Roger Zelazny. Trumps of Doom
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...etter than anybody he'd ever met. Ididn't like him, and he didn't like me much either."
"Why not?"
"He felt the same way about me."
"So it was only gradually that you came to realize you were both
wrong?"
"No. We were both right. We got to know each other by trying to show
each other up. if I'd do something kind ofoutstanding-he'd try to top it.
And vice versa. We got so we'd go out for the same sport, try to date the
same girls, try to beat each other's grades."
"And . . . ?"
"Somewhere along the line I guess we started to respect each other.
When we both made the Olympic finals something broke. We started slapping
each other on the back and laughing, and we went out and had dinner and sat
up all night talking and he said he didn't give a shit about the Olympics
and I said I didn't either. He said he'd just wanted to show me he was a
better man and now he didn't care anymore. He'd decided we were both good
enough, and he'd just as soon let the matter stand at that - I felt exactly
the same way and told him so. That was when we got to be friends."
"I can understand that," Bill said. "It's a specialized sort of
friendship. You're friends in certain places."
I laughed and took a drink.
"Isn't everyone?"
"At first, yes. Sometimes always. Nothing wrong with that. It's just
that yours seems a much more highly specialized friendship than most."
I nodded slowly. "Maybe so."
"So it still doesn't make sense. Two guys as close as you got to
be-with no pasts to show to each other."
"I guess you're right. What does it mean?"
"You're not a normal human being."
"No, I' m not."
"I'm not so sure Luke is either."
"What, then?"
"That's your department."
I nodded.
"Apart from that issue," Bill continued, "something else has been
bothering me."
"What?" "This Martinez fellow. He followed you out to the boondocks,
stopped when you did, stalked you, then opened fire. Who was he after? Both
of you? Just Luke? Or just you?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure which of us that first shot was aimed for.
After that, he was firing at Luke-because by then Luke was attacking and he
was defending himself."
"Exactly. If he were S - or S's agent - why would he even have bothered
with that conversation with you in the bar?"
"I now have the impression that the whole thing was an elaborate
buildup to that final question of his, as to whether Luke knew anything
about Amber."
"And your reaction, rather than your answer, led him to believe that he
did."
"Well, apparently Luke does-from the way he addressed me right there at
the end. You think he was really gunning for someone from Amber?"
"Maybe. Luke is no Amberite, though?"
"I never heard of anyone like him in the time I spent there after the
war. And I got plenty of lectures on genealogy. My relatives are like a
sewing circle when it comes to keeping track of such matters - a lot less
orderly about it than they are in Chaos - can't even decide exactly who's
oldest, because some of them were born in different time streams-but they're
pretty thorough"
"Chaos! That's right! You're also lousy with relatives on that side!
Could-?"
I shook my head. "No way. I have an even more extensive knowledge of
the families there. I believe I'm acquainted with just about all of the ones
who can manipulate Shadow, traverse it. Luke's not one of them and-"
"Wait a minute! There are people in the Courts who can walk in Shadow,
also?"
"Yes. Or stay in one place and bring things from Shadow to them. It's a
kind of reverse-"
"I thought you had to walk the Pattern to gain that power?"
"They have a sort of equivalent called the Logrus. It's a kind of
chaotic maze. Keeps shifting about. Very dangerous. Unbalances you mentally,
too, for a time. No fun."
"So you've done it?"
"Yes."
"And you walked the Pattern as well?"
I licked my lips, remembering.
"Yes. Damn near killed me. Suhuy'd thought it would, but Fiona thought
I could make it if she helped. I was-"
"Who's Suhuy?"
"He's Master of the Logrus. He's an uncle of mine, too. He felt that
the Pattern of Amber and the Logrus of Chaos were incompatible, that I could
not bear the images of both within me. Random, Fiona, and Gerard had taken
me down to show me the Pattern. I got in touch with Suhuy then and gave him
a look at it. He said that they seemed antithetical, and that I would either
be destroyed by the attempt or the Pattern would drive the image of the
Logrus from me, probably the former. But Fiona said that the Pattern should
be able to encompass anything, even the Logrus, and from what she understood
of the Logrus it should be able to work its way around anything, even the
Pattern. So they left it up to me, and I knew that I had to walk it. So I
did. I made it, and I still bear the Logrus as well as the Pattern. Suhuy
acknowledged that Fi had been right, and he speculated that it had to do
with my mixed parentage. She disagreed, though-"
Bill raised his hand. "Wait a minute. I don't understand how you got
your uncle Suhuy down into the basement of Amber Castle on a moment's
notice."
"Oh, I have a set of Chaos Trumps as well as a set of Amber Trumps, for
my relatives back in the Courts."
He shook his head. "All of this is fascinating, but we're straying from
the point. Is there anyone else who can walk in Shadow? Or are there other
ways of doing it?"
"Yes, there are different ways it could be done. There are a number of
magical beings, like the Unicorn, who can just wander wherever they want.
And you can follow a Shadow walker or a magical being through Shadow for so
long as you can keep track of it, no matter who you are. Kind of like Thomas
Rhymer is the ballad. And one Shadow walker could lead an army through. And
then there are the inhabitants of the various Shadow kingdoms nearest to
Amber and to Chaos. Those at both ends breed mighty sorcerers, just because
of their proximity to the two power centers. Some of the good ones can
become fairly adept at it-but their images of the Pattern or the Logrus are
imperfect, so they're never quite as good as the real thing. But on either
end they don't even need an initiation to wander on in. The Shadow
interfaces are thinnest there. We even have commerce with them, actually.
And established routes become easier and easier to follow with time. Going
outward is harder, though. But large attacking forces have been known to
come through. That's why we maintain patrols. Julian in Arden, Gerard at
sea, and so forth."
"Any other ways?"
"A Shadow-storm perhaps."
"What's that?"
"It's a natural but not too well-understood phenomenon. The best
comparison I can think of is a tropical storm. One theory as to their origin
has to do with the beat frequencies of waves that pulse outward from Amber
and from the Courts, shaping the nature of shadows. Whatever, when such a
storm rises it can flow through a large number of shadows before it plays
itself out. Sometimes they do a lot of damage, sometimes very little. But
they often transport things in their progress."
"Does that include people?"
"It's been known to happen."
He finished his fixer. I did the same with mine.
"What about the Trumps?" he asked. "Could anybody learn to use them?"
"Yes."
"How many sets are there kicking around?"
"I don't know."
"Who makes them?"
"T'here are a number of experts in the Courts. That's where I learned.
And there are Fiona and Bleys back in Amber - and I believe they were
teaching Random"
"Those sorcerers you spoke of - from the adjacent kingdoms . . . Could
any of them do up a set of Trumps?"
"Yes, but theirs would be less than perfect. It is my understanding
that you have to be an initiate of either the Pattern or the Logrus to do
them properly. Some of them could do a sort of half assed set, though, one
you'd be taking your chances on using-maybe winding up dead or in some
limbo, sometimes getting where you were headed."
"And the set you found at Julia's place . . . ?"
"They're the real thing."
"How do you account for them?"
"Someone who knew how to do it taught someone else who was able to
learn it, and I never heard about it. That's all."
"I see."
"I'm afraid none of this is too productive."
"But I need it all to think with," he replied. "How else can I come up
with lines of inquiry? You ready for another beer?"
"Wait." I closed my eyes and visualized an image of the Logrus
shifting, ever shifting. I framed my desire and two of the swimming lines
within the eidolon increased in brightness and thickness. I moved my arms ,
slowly, imitating their undulations, their jerkings. Finally, the lines and
my arms seemed to be one, and I opened my hands and extended the lines
outward, outward through Shadow.
Bill cleared his throat.
"Uh-what are you doing, Merle?"
"Looking for something," I replied. "Just a minute." The lines would
keep extending through an infinitude of Shadow till they encountered the
objects of my desire-or until I ran out of patience or concentration.
Finally, I felt the jerks, like bites on a pair of fishing lines.
"There they are," I said, and I reeled them in quickly. An icy bottle
of beer appeared in each of my hands. I grasped them as they did and passed
one to Bill.
"That's what I meant by the reverse of a Shadow walk," I said,
breathing deeply a few times. "I sent out to Shadow for a couple of beers.
Saved you a trip to the kitchen."
He regarded the orange label with the peculiar green script on it.
"I don't recognize the brand," he said, "let alone the language. You
sure it's safe?"
"Yes, I ordered real beer."
"Uh-you didn't happen to pick up an opener, too; did you?"
"Oops!" I said. "Sorry. I'll-" "That's all right."
He got up, walked out to the kitchen, and came back a little later with
an opener. When he opened the first one it foamed a bit and he had to hold
it over the wastebasket till it settled. The same with the other.
"Things can get a bit agitated when you pull them in fast the way I
did," I explained. "I don't usually get my beer that way and I forgot-"
"That's okay," Bill said, wiping his hands on his handkerchief . . .
He tasted his beer then.
. "At least it's good beer;" he observed. "I wonder . . . Naw."
"What?"
"Could you send out for a pizza?"
"What do you want on it?" I asked.
The next morning we took a long walk beside a wandering creek, which we
met at the back of some farmland owned by a neighbor and client of his. We
strolled slowly, Bill with a stick in his hand and a pipe in his mouth, and
he continued the previous evening's questioning.
"Something you said didn't really register properly at the time," he
stated, "because I was more interested in other aspects of the situation.
You say that you and Luke actually made it up to the finals for the Olympics
and then dropped out?"
"Yes."
"What area?"
"Several different track and field events. We were both runners and-"
"And his time was close to yours?"
"Damn close. And sometimes it was mine that was close to his."
"Strange."
"What?"
The bank grew steeper, and we crossed on some stepping stones to the
other side where the way was several feet wider and relatively flat, with a
well-trod path along it.
"It strikes me as more than a little coincidental," he said,"that this
guy should be about as good as you are in sports. From all I've heard, you
Amberites are several times stronger than a normal human being, with a fancy
metabolism giving you unusual stamina and recuperative and regenerative
powers. How come Luke should be able to match you in highlevel
performances?"
"He's a fine athlete and he keeps himself in good shape," I answered.
"There are other people like that here-very strong and fast."
He shook his head as we started out along the path. "I'm not arguing
that," he said. "It's just that it seems like one coincidence too many. This
guy hides his past the same way you do, and then it turns out that he really
knows who you are anyhow. Tell me, is he really a big art buff ?"
"Huh?"
"Art. He really cared enough about art to collect it?"
"Yes. We used to hit gallery openings and museum exhibits fairly
regularly."
He snorted, and swung his stick at a pebble, which splashed into the
stream.
"Well," he observed, "that weakens one point, but hardly destroys the
pattern."
"I don't follow . . ."
"It seemed odd that he also knew that crazy occultist painter. Less
odd, though, when you say that the guy was good and that Luke really did
collect art."
"He didn't have to tell me that he knew Melman."
"True. But all of this plus his physical abilities . . . I'm just
building a circumstantial case, or course, but I feel that guy is very
unusual."
I nodded.
"I've been over it in my mind quite a few times since last night," I
said. "If he's not really from here, I don't know where the hell he's from."
"Then we may have exhausted this line of inquiry," Bill said, leading
me around a bend and pausing to watch some birds take flight from a marshy
area across the water. He glanced back in the direction from which we had
come, then, "Tell me-completely off the subject-what's your, uh, rank?" he
asked.
"What do you mean?"
"You're the son of a Prince of Amber. What does that make you?"
"You mean titles? I'm Duke of the Western Marches and Earl of Kolvir."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not a Prince of Amber. Nobody has to worry about me
scheming, no vendettas involving the succession" `
"Hm."
"What do you mean, `Hm'?"
He shrugged. "I've read too much history. Nobody's safe."
I shrugged myself. "Last I heard, everything was peaceful on the home
front."
"Well, that's good news, anyway."
A few more turnings brought us to a wide area of pebbles and sand,
rising gently for perhaps thirty feet to the place where it met an abrupt
embankment seven or eight feet in height. I could see the high water line
and a number of exposed roots from trees that grew along the top. Bill
seated himself on a boulder back in their shade and relit his pipe. I rested
on one nearby, to his left. The water splashed and rippled in a comfortable
key, and we watched it sparkle for a time.
"Nice," I said, a bit later. "Pretty place."
"Uh-huh."
I glanced at him. Bill was looking back the way we'd come.
I lowered my voice. "Something there?"
"I caught a glimpse a little earlier," he whispered, "of someone else
taking a walk this way-some distance behind us. Lost sight of him in all the
turnings we took."
"Maybe I should take a stroll back."
"Probably nothing. It's a beautiful day. A lot of people do like to
hike around here. Just thought that if we waited a few minutes he'd either
show up or we'd know he'd gone somewhere else."
"Can you describe him?"
"Nope. Caught only the barest glimpse. I don't think it's anything to
get excited about. It's just that thing about your story made me a little
wary-or paranoid. I'm not sure which."
I found my own pipe and packed it and lit it and we waited. For fifteen
minutes or so we waited. But no one showed.
Finally, Bill rose and stretched. "False alarm," he said. "I guess."
He started walking again and I fell in step beside him. "Then that
Jasra lady bothers me," he said. "You say she seemed to trump in-and then
she had that sting in her mouth that knocked you for a loop?"
"Right."
"Ever encounter anyone like her before?"
"No."
"Any guesses?" I shook my head.
"And why the Walpurgisnacht business? I can see a certain date having
significance for a psycho, and I can see people in various primitive
religions placing great importance on the turning of the seasons. But S
seems almost too well organized to be a mental case. And as for the other-"
"Melman thought it was important."
"Yes, but he was into that stuff. I'd be surprised if he didn't come up
with such a correspondence, whether it was intended or not. He admitted that
his master had never told him that that was the case. It was his own idea.
But you're the one with the background in the area. Is there any special
significance or any real Bower that you know of to be gained by slaying
someone of your blood at this particular time of year."
"None that I ever heard of. But of course there are a lot of things I
don't know about. I'm very young compared to most of the adepts. But which
way are you trying to go on this? You say you don't think it's a nut, but
you don't buy the Walpurgis notion either."
"I don't know. I'm just thinking out loud. They both sound shaky to me,
that's all. For that matter, the French Foreign Legion gave everyone leave
on April 30 to get drunk, and a couple of days after that to sober up. It's
the anniversary of the battle of Camerone, one of their bi, triumphs. But I
doubt that figures in this either."
"And why the sphinx?" he said suddenly. "Why a Trump that takes you
someplace to trade dumb riddles or get your head bitten off ?"
"I'd a feeling it was more the latter that was intended."
"I sort of think so, too. But it's certainly bizarre. You know what?
I'll bet they're all that way-traps of some kind."
"Could be."
I put my hand in my pocket, reaching for them.
"Leave them," he said. "Let's not look for trouble. Maybe you should
ditch them, at least for a while. I could put them in my safe, down at the
office."
I laughed.
"Safes aren't all that safe. No thanks. I want them with me. There may
be a way of checking them out without any risk."
"You're the expert. But tell me, could something sneak through from the
scene on the card without you."
"No. They don't work that way. They require your attenlion to operate.
More than a little of it."
"That's something, anyway. I-"
He looked back again. Someone was coming. I flexed my fingers,
involuntarily.
Then I heard him let go a big breath.
"It's okay," he said. "I know him. It's George Hansen. He's the son of
the guy who owns the farm we're behind. Hi, George!"
The approaching figure waved. He was of medium height and stocky build.
Had sandy hair. He wore Levi's and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, a pack of
cigarettes twisted into its left sleeve. He looked to be in his twenties.
"Hi," he answered, drawing near. "Swell day, huh?"
"Sure is," Bill answered. "'That's why we're out walking in it, instead
of sitting at home."
George's gaze shifted to me.
"Me, too," he said, raking his teeth over his lower lip. "Real good day
"
"This is Merle Corey. He's visiting me."
"Merle Corey," George repeated, and he stuck out his hand. "Hi, Merle."
I took it and shook it. It was a little clammy.
"Recognize the name?"
"Uh Merle Corey," he said again.
"You knew his dad."
"Yeah? Oh, sure!"
"Sam Corey," Bill finished, and he shot me a glance over George's
shoulder.
"Sam Corey," George repeated. "Son of a gun! Good to know you. You
going to be here long?"
"A few days, I guess," I replied. "I didn't realize you'd known my
father."
"Fine man," he said. "Where you from?"
"California, but it's time for a change."
"Where you headed?"
"Out of the country, actually."
"Europe?"
"Farther."
"Sounds great. I'd like to travel sometime."
"Maybe you will."
"Maybe. Well, I'Il be moving on. Let you guys enjoy your walk. Nice
meeting you, Merle."
"My pleasure."
He backed away, waved, turned, and walked off.
I glanced at Bill then and noticed that he was shaking.
"What's the matter?" I whispered.
"I've known that boy all his life," he said. "Do you think he's on
drugs?"
"Not the kind you have to make holes -in your arms for. I didn't see
any tracks. And he didn't seem particularly spacey."
"Yeah, but you don't know him the way I do. He seemed very-different.
It was just on impulse that I used the name Sam for your dad, because
something didb't seem right.His speech patterns have changed, his posture,
his gait. Intangibles. I was waiting for him to correct me, and tht I could
have made a joke about premature senility. But t didn't. He picked up on if
instead. Merle, this is scary! H knew your father real well-as Carl Corey.
Your dad liked to keep his place nice, but he was never much for weeding and
mowing or raking leaves. George did his yard work fog him for years while he
was in school. He knew his name wasn't Sam."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I," he said, "and I don't like it."
"So he's acting weird-and you think he was following us?"
"Now I do. This is too much of a coincidence, timed with your arrival."
I turned.
"I'm going after him," I said. "I'll find out."
"No. Don't."
"I won't hurt him. There are other ways."
"It might be better to let him think he's got us fooled. It might
encourage him to do something or say something later that could prove
useful. On the other hand, anything you do-even something subtle or
magical-might let him, or something, know that we're on to him. Let it ride,
be grateful you're warned and be wary."
"You've got a point there," I agreed. "Okay "
"Let's head on back and drive into town for lunch. I want to stop by
the office and pick up some papers and make some phone calls. Then I have to
see a client at two o'clock. You can take the car and knock around while I'
m doing that."
"Fine." As we strolled back I did some wondering. There were a number
of things I had not told Bill. For instance, there had been no reason to
tell him that I wore an invisible strangling cord possessed of some rather
unusual virtues, woven about my left wrist. One of these virtues is that it
generally warns me of nasty intentions aimed in my direction, as it had done
in Luke's presence for almost two years until we became friends. Whatever
the reason for George Hansen's unusual behavior, Frakir had not given me any
indication that he meant me harm.
Funny, though . . . there was something about the way he talked, the
way he said his words . . .
I went for a drive after lunch while Bill took care of his business. I
headed out to the place where my father had lived years ago. I'd been by it
a number of times in the past, but I'd never been inside. No real reason to,
I guess, anyway. I parked up the road on a rise, off on the shoulder, and
regarded it. A young couple lived there now, Bill had told me, with some
kids-a thing I could see for myself from some scattered toys off to the side
of the yard. I wondered what it would have been like, growing up in a place
like that. I supposed that I could have. The house looked well kept,
sprightly even. I imagined that the people were happy there.
I wondered where he was-if he were even among the living: No, one could
reach him via his Trump, though that didn't necessarily prove- anything.
There are a variety of ways in which a Trump sending can be blocked. In fact
one of these situations was even said to apply in his case, though I didn't
like to think about it.
One rumor had it that Dad had been driven mad in the Courts of Chaos by
a curse placed upon him by my mother, and that he now wandered aimlessly
through Shadow. She refused even to comment on this story. Another was
thaLhe had entered the universe of his own creation and never returned,
which it seemed possible could remove him from the reach of the Trumps.
Another was simply that he had perished at some point after his departure
from the Courtsand a number of my relatives there assured me that they had
seen him leave after his sojourn. So, if the rumor of his death were
correct, it did not occur in the Courts of Chaos. And there were others who
claimed to have seen him at widely separated sites afterward, encounters
invariably involving bizarre behavior on his part. I had been told by one
that he was traveling in the company of a mute dancer-a tiny, lovely lady
with whom he communicated by means of sign language-and that he wasn't
talking much himself either. Another reported him as roaring drunk in a
raucous cantina, from which he eventually expelled all the other patrons in
order to enjoy the.. music of the band without distraction. I could not
vouch for the authenticity of any of theseaccounts. It had taken me a lot of
searching just to come up with this handful of rumors. I could not locate
him with a Logrus summoning either, though I had tried many times. But of
course if he were far enough afield my powers of concentration may simply
have been inadequate.
In other words, I didn't know where the hell my father, Corwin of
Amber, was, and nobody else seemed to know either. I regretted this sorely,
because my only long encounter with him had been on the occasion of hearing
his lengthy story outside the Courts of Chaos on the day of the Patternfall
battle. This had changed my life. It had given me the resolve to depart the
Court, with the determination to seek experience and education in the shadow
world where he had dwelled for so long. I'd-felt a need to understand it if
I were to understand him better. I believed that I had now achieved
something of this, and more. But he was no longer available to continue our
conversation.
I believed that I was about ready to attempt a new means of locating
him-now that the Ghostwheel project was almost off the ground-when the most
recent fecal missile met the rotating blades. Following my cross-country
trip, scheduled to wind up at Bill's place a month or two from now, I was
going to head off to my personal anomaly of a place and begin the work.
Now . . . other things had crowded in. The matters at hand would have
to be dealt with before I could get on with the search.
I drove past the house slowly: I could hear the sounds of stereo music
through open windows. Better not to know exactly what it was like inside.
Sometimes a little mystery is best.
That evening after dinner I sat on the porch with Bill, trying to think
of anything else i should run through his mind. As I kept drawing blanks, he
was the first to renew our serial conversation:
"Something else," he began. "Yes?.,
"Dan Martinez struck up his conversation with you by alluding to Luke's
attempts to locate investors for some sort of computer company. You later
felt that the whole thing could simply have been a ploy, to get you off
guard and then hit you with that question about Amber and Chaos."
"Right."
"But then Luke really did raise the matter of doing something along
those lines. He insisted, though, that he had not been in touch with
potential investors and that he had never heard of Dan Martinet. When he saw
the man dead later he still maintained that he'd never met him."
I nodded.
"Then either Luke was lying, or Martinet had somehow learned his
plans."
"I don't think Luke was lying," I said. "In fact, I've been thinking
about that whole business some more. Just knowing him as I do, I don't
believe Luke would have gone around looking for investors until he was sure
there was something to put the money into. I think he was telling the truth
on that, too. It seems more likely to me that this might have been the only
real coincidence in everything that's happened so far. i have the feeling
that Martinez knew a ` lot about Luke and just wanted that one final piece
of information-about his knowledge of Amber and the Courts. I think he was
very shrewd, and on the basis of what he knew already he was able to concoct
something that seemed plausible to me, knowing I'd worked for the same
company as Luke."
"I suppose it's possible," he said. "But then when Luke really did-"
"I'm beginning to believe," I interrupted, "that Luke story was phoney,
too."
"I don't follow you."
"I think he put it together the same way Martinez did, and for-similar
reasons-to sound plausible to me so that he could get some information he
wanted."
"You've lost me. What information?"
"My Ghostwheel. He wanted to know what it was."
"And he was disapointed to learn that it was just an exercise in exotic
design, for other reasons than building a company?"
Bill caught my smile as I nodded.
"There's more?" he said. Then: "Wait. Don't tell me. You were lying,
too. It's something real."
"Yes." "I probably shouldn't even ask - unless you think it's material
and want to tell me. If it's something big and very important it could be
gotten out of me, you know. I have a low tolerance for pain. Think about
it."
I did. I sat there for some time, musing.
"I suppose it could be," I said finally, "in a sort of peripheral way
I'm sure you're not referring to. But I don't see how it could be-as you
say-material. Not to Luke or to anyone else-because nobody even knows what
it is but me. No. I can't see how it enters the equation beyond Luke's
curiosity about it. So i think I'll follow your suggestion and just keep it
off the record."
"Fine with me," he said. "Then there is the matter of Luke's
disappearance-"
Within the house, a telephone rang. "Excuse me," Bill said.
He rose and went into the kitchen.
After a few moments, I heard him call, "Merle, it's for you!"
I got up and went inside. I gave him a questioning look as soon as I
entered and he shrugged and shook his head. I thought fast and recalled the
location of two other phones in the house. I pointed at him, pointed in the
direction of his study and pantomimed the motion of picking up a receiver
and holding it to one's ear. He smiled slightly and nodded. I took the
receiver and waited a while, till I heard the click, only beginning to speak
then, hoping the caller would think I' d picked up an extension to answer.
"Hello," I said.
"Merle Corey?"
"That's me."
"I need same information I think you might have."
It was a masculine voice, sort of familiar but not quite. "Who am I
talking to?" I asked.
"I'm sorry. I can't tell you that."
"Then that will probably be my answer to your question, too."
"Will you at least let me ask?"
"Go ahead," I said.
"Okay. You and Luke Raynard are friends." He paused.
"You could say that," I said, to fill the space.
"You have heard him speak of places called Amber and the Courts of
Chaos."
Again, a statement rather than a question.
"Maybe," I said.
"Do you know anything of these places yourself?"
Finally, a question.
"Maybe," I said again.
"Please. This is serious. I need something mare than a `maybe."'
"Sorry. `Maybe' is all you're going to get, unless you tell me who you
are and why you want to know."
"I can be of great service to you if you will be honest with me."
I bit back a reply just in time and felt my pulse begin to race. That
last statement had been spoken in Thari. I maintained my silence.
Then: "Well, that didn't work, and I still don't really know."
"What? What don't you know?" I said.
"Whether he's from one of those places or whether you."
"To be as blunt as possible, what's it to you?" I asked him.
"Because one of you may be in great danger."
"The one who is from such a place or the one who is not?" I asked.
"I can't tell you that. I can't afford another mistake."
"What do you mean? What was your last one about?"
"You won't tell me-either for purposes of self preservation, or to help
a friend?"
"I might," I said, "if I knew that that were really the case. But for
all I know, it might be you that's the danger."
"I assure you I am only trying to help the right person."
"Words, words, words," I said. "Supposing we were both from such
places?" ,
"Oh, my!" he said. "No. That couldn't be."
"Why not?"
"Never mind. What do I have to do to persuade you?"
"Mm. Wait a minute. Let me think," I answered. "All right. How about
this? I'll meet you someplace. You name the place. I get a good look at you
and we trade information, one piece at a time, till all the cards are on the
table."
There was a pause.
Then: "That's the only way you'll do it?"
"Yes."
"Let me think about it. I'll be back in touch soon."
"One thing-"
".What?"
"If it is me, am I in danger right now?"
"I think so. Yes, you probably are. Good-bye." He hung up.
I managed to sigh and swear at the same time as I recradled the phone.
People who knew about us seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.
Bill came into the kitchen, a very puzzled expression on his face.
"How'd whoever-the-hell-he-is even know you're here?" were his first
words.
"That was my question," I said. "Think up another."
"I will. If he wants to set something up, are you really going?"
"You bet. I suggested it because I want to meet this guy."
"As you pointed out, he may be the danger."
"'That's okay by me. He's going to be in a lot of danger,too."
"I don't like it."
"I'm not so happy with it myself. But it's the best offer I've had so
far."
"Well, it's your decision. It's too bad there isn't some way of
locating him beforehand."
"That passed through my mind, too."
"Listen, why not push him a little?"
"How?"
"He sounded a little nervous, and I don't think he liked your
suggestion any more than I do. Let's not be here when he calls back. Don't
let him think you're just sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. Make
him wait a little. Go conjure up some fresh clothes and we'll drive over to
the country club for a couple of hours. It'll beat raiding the icebox."
"Good idea," I said. "This was supposed to be a vacation, one time.
That's probably the closest I'll get. Sounds ime." I renewed my wardrobe out
of Shadow, trimmed my beard, showered, and dressed. We drove to the club
then and had a leisurely meal on the terrace. It was a good evening for it,
balmy and star-filled, running with moonlight like milk. By mutual consent
we refrained from discussing my problems any further. Bill seemed to know
almost everyone there, so it seemed a friendly place to me. It was the most.
relaxed evening I'd spent in a long while. Afterward we stopped for drinks
in the club bar, which I gathered had been one of my dad's favorite watering
spots, strains of dance music drifting through from the room next door.
"Yeah, it was a good idea," I said. "Thanks."
"De nada, " he said. "I had a lot of good times here with your old man.
You haven't, by any chance-?"
"No, no news of him."
"Sorry."
"I'll let you know when he turns up."
"Sure. Sorry."
The drive back was uneventful, and no one followed us. We got in a
little after midnight, said good night, and I went straight to my room. I
shrugged out of my new jacket and hung it in the closet, kicked off my new
shoes and left them there, too. As I walked back into the room, I noticed
the white rectangle on the pillow of my bed.
I crossed to it in two big steps and snatched it up. SORRY YOU WERE NOT
IN WHEN I CALLED BACK, It said, in block capitals. BUT I SAW YOU AT THE CLUB
AND CAN CERTAINLY UNDERSTAND YOUR WANTING A NIGHT OUT. IT GAVE ME AN IDEA.
LET'S MEET IN THE BAR THERE, TOMORROW NIGHT, AT TEN. I'D FEEL BETTER WTTH
LOTS OF PEOPLE AROUND BUT NONE OF THEM LISTENING.
Damn. My first impulse was to go and tell Bill. My. first thought
following the impulse, though, was that there was nothing he could do except
lose some sleep over it, a thing he probably needed a lot more than I did.
So I folded the note and stuck it in my shirt pocket, then hung up the
shirt.
Not even a nightmare to liven my slumber. I slept deeply and well,
knowing Frakir would rouse me in the event of danger. In fact, I overslept,
and it felt good. The morning was sunny and birds were singing.
I made my way downstairs to the kitchen after splashing and combing
myself into shape and raiding Shadow for fresh slacks and a shirt. There was
a note on the kitchen table. I was tired of fording notes, but this one was
from Bill, saying he'd had to run into town to his office for a while and I
should go ahead and help myself to anything that looked good for breakfast.
He'd be back a little later.
I checked out the refrigerator and came up with some English muffins, a
piece of cantaloupe and a glass of orange juice. Some coffee I'd started
first thing was ready shortly after I finished, and I took a cup with me out
onto the porch.
As I sat there; I began to think that maybe I ought to leave a note of
my own and move on. My mysterious correspondent-conceivably S-had phoned
here once and broken in once. How S had known I was here was immaterial. It
was a friend's house, and though I did not mind sharing some of my problems
with friends, I did not like the idea of exposing them to danger. But then,
it was daylight now and the meeting was set for this evening. Not that much
longer till some sort of resolution was achieved. Alinost silly to depart at
this point. In fact, it was probably better that I hang around till then. I
could keep an eye on things, protect Bill if anything came up today
Suddenly, I had a vision of someone forcing Bill to write that note at
gunpoint, then whisking him away as a hostage to pressure me into answering
questions.
I hurried back to the kitchen and phoned his office. Horace Crayper,
his secretary, answered on the second ring. "Hi, this is Merle Corey," I
said. "Is Mr. Roth in?"
"Yes," he replied, "but he's with a client right now. Could I have him
call you back?"
"No, it's not that important," I said, "and I'll be seeing him later.
Don't bother him. Thanks." I poured myself another cup of coffee and
returned to the porch. This sort of thing was bad for the nerves . I decided
that if everything wasn't squared away this evening I would leave.
A figure rounded the corner of the house.
"Hi, MerIe."
It was George Hansen. Frakir gave me the tiniest of pulses, as if
beginning a warning and then reconsidering it. Ambiguous. Unusual.
"Hi, George. How's it going?" "Pretty well. Is Mr. Roth in?"
"Afraid not. He had to go into town for a while. I imagine he'll be
back around lunchtime or a little after."
"Oh. A few days ago he'd asked me to stop by when I was free, about
some work he wanted done."
He came nearer, put his foot on the step. I shook my head.
"Can't help you. He didn't mention it to me. You'll have to catch him
later."
He nodded, unwound his pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it,
then rewound the pack in his shirt sleeves. This T-shirt was a Pink Floyd.
"How are you enjoying your stay?" he asked.
"Real well. You care for a cup of coffee?"
"Don't mind if I do."
I rose and went inside.
"With a little cream and sugar," he called after me.
I fixed him one and when I returned with it he was seated in the other
chair on the porch.
"Thanks." After he'd tasted it, he said, "I know your dad's name's Carl
even though Mr. Roth said Sam. His memory must've slipped."
"Or his tongue," I said. He smiled.
What was it about the way he talked? His voice could almost be the one
I'd heard on the phone last night, though that one had been very controlled
and slowed just enough to neutralize any number of speech clues. It wasn't
that comparison that was bothering me.
"He was a retired military officer, wasn't he? And some sort of
government consultant?"
"Yes."
"Where is he now?"
"Doing a lot of traveling-overseas."
"You going to see him on your own trip?"
"I hope so."
"That'll be nice," he said, taking a drag on his cigarette and another
sip of coffee. "Ah! that's good!"
"I don't remember seeing you around," he said suddenly then. "You never
lived with your dad, huh?"
"No, I grew up with my mother and other relatives."
"Pretty far from here, huh?"
I nodded. "Overseas."
"What was her name?"
I almost told him. I'm not certain why, but I changed it to "Dorothy"
before it came out.
I glanced at him in time to see him purse his lips. He had been
studying my face as I spoke.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"No special reason. Or genetic nosiness, you might say. My mother was
the town gossip."
He laughed and gulped coffee.
"Will you be staying long?" he asked then.
"Hard to say. Probably not real long, though."
"Well, I hope you have a good time of it." He finished his coffee and
set the cup on the railing. He rose then, stretched and added, "Nice talking
to you."
Partway down the stairs he paused and turned.
"I've a feeling you'll go far," he told me. "Good luck."
"You may, too," I said. "You've a way with words."
"Thanks for the coffee. See you around."
"Yes." He turned the corner and was gone. I simply didn't know what to
make of him, and after several attempts I gave up. When inspiration is
silent reason tires quickly.
I was making myself a sandwich when Bill returned, so I made two. He
went and changed clothes while I was doing this.
"I'm supposedly taking it easy this month," he said while we were
eating, "but that was an old client with some pressing business, so I had to
go in. What say we follow the creek in the other direction this afternoon?"
"Sure." As we hiked across the field I told him of George's visit.
"No," he said, "I didn't tell him I had any jobs for him."
"In other words-"
"I guess he came by to see you. It would have been easy enough to see
me leave, from their place."
"I wish I knew what he wanted."
"If it's important enough he'll probably wind up asking you, in time."
"But time is running," I said. "I've decided to leave tomorrow morning,
maybe even tonight."
As we made our way down the creek, I told him of last night's note and
this evening's rendezvous. I also told him my feelings about exposing him to
stray shots, or intended ones.
"It may not be that serious," he began.
"My mind's made up, Bill. I hate to cut things short when I haven't
seen you for so long, but I hadn't counted on all this trouble. And if I go
away you know that it will, too. "Probably so, but . . ."
We continued in this vein for a while as we followed the watercourse.
Then we finally dropped the matter as settled and returned to a fruitless
rehashing of my puzzles. As we walked I looked back occasionally but did not
see anyone behind us. I did hear a few sounds within the brush on the
opposite bank at infrequent intervals, but it could easily have been an
animal disturbed by our voices.
We had hiked for over an hour when I had the premonitory feeling that
someone was picking up my Trump. I froze.
Bill halted and turned toward me.
"What-"
I raised my hand.
"Long distance call," I said.
A moment later I felt the first movement of contact. I also heard the
noise in the bushes again, across the water.
"Merlin."
It was Random's voice, calling to me. A few seconds later I saw him,
seated at a desk in the library of Amber.
"Yes?" I answered.
The image came into solidity, assumed full reality, as if I were
looking through an archway into an adjacent room. At the same time, I still
possessed my vision of the rest of my surroundings, though it was growing
more and more peripheral by the moment. For example, I saw Gearge Hansen
start up from among the bushes across the creek, staring at me.
"I want you back in Amber right away," Random stated. George began to
move forward, splashing down into the water.
Random raised his hand, extended it. "Come on through," he said.
By now my outline must have begun shimmering, and I heard George cry
out, "Stop! Wait! I have to come with-!"
I reached out and grasped Bill's shoulder.
"I can't leave you with this nut," I said. "Come on!" With my other
hand I clasped Random's.
"Okay," I said, moving forward. "Stop!" George cried.
"The hell you say," I replied, and we left him to clasp a rainbow.
CHAPTER 7
Random looked startled as the two of us came through into the library.
He rose to his feet, which still left him shorter than either of us, and he
shifted his attention to Bill.
"Merlin, who's this?" he asked.
"Your attorney, Bill Roth," I said. "You've always dealt with him
through agents in the past. I thought you might like to-"
Bill began dropping to one knee, "Your Majesty," on his lips, but
Random caught him by the shoulders.
"Cut the crap," he said. "We're not in Court." He clasped his hand,
then said, "Call me Random. I've always intended to thank you personally for
the work you did on that treaty. Never got around to it, though. Good to
meet you."
I'd never seen Bill at a loss for words before, but he just stared, at
Random, at the room, out of the window at a distant tower.
Finally, "It's real . . ." I heard him whisper moments later.
"Did I not see someone springing toward you?" Random said to me,
running a hand through his unruly brown hair."And surely your last words
back there were not addressed to me?"
"We were having a little problem," I answered. "That's the real reason
I brought Bill along. You see, someone's been trying to kill me, and-"
Random raised his hand. "Spare me the details for the moment. I'll need
them all later, but-but let it be later. There is more nastiness than usual
afoot at the moment, and yours may well be a part of it. But I've got to
breathe a bit."
It was only then that some deepened lines in his naturally youthful
face registered and I began to realize that he was under a strain.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
"Caine is dead. Murdered," he replied. "This morning."
"How did it happen?"
"He was off in Shadow Deiga-a distant port with which we have commerce.
He was with Gerard, to renegotiate an old trade agreement. He was shot,
through the heart. Died instantly."
"Did they catch the bowman?"
"Bowman, hell! It was a rifleman, on a rooftop. And he got away."
"I thought gunpowder didn't work around here." He made a quick palms-up
gesture.
"Deiga may be far enough off in Shadow for it to work. Nobody here can
remember ever testing any there. For that matter, though, your father once
came up with a compound that worked here."
"True. I'd almost forgotten."
"Anyway, the funeral is tomorrow-"
"Bill! Merlin!"
My aunt Flora-who had turned down Rossetti's offers, one of them being
to model for him-had entered the room. Tall, slim and burnished, she hurried
forward and kissed Bill on the cheek. I had never seen him blush before. She
repeated the act for me, too, but I-was less moved, recalling that she had
once been my father's warden.
"When did you get in?" Her voice was lovely, too.
"Just now," I said.
She immediately linked arms with both of us and attempted to lead us
off.
"We have so much to talk about," she began.
"Flora!" This from Random.
"Yes, brother?"
"You may give Mr. Roth the full tour, but I require Merlin's presence
for a time."
She pouted slightly for a moment, then released my arm. "Now you know
what an absolute monarchy is," she explained to Bill. "You can see how power
corrupts."
"I was corrupt before I had power," Random said, "and rich is better.
You have my leave to depart, sister."
She sniffed and led Bill away.
"It's always quieter around here when she fords a boyfriend off
somewhere in Shadow," Random observed. "Unfortunately, she's been home for
the better part of a year this time."
I made a tsking sound.
He gestured toward a chair and I took it. He crossed to a cabinet then.
"Wine?" he asked.
"Don't mind if I do."
He poured two glasses, brought me one, and seated himself in a chair to
my left, a small table between us. "Someone also took a shot at Bleys," he
said, "this afternoon, in another shadow. Hit him, too, but not bad. Gunman
got away Bleys was just on a diplomatic mission to a friendly kingdom."
"Same person, you think?"
"Sure. We've never had rifle sniping in the neighborhood before. Then
two, all of a sudden? It must be the same person. Or the same conspiracy."
"Any clues?"
He shook his head and tasted the wine.
"I wanted to talk to you alone," he said then, "before any of the
others got to you. There are two things I'd like you to know."
I sipped the wine and waited.
"The first is that this really scares me. With the attempt on Bleys it
no longer appears to have been simply a personal thing directed at Caine.
Somebody seems to have it in for us - or at least some of us. Now you say
there's someone after you, too."
"I don't know whether there's any connection-" "Well, neither do I. But
I don't like the possible pattern I see developing. My worst fear is that it
may be one or more of us behind it."
"Why?" He glowered into his goblet.
"For centuries the personal vendetta has been our way of settling
disagreements, not necessarily proceeding inevitably to death-though that
was always a possibility-but certainly characterized by intrigues, to the
end of embarrassing, disadvantaging, maiming, or exiling the other and
enhancing one's own position. This reached its latest peak in the scramble
for the succession. I thought everything was pretty much settled, though,
when I wound up with the job, which I certainly wasn't looking for. I had no
real axes to gr...
