The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “I don’t like it, “ she said.

  “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

  “I suppose so. Call me immediately if there are any problems.”

  “There won’t be. You might as well turn in.”

  “And call when you’re ready to come back. Don’t worry about waking me. I want to bring you home personally.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that. Good night.”

  “Stay wary.”

  “I always am.”

  “Good night, then.”

  She broke the contact.

  A few minutes later we were on the dance floor, turning and listening and touching. Meg had a strong tendency to lead. But what the hell, I can be led. I even tried being wary occasionally but there was nothing more threatening than loud music and sudden laughter.

  At eleven-thirty we checked the bar. There were several couples there, but her date wasn’t. And no one even gave me a nod. We returned to the music.

  We looked again a little after midnight with similar results. We seated ourselves then and ordered a final drink.

  “Well, it was fun,” she said, resting her hand where I could cover it with my own. So I did.

  “Yes,” I replied. “I wish we could do it more often. But I’m going to be leaving tomorrow.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Back to the center of the universe.”

  “A pity,” she said. “Do you need a ride anywhere?”

  I nodded. “Anywhere you’re going.”

  She smiled and squeezed my hand.

  “All right,” she agreed. “Come on over and I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”

  We finished our drinks and headed out to the parking lot, pausing a few times to embrace along the way. I even tried being wary again, but we seemed to be the only people in the lot. Her car was a neat little red Porsche convertible with the top down.

  “Here we are. You care to drive?” she asked.

  “No, you do it and I’ll watch for headless horsemen.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a lovely night, and I’ve always wanted a chauffeur who looked exactly like you.”

  We got in and she drove. Fast, of course. It just seemed to follow. The roads were deserted and a feeling of exhilaration swept over me. I raised one hand and summoned a lighted cigar from Shadow. I took a few puffs and tossed it away as we roared over a bridge. I regarded the constellations, which had grown familiar to me these past eight years. I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. I tried to analyze my feelings and realized that I was happy. I hadn’t felt that way in a long while.

  A mass of light occurred beyond a fringe of trees up ahead. A minute later we rounded a curve and I saw that it came from a small apartment complex off to the right. She slowed and turned there when we reached it.

  She parked in a numbered slot, from whence we made our way along a shrub-lined walk to the building’s entrance. She let us in and we crossed the lobby to the elevators. The ride up was over too soon, and once we reached her apartment she really did make coffee.

  Which was fine with me. It was good coffee, and we sat together and sipped it. Plenty of time . . .

  One thing finally did lead to another. We found ourselves in the bedroom a bit later, our clothes on a nearby chair, and I was congratulating myself that the meeting for which I had returned had not come off. She was smooth and soft and warm, and there was just enough of her in all the right places. A vise in velvet, with honey . . . the scent of her perfume . . .

  We lay there, much later, in that peaceful state of temporary fatigue on which I will not waste metaphors. I was stroking her hair when she stretched, turned her head slightly, and regarded me through half-lidded eyes.

  “Tell me something,” she said. “Sure.”

  “What was your mother’s name?”

  I felt as if something prickly had just been rolled along my spine. But I wanted to see where this was leading. “Dara,” I told her.

  “And your father?”

  “Corwin.”

  She smiled.

  “I thought so,” she said, “but I had to be sure.”

  “Do I get some questions now? Or can only one play?”

  “I’ll save you the trouble. You want to know why I asked.”

  “You’re on the ball.”

  “Sorry,” she said, moving her leg.

  “I take it their names mean something to you?”

  “You are Merlin,” she stated, “Duke of Kolvir and Prince of Chaos.”

  “Damn!” I observed. “It seems everybody in this shadow knows who I am! Do you all belong to a club or something?”

  “Who else knows?” she asked quickly, her eyes suddenly wide.

  “A fellow named Luke Raynard, a dead man named Dan Martinez; a local man named George Hansen, probably, and another dead man named Victor Melman . . . Why? These names ring any bells?”

  “Yes, the dangerous one is Luke Raynard. I brought you here to warn you about him, if you were the right one.”

  “What do you mean ‘the right one’?”

  “If you were who you are—the son of Dara.”

  “So warn me.”

  “I just did: Don’t trust him.”

  I sat up and propped a pillow behind me.

  “What’s he after? My stamp collection? My traveler’s checks? Could you be a little more specific?”

  “He tried several times to kill you, years ago—”

  “What? How?”

  “The first time it involved a truck that almost ran you down. Then the next year—”

  “Gods! You really do know! Give me the dates, the dates he tried it.”

  “April 30, always April 30.”

  “Why? Do you know why?”

  “No.”

  “Shit. How do you know all of this?”

  “I was around. I was watching.”

  “Why didn’t you do something about it?”

  “I couldn’t. I didn’t know which of you was which.”

  “Lady, you’ve lost me completely. Who the hell are you, and what’s your part in this?”

  “Like Luke, I am not what I seem,” she began.

  There came a sharp buzzing around from the next room.

  “Oh my!” she said and sprang out of bed.

  I followed her, arriving in the foyer as she pushed a button beside a small grating and said, “Hello?”

  “Honey, it’s me,” came the reply. “I got home a day early. Buzz me in, will you? I’m carrying a bunch of packages.”

  Oh-oh.

  She released the one button and pushed another, turning toward me as she did so.

  “The husband,” she said, suddenly breathless. “You’ve got to leave now. Please! Take the steps!”

  “But you haven’t told me anything yet!”

  “I’ve told you enough. Please don’t make trouble!”

  “Okay,” I said, hurrying back to the bedroom, pulling on my pants and slipping my feet into my loafers.

  I stuffed my socks and underwear into my hip pockets drew on my shirt.

  “I’m not satisfied,” I said. “You know more and I want it.”

  “Is that all you want?”

  I kissed her cheek quickly.

  “Not really. I’ll be back,” I said.

  “Don’t,” she told me. “It won’t be the same. We shall meet again, when the time is right.”

  I headed for the door.

  “That’s not good enough,” I said as I opened it.

  “It will have to be.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I tore off up the hall and pushed open the door beneath the EXIT sign.

  I buttoned my shirt and tucked it in on my way down the steps. I paused at the bottom to draw on my socks. I ran a hand through my hair then and opened the door to the lobby.

  No one in sight. Good.

  As I left the building and headed down the walk a black sedan pulled up in front of me and I heard the hum of a power win
dow and saw a flash of red.

  “Get in, Merlin,” came a familiar voice.

  “Fiona!”

  I opened the door and slid inside. We began moving immediately, “Well, was she?” she asked me.

  “Was she what?” I said.

  “The one you went to the club to meet.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way until she said it.

  “You know,” I said a little later. “I think maybe she was.”

  She turned onto the road and drove back in the direction from which we had come earlier.

  “What kind of game was she playing?” Fiona asked.

  “I’d give a lot to know,” I answered.

  “Tell me about it,” she said, “and feel free to edit certain portions.”

  “Well, all right,” I said, and I let her have it.

  We were back in the country club parking lot before I was finished.

  “Why are we here again?” I asked:

  “This is where I got the car. It might belong to a friend of Bill’s. I thought I’d be nice and bring it back.”

  “You used the Trump I’d made to go through to the bar in there?” I asked, gesturing.

  “Yes, right after you went in to dance. I watched you for about an hour, mostly from the terrace. And I’d told you to be wary.”

  “Sorry, I was smitten.”

  “I’d forgotten they don’t serve absinthe here. I had to make do with a frozen marguerita.”

  “Sorry about that, too. Then you hot-wired a car and followed us when we left?”

  “Yes. I waited in her parking lot and maintained the most peripheral of touches with you via your Trump. If I’d felt danger I would have come in after you.”

  “Thanks. How peripheral?”

  “I am not a voyeur, if that’s what you mean. Very well, we’re up to date.”

  “There’s a lot more to the story than this fast part.”

  “Keep it,” she said, “for now. There is only one thing I am curious about at the moment. Would you happen to have a picture of this Luke Raynard?”

  “I might,” I told her, reaching for my wallet. “Yes; I think I do.”

  I withdrew my shorts from my hip pocket and explored further.

  “At least you don’t wear jockeys,” she remarked:

  I withdrew my wallet and turned on the overhead light. As I flipped the wallet open she leaned toward me, resting her hand on my arm. Finally, I found a clear colored photo of Luke and me at the beach, with Julia and a girl named Gail whom Luke used to date.

  I felt her grip tighten as she drew in a short, sharp breath.

  “What is it?” I asked. “You know him?”

  She shook her head too quickly.

  “No. No,” she said. “Never saw him before in my life.”

  “You’re a lousy liar, Auntie. Who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Come on! You nearly broke my arm when you saw him.

  “Don’t push me;” she said.

  “It involves my life.”

  “It involves more than your life, I think.”

  “So?”

  “Let it be, for now.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I must insist.”

  She turned more fully and both of her hands came up between us. Smoke began to rise from her well-manicured fingertips. Frakir throbbed upon my wrist, which meant she was sufficiently pissed off to lean on me if it came to that.

  I made a warding gesture and decided to back off.

  “Okay, let’s call it a day and head home.”

  She flexed her fingers and the smoke fled. Frakir became still. She withdrew a packet of Trumps from her purse and shuffled out the one for Amber.

  “But sooner or later I’m going to have to know,” I added.

  “Later,” she said, as the vision of Amber grew before us.

  One thing I always liked about Fiona: she didn’t believe in hiding her feelings.

  I reached up and switched off the dome light as Amber came on all around us.

  Chapter 8

  I guess that my thoughts at funerals are typical. Like Bloom in Ulysses, I think the most mundane things about the deceased and the current goings-on. The rest of the time my mind wanders.

  On the wide strand of shoreline at the southern foot of Kolvir there is a small chapel dedicated to the Unicorn, one of several such throughout the realm at places where she had been sighted. This one seemed most appropriate for Caine’s service in that—like Gerard—he had once expressed a desire to be laid to rest in one of the sea caves at the mountain’s foot, facing the waters he had sailed so long, so often. One such had been prepared for him, and there would be a procession after the service to inter him there. It was a windy, misty, sea-cool morning with only a few sails in sight, moving to or from the port over half a league westward of us.

  Technically, I suppose Random should have officiated, since his kingship automatically made him high priest, but aside from reading an opening and closing passage on the Passing of Princes from the Book of the Unicorn, he turned the service over to Gerard to perform in his stead, as Caine had gotten along with Gerard better than with anyone else in the family. So Gerard’s booming voice filled the small stone building, reading long sections involving the sea and mutability. It was said that Dworkin himself had penned the Book in his saner days, and that long passages had come direct from the Unicorn. I don’t know. I wasn’t there. It is also said that we are descended of Dworkin and the Unicorn, which gives rise to some unusual mental images. Origins of anything tend to fade off into myth, though. Who knows? I wasn’t around then.

  “ . . . And all things return to the sea,” Gerard was saying. I looked about me. Besides the family, there were perhaps forty or fifty people present, mostly nobility from the town, a few merchants with whom Caine had been friendly, representatives of realms in several adjacent shadows where Caine had spent time on both official and personal business, and of course Vinta Bayle. Bill had expressed a desire to be present, and he stood to my left. Martin was at my right. Neither Fiona nor Bleys was present. Bleys had pleaded his injury and excused himself from the service. Fiona had simply vanished. Random had been unable to locate her this morning. Julian departed partway through the service, to check on the guard he had posted along the strand, someone having pointed out that a would-be assassin could rack up a high score with that many of us together in one small space. Consequently, Julian’s foresters, with short sword, dagger, and longbow or lance, were spotted strategically all over the place—and every now and then we’d hear the baying of one of his hellhounds, to be answered almost immediately by several others, a mournful, unnerving thing, counterpointing waves, wind, and reflections upon mortality. Where had she gotten off to? I wondered. Fiona? Fear of a trap? Or something to do with last night? And Benedict . . . he had sent regrets and regards, mentioning sudden business that precluded his making it back in time. Llewella simply hadn’t shown, and could not be reached by Trump. Flora stood ahead and to the left of me, knowing she looked lovely in dark colors, too. Perhaps I do her an injustice. I don’t know. But she seemed more fidgety than contemplative.

  At the conclusion of the service we filed out, four seamen bearing Caine’s casket, and we formed up into a procession that would lead to the cave and his sarcophagus. A number of Julian’s troops came up to pace us as an armed escort.

  As we walked along, Bill nudged me and gestured upward with his head, toward Kolvir. I looked in that direction and beheld a black-cloaked and cowled figure standing upon a ledge in the shadow of a rocky projection. Bill leaned close so that I could hear him above the sound of the pipes and strings that were now playing.

  “Is that one some part of the ceremony?” he asked.

  “Not that I know of,” I answered.

  I broke out of line and moved forward. In another minute or so we would pass directly beneath the figure.

  I caught up with Random and put my hand on his shoulder. When he l
ooked back I pointed upward. He halted and stared, squinting.

  His right hand rose to his breast, where he wore the Jewel of Judgment, as on most state occasions. Instantly, the winds rose.

  “Halt!” Random called out. “Stop the procession! Everyone stay where you are!”

  The figure moved then, slightly, head turning as if to stare at Random. In the sky, as if by trick photography, a cloud blew itself together, growing, above Kolvir. A red, pulsing glow emerged from beneath Random’s hand.

  Suddenly, the figure looked upward and a hand flashed beneath the cloak, emerging moments later to perform a quick casting movement. A tiny black object hung in the air, then began its descent.

  “Everybody down!” Gerard called out.

  Random did not move as the others of us dropped. He remained standing, watching, as lightning emerged from the cloud and played across the face of the cliff.

  The thunder that followed coincided almost exactly with the explosion that occurred high overhead. The distance had been too great. The bomb had gone off before it reached us—though it would probably have scored had we continued as we were, to pass beneath the ledge and have it dropped directly upon us. When the spots stopped dancing before my eyes, I regarded the cliff again. The dark figure was gone.

  “Did you get him?” I asked Random.

  He shrugged as he lowered his hand. The Jewel had ceased its pulsing.

  “Everybody on your feet!” he called out. “Let’s get on with this funeral!”

  And we did. There were no more incidents, and the business was concluded as planned.

  My thoughts, and probably everyone else’s, were already playing family games as the box was being fitted into the vault. Might the attacker have been one of our absent kin? And if so, which one? What motives might each of them possess for the act? Where were they now? And what were their alibis? Could there have been a coalition involved? Or could it have been an outsider? If so, how was access obtained to the local supply of explosives? Or was this imported stuff? Or had someone local come up with the proper formula? If it were an outsider, what was the motive and where was the person from? Had one of us imported an assassin? Why?

  As we filed past the vault I did think fleetingly of Caine, but more as part of the puzzle picture than as an individual. I had not known him all that well. But then, several of the others had told me early on that he was not the easiest person to get to know. He was tough and cynical and had a streak of cruelty in his nature. He had made quite a few enemies over the years and seemed even to be proud of this fact. He had always been decent enough with me, but then we’d never been at cross-purposes over anything. So my feelings did not run as deep for him as they did for most of the others. Julian was another of this cut, but more polished on the surface. And no one could be certain what lay beneath that surface an any given day. Caine . . . I wish I’d gotten to know you better. I am certain that I am diminished by your passing in ways that I do not even understand.