The Great Book of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Could you tell me what sort of creature that is?”

  I pointed just as it emerged-many-legged, long-tailed, dark-scaled, undulating, and fast. Its claws were red, and it raised its tail as it raced toward us.

  Humpty's bleary eyes moved toward my own, drifted past.

  “I am not here, sir,” he began, “to remedy your zoological ignor– My God! It's—”

  It flashed across the distance, approaching rapidly. Would it reach a spot shortly where its cunning would become a treadmill operation-or had that effect only applieD to me on trying to get away from this place?

  The segments of its body slid from side to side, it hissed like a leaky pressure cooker, and steaming slaver marked its trail from the fiction of paint. Rather than slowing, its speed seemed to increase.

  My left hand jerked forward of its own volition and a series of words rose unbidden to my lips. I spoke them just as the creature crossed the interface I had been unable to pierce earlier, rearing as it upset a vacant table and bunching its members as if about to spring.

  “A Bandersnatch!” someone cried.

  “A frumious Bandersnatch! “ Humpty corrected.

  As I spoke the final word and performed the ultimate gesture, the image of the Logrus swam before my inner vision. The dark creature, having just extended its foremost talons, suddenly drew them back, clutched with them against the upper left quadrant of its breast, rolled its eyes, emitted a soft moaning sound, exhaled heavily, collapsed, fell to the floor, and rolled over onto its back, its many feet extended upward into the air.

  The Cat's grin appeared above the creature. The mouth moved.

  “A dead frumious Bandersnatch,” it stated.

  The grin drifted toward me, the rest of the Cat occurring about it like an afterthought.

  “That was a cardiac arrest spell, wasn't it?” it inquired.

  “I guess so,” I said. “It was sort of a reflex. Yeah, I remember now. I did still have that spell hanging around.”

  “I thought so,” it observed. “I was sure that there was magic involved in this party.”

  The image of the Logrus which had appeared to me during the spell's operation had also served the purpose of switching on a small light in the musty attic of my mind. Sorcery. Of course.

  I-Merlin, son of Corwin-am a sorcerer, of a variety seldom encountered in the areas I have frequented in recent years. Lucas Raynard-also known as Prince Rinaldo of Kashfa-is himself a sorcerer, albeit of a style different than my own. And the Cat, who seemed somewhat sophisticated in these matters, could well have been correct in assessing our situation as the interior of a spell. Such a location is one of the few environments where my sensitivity and training would do little to inform me as to the nature of my predicament. This, because my faculties would also be caught up in the manifestation and subject to 'its forces, if the thing were at all self consistent. It struck me as something similar to color blindness. I could think of no way of telling for certain what was going on, without outside help.

  As I mused over these matters, the King's horses and men arrived beyond the swinging doors at the front of the place. The men entered and fastened lines upon the carcass of the Bandersnatch. The horses dragged the thing off. Humpty had climbed down to visit the rest room while this was going on. Upon his return he discovered that he was unable to achieve his former position atop– the barstool. He shouted to the King's men to give him a hand, but they were busy guiding the defunct Bandersnatch among tables and they ignored him.

  Luke strolled up, smiling.

  “So that was a Bandersnatch,” he observed. “I'd always wondered what they were like. Now, if we could just get a Jabberwock to stop by—”

  “Sh!” cautioned the Cat. “It must be off 'in the mural somewhere, and likely it's been listening. Don't stir it up! It may come whiffling through the tulgey wood after your ass. Remember the jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Don't go looking for troub—”

  The Cat cast a quick glance toward the wall and phased into and out of existence several times in quick succession. Ignoring this, Luke remarked, “I was just thinking of the Tenniel illustration.”

  The Cat materialized at the far end of the bar, downed the Hatter's drink, and said, “I hear the burbling, and eyes of flame are drifting to the left.”

  I glanced at the mural, and I, too, saw the fiery eyes and heard a peculiar sound.

  “It could be any of a number of things,” Luke remarked.

  The Cat moved to a rack behind the bar and reached high up on the wall to where a strange weapon hung, shimmering and shifting in shadow. He lowered the thing and slid it along the bar; it came to rest before Luke.

  “Better have the Vorpal Sword in hand, that's all I can say.”

  Luke laughed, but I stared fascinated at the device which looked as if it were made of moth wings and folded moonlight..

  Then I heard the burbling again.

  “Don't just stand there in uffish thought!” said the Cat, draining Humpty's glass and vanishing again.

  Still chuckling, Luke held out his tankard for a refill. I stood there in uffish thought: The spell I had used to destroy the Bandersnatch had altered my thinking in a peculiar fashion. It seemed for a small moment in its aftermath that things were beginning to come clear in my head. I attributed this to the image of the Logrus which I had regarded briefly. And so I summoned it again.

  The Sign rose before me, hovered. I held it there. I looked upon it. It seemed as if a cold wind began to blow G through my mind. Drifting bits of memory were drawn together, assembled themselves into an entire fabric, were informed with understanding. Of course...

  The burbling grew louder and I saw the shadow of the Jabberwock gliding among distant trees, eyes like landing lights, lots of sharp edges for biting and catching...

  And it didn't matter a bit. For I realized now what was going on, who was responsible, how and why.

  I bent over, leaning far forward, so that my knuckles just grazed the toe of my right boot.

  “Luke,” I said, “we've got a problem.”

  He turned away from the bar and glanced down at me.

  “What's the matter?” he asked.

  Those of the blood of Amber are capable of terrific exertions. We are also able to sustain some pretty awful beatings. So, among ourselves, these things tend to cancel out to some degree. Therefore, one must go about such matters just right if one is to attend to them at all...

  I brought my fist up off the floor with everything I had behind it, and I caught Lake on the side of the jaw with a blow that lifted him above the ground as it turned him and sent him sprawling across a table which collapsed, to continue sliding backward the length of the entire serving area where he finally came to a crumpled halt at the feet of the quiet Victorian-looking gentleman-who had dropped his paintbrush and stepped away quickly when Luke came skidding toward him. I raised my tankard with my left hand and poured its contents over my right fist, which felt as if I had just driven it against a mountainside. As I did this the lights grew dim and there was a moment of utter silence.

  Then I slammed the mug back onto the bartop. The entire place chose that moment in which to shudder, as if from an earth tremor. Two bottles fell from a shelf; a lamp swayed, the burbling grew fainter. I glanced to my left and saw that the eerie shadow of the Jabberwock had retreated somewhat within the tulgey wood. Not only that, the painted section of the prospect now extended a good deal farther into what had seemed normal space, and it looked to be continuing its advance in that direction, freezing that corner of the world into flat immobility. It became apparent from whiffle to whiffle that the Jabberwock was now moving away, to the left, hurrying ahead of the flatness. Tweedledum, Tweedledee, the Dodo, and the Frog began packing their instruments.

  I started across the bar toward Luke's sprawled form. The CaterpilIar was disassembling his hookah, and I saw that his mushroom was tilted at an odd angle. The White Rabbit beat it down a hole to the
rear, and I head Humpty muttering curses as he swayed atop the bar stool he had just succeeded in mounting.

  I saluted the gentleman with the palette as I approached.

  “Sorry to disturb you,'' I said. “But believe me, this is for the better.”

  I raised Luke's limp form and slung him over my shoulder. A flock of playing cards flew by me. I dew away from them in their rapid passage.

  “Goodness! It's frightened the Jabberwock!” the man remarked, looking past me.

  “What has?” I asked, not really certain that I wished to know.

  “That,” he answered, gesturing toward the front of the bar.

  I looked and I staggered back and I didn't blame the Jabberwock a bit.

  It was a twelve-foot Fire Angel that had just enteredrusset-colored, with wings like stained-glass windowsand, along with intimations of mortality, it brought me recollections of a praying mantis, with a spiked collar and thornlike claws protruding through its short fur at every suggestion of an angle. One of these, in fact, caught on and unhinged a swinging door as it came inside. It was a Chaos beast-rare, deadly, and , highly intelligent. I hadn't seen one in years, and I'd no desire to see one now; also, I'd no doubt that I was the reason it was here. For a moment I regretted having wasted my cardiac arrest spell on a mere Bandersnatch-until I recalled that Fire Angels have three hearts. I glanced quickly about as it spied me, gave voice to a brief hunting wail, and advanced.

  “I'd like to have had some time to speak with you,” I told the artist. “I like your work. Unfortunately—”

  “I understand.”

  “So long.”

  “Good luck.”

  I stepped down into the rabbit hole and ran, bent far forward because of the low overhead. Luke made my passage partizhularly awkward, especially on the turns. I heard a scrabbling noise fat to the rear, with a repetition of the hunting wail. I was consoled; however, by the knowledge that the Fire Angel would. actually have to enlarge sections of the tunnel in order to get by. The bad news was that it was zhapable of doing it. The creatures are incredibly strong and virtually indestructible.

  I kept running till the floor dipped beneath my feet.

  Then I began falling. I reached out with my free hand to zhatch myself, but there was nothing to catzhh hold of. The bottom had fallen out. Good. That was the way I'd hoped and half expected it would be. Luke uttered a single soft moan but did not stir.

  We fell. Down, down, down, like the man said. It was a well, and either it was very deep or we were falling very slowly. There was twilight all about us, and I could not discern die walls of the shaft. My head cleared a bit further, and I knew that it would continue to do so for as long as I kept control of one variable: Luke. High in the air overhead I heard the hunting wail once again. It was followed immediately by a strange burbling sound. Frakir began pulsing softly upon my wrist again, not really telling me anything I didn't already know. So I silenced her again.

  Clearer yet. I began to remember... My assault on the Keep of the Four Worlds and my recovery of Luke's mother, Jasra. The attack of the werebeast. My odd visit with Vinta Bayle, who wasn't really what she seemed.

  . My dinner in Death Alley... The Dweller, San Francisco, the crystal cave... Clearer and clearer.

  .. . And louder and louder the hunting ,wail of the Fire Angel above me. It must have made it through the tunnel and be descending now. Unfortunately, it possessed wings, while all I could do was fall.

  I glanced upward. Couldn't make out its form, though. Things seemed darker up that way than down below. I hoped this was a sign that we were approaching something in the nature of a light at the end of the tunnel, as I couldn't think of any other way out. It was too dark to view a Trump or to distinguish enough of the passing scene to commence a shadow shift.

  I felt we were drifting now, rather than falling, at a rate that might permit us to land intact. Should it seem otherwise when we neared the bottom, then a possible means of further slowing our descent came to mind-an adaptation of one of the spells I still carried with me.

  However, these considerations were not worth much should we be eaten on the way down-a distinct possibility, unless of course our pursuer were not all that hungry, in which case it might only dismember us. Consequently, it might become necessary to try speeding up to stay ahead of the beast-which of course would cause us to smash when we hit.

  Decisions, decisions.

  Luke stirred slightly upon my shoulder. I hoped he wasn't about to come around, as I didn't have time to mess with a sleep-spell and I wasn't really in a good position to slug him again. That pretty much left Frakir.

  But if he were borderline, then choking might serve to rouse him rather than send him back-and I did want him in decent shape. He knew too many things I didn't, things I now needed.

  We passed through a slightly brighter area, and I was able to distinguish the walls of the shaft for the first time and to note that they were covered with graffiti in a language that I did not understand. I was reminded of a strange short story by Jamaica Kincaid, but it bore me no

  clues for deliverance. Immediately following our passage through that band of illumination, I distinguished a small spot of light far below. At almost the same moment' I heard the wail once again, this time very near.

  I looked up in time to behold the Fire Angel passing through the glow. But there was another shape close behind it, and it wore a vest and burbled. The Jabberwock was also on the way down, and it seemed to be making the best time of any of us. The question of its purpose was immediately prominent; as it gained, the circle of light grew and Luke stirred again. This question was quickly answered; however, as it caught up with the Fire Angel and attacked.

  The whiffling, the wailing, and the burbling suddenly echoed down the shaft, along with hissing, scraping, and occasional snarls. The two beasts came together and tore at each other, eyes like dying suns, claws like bayonets, forming a hellish mandala in the pale light which now reached them from below. While this produced a round of activity too near at hand for me to feel entirely at ease, it did serve to slow them to the point where I felt I need not risk an ill-suited spell and an awkward maneuver to emerge from the tunnel in one piece.

  “Argh!” Luke remarked, turning suddenly within my grasp.

  “I agree,” I said. “But lie still, will you? We're about to crash—”

  “-and burn,” he stated, twisting his head upward to regard the combatant monsters, then downward when he realized that we were falling, too. “What kind of trip is this?”

  “A bad one,” I answered, and then it hit me: That was exactly what it was.

  The opening was even larger now, and our velocity sufficient for a bearable landing. Our reaction to the spell that I called the Giant's Slap would probably slow us to a standstill or even propel us backward. Better to collect a few bruises than become a traffic obstruction at this point.

  A bad trip indeed. I was thinking of Random's words as we passed through the opening at a crazy angle, hit dirt, and rolled.

  We had come to rest within a cave, near to its mouth. Tunnels ran off to the right and the left. The cave mouth was at my back. A quick glance showed it as opening upon a bright, possibly lush, and more than a little outof focus valley. Luke was sprawled unmoving beside me. I got to my feet immediately and caught hold of him beneath the armpits. I began dragging him back away from the dark opening from which we had just emerged. The sounds of the monstrous conflict were very near now.

  Good that Luke seemed unconscious again. His condition was bad enough for any Amberite, if my guess were correct. But for one of sorcerous ability it represented a highly dangerous wild card of a sort I'd never encountered before. I wasn't at all certain how I should deal with it.

  I dragged him toward the righthand tunnel because it was the smaller of the two and would theoretically be a bit easier to defend. We had barely achieved its shelter when the two beasts fell through the opening, clutching and tearing at each other. They comm
enced rolling about the floor of the cave, claws clicking, uttering hisses and whistles as they tore at each other. They seemed to have forgotten us entirely; and I continued our retreat until we were well back in the tunnel.

  I could only assume Random's guess to be correct.. After all, he was a musician and he'd played all over Shadow. Also, I couldn't come up with anything better.

  I summoned the Sign of the Logrus. When I had it clear and had meshed my hands with it, I might have used it to strike– at the fighting beasts. But they were paying me no heed whatsoever, and I'd no desire to attract their attention. Also, I'd no assurance that the equivalent of being hit by a two-by-four would have much effect on them. Besides, my order was ready, and filling it took precedence.

  So I reached.

  It took an interminable time. There was an extremely wide area of Shadow to pass though before I found what I was looking for. Then I had to do it again. And again. There were a number of things I wanted, and none of them near.

  In the meantime, the combatants showed no sign of slackening, and their claws struck sparks from the cave's walls. They had cut each other in countless places and were now covered with dark gore. Luke had awakened during all of this, propped himself, and was staring fascinated at the colorful conflict. How long it might hold his attention I could not tell. It would be important for me to have him awake very soon now, and I was pleased that he had not started thinking of other matters yet.

  I was cheering, by the way, for the Jabberwock. It was just a nasty beast and need not have been homing in on me in particular when it was distracted by the arrival of its exotic nemesis. The Fire Angel had been playing an entirely different game. There was no reason for a Fire Angel to be stalking about this far from Chaos unless it had been sent: They're devilish hard to capture, harder to train, and dangerous to handle. So they represent a considerable expense and hazard. One does not invest in a Fire Angel lightly. Their main purpose in life is killing, and to my knowledge no one outside the Courts of Chaos has ever employed one: They've a vast array of sensessome of them, apparently, paranormal-and they can be used as Shadow bloodhounds. They don't wander through Shadow on their own, that I know of. But a Shadowwalker can be tracked, and Fire Angels seem to be able to follow a very cold trail once they've been imprinted with the victim's identity. Now, I had been trumped to that crazy bar, and I didn't know they could follow a Trump jump, but several other possibilities occurred to me=including someone's locating me, transporting the thing to my vicinity, and turning it loose to do its business. Whatever the means, though, the attempt had the mark of the Courts upon it. Hence, my quick conversion to Jabberwock fandom.