“He’d step aside for me.”
“You asked him?”
“No. But I’m sure.”
I moved on.
“You always assumed too much, Jurt.”
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, appearing and vanishing again. “Either way, it doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“I quit. I’m out of the running. The hell with it.”
“How come?”
“Even if the Logrus hadn’t made its intentions clear, I was beginning to feel nervous. It was not just that I was afraid you’d kill me either. I got to thinking about myself, and the succession. What if I made it to the throne? I’m not so sure as I once was that I’m competent to hold it.” I turned again, caught a glimpse of him licking his lips, brows knotted. “I could mess up the realm severely,” he went on, “unless I had good advice. And you know that, ultimately, it would come from Mandor or Dara. I’d wind up a puppet, wouldn’t I?”
“Probably. But you’ve gotten me very curious. When did you start thinking this way? Might it coincide with your treatment in the Fountain? What if my interruption made yours closer to the correct course there?”
“It’s possible there’s something to that,” he said. “I’m glad now I didn’t go the full route. I suspect it might have driven me mad, as it did Brand. But it may not have been that at all. Or—I don’t know.”
There was silence as I sidled along a passageway, my puzzled images keeping pace in the mirrors at either hand.
“She didn’t want me to kill you,” he finally blurted from somewhere off to my right.
“Julia?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“Recovering. Pretty rapidly, actually.”
“Is she here at Sawall?”
“Yes.”
“Look, I’d like to see her. But if she doesn’t want to, I understand. I didn’t know it was her when I stabbed Mask, and I’m sorry.”
“She never really wanted to hurt you. Her quarrel was with Jasra. With you, it was an elaborate game. She wanted to prove she was as good as—maybe better than—you. She wanted to show you what you’d thrown away.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Tell me one thing, please,” he said. “Did you love her? Did you ever really love her?”
I didn’t answer him immediately. After all, I’d asked myself that question many times, and I’d had to wait for the answer, too.
“Yes,” I finally said. “I didn’t realize it till it was too late, though. Bad timing on my part.”
A little later I asked, “What about you?”
“I’m not going to make the same mistake you did,” he replied. “She’s what got me to thinking about all these things. . . . ”
“I understand. If she won’t see me, tell her that I said I’m sorry—about everything.”
There was no reply. I stood still for a time, hoping he’d catch up with me, but he didn’t.
Then, “Okay,” I called out. “Our duel’s ended, so far as I’m concerned.”
I began moving again. After a time, I came to an exit and I stepped through it.
He was standing outside, looking up at a massive porcelain face.
“Good,” he said.
I drew near.
“There’s more,” he said, still not looking at me.
“Oh?”
“I think they’re stacking the deck,” he stated.
“Who? How? What for?”
“Mom and the Logrus,” he told me. “To put you on the throne. Who’s the bride of the Jewel?”
“I guess that would be Coral. It seems I did hear Dara use that term at some point. Why?”
“I overheard her giving orders last cycle, to some of her Hendrake kin. She’s sending a special team to kidnap this woman and bring her here. I got the impression she’s intended as your queen.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “She’s married to my friend Luke. She’s Queen of Kashfa—”
He shrugged.
“Just telling you what I heard,” he said. “It had to do with this balancing of forces thing.”
Indeed. I hadn’t thought of that possibility, but it made perfect sense. With Coral, the Courts would automatically obtain the Jewel of Judgment, or the Eye of the Serpent as it was known hereabout, and that balance would certainly be affected. A loss for Amber, a gain for the Courts. It could be sufficient to achieve what I wanted, the harmony that might postpone catastrophe indefinitely.
Too bad I couldn’t let it occur. The poor girl had been jerked around too much, because she happened to be in Amber at the wrong time, because she happened to take a liking to me. I can recall once feeling philosophical in the abstract and deciding, yes, it would be okay to sacrifice one innocent for the good of the many. That was back in college, and had something to do with principles. But Coral was my friend, my cousin, and technically my lover—though under a set of circumstances that should hardly count; and a quick check of my feelings, so as not to be caught up short again, indicated that I could fall in love with her. All of which meant that philosophy had lost yet another round in the real world.
“How long ago did she send these people off, Jurt?”
“I don’t know when they left—or even if they’ve left yet,” he replied. “And with the time differential, they could be gone and back already for that matter.”
“True,” I said, and, “Shit!”
He turned and looked at me.
“It’s important in all sorts of other ways, too, I suppose?” he said.
“It is to her, and she is to me,” I answered.
His expression changed to one of puzzlement.
“In that case,” he said, “why don’t you just let them bring her to you? If you have to take the throne, it will sweeten things. If you don’t, you’ll have her with you, anyhow.”
“Feelings are hard enough to keep secret, even around non-sorcerers,” I said. “She could be used as a hostage against my behavior.”
“Oh. I hate to say this pleases me. What I mean is . . . I’m pleased you care about someone else.”
I lowered my head. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but I didn’t.
Jurt made a little humming noise, as he sometimes had when pondering things as a kid. Then, “We’ve got to get her before they do, and move her to someplace safe,” he said. “Or take her away from them if they’ve already got her.”
“`We’?”
He smiled, a rare event.
“You know what I’ve become. I’m tough.”
“I hope so,” I said. “But you know what’ll happen if there are any witnesses to say it was a couple of the Sawall brothers behind this? Most likely a vendetta with Hendrake.”
“Even if Dara talked them into it?”
“It’ll look like she set them up.”
“Okay,” he said. “No witnesses.”
I could have said that averting vendetta would save a lot of other lives, but that would have sounded hypocritical even if I didn’t mean it that way. Instead, “That power you gained in the Fountain,” I said, “gives you something I’ve heard referred to as a ‘living Trump’ effect. Seems to me you were able to transport Julia as well as yourself with it.”
He nodded.
“Can it get us from here to Kashfa in a hurry?” The distant sound of an enormous gong filled the air.
“I can do anything the cards can do,” he said, “and I can take someone along with me. The only problem is that the Trumps themselves don’t have that range. I’d have to take us there in a series of jumps.”
The gong sounded again.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“The noise?” he said. “That’s notice that the funeral is about to begin. It can be heard throughout the Courts.”
“Bad timing.”
“Maybe, maybe not. It’s giving me an idea.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s our alibi if we have to take out s
ome Hendrakes.”
“How so?”
“The time differential. We go to the funeral and get seen. We slip out, run our errand, come back, and attend the rest of the service.”
“You think the flow will allow that?”
“I think there’s a good chance, yes. I’ve done a lot of jumping around. I’m starting to get a real feel for flows.”
“Then we’ll give it a try. The more confusion the better.”
Again, the gong.
Red, the color of the fire of life that fills us, is the color of mourning garments in the Courts. I used the spikard rather than the Sign of the Logrus to summon suitable clothing for myself. I’d a desire to avoid any commerce, even the most mundane, with that Power, for now.
Jurt then trumped us to his quarters, where he had suitable garments of his own from the last funeral he’d attended. I’d a small desire to see my old room, too. Sometime, perhaps, when I wasn’t rushed. . . .
We washed up, combed, trimmed, dressed quickly. I took on a changed form then, as did Jurt, and we went through the ritual again at this level, before garbing ourselves for the occasion. Shirt, breeches, jacket, cloak, anklets, bracelets, scarf, and bandanna—we looked incendiary. Weapons had to be left behind. We planned to return for them on the way out.
“Ready?” Jurt asked me.
“Yes.”
He caught hold of my arm and we were transported, arriving at the inward edge of the Plaza at the End of the World, where a blue sky darkened above a conflagration of mourners milling along the route the procession would take. We passed among them, in hope of being seen by as many as possible. I was greeted by a few old acquaintances. Unfortunately, most wanted to stop and talk, not having seen me for some time. Jurt had similar problems. Most also wondered why we were here, rather than back at the Thelbane, the massive, glassy needle of Chaos far to our rear. Periodically, the air would vibrate as the gong continued its slow sounding. I felt it in the ground, also, as we were very near to its home. We made our way slowly across the Plaza, toward the massive pile of black stone at the very edge of the Pit, its gate an archway of frozen flame, as was its downward stair, each tread and riser time-barred fire, each railing the same. The rough amphitheater below us was also fire-furnished, self-illumed, facing the black block at the end of everything, no wall behind it, but the open emptiness of the Pit and its singularity whence all things came.
No one was entering it yet, and we stood near the gates of fire and looked back along the route the procession would follow. We nodded to friendly demonic faces, quivered to the note of the gong, watched the sky darken a little further. Suddenly, my head was filled with a powerful presence.
“Merlin!”
I immediately had an image of Mandor in a changed form, looking down his red-clothed arm, hand invisible, presumably regarding me through my Trump, wearing the closest thing I’d seen in a long while to an irritated expression.
“Yes?” I said.
His gaze moved past me. His expression suddenly changed, eyebrows rising, lips parting.
“That’s Jurt you’re with?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“I’d thought you not on the best of terms,” he said slowly, “as of our last conversation.”
“We agreed to put aside our differences for the funeral.”
“While it seems very civilized, I’m not certain how wise it is,” he said.
I smiled.
“I know what I’m doing,” I told him.
“Really?” he said. “Then why are you at the cathedral rather than here at Thelbane?”
“Nobody told me I was supposed to be at Thelbane.”
“Odd,” he responded. “Your mother was supposed to have informed both you and Jurt that you were to be part of the procession.”
I shook my head and turned away.
“Jurt, did you know we were to be in the procession?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “On the one hand, it makes sense. On the other, there’s the black watch, which might recommend we maintain a low profile. Who’s telling you this?”
“Mandor. He says Dara was supposed to let us know.”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“You catch that?” I said to Mandor.
“Yes. It doesn’t matter now. Come on through, both of you.”
He extended his other hand.
“He wants us now,” I said to Jurt.
“Damn!” Jurt mouthed, and came forward.
I reached out and clasped Mandor’s hand just as Jurt came up and caught hold of my shoulder. We both moved forward then—into the slick and gleaming interior of Thelbane’s main hall at ground level, a study in black, gray, mossy green, deep red, chandeliers like stalactites, fire sculptures about the walls, scaly hides hung behind them, drifting globes of water in the middle air, creatures swimming within them. The place was filled with notables, relatives, courtiers, stirring like a field of flame about the catafalque at the hall’s center. The gong sounded again just as Mandor said something to us.
He waited till the vibrations subsided, then spoke again: “I said Dara hasn’t arrived yet. Go pay your respects, and let Bances assign you places in the procession.”
Glancing toward the catafalque, I caught sight of both Tmer and Tubble in the vicinity. Tmer was talking to Bances, Tubble to someone who had his back turned this way. A horrible thought suddenly struck me.
“What,” I asked, “is the security situation for the procession?”
Mandor smiled.
“There are quite a few guardsmen mixed in with the group here,” he said, “and more spotted along the way. Someone will be watching you every second.”
I glanced at Jurt to see whether he’d heard, that. He nodded.
“Thanks.”
Keeping my litany of obscenities subvocal, I moved toward the casket, Jurt at my back. The only way I could think to produce a double would be to talk the Pattern into sending in a ghost of myself to take my place. But the Logrus would detect the ringer’s projected energies in no time. And if I just left, not only would my absence be noticed, but I’d probably be tracked—possibly by the Logrus itself once Dara called a conference. Then it would be learned that I’d gone off to thwart the Logrus’s attempt to rebalance order, and the headwaters of Shit Creek are a cruel and treacherous expanse. I would not make the mistake of fancying myself indispensable.
“How are we going to do this, Merlin?” Jurt said softly as we found our way to the end of the slow-moving line.
The gong sounded again, causing the chandeliers to vibrate.
“I don’t see how we can,” I answered. “I think the best I can hope for is to try getting a message through as I walk along.”
“It can’t be done by Trump from here,” he answered. “Well, maybe under perfect conditions,” he amended, “but not with all these distractions.”
I tried to think of some spell, some sending, some agent to serve me in this. Ghost would have been ideal. Of course; he’d drifted off to explore the spatial asymmetries of the Sculpture Hall. That could keep him occupied for a long while.
“I could get there pretty quickly,” Jurt volunteered, “and with the time differential I might make it back before anyone noticed.”
“And you know exactly two people in Kashfa you might tell,” I said. “Luke and Coral. They both met you in church, when we were trying to kill each other—and you stole Luke’s father’s sword. Offhand, I’d say he’d try to kill you on sight and she’d scream for help.”
The line advanced somewhat.
“So I don’t ask for help,” he said.
“Un-uh,” I told him. “I know you’re tough, but Hendrakes are pros. Also, you’d be faced with a very uncooperative rescuee in Coral.”
“You’re a sorcerer,” Jurt said. “If we find out who the guards are, couldn’t you lay a spell on them so that they think they see us for this whole affair? Then we disappear and no one’s the wiser.”
“I’ve
a hunch either Mom or our big brother has laid protective spells on the guards. At such an ideal time for an assassination, I would. I wouldn’t want anyone able to mess with my people’s heads if I were running security here.”
We shuffled a little farther along. By leaning to one side and stretching my neck I was able to get a few glimpses of the wasted demonic foam of old Swayvill, resplendently garbed, serpent of red-gold laid upon his breast, there in the flame-formed coffin, Oberon’s ancient nemesis, going to join him at last.
As I moved nearer, it occurred to me that there was more than one a approach to the problem. Perhaps I’d dwelled too long among the magically naive. I’d gotten out of the habit of thinking of magic against magic, of multiple mixed spells. So what if the guards were protected from any fiddling with their perceptions? Let it be. Find a way to work around it.
The gong sounded again. When the echoes died, Jurt leaned near.
“There’s more to it than everything I said,” he whispered.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Another reason I came to you back at Sawall was because I was scared,” he replied.
“Of what?”
“At least one of them—Mandor or Dara—wants more than a balance, wants a total victory for the Logrus, for Chaos. I really believe that. It’s not just that I don’t want to be party to it. I don’t want it to happen. Now that I can visit Shadow I don’t want to see it destroyed. I don’t want a victory for either side. Total control by the Pattern would probably be just as bad.”
“How can you be sure one of them really wants this?”
“They tried it before with Brand, didn’t they? He was out to destroy all order.”
“No,” I said. “He planned to destroy the old order, then replace it with his own. He was a revolutionary, not an anarchist. He was going to create a new Pattern within the Chaos he brought forth—his own, but still the real thing.”
“He was duped. He couldn’t have managed a thing like that.”
“No way of knowing till he tried, and he didn’t get the chance.”
“Either way, I’m afraid someone’s going to pull the plug on reality. If this kidnapping takes place, it’ll be a big step in that direction. If you can’t manage something to cover our absence, I think we should just go anyway and take our chances.”
The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10 Page 180