Benedict entered the infirmary again; everyone else was present that was here before, save Fiona. He took stock of his physical capacity. The arm was...itchy, but seemed alright for movement and the like. His foot ached some, but that was fading, even from just a few hours ago. He thought it'd be fully healed in another few days or so, and be no hindrance to him from now on...if he had his steel-toed boots. Unfortunately, Gerard had bent one of them out of shape, which had caused the injury in the first place. If I get in a fight, he mused quietly, I can hope that they play fair. After a moment's more thought, he disregarded the idea, and decided to lead out with his right--his dominant hand--til everything was kosher again. No sense taking chances.

Bleys stepped forward, glancing about for Fiona and spotted some equipment where she was working previously. He plucked out a note from the glass and read it quickly. "Fi got called away on some urgent buisness.. says she'll be back when she can."

Ben sighed, and muttered, "Figures." Nothing seemed to go right lately. Nothing at all. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered, and then he glanced over towards Callandra was sitting. Oh, yeah. Family. Right. He couldn't even keep the sarcasm out of his own inner voice, so he checked another sigh and kept silent.

Bleys, in the meanwhile, wandered over towards where Benedict supposed Flora was. "Hey, want to try another experiment?"

Ben ignored them, wandering over towards where Callandra was seated. He leaned on the table she was sitting on, "Pretty rotten first day around the castle, huh?" Small talk was definitely not his forte. He glanced around again, and noted Bleys pulling out his Trump deck again. He turned back to his neice instead.

"It's not what I expected, that's for sure," she replied. "Still, exploding Trumps and such aren't the normal order of business around here, are they?" Her eyes wandered over towards Bleys was, and she trembled a touch. Nervous? Afraid? Benedict wondered, Probably just cold. Things still felt hot to him, but not nearly so much as it was earlier. He shook his head slightly to answer her question, though she wasn't watching.

Bleys turned around to the pair. "Could I borrow your Trump of Flora for a second? I promise I won't blow it up."

Ben cocked a brow at Bleys, not believing him for a second. Still, Bleys was trying to help, to push boundaries...expand knowledge. That wasn't a bad thing, necessarily. So, Benedict dug out his Trumps and handed over Flora's, wishing Bleys would be a bit more cautious about it. Still, what else could happen? Blowing up another one was about the most Ben could think of.

Bleys nodded at something, "Let's try this then." He picked up his own card, holding it in his left hand. In his right, he held Flora's Trump. He concentrated. Time passed slowly, until Bleys made a soft sound, and stumbled. All of Ben's senses were suddenly on alert, though he could see nothing happening. He straightened and asked cautiously, "What is it?"

Bleys didn't answer. He seemed spacey, his eyes not focusing on anything in particular, almost as if he were in a trance.

"Bleys?" Ben asked again, worried and irritated.

Still no answer.

Ah, dammit. What have you done to yourself? Benedict thought, worry and anger starting to override his own good sense. He started towards Bleys, giving no doubts that something bad had happened just now, and he missed it. Once he reached his brother, he asked again, "Bleys, are you alright?"

Finally, finally Bleys answered, blinking rapidly for a moment. "Yes. Experiment vaguely successful. Downside. I may have lost your Trump in my head."

Ben blinked, "What?" And on the heels of that, a command, "Explain yourself."

"Yes," Bleys said. "Explain. I believe Flora is currently in my head. Please, walk Pattern, tell me what you see."

Benedict frowned and sighed simultaneously. He still had a roaring headache from before, that had just started to subside. He hopped up on the table opposite where Bleys was now seated, and started to carefully rewalk the Pattern in his mind. It was torture, sheer torture. Only a spare thought was allowed, in trying to get himself to concentrate, He doesn't know what he's asking. Doesn't know you have a headache. Relax...relax...

The Sign came to him after long minutes of torture. What he saw when he opened his eyes was nothing short of amazing: Bleys and Flora occupied the same space. They were...superimposed on each other, like a double-exposed photograph. He made a strangled sound in his throat, trying to talk while his eyes tried to track both of them at once. He closed his eyes again, and said in hoarse voice, "That's...unusual. She's there, in you, from what I can see."

"You see what..." Bleys said, then paused, "Yes. I was afraid of that."

Benedict didn't waste time in releasing the Sign. Damn head. Damn Pattern. Damn Trumps, Benedict grumbled inwardly, opening his eyes to look upon Bleys. Damn brothers. "Do I have to take your Trumps away from you now, or are you going to behave?"

The heat in his voice must have went by Bleys, as he answered reasonably, "I think I"m done, though I'm pretty sure I've discovered something interesting."

Callie barked a laugh, "Trumps of Aunt Flora are going to become collector's items."

Bleys rose to his feet, "I think I'm getting the hang of this. Feel a bit better." He started walking about the room. Benedict just grunted, not finding any humor in this at all. He took out his Trump deck again, and for the first time, looked upon them with distaste. He shuffled two out, and contemplated between the two of them. Finally, he decided on Llewella's. He concentrated.

Llewella answered the call, looking mildly irked--she's probably had a lot of Trump calls today--and said, "Yes?"

"Sorry to bother, Llewella," Ben said, looking and sounding irritated, "But Bleys has managed to come up with another emergency again. You know where Fiona is? Once she has a chance to look at him, she might be able to shed more light on it than I." He paused for a moment, then realized he still hadn't identified the problem, "Oh, he, ah..." he paused again--How do I say this??--"...got Flora somehow stuck in his head."

Llewella blinked, and stared with an utterly blank expression for several long moments. "He what?"

Ben nodded slightly before answering, "Managed to make a Trump contact between them, and somehow got her stuck in his head." He paused, "I would say that she'd be safe there, but..." He shrugged slightly, adding mentally, Who knows what lame-brained thing he'll do next? Sloppy, sloppy work, Bleys. Thanks. That was an incredibly negative way to think. Bleys had been just trying to help Flora, and Ben found fault in that? He tsked, and let out a sigh. It had been a trying day.

Llewella's face, in the meanwhile, did the most amazing ten-second-shift through about six different emotions, all of them passing too quickly to identify readily. "She's...they...oh, gods."

"Pull me through," she said, finally, a bit faintly. He did so.

He then gestured over to Bleys, "It's like Flora is superimposed on him. Hard for me to make out, exactly, but he seems to be fine." He paused, the added, "If a bit addled," at about the same time Callie added, "Apart from not talking and not looking quite all here."

Ben smiled faintly at her, "A bit addled, yes."

Llewella put a hand to her head, seeming utterly at a loss. "um..." She started to say something a couple of times, and kept stopping. "Well. Fiona's...busy right now. Gods..."

"What about Brand? Is he available?"

"Brand has been out of contact. I haven't been able to raise him on his Trump."

Ben frowned, "Perhaps one of the hundred, then?"

Bleys seemingly returned from his jaunt to another world and looked to Llewella, "Hellow, Llew." Ben frowned slightly. Bleys sounded...subdued, submissive almost. Could it be that someone here other than himself actually recognized Llewella as the Empress? Perish the thought. He looks like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie-jar, for crying out loud. Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the mental image.

"Hello, Bleys." Llewella smiled ruefully. "The Crown appreciates your dedication to the solution of the Flora situation, but suggests that this may be carrying it a bit far."

"We are aware, m'lady, I just wanted to see.. well hell. I was curious. Should have known.. the cat and all that.. "

Benedict couldn't resist helpfully supplying, "Curiosity killed the cat." He put his Trumps back, sighing again.

"Yes Ben, I'm aware," Bleys sighed. Not just her then, just general feelings of remorse, stupidity perhaps. Something else to be filed away for later, when he had more time.

Llewella finally got back to his idea of the Hundred. She had Callie go fetch her Trumps from her office. Benedict watched the girl leave, then turned back to his two three? siblings. Llewella sank into a chair and looked like she had a headache about the size of his. A twinge of guilt stung him then, and he shook his head slightly. I need to be more supportive, not quite so ... bitter, cynical, whathaveyou. He frowned.

Bleys sighed, folding his legs back up, and held his hands against his knees. "I'm going to try to bolster my mental defenses. If you guys need me, just ask. I'm still here." He closed his eyes, and zoned out then.

The pounding his Ben's head finally reached his temples, and he got up and restlessly searched the cabinets for some aspirin or codeine. He found a suitable substitute and shook out three tablets on route back to his seat. He set the bottle down, and tossed them in his mouth, crunching them between his teeth. The acrid taste did nothing for his mood, but they'd dissolve faster that way. Well, out of the frying pan, into the fire, he thought dismally.

The silence was broken when Callie arrived with a pack of Trumps, panting slightly. "These the ones?" she asked, handing them over to Llewella. Llewella nodded, and shuffled through them, searching out a particular one. Fiona conferred with Bleys and Flora about solutions for Flora's problem.

Callie jumped up on a table nearby him. "I miss anything exciting?" she asked, pertly.

Ben shook his head, "No, nothing at all." He paused, adding wryly, "I believe that's a positive turn, for once."

"No news is good news, eh?" Llewella asked. Ben favored her with a slight smile, "I think so." Silence ensued for a few longer moments, until Callandra suddenly spoke up.

"Oh, by the way," Callie said, "there's, like, people around the castle now. Is that good?"

Ben blinked, "Yeah, that's good." He smiled to himself while Llewella fiddled with her Trumps. He was about to ask a question when he felt a slight tremor. He frowned, thinking first of a missile, then remembering he was in Amber. He glanced around, noting that Callie was also looking a bit confused. The other seemed oblivious. "Feel that?" he asked of his neice. She nodded, looking nervous. Fiona, having returned again, looked to Ben with a curious expression.

Ben shrugged in answer, "Felt like an earthquake somewhere. Maybe an explosion." He paused, then added, "I'll check it out, stay here." Another pause, "I'll be right back." He then headed towards the door, foolishly expecting people to listen to him.

Fiona or Bleys must have been confused as Callie spoke up behind him, "There was a small earthquake, or something."

Ben was a few paces out into the hall when he heard Bleys behind him, "Explosion or something?" Ben ignored him. Llewella and Callandra also followed; Ben ignored them as well. Bleys stepped back to walk in time with Llewella.

"What exactly happened?" Bleys asked of his sister.

"I'm not sure," she replied, "I was trying to Trump someone. It couldn't have been very severe."

"Ben seems to think it's trouble," Bleys said somewhat sagely, "I'm inclined to trust his judgement."

Putting his family to the back of his mind for once, Ben looked around as they walked to the nearest window. It was nice to have the staff back again...the castle didn't seem so dead now. Everyone pretty much looked like they didn't feel it also, except for one or two here and there. It wasn't many.

As they passed one of the guards--who was at his post, Ben was pleased to see--he asked, "Captain? What was that?"

Benedict stopped on a dime, nearly causing those behind him to crash into him. "You felt it as well?"

"Barely," the guard replied, "It didn't seem like much, but...it wasn't normal."

Ben nodded, "Very well. Go about your business. I"ms ure news will be soon coming." He continued striding down the hallway. Finally, a big enough window loomed close. He stopped in front of it, peering outside over the city and harbor. The only thing amis he could see was a trace of smoke or steam far, far out, past the city, possibly even past the harbor. Without a spyglass, it was impossible to tell.

He turned to the others, "I need a spyglass."

"I've got a pretty good telescope in my quarters. It's computer aided though. I'm not sure how well it'd work here," Bleys said.

"Does it have actual lenses?" Llewella asked intelligently. "If it does, it ought to work somewhat."

Ben gestured to a page, calling the lad over. He asked of Bleys, "Are your rooms locked or warded?"

"True," Bleys said. "It does. Hell, I'll go grab it. Gimme a second."

Ben dismissed the page then, as Bleys shot off. Ben watched him go, shaking his head slightly.

Llewella stood behind Callie, and both looked out the window. "This has to have something to do with the Gate..." Ben nodded his affirmation, and they watched the cloud for a while before Ben felt a Trump call. He answered it immediately; it was Bleys. He pulled his brother through with the telescope. Bleys stepped to the window, and looked through the glass.

"Ok," Bleys reported, "Steam rising from the harbor, or just beyond there.. There's something falling on the wharf district. Hell, maybe it was an explosion and it's raining fish. I've heard of that sort of thing." He lowered the glass and handed it to Ben. Benedict raised it and had a look for himself. It was as Bleys described. He grunted to himself, then passed it over to Llewella.

After a brief look, she lowered the glass. "I need to make some calls." She passes it on to Callie, who propped her elbows on the sill to balance the thing.

"Man. Those folks're gonna be eating good tonight," Callandra commented.

Benedict rubbed the scruff on his jaw, "This bodes ill." He didn't like it, not at all.

Llewella put the Trump deck away, and took out a different one. Ben watched her, wondering how many decks she had, and what was contained within. She walked a ways off, presumably to use the Trump.

"Aye," Bleys said, "As do many things."

Ben's concentration on the problem at hand was interrupted by hearing Llewella speak aloud, "Lord Gamellon?" She paused, then nodded, "So it wasn't the invasion?" She sagged a bit, as if in relief. "Yes, please do... I will want to speak with him when he returns, if there's time before the arrival of my uncle." Benedict just waited. She'd explain when she was done.

"Yes, I fear there's not much choice," she sighed. "Try to find out how much damage was done...thank you." She cut the contact, and turned back to the group gathered. "That's," she said, nodding towards the window, "is a side effect of sealing the Gate."

Ben raised a brow, "How was it a side effect?"

"Apparently there was a large quanittity of heated metal involved...it came into contact with the sea water..." She shrugged. "Lord Gamellon doesn't have the full report as yet, but he believes Rebma was spared. The damage to the ecology, well..." She shrugged again. "The main thing its, we won't have a hundred million Deep Ones swarming over us just yet."

Ben nodded, feeling a bit of relief himself, "That's something, at least."

"Speaking of which," Bleys interjected, "Any new word on the Glasinfrok in the city, Llew?"

Benedict frowned. This was the first he had heard of this. "There's Glasinfrok in the city?"

Llewella nodded, "A few rogue individuals, apparantly. The guard down there are trying to track them donw. They've taken refuge in the unpatrolled sector, or so Lord Gamellon said."

Ben kept on frowning at this bit of news, until a thought occurred to him. They don't work that way, not according to what I've heard so far. And there's no way for them to get into Amber...unless it was already here... A shudder ran through him, as he realized what the Deep One in the city must be--Gregory. "Do they know how many for sure?" He noted that he was able to keep his voice level. That was good. "If there's more than one, they're not working together...are they?"

"No. No, they don't," Llewella said, shaking her head. "I don't know enough about them to say."

Benedict scowled. All the gods damn you Eric, above and below. I'll have your hide for this, I swear. He could barely keep that to himself, but finally he said after a few tense moments on his part, "Remind me again why I can't put an end to Eric?" Absently, he heard Bleys sigh, as if tired of hearing about their mutual brother.

"Because he's our brother," she said wearily, turning away from him. "And I, for one, am sick of seeing people die already. And if there's any hope in Hell that the dreams were a mistake, we'll need him." She started walking away, leaving the rest of them standing there almost stupidly.

Callandra glanced after Llewella, then looked up to Benedict, "Okay. I missed something there..."

Benedict watched Llewella leave, then turned back to the window, his hand clenching. "Eric did something to a friend of mine when he got into town, days ago." He paused, not wanting to discuss details with his neice, yet wanting someone to understand where he was coming from. Fat chance, that. "Might have come back to haunt us."

He brooded for a few moments more, before turning his thoughts to slightly more constructive ones, "We should get you some decent quarters of your own, I think." He glanced at Bleys, who snapped back into reality.

"Hmm?" his brother asked.

"I don't suppose you coudl find some suitable quarters for our neice? I've work to do, and I believe I better get back to it now."

"Sure. I can swing it," Bleys said, then clapped his hands briskly. He waved a nearby servant over.

Ben turned to Callandra as Bleys talked with the servant, "You haven't a Trump deck of your own?"

"I did," she said disgruntled, "They got lost on the way here."

He shuffled out his Trump and offered it out to her, "Here you go then. If you need me, use it, alright?"

"No problem," the girl said, "I'd give you mind if I had one. I'll have to get Llew to...no, wait. She's Empress, she doesn't have time for Trumps." She sighed. Benedict blinked.

"Doesn't have time for Trumps?" he asked.

"Yeah, she draws them," Callie said, then blinked. "You didn't know that?"

"Oh," he said, "No, I didn't."

The servant standing nearby drew their attention next by turning to Callandra. "My lady, have you a preference of compass points?"

"Um, not really..." the girl replied.

"Then if you would accompany me, I shall show you to a suitable accomodation at once."

"Um...okay." She looked a little uncomfortable, but followed the servant, bowing politely to Ben and Bleys. "I guess I'll see you all later," she called over her shoulder.

"A pleasure meeting you," Bleys said, with a wave. Ben nodded to the girl, and gave a small wave himself. He sighed when she was out of sight. He turned to Bleys, "I really need to talk to Llewella. What's on your agenda next?"

"No idea," Bleys replied, almost cheerfully. "I was going to go back and bother Fiona.. but that's more of a hobby than anything."

Ben nodded, "Long as I knwo where to find you.." He shrugged slightly, having the feeling that he'd need to talk to both Bleys and Flora at some point in the near future. He started back towards the infirmary with his brother.

Bleys looked around as they walked, "Where'd Llew go?"

"I think back there, to see if Fiona had something or not," Ben replied.

"Ahh... she's gonna be sick of being bothered. Ahh well," Bleys said, continuing onward.

Ben snorted, thinking of Trump calls at all hours, "Just one of a thousand reasons why I don't want the job." Bleys nodded in agreement.

After a few more moments of silence, Bleys spoke up again, "Any idea how long we have until Odin shows up?"

Benedict shook his head; that was something he had been wondering himself. "No idea," he said, then paused, "I've the impression that it's soon."

"Gods," Bleys muttered, "This is going to be a mess. The folks in the city have no idea anything's wrong.. now, half the Royal family's gone, Llew's on the throne, and we have what could be called an occupying army in the city. Swell."

Ben grunted in agreement, "It'll probably get worse before it gets better."

"Of course," Bleys said, "That's just the way things are.. but it's going to be bedlam in the streets when all this gets out."

Ben nodded, "It won't be pretty." He sighed. That's for damn sure. Too much, too soon. They walked on in silence, until another thought struck Ben, saddening him. "Damn, you know I talked to both Flora and Random the night before?" He shook his head, heavy with regret, and 'what ifs'.

"Yeah. I'm the opposite. I've barely exchanged a word with either of them. Hell, probably not since the last state occasion before I left."

Ben snorted, "And they call me distant."

"It's strange," Bleys went on to say, "I've been gone so damned long, yet I'm back a week and it seems like I never left. Irritating, in a way."

"Lucky in others, I'd guess," Ben comments.

"Yup," Bleys agreed, trailing off. As they approached the infirmary, Bleys said, "Here we are."

He nodded absently, and both headed inside. Fiona was still at the table where she was working, several books opened on the counter before her. She muttered to herself as she looked into her microscope again and joted something down on a sheet of paper. Llewella was nowhere to be seen. Benedict leaned against the doorframe, watching Fiona for a few minutes. Should I Trump Llewella? She's been bothered enough...half the time by me... He mused on this as he was his sister work. Bleys almost entered, then shrugged, and sat down in the hall outside.

Oh, might as well, Ben thought. He drew out his Trumps for about the billionth time today, and shuffled hers out. He concentrated, and was soon rewarded with the image of Llewella sitting with her back against a wall... crying?!? He blinked as she scrambled hastily to her feet and ran a hand across her eyes. "Yes, Benedict?" she asked in a more or less steady voice.

He conducted the call entirely in his head, something he rarely did. "Llewella..." he started slowly, not knowing what to say. Is this my fault? he wondered as he talked, "...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so callous about Eric." But the thing was...he did mean it. Every word.

"I don't blame you," she said, "He's done a lot to answer for. I just...I am not able to think about things like executions right now. And we've lost so many already." She swallowed and seemed to calm down. "Was there something else you needed?"

He nodded again, "The Glasinfrok in the city...it might be Gregory. His body was missing from.. well, from all appearances, he got up and walked away." He stopped momentarily, lest the hatred he felt for Eric bled through the contact. "If you didn't know that already."

"No...I didn't," she said, rubbing her forehead. "I expect Lord Gamellon has thought of that, but I'll notify him anyway. Perhaps that can be used to predict it's movements, if it's really him."

He nodded slightly, "I was going to propse something, with your leave."

She nodded to him, waiting for the proposal.

"I'd like to collect a couple good men, and hunt it...him...down." He paused again, almost rushing his next words, "It'd help, if we 're goignt o be ng to be invaded, to have faced the enmemy once before actually facing the enemy. I know I'm technically not military or police for the city, but....if he is Gregory, I'd like to know that he's dead for certain." He wanted to say more, to make sure she was convinced, to add reasons...but he stopped his rambling before it got out of hand.

"That's reasonable," she nodded, giving into his request. "Just make sure the city guard knows what you're about. And be ready to come back here at a moment's noctice. It won't be long until Odin arrives...you may want to wait until after he gets here, in fact. In about..." she looked around,and her eyes widened a bit. "Damn. In about half an hour, actually. Let the others know, please...they allshould all be there."

He nodded, "I will." After a brief pause, "Tonight, then." And then another one, one filled with tension, "And look, I really am sorry about yesterday. I've been out of sorts." It was lame, but it was all he could come up with, trying to make her feel better. He wasn't used to that, not at all.

She smiled briefly, "We all have been. I understand. Just..." She hesitated, "I worry. That's all."

"I worry too, that's the problem," he replied, a smile touching his lips. "Too much, it seems."

"Not that we don't have reason enough..." She shook her head, "How are the trouble twins doing?"

He looked away from the Trump for a moment, to look at Bleys/Flora. They looked fine. He turned back, "Quiet. I think that's good."

"That could be good, or bad," she bit her lip momentarily. "Well. I have to prepare...try to hint that everyone should get presentable..."

Ben nodded, "I will do so."

She then laughed bit, "At least Bleys has an in-house fashion consultant."

He smiled and nodded, "It's just nice to know we haven't lost her."

She nodded as well, "I'll see you in the throne room in twenty minutes." Benedict nodded and broke the contact. He put the Trump away. "The Asgardians will be here in about a half-hour. We've about twenty minutes to look presentable." He glanced down at himself, Better cover that up. He unrolled his sleeve, then lowered it and buttoned it back up.

"Twenty minutes, eh?" Bleys said, turning to Fi. "Are you gonna need me here?" The rest of the conversation were lost to Ben's ears as he exited the room. He mentally ticked off the things he had to do in twenty minutes. At least he dressed properly this morning, albeit uknowingly. He spent the majority of the time tracking down his sword. When he got it, it was...different. Supposedly the energies in the Pattern room supercharged it somehow. It was...well, different. Benedict just sheathed it, feeling much better as he did so. He stopped at the next available place to check a mirror quickly to make sure he was presentable. Then, off to the throne room...

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