Trumps of doom tcoa-6

by Roger Zelazny

  “… 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 looked 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 cold 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.

  Departing, afterward, heading back to the palace for food and drink, I wondered, not for the first time, how my problems and everyone else’s were connected. For I felt they were. I don’t mind small coincidences, but I don’t trust big ones.

  And Meg Devlin? Did she know something of this business, too? It seemed possible that she might. Husband or no husband, I decided, we had a date. Soon.

  Later, in the big dining hall, amid the buzz of conversation and the rattle of cutlery and crockery, one vague possibility occurred to me and I resolved to pursue it immediately. Excusing myself from the cold but attractive company of Vinta Bayle, third daughter of some minor nobility and apparently Caine’s last mistress, I made my way to the far end of the hall and the small knot of people surrounding Random. I was standing there for several minutes, wondering how to break in, when he spotted me. He excused himself from the others immediately advanced upon me, and caught hold of my sleeve.

  “Merlin,” he said, “I don’t have time now, but I just wanted to let you know that I don’t consider our conversation concluded. I want to get together with you again later this afternoon or this evening — as soon as I’m free. So don’t go running off anywhere till we’ve talked, okay?”

  I nodded.

  “One quick question,” I said, as he began turning back toward the others.

  “Shoot,” he said.

  “Are there any Amberites currently in residence on the shadow Earth I just departed — agents of any sort?”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t have any, and I don’t believe any of the others do just now. I have a number of contacts there in different places, but they’re all natives — like Bill.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Something new come up?” he asked then.

  I nodded again.

  “Serious?”

  “Possibly.”

  “I wish I had the time to hear it, but it’ll just have to keep till we talk later.”

  “I understand.”

  “I’ll send for you,” he said, and he returned to his companions.

  That shot down the only explanation I could think of for Meg Devlin. It also foreclosed the possibility of my taking off to see her as soon as I could leave the gathering.

  I consoled myself with another plate of food. After a time, Flora entered the hall, studied all the knots of humanity, then made her way among them to settle beside me on the window seat.

  “No way of talking to Random right now without an audience,” she said.

  “You’re right,” I replied. “May I get you something to eat or drink?”

  “Not now. Maybe you can he
lp. You’re a sorcerer.”

  I didn’t like that opening, but I asked, “What’s the problem?”

  “I went to Bleys’ rooms, to see whether he wanted to come down and join us. He’s gone.”

  “Wasn’t his door locked? Most people do that around here.”

  “Yes, from the inside. So he must have trumped out. I broke in when he didn’t answer, since there’d been one attempt on his life already.”

  “And what would you want of a sorcerer?”

  “Can you trace him?”

  “Trumps don’t leave tracks,” I said. “But even if I could, I’m not so sure that I would. He knows what he’s doing, and he obviously wants to be left alone.”

  “But what if he’s involved? He and Caine had been on opposite sides in the past.”

  “If he’s mixed up in something dangerous to the rest of us you should be happy to see him go.”

  “So you can’t help — or won’t?”

  I nodded.

  “Both, I guess. Any decision to seek him out should really come from Random, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’d suggest keeping it to yourself till you can talk to Random. No use stirring up fruitless speculations among the others. Or I’ll tell him, if you’d like. I’m going to be talking with him a bit later.”

  “What about?”

  Ouch.

  “Not sure,” I said. “It’s something he wants to tell me, or ask me.”

  She studied me carefully.

  “We haven’t really had our own little talk yet,” she said then.

  “Looks like we’re having it now.”

  “Okay. May I hear about your problems in one of my favorite shadows?”

  “Why not?” I said, and I launched into a synopsis of the damned thing again. I felt that this would be the final time, though. Once Flora knew it I was confident it would make the rounds.

  She had no information bearing upon my case that she cared to share. We chatted for a while then — local gossip, and she finally decided to get something to eat. She departed in the direction of the food and did not return.

  I talked with a few of the others, too — about Caine, about my father. I did not hear anything that I did not already know. I was introduced to a number of people I had not met before. I memorized a mess of names and relationships since I had nothing better to do.

  When things finally broke up, I kept an eye on Random and contrived to depart at about the same time he did.

  “Later,” he said as we passed, and he went off with a couple of guys he’d been talking with.

  So I went back to my rooms and stretched out on the bed. When things are brewing you take your rest whenever you can.

  After a time I slept, and I dreamed…

  I was walking in the formal garden behind the palace. Someone else was with me, but I did not know who it was. This did not seem to matter. I heard a familiar howling. Suddenly, there were growling noises near at hand. The first time I looked about I saw nothing. But then, abruptly, they were there — three huge, doglike creatures similar to the one I had slain in Julia’s apartment. They were racing toward me across the garden. The howling continued, but they were not its authors. They restricted themselves to growling and slavering as they came on. Just as suddenly, I realized that this was a dream and that I had dreamt it several times before only to lose track of it upon awakening. The knowledge that it was a dream, however, in no way detracted from the feeling of menace as they rushed toward me. All three of them were surrounded by a kind of light — pale, distorting. Looking past them, through their haloes, I did not see the garden but caught glimpses of a forest. When they drew near and sprang to attack it was as if they had encountered a glass wall. They fell back, rose and dashed toward me once more only to be blocked again. They leaped and growled and whined and tried again. It was as if I stood beneath a bell jar or within a magic circle, though. They could not get at me. Then the howling came louder, came nearer and they turned their attention away from me.

  “Wow!” Random said. “I should charge you something for pulling you out of a nightmare.”

  …And I was awake and lying on my bed and there was darkness beyond my window — and I realized that Random had called me via my Trump and tuned in on my dream when he’d made contact.

  I yawned and thought him my answer.

  “Thanks.”

  “Finish waking up and let’s have our talk,” he said.

  “Yes. Where are you?”

  “Downstairs. The little sitting room off the main hall to the south. Drinking coffee. We’ve got it to ourselves.”

  “See you in five.”

  “Check.” Random faded. I sat up, swung my feet over the side of the bed, and rose. I crossed the room to the window and flung it wide. I inhaled the crisp evening air of autumn. Spring on the shadow Earth, fall here in Amber — my two favorite seasons. I should be heartened, uplifted. Instead a trick of the night, the tag-end of the dream — it seemed for a moment that I heard the final note of the howling. I shuddered and closed the window. Our dreams are too much with us.

  I hiked down to the designated room and took a seat on one of its sofas. Random let me get through half a cup of coffee before he said, “Tell me about the Ghostwheel.”

  “It’s a kind of paraphysical surveillance device and library.”

  Random put down his cup and cocked his head to one side.

  “Could you be more specific?” he said.

  “Well, my work with computers led me to speculate that basic data-processing principles could be employed with interesting results in a place where computer mechanics themselves would not operate,” I began. “In other words, I had to locate a shadow environment where the operations would remain pretty much invariant but where the physical construct, all of the peripherals, the programming techniques and the energy inputs would be of a different nature.”

  “Uh, Merlin,” Random said. “You’ve lost me already.”

  “I designed and built a piece of data-processing equipment in a shadow where no ordinary computer could function,” I replied, “because I used different materials, a radically different design, a different power source. I also chose a place where different physical laws apply, so that it could operate along different lines. I was then able to write programs for it which would not have operated on the shadow Earth where I’d been living. In doing so, I believe that I created a unique artifact. I called it the Ghostwheel because of certain aspects of its appearance.”

  “And it’s a surveillance device and a library. What do you mean by that?”

  “It riffles through Shadow like the pages of a book — or a deck of cards,” I said. “Program it for whatever you want checked out and it will keep an eye on it for you. I was planning it as a surprise. You could, say, use it to determine whether any of our potential enemies are mobilizing, or to follow the progress of Shadow-storms, or — ”

  “Wait a minute,” he said, raising a hand. “How? How does it flip through shadows that way? What makes it work?”

  “In effect,” I explained, “it creates the equivalent of multitudes of Trumps in an instant, then — ”

  “Stop. Back up. How can you write a program for the creation of Trumps? I thought they could only be done by a person who had an initiate of either the Pattern or the Logrus.”.

  “But in this case,” I said, “the machine itself is of that same class of magical objects as Dad’s blade, Grayswandir. I incorporated elements of the Pattern itself into its design.”

  “And you were going to surprise us with this?”

  “Yes, once it’s ready.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I’m not sure. It had to gather certain critical amounts of data before its programs could become fully operational. I set it to do that a while back, and I haven’t had a chance to check on it recently.”

  Random poured some more coffee, took a drink.

  “I don’t see where it would save that
much in the way of time and effort,” he said a little later. “Say I’m curious about something in Shadow. I go and investigate, or I send someone. Now, say that instead I want to use this thing to check it out. I still have to spend the time going to the place where you keep it.”

  “No,” I told him. “You summon a remote terminal.”

  “Summon? A terminal?”

  “Right.” I unearthed my Amber Trumps and dealt myself the one off the bottom. It showed a silver wheel against a dark background. I passed it to Random and he studied it.

  “How do you use it?” he asked.

  “Same as the others. You want to call it to you?”

  “You do it,” he said. “I want to watch.”

  “Very well,” I answered. “But while I’ve set it to gathering data across the shadows it still won’t know a whole lot that’s useful at this point.”

  “I don’t want to question it so much as I want to see it.”

  I raised the card and stared, seeing through it with my mind’s eye. After a few moments, there was contact. I called it to me.

  There followed a small crackling sound and a feeling of ionization in the air as a glowing wheel about eight feet in diameter materialized before me.

  “Diminish terminal size,” I ordered.

  It shrank down to about a third of what it had been and I ordered it to halt at that point. It looked like a pale picture frame, occasional sparks dancing within it, the view across the room constantly rippling as seen through its center.

  Random began to extend a hand.