's shut again.

Martha is staring into the fire.

It's rumored that Martha is over seven hundred years old; if it's true,
then she's one of the oldest commoners in the city. She doesn't look as
old as all that; her thinning hair is gone all silver-grey, and yes, her
figure is as shapeless as a three-week-old pear, but at her age you
would expect her to be bedridden, or at least staying home most of the
time, rather than up and about like she is. She does walk with some
difficulty, probably from arthritis. To help her along, she uses a cane
of dark wood, carved into the shape of a long telescope, with brass
fittings.

Having reached the age when she can wear what she likes, Martha has
chosen a man's greatcoat, stitched in a whole rainbow of colors, worn
over a plain grey dress. She has a pair of low, flat shoes on.

Martin shrugs off his cloak, hangs it up by the wall, steps into the
room. He nods to the old woman by the hearth as he wanders over towards
the bar.

Up at the counter, Martin orders himself a mug of ale, and sits there
nursing it for a time.

Martha is occasionally puffing on a white clay sailor's pipe.

Martin glances up from his drink after a time, considers, heads over
towards the hearth.

"Mind if I share your fire, mother?" he asks respectfully.

Martha says "Be my guest, milord."

Martin nods, and flops into one of the chairs, a half-drunk mug in one
hand.

Martha says "I have not seen you here before, milord. My name is Martha,
but everyone seems to call me Old Lady Spyglass.

"Some go heavy on 'Lady', some go heavy on 'old'. Matters
little to me."

Martin allows himself a faint grin, says, "Martha. I'm pleased to meet
you. Just call me Martin." He indicates his drink, "can I get you
something..?"

Martha says "Something hot... buttered rum would be nice, thankee."

Martin nods, waves over the barmaid. "Buttered rum for the lady, an you
please."

The barmaid returns to the counter, and busies herself for a few moments
there.

Martin has a sip of his ale, watches the fire for a bit.

The barmaid returns with Martha's drink, placing it on a small table
beside her.

Martha sips her rum and watches Martin. "Are you a seafarin' man,
milord?"

Martin shakes is head, smiling, "not really, I'm afraid. I've sailed
some, but didn't really take to it."

Martha says "That's too bad. You've missed the finest life a man can
lead. I've often said, rare's the man who's worth a penny who doesn't
like the sea."

Martin smiles into his ale. "Oh, I like the sea well enough," he says,
wiping froth off his lips, "I'm just not much of a sailor."

Martha says "I've only had eight sons decide they wanted to give up the
sailing life."

Martin looks impressed. "Only eight, huh? What did they go into, then?"

Martha says "Why, they made telescopes, of course."

Martin frowns, "hold on a bit. Old Lady Spyglass... as in the telescope
makers? The ones on the Vine somewhere?"

"That would be us. Optikers to the royalty of nine
kingdoms," Martha says. "At least it was nine at last count."

Martin shakes his head, chuckling, "I don't know anyone who doesn't use
your telescopes." He grins at her, "your sons do good work, if you don't
mind a landlubber saying so. Very good work."

Martin pats his shirt with his free hand, "in fact, I've got one of your
little folding ones on me right now... one of those little
spyglasses..."

Martha says "Ah, yes. The spy's spyglass."

Martin laughs, "is that what you call it? Ah, here it is," he pulls out
a little glittering object of polished brass, attached to a delicate
chain, and passes it over to Martha. "It was a gift. Very beautifully
made, I thought."

Martha takes it and checks it over quickly. The motions seem to be well
practiced.

"Someone thinks highly of you," Martha says. "Someone important. We
don't sell those to any but the Royal family of Amber."

Martin shrugs it off with a smile, "They could have got it the same way
I did."

Martha looks at Martin more carefully.

Martin sips at his ale, "so you make of telescopes for the Royal Family,
huh?"

Martha says "And why shouldn't we? The finest in the land."

Martin grins, "finest in nine lands, at least, by your own reckoning"

Martha smiles, nods to herself, and takes a quiet sip of her rum.
"Certainly, milord."

Martin takes back the little spyglass, weighing it in his hand. Half to
himself, and with a faint smile, he says "D'you ever wonder if someone's
spying on you with one of your own spyglasses?"

Martha says "Well, in here I could see them. And what's there to see?
Just an old woman getting drunk and telling stories. Not necessarily in
that order."

Martin pockets the miniature telescope, "Doesn't sound like much fun."

Martha says "Some folk mistake fun for happiness."

Martin nods, "so you're happy just sitting in here all day? Getting
drunk and telling stories?"

Martha says "Oh, if I could think of anything I wanted to do more, I
would be doing it."

Martin says "sounds like you've done a fair bit in your time already"

Martha says "Well, yes and no. We're a clan of storytellers, we are.

"So when one of my sons comes back from sea and tells me
where he's been and what he's done, we go on that adventure together,
you see, and I've no lack of fun."

Martin nods, amusement softening to something like wistfulness, "sounds
like there's not much you haven't done then, or places you haven't
been."

Martha says "And not a once slept in a bed not my own."

Martin concedes, "Best of all possible worlds, huh?"

Martha says "I've heard that said of Amber."

Martin finishes his drink, "Yeah, me, too."

Martha says "Do you believe it?"

Martin looks into the fire, considers, shrugs, "I guess."

Martha says "You're young enough to choose for yourself whether it is
the best world for you, milord. You'd best think about it carefully
before someone chooses for you."

The grin returns, but with a harder set to it than before. "Thanks, but
I think that's already been taken care of."

Martha reaches out a gnarled hand and places it on Martin's. "May the
choice be the right one for ye, whether it be yours or no."

Martin meets Martha's gaze, says nothing. Then, an uncertain "thanks".

Martha says "You're quite welcome, me lord. Come back again and tell me
a story or two when you can."

Martin nods, setting his empty mug down. "I think I will, one of these
days," he says, and then winks. "In exchange for one of yours, of
course."

Martha says "That's how the game's played, me lad."

Martin drops a few coins onto the table beside the mug. "It is, isn't
it," he says. "That ought to cover it. Well, the day's getting on, and
I've got things to do. Thanks for the pleasant company."

Martha says "Good day, lad."

Martin nods, and gets to his feet. "A good day to you, Martha. Hope one
of your sons comes by soon with another story for you."

Martha says "Goodbye, lad."

Martin waves to Martha as he retrieves his cloak and heads out the door.

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November 20th 97