The musicians, having finished snacking, resumed the entertainment with “Greensleeves,” and Nayda and Bill both leaned toward me simultaneously, then glanced up, their gazes meeting. Both smiled.
“Ladies first,” Bill said loudly.
She nodded to him.
Then, “Have a chance to think about my offer?” she asked me.
“Some,” I said, “but I had a question. Remember?
“What was it?”
“It’s kind of you to want to do me a favor,” I said, “but at times such as this, one must be excused for checking the price tag.”
“What if I were to say that your good will would be sufficient?”
“What if I were to say that my good will isn’t worth much at the policy level here?”
She shrugged. “Small price for a small return. I already knew that. But you’re related to everybody in this place. Nothing may ever happen, but it’s conceivable that someone might ask your opinion of us. I’d like you to know you have friends in Begma and to feel kindly disposed toward us if that occurred.”
I studied her very serious expression. There was more to it than that, and we both knew it. Only I didn’t know what might be on the horizon, and she obviously did.
I reached out and stroked her cheek once with the back of my hand.
“I am expected to say something nice about you folks if someone should ask me, that’s all, and for this you will go out and kill someone for me if I just supply the particulars. Right?”
“In a word, yes,” she replied.
“It makes me wonder why you think you can manage an assassination better than we could. We’re old hands at it.”
“We have, as you put it, a secret weapon,” she said. “But I was thinking that this is a personal matter for you, not a state matter—and that you might not want any of the others involved. Also, I can provide a service that will not be traceable.”
Bag of worms time again. Was she implying that she thought I did not trust all of the others here—or that I should not? What did she know that I didn’t? Or was she just guessing, based on Amber’s history of intrigue within the family? Or was she intentionally trying to stir up a generational conflict? Would that suit Begma’s purpose in some fashion? Or. . . . Was she guessing that such a situation existed and offering to remove a family member for me? And if so, did she think I’d be stupid enough to get someone else to do the job? Or even to discuss such a notion and thereby give Begma a shot at sufficient evidence to have some kind of hold over me? Or. . . .
I drew back from the view. It pleased me that my thought processes were finally working properly for the company my family keeps. (Both my families, actually.) It had taken me a long while to get the hang of it. It felt good.
A simple refusal would foreclose all of the above. But, on the other hand, if I were to string her along a bit, she might prove a tantalizing source of information.
So, “Would you go after anyone I would name?” I said. “Anyone?”
She studied my face very carefully. Then, “Yes,” she answered.
“You must excuse me again,” I responded, “but doing it for such an intangible as my good will causes me to wonder about your good faith.”
Her face reddened. Whether it was a simple blush or anger I could not be certain, because she looked away immediately. This didn’t bother me, though, because I was certain it was a buyer’s market.
I returned my attention to my food and was able to put away several mouthfuls before she was back again. “Does this mean you won’t be stopping by tonight?” she asked.
“I can’t,” I said. “I am going to be completely occupied.”
“I can believe you are very busy,” she said. “But does that mean we will not be able to talk at all?”
“It depends entirely on how things break,” I said. “I have an awful lot going on just now, and I may be leaving town soon.”
She started slightly. I was certain she considered asking me where I was going, but thought better of it.
Then, “This is awkward,” she said. “Have you refused my offer?”
“Is the deal only good for this evening?” I asked.
“No, but it was my understanding you were in some peril. The sooner you move against your enemy, the sooner your sleep is untroubled.”
“You feel I am in danger here in Amber?”
She hesitated a moment, then said, “No one is safe, anywhere, from an enemy of sufficient determination and skill.”
“Do you feel the threat to be a local one?” I inquired.
“I asked you to name the party,” she stated. “You are in the best position to know.”
I drew back immediately. It was too simple an entrapment, and obviously she’d already smelled it.
“You’ve given me much to think about,” I answered, and I returned to my food.
After a time, I saw that Bill was looking at me as if he wanted to say something. I gave him a minuscule shake of my head, which he seemed to understand.
“Breakfast, then?” I heard her say. “This trip you spoke of could represent a time of vulnerability. It would be good to settle this before you depart.”
“Nayda,” I said, as soon as I had swallowed, “I would like to be clear on the matter of my benefactors. If I were to discuss this with your father—”
“No!” she interrupted. “He knows nothing about it!”
“Thank you. You must admit my curiosity as to the level at which this plan originates.”
“There is no need to look any further,” she stated. “It is entirely my idea.”
“Some of your earlier statements cause me to infer that you have special connections within the Begman intelligence community.”
“No,” she said, “only the ordinary ones. The offer is my own.”
“But someone would have to . . . effectuate this design.”
“That is the province of the secret weapon.”
“I would have to know more about it.”
“I’ve offered you a service and I’ve promised you total discretion. I will go no further as to means.”
“If this idea is wholly your own, it would seem that you stand to benefit from it personally. How? What’s in it for you?”
She looked away. She was silent for a long time. “Your file,” she said at last. “It was . . . fascinating reading it. You’re one of the few people here close to my own age, and you’ve led such an interesting life. You can’t imagine how dull most of the things I have to read are—agricultural reports, trade figures, appropriations studies. I have no social life whatsoever. I am always on call. Every party I attend is really a state function in one form or another. I read your file over and over and I wondered about you. I . . . I have something of a crush on you. I know it sounds silly, but it’s true. When I saw some of the recent reports and realized that you might be in great danger, I decided I would help you if I could. I have access to all sorts of state secrets. One of them would provide me with the means of helping you. Using it would benefit you without damaging Begma, but it would be disloyal of me to discuss it further. I’ve always wanted to meet you, and I was very jealous of my sister when you took her out today. And I still wish you’d stop by later.”
I stared at her. Then I raised my wineglass to her and took a drink.
“You are . . . amazing,” I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was either an on-the-spot fabrication or it was true. If it were true, it was somewhat pathetic; if not, I thought it a rather clever bit of quick thinking, calculated to hit me in that wonderfully vulnerable place, the ego. She deserved either my sympathy or my wariest admiration. So I added, “I’d like to meet the person who wrote the reports. There may be a great creative talent going to waste in a government office.”
She smiled, raised her own glass and touched it to mine.
“Think about it,” she said.
“I can honestly say I won’t forget you,” I told her.
We both returned
to our food, and I spent the next five minutes or so catching up. Bill decently allowed me to do this. Also, I think, he was waiting to be certain that my conversation with Nayda was finally concluded.
At last he winked at me.
“Got a minute?” he asked.
“Afraid so,” I said.
“I won’t even ask whether it was business or pleasure going on on the other side.”
“It was a pleasure,” I said, “but a strange business. Don’t ask or I’ll miss dessert.”
“I’ll summarize,” he said. “The coronation in Kashfa will take place tomorrow.”
“Not wasting any time, are we?”
“No. The gentleman who will be taking the throne is Arkans, Duke of Shadburne. He’s been in and out of various Kashfan governments in fairly responsible positions any number of times over the years. He actually knows how things work, and he’s distantly related to one of the earlier monarchs. Didn’t get along well with Jasra’s crowd and pretty much stayed at his country place the whole time she was in power. He didn’t bother her and she didn’t bother him.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“In fact, he actually shared her sentiments on the Eregnor situation, as the Begmans are well aware—”
“Just what,” I asked, “is the Eregnor situation?”
“It’s their Alsace-Lorraine,” he said, “a large, rich area between Kashfa and Begma. It has changed hands back and forth so many times over the centuries that both countries make reasonable-sounding claims to it. Even the inhabitants of the area aren’t all that firm on the matter. They have relatives in both directions. I’m not even sure they care which side claims them, so long as their taxes don’t go up. I think Begma’s claim might be a little stronger, but I could argue the case either way,”
“And Kashfa holds it now; and Arkans says they’ll damn well keep it.”
“Right. Which is the same thing Jasra said. The interim ruler, however—Jaston was his name, military man—was actually willing to discuss its status with the Begmans, before his unfortunate fall from the balcony. I think he wanted to repair the treasury and was considering ceding the area in return for the settlement of some ancient war damage claims. Things were actually well along and headed in that direction.”
“And . . . ?” I said.
“In the papers I got from Random, Amber specifically recognizes Kashfa as including the area of Eregnor. Arkans had insisted that go into the treaty. Usually—from everything I’ve been able to find in the archives—Amber avoids getting involved in touchy situations like this between allies. Oberon seldom went looking for trouble. But Random seems to be in a hurry, and he let this guy drive a hard bargain.”
“He’s over-reacting,” I said, “not that I blame him. He remembers Brand too well.”
Bill nodded.
“I’m just the hired help,” he said. “I don’t want to have an opinion.”
“Well, anything else I should know about Arkans?”
“Oh, there are lots of other things the Begmans don’t like about him, but that’s the big one—right when they thought they were making some headway on an issue that’s been a national pastime for generations. They’ve even gone to war over the matter in the past. Don’t doubt that that’s why they came rushing to town. Govern yourself accordingly.”
He raised his goblet and took a drink.
A little later Vialle said something to Llewella, rose to her feet, and announced that she had to see to something, that she’d be right back. Llewella started to get up also but Vialle put a hand on her shoulder, whispered something, and departed.
“Wonder what that could be?” Bill said.
“Don’t know,” I answered.
He smiled.
“Shall we speculate?”
“My mind’s on cruise control,” I told him.
Nayda gave me a long stare. I met it and shrugged.
Another little while, and plates were cleared and more were coming. Whatever it was looked good. Before I could find out for certain, though, a member of the general house staff entered and approached.
“Lord Merlin,” she said, “the queen would like to see you.”
I was on my feet immediately. “Where is she?”
“I’ll take you to her.”
I excused myself from my companions, borrowing the line that I’d be right back, wondering if it were true. I followed her out and around the corner to a small sitting room, where she left me with Vialle, who was seated in an uncomfortable-looking high-backed chair of dark wood and leather, held together with cast iron studs. If she’d wanted muscle, she’d have sent for Gerard. If she’d wanted a mind full of history and political connivance, Llewella would be here. So I was guessing it involved magic, since I was the authority in residence.
But I was wrong.
“I’d like to speak to you,” she said, “concerning a small state of war in which we seem about to become engaged.”
Chapter 8
After a pleasant time with a pretty lady, a series of stimulating hallway conversations, and a relaxing dinner with family and friends, it seemed almost fitting that it be time for something different and distracting. The idea of a small war seemed, at least, better than a big one, though I did not say that to Vialle. A moment’s careful thought, and I shaped the query:
“What’s going on?”
“Dalt’s men are dug in near the western edge of Arden,” she said. “Julian’s are strung out facing them. Benedict has taken Julian additional men and weapons. He says he can execute a flanking movement that will take Dalt’s line apart. But I told him not to.”
“I don’t understand. Why not?”
“Men will die,” she said.
“That’s the way it is in war. Sometimes you have no choice.”
“But we do have a choice, of sorts,” she said, “one that I don’t understand. And I do want to understand it before I give an order that will result in numerous of deaths.”
“What is the choice?” I asked.
“I came here to respond to a Trump message from Julian,” she said. “He had just spoken with Dalt under a flag of truce. Dalt told him that his objective was not, at this time, the destruction of Amber. He pointed out that he could conduct an expensive attack, though, in terms of our manpower and equipment. He said he’d rather save himself and us the expense, however. What he really wants is for us to turn two prisoners over to him—Rinaldo and Jasra.”
“Huh?” I said. “Even if we wanted to, we can’t give him Luke. He’s not here.”
“That is what Julian told him. He seemed very surprised. For some reason, he believed we had Rinaldo in custody.”
“Well, we’re not obliged to provide the man with an education. I gather he’s bean something of a pain for years. I think Benedict has the right answer for him.”
“I did not call you in for advice,” she said.
“Sorry,” I told her. “It’s just that I don’t like seeing someone trying to pull a stunt like this and actually believe he has a chance of success.”
“He has no chance of success,” Vialle stated. “But if we kill him now, we learn nothing. I would like to find out what is behind this.”
“Have Benedict bring him in. I have spells that will open him up.”
She shook her head.
“Too risky,” she explained. “Once bullets start flying, there’s the chance one might find him. Then we lose even though we win.”
“I don’t understand what it is that you want of me.”
“He asked Julian to get in touch with us and relay his demand. He’s promised to hold the truce until we give him some sort of official answer. Julian says he has the impression that Dalt would settle for either one of them.”
“I don’t want to give him Jasra either.”
“Neither do I. What I do want very badly is to know what is going on. There would be small point in releasing Jasra and asking her, since this is a recent development. I want to know whether you have
means of getting in touch with Rinaldo. I want to talk to him.”
“Well, uh . . . yes,” I said. “I have a Trump for him.”
“Use it.”
I got it out. I regarded it. I moved my mind into that special area of alertness and calling. The picture changed came alive. . . .
It was twilight, and Luke stood near a campfire. He had on his green outfit, a light brown cloak about his shoulders clasped with that Phoenix pin.
“Merle,” he said. “I can move the troops pretty fast. When do you want to hit the place and—”
“Put it on hold,” I interrupted. “This is something different.”
“What?”
“Dalt’s at the gates; and Vialle wants to talk to you before we take him apart.”
“Dalt? There? Amber?”
“Yes, yes, and yes. He says he’ll go and play someplace else if we give him the two things he wants most in the world: you and your mother.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yeah. We think so, too. Will you talk to the queen about it?”
“Sure. Bring me thr—” He hesitated and looked into my eyes.
I smiled.
He extended his hand. I reached forward and took it. Suddenly, he was there. He looked about, saw Vialle. Immediately, he unclasped his sword belt and passed it to me. He approached her, dropped to his right knee, and lowered his head.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “I’ve come.”
She reached forward and touched him.
“Raise your head,” she said.
He did, and her sensitive fingers slid over the plane and arches of his face.
“Strength,” she said, “and sorrow. . . . So you’re Rinaldo. You’ve brought us some grief.”
“It works both ways, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “Wrongs done and wrongs avenged have a way of spilling over on the innocent. How far will it go this time?”
The Chronicles of Amber Page 139