The Great Book of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “Near here,” I said.

  “Where all did you go?”

  “We had a long walk in and about town,” I explained. “I showed her a bit of the palace, also.”

  “Then she's in the palace right now?”

  “She was the last time I saw her. But she might have stepped out.”

  “I see,” she said. “I'm sorry I didn't really get to talk to you at any length earlier. I feel as if I've known you for a long while.”

  “Oh?” I said. “Why is that?”

  “I read through your file several times. It's kind of fascinating.”

  “File?”

  “It's no secret that we keep files on people we're likely to encounter in our line of work. There's a file on everyone in the House of Amber, of course, even those who don't have much to do with diplomacy.”

  “I'd never thought about it,” I said, “but it figures.”

  “Your early days are glossed over, of course, and your recent troubles are very confusing.”

  “They're confusing to me, too,” I said. “You trying to update the file?”

  “No, just curious. If your problems have ramifications that may involve Begma, we have an interest in them.”

  “How is it that you know of them at all?”

  “We have very good intelligence sources. Small kingdoms often do.”

  I nodded.

  “I won't press you on your sources, but we're not having a fire sale on classified data.”

  “You misunderstand me,” she said. “I'm not trying to update that file either. I was trying to discover whether I might be able to offer you assistance.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that,” I told her. “I can't really think of any way you could help me, though.”

  She smiled, showing what seemed a set of perfect teeth.

  “I can't be more precise without knowing more,” she said. “But if you decide that you do want help-or if you just want to talk-come and see me.”

  “Well taken,” I said. “I'll see you at dinner.”

  “Later, too, I hope,” she said, as I passed her and turned down the hall.

  What had she meant by that last bit? I wondered. Was she talking assignation? If so, her motives seemed awfully transparent. Or was she merely expressing her desire for information? I was not certain.

  As I passed along the hallway in the direction of my rooms I noted an odd lighting phenomenon ahead of me: A bright white band about six or eight inches in width ran up both walls, across the ceiling, and over the floor. I slowed as I neared it, wondering whether someone had introduced a new method of illuminating the place in my absence.

  As I stepped over the band on the floor, everything disappeared, except for the light itself, which resolved into a perfect circle, flipped once about me and settled on a level with my feet, myself at its center. The world appeared beyond the circle, suddenly, and it looked as if it were made of green glass formed into a dome. The surface on which I stood was reddish, irregular and moist in the pale light. It was not until a large fish swam by that I realized I might be underwater, standing on a ridge of coral.

  “This is pretty as all hell,” I said, “but I was trying to get to my apartment.”

  “Just showing off a bit,” came a familiar voice which sounded eerily all about my magic circle. “Am I a god?”

  “You can call yourself whatever you want,” I said. "Nobody will disagree with you.”

  “It might be fun being a god.”

  “Then what does that make me?” I asked.

  “That's a difficult theological question.”

  “Theological, my ass. I'm a computer engineer, and you know I built you, Ghost.”

  A sound like a sigh filled my submarine cell.

  “It's hard to get away from one's roots.”

  “Why try? What's wrong with roots? All of the best plants have them.”

  “Pretty bloom above, mire and muck below.”

  “In your case it's metal and an interesting cryogenic setup-and quite a few other things-all of them very clean.”

  “Maybe it's mire and muck that I need, then.”

  “You feeling all right, Ghost?”

  “I'm still trying to find myself.”

  “Everyone goes through phases like that. It'll pass.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “When? How? Why?”

  “It would be cheating to tell. Besides, it's different for everyone.”

  A whole school of fish swam by-little black-and-redstriped guys.

  “I can't quite swing the omniscience business...” Ghost said after a time.

  “That's okay. Who needs it?” I said.

  “...And I'm still working on omnipotence.”

  “That one's hard, too,” I agreed.

  “You're very understanding, Dad.”

  “I try. You got any special problems?”

  “You mean, apart from the existential?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No. I brought you here to warn you about a fellow named Mandor. He's—”

  “He's my brother,” I said. There was silence.

  Then, “That would make him my uncle, wouldn't it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “How about the lady with him? She—”

  “Fiona's my aunt.”

  “My great-aunt. Oh, my!”

  “What's wrong?”

  “It's bad form to speak ill of relatives, isn't it?”

  “Not in Amber,” I said. “In Amber we do it all the time.”

  The circle of light flipped again. We were back in the hallway.

  “Now that we're in Amber,” he said, “I want to speak ill of them. I wouldn't trust them if I were you. I think they're a little crazy. Also insulting and mendacious.”

  I laughed. “You're becoming a true Amberite.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. That's the way we are. Nothing to worry about. What came down between you, anyhow?”

  “I'd rather work it out on my own, if you don't mind.”

  “Whatever you think is best.”

  “I don't really need to warn you about them?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. That was my main concern. I guess I'll go and try the mire and muck bit now—”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  “You seem pretty good at transporting things through Shadow these days.”

  “I seem to be improving, yes.”

  “What about a small band of warriors and their leader?”

  “I think I could manage that.”

  “And me.”

  “Of course. Where are they and where do you want go?”

  I fished in my pocket, found Luke's Trump, held it before me.

  “But... He's the one you warned me not to trust”, Ghost said.

  “It's okay now,” I told him. “Just for this matter. Nothin else though. Things have changed a bit.”

  “I don't understand. But if you say so.”

  “Can you run him down and set things up?”

  “I should be able to. Where do you want to go?”

  “Do you know the Keep of the Four Worlds?”

  “Yes. But that's a dangerous place, Dad. Very tricky coming and going. And that's where the red-haired lady tried to lay a power lock on me.”

  “ Jasra.”

  “I never knew her name.”

  “She's Luke's mother,” I explained, waving his Trump.

  “Bad blood,” Ghost stated. “Maybe we shouldn't have anything to do with either of them.”

  “She might be coming with us,” I said.

  “Oh, no. That's a dangerous lady. You don't want her along. Especially not in a place where she's strong. She might try to grab me again. She might succeed.”

  “She'll be too occupied with other matters,” I said, “and I may need her. So start thinking of her as part of the package.”

  “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”

 
; “I'm afraid so.”

  “When do you want to go there?”

  “That depends in part on when Luke's troops will be ready. Why don't you go and find out?”

  “All right. But I still think you might be making a mistake, going into that place with those people.”

  “I need someone who can help, and the die is damned well cast,” I said.

  Ghost coalesced to a point and winked out.

  I drew a deep breath, changed my mind about sighing, and moved on toward my nearest door, which was not that much farther up the hall. As I was reaching for it I felt the movement of a Trump contact. Coral?

  I opened myself to it. Mandor appeared before me again.

  “Are you all right?” he asked immediately. “We were cut off in such an odd fashion.”

  “I'm fine,” I told him. “We were cut off in a once-in-a-lifetime fashion. Not to worry.”

  “You seem a trifle agitated.”

  “That's because it's an awfully long walk from downstairs to upstairs with all the powers of the universe converging to slow me.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “It's been a rough day,” I said. “See you later.”

  “I did want to talk with you some more, about those stones and the new Pattern and—”

  “Later,” I said. “I'm waiting on an incoming call.”

  “Sorry. No rush. I'll check back.”

  He broke the contact and I reached for the latch. I wondered whether it would solve everybody's problems if I could turn Ghost into an answering service.

  CHAPTER 7

  I hung my cloak on Jasra and my weapons belt on the bedpost. I cleaned my boots, washed my hands and face, hunted up a fancy ivory shirt-alI ruffled, brocaded, frogged-and put it on, along with a pair of gray trousers. Then I brushed off my deep purple jacket, the one on which I'd once laid a spell to make the wearer seem a little more charming, witty, and trustworthy than is actually the case. It seemed a good occasion for getting some use out of it.

  As I was brushing my hair there came a knock on the door.

  “Just a minute,” I called.

  I finished up-which left me ready to go and also, probably, running late-then went to the door, unbarred it, and opened it.

  Bill Roth stood there in browns and reds, looking like an aging condottiere.

  “Bill!” I said, clasping his hand, arm, and shoulder and leading him in. “Good to see you. I'm just back from some troubles and about to take off after more. I didn't know whether you were here in the palace now or what. I was going to look you up again as soon as things slowed a bit.”

  He smiled and punched my shoulder lightly.

  “I'll be at dinner,” he replied, “and Hendon said you'd be there, too. I thought I'd come up and walk over with you, though, since those Begman people will be there.

  “Oh? You got some news?”

  “Yes. Any fresh word on Luke?”

  “I was just talking to him. He says the vendetta's off.”

  “Any chance of his wanting to justify himself at that hearing you asked me about?”

  “Not from the way he sounded.”

  “Too bad. I've bean doing a lot of research, and there are some good precendents for the vendetta defense-like, there was your uncle Osric, who took on the whole House of Karen over the death of a relative on his mother's side. Oberon was particularly friendly with Karen in those days, too, and Osric offed three of them. Oberon acquitted him at a hearing, though, basing his decision on earlier cases, and he even went further by stating a kind of general rule—”

  “Oberon also sent him off to the front Iines in a particularly nasty war,” I interrupted, “from which he did not return.”

  “I wasn't aware of that part,” Bill said, “but he did come off well in court.”

  “I'll have to mention it to Luke,” I said.

  “Which part?” he asked.

  “Both,” I answered.

  “That wasn't the main thing I came to tell you,” he went on. “There's something going on at a military level.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It's even easier to show you,” he explained. “It should only take a minute.”

  “Okay. Let's go,” I agreed, and I followed him out into the hall.

  He led the way down the back stair and turned left at its foot. We moved on past the kitchen and followed another hallway which turned off toward the rear. As we did, I heard some rattling sounds from up ahead. I glanced at Bill, who nodded.

  “That's what I heard earlier,” he told me, “when I was passing by. That's why I took a walk up this way. Everything around here makes me curious.”

  I nodded, understanding the feeling. Especially when I knew that the sounds were coming from the main armory. Benedict stood in the midst of activity, peering at his thumbnail through a rifle barrel. He looked up immediately and our eyes met. Perhaps a dozen men moved about him, carrying weapons, cleaning weapons, stacking weapons.

  “I thought you were in Kashfa,” I said.

  “Was,” he replied.

  I gave him a chance to continue, but nothing was forthcoming. Benedict has never been noted for loquacity.

  “Looks like you're getting ready for something close to home,” I remarked, knowing that gunpowder was useless here and that the special ammo we had only worked in the area of Amber and certain adjacent kingdoms.

  “Always best to be safe,” he said.

  “Would you care to elaborate on that?” I asked.

  “Not now,” he answered, a reply twice as long as I'd anticipated and holding out hope of future enlightenment.

  “Should we all be digging in?” I asked: “Fortifying the town? Arming ourselves? Raising—”

  “It won't come to that,” he said. “Just go on about your business.”

  “But—”

  He turned away. I'd a feeling the conversation was over. I was sure of it when he ignored my next several questions. I shrugged and turned back to Bill.

  “Let's go eat,” I said.

  As we walked back up the hall, Bill said softly, “Any;:: idea what it means?”

  “Dalt's in the neighborhood,” I told him.

  “Benedict was in Begma with Random. Dalt could be causing trouble there.”

  “I've a feeling he's nearer.”

  “If Dalt were to capture Random...”

  “Impossible,” I said, feeling a slight chill at the idea.

  “Random can trump back here anytime he wants. No. When I talked about defending Amber, and Benedict said, `It won't come to that,' I got the impression he was talking about something close at hand. Something he feels he can control.”

  “I see what you mean,” he agreed. “But then he told you not to bother fortifying.”

  “If Benedict feels we don't need to fortify, then we don't need to fortify.”

  “Waltz and drink champagne while the cannons boom?”

  “If Benedict says it's okay.”

  “You really trust that guy. What would you do without him?”

  “Be more nervous,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Excuse me,” he said. “I'm not used to being acquainted with legends.”

  “You don't believe me?”

  “I shouldn't believe you, but I do believe you. That's the trouble.” He was silent as we turned the corner and headed back toward the stair. Then he added, “It was that way whenever I was around your father, too.”

  “Bill,” I said, as we began to climb. “You knew my dad back before he regained his memory, when he was just plain old Carl Corey. Maybe I've been going about this thing wrong. Is there anything you can recall about that phase of his life which might explain where he is now?”

  He halted a moment and looked at me.

  “Don't think I haven't thought about that angle, Merle. Many a time I've wondered whether he might have been involved in something as Corey that he'd have felt obliged to follow through on once his business here was finished. But he
was a very secretive man, even in that incarnation. Paradoxical, too. He'd done a lot of hitches in a lot of different varieties of military, which seems logical

  enough. But he sometimes wrote music, which goes against that hard-ass image.”

  “He'd lived a long time. He'd learned a lot, felt lot.”

  “Exactly, and that's what makes it hard to guess why he might have been involved in. Once or twice when he'd; had a few drinks he'd mention people in the arts an sciences I'd never have guessed him to be acquainted with. He was never just plain Carl Corey. He had a few centuries worth of Earth memory when I knew him. That makes for a character too complex to be easily predictable. I just don't know what he might have gone back to-if he went back.”

  We continued on up the stairway. Why did I feel that Bill knew more than he was telling me?

  I heard music as we neared the dining room, and when we entered, Llewella gave me a nasty look. I saw that food was being kept warm at a serving table off against the far wall, and no one was seated yet. People stood about talking, drinks in hand, and most of them glanced in our direction as we entered. Three musicians were playing, off to my right. The dining table was to my left, near the big window in the south wall, providing a glorious view across the town below. It was still snowing lightly, casting a spectral veil over the entire bright prospect.

  Llewella approached quickly.

  “You've kept everybody waiting,” she whispered. “Where's the girl?”

  “Coral?”

  “Who else?”

  “I'm not sure where she's gotten off to,” I said. “We parted company a couple of hours ago.”

  “Well, is she coming or isn't she?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “We can't keep things waiting any longer,” she said. “And now the seating arrangement's screwed. What did you do, wear her out?”

  “Llewella...”

  She muttered something I didn't understand in some lisping Rebman dialect. Just as well, probably. She fumed away then and moved off toward Vialle.

  “You in a heap of trouble, boy,” Bill commented at my side. “Let's hit the bar while she's reassigning places.”

  But the wine steward was already approaching with a couple of drinks on a tray.

  “Bayle's Best,” he observed as we took them.

  I sipped and saw that he was right, which heartened me a bit.