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Roger Zelazny. Blood of Amber
Roger Zelazny
THE AMBER CHRONICLES - BOOK SEVEN
BLOOD OF AMBER
REFLECTIONS IN A CRYSTAL CAVE
My life had been relatively peaceful for eight years-not counting April
thirtieths, when someone invariably tried to kill me. Outside of that, my
academic career with its concentration on computer science went well enough
and my four years employment at Grand Design proved a rewarding experience,
letting me use what I'd learned in a situation I liked while I labored on a
project of my own on the side. I had a good friend in Luke Raynard, who
worked for the same company, in sales. I sailed my little boat, I jogged
regularly.
It all fell apart this past April 30, just when I thought things were
about to come together. My pet project, Ghostwheel, was built; I'd quit my
job, packed my gear and was ready to move on to greener shadows. I'd stayed
in town this long only because that morbidly fascinating day was near, and
this time I intended to discover who was behind the attempts on my life and
why.
At breakfast that morning Luke appeared with a message from my former
girlfriend, Julia. Her note said that she wanted to see me again. So I
stopped by her place, where I found her dead, apparently killed by the same
doglike beast which then attacked me. I succeeded in destroying the
creature. A quick search of the apartment before I fled the scene fumed up a
slim packet of strange playing cards, which I took along with me.
They were too much like the magical Tarots of Amber and Chaos for a
sorcerer such as myself not to be interested in them.
Yes.I am a sorcerer. I am Merlin, son of Corwin of Amber and Dara of
the Courts of Chaos, known to local friends and acquaintances as Merle
Corey: bright, charming, witty, athletic. . . . Go read Castiglione and Lord
Byron for particulars, as I'm modest, aloof and reticent, as well.
The cards proved to be genuine magical objects, which seemed
appropriate once I learned that Julia had been keeping company with an
occultist named Victor Melman after we had broken up. A visit to this
gentleman's studio resulted in his attempting to kill me in a ritual
fashion. I was able to free myself from the constraints of the ceremony and
question him somewhat, before local conditions and my enthusiasm resulted in
his death. So much for rituals.
I'd learned enough from him to realize that he'd been but a cat's-paw.
Someone else had apparently put him up to the sacrifice bit-and it seemed
quite possible that the other person was the one responsible for Julia's
death and my collection of memorable April thirtieths.
I had small time to reflect upon these matters, though, because I was
bitten (yes, bitten) shortly thereafter by an attractive red-haired woman
who materialized in Melman's apartment, following my brief telephone
conversation with her in which I'd tried to pose as Melman. Her bite
paralyzed me, but I was able to depart before it took full effect by
employing one of the magical cards I'd found at Julia's place. It bore me
into the presence of a sphinx, which permitted me to recover so that it
could play that silly riddle game sphinxes love so well because they get to
eat you when you lose. All I can say about it is that this particular sphinx
was a bad sport.
Anyhow, I returned to the shadow Earth where I'd been making my home to
discover that Melman's place had burned down during my absence. I tried
phoning Luke, because I wanted to have dinner with him, and learned that he
had checked out of his motel, leaving me a message indicating that he had
gone to New Mexico on business and telling me where he'd be staying. The
desk clerk also gave me a blue-stone ring Luke had left behind, and I took
it with me to return when I saw him.
I Sew to New Mexico, finally catching up with Luke in Santa Fe. While I
waited in the bar for him to get ready for dinner, a man named Dan Martinez
questioned me, giving the impression that Luke had proposed some business
deal and that he wanted to be assured Luke was reliable and could deliver.
After dinner, Luke and I went for a drive in the mountains.
Martinez followed us and started shooting as we stood admiring the
night. Perhaps he'd decided Luke was not reliable or couldn't deliver. Luke
surprised me by drawing a weapon of his own and shooting Martinez. Then an
even stranger thing happened. Luke called me by name-my real name, which I'd
never told him-and cited my parentage and told me to get into the car and
get the hell out. He emphasized his point by placing a shot in the ground
near my feet. The matter did not seem open to discussion so I departed. He
also told me to destroy those strange Trumps that had saved my life once
already. And I'd learned on the way up that he'd known Victor Melman. . . .
I didn't go far. I parked downhill and returned on foot. Luke was gone.
So was Martinei s body. Luke did not return to the hotel, that night or the
next day, so I checked out and departed. The only person I was sure I could
trust, and who actually might have some good advice for me, was Bill Roth.
Bill was an attorney who lived in upstate New York, and he had been my
father's best friend. I went to visit him, and I told him my story.
Bill got me to wondering even morc about Luke. Luke, by the way, is a
big, smart, red-haired natural athlete of uncanny prowess-and though we'd
been friends for many years I knew next to nothing (as Bill pointed out)
concerning his background.
A neighboring lad named George Hansen began hanging out near Bill's
place, asking strange questions. I received an odd phone call, asking
similar questions. Both interrogators seemed curious as to my mother's name.
Naturally, I lied. The fact that my mother is a member of the dark
aristocracy of the Courts of Chaos was none of their business. But the
caller spoke my language, Thari, which made me curious enough to propose a
meeting and a trade-off of information that evening in the bar of the local
country club.
But my Uncle Random, King of Amber, called me home before that, while
Bill and I were out hiking. George Hansen, it turned out, was following us
and wanted to come along as we shifted away across the shadows of reality.
Tough; he wasn't invited. I took Bill along because I didn't want to leave
him with anyone acting that peculiar.
I learned from Random that my Uncle Caine was dead, of an assassin's
bullet, and that someone had also tried to kill my Uncle Bleys but only
succeeded in wounding him. The funeral service for Caine would be the
following day.
I kept my date at the country club that evening, but my mysterious
interrogator was nowhere in sight. All was not lost, however, as I made the
acquaintance of a pretty lady named Meg Devlin-and, one thing leading to
another, I saw her home and we got to know each other a lot better. Then, at
a moment when I would have judged her thoughts to be anywhere but there, she
asked me my mother's name. So, what the hell, I told her. It did not come to
me until later that she might really have been the person I'd gone to the
bar to meet.
Our liaison was terminated prematurely by a call from the lobby-from a
man purportedly Meg's husband. I did what any gentleman would do. I got the
hell out fast.
My Aunt Fiona, who is a sorceress (of a different style from my own),
had not approved of my date. And apparently she approved even less of Luke,
because she asked me whether I had a picture of him after I'd told her
somewhat concerning him. I showed her a photo I had in my wallet, which
included Luke in the group. I'd have sworn she recognized him from
somewhere, though she wouldn't admit it. But the fact that she and her
brother Bleys both disappeared from Amber that night would seem more than
coincidental.
The pace of events was accelerated even more after that. A crude
attempt at knocking off most of the family with a thrown bomb was made the
next day, following Caine's funeral. The would-be assassin escaped. Later,
Random was upset at a brief demonstration on my part of the power of the
Ghostwheel, my pet project, my hobby, my avocation during those years at
Grand Design. Ghostwheel is a-well, it started out as a computer that
required a different set of physical laws to operate than those I'd learned
in school. It involved what might be called magic. But I found a place where
it could be built and operated, and I'd constructed it there. It was still
programming itself when I'd left it. It seemed to have gone sentient, and I
think it scared Random. He ordered me to go and turn it off. I didn't much
like the idea, but I departed.
I was followed in my passage through Shadow; I was harassed, threatened
and even attacked. I was rescued from a fire by a strange lady who later
died in a lake. I was protected from vicious beasts by a mysterious
individual and saved from a bizarre earthquake by the same person-who turned
out to be Luke. He accompanied me to the final barrier, for a confrontation
with Ghostwheel. My creation was a bit irritated with me and banished us by
means of a shadow-storm-a thing it is not fun to be caught in, with or
without an umbrella. I delivered us from the vicissitudes by means of one of
the Trumps of Doom, as I'd dubbed the odd pasteboards from Julia's
apartment.
We wound up outside a blue crystal cave, and Luke took me in. Good old
Luke. After seeing to my needs he proceeded to imprison me. When he told me
who he was, I realized that it was a resemblance to his father which had
upset Fiona when she'd seen his photo. For Luke was the son of Brand,
assassin and arch traitor, who had damn near destroyed the kingdom and the
rest of the universe along with it some years back. Fortunately, Caine had
killed him before he'd accomplished his designs. Luke, I learned then, was
the one who'd killed Caine, to avenge his father. (And it turned out he'd
gotten the news of his father's death on an April thirtieth and had had a
peculiar way of observing its anniversary over the years.) Like Random, he
too had been impressed by my Ghostwheel, and he told me that I was to remain
his prisoner, as I might become necessary in his eforts to gain control of
the machine, which he felt would be the perfect weapon for destroying the
rest of the family.
He departed to pursue the matter, and I quickly discovered that my
powers were canceled by some peculiar property of the cave, leaving me with
no one to talk to but you, Frakir, and no one here for you to strangle. . .
.
Would you care to hear a few bars of "Over the Rainbow"?
1
I threw the hilt away after the blade had shattered. The weapon had
done me no good against that blue sea of a wall in what I had taken to be
its thinnest section. A few small chips of stone lay at my feet. I picked
them up and rubbed
them together. This was not the way out for me. The only way out seemed
to be the way I had come in, and it wasn't working.
I walked back to my quarters, meaning that section of the caves where I
had cast my sleeping bag. I sat down on the bag, a heavy brown one, uncorked
a wine bottle and took a drink. I had worked up a sweat hacking away at the
wall.
Frakir stirred upon my wrist then, unwound herself partway and
slithered into the palm of my left hand, to coil around the two blue chips I
still held. She knotted herself about them, then dropped to hang and swing
pendulum-like. I put the bottle aside and watched. The arc of her swing
paralleled the lengthwise direction of the tunnel I now called home. The
swinging continued for perhaps a full minute. Then she withdrew upward,
halting when she came to the back of my hand. She released the chips at the
base of my third linger and returned to her normal hidden position about my
wrist.
I stared. I raised the flickering oil lamp and studied the stones.
Their color. . . .
Yes.
Seen against skin, they were similar in appearance to the stone in that
ring of Luke's I had picked up at the New Line Motel some time ago.
Coincidence? Or was there a connection? What had my strangling cord been
trying to tell me? And where had I seen another such stone?
Luke's key ring. He'd a blue stone on it, mounted on a piece of metal.
. . . And where might I have seen another?
The caverns in which I was imprisoned had the power to block the Trumps
and my Logrus magic. If Luke carried stones from these walls about with him,
there was probably a special reason. What other properties might they
possess?
I tried for perhaps an hour to learn something concerning their nature,
but they resisted my Logrus probes. Finally, disgusted, I pocketed them, ate
some bread and cheese and took another swallow of wine.
Then I rose and made the rounds once more, inspecting my traps. I'd
been a prisoner in this place for what seemed at least a month now. I had
paced all these tunnels, corridors, grottoes, seeking an exit. None of them
proved a way out. There were times when I had run manic through them and
bloodied my knuckles upon their cold sides. There were times when I had
moved slowly, seeking after cracks and fault lines. I had tried on several
occasions to dislodge the boulder that barred the entranceway-to no avail.
It was wedged in place, and I couldn't budge it. It seemed that I was in for
the duration.
My traps. . . .
They were all as they had been the last time I had checked-deadfalls,
boulders nature had left Lying about in typical careless fashion, propped
high and ready now to be released from their wedging when someone tripped
any of the shadow-masked lengths of packing cord I'd removed from crates in
the storeroom.
Someone? Luke, of course. Who else? He was the one who'd imprisoned me.
And if he returned-no, when he returned-the booby traps would be waiting. He
was armed. He would have me at a disadvantage from the overhead position of
the entrance if I merely waited for him below. No way. I would not be there.
I would make him come in after me--and then
Vaguely troubled, I returned to my quarters.
Hands behind my head, I lay there and reviewed my plans. The deadfalls
could kill a man, and I did not want Luke dead. This had nothing to do with
sentiment, though I had thought of Luke as a good friend until fairly
recently-up until the time I learned that he had killed my Uncle
Caine and seemed intent upon destroying the rest of my relatives in
Amber as well. This was because Caine had killed Luke's father-my Uncle
Brand-a man whom any of the others would gladly have done in also. Yes,
Luke-or Rinaldo, as I now knew him-was my cousin, and he had a reason for
engaging in one of our in-family vendettas. Still, going after everybody
struck me as a bit intemperate.
But neither consanguinity nor sentiment bade me dismantle my traps. I
wanted him alive because there were too many things about the entire
situation that I did not understand and might never understand were he to
perish without telling me.
Jasra . . . the Trumps of Doom . . . the means by which I had been
tracked so easily through Shadow . . . the entire story of Luke's
relationship with the painter and mad occultist Victor Melman . . . anything
he knew about Julia and her death. . . .
t began again.1 dismantled the deadfalls. The new plan was a simple
one, and it drew upon something of which I believed Luke had no knowledge.
I moved my sleeping bag to a new position, in the tunnel just outside
the chamber whose roof held the blocked entranceway. I shifted some of the
food stores there, also. I was determined to remain in its vicinity for as
much of the time as possible.
The new trap was a very basic thing: direct and just about unavoidable.
Once I'd set it there was nothing to do but wait. Wait, and remember. And
plan. I had to warn the others. I had to do something about my Ghostwheel. I
needed to find out what Meg Devlin knew. I needed to . . . lots of things.
I waited. I thought of Shadow storms, dreams, strange Trumps and the
Lady in the Lake. After a long spell of drifting, my life had become very
crowded in a matter of days. Then this long spell of doing nothing. My only
consolation was that this time line probably outpaced most of the others
that were important to me right now. My month here might only be a day back
in Amber, or even less. If I could deliver myself from this place soon, the
trails I wished to follow might still be relatively fresh.
Later, I put out the lamp and went to sleep. Sufficient light filtered
through the crystal lenses of my prison, brightening and waning, for me to
distinguish day from night in the outside world, and I kept my small series
of routines in accord with its rhythms.
During the next three days I read through Melman's diary again-a thing
heavy in allusion and low in useful information-and just about succeeded in
convincing myself that the Hooded One, as he referred to his visitor and
teacher, had probably been Luke. Except for a few references to androgyny,
which puzzled me. References to the sacrifice of the Son of Chaos near the
end of the volume were something I could take personally, in light of my
present knowledge of Melman's having been set up to destroy me. But if Luke
had done it, how to explain his ambiguous behavior on the mountain in New
Mexico, when he had advised me to destroy the Trumps of Doom and had driven
me away almost as if to protect me from something? And then he had admitted
to several of the earlier attempts on my life, but denied the later ones. No
reason to do that if he were indeed responsible for all of them. What else
might be involved? Who else? And how? There were obviously missing pieces to
the puzzle, but I felt as if they were minor, as if the smallest bit of new
information and the slightest jiggling of the pattern would suddenly cause
everything to fall into place, with the emerging picture to be something I
should have seen all along.
I might have guessed that the visitation would be by night. I might
have, but I didn't. Had it occurred to me, I would have changed my sleep
cycle and been awake and alert. Even though I felt fairly confident of my
trap's efficiency, every little edge is important in truly crucial matters.
I was deeply asleep, and the grating of rock upon rock was a distant
thing. I stirred but slowly as the sounds continued, and it was several
seconds more before the proper circuits closed and I realized what was
occurring. Then I sat up, my mind still dusty, and moved into a crouch
beside the wall of the chamber nearest the entranceway, knuckling my eyes,
brushing back my hair, seeking lost alertness on sleep's receding shore.
The first sounds I heard must have accompanied the removal of the
wedges, which apparently had entailed some rocking or tipping of the
boulder. The continuing sounds were muffled, echoless--external.
So I ventured a quick glance into the chamber. There was no opened
adit, showing stars. The overhead vibrations continued. The rocking sounds
were now succeeded by a steady crunching, grating noise. A ball of light
with a diffuse halo shone through the translucent stone of the chamber's
roof. A lantern, I guessed. Too steady to be a torch. And a torch would be
impractical under the circumstances.
A crescent of sky appeared, holding two stars near its nether horn. It
widened, and I heard the heavy breathing and grunts of what I took to be two
men.
My extremities tingled as I felt additional adrenaline doing its
biological trick within me. I hadn't counted on Luke's bringing anyone with
him. My foolproof plan might not be proof against this-meaning I was the
fool.
The boulder rolled more quickly now, and there was not even time for
profanity as my mind raced, focused upon a course of action and assumed its
appropriate stance.
I summoned the image of the Logrus and it took shape before me. I rose
to my feet, still leaning against the wall, and began moving my arms to
correspond with the random-seeming movements of two of the eidolon's limbs.
By the time I achieved a satisfactory conjunction, the sounds from overhead
had ceased.
The opening was now clear. Moments later the light was raised and moved
toward it.
I stepped into the chamber and extended my hands. As the men, short and
dark, came into view above me my original plan was canceled completely. They
both carried unsheathed poignards in their right hands. Neither of them was
Luke.
I reached out with my Logrus gauntlets and took hold of each of them by
the throat. I squeezed until they collapsed within my grip. I squeezed a
little longer, then released them.
As they dropped from sight I hooked the high lip of the entrance with
my glowing lines of force and drew myself upward with them. As I reached the
opening I paused to recover Frakir, who was coiled about its underside. That
had been my trap. Luke, or anyone else, would have been passing through a
noose to enter, a noose ready to tighten instantly upon anything moving
through.
Now, though. . . .
A trail of fire ran down the slope to my right. The fallen lantern had
shattered, its spilled fuel become a burning riwlet. The men I had choked
lay sprawled at either hand. The boulder that had blocked this opening
rested to the left and somewhat to the rear of me. I remained where I was
-head and shoulders above the opening, resting on my elbows-with the image
of the Logrus dancing between my eyes, the warm tingling of its power lines
yet a part of my arms, Frakir moving from my left shoulder down to my
biceps.
It had been almost too easy. I couldn't see Luke trusting a couple of
lackeys to question, kill or transport me-whichever of these had been their
mission. That is why I had not emerged fully, but scanned the nighted
environs from my vantage of relative security.
Prudent, for a change. For someone else shared the night with me. It
was sufficiently dark, even with the dwindling fire trail, that my ordinary
vision did not serve to furnish me this intelligence. But when I summon the
Logrus, the mental set that grants me vision of its image permits me to view
other nonphysical manifestations as well.
So it was that I detected such a construct beneath a tree to my left,
amid shadows where I would not have seen the human figure before which it
hovered. And a strange pattern at that, reminiscent of Amber's own; it
turned like a slow pinwheel, extending tendrils of smoke-shot yellow light.
These drifted toward me across the night and I watched, fascinated, knowing
already what I would do when the moment came.
There were four big ones, and they came on slowly, probing. When they
were within several yards of me they halted, gained slack, then struck like
cobras. My hands were together and slightly crossed, Logrus limbs extended.
I separated them with a single sweeping motion, tilting them slightly
forward as I did so. They struck the yellow tendrils, casting them away to
be thrown back upon their pattern. I felt a tingling sensation in my
forearms as this occurred. Then, using my right-hand extension as if it were
a blade,I struck at the now-wavering pattern as if it were a shield. I heard
a short sharp cry as that image grew dim, and I struck again quickly, hauled
myself out of my hole and started down the slope, my arm aching.
The image--whatever it had been-faded and was gone. By then, however, I
could make out more clearly the figure leaning against the tree trunk. It
appeared to be that of a woman, though I could not distinguish her features
because of some small object she had raised and now held before her near to
eye level. Fearing that it was a weapon, I struck at it with a Logrus
extension, hoping to knock it from her hand.
I stumbled then, for there was a recoil which jolted my arm with
considerable force. It would seem to have been a potent sorcerous object
which I had struck. At least I had the pleasure of seeing the lady sway
also. She uttered a short cry, too, but she hung on to the object.
A moment later a faint polychrome shimmering began about her form and I
realized what the thing was. I had just directed the force of the Logrus
against a Trump. I had to reach her now, if only to find out who she was.
But as I rushed ahead I realized that I could not get to her in time.
Unless . . .
I plucked Frakir from my shoulder and past her along the line of the
Logrus force, manipulating her in the proper direction and issuing my
commands as she flew.
From my new angle of view and by the faint rainbow halo that now
surrounded her I finally saw the lady's face. It was Jasra, who had damn
near killed me with a bite back in Melman's apartment. In a moment she would
be gone, taking with her my chance of obtaining some answers on which my
life might depend.
"Jasra!" I cried, trying to break her concentration.
It didn't work, but Frakir did. My strangling cord, glowing silver now,
caught her about the throat, whipping out with a free end to lash tightly
about the branch that hung near, to Jasra's left.
The lady began to fade, apparently not realizing that it was too late.
She couldn't trump out without decapitating herself.
She learned it quickly. I heard her gurgling cry as she stepped back,
grew solid, lost her halo, dropped her Trump and clawed at the cord
encircling her throat.
I came up beside her, to lay my hand upon Frakir, who uncoiled one end
from the tree limb and rewound it about my wrist.
"Good evening, Jasra," I said, jerking her head back. "Try the poison
bite again and you'll need a neck brace. You understand?"
She tried to talk but couldn't. She nodded.
"I'm going to loosen my cord a bit," I said, "so you can answer my
questions."
I eased Frakir's grip upon her throat. She began coughing, then, and
gave me a look that would have turned sand to glass. Her magical construct
had faded completely, so I let the Logrus slip away also.
"Why are you after me?" I asked. "What am I to you?"
"Son of perdition!" she said, and she tried to spit at me but her mouth
must have been too dry.
I jerked lightly on Frakir and she coughed again. "Wrong answer," I
said. "Try again."
But she smiled then, her gaze shifting to a point beyond me. I kept the
slack out of Frakir and chanced a glance. The air was beginning to shimmer,
behind me and to the right, in obvious preparation to someone's trumping in.
I did not feel ready to take on an additional threat at this time, and
so I dipped my free hand into my pocket and withdrew a handful of my own
Trumps. Flora's was on top. Fine. She'd do.
I pushed my mind toward her, through the feeble light, beyond the face
of the card. I felt her distracted attention, followed by a sudden
alertness. Then, Yes . . . ?
"Bring me through! Hurry!" I said.
"Is it an emergency?" she asked.
"You'd better believe it," I told her.
"Uh-okay. Come on."
I had an image of her in bed. It grew clearer, clearer. She extended
her hand.
I reached out and took it. I moved forward just as I heard Luke's voice
ring out, crying, "Stop!"
I continued on through, dragging Jasra after me. She tried to draw back
and succeeded in halting me as I stumbled against the side of the bed. It
was then I noted the dark-haired, bearded man regarding me with wide eyes
from the bed's farther side.
"Who-? What-?" he began as I smiled bleakly and regained my balance.
Luke's shadowy form came into view beyond my prisoner. He reached
forward and seized Jasra's arm, drawing her back away from me. She made a
gurgling noise as the movement drew Frakir more tightly about her throat.
Damn! What now?
Flora rose suddenly, her face contorted, the scented lavender sheet
falling away as she drove a fist forward with surprising speed.
"You bitch!" she cried. "Remember me?"
The blow fell upon Jasra's jaw, and I barely managed to free Frakir in
time to keep from being dragged backward with her into Luke's waiting arms.
Both of them faded, and the shimmer was gone.
The dark-haired guy in the meantime had scrambled out of the bed and
was snatching up articles of clothing. Once he had them all in his grasp he
did not bother to don any, but simply held them in front of him and backed
quickly toward the door.
"Ron! Where are you going?" Flora asked.
"Away!" he answered, and he opened the door and passed through it.
"Hey! Wait!"
"No way!" came the reply from the next room.
"Damn!" she said, glaring at me. "You have a way of messing up a
person's life." Then, "Ron! What about dinner?" she called.
"I have to see my analyst," came his voice, followed shortly by the
slamming of another door.
"I hope you realize what a beautiful thing you just destroyed," Flora
told me.
I sighed. "When did you meet him?" I asked.
She frowned. "Well, yesterday," she replied. "Go ahead and smirk. These
things are not always a mere function of time. I could tell right away that
it was going to be something special. Trust someone crass like you or your
father to cheapen a beautiful-"
"I'm sorry," I said. "Thanks for pulling me through. Of course he'll be
back. We just scared the hell out of him. But how could he fail to return
once he's known you?"
She smiled. "Yes, you are like Corwin," she said. "Crass, but
perceptive."
She rose and crossed to the closet, took out a lavender robe and donned
it.
"What," she said, belting it about her, "was that all about?"
"It's a long story-"
"Then I'd better hear it over lunch. Are you hungry?" she asked.
I grinned.
"It figures. Come on."
She led me out through a French Provincial living room and into a large
country kitchen full of tiles and copper. I offered to help her, but she
pointed at a chair beside the table and told me to sit.
As she was removing numerous goodies from the refrigerator, I said,
"First "
"Yes?"
"Where are we?"
"San Francisco," she replied.
"Why have you set up housekeeping here?"
"After I finished that business of Random's I decided to stay on. The
town looked good to me again."
I snapped my fingers. I'd forgotten she'd been sent to determine the
ownership of the warehouse where Victor Melman had had his apartment and
studio, and where Brutus Storage had a supply of ammo that would Ere in
Amber.
"So who owned the warehouse?" I asked.
"Brutus Storage," she replied. "Melman rented from them."
"And who owns Brutes Storage?"
"J. B. Rand, Inc."
"Address?"
"An office in Sausalito. It was vacated a couple of months ago."
"Did the people who owned the place have a home address for the
renter?"
"Just a post office box. It's been abandoned too."
I nodded. "I'd a feeling it would be something like that," I said. "Now
tell me about Jasra. Obviously you know the lady."
She sniffed. "No lady," she said. "A royal whore is what she was when I
knew her."
"Where?"
"In Kashfa."
"Where's that?"
"An interesting little shadow kingdom, a bit over the edge of the
Golden Circle of those with which Amber has commerce. Shabby barbaric
splendor and all that. It's kind of a cultural backwater."
"How is it you know it at all, then?"
She paused a moment in stirring something in a bowl.
"Oh, I used to keep company with a Kashfan nobleman I'd met in a wood
one day. He was out hawking and I happened to have twisted my ankle-"
"Uh," I interjected, lest we be diverted by details. "And Jasra?"
"She was consort to the old king Menillan. Had him wrapped around her
finger."
"What have you got against her?"
"She stole Jasrick while I was out of town."
"Jasrick?"
"My nobleman. Earl of Kronklef."
"What did His Highness Menillan think of these goings-on?"
"He never knew. He was on his deathbed at the time. Succumbed shortly
thereafter. In fact, that's why she really wanted Jasrick. He was chief of
the palace guard and his brother was a general. She used them to pull off a
coup when Menillan expired. Last I heard, she was queen in Kashfa and she'd
ditched Jasrick. Served him proper, I'd say. I think he had his eye on the
throne, but she didn't care to share it. She had him and his brother
executed for treason of one sort or another. He was really a handsome
fellow. . . . Not too bright, though."
"Do the people of Kashfa have any-uh-unusual physical endowments?" I
asked.
She smiled. "Well, Jasrick was one hell of a fellow. But I wouldn't use
the word `unusual' to-"
"No, no," I interrupted. "What I meant was some sort of anomaly of the
mouth-retractable fangs or a sting or something of that sort."
"Un-uh," she said, and I could not tell whether her heightened coloring
came from the heat of the stove. "Nothing like that. They're built along
standard lines. Why do you ask?"
"When I told you my story back in Amber I omitted the part where Jasra
bit me, and I was barely able to trump out because of some sort of poison
she seemed to have injected. It left me numb, paralyzed and very weak for a
long while."
She shook her head.
"Kashfans can't do anything like that. But then, of course, Jasra is
not a Kashfan."
"Oh? Where's she from?"
"I don't know. But she's a foreigner. Some say a slaver brought her in
from a distant land. Others say she just wandered in herself one day and
caught Menillan's eye. It was rumored she was a sorceress. I don't know."
"I do. That rumor is right."
"Really? Perhaps that's how she got Jasrick."
I shrugged. "How long ago was your-experience-with her?"
"Thirty or forty years, I'd guess."
"And she is still queen in Kashfa?"
"I don't know. It's been a long time since I've been back that way."
"Is Amber on bad terms with Kashfa?"
She shook her head. "No special terms at all, really. As I said,
they're a bit out of the way. Not as accessible as a lot of other places,
with nothing greatly desirable for trade."
"No real reason then for her to hate us?"
"No more than for hating anyone else."
Some delightful cooking odors began to fill the room. As I sat there
sniffing them and thinking of the long, hot shower I would head for after
lunch, Flora said what I had somehow known she would say.
"That man who dragged Jasra back. . . . He looked familiar. Who was
he?"
"He was the one I told you about back in Amber," I replied. "Luke. I'm
curious whether he reminds you of anyone."
"He seems to," she said, after a pause. "But I can't say just who."
As her back was to me I said, "If you're holding anything that might
break or spill if you drop it, please put it down."
I heard something set to rest on the countertop. Then she turned, a
puzzled expression on her face.
"Yes?"
"His real name is Rinaldo, and he's Brand's son," I told her. "I was
his prisoner for over a month in another shadow. I just now escaped."
"Oh, my," she whispered. Then, "What does he want?"
"Revenge," I answered.
"Against anyone in particular?"
"No. All of us. But Caine, of course, was first."
"I see."
"Please don't burn anything," I said. "I've been looking forward to a
good meal for a long time."
She nodded and turned away. After a while she said, "You knew him for a
pretty long time. What's he like?"
"He always seemed to be a fairly nice guy. If he's crazy, like his dad,
he hid it well."
She uncorked a wine bottle, poured two glasses and brought them over.
Then she began serving the meal.
After a few bites she paused with her fork half raised and stared at
nothing in particular.
"Who'd have thought the son of a bitch would reproduce?" she remarked.
"Fiona, I think," I told her. "The night before Caine's funeral she
asked me whether I had a photo of Luke. When I showed her one I could tell
that something was bothering her, but she wouldn't say what."
"And the next day she and Bleys were gone," Flora said. "Yes. Now I
think of it, he does look somewhat the way Brand did when he was very
young-so long ago. Luke seems bigger and heavier, but there is a
resemblance."
She resumed eating.
"By the way, this is very good," I said.
"Oh, thanks." She sighed then. "That means I have to wait till you're
finished eating to hear the whole story."
I nodded, because my mouth was full. Let the empire totter. I was
starved.
2
Showered, trimmed, manicured and garbed in fresh-conjured finery, I got
a number out of Information and placed a call to the only Devlin listed in
Bill Roth's area. The voice of the woman who answered did not possess the
proper timbre, though I still recognized it.
"Meg? Meg Devlin?" I said.
"Yes," came the reply. "Who is this?"
"Merle Corey."
" Who?"
"Merle Corey. We spent an interesting night together some time back-"
"I'm sorry," she said. "There must be some mistake."
"If you can't talk freely now I can call whenever you say. Or you can
call me."
"I don't know you," she said, and she hung up.
I stared at the receiver. If her husband were present I'd assumed she'd
play it a bit cagey but would at least give some indication that she knew me
and would talk another time. I had held off on getting in touch with Random
because I'd a feeling he'd summon me back to Amber immediately, and I'd
wanted to talk to Meg first. I certainly couldn't spare the time to go and
visit her. I could not understand her response, but for now at least I was
stuck with it. So I tried the only other thing that occurred to me. I got
hold of Information again and obtained the number for Bill's next-door
neighbors, the Hansens.
It was answered on the third ring-a woman's voice I recognized as Mrs.
Hansen's. I had met her in the past, though I had not seen her on my most
recent trip to the area.
"Mrs. Hansen," I began. "It's Merle Corey."
"Oh, Merle. . . . You were just up here a while ago, weren't you?"
"Yes. Couldn't stay long, though. But I did finally get to meet George.
Had several long talks with him. In fact, I'd like to speak with him right
now if he's handy."
The silence ran several beats too long before she responded.
"George. . . . Well, George is over at the hospital just now, Merle. Is
it something you could tell me?"
"Oh, it's not urgent," I said. "What happened to George?"
"It-it's nothing real bad. He's just an outpatient now, and today's his
day to get checked over and pick up some medication. He had a-sort of
breakdown last month. Had a couple days' worth of amnesia, and they can't
seem to figure what caused it."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Well, the X-rays didn't show any damage-like he'd hit his head or
anything. And he seems okay now. They say he'll probably be fine. But they
want to keep an eye on him a little longer. That's all." Suddenly, as if
struck by inspiration, she asked, "How'd he seem when you were talking with
him, anyway?"
I'd seen it coming, so I didn't hesitate.
"He seemed fine when I talked with him," I answered. "But of course I
hadn't known him before, so I couldn't tell whether he was acting any
different."
"I see what you mean," she said. "Do you want him to call you back when
he gets in?"
"No. I'm going to be going out;" I said, "and I'm not sure when I'll be
getting back. It was nothing really important. I'll get in touch again one
of these days."
"Okay, then. I'll tell him you called."
"Thanks. G'bye."
That one I'd almost expected. After Meg. George's behavior had been
overtly weird, at the end there. What had bothered me was that he'd seemed
to know who I really was and to know about Amber-.and he even wanted to
follow me through a Trump. It was as if he and Meg had both been subjected
to some strange manipulation.
Jasra came to mind immediately in this regard. But then she was Luke
ally, it seemed, and Meg had warned me against Luke. Why would she do that
if Jasra were controlling her in some fashion? It didn't make sense. Who
else did I know who might be capable of causing such phenomena?
Fiona, for one. But then she'd been party to my later return to this
shadow from Amber and had even picked me up after my evening with Meg. And
she'd seemed just as puzzled about the course of events as I was.
Shit. Life is full of doors that don't open when you knock, equally
spaced amid those that open when you don't want them to.
I went back and knocked on the bedroom door, and Flora told me to come
in. She was seated before a mirror, applying makeup.
"How'd it go?" she asked.
"Not too well. Totally unsatisfactory, actually." I summarized the
results of my calls.
"So what are you going to do now?" she inquired.
"Get in touch with Random," I said, "and bring him up to date. I've got
a feeling he'll call me back to hear it all. So I wanted to say good-bye,
and thanks for helping me. Sorry if I broke up your romance."
She shrugged, her back still to me, as she studied herself in the
mirror. "Don't worry-"
I did not hear the remainder of her sentence, though she continued
talking. My attention was snatched away by what seemed the beginning of a
Trump contact. I made myself receptive and waited. The feeling grew stronger
but the caller s presence did not become manifest. I turned away from Flora.
"Merle, what is it?" I heard her say then.
I raised one hand to her as the feeling intensified. I seemed to be
staring down a long black tunnel with nothing at its farther end.
"I don't know;' I said, summoning the Logrus and taking control of one
of its limbs. "Ghost? Is that you? Are you ready to talk?" I asked. There
was no reply. I felt a chill as I remained receptive, waiting. I had never
experienced anything quite like this before. I'd a strong feeling that if I
but moved forward I would be transported somewhere. Was this a challenge? A
trap? Whatever, I felt that only a fool would accept such an invitation from
the unknown. For all I knew, it might deliver me back to the crystal cave.
"If there is something you want," I said, "you are going to have to
make yourself known and ask. I've given up on blind dates."
A sense of presence trickled through, then, but no intimations of
identity,
"All right," I said. "I'm not coming and you have no message. The only
other thing I can think of is that you're asking to come to me. If that's
the case, come ahead."
I extended both of my apparently empty hands, my invisible strangling
cord writhing into position in my left, an unseen Logrus death bolt riding
my right. It was one of those times when courtesy demanded professional
standards.
A soft laughter seemed to echo within the dark tunnel. It was purely a
mental projection, however, cold and genderless.
Your offer is, of course, a trick, came to me then. For you are not
a fool. Still, I grant your courage, to address the unknown as you do. You
do not know what you face, yet you await it. You even invite it.
"'The offer is still good," I said.
I never thought of you as dangerous.
"What do you want?"
To regard you.
"Why?"
There may come a time when I will face you on different terms.
"What terms?"
I feel that our purposes will be crossed.
"Who are you?"
Again, the laughter.
No. Not now. Not yet. I would merely look upon you, and observe your
reactions.
"Well? Have you seen enough?"
Almost.
"If our purposes are crossed, let the conflict be now," I said. "I'd
like to get it out of the way so I can get on with some important business."
I appreciate arrogance. But when the time comes the choice will not
be yours.
"I'm willing to wait," I said, as I cautiously extended a Logrus limb
out along the dark way.
Nothing. My probe encountered nothing. . . .
I admire your performance.
Here!
Something came rushing toward me. My magical extension informed me that
it was soft-too soft and loose to do me any real harm-a large, cool mass
showing bright colors. . . .
I stood my ground and extended through it-beyond, far, fartherreaching
for the source. I encountered something tangible but yielding: a body
perhaps, perhaps not; too-too big to snap back in an instant.
Several small items, hard and of sufficiently low mass, recommended
themselves to my lightning search. I seized upon one, tore it free of
whatever held it and called it to me.
A wordless impulse of startlement reached me at the same time as the
rushing mass and the return of my Logrus summoning.
It burst about me like fireworks: flowers, flowers, flowers. Violets,
anemones, daffodils, roses. . . . I heard Flora gasp as hundreds of them
rained into the room. The contact was broken immediately. I was aware that I
held something small and hard in my right hand, and the heady odors of the
floral display filled my nostrils.
"What the hell," said Flora, "happened?"
"I'm not sure," I answered, brushing petals from my shirtfront. "You
like flowers? You can have these."
"Thanks, but I prefer a less haphazard arrangement," she said,
regarding the bright mound that lay at my feet. "Who sent them?"
"A nameless person at the end of a dark tunnel."
"Why?"
"Down payment on a funeral display, maybe. I'm not sure. The tenor of
the whole conversation was somewhat threatening."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd help me pick them up before you go."
"Sure," I said.
"There are vases in the kitchen and the bathroom. Come on."
I followed her and collected several. On the way, I studied the object
I had brought back from the other end of the sending. It was a blue button
mounted in a gold setting, a few navy blue threads still attached. The cut
stone bore a curved, four-limbed design. I showed it to Flora and she shook
her head.
"It tells me nothing," she said.
I dug into my pocket and produced the chips of stone from the crystal
cave. They seemed to match. Frakir stirred slightly when I passed the button
near her, then lapsed again into quiescence, as if having given up on
warning me about blue stones when I obviously never did anything about them.
"Strange," I said.
"I'd like some roses on the night table," Flora told me, "and a couple
of mixed displays on the dresser. You know, no one's ever sent me flowers
this way. It's a rather intriguing introduction. Are you sure they were for
you?"
I growled something anatomical or theological and gathered rosebuds.
Later, as we sat in the kitchen drinking coffee and musing, Flora
remarked, "This thing's kind of spooky."
"Yes".
"Maybe you ought to discuss it with Fi after you've talked with
Random."
"Maybe."
"Speaking of whom, shouldn't you be calling Random?"
"Maybe."
"What do you mean, `maybe'? He's got to be warned."
"True. But I've a feeling that being safe won't get any questions
answered for me."
"What do you have in mind, Merle?"
"Do you have a car?"
"Yes, I just got it a few days back. Why?"
I withdrew the button and the stones from my pocket, spread them on the
table and regarded them again. "It just occurred to me while we were picking
up flowers where I might have seen another of these."
"Yes?"
"There is a memory I must have been blocking, because it was very
distressing: Julia's appearance when I found her. I seem to recall now that
she had on a pendant with a blue stone. Maybe it's just coincidence, but "
She nodded. "Could be. But even so, the police probably have it now."
"Oh,I don't want the thing. But it reminds me that I didn't really get
to look over her apartment as well as I might have if I hadn't had to leave
in a hurry. I want to see it again before I go back to Amber. I'm still
puzzled as to how that--creature-got in."
"What if the place has been cleaned out? Or rented again?"
I shrugged. "Only one way to find out."
"Okay, I'll drive you there."
A few minutes later we were in her car and I was giving her directions.
It was perhaps a twenty-minute drive beneath a sunny late-afternoon sky,
stray clouds passing. I spent much of the time making certain preparations
with Logrus forces, and I was ready by the time we reached the proper area.
"Turn here and go around the block," I said, gesturing. "I'll show you
where to park if there's a place."
There was, close to the spot where I'd parked on that day.
When we were stopped beside the curb she glanced at me. "Now what? Do
we just go up to the place and knock?"
"I'm going to make us invisible," I told her, "and I'm going to keep US
that way till we're inside. You'll have to stay close to me in order for us
to see each other, though."
She nodded.
"Dworkin did it for me once," she said, "when I was a child. Spied on a
lot of people then." She chuckled. "I'd forgotten."
I put the finishing touches to the elaborate spell and laid it upon us,
the world growing dimmer beyond the windshield as I did. It was as if I
regarded our surroundings through gray sunglasses as we slipped out the
passenger side of the car. We walked slowly up to the corner and turned
right.
"Is this a hard spell to learn?" she asked me. "I...
