And yet not having windows made me feel trapped, somehow. It was one of those games you just can't win.
As we climbed, I never lifted my hand from the railing. The steps started to slide out from under me, but I paused a few seconds, pretending I needed to catch my breath, before continuing. Aber, drunk and staggering a bit himself, never even noticed.
Finally, we reached the top. More bleeding walls, more sconces with oil lamps that bubbled their light up to the ceiling. Strangely enough, it had all began to feel normal.
My brother turned left sharply five times, but instead of ending up back where we started, we were suddenly facing a new hallway lined with tall, ornately carved wooden doors.
"Here we are!" he announced with a grand sweep of his arm. "Mattus's suite is ugly, but he never had any sense of style. It ought to do!"
He halted before the first door on the left, then rapped sharply on the wood.
"Hulloo!" he called. "Wake up!"
"Why—" I began.
I had been about to ask why he would knock on a dead man's door, but a large face carved into the central wooden panel began to move. It yawned, blinked twice, and seemed to focus on Aber.
"Greetings!" it said pleasantly. "This room belongs to Lord Mattus. State your business."
"Just visiting," Aber said. "Do you remember me?"
"I do believe it's Lord Aber!" the door said, squinting a bit. I wondered if it might be near-sighted. "You have grown since last we spoke. Welcome, welcome, dear boy! I can talk to you, but Mattus left strict instruction that you cannot, under any circumstances, enter his room without permission, or I will be—and he made this quite clear—rendered into toothpicks."
So Aber wasn't welcome here! Somehow, it didn't surprise me; no one in my family seemed exactly trusting. They were to the last more likely to stab you in the back than put in a kindly word.
"I have bad news," Aber said in a serious voice, ignoring the slight. "My brother Mattus is dead."
"No! No!" the face in the door gasped. "It cannot be!"
"I'm afraid so."
"When? Where?"
"It happened some time ago, and far from here."
The face gave a wrenching sob. "He did not suffer, I hope?"
"No. It was fast."
That, actually, was a lie. Mattus had been tortured to death in a tower made of bones. But I saw no sense in correcting Aber's story… the face in the door seemed quite emotional, and I wasn't up to dealing with weeping woodwork right now.
The door sighed, eyes distant, remembering. "He was a good tenant. The sixth generation of your family that I have guarded, in fact, since my installation here... By the way, is there a seventh generation yet? Someone who might, as it were, inhabit these rooms?"
"Not yet," Aber said. "At least, not that I'm aware of."
The door finally seemed to notice me. "And who is this? Do I notice a family resemblance?"
Aber motioned me closer, so I took a step forward. The face squinted at me. I examined him just as closely. Large nose, broad lips, high cheekbones—almost a caricature of a man's face. But it had been kindly drawn and had a sympathetic if somewhat sad expression.
Aber said, "This is Oberon, my brother."
"Oberon… Oberon…" The carved forehead wrinkled. "He has never been through me before."
"That's right. This will be his room now."
"So fast they go, so fast…" It actually seemed about to cry. That was something I didn't want to see.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, "Do you have a name?"
"I am but a door. I do not need a name. But if you must call me something, Lord Mattus calls… called me… Port."
"Port," I said. It fit admirably well. "Fine. I'll call you that, too." I turned to Aber. "Anything I should be aware of? Warnings? Special instructions? Useful advice?"
My brother shrugged. "He's just a door. He'll guard your rooms, let you know if anyone wants in, and lock himself—or unlock himself—as instructed."
"Then, Port, please open up. I'd like to see inside."
"Sorry, good sir, but I cannot."
"Why?" I demanded.
"Because," said the door, a trifle archly, "I have only your word that Lord Mattus is dead. I was not carved yesterday, you know. Lord Mattus warned me not to trust anyone here under any circumstance. After all—and I mean no disrespect, good sirs!—some person or persons might come along, falsely claim that Lord Mattus is dead, state that they are the new tenants, and ask for entrance. You must see the unfortunate situation in which I now find myself placed."
I scratched my head. "A good point," I said slowly, looking at my brother. "I don't have an answer."
"Then," said the door, "Move along. I don't approve of loitering in the hallway."
I drew my sword. It had been a long day; my patience was at an end.
"Open up," I said, "or I'll carve a new entrance through your heart!"
SEVEN
"I hate to be the voice of reason," Aber said, "but that won't be necessary, Oberon."
The door glared at me. "I should say not! There are spells laid upon me to prevent just that sort of trespass!
"Not only that," said Aber, "but I have the key."
He turned over his hand. A large iron key sat there; he hadn't been carrying it a moment before, so he must have pulled it through the Logrus. "You don't need his help, dear brother. You can let yourself in."
"Thanks!" I said.
"What would you do without me?"
He held out the key, and I accepted it gingerly. It was as long as my hand and as thick around as my index finger, and it was much heavier than it looked. A strong blow with it might well do serious damage to someone's head.
"You're sure it's for this door?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Where do I stick it?" I asked, turning to study Port's features. He didn't have any obvious keyholes. "In his mouth? Up his nose?"
"Certainly not!" Port said, glaring up at me. "Perhaps you ought to stick it in one of your own orifices to see how it feels!"
"I wasn't asking you," I told him.
"No need to ask," Aber said. "It's a magic key. Just holding it is enough. Tell him you want inside."
"That's all?" I asked skeptically. I looked at the door. "Let me in, please."
"Very good, sir!" Port said unhappily, and I heard a series of clicks as a hidden lock unlocked itself.
Very convenient! I liked the idea of coming home drunk late at night, telling the door to let me inside, and having it lock up after me. Magic definitely had its good points.
"How does it work?" I asked Aber.
"Simple. Whoever holds the key gets inside."
"It's a rule," Port added. "All doors have to follow rules, you know."
"And there's a master key, too?" I asked, remembering what Aber had said. "To all the doors in the house?"
"Yes, but only one. It's Dad's. He keeps it stashed in his bedroom, in a box under his pillow."
I shook my head. "That doesn't sound very safe."
"The bed, the box, and the key are all invisible, unless you know how to look."
"And you know the trick."
"Yes."
"Care to share it?"
"Another time."
Somehow, I didn't think that time would ever come. Clearly he could lay hands on the master key when needed—as, indeed, he had done this afternoon, when he gave it to the hell-creatures so they could search our house.
"And," Aber added with a chuckle, "if invisibility isn't enough, Dad has certain things keeping an eye on his rooms, too."
From the way he said "things" I got the sensation they weren't necessarily human. Monsters? Familiars? Even Port could have done the job; I imagined him making gleeful reports on trespassers.
"Then," I said, "I think I'll leave his rooms alone."
"Good idea."
"What now?" I cleared my throat and looked down at the key, which I still held. "Do I carry three pounds of iron with me for
the rest of my life, or will Port accept me as his new master now?"
"I am right here," Port said a bit stiffly. "You don't have to keep talking about me in the third person!"
Ignoring him, Aber said: "He would probably accept you—"
"I do!" said Port.
"—but there is a ritual to go through, just for form's sake. It should make certain."
"What is it?" I asked.
"Repeat these words: 'I am the holder of this key. I am the master of this room. You will harken and obey.'"
I did this thing.
"Okay," Port said with a sigh. "Lord Mattus is dead. I formally accept it. Let all present bear witness: I am now Lord Oberon's door, and these are now Lord Oberon's rooms. I will guard him and obey him in all things. So let it be."
"Thank you, Port," I said.
His brow furrowed as he gazed up at me. "I am doing my job, Lord Oberon. It's a rule."
To me, Aber said, "Return your key to Dad when he gets here. He keeps them all locked up in his study for situations like this. You have no idea what a pain it is when you lose a key and have to replace a magical door."
I chuckled. "Stubborn, I bet, even in the face of reason and axes?"
"That about sums it up."
"It's a rule," Port said. "I must obey my master and protect his interests at all times."
"All right," I said. "I'll make sure I remember."
I took a deep breath, and the walls began to wobble. Mattus's suite—my suite now—lay at hand. What would I find? A collection of fine weapons? A store of powerful magical items? Gold, silver, gems— an emperor's treasure trove?
I felt my pulse quicken with excitement. I knew next to nothing about my half-brother Mattus, except we had about the same height and build, and his taste in clothes mostly matched my own. What would his rooms say about him?
Reaching out, I gave the door a push. It swung open easily, revealing a good-sized chamber. The high-canopied bed looked invitingly soft. Two lamps, one by the door and one by the bed, bubbled their golden light toward the ceiling. A small, tidy desk had been pushed up against the wall to the right. To the left sat an intricately carved washstand with basin and pitcher, a full-height looking glass in a white-painted oval frame, and a large wardrobe made of red and black woods decorated in intricate geometric pyramid patterns. Two plain, non-magical doors, one large and one small, both closed, led to other rooms.
A twinge of disappointment went through me. Clean and neat, Mattus's bedroom struck me as singularly uninteresting. Nothing about the place spoke to my brother's likes and dislikes, nor to his own powers or personality. Anyone could have lived here, man or woman, child or doddering elder.
"Were these rooms searched by the hell-creatures… by the lai she'on?" I asked Port. If all of Mattus's furniture had been destroyed, this mismatched assortment could have been thrown together quickly as replacements.
"Yes, Lord Oberon," Port said. "After their departure, I took the liberty of permitting the household staff to repair the damage. I did not think Mattus would object."
"Was there much damage?"
"They cut open the bed and tore out both the mattress and pillow stuffing. That was all."
I nodded; so much for my furniture theory. "The lai she'on were looking for something. Did they find it here?"
"I do not believe so, Lord Oberon. At least, they did not take anything from this room with them. I would not have permitted it."
"Good for you. Stick up for your beliefs."
"It is a rule."
Feeling the floor glide underfoot, I wandered into the room. Everything looked tidy, from the carefully brushed carpets to the well scrubbed floorboards. Yet the furniture had that hand-me-down look of cast-off pieces hastily thrown together. Considering how Aber could pull pretty much anything he wanted from thin air using the Logrus, I was amazed. Mattus should have lived like a prince; apparently, he hadn't cared to do so.
I looked more closely at the desk. The inkwell, made of a clear cut glass, showed no signs of ever having held ink. The spotless blotter and stack of crisp new writing paper both looked as though they had never been touched. I held one sheet of paper up to the bubbling light and noticed an intricate watermark, a rampant lion.
Of course, I reasoned, hell-creatures could have destroyed the inkwell and ruined the paper; these could all be replacements brought in by servants when they cleaned and straightened. And yet I didn't think so. These items felt right, as though they belonged here.
To Port, I said, "Mattus did not spend much time in here, did he?"
"Alas, but no, Lord Oberon. Not since childhood. He spent most of his time off on adventures."
I nodded, knowing he had gone off exploring the Shadow worlds. That's what I would have done in his place. This room was a place to sleep when he visited family and friends, nothing more. Home, for him, must have been some distant kingdom… just as Juniper had been our father's home and Ilerium had been mine.
"Yes, it's all yours, and congratulations," Aber said from the doorway, sounding bored. He stifled a yawn. "You seem better. Over whatever caused your attack, or unconsciousness, or whatever it was."
I agreed. "I'm sure I'll be all right now."
"Go to sleep. I'd sure Dad would let you now. We're going to have a busy day tomorrow, I think."
"Soon," I said.
"Then I'll take my leave, if you don't mind. My suite is across the hall and down a bit. Ask any door for directions, if you need me. They know every room in the house."
"Not so, Lord Aber!" objected Port. "I only know this floor…"
I chuckled. "I imagine they see a lot."
"Sir!" said Port sternly. "You are talking about me in the third person again!"
"Sorry." I sighed; I couldn't believe a door would reprimand me. "No offense meant, Port. I'm used to doors being inanimate objects."
"Entirely understandable, and thank you, sir."
"Don't spoil the woodwork," Aber said. "Next he'll be asking you to wax and polish him."
"Lord Aber!" Port sounded aghast. "I would never do such a thing!"
I chuckled. "I think Port and I will get along." I glanced at my door. "You must have quite a few stories to tell, Port!"
"Doors do not gossip, Lord Oberon!" Port protested. "We value our owners' privacy too much."
"Another rule?"
"Just so."
"We'll see. Get a few goblets of brandy in you, and I'll bet—"
"Sir! Doors do not drink!"
I gave him a knowing wink. "I won't tell anyone!"
Port continued his protests, to no avail. Aber had to laugh.
I opened a door into a sitting room—containing several sofas, a pair of comfortable looking chairs, and not much else—and a smaller door into what appeared to be a servant's bedchamber. Then, finishing my circuit of the bedroom I joined my brother in the doorway. This suite would do nicely, and I found Port both useful and amusing. All told, quite acceptable.
"Thanks for everything," I told my brother.
He slapped my shoulder. "Sleep lightly, Oberon."
"Is there any other way?"
"Not here. And don't forget my warning—"
"Trust no one?"
He grinned. "Right!"
"Present company excepted, of course."
"Of course." Suddenly he turned and called out, "Boy!"
My valet from Juniper Castle, Horace—a young man of thirteen or so with close-cropped black hair and a shy demeanor—came bounding over to join us. He must have followed us up the stairs and been watching quietly from the side. I'd been too drunk to notice him before.
"Here, Lord Aber, Lord Oberon!" Horace said in a high squeak of a voice.
Aber said, "Oberon is feeling better, but he needs to be watched closely. Stay up with him tonight. Call me if anything happens. Do you understand?"
"Anything?"
"Anything unusual or dangerous… anything that threatens his life."
Horace gulped. "Yes, s
ir."
"If you fail in your duty," he went on in a severe voice, "you will be held responsible for anything that happens to your master. By me and by our father."
"Yes, sir," he said.
"Nothing will happen," I told Aber firmly. If not for the wine, I thought I could have walked unaided and mostly kept my balance. "At this rate, I'll be back to my old self in a day or two."
"I hope so, but I'm not taking any chances," Aber said firmly. "Dad doesn't like me the way he does you. If anything happens to you, he'll gladly skin me alive. After I skin your valet."
Horace gulped audibly.
"Stop it," I said. "You're scaring him."
"I meant to."
"He's just a boy."
"Don't make excuses." Aber hesitated, looking toward his own room. "Maybe I'd better sit up with you after all. If you think there's any danger—"
"No, no. Go to your own bed." I made quick shooing motions with my hands. Those movements made the floor tilt alarmingly. "I can tell you're exhausted. More exhausted than me, even. It's been a long day for all of us. Go to bed, I'll do the same, and we'll have breakfast with Dad in the morning. We can all catch up then."
Still he hesitated.
"I'll be fine," I assured him. "I'm over the worst of it."
He finally nodded, gave a last stern look at Horace, and trooped down the hall toward his door.
Turning, I wandered back into my bedroom trailed by Horace, who shut the door behind us. When I glanced over my shoulder, I found Port's face on the inside now, staring at me with a deliberately noncommittal expression. He cleared his throat, and I got the impression I'd forgotten something.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Do you wish to leave instructions for me, sir?"
"Wake me in the morning?"
"I am not a clock," he said a bit archly. "I am a door. I do not tell time, whistle on the hour, or wake people up. What I meant was—who should I let into your rooms?"
"Oh, I don't know." I hesitated. "Aber, my father, Horace here, servants when they need to clean." Then I chuckled, thinking of Rèalla and how she would look in my bed. "And, of course, any beautiful half-dressed women who happen along."
New Amber Trilogy 2 - Chaos and Amber Page 5
