The Warden's Tale

        A clear spring day in Paris.  That was how it began.
        My eyes slowly opened, blinking away the remains of last
night's slumber.  The sun streamed through the glass of my bedroom
windows, spreading delicate traceries of light across the room and
over the pale cloth of my thin sheets.  A warm breeze shifted the lace
curtains that partially obscured my windowpanes, twisting the golden
filigrees of sunlight into patterns half-remembered as I shifted
underneath my covers.  Through the partially open window, I could hear
the soft sounds of a city waking, rising to greet the new day.
        I tried drowsily to regain the dream that I had just departed,
but it was to no avail, as the mechanical clock on the bedroom bureau
chimed out the hour of the morning.  So be-stirred, I slowly sat up and
stretched in my bed, my sheets falling away as I took a deep breath,
inhaling the scent of jasmine from the window-box, the heady aroma of
baked goods being prepared, and the thick undertone of oil paints and
turpentine.  The smells blended together into a pungent perfume that
tickled my nostrils, prompting me towards further wakefulness.  I
smiled at the thoughts and memories they invoked.
        I lifted the covers off my body, and swung my legs over the
edge of the bed, continuing to stretch as my feet touched the cool,
polished hardwood floor.  The warm breeze stirred my nightgown,
reaffirming my decision to get out of bed with its gentle touches as I
walked across to the bureau to check the time.  Seven in the morning.
At least two hours before my classes started, which gave me plenty of
time for ablutions, breakfast, and attending to the morning's
businesses.
        Yawning, I proceeded to the adjacent bathroom to begin just
that.
        A shower with the attendant cleansing products, and I was
feeling substantially more human and female, for which I was greatful.
If there are any developments that I regard as the pinnacle of mortal
achievement, a decent hair shampoo ranks amongst the top one hundred.
Once cleaned, I exited the shower and worked at detangling my hair.
It took some doing; my hair naturally falls in waves down past my
shoulders.  With the application of a well-worn hair brush, I was able
to get all the snarls out.
        This done, I headed back into my bedroom, and wrapped a
dressing gown around my still-drying body.  The scent of fresh bread
had grown more prominent in my absence, and I followed that scent
towards the opposite door, which was ajar.  I opened it, and laughed
as I saw that my breakfast had already been prepared, spread out atop
the window table in the corner drawing room.  A carafe of orange juice
gleamed in the sunlight, competing with the coffee pot perched on a
trivet.  The coffee added its aroma to the breads and fruits that were
arranged on the table between two place settings.  In front of one of
the plates, there sat a copy of the morning post.
        "Really," I murmured to myself with bemusement, "you keep
outdoing yourself, Catherine."  No answer was forthcoming, but I
didn't expect any.  She was a busy woman, nearly as busy as myself.  I
could easily prepare my own breakfast, and had in the past, many
times.  But Catherine still took the time to arrange for my morning
meal, and I appreciated that, more than my words could express.
Shaking my hair out, I went and sat at the table, and set the
newspaper on the nearby window sill.
        The spring air drifted through the room's windows, stirring
the open curtains and slowly drying my hair, as I served myself
breakfast.  Fresh-baked croissants, rolls, and slices of bread.  Jams,
jellies, and butters of every flavor.  A hard-boiled egg resting in
its little cup.  A bowl filled with apples, oranges, grapes, and
pears.  A tray with cuts of meat.  For most, such a breakfast spread
would have been considered overkill, especially for one person, but
for me it was more than suitable.  I can get by with light meals when
need be, but when given the chance, I prefer to fill my stomach with
hearty foods.
        However, such sizeable meals always come with a price.  As I
was buttering one of the warm croissants, my left elbow accidently
knocked the morning post off the sill and out the window.  With a cry,
I grabbed for the newspaper, but to no avail; it was already out of my
reach, falling four stories towards the busy street below.  I sighed
and sat back in my chair, waiting for the inevitable sound of
fluttering sheets of newsprint.
        There was the sound of a soft thwack, and an accompanying
"Ow!" from below the window.
        That... wasn't it.  Curious, I leaned outside, and was greeted
with a pair of brown eyes looking up at me with good-natured
annoyance.
        "Ursala," the young voice attached to those eyes proclaimed as
they drew up level with my own.  "Be -careful- where you throw things.
There's people flying around out here, you know!  You're a hazard to
navigation!"
        I blinked in surprise, and then grinned.  "Kiki!  I'm
-terribly- sorry," I said as the young woman floated into view outside
my open window, one hand holding the newspaper that had just attempted
to prove Newton correct, the other hand holding onto the push-broom
she sat upon.  "As a recompensense towards my horrible behavior, might
I offer you breakfast?"  I smiled as I gestured towards the empty
seat opposite me.
        "Well, I don't know," Kiki replied as she hovered, glancing at
the food on the table.  "I still have deliveries to make... hey!  Come
back here!" she blurted out, as a small black cat poked its head out
of the orange satchel she wore under her left arm, wriggled its way
free, and leaped across the open air to my table.
        I laughed at the display of feline acrobatics.  "Looks like
Niki's taken the choice out of your hands, Kiki," I smiled as the cat
started nosing at the plate of meats.
        Kiki laughed, and looked wry.  "I suppose so... hold on a
moment, I'll be right in!"  With that, she turned the push-broom
around, and carefully guided it through the window into my drawing
room.  I watched as Kiki turned the broom around to face me, hopped
off, and straightened her black dress with one hand as she picked up
the floating broom and turned it vertical.  The little audio-box that
hung on the front end clattered as it hit the broom's handle.
        I applauded, and Kiki curtseyed, still holding the broom.
"Very well done," I said, and I gestured at the still empty seat.
"Please, sit, sit!  Do so before your cat eats your breakfast."  I
winked.
        Kiki rested the broom against the side wall, and then sat down
in the empty chair.  She nodded formally towards me, the red bow in
her hair bobbing with her motions, and said, "Thank you, Madame
Ursala, for offering me this meal, which I accept."  Kiki then smiled
up at me, all formal manner lost as she reached out one hand to nudge
Niki away from a slice of ham which she was trying to appropriate.
The black cat let out a yelp, and glared at the two of us.  We both
chuckled.
        "So, how have you been doing lately, Mademoiselle Kiki?" I
asked as I poured the young woman orange juice from the carafe.
        "Oh, pretty well, Ursala," she replied as she held her glass
steady.  I finished pouring, and she sat back to drink the juice.  I
polished an apple and began cutting it into slices as she set her
glass back down, half-drained.  "Osono's bakery is doing very well;
they just got one of those new electrical ovens.  She says that
they'll be able to take twice as many orders with it than they did
with the gas ones!"
        "That's good, that's good." I offered Kiki several slices,
which she accepted.  "They'd best be careful, though... what if the
electrical power goes out?  What then?"
        Kiki rolled her eyes, and bit into an apple slice.  "Oh,
they're not getting rid of the old ovens... they've been in her family
for decades.  Besides, they're too big!"
        I grinned, and flexed my right arm, placing my left hand over
my upper arm.  "Maybe I should come over and help out, eh?"
        Kiki's eyes twinkled.  "Oh, but Ursala, it'd take at -least-
four men as big as you to move them!"  She grinned, and we both
laughed at our mutual joke.  I smiled, and popped a slice of apple
into my mouth, chewed it, and enjoyed the bite of flavors that
resulted.  "Osono says they'll be fine where they are, though.  And
she's gotten new assistants to help man them."
        "Well!" I said after I swallowed, "It's good to hear that the
bakery's business is running smoothly... and your own?"  I poured
myself a cup of coffee and sipped from it.
        Kiki smiled, running a finger along the back of Niki's spine.
The black cat purred, and leaned into the caress, her whiskers
twitching.  "Oh, pretty well, all told," Kiki said.  "The week's been
light for deliveries, mostly supplies for most of the craftsmen out on
rue de Lourmel, which I can carry."  She snapped her fingers.  "Oh!
Which reminds me!"
        "Hmmm?" I arched a curious eyebrow as Kiki reached over, and
rummaged in her satchel.  My other brow joined the first as she pulled
out a large rectangular box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with
string.  She then pulled out a clipboard, and offered both items to
me.
        "Sign here, please!" she grinned, and I laughed as I accepted
the box and the clipboard.
        "Why certainly," I replied as I set the box down, and signed
my name in the indicated place on the latter: 'Ursala Cori
d'Ambrelle'.  I handed the clipboard back, and Kiki tore off the
receipt and handed the slip of paper to me.  I folded it up and tucked
the paper into one of my dressing gown's pockets.  "Now, let's see
what this is..." I started unwrapping the parcel, glancing up at Kiki.
        Kiki glanced back at me, smiling as my fingers untied the
string and unfolded the paper surrounding the box.  I opened the lid
with two of my fingers.
        My eyes widened, and I drew in a breath.  "Oh... Kiki... these
are -splendid-!" I proclaimed as reached inside, and pulled out
several exquisite oil-painting brushes, the bristles fresh, the
handles polished, the ferrules gleaming.  "These are the brushes I had
requested four months ago from Petrokovitch!  I'd thought he'd
forgotten all about them!"
        Kiki giggled. "Oh, no he didn't.  I was flying through rue de
Lourmel when he flagged me down, and asked me to deliver them to you.
He said," and here she began to speak in a Russian accent, a fair
imitation of the brushmaker's patriarchal tones and broken French,
        "'Ah, Kiki!  It is very good that you come by!  Brushes for
Madame d'Ambrelle have finally been completed!  Had to take long time
since -only- the best brushes for Madame d'Ambrelle.  Camel hair from
the Sahara!  Ostrich feather from the Serengeti!  Horse hair from the
finest stallions in Spain!  Griffon fur from the depths of Siberia!
Please pass on most gracious apologies to her, I am honored by her
business, always!'"
        "Oh my!" I laughed at Kiki's impersonation of the man, and
pulled out more brushes from the box.  "He certainly does go all out
for me.  I'll have to pay him a bonus for going to this extra
effort..."
        Kiki smiled, and shook her head, taking a break from her
acting to spread some jam on a cruller.  "No need, Ursala.  He said
that he'd taken so long to get things just right that he'd wave any
overhead costs."
        I blinked, and a slight blush crept up my cheeks.  I was
extremely flattered, and said as much.  "I'm... I'm flattered.  He
really didn't have to do that; those brushes must have been expensive
to make, even without the time involved.  I'll have to do something
nice for him in recompensense."
        Kiki nodded, and cut a piece of meat for Niki, offering it to
the cat.  "That would be good; but I don't think he minded.  He holds
you in very high regard, you know."
        I coughed, and blushed some more, embarrased.  "I don't know
why...  after all, I'm just one customer of his among many."
        "True." Kiki winked.  "But you're not a famous painter, known
throughout France and the rest of the world..."
        I rolled my eyes and groaned, good naturedly.  "Oh, sure, you
have to bring that up.  Really.  All I like to do is paint, the way
that you like to fly.  Is that such a crime?"
        Kiki laughed as she shook her head, and I joined in.  From
there we continued to eat our breakfast, filling the moments with
cheerful small talk.  As we drank our respective beverages and played
with Niki (who kept trying to sneak food from the plates), I thought
back with loving reminiscence about my friend who sat opposite me.

        I had first met Kiki approximately five years ago, and it had
been totally by accident.  I owned a small cabin in the woods north of
Paris, that I usually retreated to when I wanted to get away from the
growing bustle of the city.  A way to clear my head, recenter myself,
and experiment with various things in my art.  I had been sketching
some crows outside that had been tempted by some seed, when a stuffed
cat fell on my head.  I looked up at the sky, but only caught the
briefest glimpse of a broom flying above the trees before it was gone.
        Shaking my head, and mumbling something about "raining cats"
with wry bemusement, I returned to sketching the crows, who had been
startled by the sudden intrusion.  It was several hours later when a
shadow passed over me, and revealed itself to be attached to a shy,
thirteen year old witch named Kiki.  She introduced herself to me, and
I to her, and Kiki explained the predicament she was in.  Apparently,
the stuffed cat that had fallen on my head had been a delivery she was
making to a family in the countryside, and it had fallen out along the
way.  Her familiar, a sarcastic black cat named Jiji, was now doing
emergency duty as the stuffed animal while she hunted for the
original.  Fortunately, the stuffed cat had not suffered major damage
from its fall, and I got it cleaned up while we talked.
        As it turned out, witches left home and settled in a new city
when they turned thirteen, so as to learn more of the world and spread
their arts further.  I was impressed, and said so as I made sure the
small cat-toy was clean and undamaged.  Kiki was embarrassed at my
flattery, and also needed to exchange the toy for her familiar, so she
quickly departed, but not before I commented it might be nice to have
her model for me sometime.  She flew off, and I returned to my cabin,
smiling slightly at the fact that this world still had many things I
did not know about.
        Kiki did not return the next day or for several weeks after
that, of course.  I was unsurprised; after all, we had just met, and I
was a stranger to her, despite our brief meeting.  So, aside from the
occasional sketch of her that I made from memory, I wasn't overly
concerned about how she was doing.  Eventually, I had to head back to
the city to buy some food and painting supplies.  To my surprise, I
encountered Kiki again, in front of the bakery where she lived.  She
invited me in and I met Jiji, and to my concern I found out that her
business wasn't doing so well.
        Due to a minor crisis of faith, she had lost her ability to
fly.  I invited her back out to the cabin to talk about it, and told
her about my own struggles with my painting as I sketched her.  How
sometimes one feels the well of inspiration dry up, and how one had to
keep on drawing, even if the drawings weren't that good.  And how
sometimes one just had to take a break until the inspiration returned.
Kiki had smiled, reassured that she wasn't the only one who had gone
through such a thing.  She spent the night (I slept on the floor while
she used my bed), and returned to the city the next day.
        It was later when I had found out that apparently my little
inspirational talk had more of an effect than I had imagined.  Thanks
to Kiki, the crew of an out of control dirigible had been saved, as
well as one of her friends, a young boy named Tombo who had been
caught up in the attempt to rescue the flying craft.  Clearly, Kiki
had found her ability to fly once more, and in doing so learned to
trust in herself.
        Since then, we had formed a fast friendship, taking time to
meet each other and relax up in the cabin in the woods, or to chat
when we crossed paths in Paris.  I watched Kiki grow up from a unsure
and doubting girl of thirteen to an independent and self-reliant young
lady of eighteen with her own business.  I painted several portraits
of her, and hung them in my gallery, which were well-received.  And I
watched the budding romance between Kiki and Tombo with wry amusement,
quietly rooting them on from the sidelines.
        It was a good life, and a good friendship, one for which I had
no complaints.  Our friendship was casual, the sort which allowed the
two of us to share breakfast without worries of station or peerage or
even age.  We took advantage of it, shamelessly, especially on days
like today.  Between the two of us, we could easily finish off even
the most exorborant of Catherine's prepared meals.
        I quirked a smile, looking down at the nearly empty dishes
between us.  "Well.  You weren't hungry now, were you, Kiki?"
        Kiki blinked, interrupted from a description of how Jiji's
litter was doing, and looked down at her own plate, and the lack of
food therein.  "Oh!  I'm sorry, Ursala; I didn't mean to eat that
much..."
        "It's quite all right, Kiki."  I smiled back.  "After all,
you're a growing, healthy woman.  One who does as much flying as you
do uses up a lot of energy."
        "True..."  She blushed, and smiled.
        A knock on the hallway door interrupted us, and I looked over
towards it.  "Come in!" I called, as I wiped off my mouth with a
napkin.
        The door opened, and a woman in a simple skirt and blouse
entered, regarding some things written on a clipboard's note pad.
"Madame d'Ambrelle?  You have an hour before your first class begins,
are you ready -- Kiki!" She looked up from her notes, and smiled at
the teenage witch.
        Kiki blushed again.  "Hello, Madame Pariseau." She placed her
hands in her lap, and bowed towards her.  "Thank you for the wonderful
breakfast you prepared for Madame d'Ambrelle; I did not mean to
impose."
        The woman laughed, and waved her free hand in dismissal.  "No,
it's fine, Kiki.  As long as my meals don't go to waste, I'm happy.
Isn't that right, Ursala?"
        I grinned, and rested my napkin on my plate.  "Not that I let
them go to waste, Catherine.  You know that."
        Catherine chuckled.  "Too true, too true.  You are positively
-voracious-, eh?"
        "When it comes to good food and good friends, but of course,"
I replied.
        Kiki watched the banter between myself and Catherine with a
smile.  She then paused, looking at Niki, who had just miowed and was
cleaning one of her paws.  "Oh, you're right, Niki!"  She hopped up
from her seat, and curtsied towards both of us.  "I'm very sorry,
Ursala, Catherine, but I really really really have to be flying now!
Goodbye!"
        I laughed, and waved to the young witch as she grabbed her
broom with one hand, and her black cat in the other. Niki yelped at
the manhandling. "It's all right, Kiki!  You're forgiven!"
        "Thank you!" Kiki replied, and with a grace borne from years
of practice, she hopped out the window even though it was four stories
to the street below.  She did a somersault, and landed on her broom in
the proper position without nary a misplaced article of clothing.
Within seconds she was properly flying.
        I leaned out the window and called out, "Safe flying and clear
skies, Kiki!" to the departing figure, and got a wave back with her
free hand as a response.  Soon, she was lost from view.
        "Such a nice girl," Catherine commented with a smile on her
lips.  "And professional too."
        I nodded.  "She'll go far.  She already has."
        "You have that affect on people, it seems." Catherine's eyes
glinted with amusement at my recurring blush.
        "Flatterer.  Like you're one to talk, lady assistant."
        "And do I deny it, madame teacher?" She winked.  "Go on, get
changed.  There's bills downstairs that need your signature for
paying, and you'll want to get those done before the drawing class
today."
        I sighed, and groaned as I pulled myself out of my chair.
"Oh, of course.  The state and services must have their tithes.  Very
well, I'll meet your downstairs in ten minutes."
        Catherine nodded back to me.  "Very good, Madame d'Ambrelle."
Her formality was lessened by the impish smiled she gave me.  I
laughed softly, and retired to my bedroom.

        It did not take me long to choose the day's clothing.  When
possible for everyday wear, I tend to select items that would be light
yet durable, easy to move in, and able to be cleaned repeatedly.
Practical clothing with a hint of fanciness to it, but not enough to
be ostentatious.  I pulled out a light poet's shirt, a tan vest, and a
dark brown skirt from my wardrobe and laid them on the bed.  The
attendant underthings for my gender were placed next to them.  I then
pulled off my dressing gown and hung it up inside.  I moved to close
the door of the wardrobe, but paused as my reflection glanced at me as
I glanced at the mirror mounted on the inside of the door.
        I took a few steps back, and regarded myself, the madame in
the mirror.
        I am not by nature a vain woman.  I know many ladies who spend
hours in front of the mirror frame of their choice, primping and
posing, trying to get the perfect 'look' with which to impress their
colleagues and to attract a man.  Myself, I'm satisfied if I look
presentable and awake when meeting others.  But I suppose it's part of
the natural condition of things for all of us to take stock of our
appearances and to try and put our "best faces forward" when viewed by
other people, even if said face was a mask hiding darker things.
        There were no such masks here in front of me, in the mirror.
Just myself, unclothed, unadorned save for the small gold locket in
the shape of a rose that hung to a point just a little above the
middle of my breasts.  I regarded myself as the image within regarded
me, and I had to admit: I didn't look half bad.
        I stood about five feet, seven inches; eight inches if it was
a good day, taller if I took the trouble to wear heeled shoes.
Shorter than my elder sister, but not by much.  Light-toned skin,
nearly the shade of my dear departed mother's.  A stockier build than
my sister's (who could give Athena lessons in being graceful and
statuesque), but still undeniably feminine and attractive, with curves
in all the right places.  Dark, chestnut-brown hair that fell from my
head in waves to just behind my shoulders.  If the sunlight hit the
hair just right, red highlights sprung up, like a dimmed flame.  I had
always wondered where I got that hair color.  After all, my mother had
been blonde, my sister a redhead.  Perhaps from father, though his
hair was chocolate brown, almost black.  A circular face, borrowing my
mother's curved nose and a shade of blue to the eyes that suggested
clear blue skies.  Several shades lighter than my mother's hues, and a
close kin to my sister's blue-green.
        I sighed, and closed my eyes.  I reached up with my right hand
and rubbed my thumb along the edge of my locket.  I wondered where my
sister was now and how she was doing; but now was not the time for
reminiscence, bittersweet as it could be.  I had the day's duties
before me, and say what you may wish about me, I always take my duties
seriously.
        I opened my eyes once more, and closed the wardrobe door,
removing the mirror and my reflection from view.  I turned around, and
put on my clothes, in preparation for the remainder of the day.

        The finances did not take that much time to go through,
fortunately.  Property taxes, building repairs, gas for heating and
the new electrical bills.  Art supplies, room and board, gardening
costs; all essential for running an art school.  I signed each with my
usual flourish, approving the expenditures and drafting checks for the
bank, while Catherine summed the costs in the school's ledgers.  With
that complete, I headed off to get ready for the day's classes.
        I grabbed a smock from the foyer leading to one of the larger
teaching studios, pulled it over my head and tied it around the back
of my waist.  The first class of the day was basic drawing, but I felt
that it was a good idea to present the best professional appearance to
the students.  It helped reinforce their expectations, leaving them
open to any surprising tangents I might lead them down later.
Besides, I didn't want to get charcoal dust on my clothes.
        I pulled a ring of keys from my skirt's pocket, and opened a
metal box mounted on the wall.  Inside were several large switches and
fuses, and I flipped each one in turn.  Arc lamps mounted along the
ceiling snapped on, lighting the studio from above, throwing stark
shadows on the floor.  Along the upper row of windows on the far wall,
several large fans began to turn, pulling the heated air out of the
room, promoting a slight breeze when there were no bodies to block it.
        The cost to install the electrical fixtures had been
expensive, but worth it, in my opinion.  This way we could continue
teaching long into the night, and adjust the lighting to emulate
various moods and settings.  I still took my classes outside to the
courtyard when the weather was fair and I wanted to give them
experience with natural settings, but this recent addition would no
doubt benefit us in the long run.
        I spent the next ten minutes moving easels about the room.
Each one had an attached stool, and I wanted to make sure they were
all properly placed before the class began.  Students would move them
about as the day progressed, changing the viewing angles according to
personal preference.  I then went and grabbed some random pieces of
bric-a-brac from the side cabinets which would be used in the day's
lesson.  I placed them on the center platform, and regarded them for a
little bit, rearranging them several times until I was satisfied.  Of
course, these would change as well during the day, but I was
unconcerned.  Each student's sketch of them would be different, small
parts of a total whole, and each one unique and utterly their own.
        I shifted the room's chalk-board closer to the center platform,
as well as my demonstration easel.  I finished moving things around,
and walked up to the chair and table that would serve as my
assistant's desk.  I unlocked the drawer, and pulled out a pad of
paper, and several charcoal sticks and various pencils.  My easel
already had a larger pad on it.
        I sat down on the edge of the table, and waited for my morning
students to arrive.

        The students slowly began to arrive, first one, then in twos
and threes, and then the rest, each one choosing a different easel in
the studio.  I acknowledged them as they arrived, and various words of
greeting were exchanged, as they filed in through the pair of doors.
Maria Dubois, one of my fourth-year students who acted as my teaching
assistant for this class, entered and sat down in the chair behind the
table.  She pulled out the class roster, and began marking who had
decided to attend today.  Maria was a promising student, a woman who
possessed a mix of practicality and fancy that I favored, much in the
same vein as Catherine.  I had no doubt that before long, she could
begin teaching some of the school's courses, like Catherine or several
of my other former students.
        Finally, the appointed time arrived, according to the
mechanical clock that sat by the opposite wall.  I looked at Maria,
who scanned the list of students, and nodded.  The majority of
students were present.  It was time to begin.
        I rapped my knuckles on the table as I stood up.  Immediately,
attention was drawn towards me, several members smiling, and I smiled
in return.  "Good morning, class."
        "Good morning, Madame d'Ambrelle," the class replied, in
something that was almost, but not quite a chorus.  I mentally
chuckled, and turned towards the chalkboard.  I picked up a piece of
chalk, and twirled it in my fingers.
        "Today, class, we are going to talk about Art and Reality."  I
wrote "ART" in large letters, as well as "REALITY", upon the board.
"Now, all of you have been drawing here for several weeks.  Getting a
feel for the paper, the charcoal, the pencil, the eraser."  There were
chuckles from the group.  "To various degrees, all of you -want- to
draw in some fashion, to produce art, to learn something, to express
your thoughts and ideas on the sheet of paper or on the damask
canvas."  I regarded the students, my eyes sweeping over them, taking
in the varied faces.  "Otherwise, you would not be here taking the
class, correct?"
        There were varied nods and murmurs of assent, most eager, a
few reserved.  I mentally took note of the faces attached to them for
later.
        "Of course, art is more than just expressing your thoughts and
images in tangible, concrete form.  There's the process of art, and
the expression of it, and the attempt to get the images of what you
see and what's in your head and what's outside around onto the easel.
Which is where so many people get mixed up."
        A few murmurs of confusion now issued from the group.  Good.
I was already challenging what they thought was good art, two weeks
into the course.
        "The heart of the matter is this.  There is a difference
between what is Real, and what is not.  Between what actually exists,"
and here I tapped one of the textured wooden spheres on the central
platform, "and what exists inside your head when you look at it."  I
tapped my forehead.
        A student raised his hand, and I nodded towards him.  "That's
silly.  Everybody can see that that's a wooden ball, right?  What
difference does it make?"
        I quirked a smile.  "Oh, is it, Andre'?  That's what it looks
like to you.  But what if I said it was different?  What if I said
that it was actually a world?"
        "Then you'd be wrong, Madame Teacher."  Andre' looked smug,
and several other students chuckled.  I inwardly rolled my eyes, but
didn't show my frustration to the students.  I was halfway convinced
that this one particular student had joined the class just to ogle the
unclothed models that we would be using for the latter two-thirds of
the course.  "It's quite clearly a wooden ball.  It isn't even
well-made."
        "Be that as it may, Andre', you're still making my point."  I
picked up the globe, and tossed it from one hand to the other.  "No
matter what we say we see of an object, no matter what we -think- we
see of an object -- the actual physicality of the object and our
mental perceptions of it are two distinctly different things."
        I tossed the ball to Andre', who let out an 'oof' as he caught
it and nearly dropped it, his hands fumbling.  The ball was heavier
than it looked.
        "Now, what can you tell me about that ball, Andre'?"
        He glared at me, but then looked at the ball more closely.  He
tapped it, felt around its edges.  "It's made out of wood.  It's solid
wood all the way through.  It's heavy.  It isn't even pretty.  And
that's it."
        "Pass it around to the other students, would you, please?
Thank you."
        Andre' did so, and there were murmurs of assent and agreement
from the the other students.  Quite clearly it was an ordinary wooden
ball.  The last student to handle it, Laurent, tossed it back to me.
I caught the sphere easily.
        "Now, as you say, this is clearly a wooden ball, correct?  All
of one piece, solid all the way through."  
        The group nodded, and I smiled.
        "Well, then, if it -was- solid, I wouldn't be able to do this,
now would I?"  Placing my hands on either side of the sphere, my
fingers gripping its surface, I began to twist in opposite directions.
Slowly, a seam that had been barely visible in the grooves of the wood
grain became more prominent.  Several student's eyes widened,
especially Andre's.
        "But, how..."
        I continued unscrewing the sphere, until finally the threads
were cleared.  Opening it, I spread out both halves to reveal the
interior.  The inside of the sphere was hollow, lined with a solid
metal layer that added the illusion of solidity all the way through by
masking any percussive sounds and compensating for the missing mass.
        "Clearly, this is a solid sphere, yes?" I could not contain my
grin, as various students watched the scene.  Several others glanced
towards Andre', who looked flustered.  "And made only out of wood,
hmmm?"
        "You tricked me," Andre' finally grumbled, and he slumped in
his chair.
        "No, I didn't," I replied.  "You tricked yourself."  I smiled
slightly.  "You relied completely on your own mental perceptions in
evaluating what your senses told you, and didn't take the time to try
and examine past the surface."
        There were thoughtful murmurs from the assembled class as I
continued.  "This is where the essential conundrum of Art comes from.
We are too used to believing what our minds tell us we see, and our
conscious brains tell us what we are to draw.  The successful artist
must learn to decouple what the mind perceives from what the senses
perceive, circumventing the preconceived notions of what 'should' be
to allow the expression of what 'is'."
        Several students scribbled notes as I continued my lecture,
picking up a rough-hewn cube from the pile of objects on the platform.
"After all, we all 'know' what a cube's shape is; six squares fitting
together.  But if we do not take the time to actually examine the
objects in question, we would never see that this 'cube' has small
imperfections, a slight shortening of one side which affects the
others."  I gestured along the edges, indicating the slight
discrepancies in its shape.
        "This applies to complex objects as well as simple ones."  I
pointed up towards a corner of the room.  "We all 'know' that a corner
forms from three right angles coming together; three lines meeting at
one point.  But if you let these assumptions get in the way of what
the eye actually sees and what the hand actually draws, you will
always get it wrong."
        A female student raised her hand to speak.  "This is because
you're letting your own fictions get in the way of the Truth of what
is actually there, correct, Madame Teacher?"
        "Exactly, Dominique," I replied.  "One must learn to decouple
one's mind and those notions from the act of observing and recording
before you can progress further in art, no matter the medium.  Only
that way can you get the true essence of what is really there."
Dominique nodded, and continued to take notes in her neat, precise
handwriting.
        "But what about the expression of imagination and creation?"
another of my female students asked.  "Just drawing what's there seems
pretty dry and boring."
        I chuckled.  "Ah, but that's the key, Elizabeth.  Without the
foundation of technique, a solid grounding in expressing what's really
there, you -cannot- progress further in creating what your imagination
devises.  Because then your own brain will be working against you, as
your flights of fancy conflict with what your preconceptions dictate.
There will be flaws and imperfections that even the least perceptive
of art critics will pick up."  
        More notes were transcribed, and I smiled.  I could see the
glimmers of comprehension on several of my student's faces.
        "Now then." I screwed the ball back together, and tossed it
and the cube back onto the central platform.  "Shall we try some
drawing today?"  The chorus of affirmatives was reward enough for me.

        The morning progressed pleasantly from there.  My students, on
the whole, were willing to work with the ideas I had just presented.
I could already see an improvement in their efforts, especially from
those who had paid the most attention during my lecture.  It was not
the easiest of concepts to grasp, but they were making an honest
attempt to start thinking about the world the observed in a new way.
        I had them change positions during the class to get different
viewpoints on the same collage of objects on the central platform, as
well as select one to study in-depth in small groups.  Every so often,
I would demonstrate the session's earlier lesson by creating quick
charcoal sketches of the arrangement on the newsprint pad that rested
on my easel.  The hours passed amidst a haze of quiet chatter, the
rustle of paper, and the scent of charcoal dust.  To tell the truth, I
didn't notice the passage of time, wrapped up as I was in my teaching,
walking among the students, giving advice and critiquing their work.
        The mechanical clock on the wall chimed eleven-thirty as I
returned to the front of the studio, ready to sum up the morning's
lesson and to assign the day's homework.  The class quieted as they
stopped drawing and looked towards me.
        In the quiet between that moment and the point where I began
to speak, I could hear two pairs of footsteps in the hallway, and
Catherine's voice as she spoke to whoever was accompanying her.
        "... not believe we have a student by that name; I'll have to
check with our headmistress when she's not busy."
        "Oh, that's okay.  I'm sure she's here, where else would she
be?" the accompanying person replied.  Male, by the tones of his voice
and the heaviness of his footfalls.
        I paused, even as I opened my mouth to speak.  That voice was
familiar; it couldn't be... could it?  Of course not.  Not here.
        I quickly covered my momentary consternation with a cough.  I
cleared my throat to speak.  "Now then, class.  Today we've discussed
the difference between Reality and Perception, and how it pertains to
art.  I want you this evening to --"
        "Excuse me, I'm looking for a Lady Corrine?  Has anybody seen
her?"
        The attention of the class was immediately drawn away from me
as they turned in their seats to look behind them at the double doors,
and the man who had now just poked his head in.  Maria looked over as
well, confusion written on her features, and she reflexively checked
the class roster for the recently declared name.
        It was fortunate that no one was looking towards me at that
moment.
        I gaped.
        He appeared to be a man in his twenties, standing in a slight
slouch as he entered the studio, waving amiably to the students.  His
hair was brown and short, but tousled by the wind and his hands as he
occasionally scratched his head.  He had an open, friendly face, which
was enhanced by his wide blue eyes that were several shades darker
than my own, and a semi-permanent happy-go-lucky expression.  He wore
a naval uniform in red, the inner lining and cuffs a deep maroon.  The
neck was open, revealing a yellow cravat.  A white belt and white
boots contrasted nicely with the uniform, and the various gold buttons
and epaulets glinted in the light of the arc lamps.  There was an
insignia on the left breast of his uniform jacket, but it was mostly
hidden by the large, tan cloak he wore over his shoulders.  Instead,
the eye was drawn to the large clasp that secured the cloak, a
circular yellow button with two black dots and upwardly curving line
that represented of all things, a face.
        I knew this man.  In fact, I had known him for most of my
life.  My heart leapt to my throat, as rational denial of his
appearance conflicted with irrational hope at his arrival.
        Maria cleared her throat, cutting through the confused and
curious babble of the students.  "I'm sorry sir, but there's no
student here by that name."  She frowned.  "Now, what is your name?"
        "Tylor," the man grinned.  "Just Tylor."
        "TYLOR!"
        With a shout and no regard for decorum whatever, I leapt from
my place at the front of the class, closed the distance between myself
and the man, and swept him up in a tight hug.  This close I could
smell the salts of the sea in his clothes and see the sigil hidden by
the jacket, which featured a yellow boat on the waves, flanked by two
anchors.  A wave of relief washed over me.  My senses had not been
confused; there was no mistake.  This man was my eldest brother,
Tylor.
        "Glack!" Tylor exclaimed as I whirled him about.  "Corrine!
Hi!" He squirmed a bit in my arms, but continued to smile.  "Let go
before you squeeze the life out of me!"
        I blushed, and apologized.  "Oops!  Sorry!"  I then released
him, dropping him on the floor.  "Are you all right?"
        Tylor dusted himself off as he stood up.  "Nothing damaged,
nothing hurt... how are you?"
        I was about to reply, when a throat was cleared behind the two
of us.  I looked behind Tylor.  "Yes?"
        "And who would this be, Madame Headmistress?" Catherine asked,
one eyebrow raised.
        I coughed, and quickly gestured towards Tylor.  "Class?
Catherine?  This is my elder brother, Tylor d'Ambrelle."
        I could hear Maria murmur at the front of the class, "..but I
don't remember you ever mentioning a brother..."
        "But d'Ambrelle isn't -- oOOf!" Tylor began to protest, but I
cut him off with a quick and gentle elbow to the abdomen.  I smiled to
cover my motions.
        Catherine raised the other eyebrow.  "I see..."
        I nodded again, and then finally remembered that I was still
in the middle of my studio-classroom, and I noticed that the class had
grown quiet at the sudden disruption of their expected routine.  I
tried to hide the embarrassment I felt as I turned to regard my
students.  "In any case, this evening I want you to sketch three items
that you think you know around the home or your dormitory, and bring
in the sketches tomorrow for critique.  Very well?  Class dismissed!"
        The studio became filled with the noises of students getting
up out of their seats, collecting their drawing tools and sketchpads,
and departing the room.  I pulled Tylor out of the way of the exit,
but it still took longer for the studio to empty, as many of the
female students gave Tylor speculative glances on the way out.

        Finally, the room was cleared, save for myself, Catherine, and
Tylor.  Catherine gave Tylor a long look.  "So, Tylor d'Ambrelle,
correct?"
        I nodded.  "Yes, indeed.  He's my brother."  I stated,
standing next to him.
        "Interesting.  I don't recall you ever mentioning a brother
before, Ursala."  She glanced at me again, and at Tylor, a gleam in
her eye and a slight smile on her lips.  "Especially since he gave his
name as 'Tylor Amberson'."
        I blinked.  "Um..." This was something I hadn't considered,
and I mentally chastised myself for jumping in without sufficient
information.
        Tylor looked embarrased, and scratched his head.  "Well, I
tried to warn you, sis..."
        "Oh, no, it's quite all right," Catherine continued.
"Clearly, the two of you are brother and sister.  It's been a long
time since you've seen each other, yes?"
        "Yes!" myself and Tylor said simultaneously.  We then blinked
at one another at our synchronicity.
        Catherine laughed.
        "Go on, head upstairs." She chuckled at my confused
expression.  "I'll have lunch sent up to you both while you catch up.
I'm sure you have lots to talk about.  Take the afternoon off."
        "Sounds like a good idea," Tylor added.  "I'm always good for
a meal or two."  He then looked at me, smiling.  "And you look like
you could use some down-time, Corrine.  You've always been something of
a workaholic."
        "But what about my classes?"  I protested, attempting to
counter the arguments as best I could.
        "Oh, don't worry about it, Ursala.  I'll cover for you this
afternoon."
        I blinked once more.  "But Catherine... those are the advanced
courses!  And what about the ones -you- teach?"
        "Oh, I believe I will manage... after all, you taught them to
me, hmmm?"  She smiled.  "And as for my own classes, that's what
Maria's for."  Catherine winked, and made shooing motions with her
hands.  "Go on, go!  Go!"
        "All right, all right!"  I tried to suppress a chuckle, but
failed.  "Since you persuaded me so effectively, I'll leave it in your
hands."  I hooked an arm around my brother's.  "Come on, Tylor."
        Tylor smiled, and waved to Catherine as I started tugging him
towards the stairs to the upper levels of the school.  The two of us
walked past students who were on their way to other classes or their
rooms, and I fended off assorted questions as to Tylor's identity.
Finally, we arrived on the fourth floor, and I led him towards my
corner suite.
        "Nice place you've got here, Corrine," Tylor commented as I
opened the doors to the corner drawing room, where I had breakfast
with Kiki earlier.
        I blushed, and tried to straighten the items scattered about
the room.  I used it more for actual drawing and painting that
entertaining guests, and it showed.  I moved an easel out of the way,
and gathered up my painting supplies, placing them on an empty table.
        "Thank you, Tylor.  We converted this place to be more
amenable to students back when we started the school, and I like to
think things have worked out."
        "I'll say it has."  Tylor smiled as he helped himself to an
uncluttered chair.  "'Madame d'Ambrelle's Art Conservatory'?  Nice to
see one of my kid sisters doing well in the Shadows.  Then again, we
always have."
        I smiled faintly.  "Yes... we do, don't we." I shrugged,
picking up some heavy textbooks from another chair.  "I do wish you
had tried to contact me, though.  I could have gotten this place
cleaned up, arranged for a showing of the fourth-year student
works..."
        Tylor shrugged as he apologized.  "Oh, I tried trumping you,
but I couldn't get anything through."
        I paused in my efforts, and looked at Tylor.  "Brother?  I
didn't feel anything.  I haven't felt a single trump contact from
anyone in our family for decades.  I'd thought you'd all given up on
me."
        Tylor scratched his head.  "Then I suppose you haven't heard
that your exile's been revoked..."
        I gaped, for the second time that day.  I dropped the books I
was holding, and they thudded on the floor.  I ignored them as I raced
over to Tylor's side, and picked him up out of his chair by the
shoulders.
        "It's been REVOKED?  When?  How?  Why wasn't I told?"  I
looked him in the eyes as my mind raced with thoughts, too many to be
easily sorted.
        "We tried, we tried!" Tylor managed to get out as I lifted him
out of the chair.  "After dad dropped the charges, we all tried
contacting you.  But nobody, not even Fuyutsuki could reach you.  It's
as if you'd dropped off the face of Reality!  Eventually, the rest
stopped trying so often."
        I let out a breath, and set my brother back down on the floor.
"Well, if nobody could reach me... how did you find me?  I left and
wandered Shadow before settling here."
        Tylor smiled.  "Well, I had been thinking about you the other
day, and about how somebody really should let you know it was all
right to come back home.  So I ordered the fleet to take a course,
started sailing, and shifted Shadows until I reached the destination
of my desire... you."  He winked as he pointed to me.
        I sat down heavily in the nearest chair.  "That.... makes
sense, oddly enough.  Unicorn knows we can do that to find things that
we like to have, but to find one of our own..."
        Tylor nodded again, sitting back down in his chair.  "So we
sailed into port in this quaint little town this morning, we docked,
and I wandered the town looking for you.  And here we are."  He
grinned.
        "Paris is hardly a 'quaint little town', Tylor."  I quirked a
smile, and then considered something.  "And it's not a port town,
either.  Sure, there's river traffic, but nothing for..." I blinked.
"You didn't."
        "Didn't what?" Tylor asked, looking up from where he was
examining one of my smaller attempts at sculpture, a lithe elf maid.
        "You didn't sail half the fleet into Port Henry IV on the
Seine, did you?  One hundred fully rigged merchant and military
vessels in a port that only handles schooners and small yachts?"
        Tylor coughed.  "Actually, it was only an eighth of the
fleet."
        I blinked and laughed, leaning back in my seat.  "Oh, to have
been a river cat on -that- pier when you came sailing in, Tylor."  I
shook my head in pure amusement.  "How did the harbor-master take it?"
        Tylor shrugged.  "I didn't talk with him.  I left all the
details in the hands of Vice-Admiral Yamamoto while I started looking
for you."
        "Oh, I bet he loved -that-," I commented, sarcasm heavy in my
voice.  I could easily imagine the straight-laced, by-the-books yet
emotionally-touchy Yamamoto trying to explain to an extremely confused
and irate harbor master just how the twenty-five ships had appeared
out of nowhere.
        "Eh, he'll manage," Tylor replied.  "He always has."
        I nodded, smiling a bit as I stood and gazed out the window.
"This is true."  I looked at Tylor out the corner of my eye.  "When
did father revoke the exile?"
        "About thirty-five years ago, give or take a year."  Tylor
scratched his head.
        "Huh."  
        I continued looking out the window of my corner drawing room,
watching the Paris skyline filled with dirigibles and dragons, lost in
thought.  Approximately fifty-five years ago, I had been exiled from
my homeland over a matter of the crown.  A rather nasty business all
told; not pleasant in the least.  Father had become convinced by his
current wife that I and my elder sister had designs on the throne,
when it was in actuality the furthest from either of our minds.  It
did not help matters that some among the populace did not relish the
idea of a female heir to the throne, and they looked towards
Charlotte's infant son Makoto as a possible Successor, instead of
myself or Juri, never mind my older sister Juri had once served as
Regent during one of father's absences, and quite admirably at that.
We were both loyal to the crown, but we did not desire it in any
fashion.  Why bother?  It was too much of a headache anyway.  "Uneasy
Lies The Head That Wears The Crown" wasn't just an aphorism, it was
rather true, to hear Juri speak of the troubles she had to endure
during her Regency.
        But apparently the question of myself and Juri being traitors
to the royal crown had been resolved in my absence, and in our favor.
Why else would my exile have been revoked?  I allowed myself a small
sigh of relief.  Once again, I would be able to walk the paths of the
verdant forests of my home.  Once more, I would be able to stroll
along the boulevards of The One True City, and climb the steps of the
mountain at the center of all Reality.  I would be able to see my
friends and family again, and my heart lifted at these thoughts.  I
could feel a smile touch my lips for a moment.
        Then the smile faded, as I began to think of the life I had
made for myself in this Shadow.  Kiki, Catherine, Maria, countless
others that I knew and was friends with.  Here, I was known throughout
the globe as "Ursala Cori d'Ambrelle", renowned painter of every
subject matter known to man, a teacher and art historian.  I had
travelled the world, seen places I could hardly imagine, met people,
lived with them and learned about them.  Was it right to just abandon
them like this?
        But I couldn't abandon my family either.  I loved them too
much, despite our occasional frictions.  Especially...
        Juri.
        What of Juri?
        I turned from the window, and looked at Tylor.  "And what of
Juri, Tylor?  What has happened to her in my absence?"
        Tylor blinked.  He raised his hand, and coughed into his fist.
"Um, well, it's kind of hard to explain..."
        I looked at him levelly.  "...we've got all afternoon and
evening, brother, if Catherine is to be believed," I explained.  "You
can take all the time you need."
        Tylor looked at me, somewhat sheepish.  "Well... it's been a
long time since I saw her last, but --"
        The sound of an opening door interrupted Tylor's attempts to
evade my question, and both of us looked over where Catherine was now
entering, carrying a large tray filled with the necessities of a
hearty lunch.
        Catherine blinked, and blushed slightly.  "Oh, am I
interrupting you two?  I'm sorry.  Just let me get these on the table,
and I'll get out of your way."
        I waved my hand in a casual dismissal, still looking at Tylor,
whose eyes had become drawn towards the food on the tray.  "It's all
right, Catherine.  Don't worry about it.  Thank you for taking the
time to prepare lunch."
        Catherine looked at me oddly.  "What did you say, Ursala?"
        I looked back at Catherine, equally confused.  "I said 'Thank
you', Catherine.  Are you all right?"
        "I still don't understand you, Ursala... what are you saying?"
She looked at me again as she set the plates and dishes out on the
window table.
        I opened my mouth to try and explain, and then closed it
without uttering a word.  Realization dawned.  For the past twenty
minutes, I had not been speaking in French, the language of the city I
lived in.
        I had lapsed into Thari, the language of my homeland, the
language that Tylor and I had learned to read and speak since birth.
        I coughed.  "I'm sorry, Catherine... I got a little confused,"
I said in French as I recovered.  "Thank you for lunch, I'm sure Tylor
will appreciate it."
        Tylor nodded.  "It sure looks delicious!" he smiled, also
speaking in French.
        Catherine looked between the two of us, trying to figure out
our change in speech, and then shrugged.  "Well, I hope you two enjoy
it.  Take care Ursala, Mr. Amberson."  Curtseying to the two of us,
she backed out of the room and closed the doors.
        Tylor glanced at me, and then at the food on the table.  "Can
we eat now, Corrine?"
        I sighed, and rolled my eyes.  "Yes we can, Tylor.  As long as
you promise to tell me what happened at home while I was gone."
        Tylor raised his right hand.  "I promise, in the name of the
Unicorn, that I'll tell you everything that I know about what happened
back in Amber, sister."
        I nodded.  "Good enough."  I removed my smock and moved to my
customary seat, Tylor sat opposite me, and together we settled down to
eat.
        
        Lunch was an enticing spread of meats and cheeses, along with
fresh vegetable slices and breads, ideal for making our own
sandwiches.  Catherine had also included a bottle of red wine, and I
quirked my eyebrow at the vintage on the label.
        "1875, eh?  Well, well... you certainly feel the occasion
merits it, Catherine," I murmured to myself, trying to suppress a
smile.
        "Hm?  You say something, sis?" Tylor asked, looking up from
where he had made an enormous sandwich from a long sliced baguette,
stacked high with approximately half the sandwich fixings that my
assistant had provided.
        I sighed inwardly, but could not lose my smile.  Tylor hadn't
changed a bit in my absence; his eating habits were still as I
remembered them.  "I was just saying that if you ever do marry, I do
hope that you have a wife who's able to tolerate the way you eat.  Oh,
and you may want to cut that sandwich into sections.  It'll be easier
to chew and swallow that way."
        Tylor considered the sandwich, and then grinned.  "Thanks!"
He then proceeded to cut the long baguette into slices with the nearby
bread knife.  In the interim, I considered the sandwich I had created;
a simpler one made of rye bread, ham, swiss cheese, lettuce, and
tomato.  I cut it in half, and began to eat.
        "So, what happened after I left Amber, Tylor?" I asked after I
had taken several bites out of my sandwich.  I waited for him to
respond, since he was in the middle of chewing.  "How is the family
doing?  What of the realm itself?"
        Tylor swallowed his current sandwich slice, and washed it down
with a glass of wine.  "It hasn't been the best of times, sister."  He
sighed for a moment, and took another bite.
        I paused, looking at my brother.  "How so?"
        "Well, Saionji's still up north in Harad, fighting the Alans
again.  Drake's back home helping to get the country back in order
after taking care of the Therins, Touga's --"
        "Woah, woah, woah!" I set down my sandwich and waved my hands.
"Back up here a moment, Tylor!"
        "Hm?"
        "We're fighting the Alans -again-?  Whatever happened to the
-first- time we were fighting them?  And what's this about the
Therins?  And where the hell is Touga?"  I shook my head, exasperated.
"You're going to need to start your story soon after I left, Tylor,
otherwise this is going to make absolutely -no- sense to me."
        "Oh.  Right.  Sorry."  He smiled by way of apology, and
scratched his head.  "Where to begin... ah, there.  Okay."
        I patiently waited for Tylor to gather his thoughts.
        "All right."  He took a sip of wine.  "Soon after the big
argument you and Father had over Juri's status during the full court
session, Touga resigned his offices in protest of your Exile, and left
into Shadow.  He didn't come back until near the end of the war."
        I blinked, surprised.  "Touga... -left-?  Over me?"
        Tylor nodded.  "Surprised the hell out of us, Corrine.  I
think even Father was taken aback a little by Touga doing that."  He
shook his head.  "Not that we had much time to dwell on it.  Father
ended up declaring Makoto his heir, and assigned Drake to lead the war
against the Alans in Harad."
        I nodded slowly, my mind more on Touga's actions than what had
happened afterwards.  Touga was the second eldest of our family's
numerous siblings, and born of the same mother who had brought about
Tylor and Drake.  He was a shifty yet charming fellow, skilled at many
things, but not a master of any of them, and at times a complete and
utter bastard.  What amazed me about him was that no matter what his
intrigues were, he always came out smelling like a rose.
        However, he had shown dedication to Amber in the past, on
numerous occasions.  Perhaps I was reading too much into Togua's
departure, but I felt a moment of honest, touched admiration for his
gesture.  I had not been fully forgotten, and there were those in my
family who still cared about my place in things.  I returned my
attention to Tylor, setting that thought aside for the moment.
        "And with Drake running the armies, it didn't take long for
the Alans to get crushed," I offered.  After all, it was the most
logical outcome of the conflict.
        Tylor shook his head.  "Actually... no.  The first war with
the Alans dragged on for about twenty-two years, Corrine."
        My eyebrows went up in surprise and concern.  "Tylor?  Even
without Juri around, we've still got military minds like Drake and
Saionji leading the armies.  It should -not- have taken that long.  We
know the territory now, the lay of the land, the lines of supply for
Harad and its extraneous territories.  What the hell was going on?"
        "We didn't figure it out at first, but there -was- a traitor
behind our lines.  It wasn't Juri, especially since she was out of the
picture at the time.  The war was going badly for Amber.  The Alans
seemed to always know what Drake and Saionji were planning."
        I pursed my lips, and then refreshed myself with another sip
of wine.  "Huh.  Well, anybody with any sort of sense what-so-whoever
could have told you -that- about Juri."  I rolled my eyes, and then
looked levelly at Tylor.  "Speaking of whom..."
        "Eheh.  Well, you'll be glad to know she managed to escape,
Corrine.  She made it back in the dead of winter, and convinced Drake
of her innocence and that then was the time to attack the Alans' main
field army.  He did so, and they were crushed utterly."
        I nodded slowly in quiet approval, my mind awhirl with
concerns and questions I could not fully voice.  Juri, a prisoner?  I
could barely wrap my mind around the concept; she was perhaps the best
swordswoman our long-lived generation had ever known, a military mind
on par with my elder brothers.  That anybody could keep her captive
for... how long?  It was unfathomable.  It was a thought I could not
even comprehend.
        "How long was Juri captive, Tylor?" My voice was hushed as I
asked.
        Tylor took a breath.  "Nineteen years."
        My eyes widened.  "...By the Unicorn..." I breathed.
"...nineteen... -years-??"  I could feel my hands clenching by the
sides of my plate.  "Dammit, I should have -been- there, Tylor..." I
ground out the words through my teeth.
        Tylor winced, and reached over to rest a hand on my shoulder.
"I... sincerely doubt it would have helped at that stage, sister.  The
traitor to Amber was rather high up, and had been feeding the Alans
information from the start.  They would have countered anything you
had done as well.  She escaped, and that's the key thing, right?"
        I frowned, but allowed my body to untense.  Tylor was right
about that, at least.  Juri was free.  That was all that mattered to
me right at that moment.  I could ask him more about the circumstances
of Juri's incarceration later.  I took another breath, and reached for
my wineglass.  I took a long draught of the vintage red, and allowed
the alcohol within to soothe my nerves.
        "All right.  So, who was selling us out?  One of the generals
in the army?  Some of the Haradian nobles who wanted out from under
Amber 'protection'?  A diplomat of the court?"
        Tylor hesitated again.  He bit his lip, and looked down at his
plate and sandwich.  Did he actually look ashamed?
        "It was mother, Corrine."
        I paused, even as I took a bite out of my half-forgotten
sandwich.  I was forced to chew and swallow before speaking again.
        "... Excuse me?"  I shook my head.  "But Tylor, Sakura hasn't
been seen in centuries, ever since she cursed Father and walked out on
him.  Her trump's been dead, she must have been the same..."
        Tylor looked up at me, sadness in his eyes.  "No, she wasn't.
Because you see, 'Charlotte'... was Sakura.  And she was the traitor.
She was in league with the Alans all along."
        I had heard stories about Sakura, of course.  She had been
King Gendo's first wife, and had left court after her brother had been
assasinated at my father's command, in order to prevent the Catalans
from overruning Harad and then Amber.  In response to her departure,
father had married his current mistress at the time, Yvette.  I didn't
understand fully what had happened back then, and I doubted I ever
would.  For me, it was ancient history.
        "So... she came back from wherever she had been hiding out,
and... set this all up, somehow.  All to get revenge on father and
Amber."
        Tylor nodded.  "We're not sure of all the details on how she
managed it, but she certainly had the time to convince father she was
in the right about things, and to try and scatter the rest of us.
None of us suspected she was Sakura."
        I shook my head in frustration and disbelief.  To what lengths
would she have gone for revenge?  I speared a vegetable slice with my
fork, and raised it to my lips.
        "What happened when she was found out?"
        "She tried to destroy the Pattern, using Nanami.  Father and
Touga confronted her in the Pattern chamber, and killed her before she
could carry out her plan."
        I dropped my fork.  It hit the edge of my plate, bouncing off
and tumbling to the floor, forgotten.
        "WHAT?!?"  My palms slammed down hard on the table, shaking
the dishes as I stood up out of my chair.  I leaned over and stared at
Tylor, shock and disbelief on my features. "Destroy the Pattern??  But
that's... that's impossible!  The Pattern's indestructible, you know
that!  It's more likely to kill one of -us- if we screw up while
walking it!"
        Tylor averted his eyes from my stare.  "I know... but we think
she figured out a way to erase it.  When news came that the Alans were
defeated, she grabbed Nanami and headed down to the castle's basement
with her to implement her plan."
        "And, while we're on the subject, just who the hell is
Nanami?"
        "'Charlotte's... I mean, Sakura's... daughter.  She had Nanami
that winter, before Juri escaped.  Touga came back around the same
time."
        I could feel the color drain from my face.  "She... wouldn't.
Not her own -child-..."  I could feel my limbs trembling as I fell
back into my chair.  I shuddered.  "By the Unicorn..." I whispered.
"She was willing to use one of her own children to destroy Amber?  To
eliminate the whole of Reality, just for revenge against father?"
        I could feel myself growing ill.  I could understand thoughts
of revenge; I had felt that yearning when my three other sisters had
died at the hands of the Cimbri long ago, and when Juri had been
captured by the Alans five decades past.  But even I had limits to
what I would do and to what lengths I would go in the name of
vengeance.  Sakura's actions went far, far beyond anything I could
even comprehend or desire to inflict against any of my enemies.
        Tylor waited until I looked up again to continue his story.
"Anyway... father and Touga killed Sakura, by forcing her to walk the
Pattern herself."
        I nodded curtly, in order to hide another shudder.  Being
ripped apart by the fires of creation inherent in the Pattern was not
a pleasant way to die, no matter who it was.  I gestured at him to go
on, and he did so.
        "After that, father dropped the charges of treason against
Juri and restored her titles, and revoked your exile.  He didn't
apologize to Juri, however."
        I snorted through my nose, expressing my frustration.  Our
father, King Gendo, tended to be ruthless in his dealings with other
people.  Sometimes I wondered if all he ever loved was Amber, and
everybody else came second, including his family.  But there had been
times when it was otherwise, which I remembered and cherished fondly.
It was these memories that allowed me to still hold a sense of loyalty
and love towards him, no matter his behavior the rest of the time.
        They didn't prevent me from the occasional sarcastic remark,
however.
        "Somehow, Tylor, I am not surprised.  He can be -so- stubborn
when he's been proven he was wrong."
        Tylor quietly nodded, but did not voice his own opinions on
the subject of our mutual father.  He tentatively nibbled at his
half-eaten sandwich, perhaps hoping that my outbursts were over.
        "At that point, Juri left to blow off steam in Shadow," he
continued.  "Since she had left, and you were unreachable in Shadow,
this left the question of who was a legitimate heir to the throne
again, since father had annuled his marriage to 'Charlotte'."
        "Yeah.  Yeah, I can see that."  I reached for my own sandwich,
and bit at it, using the motions of eating to distract myself from my
concerns.  I could understand Juri's need to leave and get out of the
damned politics that certainly surrounded the entire affair.  I just
felt regretful that I hadn't been there when I was surely needed.
        But such thoughts on the past served little purpose, so I
shelved them.  Besides, I had bigger concerns on my mind.  Tylor was
hiding something, I was certain of it.  He knew more that he was
telling me about what happened to Juri.  I didn't want to press, but
the curiosity gnawed at me.
        "So who got the magic ring this time?" I asked, attempting to
divert the subject from the entire miserable affair with the Alans.
        Tylor noticeably relaxed, and sat back in his chair as he
polished off another sub-sandwich.  "He had Saionji and Corey
legitimized, so that we would at least have some form of succession."
        I nodded.  Saionji certainly would have been pleased at that
news; his own legitimacy had been revoked when father's marriage to
his mother Yvette had been anulled.  "Makes sense."  
        Another thought then occured to me.  "How did Corey turn out?
I'll admit, he was only a little thing when I left..."
        Tylor sighed.  "Actually, Corrine... I hate to say this, but
he grew up to be a real jerk.  He insulted the Theran ambassador and
got himself cut in half in a duel.  The political fallout from that
triggered the war with the Therans."
        I groaned.  "Oh dear Unicorn.  Every time I think that the
political stupidity could not get any more bizzare, I find myself
proven wrong."  I rubbed my eyes.  "I hardly even -knew- the kid, but
this is crazy!"
        Again, Tylor didn't comment on my commentary, instead opting
to continue with his description of events.  "Be that as it may, sis,
father sent Drake to the south to fight the Therans.  But while he was
fighting the Therans, the Alans rallied to try and invade Harad again.
Father's sent Saionji to fight them."
        I sighed, but allowed a small satisfied feeling to rise in my
heart.  Finally, things were starting to make sense again.  With Drake
and Saionji in the field fighting the two wars, it would not be long
until both were pounded into rubble.  I especially felt some anger
towards the Alans.  Didn't they know when to quit, even after their
first defeat?
        "So, where does this leave the family now, Tylor?  Other than
fighting a war or two we don't really need?"
        "One war, Corrine.  The Therans were defeated by Drake, and
father returned the conquered lands to Therin, in exchange for
independence for some of their outlying rebellious provencences.  The
war with the Alans is still going on; they've gotten dug in at the
borders, according to Saionji.  It could take a while to flush them
out of Harad."
        I nodded.  "Damn.  Well, at least that's one war out of the
way.  And the rest of us?"
        Tylor washed down his last sandwich with a refilled glass of
wine.  "Well, you already know about Juri, Drake, and Saionji.
Touga's now in command of one of the navies, so I haven't seen him
recently.  Makoto and Nanami walked the Pattern near the beginning of
the second war with the Alans, and we haven't heard anything from them
since.  I assume they're doing what we did when we were kids and had
just Pattern-walked."
        "True."  I traced a finger along the rim of my own empty
wineglass.  "... Has there been any word about Gil-Galad?"
        Tylor shook his head.  "Not a sausage."
        "Damn.  I always liked the kid, even with him being the son of
one of father's lovers.  Wish I knew where he had ended up."
        "You could go looking for him, you know... like how I did with
you..."
        I considered this thought.  "I'll admit, that's an idea.  But
I have too much to think about right now." I inwardly winced at this
admittance, but it was true.  Tylor's news had been tough to swallow,
and I was still digesting it and thinking about the possible
repercussions.  Dammit, it had been so long, and so much had happened
at home... and here in Shadow, as well.  Fifty years, if not more,
from what I recalled.  I gazed out the window at Paris, a city I had
watch grow over the past half-century, and had come to love almost as
much as I loved Amber.
        Tylor nodded at me.  "Understandable, Corrine.  But hey, look
on the bright side!  You can go back to Amber now.  Heck, I'll even
take you back myself!  A cruise in comfort, a full royal welcome with
all the trimmings..."
        I raised up my hands, and managed a smile.  "Now, let's not
get ahead of ourselves, brother."
        "Oh?"
        "Well... I've built myself a life here, Tylor.  It wouldn't be
fair for me to just drop everything and leave my friends to pick up
the pieces."  I ran a hand through my wavy hair, and considered one
chestnut lock between my fingers.  "At the very least, I'd have to
transfer ownership of the school and the gallery to my successor, and
that could take days -- or weeks."  I chuckled softly.  "I thank you
for the offer, dear brother, but I believe I shall be returning to
Amber the same way I left it: on my own two feet."
        Besides, I didn't add, I wanted to get back to Amber before
the end of the next calendar year.  Tylor was a master of the waves
and of shifting Shadow, this was certain.  He was not, however, a
master of getting anywhere on time.
        Tylor shrugged, and smiled.  "Okay, suit yourself."  He then
considered the empty plates before us.  "Wow, your servant really
knows how to prepare a decent spread."
        "It's just one of Catherine's many talents," I replied.  I
then looked at Tylor.  "And she's not my servant.  She's my assistant
headmistress and primary aide."
        "Same difference."
        I rolled my eyes.  "Catherine's employment status
notwithstanding... how long were you planning to stay in the
neighborhood?"
        "Oh, we ship out tomorrow before noon.  We weren't planning on
staying very long, just enough to see if you were actually here."
        I nodded.  "Well, I'm certain the harbor-master will be pleased
to hear that."  I then had another thought cross my mind.  "Hmmm."
        "Hm?" He looked at me, curious.  "What is it?"
        I glanced up at Tylor again.  "Tomorrow at noon?"
        "Give or take an hour or so."  He shrugged.
        "Well then."  I tapped my fingers against my lips.  "How does
this sound to you?  Let's give Catherine a break, and go out to dinner
in the evening.  I'll show you some of the sights in the city, you can
sleep the night in one of the empty student rooms, and tomorrow I'll
see you off."
        "That sounds excellent!"  Tylor smiled, and then yawned.
"Though, I don't suppose I could take advantage of that room early?"
        I chuckled softly, and got out of my chair.  "I think we can
arrange that.  Follow me."
        Tylor nodded and did just that, following me out of the
drawing room.

        It did not take us long to reach the main dormitory section of
the school.  The majority of the third floor was given over to student
rooms, each one providing enough room for two individuals to live in
relative comfort.
        All right, in this case, "relative comfort" meant that each
student got a desk, half a bunk, a shared closet, and enough space to
pace within the dorm room.  It was still a far sight better than some
places I had seen in my travels.
        "It's not the suites of Castle Amber, Tylor... but I hope this
will serve your needs."  I unlocked the door to one of the remaining
empty student rooms for this semester, and held the door open for my
brother.
        Tylor slouched his way into the room, and nodded at the
furnishings in apparent approval.  "Oh, it's okay, Corrine.  I've had
worse on many a ship.  Did I ever tell you about the time --"
        "Yes, you did," I dryly replied, cutting him off before he
could launch into another adventerous tale of the sea.  I enjoyed his
stories most of the time, but now was not the moment to dwell on them.
        He sighed.  "Oh, okay... later, sometime?"  He tossed himself
into the room's lower bunk, cloak and all.
        I reconsidered my reaction.  It had been a long time since I
had seen my brother, and it likely would be longer until I saw him
again.  It wouldn't hurt to bond over a story or two, surely...
        "This evening, perhaps.  Over dinner should be about right.
My treat.  Now get some rest."
        "Thanks, sis.  You're a prince."
        I chuckled.  "'Princess', actually... but I appreciate the
sentiment."
        Tylor nodded, a slight smile on his lips, as he leaned back
against the bunk's pillow.  "I know."
        He then pulled his naval cap over his eyes.  Within moments,
the sounds of snoring emanated from his vicinity.  I watched my
brother for a few moments, and then closed the door silently as I
exited.  I headed back to my upstairs suite, quietly thoughtful over
my past, present, and future options.
        Princess.  Now there's a word I hadn't used in reference to
myself in decades.  But I knew in my heart that it was a true
description of myself, as much as teacher and artist were now.  For I
was a Princess of Amber, even in a now revoked exile.
        I avoided the drawing room, instead heading directly for my
bedroom.  At this particular moment, I did not want to talk with
anybody, even Catherine.  I entered, locked the doors to the hallway
and corner room, and walked over to the foot of my bed.
        In front of the bed's footboard there sat a large mahogany
trunk, currently piled over with some extra blankets and pillows that
I used during the winter.  I hefted the bedding items, lifting them up
and over onto the mattress, freeing the lid of the chest.  I kneeled in
front of the trunk, reached for my keys, and selected one.
        I slid the key into the trunk's lock and turned the key.  An
answering click let me know that the lock still worked, even though it
had not been used for many years.  I lifted the lid, and the scents of
moth-balls and cedar assaulted my nostrils.  Disregarding the smell, I
leaned forward, and examined the contents of the chest.
        Under a slight patina of dust lay the things I had brought
with me from Amber in my hasty departure into Shadow.  Mementoes,
books, clothes, and practical items, sealed away so that the memories
spurred by them would not distract me, and remind me of what I had
lost.  A futile attempt in the long run, but at times I had almost
successfully immersed myself in my shadow-life, thinking only of the
moment and not of Amber.
        I shook my head, and began to rummage through the items
within.
        A favored drinking cup, gold and silver inlaid, studded with
small gems.  A set of leather hunting clothes, still supple despite
their interment within the chest.  A thick cloak made of brown wool
and silver fur, cut from a dire wolf I had tracked and killed.  A
crossbow and quiver for its bolts.  A box of jewelry that I had been
given as gifts from family members and aquaintences over the years.  A
long broadsword, still sheathed within its scabbard.  Some books of
collected military observations written by Juri and Drake, as well as
a few of Juri's more philosophical works.  A folio of portraits of the
family in happier times.  A sheathed dagger, with a small ruby
embedded in the pommel.  Several bags and pouches, holding various
things I had quickly gathered in my departure from Amber that I
thought I would need, or did not want to leave behind for others to
possibly take.
        I dug deeper.  Finally, my fingers touched a small wooden
case, the object of my search.  I pulled it out from under the other
items in the trunk, and held it in my right hand as I closed the lid
with my left.  I regarded the small box as I sat on the edge of my
bed.
        The wooden case was slightly larger than a deck of playing
cards, an extra half-inch of length in each dimension.  It was made of
lacquered walnut, the edges rounded and the surfaces polished to a
silken sheen.  A heraldic unicorn carved out of mother-of-pearl,
rearing and facing towards the right, was inlaid on the front of the
case.  Delicate silver filigree traced along the sides.  The top of
the small wooden box could be flipped open on silver hinges like a
pack of cigarettes.
        I sat on the side of the bed, unsecured the silver latch, and
opened the case.  I tilted the small box, shook it slightly, and slid
out a deck of cards into my palm.  I fanned the cards and studied
them.
        To an uneducated observer, they would be considered a pack of
odd playing cards, or perhaps tarots, painted with a variety of small
portraits and locations conforming to no known card style.  But I knew
them for what they really were; the family Trump Cards, crafted by
Fuyutsuki for the Royal Family of Amber.  Through them, one could
contact any member of our diverse family across Shadow, no matter the
distance in time and space, and even travel to their location if they
were willing to pull you across.
        I fanned the cards further.  I drew one out, the face of the
card depicting a green-haired man, his hair wavy like my own, but
longer, drawn back into a ponytail.  He was clad in a crisp white
military uniform, with a wooden practice sword held in salute towards
the viewer.  His face was slender and his smile was desireable,
hinting promises of romance to those who would associate with him.  I
liked him, but also found him frustrating at times with his arrogance
and his tendency to string his lovers along.  He was one of my elder
brothers, Saionji, and if my brother Tylor was to be believed, was
currently in charge of Amber's armies.
        I touched the surface of the card, tracing my fingers across
the image.  This was odd.  Instead of the cool, slick plastic
sensation that I expected from the Trump, the card was bland and warm.
I concentrated on the card, filling my mind with Saionji's image, and
attempted to force my way through.
        There was a distinct lack of change in the trump's state.
        I frowned.  This couldn't be right.  To the best of my
knowledge, it was impossible for the Trumps to not function.  To be
blocked, yes; anyone with sufficent mental strength and skill could
cut off any attempts to contact them via the Trumps.
        I replaced Saionji's card in the deck, and pulled out another
one.  This Trump portrayed a dark-haired man with moustache and
van-dyke beard; a smug, almost condescending smile graced his lips.
He stood in a fencing pose, a main-gauche in his left hand, and his
right hand held an elegant golden fencing rapier.  An elaborate
tracery played along the blade's face, lined in red, appearing almost
alive in the painting's light.  He wore expensive clothes, more
appropriate for a merchant than a warrior.  But I knew that his mind
was as keen as the blade he weilded as an extension of himself, and he
had proved it on the fields of battle as often as he did in the halls
of commerce.  He was my brother Drake, and I respected him, having
served beneath him in many a campaign.
        I held the card in front of me.  I concentrated once more on
Drake's image, and on my memories of him.  There was still no
response, no matter how hard I strained my mind.  The trump was as
lifeless as Saionji's.
        I pursed my lips as I returned Drake's card to my trump deck.
One card malfunctioning could have been a coincedence.  Two, however,
indicated that perhaps more serious things were the cause.
        I tried another Trump.  This one depicted a stern-visiaged
man, clad in royal rainment, his brow adorned with a seven-pointed
silver crown studded with emeralds and rubies.  His hair was dark
brown, almost black, and his beard proceeded down the sides of his
face in a military cut.  Gloved hands were clasped in front of him as
he regarded the painter behind slightly tinted oval glasses.  His eyes
felt as if they stared straight through you, not at you.  A hard, cold
man, but not without his moments that continued to endear me to him.
        He was my father.
        King Gendo I of Amber.
        I concentrated hard on the image on the card.  Again, there
was no response, though for this attempt I did not expect much.
Father was a powerful man, in mind and body, and if he did not wish to
be contacted, there was very little any of his children could do.  I
tried anyway.
        Nothing.
        I sighed, and replaced the trump, and pulled out another.
This one did not show a human face; instead, it was a painting of a
castle courtyard, filled with servants of the court bustling about.
It was an inviting scene, filled with sunlight that caught the water
of the central fountain in front of the palace proper, one that you
could almost step into without hesitation.
        I attempted just that.
        I focussed on the image, expecting it to come to life.  It did
not, remaining a painted moment frozen in time.
        My brow furrowed as I considered the card.  I was not the
strongest of mind among my family members, I knew this well.  But
there was no conciousness to resist when it came to a Trump of a
location.  A thread of worry began to run through my mind.  Could it
be possible that all Trumps used in this Shadow would fail to work,
regardless of their subject matter?
        I returned the trump of the courtyard of Castle Amber to the
deck.  To test my theory, I pulled out another card.  This one
portrayed my brother Tylor, clad much as I had seen him earlier today,
standing on the deck of a mighty sailing ship.  He saluted the painter
with one hand, and held a wineglass in the other.  An anchor's line
curled about the decking, twisting around one of his legs.
        I hated to disturb my brother from his nap, but I had to try
this.  I concentrated on his image.
        Nothing happened.  Not even a flicker of contact.
        Even when trying to reach one of my family members within the
same Shadow, nothing occured.
        I sighed, and returned the card to its proscribed place.  The
thread of worry grew within me.  
        Nothing at all.  
        According to Tylor, everyone in my family had tried to contact
me.  Every one of them had failed.  And even if they had succeeded, I
do not know if I would have been able to contact them in return.  I
shuddered.  For over fifty years I had been in the dark over what had
happened back home, isolated in my own little private shadow.  Unable
to act, unable to even know what had transpired among my family.
        If this was the price of blissful ignorance, I did not know
that I wanted to pay it.  Even during my first tentative forays into
Shadow, there had always been the reassuring touch of the Trumps,
letting me know all was well at home.  During the first years of my
exile, I had resisted contact, but there had still been the attempts,
reaffirming that I was was still remembered despite the strictures
laid against me.  But then they had lessened in frequency, until the
contacts had gone away entirely, and I had thought myself forgotten by
my family.
        I looked down at the deck of cards in my hands.  During my
ruminations, I had begun to absently shuffle them with my fingers.
Another card face was now visible.  The image that looked back at
me...
        She was tall, and lean, and wiry.  The peach-toned fencer's
garb she wore showed off her toned, statuesque figure to enticing
effect.  She held a fencer's mask under one arm, and with her opposite
hand, she lifted a swept-hilt duelling rapier in rigid salute.  Her
red hair fell in proscribed curls to either side of her face and down
her back, framing its elegant, refined shape.  A smile played on her
lips and touched her eyes, mellowing the experience and wisdom in her
expression.
        She was Juri, my sister.
        And I loved her.
        I bit my lip, looking down at Juri's smiling portrait.  Where
were you now, dear sister?  What had happened to you?  Did you still
have opportunity to wear the full smile that you rarely showed but I
always treasured?  Or had events transpired against such, locking it
away for good?
        I did not know.  I had too many questions to ask, too many
concerns to address, and I could not find the answers here in Shadow.
        If I was to find out what had happened in my absence, I would
need to return to Amber.
        The thought did not fill me with joy like it once would have.
        I slid Juri's card back into the deck.  My grip was somewhat
unsure, and I fumbled the trumps.  One of them fell loose, and
fluttered to the floor.  I muttered to myself as I slid the others
back into their silk-lined case, and leaned down to pick up the trump,
intending to return it to the deck.
        I picked up the card and sat on the bed's edge as I flipped
the card over to show its face.
        I gasped.  A lump gathered in my throat as I recognized who it
was.
        The card showed a tall woman, her blonde hair cut short at the
back of the neck, her bangs revealing the circlet of gold that graced
her brow.  A single large sapphire glinted at the circlet's center
point, above her dark blue eyes that studied the viewer with cool
amused regard.  She stood in court finery, all blue and white and lace
and damask, her gown reaching to the floor, but at her left hip she
wore a large, lethal sword.  The sword's hilt was gold and its curved
blade was studded with a large ruby, a disk of cobalt, and a medallion
of gold.  An elegant silver ring, that looked to be made of
intertwined vines, rested snugly on her right hand in front of the
smooth golden wedding band she wore.
        I knew her intimately.  She was Haruka, now-deceased Queen of
Amber and Harad.
        She was my mother.
        I closed my eyes, replacing the trump within the case,
rejoining it with its fellows.  I felt tired and old, and more than a
little melencholy, but I did not know if tears would fall.  It had
been a long time since my mother had died.  A little over three-
quarters of a century, at that.  The wounds still hurt, but not as
much as they had when the reality of mother's demise had first sunk
in.  It had been a long road coping with my grief.  I had Juri to
thank for guiding me along it, and for helping to alleviate the pain
of our loss.
        I had Juri to thank for a lot of things, as a matter of fact.
        I sighed, looking up at the ceiling.  The plaster was honey
colored due to the reflected sunlight.  I let out a yawn, and flushed.
The days events had taken their measure of me, and found me wanting.
I could almost hear Juri's voice in the back of my mind, chiding me
with gentle bemusement, and encouraging that a nap would be a good
thing to do before the evening.
        I nodded to the phantom voice, placed the trump case on the
nightstand, and pulled off my shoes.  I turned, and pulled my legs up
on the bed as I laid back atop the covers, settling my head against
the cusions.  I closed my eyes, and drifted to sleep, filled with
dreams of Juri, Mother, and Amber.

        I awoke to the sound of knocking at my bedroom door.  I slowly
opened my eyes.  The sunlight that spread low across the room had
progressed into shades of amber, peach, and other warm tones, hinting
at a warm oncoming twilight.
        The knocking repeated.
        "Ursala?  Madame d'Ambrelle?  Are you awake?"  I could hear
the muffled voice of my aide through the wood of the far door.
        I groaned, and twisted my body towards the sounds.  "What is
it, Catherine?" I called in reply, still unwilling to leave the
confines of my bed.  I wondered why she was disturbing me like this.
After all, I had no classes today for some reason...
        "Ursala?  You brother wishes to know when the two of you can
leave for dinner!"
        Oh yes.  I remembered now.
        I slowly sat up, and scratched my scalp beneath my tousled
hair.  "Tell him I'll be ready in fifteen minutes!  And could you call
us a taxicab while you're at it?"
        "Of course!" Catherine replied.  I then heard the sounds of
her receding footsteps.
        I stretched, and rubbed my eyes.  Fifteen minutes to get ready
for a night in Paris.  Ahwell, such was life.  I pulled myself to my
feet, and began going through the clothes in my wardrobe.  I searched
through and rejected several possible outfits, before deciding on a
cobalt-blue blouse, a dark pleated skirt, and modest pumps.  I got
changed rapidly, and chose some small items of jewlery from my dresser
drawers that matched the clothes I wore.  I combed my hair, getting it
back into shape.  A quick application of lipstick, a dash of powdered
rouge to my cheeks, a tracing of soft pencil along my eyelids, and I
was ready.
        I paused as I was just about to unlock the door and exit the
room.  I glanced back, and the sunlight glinted off the pearlescent
inlay on my trump case.  Not fully knowing why, I headed back and
picked up the case, tucking it within the waistband of my skirt.
Perhaps to get back into the habit of carrying my trump deck, even
though they did not work here.  I don't know, but I still did it
anyway.
        I exited the bedroom without looking back a second time.
        I walked down the hallways of the school, descending the
stairs to the third-floor dorms.  Most of the students were just now
heading back to their rooms before the evening meal, or departing to
return to their homes across Paris.  I turned more than a few heads,
and I blushed slightly at the attention.  A part of my mind wryly
commented that this was yet another preconception I was breaking them
from, that madame teacher could not be attractive to others.  Another
part of my mind replied that this may be so, but it was still
embarrassing.  I shook my head to clear it.
        I reached the room I had left Tylor in, and tried the door.
It was unlocked.  Curious, I opened it and peeked inside.  The bed was
rumpled, a chair was shifted away from the desk, but there were no
other signs of habitation.  Where was Tylor?
        I realized then that it was likely that he was already with
Catherine, awaiting my attendance, and the most likely place for that
would be my offices on the first floor.  I mentally chided myself, and
left the dorm room, closing the door behind me.
        The stairs to the ground level passed rapidly beneath my feet
as I reached the first floor and rounded the corner.  I could hear the
sound of female laughter behind my office door.  I arched a curious
eyebrow, and then entered the room.
        "-- and then I danced a hornpipe, which managed to distract
the guards long enough for my second to break the rest of my men out
of the cells.  They were so confused that they didn't notice when
Yamamoto hit them over the heads with the tuna!"
        Catherine laughed again, and I joined in.  Tylor glanced over,
and then stood and waved at me.  "Hey, sis!  You're looking sharp!"
        Catherine blinked, finally noticing my entrance.  "Oh,
Ursala!"  She turned and smiled at me.  "You brother tells the most
amazing and enjoyable stories."
        I chuckled softly, nodding my head, unsuccessfully hiding my
blush at Tylor's compliment.  "He does at that," I acknowledged.  "So,
shall we be going now, Tylor?  Has the taxicab arrived, Catherine?"
        "Let me check..."  She moved to the window and brushed aside
the curtains, which revealed the encroaching Paris sunset.  "Ah, there
it is!  Good."
        I nodded.  "Thank you, Catherine."  I glanced at my brother.
"Well then.  Shall we be off?"
        "Sure," he smiled, and offered his arm to me.  I accepted his
arm willingly, and together we exited the office.
        Catherine waved with a kercheif at the two of us.  "Take care,
you two!  Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she called out with a wide
grin and wink.
        I twisted in place, to glare back at my aide.  "-Catherine!-
We are -not- like that!"
        Tylor chuckled, resting his free hand on my shoulder.  "Oh,
she knows that, sister.  She's just doing it to get a rise out of
you.  Let her have her fun."
        I sighed, and relaxed somewhat.  After all, I had seen the
wink.  "Very well, Tylor, I will do as you recommend."  I grabbed a
parasol from the front foyer in case it rained while Tylor opened the
front door of the school.  We stepped out together.
        The air outside was warm, but dry, not opressive.  The sky was
striped with clouds the color of saffron, peach, scarlet, cobalt, and
indigo, reflecting the light of the setting sun.  The first stars of
the evening were just beginning to make themselves known in the sky,
though the lamps along the road made it more difficult to see them
than they would be in the country.  At the foot of the stairs, a lean
taxicab idled, powered by a combination of mechanisim and magic.
        "Hmmm... perhaps I won't need the parasol after all," I
commented, glancing up at the sky.  The clouds were not thick, spread
in thin layers.
        Tylor smiled, opening the taxicab door so I could enter.  "Eh,
keep it," he advised.  "You never can tell how the weather's going to
change.  And after you."
        I blushed, and curtseyed towards my brother. "Why thank you,
kind sir," I winked, before sliding into the back seat of the taxi.  I
settled my purse and parasol on my lap as Tylor slid in as well,
sitting down next to me as he closed the door.
        The taxicab driver leaned back over the front seat.  He
regarded the two of us from beneath bushy black eyebrows.  "Where to,
Madame, Monsuier?"
        I tapped my lips with my finger, considering my options.  I
then smiled.  "Chardenoux, along the rue Jules-Valles, s'il vous
pla't?"
        The driver smiled and nodded.  "Of course, Madame."  He tapped
his cap with his index finger, turned around, and slipped the taxicab
into gear.  Within moments, we were driving along the streets of
Paris.