The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  “Where’s Nayda?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “She asked me to leave her—there near the crystal cave—after I took the Jewel away from her.”

  “What was she doing?”

  “Crying.”

  “Why?”

  “I suppose because both of her missions in life have been frustrated. She was charged to guard you unless some wild chance brought her the opportunity of obtaining the Jewel, in which instance she was released from the first directive. This actually occurred, only I deprived her of the stone. Now she is bound to neither course.”

  “You’d think she’d be happy to be free at last. She wasn’t on either job as a matter of choice. She can go back to doing whatever carefree demons do beyond the Rimwall.”

  “Not exactly, Dad.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She seems to be stuck in that body. Apparently she can’t simply abandon it the way she could others she’s used. It has something to do with there being no primary occupant.”

  “Oh. I suppose she could, uh, terminate and get loose that way.”

  “I suggested that, but she’s not sure it would work that way. It might just kill her along with the body, now that she’s bound to it the way she is.”

  “So she’s still somewhere near the cave?”

  “No. She retains her ty’iga powers, which make her something of a magical being. I believe she must simply have wandered off through Shadow while I was in the cave experimenting with the Jewel.”

  “Why the cave?”

  “That’s where you go to do clandestine things, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. So how come I could reach you there with the Trump?”

  “I’d already finished the experiment and departed. In fact, I was looking for her when you called.”

  “I think you’d better go and look some more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I owe her for favors past—even if my mother did sic her on me.”

  “Certainly. I’m not sure how successful I’ll be, though. Magical beings don’t track as readily as the more mundane sort.”

  “Give it a shot anyway. I’d like to know where she’s gotten to and whether there’s anything I can do for her. Maybe your new orientation will be of help somehow.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, and he winked out.

  I sagged. How was Orkuz going to take it? I wondered. One daughter injured and the other possessed of a demon and wandering, off in Shadow. I moved to the foot of the bed and leaned against Mandor’s chair. He reached up with his left hand and squeezed my arm.

  “I don’t suppose you learned anything about bone-setting off on that shadow-world, did you?” he inquired.

  “Afraid not,” I answered.

  “Pity,” he replied. “I’ll just have to wait my turn.”

  “We can Trump you somewhere and get it taken care of right away,” I said, reaching for my cards.

  “No,” he said. “I want to see things played out here.”

  While he was speaking, I noticed that Random seemed engaged in an intense Trump communication. Vialle stood nearby, as if shielding him from the opening in the wall and whatever might emerge there-from. Dworkin continued to work upon Coral’s face, his body blocking sight of exactly what he was doing.

  “Mandor,” I said, “did you know that my mother sent the ty’iga to take care of me?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “It told me that when you stepped out of the room. A part of the spell would not permit it to tell you this.”

  “Was she just there to protect me, or was she spying on me, too?”

  “That I couldn’t tell you. The matter didn’t come up. But it does seem her fears were warranted. You were in danger.”

  “You think Dara knew about Jasra and Luke?”

  He began to shrug, winced, thought better of it.

  “Again, I don’t know for certain. If she did, I can’t answer the next one either: How did she know? Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Random completed a conversation, covering a Trump: Then he turned and stared at Vialle for some time. He looked as if he were about to say something, thought better of it, looked away. He looked at me. About then I heard Coral moan, and I looked away, rising.

  “A moment, Merlin,” Random said, “before you go rushing off.”

  I met his gaze. Whether it was angry or merely curious, I could not tell. The tightening of the brows, the narrowing of the eyes could indicate either.

  “Sir?” I said.

  He approached, took me by the elbow, and turned me away from the bed, leading me off toward the doorway to the next room.

  “Vialle, I’m borrowing your studio for a few moments,” he said.

  “Surely,” she replied.

  He led me inside and closed the door behind us. Across the room a bust of Gerard had fallen and broken. What appeared to be her current project—a multi-limbed sea creature of a sort I’d never seen—occupied a work area at the studio’s far end.

  Random turned on me suddenly and searched my face.

  “Have you been following the Begma-Kashfa situation?” he asked.

  “More or less,” I replied. “Bill briefed me on it the other night. Eregnor and all that.”

  “Did he tell you that we were going to bring Kashfa into the Golden Circle and solve the Eregnor problem by recognizing Kashfa’s right to that piece of real estate?”

  I didn’t like the way he’d asked that one, and I didn’t want to get Bill in trouble. It had seemed that that matter was still under wraps when we’d spoken. So, “I’m afraid I don’t recall all the details on this stuff,” I said.

  “Well, that’s what I planned on doing,” Random told me. “We don’t usually make guarantees like that—the kind that will favor one treaty country at the expense of another—but Arkans, the Duke of Shadburne, kind of had us over a barrel. He was the best possible head of state for our purposes, and I’d paved the way for his taking the throne now that that red-haired bitch is out of the picture. He knew he could lean on me a bit, though—since he’d be taking a chance accepting the throne following a double break in the succession—and he asked for Eregnor, so I gave it to him.”

  “I see,” I said, “everything except how this affects me.”

  He turned his head and studied me through his left eye.

  “The coronation was to be today. In fact, I was going to dress and Trump back for it in a little while . . . ”

  “You use the past tense,” I observed, to fill the silence he had left before me.

  “So I do. So I do,” he muttered, turning away, pacing a few steps, resting his foot on a piece of broken statuary, turning back. “The good Duke is now either dead or imprisoned.”

  “And there will be no coronation?” I said.

  “Au contraire,” Random replied, still studying my face.

  “I give up,” I said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “There was a coup, at dawn, this morning.”

  “Palace?”

  “Possibly that, too. But it was backed by external military force.”

  “What was Benedict doing while this was going on?”

  “I ordered him to pull the troops out yesterday, right before I came home myself. Things seemed stable, and it wouldn’t have looked good to have combat troops from Amber stationed there during the coronation.”

  “True,” I said. “So somebody moved right in, almost as soon as Benedict moved out and did away with the man who would be king, without the local constabulary even suggesting that that was not nice?”

  Random nodded slowly.

  “That’s about the size of it,” he said. “Now why do you think that might be?”

  “Perhaps they were not totally displeased with the new state of affairs.”

  Random smiled and snapped his fingers.

  “Inspired,” he said. “One could almost think you knew what was going on.”

  “One would be wrong,” I said.r />
  “Today your former classmate Lukas Raynard becomes Rinaldo I, King of Kashfa.”

  “I’ll be damned,” I said. “I’d no idea he really wanted that job. What are you going to do about it?”

  “I think I’ll skip the coronation.”

  “I mean, over a slightly longer term.”

  Random sighed and turned away, kicking at the rubble.

  “You mean, am I going to send Benedict back, to depose him?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “That would make us look pretty bad. What Luke just did is not above the Graustarkian politics that prevail in the area. We’d moved in and helped straighten out something that was fast becoming a political shambles. We could go back and do it again, too, if it were just some half-assed coup by a crazy general or some noble with delusions of grandeur. But Luke’s got a legitimate claim, and it actually is stronger than Shadburne’s. Also, he’s popular. He’s young, and he makes a good appearance. We’d have a lot less justification for going back than we had for going in initially. Even so, I was almost willing to risk being called an aggressor to keep that bitch’s homicidal son off the throne. Then my man in Kashfa tells me that he’s under Vialle’s protection. So I asked her about it. She says that it’s true and that you were present when it happened. She said she’d tell me about it after the operation Dworkin’s doing now, in case he needs her empathic abilities. But I can’t wait. Tell me what happened.”

  “You tell me one more thing first.”

  “What is it?”

  “What military forces brought Luke to power?”

  “Mercenaries.”

  “Dalt’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Luke canceled his vendetta against the House of Amber,” I said. “He did this freely, following a conversation with Vialle, just the other night. It was then that she gave him the ring. At the time I thought it was to keep Julian from trying to kill him, as we were on our way down to Arden.”

  “This was in response to Dalt’s so-called ultimatum regarding Luke and Jasra?”

  “That’s right. It never occurred to me that the whole thing might be a setup—to get Luke and Dalt together so they could go off and pull a coup. That would mean that even that fight was staged, and now that I think of it, Luke did have a chance to talk with Dalt before it occurred.”

  Random raised his hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “Go back and tell me the thing from the beginning.”

  “Right.”

  And so I did. By the time I’d finished we had both paced the length of the studio countless times.

  “You know,” he said then, “the whole business sounds like something Jasra might have set up before her career as a piece of furniture.”

  “The thought had occurred to me,” I said, hoping he wasn’t about to pursue the matter of her present whereabouts. And the more I thought of it, recalling her reaction to the information about Luke following our raid on the Keep, the more I began to feel not only that she had been aware of what was going on but that she’d even been in touch with Luke more recently than I had at that time.

  “It was pretty smoothly done,” he observed. “Dalt must have been operating under old orders. Not being certain how to collect Luke or locate Jasra for fresh instructions, he took a chance with that feint on Amber. Benedict might well have spitted him again, with equal skill and greater effect.”

  “True. I guess you have to give the devil his due when it comes to guts. It also means that Luke must have done a lot of fast plotting and laid that fixed fight out during their brief conference in Arden. So he was really in control there, and he conned us into thinking he was a prisoner, which precluded his being the threat to Kashfa that he really was—if you want to look at it that way.”

  “What other way is there to look at it?”

  “Well, as you said yourself, his claim is not exactly without merit. What do you want to do?”

  Random massaged his temples.

  “Going after him, preventing the coronation, would be a very unpopular move,” he said. “First, though, I’m curious. You say this guy’s a great bullshitter. You were there. Did he con Vialle into placing him under her protection?”

  “No, he didn’t,” I said. “He seemed as surprised as I was at her gesture. He called off the vendetta because he felt that honor had been satisfied, that he had to an extent been used by his mother, and out of friendship for me. He did it without any strings on it. I still think she gave him the ring so the vendetta would end there, so none of us would go gunning for him.”

  “That is very like her,” Random said. “If I thought he’d taken advantage of that, I was going to go after him myself. The embarrassment for me is unintentional then, and I guess I can live with it. I prime Arkans for the throne, and then he’s shunted aside at the last minute by someone under my wife’s protection. Almost makes it look as if there’s a bit of divisiveness here at the center of things—and I’d hate to give that impression.”

  “I’ve got a hunch Luke will be very conciliatory. I know him well enough to know he appreciates all of these nuances. I’d guess he’d be a very easy man for Amber to deal with, on any level.”

  “I’ll bet he will. Why shouldn’t he?”

  “No reason,” I said. “What’s going to happen to that treaty now?”

  Random smiled.

  “I’m off the hook. I never felt right about the Eregnor provisions. Now, if there’s to be a treaty at all, we go at it ab initio. I’m not even sure we need one, though. The hell with ’em.”

  “I’ll bet Arkans is still alive,” I said.

  “You think Luke’s holding him hostage, against my giving him Golden Circle status?”

  I shrugged.

  “How close are you to Arkans?”

  “Well, I did set him up for this thing, and I feel I owe him. I don’t feel I owe him that much, though.”

  “Understandable.”

  “There would be loss of face for Amber even to approach a second-rate power like Kashfa directly at a time like this.”

  “True,” I said, “and for that matter, Luke isn’t officially head of state yet.”

  “Arkans would still be enjoying life at his villa if it weren’t for me, though, and Luke really does seem to be a friend of yours—a scheming friend, but a friend.”

  “You would like me to mention this during a forthcoming discussion of Tony Price’s atomic sculpture?”

  He nodded.

  “I feel you should have your art discussion very soon. In fact, it would not be inappropriate for you to attend a friend’s coronation—as a private individual. Your dual heritage will serve us well here, and he will still be honored.”

  “Even so, I’ll bet he wants that treaty.”

  “Even if we were inclined to grant it, we would not guarantee him Eregnor.”

  “I understand.”

  “And you are not empowered to commit us to anything.”

  “I understand that, too.”

  “Then why don’t you clean up a bit and go talk to him about it? Your room is just around the abyss. You can leave through the hole in the wall and shinny down a beam I noticed was intact.”

  “Okay, I will,” I answered, moving in that direction. “But one question first, completely off the subject.”

  “Yes?”

  “Has my father been back recently?”

  “Not to my knowledge,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “We’re all pretty good at hiding our comings and goings if we wish, of course. But I think he’d have let me know if he were around.”

  “Guess so,” I said, and I turned and exited through the wall, skirting the abyss.

  11

  No.

  I hung from the beam, swung, and let go. I landed almost gracefully in the middle of the hallway in an area that would have been located approximately midway between my two doors, save that the first door was missing, also the section of wall through which it had provided entrance (or exit, dependin
g on which side you happened to be), not to mention my favorite chair and a display case which had held seashells I’d picked up from beaches around the world. Pity.

  I rubbed my eyes and turned away, for even the prospect of my ruined apartment took second place just now. Hell, I’d had apartments ruined in the past. Usually around April 30 . . .

  As in “Niagara Falls,” slowly I turned . . .

  No.

  Yes. Across the hall from my rooms, where I had previously faced a blank wall, there was now a hallway running to the north. I’d gotten a glimpse up its sparkling length as I’d dropped from my rafter. Amazing. The gods had just up-tempoed my background music yet again. I’d been in that hallway before, in one of its commoner locations up on the fourth floor, running east-west between a couple of storerooms. One of Castle Amber’s intriguing anomalies, the Corridor of Mirrors, in addition to seeming longer in one direction than the other, contained countless mirrors. Literally countless. Try counting them, and you never come up with the same total twice. Tapers flicker in high, standing holders, casting infinities of shadows. There are big mirrors, little mirrors, narrow mirrors, squat mirrors, tinted mirrors, distorting mirrors, mirrors with elaborate frames—cast or carved—plain, simply framed mirrors, and mirrors with no frames at all; there are mirrors in multitudes of sharp-angled geometric shapes, amorphous shapes, curved mirrors.

  I had walked the Corridor of Mirrors on several occasions, sniffing the perfumes of scented candles, sometimes feeling subliminal presences among the images, things which faded at an instant’s sharp regard. I had felt the mixed enchantments of the place but had somehow never roused its sleeping genii. Just as well perhaps. One never knew what to expect in that place; at least that’s what Bleys once told me. He was not certain whether the mirrors propelled one into obscure realms of Shadow, hypnotized one and induced bizarre dream states, cast one into purely symbolic realms decorated with the furniture of the psyche, played malicious or harmless head games with the viewer, none of the above, all of the above, or some of the above. Whatever, it was something less than harmless, though, as thieves, servants, and visitors had occasionally been found dead or stunned and mumbling along that sparkling route, oft-times wearing highly unusual expressions. And generally around the solstices and equinoxes—though it could occur at any season—the corridor moved itself to a new location, sometimes simply departing altogether for a time. Usually it was treated with suspicion, shunned, though it could as often reward as injure one or offer a useful omen or insight as readily as an unnerving experience. It was the uncertainty of it that roused trepidations.