I studied Random, remembering what a great card player he was. By looking at his face, I could no more tell whether he was lying, in whole or in part, than I could learn by scrutinizing the Jack of, say, Diamonds. Nice touch, that part, too. There was enough of that kind of business to his story to give it some feel of verisimilitude.
“To paraphrase Oedipus, Hamlet, Lear, and all those guys,” I said, “I wish I had known this some time ago.”
“This was the first chance I really had to tell you,” he said.
“True,” I agreed. “Unfortunately, it not only fails to clarify things, it complicates the puzzle even more. Which is no mean trick. Here we are with a black road running up to the foot of Kolvir. It passes through Shadow, and things have succeeded in traversing it to beset Amber. We do not know the exact nature of the forces behind it, but they are obviously malign and they seem to be growing in strength. I have been feeling guilty about it for some while now, because I see it as being tied in with my curse. Yes, I laid one on us. Curse or no curse, though, everything eventually resolves into some sort of tangibility that can be combatted. Which is exactly what we are going to do. But all week long I have been trying to figure out Dara’s part in things. Who is she really? What is she? Why was she so anxious to try the Pattern? How is it that she managed to succeed? And that final threat of hers . . . ‘Amber will be destroyed,’ she said. It seems more than coincidental that this occurred at the same time as the attack over the black road. I do not see it as a separate thing, but as a part of the same cloth. And it all seems to be tied in with the fact that there is a traitor somewhere here in Amber-Caine’s death, the notes . . . Someone here is either abetting an external enemy or is behind the whole thing himself. Now you link it all up with Brand’s disappearance, by way of this guy.” I nudged the corpse with my foot. “It makes it look as if Dad’s death or absence is also a part of it. If that is the case, though, it makes for a major conspiracy-with detail after detail having been carefully worked out over a period of years.”
Random explored a cupboard in the corner, produced a bottle and a pair of goblets. He filled them and brought me one, then returned to his chair. We drank a silent toast to futility.
“Well,” he said, “plotting is the number-one pastime around here, and everyone has had plenty of time, you know. We are both too young to remember brothers Osric and Finndo, who died for the good of Amber. But the impression I get from talking with Benedict-“
“Yes,” I said, “-that they had done more than wishful thinking about the throne, and it became necessary that they die bravely for Amber. I’ve heard that, too. Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll never know for sure. Still . . . Yes, the point is well taken, though almost unnecessary. I do not doubt that it has been tried before. I do not put it past a number of us. Who, though? We will be operating under a severe handicap until we find out. Any move that we make externally will probably only be directed against a limb of the beast. Come up with an idea.”
“Corwin,” he said, “to be frank about it, I could make a case for it being anyone here-even myself, prisoner status and all. In fact, something like that would be a great blind for it. I would have taken genuine delight in looking helpless while actually pulling the strings that made all the others dance. Any of us would, though. We all have our motives, our ambitions. And over the years we all have had time and opportunity to lay a lot of groundwork. No, that is the wrong way to go about it, looking for suspects. Everyone here falls into that category. Let us decide instead what it is that would distinguish such an individual, aside from motives, apart from opportunities. I would say, let’s look at the methods involved.”
“All right. Then you start.”
“Some one of us knows more than the rest of us about the workings of Shadow-the ins and the outs, the whys and the hows. He also has allies, obtained from somewhere fairly far afield. This is the combination he has brought to bear upon Amber. Now, we have no way of looking at a person and telling whether he possesses such special knowledge and skills. But let us consider where he could have obtained them. It could be that he simply learned something off in Shadow somewhere, on his own. Or he could have been studying all along, here, while Dworkin was still alive and willing to give lessons.”
I stared down into my glass. Dworkin could still be living. He had provided my means of escape from the dungeons of Amber-how long ago? I had told no one this, and was not about to. For one thing, Dworkin was quite mad-which was apparently why Dad had had him locked away. For another, he had demonstrated powers I did not understand, which convinced me he could be quite dangerous. Still, he had been kindly disposed toward me after a minimum of flattery and reminiscence. If he were still around, I suspected that with a bit of patience I might be able to handle him. So I had kept the whole business locked away in my mind as a possible secret weapon. I saw no reason for changing that decision at this point.
“Brand did hang around him a lot,” I acknowledged, finally seeing what he was getting at. “He was interested in things of that sort.”
“Exactly,” Random replied. “And he obviously knew more than the rest of us, to be able to send me that message without a Trump.”
“You think he made a deal with outsiders, opened the way for them, then discovered that they no longer needed him when they hung him out to dry?”
“Not necessarily. Though I suppose that is possible, too. My thinking runs more like this-and I don’t deny my prejudice in his favor: I think he had learned enough about the subject so that he was able to detect it when someone did something peculiar involving the Trumps, the Pattern, or that area of Shadow most adjacent to Amber. Then he slipped up. Perhaps he underestimated the culprit and confronted him directly, rather than going to Dad or Dworkin. What then? The guilty party subdued him and imprisoned him in that tower. Either he thought enough of him not to want to kill him if he did not have to, or he had some later use of him in mind.”
“You make that sound plausible, too,” I said, and I would have added, “and it fits your story nicely” and watched his poker face again, except for one thing. Back when I was with Bleys, before our attack on Amber, I had had a momentary contact with Brand while fooling with the Trumps. He had indicated distress, imprisonment, and then the contact had been broken. Random’s story did fit, to that extent. So, instead, I said, “If he can point the finger, we have got to get him back and set him to pointing.”
“I was hoping you would say that,” Random replied. “I hate to leave a bit of business like that unfinished.”
I went and fetched the bottle, refilled our glasses. I sipped. I lit another cigarette.
“Before we get into that, though,” I said, “I have to decide on the best way of breaking the news about Caine. Where is Flora, anyway?”
“Down in town, I think. She was here this morning. I can find her for you. I’m pretty sure.”
“Do it, then. She is the only other one I know of who has seen one of these guys, back when they broke into her place in Westchester. We might as well have her handy for that much corroboration as to their nastiness. Besides, I have some other things I want to ask her.”
He swallowed his drink and rose.
“All right. I’ll go do that now. Where should I bring her?”
“My quarters. If I’m not there, wait.” He nodded.
I rose and accompanied him into the hall.
“Have you got the key to this room?” I asked.
“It’s on a hook inside.”
“Better get it and lock up. We wouldn’t want a premature unveiling.”
He did that and gave me the key. I walked with him as far as the first landing and saw him on his way.
From my safe, I removed the Jewel of Judgment, a ruby pendant which had given Dad and Eric control over the weather in the vicinity of Amber. Before he died, Eric had told me the procedure to be followed in tuning it to my own use. I had not had time to do it, though, and did not really have the time now. But during my conversation with Random I had decided that I was going to have to take the time. I had located Dworkin’s notes, beneath a stone near Eric’s fireplace. He had given me that much information also, that last time. I would have liked to know where he had come across the notes in the first place, though, for they were incomplete. I fetched them from the rear of the safe and regarded them once again. They did agree with Eric’s explanation as to how the attunement was to be managed.
But they also indicated that the stone had other uses, that the control of meteorological phenomena was almost an incidental, though spectacular, demonstration of a complex of principles which underlay the Pattern, the Trumps, and the physical integrity of Amber herself, apart from Shadow. Unfortunately, the details were lacking. Still, the more I searched my memory, the more something along these lines did seem indicated. Only rarely had Dad produced the stone; and though he had spoken of it as a weather changer, the weather had not always been especially altered on those occasions when he had sported it. And he had often taken it along with him on his little trips. So I was ready to believe that there was more to it than that. Eric had probably reasoned the same way, but he had not been able to dope out its other uses either. He had simply taken advantage of its obvious powers when Bleys and I had attacked Amber; and he had used it the same way this past week when the creatures had made their assault from the black road. It had served him well on both occasions, even if it had not been sufficient to save his life. So I had better get hold of its power myself, I decided, now. Any extra edge was important. And it would be good to be seen wearing the thing, too, I judged. Especially now.
I put the notes back into the safe, the jewel in my pocket. I left then and headed downstairs. Again, as before, to walk those halls made me feel as if I had never been away. This was home, this was what I wanted. Now I was its defender. I did not even wear the crown, yet all its problems had become my own. It was ironic. I had come back to claim the crown, to wrest it from Eric, to hold the glory, to reign. Now, suddenly, things were falling apart. It had not taken long to realize that Eric had behaved incorrectly. If he had indeed done Dad in, he had no right to the crown. If he had not, then he had acted prematurely. Either way, the coronation had served only to fatten his already obese ego. Myself, I wanted it and I knew that I could take it. But it would be equally irresponsible to do so with my troops quartered in Amber, suspicious of Caine’s murder about to descend upon me, the first signs of a fantastic plot suddenly displayed before me, and the continuing possibility that Dad was still alive. On several occasions it seemed we had been in contact, briefly-and at one such time, years ago, that he had okayed my succession. But there was so much deceit and trickery afoot that I did not know what to believe. He had not abdicated. Also, I had had a head injury, and I was well aware of my own desires. The mind is a funny place. I do not even trust my own. Could it be that I had manufactured that whole business? A lot had happened since.
The price of being an Amberite, I suppose, is that you cannot even trust yourself. I wondered what Freud would have said. While he had failed to pierce my amnesia, he had come up with some awfully good guesses as to what my father had been like, what our relationship had been, even though I had not realized it at the time. I wished that I could have one more session with him.
I made my way through the marble dining hall and into the dark, narrow corridor that lay behind. I nodded to the guard and walked on back to the door. Through it then, out onto the platform, across and down. The interminable spiral stairway that leads into the guts of Kolvir. Walking. Lights every now and then. Blackness beyond.
It seemed that a balance had shifted somewhere along the way, and that I was no longer acting but being acted upon, being forced to move, to respond. Being horded. And each move led to another. Where had it all begun? Maybe it had been going on for years and I was only just now becoming aware of it. Perhaps we were all victims, in a fashion and to a degree none of us had realized. Great victuals for morbid thought Sigmund, where are you now? I had wanted to be king-still wanted to be king-more than anything else. Yet the more I learned and the more I thought about what I had learned, the more all of my movements actually seemed to amount to Amber Pawn to King Four. I realized then that this feeling had been present for some time, growing, and I did not like it at all. But nothing that has ever lived has gotten by without making some mistake, I consoled myself. If my feeling represented actuality, my personal Pavlov was setting closer to my fangs with each ringing of the bell. Soon now, soon, I felt that it had to be soon, I would have to see that he came very near. Then it would be mine to see that he neither went away nor ever came again.
Turning, turning, around and down, light here, light there, these my thoughts, like thread on a spool, winding or unwinding, hard to be sure. Below me the sound of metal against stone. A guard’s scabbard, the guard rising. A ripple of light from a lantern raised.
“Lord Corwin. . .”
“Jamie.”
At bottom, I took a lantern from the shelf. Putting a light to it, I turned and headed toward the tunnel, pushing the darkness on ahead of me, a step at a time.
Eventually the tunnel, and so up it, counting side passages. It was the seventh that I wanted. Echoes and shadows. Must and dust.
Coming to it, then. Turning there. Not too much farther.
Finally, that great, dark, metal-bound door. I unlocked it and pushed hard. It creaked, resisted, finally moved inward.
I set down the lantern, just to the right, inside. I had no further need of it, as the Pattern itself gave off sufficient light for what I had to do.
For a moment I regarded the Pattern-a shining mass of curved lines that tricked the eye as it tried to trace them-imbedded there, huge, in the floor’s slick blackness. It had given me power over Shadow, it had restored most of my memory. It would also destroy me in an instant if I were to essay it improperly. What gratitude the prospect did arouse in me was therefore not untinged with fear. It was a splendid and cryptic old family heirloom which belonged right where it was, in the cellar.
I moved off to the corner where the tracery began. There I composed my mind, relaxed my body, and set my left foot upon the Pattern. Without pausing, I strode forward then and felt the current begin. Blue sparks outlined my boots. Another step. There was an audible crackling this time and the beginning of resistance. I took the first curvelength, striving to hurry, wanting to reach the First Veil as quickly as possible. By the time I did, my hair was stirring and the sparks were brighter, longer.
The strain increased. Each step required more effect than the previous one. The crackling grew louder and the current intensified. My hair rose and I shook off sparks. I kept my eyes on the fiery lines and did not stop pushing.
Suddenly the pressure abated. I staggered but kept moving. I was through the First Veil and into the feeling of accomplishment that that entailed. I recalled the last time that I had come this way, in Rebma, the city under the sea. The maneuver I had just completed was what had started the return of my memories. Yes. I pushed ahead and the sparks grew and the currents rose once again, setting my flesh to tingling.
The Second Veil . . . The angles . . . It always seemed to tax the strength to its limits, to produce the feeling that one’s entire being was transformed into pure Will. It was a driving, relentless sensation. At the moment, the negotiation of the Pattern was the only thing in the world that meant anything to me. I had always been there, striving, never been away, always would be there, contending, my will against the maze of power. Time had vanished. Only the tension held.
The sparks were up to my waist. I entered the Grand Curve and fought my way along it. I was continually destroyed and reborn at every step of its length, baked by the fires of creation, chilled by the cold at entropy’s end.
Out and onward, turning. Three more curves, a straight line, a number of arcs. Dizziness, a sensation of fading and intensifying as though I were oscillating into and out of existence. Turn after turn after turn after turn . . . A short, sharp arc . . . The line that led to the Final Veil . . . I imagine I was gasping and drenched with sweat bv then. I never seem to remember for sure. I could hardly move my feet. The sparks were up to my shoulders. They came into my eyes and I lost sight of the Pattern itself between blinks. In, out, in, out . . . There it was. I dragged my right foot forward, knowing how Benedict must have felt, his legs snared by the black grass. Right before I rabbit-punched him. I felt bludgeoned myself-all over. Left foot, forward. . . So slowly it was hard to be certain it was actually moving. My hands were blue flames, my legs pillars of fire. Another step. Another. Yet another.
I felt like a slowly animated statue, a thawing snowman, a buckling girder. . . . Two more . . . Three . . . Glacial, my movements, but I who directed them had all of eternity and a perfect constancy of will that would be realized. . . .
I passed through the Veil. A short arc followed. Three steps to cross it into blackness and peace. They were the worst of all.
A coffee break for Sisyphus! That was my first thought as I departed the Pattern. I’ve done it again! was my second. And, Never again! was my third.
I allowed myself the luxury of a few deep breaths and a, little shaking. Then I unpocketed the jewel and raised it by its chain. I held it before my eye.
Red inside, of course-a deep cherry-red, smokeshot, fulgent. It seemed to have picked up something extra of light and glitter during the trip through the Pattern. I continued to stare, thinking over the instructions, comparing them with things I already knew.
Once you have walked the Pattern and reached this point, you can cause it to transport you to any place that you can visualize. All that it takes is the desire and an act of will. Such being the case, I was not without a moment’s trepidation. If the effect proceeded as it normally did, I could be throwing myself into a peculiar sort of trap. But Eric had succeeded. He had not been locked into the heart of a gem somewhere off in Shadow. The Dworkin who had written those notes had been a great man, and I had trusted him.
Composing my mind, I intensified my security of the stone’s interior.
There was a distorted reflection of the Pattern within it, surrounded by winking points of light, tiny flares and flashes, different curves and paths. I made my decision, I focused my will. . . .
Redness and slow motion. Like sinking into an ocean of high viscosity. Very slowly, at first. Drifting and darkening, all the pretty lights far, far ahead. Faintly, my apparent velocity increased. Flakes of light, distant, intermittent. A trifle faster then, it seemed. No scale. I was a point of consciousness of indeterminate dimensions. Aware of movement, aware of the configuration toward which I advanced, now almost rapidly. The redness was nearly gone, as was the consciousness of any medium. Resistance vanished. I was speeding. All of this, now, seemed to have taken but a single instant, was still taking that same instant. There was a peculiar, timeless quality to the entire affair. My velocity relative to what now seemed my target was enormous. The little, twisted maze was growing, was resolving into what appeared a three-dimensional variation of the Pattern itself. Punctuated by flares of colored light, it grew before me, still reminiscent of a bizarre galaxy half raveled in the middle of the ever-night, haloed with a pale shine of dust, its streamers composed of countless flickering points. And it grew or I shrank, or it advanced or I advanced, and we were near, near together, and it filled all of space now, top to bottom, this way to that, and my personal velocity still seemed, if anything, to be increasing. I was caught, overwhelmed by the blaze, and there was a stray streamer which I knew to be the beginning. I was too close-lost, actually-to apprehend its over-all configuration any longer, but the buckling, the flickering, the weaving of all that I could see of it, everywhere about me, made me wonder whether three dimensions were sufficient to account for the senseswarping complexities with which I was confronted. Rather than my galactic analogy, somethine in my mind shifted to the other extreme, suggesting the infinitely dimensioned Hilbert space of the subatomic. But then, it was a metaphor of desperation. Truly and simply, I did not understand anything about it. I had only a growing feeling-Pattern-conditioned? Instinctive?-that I had to pass through this maze also to gain the new degree of power that I sought.
Nor was I incorrect. I was swept on into it without any slackening of my apparent velocity. I was spun and whirled along blazing ways, passing through substanceless clouds of glitter and shine. There were no areas of resistance, as in the Pattern itself, my initial impetus seeming sufficient to bear me throughout. A whirlwind tour of the Milky Way? A drowning man swept among canyons of coral? An insomniac sparrow passing over an amusement park of a July Fourth evening? These my thoughts as I recapitulated my recent passage in this transformed fashion.
. . . And out, through, over, and done, in a blaze of ruddy light that found me regarding myself holding the pendant beside the Pattern, then regarding the pendant, Pattern within it, within me, everything within me, me within it, the redness subsiding, down, gone. Then just me, the pendant, the Pattern, alone, subject-object relationships reestablished-only an octave higher, which I feel is about the best way there is to put it. For a certain empathy now existed. It was as though I had acquired an extra sense, and an additional means of expression. It was a peculiar sensation, satisfying.
Anxious to test it, I summoned my resolve once again and commanded the Pattern to transport me elsewhere.
I stood then in the round room, atop the highest tower in Amber. Crossing it, I passed outside, onto a very small balcony. The contrast was powerful, coming so close to the supersensory voyage I had just completed. For several long moments I simply stood there, looking.
The sea was a study in textures, as the sky was partly overcast and getting on toward evening. The clouds themselves showed patterns of soft brightness and rough shading. The wind made its way seaward, so that the salt smell was temporarily denied me. Dark birds dotted the air, swinging and hovering at a great distance out over the water. Below me, the palace yards and the terraces of the city lay spread in enduring elegance out to Kolvir’s rim. People were tiny on the thoroughfares, their movements discountable. I felt very alone.
Then I touched the pendant and called for a storm.
Chapter 4
Random and Flora were waiting in my quarters when I returned. Random's eyes went first to the pendant, then to my own. I nodded.
I turned toward Flora, bowing slightly.
"Sister," I said, "it has been a while, and then a while."
She looked somewhat frightened, which was all to the good. She smiled and took my hand, though.
"Brother," she said. "I see that you have kept your word."
Pale gold, her hair. She had cut it, but retained the bangs. I could not decide whether I liked it that way or not. She had very lovely hair. Blue eyes, too, and tons of vanity to keep everything in her favorite perspective. At times she seemed to behave quite stupidly, but then at other times I have wondered.
"Excuse me for staring," I said, "but the last time that we met I was unable to see you."
"I am very happy that the situation has been corrected," she said. "It was quite-There was nothing that I could do, you know."
"I know," I said, recalling the occasional lilt of her laughter from the other side of the darkness on one of the anniversaries of the event. "I know."
I moved to the window and opened it, knowing that the rain would not be coming in. I like the smell of a storm.
"Random, did you learn anything of interest with regard to a possible postman?" I asked.
"Not really," he said. "I made some inquiries. No one seems to have seen anyone else in the right place at the right time."
"I see," I said. "Thank you. I may see you again later."
"All right," he said. "I'll be in my quarters all evening, then."
I nodded, turned, leaned back against the sill, watched Flora. Random closed the door quietly as he left. I listened to the rain for half a minute or so.
"What are you going to do with me?" she said finally.
"Do?"
"You are in a position to call for a settlement on old debts. I assume that things are about to begin."
"Perhaps," I said. "Most things depend on other things. This thing is no different."
"What do you mean?"
"Give me what I want, and we'll see. I have even been known to be a nice guy on occasion."
"What is it that you want?"
"The story. Flora. Let's start with that. Of how you came to be my shepherdess there on that shadow, Earth. All pertinent details. What was the arrangement? What was the understanding? Everything. That's all."
She sighed.
"The beginning . . ." she said. "Yes . . . It was in Paris, a party, at a certain Monsieur Focault's. This was about three years before the Terror-"
"Stop," I said. "What were you doing there?"
"I had been in that general area of Shadow for approximately five of their years," she said. "I had been wandering, looking for something novel, something that suited my fancy. I came upon that place at that time in the same way we find anything. I let my desires lead me and I followed my instincts."
"A peculiar coincidence."
"Not in light of all the time involved-and considering the amount of travel in which we indulge. It was, if you like, my Avalon, my Amber surrogate, my home away from home. Call it what you will, I was there, at that party, that October night, when you came in with the little redheaded girl-Jacqueline, I believe, was her name."
That brought it back, from quite a distance, a memory I hadn't called for in a long, long while. I remembered Jacqueline far better than I did Focault's party, but there had been such an occasion.
"Go ahead."
"As I said," she went on, "I was there. You arrived later. You caught my attention immediately, of course. Still, if one exists for a sufficiently long period of time and travels considerably, one does occasionally encounter a person greatly resembling someone else one has known. That was my first thought after the initial excitement faded. Surely it had to be a double. So much time had passed without a whisper. Yet we all have secrets and good reasons for having them. This could be one of yours. So I saw that we were introduced and then had a devil of a time getting you away from that little redheaded piece for more than a few minutes. And you insisted your name was Fenneval--Cordell Fenneval. I grew uncertain. I could not tell whether it was a double or you playing games. The third possibility did cross my mind, though-that you had dwelled in some adjacent area of Shadow for a sufficient time to cast shadows of yourself. I might have departed still wondering had not Jacqueline later boasted to me concerning your strength. Now this is not the commonest subject of conversation for a woman, and the way in which she said it led me to believe that she had actually been quite impressed by some things you had done. I drew her out a bit and realized that they were all of them feats of which you were capable. That eliminated the notion of it being a double. It had to be either you or your shadow. This in mind, even if Cordell was not Corwin he was a clue, a clue that you were or had been in that shady neighborhood-the first real clue I had come across concerning your whereabouts. I had to pursue it. I began keeping track of you then, checking into your past. The more people I questioned, the more puzzling it became. In fact, after several months I was still unable to decide. There were enough smudgy areas to make it possible. Things were resolved for me the following summer, though, when I revisited Amber for a time. I mentioned the peculiar affair to Eric. . ."
"Yes?"
"Well . . . he was-somewhat-aware-of the possibility."
She paused and rearranged her gloves on the seat beside her.
"Uh-huh," I said. "Just what did he tell you?"
"That it might be the real you," she said. "He told me there had been-an accident."
"Really?"
"Well, no," she admitted. "Not an accident. He said there had been a fight and he had injured you. He thought you were going to die, and he did not want the blame. So he transported you off into Shadow and left you there, in that place. After a long while, he decided that you must be dead, that it was finally all over between you. My news naturally disturbed him. So he swore me to secrecy and sent me back to keep you under surveillance. I had a good excuse for being there, as I had already told everyone how much I liked the place."
"You didn't promise to keep silent for nothing. Flora. What did he give you?"
"He gave me his word that should he ever come into power here in Amber, I would not be forgotten."
"A little risky," I said. "After all, that would still leave you with something on him-knowledge of the whereabouts of a rival claimant, and of his part in putting him there."
"True. But things sort of balanced out, and I would have to admit having become an accomplice in order to talk about it."
I nodded.
"Tight, but not impossible," I agreed. "But did you think he would let me continue living if he ever did get a chance at the throne?"
"That was never discussed. Never."
"It must have crossed your mind, though."
"Yes, later," she said, "and I decided that he would probably do nothing. After all, it was beginning to seem likely that you had been deprived of your memory. There was no reason to do anything to you so long as you were harmless."
"So you stayed on to watch me, to see that I remained harmless?"
"Yes."
"What would you have done had I shown signs of recovering my memory?"
She looked at me, then looked away.
"I would have reported it to Eric."
"And what would he have done then?"
"I don't know."
I laughed a little, and she blushed. I could not remember the last time I had seen Flora blush.
"I will not belabor the obvious," I said. "All right, you stayed on, you watched me. What next? What happened?"
"Nothing special. You just went on leading your life and I went on keeping track of it."
"All of the others knew where you were?"
"Yes. I'd make no secret of my whereabouts. In fact, all of them came around to visit me at one time or another."
"That includes Random?"
She curled her lip.
"Yes, several times," she said.
"Why the sneer?"
"It is too late to start pretending I like him," she said. "You know. I just don't like the people he associates with-assorted criminals, jazz musicians. . . . I had to show him family courtesy when he was visiting my shadow, but he put a big strain on my nerves, bringing those people around at all hours-jam sessions, poker parties. The place usually reeked for weeks afterward and I was always glad to see him go. Sorry. I know you like him, but you wanted the truth."
"He offended your delicate sensibilities. Okay. I now direct your attention to the brief time when I was your guest. Random joined us rather abruptly. Pursuing him were half a dozen nasty fellows whom we dispatched in your living room."
"I recall the event quite vividly."
"Do you recall the guys responsible-the creatures we had to deal with?"
"Yes."
"Sufficiently well to recognize one if you ever saw another?"
"I think so."
"Good. Had you ever seen one before?"
"No."
"Since?"
"No."
"Had you ever heard them described anywhere?"
"Not that I can remember. Why?"
I shook my head.
"Not yet. This is my inquisition, remember? Now I want you to think back for a time before that evening. Back to the event that put me in Greenwood. Maybe even a little earlier. What happened, and how did you find out about it? What were the circumstances? What was your part in things?"
"Yes," she said. "I knew you would ask me that sooner or later. What happened was that Eric contacted me the day after it occurred-from Amber, via my Trump."
She glanced at me again, obviously to see how I was taking it, to study my reactions. I remained expressionless.
"He told me you had been in a bad accident the previous evening, and that you were hospitalized. He told me to have you transferred to a private place, one where I could have more say as to the course of your treatment."
"In other words, he wanted me to stay a vegetable."
"He wanted them to keep you sedated."
"Did he or did he not admit to being responsible for the accident?"
"He did not say that he had had someone shoot out your tire, but he did know that that was what had happened. How else could he have known? When I learned later that he was planning to take the throne, I assumed that he had finally decided it was best to remove you entirely. When the attempt failed, it seemed logical that he would do the next most effective thing: see that you were kept out of the way until after the coronation."
"I was not aware that the tire had been shot out," I said.
Her face changed. She recovered.
"You told me that you knew it was not an accident-that someone had tried to kill you. I assumed you were aware of the specifics."
I was treading on slightly mucky ground again for the first time in a long while. I still had a bit of amnesia, and I had decided I probably always would. My memories of the few days prior to the accident were still spotty. The Pattern had restored the lost memories of my entire life up until then, but the trauma appeared to have destroyed recollection of some of the events immediately preceding it. Not an uncommon occurrence. Organic damage rather than simple functional distress, most likely. I was happy enough to have all the rest back, so those did not seem especially lamentable. As to the accident itself, and my feelings that it had been more than an accident, I did recall the gunshots. There had been two of them. I might even have glimpsed the figure with the rifle-fleetingly, too late. Or maybe that was pure fantasy. It seemed that I had, though. I had had something like that in mind when I had headed out for Westchester. Even at this late time. though, when I held the power in Amber, I was loath to admit this single deficiency. I had faked my way with Flora before with a lot less to go on. I decided to stick with a winning combination.
"I was in no position to get out and see what had been hit," I said. "I heard the shots. I lost control. I had assumed that it was a tire, but I never knew for sure. The only reason I raised the question was because I was curious as to how you knew it was a tire."
"I already told you that Eric told me about it."
"It was the way that you said it that bothered me. You made it sound as if you already knew all the details before he contacted you."
She shook her head.
"Then pardon my syntax," she said. "That sometimes happens when you look at things after the fact. I am going to have to deny what you are implying. I had nothing to do with it and I had no prior knowledge that it had occurred."
"Since Eric is no longer around to confirm or deny anything, we will simply have to let it go," I said, "for now," and I said it to make her look even harder to her defense, to direct her attention away from any possible slip, either in word or expression, from which she might infer the small flaw which still existed in my memory.
"Did you later become aware of the identity of the person with the gun?" I asked.
"Never," she said. "Most likely some hired thug. I don't know."
"Have you any idea how long I was unconscious before someone found me, took me to a hospital?"
She shook her head again.
Something was bothering me and I could not quite put my finger on it.
"Did Eric say what time I had been taken into the hospital?"
"No."
"When I was with you, why did you try walking back to Amber rather than using Eric's Trump?"
"I couldn't raise him."
"You could have called someone else to bring you through," I said. "Flora, I think you are lying to me."
It was really only a test, to observe her reaction. Why not?
"About what?" she asked. "I couldn't raise anyone else. They were all otherwise occupied. Is that what you mean?"
She studied me.
I raised my arm and pointed at her and the lightning flashed at my back, just outside the window. I felt a tingle, a mild jolt. The thunderclap was also impressive. "You sin by omission," I tried.
She covered her face with her hands and began to weep.
"I don't know what you mean!" she said. "I answered all your questions! What do you want? I don't know where you were going or who shot at you or what time it occurred! I just know the facts I've given you, damn it!"
She was either sincere or unbreakable by these means, I decided. Whichever, I was wasting my time and could get nothing more this way. Also, I had better switch us away from the accident before she began thinking too much about its importance to me. If there was something there that I was missing, I wanted to find it first.
"Come with me," I said.
"Where are we going?"
"I have something I want you to identify. I will tell you why after you see it."
She rose and followed me. I took her up the hall to see the body before I gave her the story on Caine. She regarded the corpse quite dispassionately. She nodded.
"Yes," she said, and, "Even if I did not know it I would be glad to say that I did, for you."
I grunted a noncommittal. Family loyalty always touches me, somewhere. I could not tell whether she believed what I had said about Caine. But things sort of
•
canal-to equal things sort of being equal to each other. it didn't much seem to matter. I did not tell her anything about Brand and she did not seem to possess any new information concerning him. Her only other comment when everything I'd had to say was said, was, "You wear the jewel well. What about the headpiece?"
"It is too soon to talk of such things," I told her.
"Whatever my support may be worth . . ."
"I know," I said. "I know."
My tomb is a quiet place. It stands alone in a rocky declivity, shielded on three sides against the elements, surrounded by transported soil wherein a pair of scrubby trees, miscellaneous shrubs, weeds, and great ropes of mountain ivy are rooted, about two miles down, in back of the crest of Kolvir. It is a long, low building with two benches in front, and the ivy has contrived to cover it to a great extent, mercifully masking most of a bombastic statement graven on its face beneath my name. It is, understandably, vacant most of the time.
That evening, however, Ganelon and I repaired thither, accompanied by a good supply of wine and some loaves and cold cuts.
"You weren't joking!" he said, having dismounted, crossed over, and parted the ivy, able to read by the moon's light the words that were rendered there.
"Of course not," I said, climbing down and taking charge of the horses. "It's mine all right."
Tethering our mounts to a nearby shrub, I unslung our bags of provisions and carried them to the nearest bench. Ganelon joined me as I opened the first bottle and poured us a dark, deep pair.
"I still don't understand," he said, accepting his.
"What's there to understand? I'm dead and buried there," I said. "It's my cenotaph, is what it is-the monument that gets set up when the body has not been recovered. I only just learned about mine recently. It was raised several centuries ago, when it was decided I wasn't coming back."
"Kind of spooky," he said. "What's inside then?"
"Nothing. Though they did thoughtfully provide a niche and a casket, just in case my remains put in an appearance. You cover both bets that way."
Ganelon made himself a sandwich.
"Whose idea was it?" he asked.
"Random thinks it was Brand's or Eric's. No one remembers for sure. They all seemed to feel it was a good idea at the time."
He chuckled, an evil noise that perfectly suited his creased, scarred, and red-bearded self.
"What's to become of it now?"
I shrugged.
"I suppose some of them think it's a shame to waste it this way and would like to see me fill it. In the meantime, though, it's a good place to come and get drunk. I hadn't really paid my respects yet. "
I put together a pair of sandwiches and ate them both. This was the first real breather I had had since my return, and perhaps the last for some time to come. It was impossible to say. But I had not really had a chance to speak with Ganelon at any length during the past week, and he was one of the few persons I trusted. I wanted to tell him everything. I had to. I had to talk with someone who was not a part of it in the same way as the rest of us. So I did.
The moon moved a considerable distance and the shards of broken glass multiplied within my crypt.
"So how did the others take it?" he asked me.
"Predictably," I answered. "I could tell that Julian did not believe a word of it even though he said that he did. He knows how I feel about him, and he is in no position to challenge me. I don't think Benedict believes me either, but he is a lot harder to read. He is biding his time, and I hope giving me the benefit of the doubt while he is about it. As for Gerard, I have the feeling that this was the final weight, and whatever trust he had left for me has just collapsed. Still, he will be returning to Amber early tomorrow, to accompany me to the grove to recover Caine's body. No sense in turning it into a safari, but I did want another family member present. Deirdre now-she seemed happy about it. Didn't believe a word. I'm sure. But no matter. She has always been on my side, and she has never liked Caine. I'd say she is glad that I seem to be consolidating my position. I can't really tell whether Llewella believed me or not. She doesn't much give a damn what the rest of us do to one another, so far as I can see. As to Fiona, she simply seemed amused at the whole business. But then, she has always had this detached, superior way of regarding things. You can never be certain what represents her real thinking."
"Did you tell them the business about Brand yet?"
"No. I told them about Caine and I told them I wanted them all to be in Amber by tomorrow evening. That is when the subject of Brand will be raised. I've an idea I want to try out."
"You contacted all of them by means of the Trumps?"
"That's right."
"There is something I have been meaning to ask you about that. Back on the shadow world we visited to obtain the weapons, there are telephones. . . ."
"Yes?"
"I learned about wiretaps and such while we were there. Is it possible, do you think, that the Trumps could be bugged?"
I began to laugh, then caught myself as some of the implications of his suggestion sank in. Finally, "I don't really know," I said. "So much concerning Dworkin's work remains a mystery-the thought just never occurred to me. I've never tried it myself. I wonder, though...."
"Do you know how many sets there are?"
"Well, everyone in the family has a pack or two and there were a dozen or so spares in the library. I don't really know whether there are any others."
"It seems to me that a lot could be learned just by listening in."
"Yes. Dad's deck. Brand's, my original pack, the one Random lost-Hell! There are quite a number unaccounted for these days. I don't know what to do about it. Start an inventory and try some experiments, I guess. Thanks for mentioning it."
He nodded and we both sipped for a while in silence.
Then, "What are you going to do, Corwin?" he asked.
"About what?"
"About everything. What do we attack now, and in what order?"
"My original intention was to begin tracing the black road toward its origin as soon as things were more settled here in Amber," I said. "Now, though, I have shifted my priorities. I want Brand returned as soon as possible, if he is still living. If not, I want to find out what happened to him."
"But will the enemy give you the breathing time? He might be preparing a new offensive right now."
"Yes, of course. I have considered that. I feel we have some time, since they were defeated so recently. They will have to pull themselves together again, beef up their forces, reassess the situation in light of our new weapons. What I have in mind for the moment is to establish a series of lookout stations along the road to give us advance warning of any new movements on their part. Benedict has already agreed to take charge of the operation."
"I wonder how much time we have."
I poured him another drink, as it was the only answer I could think of.
"Things were never this complicated back in Avalon-our Avalon, I mean."
"True," I said. "You are not the only one who misses those days. At least, they seem simpler now."
He nodded. I offered him a cigarette, but he declined in favor of his pipe. In the flamelight, he studied the Jewel of Judgment which still hung about my neck.
"You say you can really control the weather with that thing?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"How do you know?"
"I've tried it. It works."
"What did you do?"
"That storm this afternoon. It was mine."
"I wonder. .."
"What?"
"I wonder what I would have done with that sort of power. What I would do with it."
"The first thing that crossed my mind," I said, slapping the wall of my tomb, "was to destroy this place by lightning-strike it repeatedly and reduce it to rubble. Leave no doubt in anyone's mind as to my feelings, my power."
"Why didn't you?"
"Got to thinking about it a bit more then. Decided-Hell! They might really have a use for the place before too long, if I'm not smart enough or tough enough or lucky enough. Such being the case, I tried to decide where I would like them to dump my bones. It caught me then that this is really a pretty good spot-up high, clean, where the elements still walk naked. Nothing in sight but rock and sky. Stars, clouds, sun, moon, wind, rain . . . better company than a lot of other stiffs. Don't know why I should have to lie beside anyone I wouldn't want next to me now, and there aren't many."
"You're getting morbid, Corwin. Or drunk. Or both. Bitter, too. You don't need that."
"Who the hell are you to say what I need?"
I felt him stiffen beside me, then relax.
"I don't know," he finally said. "Just saying what I see."
"How are the troops holding up?" I asked.
"I think they are still bewildered, Corwin. They came to fight a holy war on the slopes of heaven. They think that's what the shooting was all about last week. So they are happy on that count, seeing as we won. But now this waiting, in the city . . . They don't understand the place. Some of the ones they thought to be enemies are now friends. They are confused. They know they are being kept ready for combat, but they have no idea against whom, or when. As they have been restricted to the billets the whole time, they have not yet realized the extent to which their presence is resented by the regulars and the population at large. They will probably be catching on fairly soon, though. I had been waiting to raise the subject, but you've been so busy lately...."
I sat smoking for a time.
Then, "I guess I had better have a talk with them," I said. "Won't have a chance tomorrow, though, and something should be done soon. I think they should be moved-to a bivouac area in the Forest of Arden. Tomorrow, yes. I'll locate it for you on the map when we get back. Tell them it is to keep them close to the black road. Tell them that another attack could come that way at any time-which is no less than the truth. Drill them, maintain their fighting edge. I'll come down as soon as I can and talk to them."
"That will leave you without a personal force in Amber."
"True. It may prove a useful risk, though, both as a demonstration of confidence and a gesture of consideration. Yes, I think it will turn out to be a good move. If not.. ." I shrugged.
I poured and tossed another empty into my tomb.
"By the way," I said, "I'm sorry."
"What for?"
"I just noticed that I am morbid and drunk and bitter. I don't need that."
He chuckled and clicked his glass against my own.
"I know," he said. "I know."
So we sat there while the moon fell, till the last bottle was interred among its fellows. We talked for a time of days gone by. At length we fell silent and my eyes drifted to the stars above Amber. It was good that we had come to this place, but now the city was calling me back. Knowing my thoughts, Ganelon rose and stretched, headed for the horses. I relieved myself beside my tomb and followed him.