Once out of Virga's waters and safely on the blank gray waves of the
endless shadow seas, Martin takes a few moments out to Trump Random. The
card's coldness steals over his fingers, and then there is the
beginnings of a contact...

In the Trump's image, Random looks up, then his eyes widen. "Martin.
Good to hear from you."

He is in his sitting room, a window behind him. He has drum sticks in
his hands and taps them, lightly, on his thigh as he speaks.

Martin stands upon the deck of a frigate, his back to the open sea
ahead, the wind whipping his hair. He inclines his head briefly, a card
held in his left hand, his right hidden in a jacket pocket. "The matter
with Virga is resolved," he says without preamble.

Random grins at that, "Excellent. I knew you could handle it. What is
our policy towards them now?"

Martin raises one of his eyebrows in the faintest of quirks. "Why ask
me?" he says, unsmiling. "Don't you know?"

Random frowns slightly, "Benedict dropped in a few days ago," he says,
"but the situation wasn't resolved then." His brow quirks, slightly, as
the rhythm coalesces for a moment, then fades, "We were going to be
doing some sort of trade sanctions as a punishment, I believe, but
otherwise being lenient. I'd like the details as you hammered them out,
though."

Martin says, slowly, and with remarkably little expression, "What trade
sanctions?"

In your mind, Random's frown deepens. "Benedict advised that previous
Amber policy had been to make a show of our displeasure through some
sort of economic embargo for a short while, but not punish a Golden
Circle Shadow overly. He said he'd pass the word on to you the next time
you contacted him." He looks more than slightly displeased. "Was this
not done?"

Martin replies, very evenly. "If you wanted trade sanctions, you might
have said so *before* I left. Not *after* I've been in Virga for the
past week and several days hammering this out with the Emperor." He
withdraws a rolled up parchment from within his jacket then. "I don't
like having policy changes behind my back."

Random shakes his head, "They weren't policy unless you put them into
place. I simply asked Benedict what our past history had been, out of
curiosity, and he said he'd pass some of it onto you. Nothing's been put
in place here." He arches a brow, slightly, "So, what was hammered out?"

"What you asked for," Martin hands one end of the document towards the
image of Random. "At least, what you bothered to tell me you wanted."

Random sighs a bit, reaching out to take the scroll. "I'm sure it's
fine, Martin, and to be honest, I didn't think to ask Benedict for a
history lesson until we'd already started talking." He pauses, then
askes, "Do you want me to pass a message to anyone, Vialle, perhaps?"

Martin passes the scroll over, letting it go as soon as Random has hold
of it. "I'd appreciate you knowing what the hell it is you want," he
answers.

Random replies, simply, "I'm working on it. The History lessons are
definitely helping." He shrugs, "Any messages? Any questions? Where are
you headed to next?"

Martin adds, with a meaningful edge, "There are copies of that document,
by the way."

Random nods, "Good. I would hope so."

Martin says "Go back on your word on this, and it's Amber you'll be
humiliating, and the other copies will resurface then."

Random arches a brow, "You agreed to and signed it, Martin. I didn't
give you this job to renege on it later. I trust your judgement on these
matters, as I told you."

Martin answers coldly, "I know exactly what your word is worth, Random.
Like I know exactly why you sent me out here. So spare me the
sweet-talk. You pull the rug out from under me one more time, just one
more time, and I'm going to stop playing your game, do you understand?"

Random looks puzzled, his expression seriously confused. "I sent you out
there to handle Golden Circle in my stead because I knew you could
handle it. I know I threw you out a bit unprepared, and I regret that,
but at the time I had to pass along some things before I missed them
entirely, the escape of the Virgan prisoners showed me that." He waves a
drum-sticked hand, "If you think there's any other reason, well, you're
probably wrong. I could tell you better if I knew what you thought."

Martin smiles thinly, "Not good enough. Anything you'd like to change
your mind about regarding Begma? I'm only acting in your name and the
name of Amber, after all."

Random shakes his head, "No changes. See if everything is going well
there, fix what you can, contact myself or Benedict to fix what you
can't handle on the scene."

Martin's gaze is narrowed, and dark. "The only thing presenting me with
anything remotely like a difficulty is not having my King's support, but
I'm sure I'll find some way to manage. Good day."

Random snaps, "What gives you the impression you don't have my support,
Martin?"

Martin fixes you with an unforgiving glare, "Everything that you have
done to rid me of my proper place in Amber."

Random gives Martin a look that one might best give to one in a comfy,
form-fitting white coat than forces one to /hug/ oneself. "What?" His
voice is strangled.

Then the Trump contact was interrupted with the sensation of a sharp
jolt.  Surprised, Martin struggles to maintain the connection and
moments later, he hears Random rap out, "Are you all right?" He's
leaning forward, expression and voice concerned.

Martin frowns, apparently vaguely distracted. "We'll talk further when I
return to Amber."

Random asks again, "You are all right, though, right?" He seems,
honestly (for Random) concerned.

Martin's gaze snaps back to Random, and his voice hardens again. "Oh,
gee, I dunno. Raiders maybe, bit of wild shadow, maybe, what the hell do
you care." As he says this, he moves his free hand towards the card.

Random replies, sharply, "More than you know. We'll talk later."

Martin says nothing, as he closes his hand over the card, and the
contact ends.

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27/5/98