The Tit-for-Tat Murders

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Alendral: It couldn't have been a better opportunity if he tried. Though Claramae would undoubtly notice Alendral's departure, finding out where he had gone would take time.. and meanwhile, Max had slipped, and revealed the direction he had gone... so, he decided to find a bit of information himself. Following him was harder then he expected--only the best servents for the Lady, naturally, but all the same he had the advantage--Claramae was, despite her poise, as surprised to see him as he was her, and the betrayal--and how could she know, for he was a last minute addition and her scouts would likely have withdrawn to tell her by then! But her involvement added another layer to this, oh yes indeed, it made the secrets he knew that much more important, and prying.. god, if he had known that the intrigue had been escalated to require the presence of the Black Widow herself, he would have never left them in Eo's hands! like a shadow he darted through hallways, following the man and praying, just praying that he would give away some tasty secret, believing himself secure and alone, before he got away to to her little carriage--becasue failing any rendevouz.. he'd have to take matter into his own hands... for when he was close but still largely unseen, he'd have to take the man from the shadows, a hand around his mouth and blade at his throat, the vicious, rogue smile replaced by something dangerous, professional, disarming him of the box and securing his arms 'lest a concealed weapon turn the tables. He wouldn't want to tip his hand to the Lady after all--but ultimately, she would understand if he took the slightly heavy-handed approach. His life was, after all, at stake here.

Maxamillion Voltaire: Master Maxamillion Voltaire was many things. He was French. He was Italian. Some ventured to toss in hints of German, but one thing he wasn't was careless. Steps resonate little when taken in muted fabric shoes over stone floors surrendering to marble mosaics. Out to the darker halls the music faded to the din of a dream-like quality until it was only the slightest trace bleeding through the walls. He had a job to do that was specific in how it needed to be done, where. Subtle. That as the fashion of on par excellence his mistress was most known for. To kill without being seen, heard of, or to even do so in a room filled with people. To go unapproached and to elect the right manner of method. For Claramae there were no loose ends, frayed edges, or failures. Imagine the unforeseen vector, an improbability, mind you, of a blade placed against the bobbing throat of Maxamillion. He held fast to the box he had come to place in a hidden alcove, fingering the lock pins. "Can I help you, Sir?" Came the ho-hum-drum of a tone more asteer than his lady's. Across the hall the steps of the Lady St. Laurence and the sir fortunate (or unfortunate, as a day or less would prove) could be heard. "Countess, you are. Hmm. and how do you find your new place of residence in the court of wild men?" Countess? Was it a suprise she had ascertained a social title, as well as occupation. "The King elects a cultured embisary." Maxamillion looked behind him. "Madame is indisposed and has requirements to meet." (d)

Alendral"Yes. she does." He whispered harshly while dragging him away, leering all the while. Time to use her own expectations against the lad. "And tell me, when her most devoted servent fails to meet them because he failed to take stock of an old acquiantance operating under her nose, what then, hmm? You think she'll respond to you in very kind fashion!" he was running out of time, despite himself. It was a bluff--a very dangerous bluff, becasue if she did fail, he'd end up about as dead as the servent. "I can disappear if need be, you won't be so lucky!" he hissed through whispered breath, making sure to restrain a hand that might open that box--knowing its contents to possibly as deadly as any concealed weapon. "Claramae's presence here must warrant something important, beyond a simple social call and the Assassination of a halfwit hiding amidst the court. She wouldn't waste her time seeing personally to some twit like that, her business is more important. Tell me what your business is here or else be left to explain why you missed her mark when she needed ya the most!" A few steps closer--point of no return was swiftly approaching. "Now~!" he didn't have time to delay, and if he called his bluff, that was that. The knife pressed more urgently into the throat of the servent. Come on, you inscrutable old bastard. Let something slip that he could work with before his hand was forced one way or another!

Maxamillion VoltaireMaxamillion didn't flinch under the pressure of the blade as he turned his eye upward toward the ceiling as if in thought. "If you think it is only us, Madame, and her "business" in the room you are mistaken, Master Sorschal. You know Madame better than that." He almost wanted to grin but it seemed lewd in spite of the situation, mocking. Half-grin met with the old bastard's approval. Who knew what would cover the unknown angles. A poison to be set off? A crossbolt, a shortbow? A hanging blade? The environment would look unchanged but alteration was but another part of her portfolio of offerings. Her laugh. Her scent. The ripple of golden gown for step was utterly noiseless as she sat to speak with the man in private in the same room they were in! Of course, Bromheilde, her lady's maid, seemed to appear so all was of the utmost propriety. "Madame is here on behalf of an old favor, a test of skill for further contracts with their Grace, arranged in part by knowledge provided by the research of Master Terrance. If it is deemed important, and this island is ally to Avaria it is of the utmost. There is nothing now, madame does not oversee, personally. (d)

Alendral She wasn't the only one who could speak without notice, and his voice matched her cadence almost exactly--masking his voice in hers, never rising above her murmurs. "Sounds as if she's brought up a little Empire, then." he took a deep, hissing breath--the closest to laughter he'd manage, and turn his face on the old man. "But I also know her well enough to know the contours of her silver tongue! Let her know this. The secrets I hold could bring the entire Kingdom fall around them to dust or rise to prominence! Come the end of the ceremony, the secrets will pass on, but if anything should happen to me before then then this, Avaria, all of it, will crumble~! " funny that he was taking such an aggressive approach to trading secrets, but he knew full well that the man was trustworthy enouhg--as much as one could be trusted, to be in her employ. "And if she... finds her loyalities secondary to monetary goals..." he pressed the dagger again for effect. "..I know her tricks. I know how she operates, and I know her face. So I expect no trouble from her for it. " and at that, he released him and slipped away, one careful eye on Claramae, 'lest he be discovered, the other on Max, heading his way back to the party without a word. This whole place was little more then a test...? Of what, her skills? Surely not, the reputation preceded her, of that he was certain. So.. what?"

Maxamillion Voltaire: "What frightens you so, lad." He almost found it droll that he had knife pressed to his throat in a dark, shadowy veil with only slivers candle light seperating them but a few feet away from Claramae. "That you would put a knife to the throat of a manservant in a place you nor I know o'er well. When the lady is at work, aye, a test. One is not given merits without proof, boy. Reputation is met with reality. Madame never disappoints. So, in that, you bluff. Secrets yes - of Avaria no - but of this place.."Maxamillion deduced in seconds what took hours of most men. He catapulted concept beyond stratosphere only to drift to earth whilst others plummeted. Claramae rose to offer a curtsy to the man as he took her hand, eyeing with relish the curve of her breasts in the gown (d)

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

She came to the island for a purpose, and the Masquerade was a pleasent detraction for the staunch, strict prudence of diplomacy. On a floor spinning, twirling, she could dance circles around associate and target alike while enjoying the evening at large. Oh yes dear ones. The Lady Claramae was thoroughbred nobility. Nary an ounce of the banal. So blue that every shade paled in comparison to the rich stuff thrum-humming through those veins of hers. Whilst the embodiment of a couple bound in some matrimony (beloved, arranged, political, it mattered not much) that fell out of fashion, persay, the results still proved a glowing remnant of what it was to pin hope on the proverbial star, only to see it fall toward other hands that found it just as delicious to "own" as the last party in heaven.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. She ate, drank, danced, and climbed a tower. She danced as the past was laid to rest while laughing at the feeling of inertia piloting her around. If the bent of the evening was patterened on "fun" then the aim was met. There were costumes to ponder, people to meet, and all matter of things to make work seem less than --

but there was still work to do.

Alendral Sorchal. Master Illusionist. Weaver of Magic. Worker of Wonders. Did he find it so suitable to remove Crown Spy and Assasin from his name's cachet or did the circumstance of a particular English debacle do that for him? No nevermind. As it were, having been hired by the party's hostess to perform persistant presences of prestidigitation, the auditorium constructed within Blue Castle for the affair was not left with a single seat open. Every man and woman was held spellbound as he made them touch fire, be shot through with arrows only to have no mark, all with the help of his assistant, Kennocha Rhaine. For his final trick and subsequent prior arrangement so that an aim could be accomplished, he made the Lady St. Laurence a martyr for an old tale of a woman burned for witchcraft. The trick, dearhearts, was that the lady in question vanished with no trace of her to remain. Escorted in to a box with no visible means of escape, a fire was lit. As the kindling crisped and crackled, a secret door opened at the bottom of the box, beneath the stage, for her to exit through. While the audience was left wondering at the magician's last trick, the Lady went to perform a magic of her own.

How to kill and make a small massacre disappear. Only, at the same time she had taken her posistion to commit the murders, at that same time a crossbolt was aimed at Alendral Sorchal. It would seem that, in their meeting, their business too would cross wires. The assasin got his mark, but his ameteur aim hit no vital organs, thus producing a great mess of blood instead. As fate would have it, the dressing room in which Alendral was shot was a suite, who's bedchamber was where Claramae's targets were now tacked to the bed and adjoining wall, respectfully. Taking her third kill for the night, the assasin seeking to kill Alendral, a member of the trade himself, was sprawled out like a butterfly under glass. Growing concerned in his long absence, Kennocha pushed open the door holding the pinned body with much effort only to find blood at her feet, and a masked woman taking up the magician in to her arms. Under the farce that he was only a drunk man with two lovely beauties to take him home, they left Blue Castle and found themselves participants in another sort of masquerade, only this one's ending can prove rather permanent if one is not careful.








AlendralAlendral was dead. At least that's what he thought when he first woke. There was no whispers of the subconscious to keep him company, no emotions or sense of time passed when he closed his eyes to the sight of the comely Assassin pleading with him to stay with her. One moment his eyes were closed--the next they were open again--the world changed--his mind lost the dull, hazy edge that came from the curious onsent of mortal wounding. He was, succintly, put wherever Claramae put him. The memories of the evening came in slow doses--he remembered turning, a face, a voice--being shot. The killer, pinned gruesomely to the ball... too much to drink, the tremult of her laugh. Terror in his assistant's eyes. A barrage of emotions--all which felt to have happened a mere moment ago, when his eyes slipped down. The shock was so acute that his first reaction was to sit sharply up wherever he was, which was realized to be a mistake a mere half second afterward, a stab of pain rippling through his abdomen as the damage muscles protested against it. No, best lay for a while... but where was he?

ClaramaeIn the black ink of the human mind he saw nothing - felt nothing - heard nothing until the grasp it had on him began to loosen. He gave way to the void only to be thrust up from the grip of eternity. No, he had not died, nor was he in heaven, purgatory, or hell. Or would that depend on him? Kennocha had been put to the task of grinding whatever herb the lady sought, of pouring whatever glass vial she pointed at, of whatever it was Claramae could think of to do that was at once resourceful while no secret was revealed. The Madame had her own illustions to protect. Vials bubbled and small cauldrons were stirred. How does one remove a steal bolt without marring organs, encouraging more blood, or heal in such a way that the scar was less than one might think. Pray - how is it done? One needs an illustionist, the finest of the physicians and alchemists tools - the knowledge to rival the best apothecary - and to be named St. Laurence. By the time he awoke the room was heavy with a sweet, thick scent that left him suprisingly calm, encouraging full breaths. "No," she bid him, "Not too fast, you'll make yourself bleed. Twas a challenge to remove that bolt. A new Italian style. But it missed your organs, God be praised." His middle was bandaged with heavy amounts of muslin, raw cottons from the local pond bogs, packed with herbal linament. (d)

Alendral "Be praised for luck and terrible aim. " The illusionist half joked. It was rather distressing to find himself partially undressed (though if somebody must do it, might as well be Claramae, he thought ruefully), putting a hand to his midsection as the severity of the situation creeped into him. "...Where am I?" came the more immediate concern, and at practice he began to take stock of its room--note every detail, his eyes flicking to lick up every bit of information--testament to his profession and indeed to Claramae's instruction, no doubt. He had been shot, and he knew full well for what--but the Lady St. Laurence was not the kind of woman that would leave such a stone unturned. His movements more tenative now, he moved to pull himself from the bed she'd so thoughtfully laid him on, favoring the wounded side while he brought a hand to unconsciously guard the raw side, the strange herbs and concoctions reducing the pain to a dull throb.

Claramae"You are in my apartments, on the High-Street-by-Chapel, as it were. Your assistant has since taken some rest for herself in the adjoining room, worry not, Broheild shall give her all she requires, the both of you, in fact.Master Sorschal do be careful" Quick hand went out to catch him at the shoulder before he could stand, easing him with firm instruction in action to stay sitting down. "Too fast, too much jerk could make yet another debaucle. We should find you some broth to sup upon." Tit-for-tat one act for another was done as though she laid the plan out before the whole of a great chess board. She took hold of his hands if only to study the palms, "It did not graze you elsewhere. This is a good thing. That you were shot at however is not." Brown eyes of doe-size were wide, ought to have been more expressive but it took a master's master to read her. He could convey the message all the same. whatever was done now threadsd us all together, so we must unravel it together. (d)

Alendral"Rank amatuer, that, missed the vitals and didn't bother to poison the tip, or at least make sure the job was done. He was frightened. Of you... mayhaps?" his eyes raked with suspicision, the Illusionist allowed him a smirk. But those eyes of hers told more then mere words did. There would be no way of masking his intentions with her--no easy charm that could befuddle her and lead her astray. Tit-for-tat. The debt was clearly in her favor--which, as he knew full well, was always how the bargains with her ended. "And I suppose it won't do for me to simply seek passage on next ship and disappear then, hmm? " he knew her too well to know that she would not simply accept this as part of life, though he wondered, what might she do when she find out the why? Would she, as the human girl he danced with last night, offer him aid? Or would she use this for more of her inscrutable goals? Worse, yet, would the viper use him? "Aye. Killed me for the secrets I withheld, desperate to keep it out of the Lady Beathag's ear. That I would arrive at the Isle must have been quite a shock to them. I expected something suitably more clumsy. Damned isle clouded my thoughts and drew my eyes in the wrong direction. "

Claramae"The Isle made you happy," she pulled him to her by tugging on his clean shirt. Lifting it with little pretense but that of a healer at present, she thought to snip a section of bandage to make sure the stiches held. "It made you believe in something that was there, in part. You must never let anything dull your senses even for a moment - if anything - a moment's respite should make you more vigilant to keep it, nay go lax." She scolded his indifference to old lesson but with a tone that would baffle him. Human. Pretty English montone, but human. What had she acquired for herself so worth keeping? "No, to vanish from the Isle would carry the drama with you, and that sort of debacle is not easy to solve once one's resources are spread 'cross the map. You must set forth like one in chess, arrange your pieces. Obviously, the natural thing to do is to take the height of this masquerade's fame to your employ. You must collect your purse - a heavy one I am sure - and begin. You have an assistant, this is a good thing.." she was already considering fofr him, arranging. A needle was passed through a candle flame to be sterilized for thin thread's reception. "The Lady Beathag will need know of these tidings before it is told by another, for that would not bode well on your behalf. You do not want to be subjected to the tempremanets run a'foul of Their Graces, I hear it can become quite bleak." As if talking over tea! "Lean back, Sorchal..I need to sew the edges of this wound." (D)

AlendralWell, that was new Claramae in a hurry to undress him. Under normal circumstances he'd thank whatever god she seemed to be so consumed with but given what he had to go through to get such a thing to happen, well, sufficed to say it didn't mean much. THough the color hit his face again at her attentions. She was, as always, unattainable, but that didn't change his admiration much. He eyed the needle with a look of vague bemusement--some things never changed, and chief among them was Alendral's aversion healers. She dealt death and life with the same stroke. "Even so, telling them means confessing to my previous services. They have no reason to trust my tongue as anything but silver. Nothing that will assure the words true and not a feint by the Crown. You know as well as I do, dear, that once the Mask is revealed it becomes difficult to discern mask from true face.

[Master Claramae St. Laurence]

Claramae: "The shot fired throw you in literal fashion ' pon the mercy of the court, it is better in private admittance than public reading before the axe is levied on thy head." Crisp articulation dictated the show of truth. The needled slid in through the skin to join the severed together again, he was numb so it would only be like a tapping the tip of her finger over a small little burn instead of a third degree nightmare. (d)

Alendral: Which brooked no argument, naturally. He knew full well there was no escaping it--there would be questions, in the court, as to where Alendral had gone. He flinched at needle's point, hesitated, and decided to speak again. "... I thought I was behind me, Claramae. I truly did. You want to know somehting truly ironic? Part of me was pleased at being labeled an end to the masks. " seemed only fitting. he had no illusions--even now, the words parted to her would very likely be his last, or so he thought.

Claramae: "The shot fired throw you in literal fashion ' pon the mercy of the court, it is better in private admittance than public reading before the axe is levied on thy head." Crisp articulation dictated the show of truth. The needled slid in through the skin to join the severed together again, he was numb so it would only be like a tapping the tip of her finger over a small little burn instead of a third degree nightmare. (d)

Alendral: Which brooked no argument, naturally. He knew full well there was no escaping it--there would be questions, in the court, as to where Alendral had gone. He flinched at needle's point, hesitated, and decided to speak again. "... I thought I was behind me, Claramae. I truly did. You want to know somehting truly ironic? Part of me was pleased at being labeled an end to the masks. " seemed only fitting. he had no illusions--even now, the words parted to her would very likely be his last, or so he thought. There was no respite to a spy, less for a traitor to the Crown, at that. At the thought his head shook bitterly a moment and he ran fingers through his hair.

Claramae: "If you are to retire you must learn to arrange your pieces one last time so that you might play the game, then end it for good. There is a method to every portion Master Sorchal." As for herself the thought of retirement was akin to placing a cow in atree and calling it a bird. She was what she was - world without end - even to retire from one portion of the trade would be to live in another. "Don't move," she pressed him gently to the pillow. "Lay there, the stiching is done." Now that it was she cleansed the tools as they spoke. A healer's tools. God help those that invoked her knowledge to the converse. "If you want to live without illusion, only to make them. If you wish that, we must unravel this last mystery together. Then you will elect a life more suitable to thyself..as for me.." Bromheild arrived in the room with a tight expression as a note was passed from her white knuckle grip to Claramae's. "Bromhield what is this my dear. You look a'flushed." Abnormal, for the Swedish matron to grow flustered. Opening the parchment would reveal news that set a hard breathing in flared nostrisls. "Send back reply to the King.....the General. I will await my orders." No more on the matter was said but it was enough to make her consider subsequent plans to subsequent plans. "Now, where were we, Master Sorchal, ay yes. Keeping your head." (d)

Alendral: Alendral peered steadily to the eyes of the woman at the note passed between them but asked no questions and said no words of repose. Attempting to elicit them from the veteran Assassin would lead him nowhere, and leaned back. "I have not forgotten your teachings, Lady St. Laurence, no need to treat me like the fool student who listened only to half the words distracted by all manners of pretty eyes and desireable body." he snorted, falling back onto his old habit of flattery out of habit more then any real intent. "Trouble with secrets is people's intention to keep them. Likely once I had dug up with Lord Maubery sought, he saw more value in them silenced 'gain then to risk the chance that others may catch wind of them again. Hence Alendral the traitor, wanted man of London. " he shook his head darkly. "Not exactly the kind of situation we're capable of controlling, I'm afraid. The trouble of living in Shadow, I suspect. " He grimaced again and leaned forward again. racking his brain for some possible answer. "My original intention was to leave the secrets in the care of a friend, in the hopes she would report them long after my departure. Unfortunately, I'd heard she set fire to them. Couldn't bear not seeing past the mask." Again, the bitter expression took hold of him and he banished it. Whatever she had, Alendral had clearly at one time thought he'd had it--and promptly lost it.

Claramae: "You are as clear as a pain of glass, Sorchal. Tis appreciated but my bed is by no means cold nor would Lieutenant Vincere have any desire to share his beloved." A piece of revelation! But let's observe what can be deduced from that small portion of the human in her. It meant that despite the occupation the woman could, and was, more human that credit was given. Was he just as precise as she - just as devoted to his own crafts? He wouldn't believe it if she said they were polar opposites in preference and style, unified only by a man that trained them to be something, whom they answered to, and causes. "The trouble with secrets is that at time you must surrender them but as Lord Maurbrey is seeking to unravel four decades worth of intrigue so you must seek to do double the work, in double the time, while preserving others. We must also impress upon your assistant th enature of silence, though she seems to hold that quite well. Worry not, she shan't be harmed." (d)

Alendral: "Right pity, that." he remarked in good humor, a sudden honest surprised smirk taking to his expression. The imagine of the woman actually settling with someone was a cause of mirth, though how such was achieved was quite beyond him. He drew quiet again. "Lady Rhaine is not a problem. Girl fancies me, I suspect, and so she'll do as I say." It was a stratingly cold thing to say, but a pragmatic one. Certainly the woman who made career of manipulating emotions would come to understand why he spoke of her9 P.M.]: in such a way--besides, far as Alendral was concerned, the man she 'fancied' was not the man he really was. "She'll keep such notions to herself. I suspect, though she voiced concern over a fate she didn't fully understand. Carries the same gift as well." the work completed, he'd slip off the bed and pull the shirt back on again, grimly considering his own options and coming up painfully short. The idea that Claramae claimed another. Lord, how did such a thing even happen to so expert a Spy, he wondered "But if I can not simply disappear, then the next notion is obvious. Inform the Lady Beathag of what I know first, and with its knowledge, so perhaps will be the desire to silence me." If the woman didn't order him executed first, after all. "I'd best return to the Isle then..." truth be told, the revelation made him want bid escape--not because of some misplaced romantic affection for the Lady St. Laurence (far from it) but the idea that she had managed to find some sense of belonging... compared to his own fate (and indeed, what he was going to face) found deeply troublesome. Wedded bliss and the executioner's block. Fairly ironic.



Claramae: Oh marriage was goash. Even for one so religious marriage between the nobles was like matching horse pairs! Countess St. Laurence of Avaria was the daughter of the Barony in London, and collected in each land a plethora of funds with a litany list of little heralds that made her a woman of enviable independent means. For any man on paper she was a prized catch for having a dowry worthy of 3 small monarchies, no doubt. Had he not found..well...one never knew after all. "We shall see the Duchess 'pon a pair of days. Besides, I shall have more to speak to her of an Ambassador's nature.." The news she received could change the very nature of an alliance made beneath an old monarch. Her mind began to course back to Avaria, the word Michael thrumming on her thoughts." Let me go and get you a cup of light wine, it will help you rhead." (d)

Alendral: And with that little tidbit she let slip that the news was related, and his eyes narrowed swiftly. Suddenly he remembered himself, and remembered that in some way, Claramae was as much on his side as anyone in their profession could be. Old friends be damned, she was doubtless considering how she might use this to her advantage even as he speak. "And on those words, I largely suspect that relations in Avaria and the Isle are about to complicate, are they?" he ventured a guest, best he could manage given the circumstances, eyeing her warily as she made her way around the room, wishing to damned she'd make the simple mistake of leaving the missive in reach while she reached out for the wine.

ClaramaeHe was counterthinking and readying a strike. Good, she wanted him on his toes, though for once she would be forthright in such candor it would startle him. "Yes, it will be. As of now my King is now only my General, and my Queen his lady wife. The Council has removed the King and a Steward is now in place, with a plethora of other such things that will complicate much for many." How now, to keep the previous monarchs in one piece. How now, to maintain appearences for split causes. How now, to encourage patience in the Lieutenant while believing that he would not get himself in trouble while she was a day a way, still. Chestnut hair was pulled from pins as she spoke. "But for now tis to our advantage. You will come with me as a man with opinion on this matter, and when it is discussed it is then we shall reveal the game to Her Grace, where she shan't cut your head as you offer then your services to the cause herein. This will buy you some measure of security against the English, you see, and the Italians The French, the Brussels contingents they could hire to find you. A man in public posistion is at once harder to touch in our profession where as the common man in public view is kindling for a larger fire. I would recommend you install yourself as a prominent entertainer if not some sort of....discoverer.....of advacement. Posistion yourself to become the most valuable and thus be of no use at all a great many of the time. Their Grace's detest politics, especially our sort." His future was being dictate to him but it was only a sketch. " This does depend entirely upon you, of course. God forbid I make mind for you. Either way, take your purse from this event and establish yourself as a lauded, exemplified member of the gentry." (d)

Alendral: "You would not tell me of such things unless Maubery was in some way involved to such trials of the Avarian court, though." another venture, another guess, though he had some small doubt even in his own words. Indeed a many like Maubery might take advantage of Avaria's weakness, but his short time with the man did not fancy him capable of such elaborate deception. Indeed, he would ill know what to do with a woman of Claramae's calibur. But such words she had merit, forcing him to consider a path that he had no considered. "Mmm. Perhaps I need not reveal my profession at all. They fancy me a weaver of Illusion, of course. a purveyor of knowledge, and need not know that I discovered there things as I moved freely 'pon their old circles." The idea did not fill him with much in the way of confidence, naturally, and Beathag was a problem, one that even she was aware of. What little he knew of her was this: She was a remarkably strong headed woman, said to be loved but swift in anger, and a single mis-step would prove most unfortunately most fatal. He grimaced. "What is the story of my disappearance? Surely someone in the court has noticed that I have yet to come and collect my fee, and have found me difficult to reach."

Claramae: "No, Maubrey's concern is not Avaria. It is this place. The Duke is his son, and he does not ye tknow his son is alive." How did she know - well - one had their ways. "The Duke's wife is also a little portion of the past. Much they have been uncovering here Maubrey would be loathed for any to know. Haven't you heard of his pulpit?" He shook her head " That man has the King of England wrapped so tight 'pon his hand he holds aleash about Edward's neck. King of all Isles. That is what he wants. Complete subjucation of Celtic nations and to be the toast of Europe." He was the Machevaelian prince of his day. Of the matter of court she would recall England. Jolly old - abandoned - forsaken - England. "One of the men from Surrey found you out, he betrayed you to a Count who in turn took it to the Baliffs and had warrant put 'pon your head. The price is ludacrist. What you know is considered priceless to have such a price, I assure you." She had little of London save the occasional, necessary visit in the midst of seasons. Not since she left her mother's land in Dublin, or since the last London parties some seasons ago did she make her home there. (d)

Alendral: So he decided he'd filll her in another detail. Tit-for-tat, he figured, but for him it was the more important point of testing just how valuable the information as well. "Not just the Duke. Another claims to his lineage. A cousin." he smiled thinly as he waited to see if revelation let even the barest hint of surprise, but if that didn't work... the old Illusionist looked to be somewhat amused as he let the next one fly. "Priceless indeed, for I bear the secret that may legitimize the claim to throne of anyone who might find it. Of course.. it's only a theory." There were calculated reasons for this. He knew enough of Avaria to knew it had no interest in a takeover of Skye, or its surrounding territories, knew further still that Clara's loyalty was secure--though she would probably never actually admit it, the powerful spy had found a cause worthy of applying her craft to and would remain steadfastly loyal, and Maubery's domination of the isle could largely end up a thorne in Avaria's side later. But more then all that--Alendral needed an ally, and she was as close as it got. "No price too high for such knowledge, I suspect. He must have paniced when he heard me so close to the Isle's nobility."

Claramae: "The Duke and Duchess are going to Aberdeenshire, on the Scottish main country. The Duchess is from Aberdeen, it is lauded as something as a great homecoming and the Duke has spared no expense refitting the entire fleet, including the three pincipal ships she onc eused as a merchant woman. There are talks of books, riddles, and rooms in the castle. Of art telling stories on the walls that spurned this whole thing. And now you mention a cousin? This is quite the twisted, thick debacle. I shall help you figure it as best I can before my return to Avaria, but we shall be in close proximity. I will return often when I do leave, as often as I can, my duties willing." In Scotland it was, up north in the Orkneys that Apollo had convinced and ultimatly trained the Talon she had become. He took the rapier skills, the poison and intelligence and honed it with intense physical training, spiritual, trials and tasks. He took all that she was good at and made it all the more. "My duties as Major in the militant quarter might be used at the same time as my social particular.My, my. It would take you getting shot for us to discuss business..but of another matter, 'pon the floor I was quite serious. Beyond this madness, let us be as friends." (d)

Alendral "Hmmm, yes. and I believe such knowledge may very well be the key to sparing my life, for I have made a similar expedition in secret, and have come to the only conclusion to be had from such venture..." he shook his head a moment, struck again with no small amount of admiration for how seemlessly she changed the subject, on the matter of business to swiftly the matter of something distinctly more personal wondering what might be learned of it, rubbing his head with a sigh. "I.. am sorry for treating you with such suspicsion before, for what it is worth, Lady St. Laurence. You are of course, familiar with how few a former Spy may trust. I had thought you as you were then, a free agent to the highest bidder. Last thing I could have imagined was the little widow falling in love and throwing her talents behind king and country!" he let himself chuckle at the thought and shook his head, his shoulders sagging with the release of a bit of stress he held. "But we've shared a deal together, and I haven't forgotten it. Thank you, my Lady, for saving my life and for being the only one a traitor can trust. You have my friendship, indeed, forevermore god willing."

Claramae"King and country, ironic yet that is what my loyalty required for that was that those who summoned me hence. The King was my General long before he was a King, aye...was.. His wife was once my Lady Regent in stay of the Queen of Orkney. If one moved half-way across Europe to find me tis worth considering. Ah me. No one meant to fall in love or to become entranced. It seemed Michael Vincere and I, as different in some ways, are similar in our profession and loyalty. His Majesty's Special Military Quarter, HMSMQ." (D)