That sense of familiarity I had felt when I first met her. . . . I suddenly realized that it was a general family resemblance that had caused it. Her nose and brow reminded me a bit of Fiona, her chin and cheekbones something of Flora. Her hair and eyes and height and build were her own, though. But she certainly did not resemble her nominal father or sister.
I thought again of a faintly leering portrait of my grandfather which I had often studied, in an upstairs hallway, to the west. The lecherous old bastard really got around. Giving him his due, though, he was a very good-looking man. . . .
I sighed and rose to my feet. I laid a hand upon her shoulder.
“Listen, Coral,” I said. “All of us were well briefed before we tried it. I am going to tell you about it before you take another step, and while I speak you may feel energy flowing from me into you. I want you to be as strong as possible. When you take your next step I do not want you to stop again until you have reached the middle. I may call out instructions to you as you move along, also. Do whatever I say immediately, without thinking about it.
“First I will tell you about the Veils, the places of resistance. . . . ”
For how long I spoke, I do not know.
I watched as she approached the First Veil.
“Ignore the chill and the shocks,” I said. “They can’t hurt you. Don’t let the sparks distract you. You’re about to hit major resistance. Don’t start breathing rapidly.”
I watched her push her way through.
“Good,” I said, as she came onto an easier stretch, deciding against telling her that the next Veil was far worse. “By the way, don’t think that you’re going crazy. Shortly, it will begin playing head games with you—”
“It already has,” she responded. “What should I do?”
“It’s probably mostly memories. Just let them flow, and keep your attention on the path.”
She continued, and I talked her through the Second Veil. The sparks reached almost to her shoulders before she was out of it. I watched her struggle through arc after arc, then tricky curves and long, sweeping ones, turns, reversals. There were times when she moved quickly, times when she was slowed almost to a standstill. But she kept moving. She had the idea, and it seemed she had the will. I did not think that she really needed me now. I was certain that I had nothing left to offer, that the outcome was entirely in her own hands.
So I shut up and watched, irritated with but unable to prevent my own leaning and turning, shifting and pressing, as if I were out there myself, anticipating, compensating.
When she came to the Grand Curve she was a living flame. Her progress was very slow, but there was a relentless quality to it. Whatever the outcome, I knew that she was being changed, had been changed already, that the Pattern was inscribing itself upon her, and that she was very near to the end of its statement. I almost cried out as she seemed to stop for a moment, but the words died in my throat as she shuddered once, then continued. I wiped my brow on my sleeve as she approached the Final Veil. Whatever the outcome, she had proved her suspicions. Only a child of Amber could have survived as she had.
I do not know how long it took her to pierce the last Veil. Her effort became timeless, and I was caught up in that protracted moment. She was a burning study in extreme slow motion, the nimbus that enshrouded her lighting up the entire chamber like a great blue candle.
And then she was through and onto that final short arc, the last three steps of which may well be the most difficult part of the entire Pattern. Some sort of psychic surface tension seems joined with the physical inertia one encounters just before the point of emergence.
Again, I thought she had stopped, but it was only an appearance. It was like watching someone doing tai chi, the painful slowness of that trio of paces. But she completed it and moved again. If the final step didn’t kill her, then she was home free. Then we could talk. . . .
That final moment went on and on and on. Then I saw her foot move forward and depart the Pattern. Shortly, the other foot followed and she stood panting at the center. “Congratulations!” I shouted.
She waved weakly with her right hand while slowly raising her left to cover her eyes. She stood thus for the a better part of a minute, and one who has walked the Pattern understands the feeling. I did not call out again, but let her recover, giving her the silence in which to enjoy her triumph.
The Pattern seemed to be glowing more brightly just then, as it often does immediately after being traversed. This gave a fairyland quality to the grotto—all blue light and shadow—and made a mirror of that small, still pool in the far corner where blind fish swim. I tried to think ahead to what this act might mean, for Coral, for Amber. . . . She straightened suddenly.
“I’m going to live,” she announced.
“Good,” I replied. “You have a choice now, you know.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You are now in a position to command the Pattern to transport you anywhere,” I explained. “So you could just have it deposit you back here again, or you could save yourself a long walk by having it return you to your suite right now. As much as I enjoy your company, I’d recommend the latter since you’re probably pretty tired. Then you can soak in a nice warm bath and take your time dressing for dinner. I’ll meet you in the dining room. Okay?”
I saw that she was smiling as she shook her head.
“I’m not going to waste an opportunity like this,” she said.
“Listen, I know the feeling,” I told her. “But I think you should restrain yourself. Rushing off someplace weird could be dangerous, and coming back could be tricky when you haven’t had any training in shadow walking.”
“It’s just sort of a will and expectation thing, isn’t it?” she asked. “You kind of impose images on the environment as you go along, don’t you?”
“It’s trickier than that,” I said. “You have to learn to capitalize on certain features as points of departure. Normally, one is accompanied on one’s first shadow walk by someone with experience—”
“Okay, I get the idea.”
“Not enough,” I said. “Ideas are fine, but there’s feedback, too. There’s a certain feeling you get when it begins working. That can’t be taught. It has to be experienced—and until you’re sure of it, you should have someone along for a guide.”
“Seems like trial and error would do.”
“Maybe,” I answered. “But supposing you wound up in danger? That’d be a hell of a time to start learning. Kind of distracting—”
“All right. You made your point. Fortunately, I’m not planning on anything that would put me in such a position.”
“What are you planning?”
She straightened and gestured widely.
“Ever since I learned about the Pattern, there’s been something I wanted to try if I got this far,” she said.
“What might that be?”
“I’m going to ask it to send me where I should go.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m going to leave the choice up to the Pattern.”
I shook my head.
“It doesn’t work that way,” I told her. “You have to give it an order to transport you.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s just the way it works.”
“Have you ever tried what I’m saying?”
“No. Nothing would happen.”
“Has anyone you know of ever tried it?”
“It would be a waste of time. Look, you’re talking as if the Pattern is somehow sentient, is capable of coming to a decision on its own and executing it.”
“Yes,” she replied. “And it must know me real well after what I’ve just been through with it. So I’m just going to ask its advice and—”
“Wait!” I said.
“Yes?”
“On the off chance that something happens, how do you plan on getting back?”
“I’ll walk, I guess. So you’re admitting that so
mething could happen?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s conceivable that you have an unconscious desire to visit a place, and that it will read that and take you there if you give a transport order. That won’t prove that the Pattern is sentient, just that it’s sensitive. Now, if it were me standing there, I’d be afraid to take a chance like that. Supposing I have suicidal tendencies I’m not aware of? Or—”
“You’re reaching,” she answered. “You’re really reaching.”
“I’m just counseling you to play it safe. You have your whole life to go exploring. It would be silly to—”
“Enough!” she said. “My mind’s made up, and that’s it. It feels right. See you later, Merlin.”
“Wait!” I cried again. “All right. Do it if you must. But let me give you something first.”
“What?”
“A means of getting out of a tight spot in a hurry. Here.”
I withdrew my Trumps, shuffled out my own card. Then I unfastened my dagger and sheath from my belt. I wrapped my card around the haft and tied it there with my handkerchief.
“You have an idea how to use a Trump?”
“You just stare and think of the person till there’s contact, don’t you?”
“That’ll do,” I said. “Here’s mine. Take it with you. Call me when you want to come home, and I’ll bring you back.”
I tossed it out across the Pattern, underhand. She caught it easily and hung it on her belt on the side opposite her own.
“Thanks,” she said, straightening. “I guess I’ll give it a try now.”
“Just in case it really works, don’t stay long. Okay?”
“Okay,” she answered, and she closed her eyes.
An instant later she was gone. Oh, my.
I moved to the edge of the Pattern and held my hand above it until I could feel the forces stirring there.
“You’d better know what you’re doing,” I said. “I want her back.”
A spark shot upward and tickled my palm.
“You trying to tell me you’re really sentient?”
Everything swirled about me. The dizziness passed in an instant, and the first thing I noticed then was that the lantern was beside my right foot. When I looked about I realized that I was standing on the other side of the Pattern from where I had been and was now near the door.
“I was within your field and I’m already attuned,” I said. “It was just my unconscious desire to get out.”
Then I hefted the lantern, locked the door behind me, and hung the key back on its hook. I still didn’t trust the thing. If it had really wanted to be helpful, it would have sent me directly to my quarters and saved me all those stairs.
I hurried along the tunnel. It was by far the most interesting first date I’d ever had.
6
As I passed out of the main hall and headed along the back hallway which would take me to any of a number of stairs, a fellow in black leathers and various pieces of rusty and shiny chain emerged from a corridor to my right, halted, and stared at me. His hair was of an orange Mohawk cut and there were several silver rings in his left ear near what looked like an electrical outlet of some sort.
“Merlin?” he said. “You okay?”
“For the moment,” I replied as I drew nearer, trying to place him, there in the dimness.
“Martin!” I said. “You’re . . . changed.”
He chuckled.
“I’m just back from a very interesting shadow,” he said. “Spent over a year there—one of those places where time runs like hell.”
“I’d judge—just guessing—that it was high-tech, urban. . . . ”
“Right.”
“I thought you were a country boy.”
“I got over it. Now I know why my dad likes cities and noise.”
“You a musician, too?”
“Some. Different sounds, though. You going to be at dinner?”
“I was planning on it. As soon as I get cleaned up and changed.”
“See you there, then. We’ve a lot of things to talk about.”
“Sure thing, Cousin.”
He clasped my shoulder and released it as I passed. His grip was still strong.
I walked on. Before I’d gone very far, I felt the beginning of a Trump contact. I halted and reached quickly, figuring it was Coral wanting to return. Instead, my eyes met those of Mandor, who smiled faintly.
“Ah, very good,” he said. “You are alone and apparently safe.”
As things came clearer I saw that Fiona was standing beside him, standing very close as a matter of fact.
“I’m okay,” I said. “I’m back in Amber. You all right?”
“Intact,” he said, looking past me, though there was not much to see beyond wall and a bit of tapestry. “Would you care to come through?” I asked.
“I’d love to see Amber,” he replied. “But that pleasure will have to await another occasion. We are somewhat occupied at the moment.”
“You’ve discovered the cause of the disturbances?” I asked.
He glanced at Fiona, then back at me.
“Yes and no,” he said. “We’ve some interesting leads but no certainty at the moment.”
“Uh, what can I do for you then?” I asked.
Fiona extended her index finger and suddenly became much clearer. I realized that she must have reached out and touched my Trump for better contact.
“We’ve had an encounter with a manifestation of that machine you built,” she said. “Ghostwheel.”
“Yes?” I said.
“You’re right, it’s sentient—social AI as well as technical.”
“I was already certain it could pass the Turing test.”
“Oh, no doubt about that,” she responded, “since by definition the Turing test requires a machine capable of lying to people and misleading them.”
“What are you getting at, Fiona?” I asked.
“It’s not just social AI. It’s downright antisocial,” she replied. “I think your machine is crazy.”
“What did it do?” I asked. “Attack you?”
“No, nothing physical. It’s wacky and mendacious and insulting, and we’re too busy to go into details right now. I’m not saying it couldn’t get nasty, though. I don’t know. We just wanted to warn you not to trust it.”
I smiled.
“That’s it? End of message?” I said.
“For now,” she answered, lowering her finger and growing dim.
I shifted my gaze to Mandor and was about to explain that I had built a host of safeguards into the thing, so that not just anybody could access it. Mainly, though, I wanted to tell him about Jurt. But our communication was suddenly severed, as I felt another presence reaching toward me.
I was intrigued by the sensation. I had occasionally wondered what would occur if someone tried for a Trump contact when I was already in touch with someone else via a Trump. Would it turn into a conference call? Would someone get a busy signal? Would it put the other party on hold? I’d doubted I’d ever find out, though. It just seemed statistically unlikely. However. . . .
“Merlin, baby. I’m okay.”
“Luke!”
Mandor and Fiona were definitely gone. “I’m really okay now, Merle.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, as soon as I started coming down I switched to a fast lane. In this shadow it’s been several days since I’ve seen you.”
He was wearing sunglasses and green swim trunks. He was seated at a small table beside a swimming pool in the shade of a great umbrella, the remains of a large lunch spread before him. A lady in a blue bikini dived into the pool and passed from my line of sight.
“Well, I’m glad to hear about that and—”
“So what happened to me, anyhow? I remember you said something about someone slipping me some acid when I was a prisoner back at the Keep. Is that how it went?”
“It seems very likely.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you drink the
water,” he mused. “Okay. What’s been going on while I’ve been out of it?”
Knowing how much to tell him was always a problem. So, “Where do we stand?” I asked.
“Oh. That,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve had a chance to do a lot of thinking,” he replied, “and I’m going to call it quits. Honor has been satisfied. It’s pointless to keep pushing this thing against everybody else. But I’m not about to put myself in Random’s hands for a kangaroo trial. Now it’s your turn: Where do I stand so far as Amber’s concerned? Should I be looking over my shoulder?”
“Nobody’s said anything yet, one way or the other. But Random is out of town now and I just got back myself. I haven’t really had a chance to learn what the others’ feelings might be on this thing.”
He removed his sunglasses and studied me. “The fact that Random’s out of town. . . . ”
“No, I know he’s not after you,” I said, “because he’s in Kash—” and I tried to stop it just a syllable too late.
“Kashfa?”
“So I understand.”
“What the hell’s he doing there? Amber was never interested in the place before.”
“There’s been a . . . death,” I explained. “Some kind of shake-up going on.”
“Ha!” Luke remarked. “That bastard finally bought it. Good! But. . . . Hey! Why’s Amber moving in so sudden-like, huh?”
“Don’t know,” I said.
He chuckled. “Rhetorical question,” he said. “I can see what’s going on. I’ve got to admit Random’s got style. Listen, when you find out who he puts on the throne let me know, will you? I like to keep abreast of doings in the old hometown.”
“Oh, sure,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to determine whether such information could be harmful. It would become public knowledge very soon, if it wasn’t already.
“So what else is going on? That other person who was Vinta Bayle . . . ?”
“Gone,” I said. “I don’t know where.”
“Very strange,” he mused. “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her. She was Gail, too. I’m sure. Let me know if she comes back, will you?”
The Great Book of Amber - Chronicles 1-10 Page 136
