It's the last night of negotiations. After a couple of harrowing weeks
of verbal-duelling with His Imperial Majesty the cobra-blooded
vulture-spawned Sun Emperor of Virga and his court of delicately oiled
and perfumed cronies, and the odd assassination attempt or six, Martin's
just about had enough.

He's got the concessions Random asked for. He's got the next closest
thing to an apology the Emperor will concede to. He's even got it all
down in writing. It's over. He can leave this cesspit and go back to
where the slanderers and traitors at least speak his language.

May as well tell Benedict.

Martin studies his uncle's Trump, letting the coldness of the card steal
into his fingers as the image wavers and takes on depth...

Tall and thin, Benedict stands just over six feet tall with narrow
shoulders and a lean build. Shoulder-length, straight brown hair frames
a thin, dour face and strong jaw. Piercing hazel eyes flank a round,
flat nose above a thin-lipped mouth that rarely smiles.

A yellow poet's shirt seeks to hide Benedict's form with flowing,
billowing sleeves and shoulders, only to be tamed at his waist with a
simple brown leather belt; the left sleeve is folded and pinned up
neatly to the shoulder of the shirt. Between the folds of his brown
leather vest, the shirt hangs open and untied. Orange breeches hug his
hips and thighs, disappearing in a pair of knee-high brown leather
boots.

Benedict appears to be unarmed.

In the Trump's image, Benedict says "Go ahead."

Martin stands before a heavily gilded wall, regarding a card in his
right hand, his left resting on the hilt of his saber. "Benedict," he
greets. "Got some news at last."

Benedict sits at his desk, something orange and green off to his right
and just out of view. "Martin. Continue."

Martin's gaze flickers to something in his field of vision briefly.
"We've come to an agreement. Putting the paperwork together as we speak.
Virga denies responsibility, but will give us the people they say
started the whole mess."

Benedict nods, a very faint gesture. "As expected. Have they spoken yet
of their people being held prisoner here?"

Martin says "They'd like them back, but they're not going to make a song
and dance about it. Actually, if you talk to them, you'd think they were
doing us a favor taking them off our hands."

Benedict nods again. "They would be. But do not tell them that. It is
costing us considerably more than is efficient to keep them fed and
relatively healthy, as well as keeping them under guard. Tell them we
will allow them to take the prisoners back. And what of trade
negotiations? I believe Random intends to punish Virga with reduced
trade priveleges.

Martin nods to Benedict's suggestion, "Alright. Should be easily enough
done." Then, a shrug, "The King said otherwise to me." The words are
felt, rather than spoken aloud, "he didn't want the Virgans humiliated
so, and anyway, the Emperor has suggested trade concessions with Amber.
Big ones. Goodwill and all that."

Benedict says "Is that something he told you before your departure or
have you been speaking with him and updating him?"

Martin's jaw seems to set. "I haven't spoken with him since the
Ceremony. That was the last thing he said to me regarding this."

Benedict's expression doesn't alter. "I have spoken with him since and
he has decided to impose some trade sanctions. Do you have a trump of
him?"

Martin says quietly, his gaze narrowing. "He changed his mind.
Wonderful. What does he want me to do now?" He doesn't answer the
question.

Benedict says "That will have to be discussed between you and he.
Perhaps he can aid you in the negotation tactics."

Martin nods, curt. "As you say. Anything else?"

Benedict says only, "It will be good to have you back in Amber again
when you are finished abroad."

Martin shakes his head, "He wanted me to do the Golden Circle circuit,
so I could be a while yet. I don't know what in six hells he wants
anymore."

Benedict comments cryptically, "Yes. I know." With that, he breaks the
connection and fades from view.

Screw Random, thinks Martin as he packs the card away. When he goes back
in there, it'll be to put his seal in the wax. He's not going to let
Random fuck up this treaty. He's not going to let Random humiliate him
before the Virgans. If Random wants him out of the way that bad, he can
damned well do the job himself.

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05/20/98