The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  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.

  She looked in both directions and also glanced behind us and upward.

  “More people headed down,” she remarked.

  I looked back up and saw three figures near the top of the stairway, but they were standing still, as if they’d only come down a short distance to try the view. None of them wore Llewella’s colors. . . .

  “Fellow sightseers,” I said.

  She watched them a moment longer, then looked away. “Aren’t there caves along here somewhere?” she asked.

  I nodded to my right.

  “That way,” I answered. “There’s a whole series. People get lost in them periodically. Some are pretty colorful. Others just wander through darkness. A few are simply shallow openings.”

  “I’d like to see them,” she said.

  “Sure, easily done. Let’s go.”

  I began walking. The people on the stair had not moved. They still appeared to be looking out to sea. I doubted they were smugglers. It doesn’t seem like a daytime occupation for a place where anyone might wander by. Still, I was pleased that my faculty for suspicion was growing. It seemed appropriate in light of recent events. The object of my greatest suspicion, of course, was walking beside me, turning driftwood with the toe of her boot, scuffing bright pebbles, laughing—but there was nothing I was ready to do about it at the moment. Soon. . . .

  She took my arm suddenly.

  “Thanks for bringing me,” she said. “I’m enjoying this.”

  “Oh, I am, too. Glad we came. You’re welcome.”

  This made me feel slightly guilty, but if my guess were wrong no harm would be done.

  “I think I would enjoy living in Amber,” she remarked as we went along.

  “Me, too,” I replied. “I’ve never really done it for any great length of time.”

  “Oh?”

  “I guess I didn’t really explain how long I’d spent on the shadow Earth where I went to school, where I had that job I was telling you about. . . . ” I began, and suddenly I was pouring out more autobiography to her—a thing I don’t usually do. I wasn’t certain why I was telling it at first, and then I realized that I just wanted someone to talk to. Even if my strange suspicion was correct, it didn’t matter. A friendly-seeming listener made me feel better than I had in a long while. And before I realized it, I was telling her about my father—how this man I barely knew had rushed through a massive story of his struggles, his dilemmas, his decisions, as if he were trying to justify himself to me, as if that were the only opportunity he might have to do it, and how I had listened, wondering what he was editing, what he had forgotten, what he might be glossing over or dressing up, what his feelings were toward me. . . .

  “Those are some of the caves,” I told her, as they interrupted my now embarrassing indulgence in memory. She started to say something about my monologue, but I simply continued; “I’ve only seen them once.”

  She caught my mood and simply said “I’d like to go inside one.”

  I nodded. They seemed a good place for what I had in mind.

  I chose the third one. Its mouth was larger than the first two, and I could see back into it for a good distance. “Let’s try that one. It looks well lighted,” I explained. We walked into a shadow-hung chill. The damp sand followed us for a while, thinning only slowly to be replaced by a gritty stone floor. The roof dipped and rose several times. A turn to the left joined us with the passage of another opening, for looking back along it I could see more light. The other direction led more deeply into the mountain. We could still feel the echoing pulse of the sea from where we stood.

  “These caves could lead back really far,” she observed.

  “They do,” I replied. “They twist and cross and wind. I wouldn’t want to go too far without a map and a light. They’ve never been fully charted, that I know of.”

  She looked about, studying areas of blackness within the darkness where side tunnels debouched into our own.

  “How far back do you think they go?” she inquired.

  “I just don’t know.”

  “Under the palace?”

  “Probably,” I said, remembering the series of side tunnels I’d passed on my way to the Pattern. “It seems possible they cut into the big caves below it somewhere.”

  “What’s it like down there?” .

  “Under the palace? Just dark and big. Ancient. . . . ”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “The Pattern’s down there. It must be pretty colorful.”

  “Oh, it is—all bright and swirly. Rather intimidating, though.”

  “How can you say that when you’ve walked it?”

  “Walking it and liking it are two different things.”“

  “I’d just thought that if it were in you to walk it, you’d feel so
me affinity, some deep resonant kinship with it.”

  I laughed, and the sounds echoed about us.

  “Oh, while I was walking it I knew it was in me to do it,” I said. “I didn’t feel it beforehand, though. I was just scared then. And I never liked it.”

  “Strange.”

  “Not really. It’s like the sea or the night sky. It’s big and it’s powerful and it’s beautiful and it’s there. It’s a natural force and you make of it what you will.”

  She looked back along the passageway leading inward.

  “I’d like to see it,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t try to find my way to it from here,” I told her. “Why do you want to see it, anyhow?”

  “Just to see how I’d respond to something like that.”

  “You’re strange,” I said.

  “Will you take me when we go back? Will you show it to me?”

  This was not going at all the way I’d thought it would. If she were what I thought, I didn’t understand the request. I was half tempted to take her to it, to find out what she had in mind. However, I was operating under a system of priorities, and I’d a feeling she represented one concerning which I’d made myself a promise and, some elaborate preparations.

  “Perhaps,” I mumbled.

  “Please. I’d really like to see it.”

  She seemed sincere. But my guess felt near-perfect.

  Sufficient time had passed for that strange body-shifting spirit, which had dogged my trail in many forms, to have located a new host and then to have zeroed in on me again and be insinuating itself into my good graces once more. Coral was perfect for the role, her arrival appropriately timed, her concern for my physical welfare manifest, her reflexes fast. I’d have liked to keep her around for questioning, but I knew that she would simply lie to me in the absence of proof or an emergency situation. And I did not trust her. So I reviewed the spell I had prepared and hung on my way home from Arbor House, a spell I had designed to expel a possessing entity from its host. I hesitated a moment, though. My feelings toward her were ambivalent. Even if she were the entity, I might be willing to put up with her if I just knew her motive.