The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  The room held no further surprises. I departed it, gathered an armload of strewn newspapers, carried them to the john, tossed them into the bathtub, and set fire to them, opening the window on the way out. I visited the sanctum then, fetched out the Tree of Life painting, brought it back and added it to the blaze. I switched off the bathroom light and closed the door as I left. I’m one hell of an art critic.

  I headed for the stacks of miscellaneous papers on the bookshelves then and began a disappointing search among them. I was halfway through my second heap when the telephone rang.

  The world seemed to freeze as my thoughts sprinted. Of course. Today was the day when I was supposed to find my way here and be killed. Chances seemed decent that if it were going to happen it would have happened by now. So this could well be S, calling to learn whether my obituary had been posted. I turned and located the phone, back on the shadowy wall near the bedroom. I had known immediately that I was going to answer it. Moving toward it, I was allowing two to three rings—twelve to eighteen seconds—in which to decide whether my response was to consist of a wisecrack, an insult and a threat, or whether I was going to try to fake it and see what I might learn. As satisfying as the former could be, spoilsport prudence dictated the latter course and also suggested I confine myself to low monosyllables and pretend to be injured and out of breath. I raised the receiver, ready to hear S’s voice at last and find out whether I knew him.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Well? Is it done?” came the response.

  Damn pronoun. It was a woman. Wrong gender but a right sounding question. One out of two isn’t bad, though. I exhaled heavily, then: “Yeah.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m hurt,” I croaked.

  “Is it serious?”

  “Think so. Got something—here—though. Better come—see.”

  “What is it? Something of his?”

  “Yeah. Can’t talk. Getting dizzy. Come.”

  I cradled the phone and smiled. I thought it very well played. I’d a feeling I’d taken her in completely.

  I crossed the living room to the same chair I had occupied earlier, drew up one of the small tables bearing a large ashtray, seated myself, and reached for my pipe: Time to rest, cultivate patience, think a bit.

  Moments later I felt a familiar, almost electrical tingling. I was on my feet in an instant, snatching up the ashtray, butts flying like bullets about me, cursing my stupidity yet again as I looked frantically about the room.

  There! Before the red drapes, beside the piano. Taking form . . .

  I waited for the full outline, then hurled the ashtray as hard as I could.

  An instant later she was there—tall, russet-haired, darkeyed, holding what looked like a .38 automatic.

  The ashtray hit her in the stomach and she doubled forward with a gasp.

  I was there before she could straighten.

  I jerked the gun out of her hand and threw it across the room. Then I seized both her wrists, spun her around and seated her hard in the nearest chair. In her left hand she still held a Trump. I snatched it away. It was a representation of this apartment, and it was done in the same style as the Tree and the cards in my pocket.

  “Who are you?” I snarled.

  “Jasra,” she spat back, “dead man!”

  She opened her mouth wide and her head fell forward. I felt the moist touch of her lips upon the back of my left forearm, which still held her own right wrist against the chair’s arm. Seconds later I felt an excruciating pain there. It was not a bite, but rather felt as if a fiery nail had been driven into my flesh.

  I let go her wrist and jerked my arm away. The movement was strangely slow, weakened. A cold, tingling sensation moved down into the hand and up along the arm. My hand dropped to my side and seemed to go away. She extricated herself easily from my grip, smiled, placed her fingertips lightly upon my chest and pushed.

  I fell backward. I was ridiculously weak and I couldn’t control my movements. I felt no pain when I struck the floor, and it was a real effort to turn my head to regard her as she rose to her feet.

  “Enjoy it,” she stated. “After you awaken, the remainder of your brief existence will be painful.”

  She passed out of my line of sight, and moments later I heard her raise the telephone receiver. I was certain she was phoning S, and I believed what she had just said.

  At least, I would get to meet the mysterious artist . . .

  Artist! I twitched the fingers of my right hand. They still functioned, albeit slowly. Straining every bit of will and anatomy that remained under my control, I tried then to raise the hand to my chest. The movement that followed was a jerky, slow-motion thing. At least I had fallen upon my left side, and my back masked this feeble activity from the woman who had done me in.

  My hand was trembling and seemed to be slowing even more when it came to the breast pocket. For ages after, I seemed to pick at the edges of pieces of pasteboard. Finally, one came free and I was able to twitch it high enough to view it. By then I was very dizzy and my vision was beginning to blur. I wasn’t certain I could manage the transfer. From across a vast distance I could hear Jasra’s voice as she conversed with someone, but I was unable to distinguish the words.

  I focused what remained of my attention upon the card. It was a sphinx, crouched upon a blue, rocky ledge. I reached for it. Nothing. My mind felt as if it were embedded in cotton. I possessed barely enough consciousness for one more attempt.

  I felt a certain coldness and seemed to see the sphinx move slightly upon its stony shelf. I felt as if I were falling forward into a black wave that was rushing upward.

  And that was all.

  I was a long time coming around. My consciousness dribbled back, but my limbs were still leaden and my vision clouded. The lady’s sting seemed to have delivered a neurotropic toxin. I tried flexing my fingers arid toes and could not be certain whether I’d succeeded. I tried to speed up and deepen my breathing. That worked, anyway.

  After a time, I heard what seemed a roaring sound. It stepped itself down a little later, and I realized it was my own rushing blood in my ears. A while after that I felt my heartbeat and my vision began to clear. Light and dark and shapelessness resolved into sand and rocks. I felt little areas of chill, all over. Then I began to shiver, and this passed and I realized that I could move. But I felt very weak, so I didn’t. Not for a while.

  I heard noises—rustlings, stirrings—coming from somewhere above and before me. I also became aware of a peculiar odor.

  “I say, are you awake?” This from the same direction as the sounds of movement.

  I decided that I was not entirely ready to qualify for that state, so I did not answer. I waited for more life to flow back into my limbs.

  “I really wish you’d let me know whether you can hear me,” the voice came again. “I’d like to get on with it.”

  My curiosity finally overcame my judgment and I raised my head.

  “There! I knew it!”

  On the blue-gray ledge above me was crouched a sphinx, an also blue-lion body, large feathered wings folded tight against it, a genderless face looking down upon me. It licked its lips and revealed a formidable set of teeth.

  “Get on with what?” I asked, raising myself slowly into a sitting position and drawing several deep breaths.

  “The riddling,” it answered, “the thing I do best.”

  “I’ll take a rain check,” I said, waiting for the cramps in my arms and legs to pass.

  “Sorry. I must insist.”

  I rubbed my punctured forearm and glared at the creature. Most of the stories I recalled about sphinxes involved their devouring people who couldn’t answer riddles. I shook my head.

  “I won’t play your game,” I said.

  “In that case, you lose by forfeit,” it replied, shoulder muscles beginning to tighten.

  “Hold on,” I said, raising my hand. “Give me a minute or two to recover and I’ll probably feel di
fferently:”

  It settled back and said, “Okay. That would make it more official. Take five. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  I climbed to my feet and began swinging my arms and stretching. While I was about it, I surveyed the area quickly. We occupied a sandy arroyo, punctuated here and there with orange, gray, and blue rocks. The stony wall whose ledge the sphinx occupied rose steeply before me to a height of perhaps twenty-five feet; another wall of the same height lay at about that distance to my rear. The wash rose steeply to my right, ran off in a more level fashion to my left. A few spiky green shrubs inhabited rifts and crevices. The hour seemed verging upon dusk. The sky was a weak yellow with no sun in sight. I heard a distant wind but did not feel it. The place was cool but not chill.

  I spotted a rock the size of a small dumbbell on the ground nearby. Two ambling paces—as I continued swinging my arms and stretching—and it lay beside my right foot.

  The sphinx cleared its throat. “Are you ready?” it asked.

  “No,” I said. “But I’m sure that won’t stop you.”

  “You’re right.”

  I felt an uncontrollable desire to yawn and did so.

  “You seem to lack something of the proper spirit,” it observed. “But here it is: I rise in flame from the earth. The wind assails me and waters lash me. Soon I will oversee all things.”

  I waited. Perhaps a minute passed.

  “Well?” the sphinx finally said.

  “Well what?”

  “Have you the answer?”

  “To what?”

  “The riddle, of course!”

  “I was waiting. There was no question, only a series of statements. I can’t answer a question if I don’t know what it is.”

  “It’s a time-honored format. The interrogative is implied by the context. Obviously, the question is, `What am I’?"

  “It could just as easily be, `Who is buried in Grant’s tomb?’ But okay. What is it? The phoenix, of course: nested upon the earth; rising in flames above it, passing through the air, the clouds, to a great height—”

  “Wrong.”

  It smiled and began to stir.

  “Hold on,” I said. “It is not wrong. It fits. It may not be the answer you want, but it is an answer that meets the requirements.”

  It shook its head.

  “I am the final authority on these answers. I do the defining.”

  “Then you cheat.”

  “I do not!”

  “I drink off half the contents of a flask. Does that make it half full or half empty?”

  “Either. Both.”

  “Exactly. Same thing. If more than one answer fits, you have to buy them all. It’s like waves and particles.”

  “I don’t like that approach,” it stated. “It would open all sorts of doors to ambiguity. It could spoil the riddling business.”

  “Not my fault,” I said, clenching and unclenching my hands.

  “But you do raise an interesting point.”

  I nodded vigorously.

  “But there should only be one correct answer.”

  I shrugged.

  “We inhabit a less than ideal world,” I suggested.

  “Hm.”

  “We could just call it a tie,” I offered. “Nobody wins, nobody loses.”

  “I find that esthetically displeasing.”

  “It works okay in lots of other games.”

  “Also, I’ve grown a bit hungry.”

  “The truth surfaces.”

  “But I am not unfair. I serve the truth, in my fashion. Your mention of a tie raises the possibility of a solution.”

  “Good. I’m glad you see things—’

  “That being a tie breaker. Ask me your riddle.”

  “This is silly,” I said. “I don’t have any riddles.”

  “Then you’d better come up with one fast. Because it’s the only way out of our deadlock—that, or I judge you the loser.”

  I swung my arms and did a few deep kneebends. My body felt as if it were afire. It also felt stronger.

  “Okay,” I said. “Okay. Just a second.”

  What the hell . . .

  “What’s green and red and goes round and round and round?”

  The sphinx blinked twice, then furrowed its brow. I used the time that followed for some more deep breathing and some running in place. The fires subsided; my head grew clearer, my pulse steadied . . .

  “Well?” I said some minutes later.

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Take your time.”

  I did a little shadowboxing. Did some isometrics, too. The sky had darkened a bit more and a few stars were now visible off to my right.

  “Uh, I hate to rush you,” I said, “but—”

  The sphinx snorted. “I’m still thinking.”

  “Maybe we should set a time limit.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “Mind if I rest?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I stretched out on the sand and closed my eyes, muttering a guard word to Frakir before I slept.

  I woke with a shiver, light in my eyes and a breeze upon my face. It took me several moments to realize that it was morning. The sky was brightening to my left; stars were fading to my right. I was thirsty. Hungry, too.

  I rubbed my eyes. I got to my feet. I located my comb and ran it through my hair. I regarded the sphinx.

  “ . . . and goes round and round and round,” it muttered.

  I cleared my throat. No reaction. The beast was staring past me. I wondered whether I might simply be able to slip off . . .

  No. The gaze shifted to me.

  “Good morning,” I said cheerfully. There was a brief gnashing of teeth.

  “All right,” I said, “you’ve taken a lot longer than I did. If you haven’t got it by now I don’t care to play any longer.”

  “I don’t like your riddle,” it said at last.

  “Sorry.”

  “What is the answer?”

  “You’re giving up?”

  “I must: What is the answer?” I raised a hand.

  “Hold on,” I said. “These things should be done in proper order. I should have the preferred answer to yours before I tell you mine.”

  It nodded.

  “There is some justice in that. All right—the Keep of the Four Worlds.”

  “What?”

  “That is the answer. The Keep of the Four Worlds.”

  I thought of Melman’s words: “Why?” I asked.

  “It lies at the crossroads of the worlds of the four elements, where it rises from the earth in flames, assailed by the winds and waters.”

  “What about the business of overseeing all things?”

  “It could refer to the view, or to its master’s imperialistic designs.

  Or both.”

  “Who is its master?”

  “I don’t know. That information is not essential to the answer.”

  “Where’d you pick up this riddle, anyhow?”

  “From a traveler, a few months back.”

  “Why’d you choose this one, of all the riddles you must know, to ask me?”

  “It stopped me, so it had to be good.”

  “What became of the traveler?”

  “He went on his way, uneaten. He’d answered my riddle.”

  “He had a name?”

  “He wouldn’t say.”

  “Describe him, please.”

  “I can’t. He was well muffled.”

  “And he said nothing more about the Keep of the Four Worlds?”

  “No.”

  “Well,” I said. “I believe I’ll follow his example and take a walk myself.”

  I turned and faced the slope to my right.

  “Wait!”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your riddle,” it stated. “I’ve given you the answer to mine. You must now tell me what it is that is green and red and goes round and round and round.”

  I glanced downward, s
canned the ground. Oh, yes, there it was—my dumbbell-shaped stone. I took several steps and stood beside it.

  “A frog in a Cuisinart,” I said.

  “What?”

  Its shoulder muscles bunched, its eyes narrowed and its many teeth became very apparent. I spoke a few words to Frakir and felt her stir as I squatted and caught hold of the stone with my right hand.

  “That’s it,” I said, rising. “It’s one of those visual things—”

  “That’s a rotten riddle!” the sphinx announced.

  With my left index finger I made two quick movements in the air before me.

  “What are you doing?” it asked.

  “Drawing lines from your ears to your eyes,” I said. Frakir became visible at about that moment, sliding from my left wrist to my hand, twining among my fingers. The sphinx’s eyes darted in that direction. I raised the stone level with my right shoulder. One end of Frakir fell free and hung writhing from my extended hand. She began to brighten, then glowed like a hot silver wire.

  “I believe the contest is a draw,” I stated. “What do you think?”

  The sphinx licked its lips.

  “Yes,” it finally said, sighing. “I suppose you are right.”

  “Then I will bid you good day,” I said.

  “Yes. Pity. Very well. Good day. But before you go may I have your name—for the record?”

  “Why not?” I said. “I am Merlin, of Chaos.”

  “Ah,” it said, “then someone would have come to avenge you.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Then a draw is indeed best. Go.”

  I backed farther off before turning and proceeding up the slope to my right. I remained on guard until I was out of that place, but there was no pursuit.