Zelazny, Roger - Amber - 06 - Trumps of Doom

by Trumps of Doom [lit]

  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 grind, and I've tried to be fair. I know how touchy everyone here is. I don't think it's me, though, and I don't think it's the succession. I haven't had any bad vibes from any of the others. I'd gotten the impression they had decided I was the lesser of all possible evils and were actually cooperating to make it work. No, I don't believe any of the others is rash enough to want my crown. There was actually amity, goodwill, after the succession was settled. But what I'm wondering now is whether the old pattern might be recurring -that some of the others might have taken up the old game again to settle personal grievances. I really don't want to see that happen-all the suspicion, precautions, innuendoes, mistrust, double dealings. It weakens us, and there's always some possible threat ar other against which we should be strong. Now, I've spoken with everyone privately, and of course they all deny any knowledge of current cabals, intrigues, and vendettas, but I could see that they're getting suspicious of each other. It's become a habit of thought. And it wasn't at all difficult for them to dig up some of grudge each of the others might still have had against Caine despite the fact that he saved all our asses by taking out Brand. And the same with Bieys - everyone could fins motives for everyone else."

  "So you want the killer fast, because of what he's done to morals"

  "Certainly. I don't need all this backbiting and grudgehunting. It's all still so close to the surface that we're likely to have real cabals, intrigues, and vendettas before long, if we don't already, and some little misunderstanding could lead to violence again."

  "Do you think it's one of the others?"

  "Shit! I'm the same as they are. I get suspicious by reflex. It well may be, but I haven't really seen a bit of evidence."

  "Who else could it be?"

  He uncrossed and recrossed his legs. He took another drink of wine.

  "Hell! Our enemies are legion. But most of them wouldn't have the guts. They all know the kind of reprisal they could expect once we found them out."

  He clasped his hands behind his head and stared at the rows of books.

  "I don't know bow to say this," he began after a time, "but I have to."

  I waited again. Then he said quickly, "There's talk it's Corwin, but I don't believe it."

  "No," I said softly.

  "I told you I don't believe it. Your father means a lot to me."

  "Why would anybody believe it?"

  "There's a rumor he's gone crazy. You've heard it. What if he's reverted to some past state of mind, from the days when his relations with Came and Bleys were a lot less than

  cordial - or with any of us, for that matter? That's what they're saying."

  "I don't believe it."

  "I just wanted you to be aware that it's being kicked around."

  "Nobody'd better kick it in my direction."

  He sigh. "Don't you start. Please. They're upset. Don't look for trouble."

  I took a drink of wine. "Yes, you're right," I said.

  "Now I have to listen to your story. Go ahead, complicate my life some more."

  "Okay. At least I'm fresh on it," I told him.

  So I ran through it again. It took a long while, and it was getting dark by the time I finished. He had interrupted me only for occasional clarifications and had not indulged in the exploration of contingencies the way Bill had when he'd heard it.

  When I had finished, he rose and lit a few oil lamps. I could almost hear him thinking.

  Finally he said, "No, you've got me on Luke. He doesn't ring any bells at all. The lady with the sting bothers me a bit, though. It seems I might have heard something about people like that, but I can't recall the circumstances. It'll come to me. I want to know more about this Ghostwheel project of yours, though. Something about it troubles me."

  "Sure," I said. "But there is something else I am reminded to tell you first."

  "What's that?"

  "I covered everything for you pretty much the way I did when I was talking to Bill. In fact, my just having been through it recently made me almost use it like a rehearsal. But there was something I didn't mention to Bill because it didn't seem important at the time. I might even have forgotten it entirely in the light of everything else, till this business about the sniper came up-and then you reminded me that Corwin once developed a substitute for gunpowder that will work here."

  "Everybody remembered it, believe me."

  "I forgot about two rounds of ammunition I have in my pocket that came from the ruins of that warehouse where Melman had his studio."

  "So-"

  "They don't contain gunpowder. There's some kind of pink stuff in them instead-and it won't even burn. At least back on that shadow Earth . . ."

  I dug one out.

  "Looks like a 30-30," he said.

  "I guess so."

  Random rose and drew upon a braided cord that hung beside one of the bookshelves.

  By the time he'd returned to his seat there was a knock on the door.

  "Come in," he called.

  A liveried servant entered, a young blond fellow.

  "That was quick," Random said.

  The man looked puzzled.

  "Your Majesty, I do not understand . . ."

  "What's to understand? I rang. You came."

  "Sire, I was not on duty in the quarters. I was sent to tell you that dinner is ready to be served, awaiting your pleasure."

  "Oh. Tell them I'll be along shortly. As soon as I've spoken with the person I've called."

  "Very good, Sire."

  The man departed backward with a quick bow.

  "I thought that was too good to be true;" Random muttered.

  A little later another guy appeared, older and less elegantly garbed.

  "Rolf, would you run down to the armory and talk to whoever's on duty?" Random said. "Ask him to go through that collection of rifles we have from the time Corwin came to Kolvir with them, the day Eric died. See if he can dig up a 30-30 for me, in good shape. Have him clean it and

  send it up. We're going down to dinner now. You can just leave the weapon in the corner over there."

  "30-30, Sire?"

  "Right."

  Rolf departed, Random rose and stretched. He pocketed the round I' d given him and gestured toward the door. "Let's go eat."

  "Good idea."

  There were eight of us at dinner: Random, Gerard, Flora, Bill; Martin-who had been called back a little earlier in the day, Julian-who had just arrived from Arden, Fionawho
had also just come in, from some distant locale, and myself. Benedict was due in the morning, and Llewella later this evening.

  I sat to Random's left, Martin to his right. I hadn't seen Martin in a long while and was curious what he'd been about. But tie atmosphere was not conducive to conversation. As soon as anyone spoke everyone else evinced unusually acute attention-far beyond the dictates of simple politeness. I found it rather unnerving, and I guess Random did, too, because he sent for Droppa MaPantz, the court jester, to fill the heavy silences.

  Droppa had a rough time at first. He began by juggling some food, eating it as it moved by until it was gone, wiped his mouth on a borrowed napkin, then insulted each of us in turn. After that, he commenced a stand-up routine I found very funny.

  Bill, who was at my left, commented softly, "I know enough Thari to catch most of it, and that's a George Carlin shtick! How-"

  "Oh, whenever Droppa's stuff starts sounding stale, Random sends him off to various clubs in Shadow," I explained, "to pick up new material. I understand he's a regular at Vegas. Random even accompanies him sometimes, to play cards."

  He did start getting laughs after a while which loosened things up a bit. When he knocked off for a drink it became possible to talk without being the center of attention, as separate conversations had sprung up. As soon as this hap- pened, a massive arm passed behind Bill and fell upon my shoulder. Gerard was leaning back in his chair and sideward toward me.

  "Merlin," he said, "good to see you again. Listen, when you get a chance I'd like to have a little talk with you in private."

  "Sure," I said, "but Random and I have to take care of something after dinner. "

  "When you get a chance," he repeated. I nodded.

  A few moments later I had the feeling that someone was trying to reach me via my Trump.

  "Merlin!"

  It was Fiona. But she was just sitting at the other end of the table . . .

  Her image came clear, however, and I answered her, "Yes?" and then I glanced down the table and saw that she was staring into her handkerchief. She looked up at me then, smiled, and nodded.

  I still retained the mental image of her, simultaneously, and I heard it say, "I dislike raising my voice, for a number of reasons. I' m certain that you will be rushed off after dinner, and I just wanted to let you know that we ought to take a walk, or row out on one of the ponds, or Trump out to Cabra or go look at the Pattern together sometime soon. You understand?"