Another bright and cheery fall morning stuck behind the desk in the
King's study on the first floor of the King's Tower, in the western half
of the palace, too damned far from his apartment, the barracks or the
stables. Just as well he finally found where Random cached the scotch.

From beyond the door, he hears a man call out, "Martin?"

Martin replies irritably, "Yeah, come in."

Bleys comes into the small library. He carefully closes the door behind
him, his expression rather less pleased than is his wont.

The man before you stands tall, with thick hair the color of fire. He
wears a well-groomed beard and moustache behind which his warm smile can
often be seen. The colors he wears are suggestive of the fires he was
named for - vibrant crimsons and oranges, impeccably tailored in his own
inimitable style. Perceptive eyes may note the well-worn grip of the
sword sheathed in an ivory scabbard, somewhat at odds to his stylish
appearance. His hands bear three heavy rings, weighed down with a single
large stone each: ruby, emerald and sapphire, the devil himself dancing
in his azure eyes and reflecting off the sapphire. His every move flows
with the fluidity and grace of a born warrior or dancer, though his
manicured hands and insightful expression denote a scholarly inclination
as well.

Martin is seated behind the desk, his jacket thrown over a nearby chair,
sorting through piles of reports. He throws a glance towards the door,
nods a greeting. "Uncle Bleys."

Bleys returns the greeting with a brusque nod. "Nephew. I'm glad to see
you're sitting...I've got some more news on these coins and plates." He
helps himself to a chair, making himself as comfortable as his apparent
agitation will allow.

Martin puts down the report he was reading, a brow quirked. "Scotch?" he
asks, a hand slipping down below the desktop.

Bleys nods his head slowly. "Please." he replies, stretching his arms to
the sides until the shoulder joints pop audibly.

Martin sinks a little to one side in his seat, never quite taking his
eyes off Bleys, then straightens again as he places a half-drunk bottle
on the table top. From the recesses of a drawer, he finds a pair of
glasses, and proceeds to pour them both a drink.

"Let's hear it," Martin says, as he hands Bleys his glass.

Bleys accepts the glass with a faint smile, taking an appreciative sip.
"All right, but you won't be thrilled to hear it. I've found a witness,
a child who actually saw one of the switches taking place."

Bleys clears his throat before continuing. "It seems that the plate
suddenly disappeared then returned in it's altered form, the entire
process taking a matter of moments."

"Is the child's report reliable?" Martin asks, his tone suggesting that
children are, well, children.

Bleys spreads his hands. "To the best of my knowledge, she was telling
the truth...and I -do- have ways to check on that. I think we have to
accept this as genuine, which is the cause of my real concern."

Martin sips his scotch, frowning. "Genuine 'what' is the problem." A
pause. "You've been to the other Pattern. How was it?"

The frown on Bleys' face show a remarkable similarity to Martin's own.
"Totally fine, not a thing out of place. This switching .. it's getting
to be a real concern. Not even Dworkin could alter Shadow that well here
in Amber, Trumps won't do the trick either, and magic isn't strong
enough to pull off even one such switch, much less thousands. It looks
like we're dealing with something brand new here...and I don't like
that."

"What about Corwin's Pattern..?" Martin prompts around the rim of his
glass.

Bleys nods his head slowly. "It's a possibility...but I haven't been
able to force a Trump contact with Corwin."

"I understood he was still in the Courts of Chaos," Martin sets his
glass down. "Contact's difficult over that distance even at the best of
times." He taps a finger against the glass. "Nothing like this has ever
happened before? Not just here. Anywhere."

Bleys shakes his head. "Nowhere, least of all here, where reality is at
it's most stable."

"So what do you propose," Martin asks after several moments'
consideration. "To fix this?"

Bleys takes another sip of his scotch before replying. "For the moment,
about all I can do is continue to study the altered plates and coins, to
see if I can figure out how they're being switched. I'm trying to
contact Fiona...this is more in her area of expertise."

Martin nods once. "I think that's a luxury we won't be able to afford
much longer." He picks up his glass again, takes another long sip.
"Anything you need from me?"

Bleys chuckles softly, without much humour. "Yes, your father's Jewel
would be a great help. I don't suppose he left it in your care?"

"Afraid not," Martin's smile likewise has little amusement in it.

Bleys spreads his hands. "I somehow doubted it, but had to ask."

Martin's gaze narrows a fraction. "How would you use it, if you had it?"

Bleys gestures vaguely with his right hand, spilling not a drop of the
scotch in his glass. "The Jewel significantly boosts an initiate's
ability to sense the underlying patterns in objects and people. I would
attempt to get a hold on the pattern of one of those warped coins, and
ShadowWalk to their source."

"Can you be certain that these coins originate from the same source in
shadow?" Martin asks.

Bleys shakes his head. "Not certain, no...but the same procedure could
be applied to the coins. I'd be amazed to discover two sources of some
new power having the same effect here in Amber, though..."

Someone knocks at the door.

Martin frowns again, about to comment when he's interrupted by the
knocking. "Excuse me," he says to Bleys.

Bleys nods casually, taking advantage of the momentary lull to refill
his glass.

From beyond the door, someone laughs. "Guess what?" The voice is
distinctively familiar, especially to Martin.

Who rolls his eyes, like someone trapped in his own private hell. To the
door, he says with the tone of someone really not in the mood for games,
"Just come in already."

Bleys coughs. Well, he manages to make suppressed laughter sound like a
cough.

Niara opens the door just enough to poke her head in. "You don't have to
get all ..." she begins, and decides to end it with a simple "Hello."

Take the Mona Lisa. Make her darker and elfin boned, and substitute her
straight brown-black hair for an shoulder-length cloud of glossy ebony
ringlets. Widen her almondine eyes. Color them bronze, like those of
some leopards. Re-draw that famous smile onto a Dionysian mouth. Give
her slender, fragile hands, impossibly tiny feet, and indolent grace
that is the stuff of scientific treatise. Float a lotus-riddled round of
lapis against her collarbone from a delicate silver chain. Slip a solid
amber band over her left ring finger. Slide an amethyst-and-gold-and-jet
ring onto her right. Tie her hair back from her face with a bright
orange scarf. Sheathe her in black and purple and brass, a sleek
coatdress of foreign design and almost military severity. Slit it for
pacing and riding over lithe sable tights and calf-high black leather
boots. Hang a shortened-but-otherwise mundane saber over her right hip.

"If I thought I had a choice, I'd trade with you," Martin mutters to
Bleys. He looks to the door. "Cousin," he greets. "You want something?"

Bleys gestures with a newly filled glass of scotch by way of a greeting.
"Niece."

Niara offers Bleys a vague nod. "Not a thing," she tells Martin.

"Come in anyway," Martin jerks a thumb towards a chair. "Sit down, join
the party." A pause as his glance takes in something else at the door.
"The cat, too." he says with resignation.

Bleys tilts his head slightly to one side, glancing curiously at the
doorway. "Is this the famous tiger I've been hearing about?"

Niara's mouth quirks at one corner. "Fortunate for you that she does not
like liquor." She offers Bleys another vague nod. She pushes the door
open fully.

Lana comes into the small library.

Niara waits until the tiger, tail and all, is inside the study before
she steps in over the threshold and shuts the door behind her.

Bleys appears somewhat familiar with the mannerisms of tigers, holding
out his hand fingers down in Lana's general direction should she feel
inclined to ascertain his scent. "She's a beauty, Niara."

Martin's features slip into his now-standard Uh-Huh mode as he eyes the
tiger's arrival. "Well, this is cosy," he says eventually and quite
expressionlessly. "Have a good trip, cousin?"

Niara chooses to crouch near the tiger in lieu of taking a seat.
"Mostly. I ran into these ... /peoulills/ with wings when I made a wrong
turn towards Arden, but..." She chuckles, and glances down at the cat
while murmuring something in an undulant tongue.

Lana blats Niara in the side with her tail, and oozes around her knees
to sniff Bleys' hand.

Martin starts to take another sip, realises his glass is empty, refills
it. "Noticed anything odd out there?" Martin asks Niara as Bleys makes
friends with the tiger.

Niara rubs her right side, frowning some. "Define odd."

Bleys watches as Lana sniffs at his fingers, a genuine smile on his
face. "It's been a while since I've seen one of your race."

"Unusual, unlikely, out of place," Martin says to Niara, while idly
watching Bleys and the tiger. "Besides flying frogs and tigers. Coins
changing their appearance in your pocket, for instance."

Niara straightens, slowly. "Out there? No. Gianna mentioned something
about the coins here acting peculiarly, though."

"She is not well acquainted with Thari," she murmurs, then, toward
Bleys. "But she understands Virgan."

Bleys reaches forward to tentatively stroke the side of the tiger's
muzzle, repeating his comment in fluent Virgan with a wry sidelong
glance towards Niara.

Martin nods vaguely in Niara's direction with an "Mm." He continues to
watch Bleys with the tiger.

Lana chooses not to bite Bleys' hand off for the trespass, though her
nostrils flare. A sound like slow-boiling cream soup ripples from her
throat.

Niara hikes up her skirt enough to permit her to step over the tiger's
tail. She plops down in the nearest chair.

"Niara," Martin's warning is calm. "The staff are pretty jumpy right
now. Keep your tiger under control, alright?"

"Martin," Niara replies, gently, "She has better manners than I do."

She adds a "Usually," through a smile. "So ... the coins?"

Bleys nods his head appreciatively at Lana's tolerance, ceasing his
stroking movements after a brief moment.  he
states quietly in Virgan before returning his attention to the
conversation at hand. "An unknown power is altering coins and plates
throughout the Realm."

"Mm," Martin sounds again, sipping at his scotch. "It's starting with
coins and plates. Indications are it'll probably move on to bigger and
better things."

"Bleys," Martin adresses his uncle after a second's thought. "Who else
have you spoken to about this?"

Lana dips her massive head, and manages to turn around to face the
conversation without damaging any knicknacks. The burbly noise she emits
is eschewed in favor of a musky yawp, then silence.

Bleys half-turns to face Martin. "For the moment, only Lorelei. I
thought it best to keep the numbers low....I've used a few of our spies
to check throughout the city, but they were told that they were looking
for smugglers."

Niara folds a hand over her mouth and says nothing.

"I have people searching through the lower city," Martin says. "Mainly,
they think they're looking for counterfeiters. "A shrug. "They haven't
found anything useful." He takes another sip. "I think we're going to
need most of the family in all this one. Lorelei and her people can't
search beyond Amber. What say you?"

"You are speaking of tangible, multiplied witnessed changes, and not
illusory ones?" Niara queries. The edges of a smile poke out from behind
her fingers.

Bleys nods his head towards Niara. "Witnesses are few and far between,
but I've ascertained the truth of the statement. As for illusion...there
are sacks of the altered coins in the library."

Martin glances to Niara, pulls open a drawer and fishes round in its
depths. He flips something small and coppery towards her. "How
illusory's that?" he asks.

Niara catches it with her free hand, and looks down at it. "It looks
like a gold coin," she observes, before unfolding her fingers from her
mouth. Her smile fades when she sniffs the coin. "Smells too tinny to be
a truly gold coin. I won't bother tasting it." She flips it back to
Martin. "I would comment about the image's seeming altered, as well, but
I'm afraid I'm more familiar with gemstones as currency these days."

"Probably a good idea," Martin replies as he catches the coin. "Though
that'll probably change soon enough as well." he tosses the coin back in
its drawer, shuts it. "Well, Uncle?"

Niara's brows lift. "Which? The familiarity, or their being tenderable?"
Bleys finishes his scotch in one long draw, placing the empty glass down
on the table before him. "I suspect if we switched Amber to the gemstone
currency it would swiftly become replaced with glass. No, I'm afraid I'm
going to have to get a bit more radical in my research..."

Lana's tail raps against the floor, idly.

"We can't afford to play with the currency any further," Martin says.
"I'll have to fill a couple of the others in on the situation then."

Bleys rises to his feet. "Give me twelve hours before you do, Martin."
he states in a confident voice, half-turning towards the door.

"Alright," Martin agrees, a skeptical quirk to his brow. "And keep me
posted if you find out anything new."

Bleys nods faintly at Martin. "Of course." He performs a sweeping bow,
taking in both Niara and Lana in the gesture. "" he states in
Virgan, turning to take his leave.

Lana rumbles something, perhaps in reply.

Niara just nods.

"Uncle," Martin says by way of farewell as Bleys makes his departure. He
remains seated at the desk, sourly contemplating his drink.

Bleys goes out the door.

Niara also waits until the door closes until she observes, "No traces of
regular ordinary magickal workings, I suppose, either, eh?

"Not that I know about these things," she adds, frowning, then takes a
breath.

"If Bleys is to be believed, this goes beyond anything he or his sister
could pull off. " Martin shrugs a shoulder, "I have no way of telling."

Niara chews on the corner of her mouth. "I suppose Amber could have
suddenly been struck by a plague of master pickpockets with an agenda
that entails swapping good coins for bad ... and speaking of which, were
any of the coins found in your pocket, or someone else's we know?
Someone who might have noticed a pickpocket, at any rate?"

"It's not pickpockets," Martin says simply, as he reaches up to massage
his temple. "Lir knows I wish it was pickpockets."

"That's a roundabout way of asking where the stacks of coins in the
library came from." Niara murmurs. She gets up from her chair.

Lana shifts her bulk back onto all four legs, and pads to take a seat
against the base of the door. She yawns.

Martin shakes his head, a smile forming hesitantly. "Sorry, it's been a
hell of a bad few days. The coins in the library are from the city, and
the palace too. All over Amber. Lorelei's people have been collecting
them. Ask Lorelei. She's, um, the Archivist. In the library."

A winged form glides past the window, the light glinting off its scales.

Niara walks to the right side of Martin's chair, and whispers, "Tip your
head forward, and I'll take care of that." before she clears her throat.
"We've met," she says, at normal volume. "And if you'd like me to, I
will. I hope they've been keeping lists of where they obtained the coins
from."

Martin exhales a breath, dips his head forwards as instructed. He
continues on as before, "Yeah, she's been keeping notes on where and
when and how many. Good idea, you talking to her. Tell her I sent you if
she plays shy."

Niara takes up where he left off massaging his temple, only with both of
them rather than the one. "A given. So ..." She pauses. "Why was it all
of a sudden decided that you get all of the rotten stuff dumped on you,
instead of just most of it?"

A laugh, or the start of one that gets choked off by a cough which might
have been another laugh. "Just lucky, I guess," he says finally.

"Uhmmm," she whispers, in not-quite agreement. "The few rumors I've
managed to hear in the past day and a half suggest someone couldn't
handle it, and fled."

"The answer lies beyond Amber," Martin replies with a sigh, muscles
tensing slightly beneath the skin. "No one's supposed to know."

"I won't ask, then," Niara breathes. A heartbeat later, she adds, "You
haven't been sleeping well. There are tight places in your muscles like
ribbons of metal."

She snorts, then. "Not that you do not know this already."

"Sleep? Oh, yeah, sleep." Martin chuckles drily. "Hey, I need you to
look at something."

"I will," Niara replies, "If you'll let me take your shirt off for a few
moments."

Lana eyes the two behind the desk, her gaze lambent in the midday light
filtering through the windows.

Martin pulls away carefully, catching one of Niara's hands in his and
brushing the back of it against his mouth before releasing it. "Hang on,
it's down here," he says, leaning down towards the bottom drawer of the
desk. With a faint grin, he adds, "Ah, I think I'll keep my shirt on a
little longer, thanks."

"Suit yourself," Niara says, off-handedly, before she drops her other
hand from his temple, and takes hold of the small of his back. "What is
it?" she asks, before attempting to knead.

Martin pulls the drawer open, reaches under a folder and brings out a
small, neatly folded bundle of yellow silk. He kicks the drawer shut
with the toe of his boot, somehow deftly dissuading Niara from getting
too determined at his back as he places the bundle on the desktop, and
unfolds the corners to reveal a black Virgan coin within. "You tell me,"
he says quietly.

Niara gets her hands out from behind him before they can get trapped
between his back and the back of his chair.

She makes a quiet, puzzled noise.

Lana's ears flick. Her back tenses.

"Be careful if you handle it," Martin says, as quietly. "I'd prefer not
to take any chances, considering where it might have come from."

"Did you find this in Amber," Niara asks, very slowly.

Martin nods. "It's nothing to do with the other coins, I know that
much." His gaze slides up to take in Niara's expression. "Tell me about
it."

Niara moistens her numb-looking lips once he looks up at her, and her
now-solemn gaze lifts from the coin on the desk. "Coins like this are
said to be a token left by the Seb-r-Iete. Or, were said. I have seen
only one before. An 'example' Mother showed me once, when I was small."

"Go on," he prompts, almost gently.

"The Emperor's ... Ministry of Best Unquestioned Deeds, I suppose you
could say," she clarifies.

Niara sinks to a crouch, letting one folded arm rest on the arm of his
chair. She looks up again, after a thoughtful glance at the coin again.
"Whomever found this was meant to."

"It's really been my week, hasn't it?" he chuckles again, without humor.
"What sort of token is it? A warning?" Martin raises a questioning brow,
his voice low, his expression serious.

Niara nods, shallowly. "Most likely. Were this Virga, I would say that
it could also be a notice to all of the private guilds that a certain
matter or matters had been brought into the provenance of the
Seb-r-Iete. But, this is not Virga.

"Unless..." she takes a breath. "There are private guilds in Virga who
have been contracted for one reason or another to settle a matter in
Amber."

She adds, "Then it could very well be their saying "Amber is ours to
dispose of. Shove off."

"I see," Martin murmurs. "And you say this Seb-r-lete... they're the
Emperor's men? If the Seb-r-lete are operating here, it probably means
the Emperor of Virga is behind the whole thing?" There's a trace of
hardness in his words.

Niara shakes her head. "Not necessarily."

She purses her lips, considering. "You aren't told everything you need
to do in order to defend Amber, right?"

She gestures. "A number of things you decide are necessary and do them,
or is that not the case?"

"So you're saying Virga may not know about this?" he asks.

Niara nods. "Or the Emperor may. Or some of his viziers or suzerains
may. Or not, yes. Will they deny they do, if they are confronted with
this? Certainly, even if it means they have to lie."

In the stillness, the creaking of stone and wood of the castle settling
can be heard.

"Wonderful," he sighs. "Thanks, I think."

"What happened?" she asks, quietly. "Or can you tell me?"

Martin considers for a time. "It's possible one of these Seb-r-lete guys
just tried to take out Tessa."

Niara starts to say any number of things, after a moment of dead
silence. After another of those moments, she simply lets her brow drop
forward to rest on the back of the arm she has braced on the arm of his
chair. "What do you want me to do?" she asks, then.

Martin is a while answering. "Keep an eye open, for starters. I'll send
you the stuff I've got so far and you can tell me what in six hells they
mean. Later. Right now, I don't know, we've got to keep it quiet." He
shakes his head tiredly. "We've got to keep *everything* quiet."

Niara's head moves against her arm as she nods. "What you have told me
will not leave this room.

"And I will keep my ideas to myself until you have shown me all you have
found," she adds, perhaps more for herself than anyone else.

Niara sighs, and lifts her brow. "Very easy to string out in several
directions. Too easy. Must focus ... ah, I sound like Mother."

"Well, I appreciate it," Martin says softly. He reaches down a hand to
find hers. "I'm going to have to throw you out in a moment, so I can get
back to work, alright?"

Niara whispers, "Alright." She clears her throat again. "Though I could
stay and hel ... never mind. Probably best I don't."

She gets up from her crouch, and squeezes his hand before she lets it
go.

"Later, when I clear some of this stuff up first," Martin offers her a
smile. "Thanks for coming by."

Niara's shoulders lift in a half-shrug, but she doesn't say anything
more. Lana moves out of her way when she walks around the desk toward
the door, and the two depart together. Martin, however, does get a stare
from the big cat before she follows Niara out.

-------
8/27/98