"Not that I am not appreciative, Dorian," Cyan murmurs, briefly laying a hand on his arm as the voices come closer.  "But I certainly understand your reluctance to use such techniques."

Moving up to the front, she studies the men as Aaron calls their attention.  The older one is full of bluster, all prepared to...apparently sicc his young assistant on them.  Cyan would laugh, but if stories are correct it is quite possible the lad is a veritable killing machine; Amber seems to be that sort of place.

"No sir," she replies, bowing at the waist.  "We are guests of Princess Fiona, and are now quite lost having just been through a somewhat enchanting experience."  Straightening, the bard grins, her ruby eyes glittering as she claps Aaron on the shoulder.  "Perhaps you might point us to the right direction to reach her?"

One eyebrow arches.  "What is that you seek, youselves?"

Dorian returns his attention to the room, lower his head and  his senses. Above them, little had changed, as far as he could perceive. Cyan, of course, handled it with more tact than Dorian would likely have mustered, given the man's tone. The former Emperor didn't take such tones directed at him easily. But here in Amber, Cyan's tack was clearly more prudent.

The man puffs out his chest, and says, with pride, "I am Redigan, assistant storekeeper to Prince Gerard.  You must be the people we heard had arrived with important information."  He looks at the shelves for a moment, "I am seeking something which His Highness has requested.  Unfortunately, it does not appear to be where it should be."

"Bleedin' told yer so, di'n' I?" Dennis interrupts.

"Silence!" snaps Redigan, angrily.  Then, in a more civil tone, "If you wish to find Princess Fiona, the stairs in yonder corner lead up to the castle proper.  Once there, you should be able to find somebody to take you to her."  He waves one hand in the general direction of where the pair had come from.

"My thanks, Sir Redigan," Cyan replies, bowing at the waist.  Straightening, she offers both men her best smile, her topaz eyes lambent in the lantern light.  "We shall follow your directions immediately..."  Curiousity spikes and she pauses a moment.  "What, pray tell, does Prince Gerard desire with a bottle of wine?  Does Amber not prepare for siege?"

Of course, one can never tell with these Elders.  It's possible Gerard's preparations include swigging down a liter of Chateau Lafitte Rothschilde 1934 (Earth Calander) before battle.

Tahirah drifts closer to the pair of servants.  "He has not specified wine," she points out, quietly.  Having made her stand in the secret room below, she seems quite happy to retreat back to the privacy of her robes.

"But I often help find things," she notes, not quite going so far as to offer, but putting the information out there.

With so much afoot, Dorian wasn't sure that helping in the search for wine, or whatever the subject of the search may be, was entirely prudent; however, it was a search on behalf of a prince of Amber, which meant it may be the best thing they could engage in at the particular moment. So he continued his silent stance while the business concluded.

Redigan frowns at Cyan, "The whys and wherefores of Prince Gerard's requirements are not discussed with his servants.  It is enough for me to know that he requires this item, and this should be more than sufficient for strangers to know."

His expression softens at Tahirah's not-quite-offer, "However, should any of you wish to assist in locating the item... it is not, in point of fact, a bottle of wine, which I could have carried without assistance from Dennis, but a keg of cheap ale, about this big."  He holds his hands somewhat apart, one above the other, indicating a height of approximately eighteen inches.

"The keg has been branded with the image of a serpent, coiled into two loops, and gripping its tail in its mouth."

"Aha."  A circumspect servant - small wonder Gerard keeps him around.  Cyan nods in approval, then shoots a quick look at Tahirah as the man accepts her small offer to assist with the search.  A muscle jumps in her jaw; torn, Cyan vacillates between continuing onward and stopping to help, as is normally her wont.

But this...a barrel of ale is of small consequence, I hope.  "I will leave you to your search, goodman."  She bows to the servants - master and apprentice, both - and straightens to cock an eyebrow at Tahirah.  "Lady Tahirah, I fear I must take my leave.  Important matters.  I hope to see you soon."

It goes against every nerve, every habit she has to turn her back on even something as insignificant (seemingly) as this search, but gritting her teeth, Cyan narrows brilliant ruby eyes and heads for the stairs.  "We should hurry.  I wish to determine if I can set my plan in motion now, or if Amber's survival - and thus, the survival of all - sits astride a razorblade of uncertainty."

Berd winces.  A painful personnification, indeed.

"Let's get moving then," Aaron intoned, gesturing for them to continue on.

He wondered, in such a time as this, just what Gerard was searching for. It boded a bit of thought, but he wasn't about to spare it now.

 

•• Oh I•we can help look ••

A coo like a cluster of deranged pigeons rose all around the others as the Banglen-Yp's, save one, had been exploring the nearby area with great curiosity.  After all, it would give them an excuse to look around some more.

•• Several extra pair of eyes and all that ••

That statement came from the one who had not cooed with the others, along with a smile and half a chuckle.

•• We•I can easily find our•myself•es again if need be ••

 

With the help of the Banglen-Yps (though some of them quickly seem to become distracted by bottles with interesting labels, and assorted shiny things) the barrel is found almost immediately, much to the obvious relief of Redigan.  As one of the blonde women hands the keg to Dennis, Berd raises his head and studies it for a moment.

"Thank you." Redigan says, with a bow to the nearer Banglen-Yps, as Dennis starts the walk back to the stairs, the keg sloshing noisily on one shoulder.

And so the odd procession proceeds up the stairs.

Only a few minutes later, they step out of a doorway, and into a corridor in the castle proper.  Redigan points along the corridor, "If you go that way, you'll come to a large door.  Through that, and turning left will bring you to a broad stair.  Climb that as far as you can, and you'll find yourself in the main way to the throne room.  Princess Fiona's quarters are near to there."

"Dennis and I go the other way, to reach Prince Gerard's suite."

A sweeping glance at the others that have chosen to search, and Dorian is on Cyan's heels. He does wonder if there might be some significance to the search beyond mere desire for alcohol, but without direct enlightenment, he won't be participating. He wonders how much of his decision rests on a desire to be near Cyan. Has he reached a point where emotion sways his logic? Would that be so bad? Cyan might say no. Drusilla would mock him.

Always keen to his thoughts, Galatea merely looks up and him and smiles, following.

"Agreed," is all he says to Cyan's statement.

"Thanks."  Luke stared at the cask with some interest.  "That's a curious bit of 'ale' you've got there.   You say it's of cheap quality?  Might have something to do with the impurities."  Without hesitation, he reached out, his arm sliding directly into the cask as if it were made of smoke.  "Like this little thing, right here," he mused, muscles in his arm tensing as if he grabbed something.

Luke pulls his hand back out of the cask, spilling a little ale on the floor.  He is holding an object in that hand... a package of waxed canvas, flat and rectangular, about fourteen inches long and three inches broad.  The package is perhaps half an inch thick, and is bound with a cord, also waxed, and secured by a seal.

Redigan, meanwhile, is furious, "What are you doing?  That cask, and anything in it, is the property of Prince Gerard!  You have no right to take it!"  He glances about, then yells at the top of his voice, "Guards!  Guards!  There are thieves in the castle!"

"Berd!"  Furious with Luke, Cyan snaps the word.  The drake jerks on her shoulder, his eyes sparkling to life.  Despite this being Amber, the little dragon lowers the cone of silence in an instant, deadening all sounds from escaping but still permitting conversation.

Incidentally, he also ensures Gerard's servants cannot depart the area.

"Hold steady, if you please, Sir Redigan," the bard states, firmly but without the same edge to her words.  The sharpness returns when she faces the man with whom she may share some form of distant kinship.  "Explain yourself Luke - what is this, and why have you taken it from the cask?"

Despite her instinctive irritation with him, she begins to feel a small doubt crawling in her stomach.  A traitor in Amber...they've been looking for a traitor.  Has Luke found something of import, or merely another dead end?

Redigan draws himself up to his full, not that impressive height, "What is the meaning of this?  You are guests in this castle, and you choose to act like common thieves."  In full bluster, as he is, he chooses to ignore for the moment that there is nothing particularly common about what Luke just did.

"Rest assured that Prince Gerard will receive a full report of this matter, from both myself and Dennis."

Dennis, meanwhile, is busy examining the casket.  Presumably for holes.

"Sir," Dorian says, easing out from his position behind Cyan. His dark eyes smolder and fix on the elder and louder of the pair before them, "if you would but hold your tongue a moment while we discuss this. I'm sure it is a mere misunderstanding that will be resolved easily if you give us but a moment to speak amongst ourselves. Surely, you must perceive that we have Amber's best interests in our hearts, yes?

He turns his gaze to the younger. "Agreed?"

Turning towards the others again, he lowers his tone and says, "While I don't agree with the action taken, it has been taken and we must deal with it. I admit to my curiosity concerning the contents, but whether we examine the package or not, I say we end this by putting the package back into the cask and sending these loyal servants on their way with no knowledge of the interruption in mind. I can, of course, handle the details of the matter."

"Interesting toy..." Luke rolled the package around in his hand, shifting it back and forth, completely oblivious to all protests.  Finally he shrugged, casually stuffing the wrapped object back into the cask in the same way he had removed it, this time without the accompanying gush of ale.  "Not exactly what I was hoping for."  Blinking in surprise at the interest of those around him, the lean man grinned.  "Sorry.  Dorian...my thanks, but it's not necessary to wipe away the recollections.  Let the little terrier yap to his owner.  There's been no harm done, Prince Gerard can take it up with me if he desires.  Or the king."
One of his dark, thin eyebrows rose questioningly.  "We are approved by the king as investigators into this situation, aren't we?"  He made a quick, dimissive motion of one hand toward the cask.  "Looked like a blade, sans hilt...funny thing, I've got one of those around here somewhere.  Anyway, it reeks of power.  But not the sort of power that would have me calling for a witch-hunt - more the kind Aaron uses to get around.  You know, native stuff."  A pause for consideration followed.  "Awfully small blade, mind...especially for one so famed for size and strength.  Almost like an assassin's tool."

Dennis watches curiously as hand and package pass through the wood of the cask, and the hand withdraws, leaving no trace that it was ever inside.  Finally he lifts the cask to his ear and shakes it.

"I fink it's back in there."

Redigan glowers at him, at Luke, and then at everybody else, just for good measure, before turning on his heel and stalking away, with Dennis ambling along behind him, still shaking the cask occasionally.

An assassin's blade?  Curious.  Cyan files the information away for later consideration, and turns a glare on Luke as the two servants hurry off.  "Can we avoid the digressions for the moment?" she snaps, almost giving into her irritation, eyes shading toward garnet from ruby.  With a shake of her head, she hurries for the door, intent on finding her way from these cellars to better report their discoveries.

They're on the path toward an endgame.  Defend Amber.  Hold off the enemy.  Then shatter their will to fight by showing them the truth, or so she hopes.  Not long now - a refrain her feet beat against the floor as she marches, Berd bobbing on her shoulder with a helpless glance for Luke.

Not long now...not long now...

Redigan's directions still fresh in their minds, oddly mismatched group (excepting the Banglen-Yps, who are all perfectly matched) move away down the corridor, through the large door, and up the broad stair.  At the top, they encounter a guard, standing at his post, who is able to give them further instructions.

They are in a wide passage now, which apparently leads to the heart of the castle, the throne room.  The guard directs them to Fiona's suite, but then thoughtfully adds, "Or you just could follow the corridor straight to the end.  I saw the princess headed for the throne room just a little while ago."

 

All save one of the Banglen-Yps appeared utterly oblivious to what had just transpired, many of them tapping the walls and touching anything in sight amongst giggling and deep pondering alike.

Once they move out they form a neat line, much like a weird snake coiling its way through the area.  Their attention still wandered hither and dither but never seemed to leave the one who had the lead - potentially the one that had been along for some time before the rest of them was freed.

Or she freed herself.  Or itself.  Or whatever.

 

"We should hurry," Cyan whispers to the others after thanking the guard.  Picking up her pace, she chooses his second suggestion - the throne room.  After all, now they have a success to discuss with the king.

She chooses her next words most carefully, not wishing to offend.  "Amabael...your people, where might we find them?  They are hidden, are they not?  How did they remain so, hiding from other archons?  Where could they have gone?"  Her smile is a brief thing.  "There cannot be very many rainy, grounded, highly magnetic worlds, and one would think the Seraphim would seek out those ones first, to observe them from a distance."

Amabael pauses for a moment, light glittering on tiny facets of ice as she turns her head to face Cyan.  A smile, only a slight one, plays across her frozen lips, and just for a moment it is (just barely) possible to imagine that she is not a wholly inhuman creature.  + Trust is important between allies, of course. +

And then she shifts form again, once more becoming a wheel of ice, about a yard in diameter, drawing shocked glances from many in the corridor who do not know her nature.  + MY NAME IS LEGION. +

In a heartbeat it moves forward, and drops over Cyan.  The bard vanishes into the empty core of the Archon... and reappears an instant later.

+ HIDING IS MUCH SIMPLER WHEN THERE IS ONLY ONE TO HIDE. +

Luke cocked an eyebrow.  "You totally stole that line from me," he muttered.  "Nice trick, though.  Pretty clever - I'll have to remember that, myself.  No wonder you weren't in a hurry to go find all your friends."