“How?”
“He sounded a little nervous, and I don’t think he liked your suggestion any more than I do. Let’s not be here when he calls back. Don’t let him think you’re just sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. Make him wait a little. Go conjure up some fresh clothes and we’ll drive over to the country club for a couple of hours. It’ll beat raiding the icebox.”
“Good idea,” I said. “This was supposed to be a vacation, one time. That’s probably the closest I’ll get. Sounds fine.” I renewed my wardrobe out of Shadow, trimmed my beard, showered, and dressed. We drove to the club then and had a leisurely meal on the terrace. It was a good evening for it, balmy and star-filled, running with moonlight like milk. By mutual consent we refrained from discussing my problems any further. Bill seemed to know almost everyone there, so it seemed a friendly place to me. It was the most relaxed evening I’d spent in a long while. Afterward we stopped for drinks in the club bar, which I gathered had been one of my dad’s favorite watering spots, strains of dance music drifting through from the room next door.
“Yeah, it was a good idea,” I said. “Thanks.”
“De nada,” he said. “I had a lot of good times here with your old man. You haven’t, by any chance?”
“No, no news of him.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll let you know when he turns up.”
“Sure. Sorry.”
The drive back was uneventful, and no one followed us. We got in a little after midnight, said good night, and I went straight to my room. I shrugged out of my new jacket and hung it in the closet, kicked off my new shoes and left them there, too. As I walked back into the room, I noticed the white rectangle on the pillow of my bed.
I crossed to it in two big steps and snatched it up. SORRY YOU WERE NOT IN WHEN I CALLED BACK, It said, in block capitals. BUT I SAW YOU AT THE CLUB AND CAN CERTAINLY UNDERSTAND YOUR WANTING A NIGHT OUT. IT GAVE ME AN IDEA. LET’S MEET IN THE BAR THERE, TOMORROW NIGHT, AT TEN. I’D FEEL BETTER WITH LOTS OF PEOPLE AROUND BUT NONE OF THEM LISTENING.
Damn. My first impulse was to go and tell Bill. My first thought following the impulse, though, was that there was nothing he could do except lose some sleep over it, a thing he probably needed a lot more than I did. So I folded the note and stuck it in my shirt pocket, then hung up the shirt.
Not even a nightmare to liven my slumber. I slept deeply and well, knowing Frakir would rouse me in the event of danger. In fact, I overslept, and it felt good. The morning was sunny and birds were singing.
I made my way downstairs to the kitchen after splashing and combing myself into shape and raiding Shadow for fresh slacks and a shirt. There was a note on the kitchen table. I was tired of fording notes, but this one was from Bill, saying he’d had to run into town to his office for a while and I should go ahead and help myself to anything that looked good for breakfast. He’d be back a little later.
I checked out the refrigerator and came up with some English muffins, a piece of cantaloupe and a glass of orange juice. Some coffee I’d started first thing was ready shortly after I finished, and I took a cup with me out onto the porch.
As I sat there; I began to think that maybe I ought to leave a note of my own and move on. My mysterious correspondent — conceivably S — had phoned here once and broken in once. How S had known I was here was immaterial. It was a friend’s house, and though I did not mind sharing some of my problems with friends, I did not like the idea of exposing them to danger. But then, it was daylight now and the meeting was set for this evening. Not that much longer till some sort of resolution was achieved. Almost silly to depart at this point. In fact, it was probably better that I hang around till then. I could keep an eye on things, protect Bill if anything came up today.
Suddenly, I had a vision of someone forcing Bill to write that note at gunpoint, then whisking him away as a hostage to pressure me into answering questions.
I hurried back to the kitchen and phoned his office. Horace Crayper, his secretary, answered on the second ring. “Hi, this is Merle Corey,” I said. “Is Mr. Roth in?”
“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s with a client right now. Could I have him call you back?”
“No, it’s not that important,” I said, “and I’ll be seeing him later. Don’t bother him. Thanks.” I poured myself another cup of coffee and returned to the porch. This sort of thing was bad for the nerves. I decided that if everything wasn’t squared away this evening I would leave.
A figure rounded the corner of the house.
“Hi, Merle.”
It was George Hansen. Frakir gave me the tiniest of pulses, as if beginning a warning and then reconsidering it. Ambiguous. Unusual.
“Hi, George. How’s it going?”
“Pretty well. Is Mr. Roth in?”
“Afraid not. He had to go into town for a while. I imagine he’ll be back around lunchtime or a little after.”
“Oh. A few days ago he’d asked me to stop by when I was free, about some work he wanted done.”
He came nearer, put his foot on the step. I shook my head.
“Can’t help you. He didn’t mention it to me. You’ll have to catch him later.”
He nodded, unwound his pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it, then rewound the pack in his shirt sleeves. This T-shirt was a Pink Floyd.
“How are you enjoying your stay?” he asked.
“Real well. You care for a cup of coffee?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
I rose and went inside.
“With a little cream and sugar,” he called after me.
I fixed him one and when I returned with it he was seated in the other chair on the porch.
“Thanks.” After he’d tasted it, he said, “I know your dad’s name’s Carl even though Mr. Roth said Sam. His memory must’ve slipped.”
“Or his tongue,” I said. He smiled.
What was it about the way he talked? His voice could almost be the one I’d heard on the phone last night, though that one had been very controlled and slowed just enough to neutralize any number of speech clues. It wasn’t that comparison that was bothering me.
“He was a retired military officer, wasn’t he? And some sort of government consultant?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“Doing a lot of travelling — overseas.”
“You going to see him on your own trip?”
“I hope so.”
“That’ll be nice,” he said, taking a drag on his cigarette and another sip of coffee. “Ah! that’s good!”
“I don’t remember seeing you around,” he said suddenly then. “You never lived with your dad, huh?”
“No, I grew up with my mother and other relatives.”
“Pretty far from here, huh?”
I nodded. “Overseas.”
“What was her name?”
I almost told him. I’m not certain why, but I changed it to “Dorothy” before it came out.
I glanced at him in time to see him purse his lips. He had been studying my face as I spoke.
“Why do you ask?” I said.
“No special reason. Or genetic nosiness, you might say. My mother was the town gossip.”
He laughed and gulped coffee.
“Will you be staying long?” he asked then.
“Hard to say. Probably not real long, though.”
“Well, I hope you have a good time of it.” He finished his coffee and set the cup on the railing. He rose then, stretched and added, “Nice talking to you.”
Partway down the stairs he paused and turned.
“I’ve a feeling you’ll go far,” he told me. “Good luck.”
“You may, too,” I said. “You’ve a way with words.”
“Thanks for the coffee. See you around.”
“Yes.” He turned the corner and was gone. I simply didn’t know what to make of him, and after several attempts I gave up. When inspiration is silent reason tires quickly.
I was
making myself a sandwich when Bill returned, so I made two. He went and changed clothes while I was doing this.
“I’m supposedly taking it easy this month,” he said while we were eating, “but that was an old client with some pressing business, so I had to go in. What say we follow the creek in the other direction this afternoon?”
“Sure.” As we hiked across the field I told him of George’s visit.
“No,” he said, “I didn’t tell him I had any jobs for him.”
“In other words — ”
“I guess he came by to see you. It would have been easy enough to see me leave, from their place.”
“I wish I knew what he wanted.”
“If it’s important enough he’ll probably wind up asking you, in time.”
“But time is running,” I said. “I’ve decided to leave tomorrow morning, maybe even tonight.”
As we made our way down the creek, I told him of last night’s note and this evening’s rendezvous. I also told him my feelings about exposing him to stray shots, or intended ones.
“It may not be that serious,” he began.
“My mind’s made up, Bill. I hate to cut things short when I haven’t seen you for so long, but I hadn’t counted on all this trouble. And if I go away you know that it will, too.
“Probably so, but…”
We continued in this vein for a while as we followed the watercourse. Then we finally dropped the matter as settled and returned to a fruitless rehashing of my puzzles. As we walked I looked back occasionally but did not see anyone behind us. I did hear a few sounds within the brush on the opposite bank at infrequent intervals, but it could easily have been an animal disturbed by our voices.
We had hiked for over an hour when I had the premonitory feeling that someone was picking up my Trump. I froze.
Bill halted and turned toward me.
“What — ”
I raised my hand.
“Long distance call,” I said.
A moment later I felt the first movement of contact. I also heard the noise in the bushes again, across the water.
“Merlin.”
It was Random’s voice, calling to me. A few seconds later I saw him, seated at a desk in the library of Amber.
“Yes?” I answered.
The image came into solidity, assumed full reality, as if I were looking through an archway into an adjacent room. At the same time, I still possessed my vision of the rest of my surroundings, though it was growing more and more peripheral by the moment. For example, I saw George Hansen start up from among the bushes across the creek, staring at me.
“I want you back in Amber right away,” Random stated. George began to move forward, splashing down into the water.
Random raised his hand, extended it. “Come on through,” he said.
By now my outline must have begun shimmering, and I heard George cry out, “Stop! Wait! I have to come with — ”
I reached out and grasped Bill’s shoulder.
“I can’t leave you with this nut,” I said. “Come on!” With my other hand I clasped Random’s.
“Okay,” I said, moving forward. “Stop!” George cried.
“The hell you say,” I replied, and we left him to clasp a rainbow.
Chapter 7
Random looked startled as the two of us came through into the library. He rose to his feet, which still left him shorter than either of us, and he shifted his attention to Bill.
“Merlin, who’s this?” he asked.
“Your attorney, Bill Roth,” I said. “You’ve always dealt with him through agents in the past. I thought you might like to — ”
Bill began dropping to one knee, “Your Majesty,” on his lips, but Random caught him by the shoulders.
“Cut the crap,” he said. “We’re not in Court.” He clasped his hand, then said, “Call me Random. I’ve always intended to thank you personally for the work you did on that treaty. Never got around to it, though. Good to meet you.”
I’d never seen Bill at a loss for words before, but he just stared, at Random, at the room, out of the window at a distant tower.
Finally, “It’s real…” I heard him whisper moments later.
“Did I not see someone springing toward you?” Random said to me, running a hand through his unruly brown hair. “And surely your last words back there were not addressed to me?”
“We were having a little problem,” I answered. “That’s the real reason I brought Bill along. You see, someone’s been trying to kill me, and — ”
Random raised his hand. “Spare me the details for the moment. I’ll need them all later, but — but let it be later. There is more nastiness than usual afoot at the moment, and yours may well be a part of it. But I’ve got to breathe a bit.”
It was only then that some deepened lines in his naturally youthful face registered and I began to realize that he was under a strain.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Caine is dead. Murdered,” he replied. “This morning.”
“How did it happen?”
“He was off in Shadow Deiga — a distant port with which we have commerce. He was with Gerard, to renegotiate an old trade agreement. He was shot, through the heart. Died instantly.”
“Did they catch the bowman?”
“Bowman, hell! It was a rifleman, on a rooftop. And he got away.”
“I thought gunpowder didn’t work around here.” He made a quick palms up gesture.
“Deiga may be far enough off in Shadow for it to work. Nobody here can remember ever testing any there. For that matter, though, your father once came up with a compound that worked here.”
“True. I’d almost forgotten.”
“Anyway, the funeral is tomorrow — ”
“Bill! Merlin!”
My aunt Flora — who had turned down Rossetti’s offers, one of them being to model for him — had entered the room. Tall, slim and burnished, she hurried forward and kissed Bill on the cheek. I had never seen him blush before. She repeated the act for me, too, but I was less moved, recalling that she had once been my father’s warden.
“When did you get in?” Her voice was lovely, too.
“Just now,” I said.
She immediately linked arms with both of us and attempted to lead us off.
“We have so much to talk about,” she began.
“Flora!” This from Random.
“Yes, brother?”
“You may give Mr. Roth the full tour, but I require Merlin’s presence for a time.”
She pouted slightly for a moment, then released my arm. “Now you know what an absolute monarchy is,” she explained to Bill. “You can see how power corrupts.”
“I was corrupt before I had power,” Random said, “and rich is better. You have my leave to depart, sister.”
She sniffed and led Bill away.
“It’s always quieter around here when she fords a boyfriend off somewhere in Shadow,” Random observed. “Unfortunately, she’s been home for the better part of a year this time.”
I made a tsking sound.
He gestured toward a chair and I took it. He crossed to a cabinet then.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
He poured two glasses, brought me one, and seated himself in a chair to my left, a small table between us. “Someone also took a shot at Bleys,” he said, “this afternoon, in another shadow. Hit him, too, but not bad. Gunman got away Bleys was just on a diplomatic mission to a friendly kingdom.”
“Same person, you think?”
“Sure. We’ve never had rifle sniping in the neighborhood before. Then two, all of a sudden? It must be the same person. Or the same conspiracy.”
“Any clues?”
He shook his head and tasted the wine.
“I wanted to talk to you alone,” he said then, “before any of the others got to you. There are two things I’d like you to know.”
I sipped the wine and waited.
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“The first is that this really scares me. With the attempt on Bleys it no longer appears to have been simply a personal thing directed at Caine. Somebody seems to have it in for us — or at least some of us. Now you say there’s someone after you, too.”
“I don’t know whether there’s any connection — ”
“Well, neither do I. But I don’t like the possible pattern I see developing. My worst fear is that it may be one or more of us behind it.”
“Why?” He glowered into his goblet.
“For centuries the personal vendetta has been our way of settling disagreements, not necessarily proceeding inevitably to death — though that was always a possibility — but certainly characterized by intrigues, to the end of embarrassing, disadvantaging, maiming, or exiling the other and enhancing one’s own position. This reached its latest peak in the scramble for the succession. I thought everything was pretty much settled, though, when I wound up with the job, which I certainly wasn’t looking for. I had no real axes to grind, and I’ve tried to be fair. I know how touchy everyone here is. I don’t think it’s me, though, and I don’t think it’s the succession. I haven’t had any bad vibes from any of the others. I’d gotten the impression they had decided I was the lesser of all possible evils and were actually cooperating to make it work. No, I don’t believe any of the others is rash enough to want my crown. There was actually amity, goodwill, after the succession was settled. But what I’m wondering now is whether the old pattern might be recurring — that some of the others might have taken up the old game again to settle personal grievances. I really don’t want to see that happen — all the suspicion, precautions, innuendoes, mistrust, double dealings. It weakens us, and there’s always some possible threat or other against which we should be strong. Now, I’ve spoken with everyone privately, and of course they all deny any knowledge of current cabals, intrigues, and vendettas, but I could see that they’re getting suspicious of each other. It’s become a habit of thought. And it wasn’t at all difficult for them to dig up some of grudge each of the others might still have had against Caine despite the fact that he saved all our asses by taking out Brand. And the same with Bleys — everyone could find motives for everyone else.”
“So you want the killer fast, because of what he’s done to morals.”
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