The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  “Hm,” he said. “And what if your whole life were a study in manipulation?”

  “I wouldn’t feel good about it,” I said. “I guess I’d feel just the way I do now, only perhaps more intensely.”

  He gestured and an amazing omelet appeared before me, followed, moments later, by a side dish of fried potatoes, mixed with what appeared to be green chilies and onions.

  “All of this is hypothetical,” I said as I began eating, “isn’t it?”

  There followed a long pause as he took his first mouthful, then, “I think not,” he said.

  “I think the Powers have been moving madly for a long while now,” he went on, “and we’re finally nearing endgame.”

  “What makes you privy to these matters?”

  “It began with a careful consideration of events,” he said. “Then followed the formulation and testing of hypotheses.”

  “Spare me a lecture on the use of the scientific method in theology and human politics,” I said.

  “You asked.”

  “True. Go ahead.”

  “Do you not feel it somewhat odd that Swayvill expired just when he did, when so many things are coming to fruition simultaneously, after having hung on for so long?”

  “He had to go sometime,” I said, “and all the recent stresses probably proved too much.”

  “Timing,” Mandor said. “Strategic placement. Timing.”

  “For what?”

  “To place you on the throne of Chaos, of course,” he replied.

  4

  Sometimes you hear an unlikely thing and that’s all it is. Other times, you hear something improbable and it strikes an echo. There is an immediate feeling of having known it, or known something very like it, all along, and just not having bothered to pick it up and examine it. By rights, I should have choked at Mandor’s pronouncement, then snorted something such as “Preposterous!” Yet, I’d a peculiar feeling about this business—whether his conclusion was right or wrong—as if there were something more than conjecture involved, as if there just might be some overall plan moving me toward the circle of power in the Courts.

  I took a long, slow drink of coffee. Then, “Really?” I said.

  I felt myself smiling as he sought my eyes, studied my face.

  “Are you consciously party to the effort?”

  I raised my coffee cup again. I had been about to say, “No, of course not. This is the first I’ve heard of the notion.” Then I recalled my father’s telling me how he had duped Aunt Flora into giving him vital information his amnesia had washed away. It was not the cleverness with which he had done it that had impressed me so much as the fact that his mistrust of relatives transcended consciousness, existed as a pure existential reflex. Not having been through all the family rivalries Corwin had, I lacked responses of such intensity. And Mandor and I had always gotten along particularly well, even though he was a few centuries older and had very different tastes in some areas. But, suddenly, discussing such a high-stakes matter as we were, that small voice Corwin referred to as his worse-if-wiser self suggested, “Why not? You could use the practice, kid,” and as I lowered the cup again I decided to try it out, just to see how it felt, for a few minutes.

  “I don’t know whether we both have the same thing in mind,” I said. “Why don’t you tell me about the middle game—or perhaps even the opening—for what you see rushing to conclusion now.”

  “Both the Pattern and the Logrus are sentient,” he said. “We’ve both seen evidence of that. Whether they are manifestations of the Unicorn and the Serpent or the other way around makes no real difference. Either way, we are talking about a pair of greater-than-human intelligences with vast powers at their disposal. Whichever came first is also one of those useless theological points. We need only concern ourselves with the present situation, as it affects us.”

  I nodded.

  “A fair assessment,” I agreed.

  “The forces they represent have been opposed but fairly evenly matched for ages,” he went on, “and thus a kind of balance has been maintained. They have constantly sought small victories over each other, each attempting to add to its own domain at the expense of the other. It appears to be a zero-sum game. Both Oberon and Swayvill were their agents for a long while, with Dworkin and Suhuy as their intermediaries with the powers themselves.”

  “So?” I said as he took a sip of juice.

  “I believe that Dworkin had touched the Pattern too closely,” he continued, “and so became subject to manipulation. He was sufficiently sophisticated, however, that he realized this and resisted. This resulted in his madness, with a reciprocal damaging effect on the Pattern itself because of their close connection. This, in turn, caused the Pattern to leave him alone, rather than risk further trauma. The damage was done, though, and the Logrus gained a small edge. This allowed it to act in the realm of order when Prince Brand began his experiments to increase his personal abilities. I believe he laid himself open to control and became an unwitting agent of the Logrus.”

  “That’s a lot of supposition,” I said.

  “Consider,” he responded, “that his aims seemingly became those of a madman. They make much more sense when seen as the goal of something wanting to destroy all order, to restore the universe to chaos.”

  “Continue,” I said.

  “At some point, the Pattern discovered—or perhaps possessed all along—the ability to create ‘ghosts,’ short-lived simulacra of those who had negotiated it. Fascinating concept, that. I was very interested to learn of it. It provided a major mechanism, supporting my thesis of the Pattern’s and possibly the Logrus’s, direct action in the promotion of physical events. Might they have figured in the setting up of your father as the Pattern’s champion against Brand? I wonder.”

  “I don’t follow,” I said. “Setting him up, you say?”

  “I’ve a feeling he was really the Pattern’s choice as the next King of Amber, easy to promote, too, as it seemed to coincide with his own wishes. I’ve wondered about his sudden recovery in that Shadow Earth clinic, and particularly about the circumstances surrounding the accident that put him there, when even with differing time streams it seemed possible that Brand might have had to be in two places at the same time—imprisoned and looking down the sights of a rifle. Of course, Brand is no longer available to clarify the matter.”

  “More supposition,” I said, finishing my omelet. “But not uninteresting. Please continue.”

  “Your father had second thoughts about the throne, however. Still, he was Amber’s champion. Amber did win the war. The Pattern was repaired. The balance was restored. Random was the second choice as monarch—a good maintainer of the status quo—and that choice was made by the Unicorn, not by the Amberites following any of their versions of the Rules of Succession.”

  “I never looked at it all that way,” I said.

  “And your father—inadvertently, I believe—provided a bonus. Afraid that the Pattern had not been repaired, he drew another. Only, it had been repaired. Thus, there were two artifacts of order, rather than one. Though, as a separate entity, it probably did not add to the Pattern’s strength, it added to order, as such, diminishing the effects of the Logrus. So your father set the balance right, then proceeded to tip it again—in the other direction.”

  “This is your conclusion from the investigations you and Fiona made of the new Pattern?”

  He nodded slowly, took a sip of juice.

  “Hence, more Shadow storms than usual, as a mundane effect,” he said, “bringing us up to present times.”

  “Yes, present times,” I said, pouring more coffee.

  “We’ve noted they’ve grown interesting.”

  “Indeed. Your story of the girl Coral, asking the Pattern to send her to an appropriate place, is a case in point. What did it immediately do? It sent her to a Shadow Pattern and turned out the lights. Then it sent you to rescue her, repairing that edition of itself in the process. Once it was repaired it was no longe
r a Shadow Pattern, but another version of itself that it was then able to absorb. It probably absorbed that entire shadow as well, adding considerably to its own energies. Its edge over the Logrus increased even more. The Logrus would need a big gain to restore the balance after that. So it risked an incursion into the Pattern’s domain, in a desperate effort to obtain the Eye of Chaos. That ended in a stalemate, though, because of the intervention of that bizarre entity you call Ghostwheel. So the balance remains tipped in the Pattern’s favor, an unhealthy state of affairs.”

  “For the Logrus.”

  “For everybody, I’d say. The Powers will be at odds, the shadows in turmoil and disorder in both realms till things have been righted.”

  “So something should be done to benefit the Logrus.”

  “You already know that.”

  “I suppose I do.”

  “It communicated with you directly, didn’t it?”

  I recalled my night in the chapel in the place between shadows, where I had been faced with a choice between the Serpent and the Unicorn, the Logrus and the Pattern. Resenting the bullying in such a forced format, I had refused to choose either.

  “Yes, it did,” I answered.

  “It wanted you for its champion, didn’t it?”

  “I suppose it did,” I said.

  “And . . . ?”

  “ . . . And here we are,” I replied.

  “Did it indicate anything that might support my thesis?”

  I thought about that trek through the Under-shadow, mixing menace with ghosts—Pattern, Logrus, or both. “I suppose it did,” I repeated.

  But, ultimately, it had been the Pattern I had served at the end of that journey, albeit unwittingly.

  “You are prepared to execute its design for the good of the Courts?”

  “I’m prepared to seek resolution of this matter. For everybody’s peace of mind.”

  He smiled.

  “Is that a qualification or an agreement?”

  “It’s a statement of intent,” I said.

  “If the Logrus has chosen you, it has its reasons.”

  “I daresay.”

  “It almost goes without saying that having you on the throne would strengthen the House of Sawall immensely.”

  “The thought had occurred to me, now you mention it.”

  “For one with your background, of course, it would become necessary to determine where your ultimate loyalty lies—with Amber or with the Courts.”

  “Do you foresee another war?”

  “No, of course not. But anything you do to strengthen the Logrus will arouse the Pattern and provoke some response from Amber. Hardly to the point of war, but possibly to that of retaliation.”

  “Could you be more specific as to what you have in mind?”

  “I’m only dealing in generalities at the moment, to give you opportunity to assess your reactions.”

  I nodded.

  “Since we’re talking generalities I’ll just repeat my statement: I’m prepared to seek a resolution—”

  “All right,” he said. “We understand each other to this extent. In the event you make it to the throne, you want the same thing we do—”

  “`We’?” I interrupted.

  “The House of Sawall, of course. But you don’t want anyone dictating specifics to you.”

  “That says it nicely,” I replied.

  “But of course we’re speaking hypothetically, there being a couple of others about with stronger claims.”

  “So why argue contingencies?”

  “If the House were able to see you crowned, however, do you acknowledge you would owe consideration for this?”

  “Brother,” I said, “you are the House, for all major purposes. If you’re asking for a commitment before taking out Tmer and Tubble, forget it, I’m not all that eager to sit on a throne.”

  “Your wishes are not paramount in this,” he said. “There is no reason for squeamishness when you consider that we’ve long been at odds with Jesby, and Chanicut’s always been a troublemaker.”

  “Squeamishness has nothing to do with it,” I said. “I never said I wanted the throne. And, frankly, I think either Tmer or Tubble would probably do a better job.”

  “They are not designates of the Logrus.”

  “And if I am, I should make it without any help.”

  “Brother, there is a big gap between its world of principles and ours of flesh, stone, and steel.”

  “And supposing I have my own agenda and it does not include your plan?”

  “What is it, then?”

  “We’re speaking hypothetically, remember?”

  “Merlin, you’re being obstinate. You’ve a duty in this, to the House as well as to the Courts and the Logrus.”

  “I can assess my own duties, Mandor, and I have—so far.”

  “If you’ve a plan to set things right, and it’s a good one, we’ll help you to effectuate it. What have you in mind?”

  “I do not require help at this point,” I said, “but I’ll remember that.”

  “What do you require right now?”

  “Information,” I said.

  “Ask me. I have a lot.”

  “All right. What can you tell me about my mother’s maternal side, the House of Hendrake?”

  He pursed his lips.

  “They’re into soldiering, professionally,” he said. “You know they’re always off fighting in Shadow wars. They love it. Belissa Minobee’s been in charge since General Larsus’s death. Hm.” He paused. Then, “Do you ask because of their rather odd fixation involving Amber?”

  “Amber?” I said. “What do you mean?”

  “I recall a social visit to the Ways of Hendrake one time,” he said, “when I wandered into a small, chapel-like room. In a niche in one wall there hung a portrait of General Benedict, in full battle regalia. There was an altar-like shelf below it bearing several weapons, and upon which a number of candles were burning. Your mother’s picture was there, too.”

  “Really?” I said. “I wonder whether Benedict knows? Dara once told my father she was descended from Benedict. Later, he figured this an out-and-out lie. . . . Do you think people like that would hold a grudge against my father?”

  “For what?”

  “Corwin slew Borel of Hendrake at the time of the Patternfall War.”

  “They tend to take such things philosophically.”

  “Still, I gather it was a somewhat less than kosher engagement from the way he described it—though I don’t believe there were any witnesses.”

  “So let sleeping wyverns lie.”

  “I’ve no intention of rousing them. But what I was wondering was that if they had somehow heard details they might have been out to clear some debt of honor on his behalf. Do you think they could have been behind his disappearance?”

  “I just don’t know,” he replied, “how that would fit in with their code. I suppose you could ask them.”

  “Just come out and say, ‘Hey, are you responsible for whatever happened to my dad?’”

  “There are more subtle ways of learning a person’s attitudes,” he responded. “As I recall, you had a few lessons in them in your youth.”

  “But I don’t even know these people. I mean, I might have met one of the sisters at a party, now I think of it—and I recall having seen Larsus and his wife in the distance a few times—but that’s it.”

  “Hendrake will have a representative at the funeral,” he said. “If I were to introduce you, perhaps you could apply a little glamour to obtain an informal audience.”

  “You know, that may be the way to go,” I told him.

  “Probably the only way. Yes, do that, please.”

  “Very well.”

  He cleared the table with a gesture, filled it with another. This time, paper-thin crepes with a variety of fillings and toppings appeared before us; and fresh rolls, variously spiced. We ate for a time in silence, appreciating the balminess and the birds, the breezes.

 
“I wish I could have seen something of Amber,” he said at length, “under less restricted circumstances.”

  “I’m sure that can be arranged,” I replied. “I’d like to show you around. I know a great restaurant in Death Alley.”

  “That wouldn’t be Bloody Eddie’s, would it?”

  “It would, though the name gets changed periodically.”

  “I’ve heard of it, and long been curious.”

  “We’ll do that one day.”

  “Excellent.”

  He clapped his hands and bowls of fruit appeared. I freshened my coffee and swirled a Kadota fig in a bowl of whipped cream.

  “I’ll be dining with my mother later,” I remarked.

  “Yes. I overheard.”

  “Have you seen much of her recently? How’s she been?”

  “As she said, rather reclusive,” he replied.

  “Do you think she’s up to something?”

  “Probably,” he said. “I can’t recall a time when she hasn’t been.”

  “Any idea what?”

  “Why should I guess when she’ll probably tell you outright?”

  “You really think she will?”

  “You have an advantage over everyone else, in being her son.”

  “Also a drawback, for the same reason.”

  “Still, she’s more likely to tell you things than she would anyone else.”

  “Except, perhaps, Jurt.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “She always liked him better.”

  “Funny, I’ve heard him say the same thing about you.”

  “You see him often?”

  “Often? No.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “About two cycles ago.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Here, in the Courts.”

  “At Sawall?” I had visions of him joining us for lunch. I wouldn’t put something like that past Dara either.

  “One of its byways, I think. He’s rather reticent concerning his comings and goings—and stayings.”

  There being something like eight byway residences to Sawall that I knew of, it would be difficult to run him down through byways that could lead well into Shadow. Not that I’d any desire to, at the moment.