The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10

by Roger Zelazny

  Coral had moved more quickly than I’d guessed, however, and was waiting for me. I approved of her sensible dark green breeches, heavy coppery shirt, and warm brown cloak. Her boots looked fine for walking, and she had on a dark hat that covered most of her hair. There were gloves and a dagger at her belt.

  “All ready,” she said when she saw me.

  “Great,” I replied, smiling, and I led her out into the hallway.

  She started to turn in the direction of the main doorway, but I led her off to the right, then later to the left.

  “Less conspicuous to use one of the side doors,” I said.

  “You people are certainly secretive,” she said.

  “Habit,” I replied. “The less that outsiders know of your business the better.”

  “What outsiders? What are you afraid of?”

  “Just now? A great number of things. But I don’t really want to spend a nice day like this making lists.”

  She shook her head in what I took to be a mixture of awe and disgust.

  “It’s true what they say then?” she asked. “That your affairs are so complex you all carry scorecards?”

  “Haven’t had time for any affairs recently,” I told her, “or even a simple score.” Then, “Sorry,” I added, when I saw her blush. “Life has been a bit complicated for me lately.”

  “Oh,” she said, glancing at me, clearly asking for elaboration.

  “Some other time,” I said, forcing a laugh, flipping my cloak, and greeting a guard.

  She nodded and, diplomatically, changed the subject:

  “I guess I came at the wrong time of year to see your famous gardens.”

  “Yeah, they’ve pretty much had it for the season,” I said, “except for Benedict’s Japanese garden which is kind of far out back. Perhaps we can go and have a cup of tea there one day, but I thought we’d go into town now.”

  “Sounds fine,” she agreed.

  I told the postern guard to tell Henden, Amber’s steward, that we were heading into town and weren’t sure when we’d be back. He said that he would as soon as he got off duty, which would be pretty soon. My experience at Bloody Bill’s had taught me the lesson of leaving such messages—not that I thought we were in any danger; or that Llewella’s knowing wouldn’t be sufficient.

  Leaves crunched beneath our feet as we took one of the walks toward a side gate. With only a few strands of cirrus high overhead, the sun shone brightly. To the west, a flock of dark birds flapped its way toward the ocean, south.

  “It’s already snowed back home,” she told me. “You’re lucky.”

  “There’s a warm current that gives us a break,” I said, remembering something Gerard had once told me. “It moderates the climate considerably; compared to other places at equal latitude.”

  “You travel a lot?” she asked me.

  “I’ve been traveling more than I care to,” I said, “recently. I’d like to sit down and go to seed for about a year.”

  “Business or pleasure?” she asked me, as a guard let us out the gate and I quickly surveyed the environs for lurkers.

  “Not pleasure,” I answered as I took her elbow for a moment and steered her toward the way I had chosen. When we reached civilized precincts, we followed the Main Concourse for a time. I pointed out a few landmarks and notable residences, including the Begman Embassy. She showed no inclination to visit the latter, though, saying she’d have to see her countrymen officially before she left, anyway. She did stop in a shop we found later, however, to buy a couple of blouses, having the bill sent to the embassy and the garments to the palace.

  “My father promised me some shopping,” she explained. “And I know he’ll forget. When he hears about this, he’ll know that I didn’t.”

  We explored the streets of the various trades and stopped for a drink at a sidewalk cafe, watching pedestrians and horsemen pass. I had just turned toward her to relate an anecdote concerning one of the riders when I felt the beginning of a Trump contact. I waited for several seconds as the feeling grew stronger, but no identity took shape beyond the reaching. I felt Coral’s hand upon my arm.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  I reached out with my mind, attempting to assist in the contact, but the other seemed to retreat as I did so. It was not the same as that lurking scrutiny when Mask had regarded me at Flora’s place in San Francisco, though. Could it just be someone I knew trying to reach me and having trouble focusing? Injured, perhaps? Or—

  “Luke?” I said. “Is that you?”

  But there was no response and the feeling began to fade. Finally, it was gone.

  “Are you all right?” Coral asked.

  “Yeah, it’s okay,” I said. “I guess. Someone tried to reach me and then decided otherwise.”

  “Reach? Oh, you mean those Trumps you use?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you said ‘Luke’ . .” she mused. “None of your family is named—”

  “You might know him as Rinaldo, Prince of Kashfa,” I said.

  She chuckled.

  “Rinny? Sure I know him. He didn’t like us to call him Rinny, though. . . . ”

  “You really do know him? Personally, I mean?”

  “Yes,” she replied, “though it’s been a long time. Kashfa’s pretty close to Begma. Sometimes we were on good terms, sometimes not so good. You know how it is. Politics. When I was little there were long spells when we were pretty friendly. There were lots of state visits, both ways. We kids would often get dumped together.”

  “What was he like in those days?”

  “Oh, a big, gawky, red-haired boy. Liked to show off a lot—how strong he was, how fast he was. I remember how mad he got at me once because I beat him in a footrace.”

  “You beat Luke in a race?”

  “Yes. I’m a very good runner.”

  “You must be.”

  “Anyway, he took Nayda and me sailing a few times, and on some long hikes. Where is he now, anyway?”

  “Drinking with a Cheshire cat.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’d like to hear it. I’ve been worried about him since the coup.”

  Mm. . . . I thought quickly about how to edit this so as not to tell the daughter of the Begman prime minister any state secrets, such as Luke’s relationship to the House of Amber. . . . So, “I’ve known him for quite some time,” I began. “He recently incurred the wrath of a sorcerer who drugged him and saw him banished to this peculiar bar. . . . ”

  I went on for a long while then, partly because I had to stop and summarize Lewis Carroll. I also had to promise her the loan of one of the Thari editions of Alice from the Amber library. When I finally finished, she was laughing.

  “Why don’t you bring him back?” she said then.

  Ouch. I couldn’t very well say that his shadow-shifting abilities would work against this until he came down. So, “It’s part of the spell; it’s working on his own sorcerous ability,” I said. “He can’t be moved till the drug wears off.”

  “How interesting,” she observed. “Is Luke really a sorcerer himself?”

  “Uh . . . yes,” I said.

  “How did he gain that ability? He showed no signs of it when I knew him.”

  “Sorcerers come by their skills in various ways,” I explained. “But you know that,” and I suddenly realized that she was smarter than that smiling, innocent expression indicated. I’d a strong feeling she was trying to steer this toward an acknowledgment of Pattern magic on Luke’s part, which of course would say interesting things about his paternity. “And his mother, Jasra, is something of a sorceress herself.”

  “Really? I never knew that.”

  Damn! Coming and going. . . . “Well, she’d learned it somewhere:”

  “What about his father?”

  “I can’t really say,” I replied.

  “Did you ever meet him?”

  “Only in passing,” I said.

  A lie
could make the matter seem really important if she had even a small idea as to the truth. So I did the only other thing I could think of. There was no one seated at the table behind her, and there was nothing beyond the table but a wall. I wasted one of my spells, with an out-of-sight gesture and a single mutter.

  The table flipped over as it flew back and crashed against the wall. The noise was spectacular. There were loud exclamations from several other patrons, and I leaped to my feet.

  “Is everyone all right?” I said, looking about as if for casualties.

  “What happened?” she asked me.

  “Freak gust of wind or something,” I said. “Maybe we’d better be moving on.”

  “All right,” she said, regarding the debris. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

  I tossed some coins onto our table, rose, and headed back outside, talking the while of anything I could think of to put some distance between us and the subject. This had the desired effect, because she did not attempt to retrieve the question.

  Continuing our stroll, I headed us in the general direction of West Vine. When we reached it I decided to head downhill to the harbor, recalling her fondness for sailing. But she put her hand on my arm and halted me.

  “Isn’t there a big stairway up the face of Kolvir?” she asked. “I believe your father once tried to sneak troops up it and got caught and had to fight his way along.”

  I nodded. “Yes, that’s true,” I said. “Old thing. It goes way back. It’s not used very much these days. But it’s still in decent shape.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “All right.”

  I turned to the right and we headed back, uphill, toward the Main Concourse. A pair of knights wearing Llewella’s livery passed us, headed in the other direction, saluting as they went by. I could not help but wonder whether they were on a legitimate errand or were following some standing order to keep an eye on my movements. The thought must have passed through Coral’s mind, also, because she quirked an eyebrow at me. I shrugged and kept going. When I glanced back a bit later, they were nowhere to be seen.

  We passed people in the garb of a dozen regions as we strolled, and the air was filled with the smells of cooking from open stalls, to satisfy a multitude of tastes. At various points in our career up the hill, we stopped for meat pies, yogurts, sweets. The stimuli were too overpowering for any but the most sated to ignore.

  I noticed the lithe way she moved about obstacles. It wasn’t just gracefulness. It was more a state of being—preparedness, I guess. Several times I noticed her glancing back in the direction from which we had come. I looked myself, but there was nothing unusual to see. Once, when a man stepped suddenly from a doorway we were approaching, I saw her hand flash toward the dagger at her belt, then drop away.

  “There is so much activity, so much going on here. . . . ” she commented after a time.

  “True. Begma is less busy, I take it?”

  “Considerably.”

  “Is it a pretty safe place to stroll about?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Do the women as well as the men take military training there?”

  “Not ordinarily. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I’ve had some training in armed and unarmed combat though,” she said.

  “Why was that?” I asked.

  “My father suggested it. Said it could come in handy for a relative of someone in his position. I thought he might be right. I think he really wanted a son.”

  “Did your sister do it, too?”

  “No, she wasn’t interested.”

  “You planning on a diplomatic career?”

  “No. You’re talking to the wrong sister.”

  “A wealthy husband?”

  “Probably stodgy and boring.”

  “What then?”

  “Maybe I’ll tell you later.”

  “All right. I’ll ask if you don’t.”

  We made our way southward along the Concourse, and the breezes picked up as we neared Land’s End. It was a winter ocean that came into view across the distance; slate-gray and white-capped. Many birds wheeled far out over the waves, and one very sinuous dragon.

  We passed through the Great Arch and came at last to the landing and looked downward. It was a vertiginous prospect, out across a brief, broad stair—the steep drop to the tan-and-black beach far below. I regarded the ripples in the sand left by the retreating tide, wrinkles in an old man’s brow. The breezes were stronger here, and the damp, salty smell, which had been increasing as we approached, seasoned the air to a new level of intensity. Coral drew back for a moment, then advanced again.

  “It looks a little more dangerous than I’d thought,” she said, after a time. “Probably seems less so once you’re on it.”

  “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “You’ve never climbed it?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Never had any reason to.”

  “I’d think you’d have wanted to, after your father’s doomed battle along it.”

  I shrugged. “I get sentimental in different ways.”

  She smiled. “Let’s climb down to the beach. Please.”

  “Sure,” I said, and we moved forward and started. The broad stair took us down for perhaps thirty feet, then terminated abruptly where a much narrower version turned off to the side. At least the steps weren’t damp and slippery: Somewhere far below, I could see where the stair widened again, permitting a pair of people to go abreast. For now, though, we moved single file, and I was irritated that Coral had somehow gotten ahead of me.

  “If you’ll scrunch over, I’ll go past,” I told her.

  “Why?” she asked. .

  “So I can be ahead of you in case you slip.”

  “That’s all right,” she replied. “I won’t.”

  I decided it wasn’t worth arguing and let her lead.

  The landings where the stairway switched back were haphazard affairs, hacked wherever the contours of the rock permitted such a turning. Consequently, some descending stretches were longer than others and our route wandered all over the face of the mountain. The winds were much stronger now than they were above, and we found ourselves staying as close to the mountain’s side as its contours permitted. Had there been no wind, we probably would have done the same. The absence of any sort of guard railing made us shy back from the edge. There were places where the mountain’s wall overhung us for a cavelike effect; other places, we followed a bellying of the rock and felt very exposed. My cloak blew up across my face several times and I cursed, recalling that natives seldom visit historical spots in their own neighborhoods. I began to appreciate their wisdom. Coral was hurrying on ahead, and I increased my pace to catch up with her. Beyond her, I could see that there was a landing which signaled the first turning of the way. I was hoping she’d halt there and tell me she’d reconsidered the necessity for this expedition. But she didn’t. She turned and kept right on going. The wind stole my sigh and bore it to some storybook cave reserved for the plaints of the imposed-upon.

  Still, I couldn’t help but look down upon occasion, and whenever I did I thought of my father fighting his way up along these steps. It was not something I’d care to try—at least, not until I’d exhausted all of the more sneaky alternatives. I began to wonder how far we were below the level of the palace itself. . . .

  When we finally came to the landing from which the stairway widened, I hurried to catch up with Coral so that we could walk abreast. In my haste, I snagged my heel and stumbled as I rounded the turn. It was no big deal . . . I was able to reach out and stabilize myself against the cliff s face as I jolted forward and swayed. I was amazed, though, at Coral’s perception of my altered gait just on the basis of its sound, and by her reaction to it. She cast herself backward suddenly and twisted her body to the side. Her hands came in contact with my arm as she did this, and she thrust me to the side, against the rock.

  “All right!” I said, from rapidly emptying lungs. “I�
��m okay.”

  She rose and dusted herself off as I recovered.

  “I heard—” she began.

  “I gather. But I just caught my heel. That’s all.”

  “I couldn’t tell.”

  “Everything’s fine. Thanks.”

  We started down the stair side by side, but something was changed. I now harbored a suspicion I did not like but could not dispel. Not yet, anyway. What I had in mind was too dangerous, if I should prove correct.

  So instead, “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain,” I said.

  “What?” she asked. “I didn’t understand. . . . ”

  “I said, ‘It’s a fine day to be walking with a pretty lady.’”

  She actually blushed.

  Then, “What language did you say it in . . . the first time.”

  “English,” I replied.

  “I’ve never studied it. I told you that when we were talking about Alice.”

  “I know. Just being whimsical,” I answered.

  The beach, nearer now, was tiger-striped and shiny in places. A froth of foam retreated along its slopes while birds cried and dipped to examine the waves’ leavings. Sails bobbed in the offing, and a small curtain of rain rippled in the southeast, far out at sea. The winds had ceased their noise-making, though they still came upon us with cloak-wrapping force.

  We continued in silence until we had reached the bottom. We stepped away then, moving a few paces onto the sand.

  “The harbor’s in that direction,” I said, gesturing to my right, westward, “and there’s a church off that way,” I added, indicating the dark building where Caine’s service had been held and where seamen sometimes came to pray for safe voyages.