Excerpts from Julia's journal

(written in a shorthand of her own devising):

Excerpt #13 (May 18/2001):

Another rainy evening and I find myself sitting on a little screened-in porch with my book and my glass of wine. It is a warm evening and I am happy. Spencer is off somewhere on his own, and Jack and Faith are dining on the Rue de la Hachette. I am to meet them later at a club. A great deal has happened since I last wrote, and I scarcely know where to start. It is good to have these few minutes to reflect on matters of these past few weeks.

Most recently, I am back in Jack's shadow, in a city called Paris, a place of some power and reality, as I have heard of its existence in a number of different shadows. It is a fascinating place, a combination of the very old and the very new. In this section of the city, near the river, I have seen five hundred year old buildings with stately trees and statues - and automatic toilets on the boulevard outside them. Very interesting structures, those toilets. I put a coin in one today just to see the inside. The door opened and there was just room for one person to sit or to stand. It smelled both antiseptic and foul. I closed the door and there was an enormously loud flushing sound - I think something must flush through the entire structure when the door closes.

I am paying an exorbitant price for a place in the old part of the city , a section called the Latin Quarter. The buildings are mostly old and the streets are narrow and filled with tourists, of which I am one, I suppose. Traffic is quite alarming. I have been considering learning to drive a car of some sort, but this is not the time or place, I think. My apartment is on the third floor of a building I am told was once the main residence for the mistress of some famous general. What they would think of what has been done to it I cannot imagine.

The apartment itself is small, but I am enchanted with it and so I have let it for a month, though I believe I may keep it for longer. A door from the common hallway opens into a sitting room, where there is a window with a lovely set of drapes which, when opened, reveal a dreary stretch of antique wall. From the sitting room there is a large opening into a room that seems combination kitchen, dining room and laundromat. This opening has some very odd beams going over the top and down the side & the beams are new and look as though they were intended to be decorative, though I do not care for them. From the sitting room there is also a short hallway to a bedroom and small bathroom. The bathroom looks to have been carved from the room that is now the kitchen, and is an oppressive and unrelieved gleaming white, though at least it is clean; I will have it painted if I stay. The bedroom is small but very comfortable. Save for the bathroom, all of the walls are all of a sort of a pale yellow plaster. The sitting room and kitchen have fish painted in fresco all around, like this:

I knew that I had found the right place as soon as I saw those fish, even before I discovered the small sunroom attached to the bedroom (where I am sitting even now). It is lit by street light rather than sunlight at the moment, but it is a comfortable, private little place. When I lean to my right, I can see the corner of a Greek restaurant on the rue de la Hachette with people sitting at little tables in the covered patio just outside it. To the left I see the lights of a hotel that I have forgot the name of...

*****

An hour has passed since the last line I wrote. Weyland has just now come and gone by Trump. We spoke for a time and I said I was glad to see him well and whole, though he lookd quite exhausted. I made toast, fried him some eggs and sausage and saw to it he ate while he was here. It seems Weyland and Random exchanged harsh words after Aunt Fiona's trial of his mind. Weyland reckons that his comments were sufficiently threatening that he expects Random will attack him, and so he has been fortifying and hiding his shadow. He will not be easy to contact for some time, and has asked me to look for his son Dianov if I have time and opportunity, for the boy will simply find that his home has disappeared, and will not know where to seek it again. He also gave me a very interesting pistol that he had conjured, once which converts into a lance. He puts me to shame with his gifts and I think he must begin to think that I do not value his friendship if I do not respond with some suitable gift of my own. I must think on this. Perhaps if I can find Dianov for him?

I feel that I am to blame for the situation between Random and Weyland, and said so, but Weyland said he thought the situation would have come to this eventually, for Random's style of rule grates on his nerves and offends him, and that I should not hold myself to blame for their quarrel. It was very kind of him to say so, and it may be true. Regardless, surely this situation must soon blow past and all our lives return to something like peace and quiet.

Now and again in the day I must remind myself of how close I am to certain death in this, for despite Aunt Fiona's testing of my mind, Random must surely suspect my involvement. When I arrived and found that she was indeed going to put me to the test, I thought I would die of fright, but all seemed to hold, and she cleared me. I must contact Papa later tonight and warn him that Aunt Fiona knows our secret. Perhaps he will have some sort of advice for me, though I would prefer that he learn little of my current predicament. A horrible thing, having her sort through my memories, a thing I will not submit to again willingly, though at least I hope my preparations prevented her from seeing anthing of Spencer or the matter concerning my people. At least, if she saw anything, I could not tell, and she made no sign or comment.

Perhaps I should have forseen that Random would take such extreme offense to the disappearance of the prisoners. But still! To make such a mountain over what should have been a molehill only makes the situation worse. Part of the problem, I suppose, lies in the fact that the discovery of the prisoners' disappearance took place in such a public manner. The sleeping guards should have been discovered much sooner than they were - what an enormous hole in the defenses of the castle! Still, I am glad that my people are as safe as I can make them, and I am also glad to have arrived at some some of equilibrium with my grandparents. I regret what has happened, and believe that they do too, though I do not think either side is willing to forgive as yet. It may well be that the situation will remain as such for the forseeable future.

Now to determine my next course of action, I suppose. Contacted Uncle Bleys this afternoon and received news which upsets me a great deal. Random has gone to extremes in seeking out spies and culprits, setting checkpoints and curfews and carrying out purges and massacres. That cannot work of course, for I do not believe there is anything to find, though it may become necessary for someone to put something there to be found. Bleys mentioned some thing which he was planning that might provide him with some insight. I offered my aid and wished him good luck with it. He comforted me saying that I should not feel completely to blame for the situation. You may be the nail for which the kindom was lost, he said to me, but it is not the fault of the nail. It made me wonder how much he has discerned of my involvement, but I took comfort from it nonetheless.

When I think upon it, Random was the uncle I thought I would like the most, when I first studied my Mother's relations, and I arrived expecting that we would get on well. A professional gambler and a player. A clever man. And yet in person he has been formal at best, and seldom other than cold toward me, even before he had any reason to suppose me a fool. It is an odd thing. I have considered attempting to speak plainly to him - if I thought it would help, I would confess my crime, but I fear he would simply kill me without regard for my motives and the fact that I intended him no real harm. He might rule better by taking off the crown. If he would only step back from the matter, examine the situation like the man he used to be, would he not behave differently? He is either mad or using the situation as an excuse to purge enemies and settle old scores. Not impossible, I suppose though it alienates those who love him and would aid him, and will drive Amber into civil war if he does not take care. Alas, I fear I have been too thorough in making myself look incompetant, and he will never take me seriously, though in the current situation, this has been to my advantage.

I will return to castle Amber and observe the state of affairs in person, see whether things are really as bad as Uncle Bleys says. I will pick up the things Spencer has asked for and send them on to him, and then I think I will seek out Sinclair. Poor Sinclair! What an awkward position he is in; it seems to me that by giving his loyalty to an office rather than a person, he is forced to compromise his ideals and common sense. He must know that Random is over-reacting, and ruling badly, and yet he must defend the office at the cost of his better judgement and the good of the kingdom. Assuming I have not been arrested, from there I think I must try to shadow-walk to Polly. I hope I understand how to do this, and should have done it before now, but for my distraction with Spencer.

Spencer.

I find myself very pleased with my life lately, content out of all measure with the facts of my situation, and I suspect that he is the reason. He gives me hope that all may yet be well. I am still not entirely sure where things stand between us, but at least I have admitted my state and begun to tell him what is in my heart. I am in love and there is no point in denying it, at least to myself. Having come this far, I must see it through and see what will come of it. I wish that I could confide in him the full extent of my involvement in recent events, but I believe it would put him into even greater jeopardy than he is already in by refusing to be questioned by Random and Aunt Fiona. If I am found out, and it were to be discovered that he knew and had not turned me over.

It is now quite late & if I am to join the others, I must be off.