The Chronicles of Amber

by Roger Zelazny

  “Then I suggest you be about it . . . and report back to me immediately if there are any problems, or any progress, no matter what the hour.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said.

  I departed the room in a hurry but shortly came to a halt. It occurred to me that while I knew the general area of the palace in which the Begman party was quartered, I did not really know where Nayda’s rooms were located. I did not want to go back and ask Vialle because it would make me look stupid for not having found out during dinner.

  It took me the better part of ten minutes to turn up a member of the palace staff able to give me directions—along with a smirk—and then to follow them at a jog until I stood before Nayda’s door.

  I ran my hand through my hair, brushed off my trousers and jacket, wiped my boots on the backs of my pants legs, took a deep breath, smiled, exhaled, and knocked.

  The door opened a few moments later. It was Nayda. She returned my smile and stepped aside.

  “Come in,” she said.

  “I was expecting the maid,” I told her as I entered. “You surprised me.”

  “Since I was expecting you, I sent her off to bed early,” she replied.

  She had changed into an outfit that looked like a gray sweat suit with a black sash. She also had on a pair of black slippers, and she had removed most of her makeup. Her hair was now drawn back severely and tied with a black ribbon. She gestured toward a couch, but I did not move to seat myself.

  I clasped her shoulder lightly and stared into her eyes. She moved nearer.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Find out,” she said softly.

  I could not even permit myself a sigh. Duty called. I slipped my arms around her, drew her to me, and kissed her. I held the pose for several seconds, then drew away, smiled again, and said, “You feel fine to me. Listen, there are some things I did not tell you—”

  “Shall we sit down?” she said, taking my hand and leading me toward the couch.

  Vialle had told me to be diplomatic, so I followed her.

  Immediately, she continued our embrace and began to add refinements. Danm! And me constrained to rush her out to cover for Coral. If she would, I’d be happy to cover her afterward. Or any other interesting position Begmans might go in for. I’d better ask quickly, though, I decided. A couple of minutes more and it would be very undiplomatic to begin talking about her sister. Today was just a bad day when it came to timing.

  “Before we get too involved here,” I said, “I’ve got to ask a favor of you.”

  “Ask me anything,” she said.

  “I think there’s going to be a delay in turning up your sister,” I explained, “and I’d hate to worry your father. Do you know whether he’s sent to her rooms yet, or been by them, to check on her?”

  “I don’t believe so. He strolled off with Gerard and Mr. Roth after dinner. I don’t think he’s returned to his apartment yet.”

  “Could you possibly find a way of giving him the impression that she hasn’t strayed? Buy me some time to find out where she’s off to?”

  She looked amused.

  “And those things you haven’t told me . . . ?”

  “I’ll give you the whole story if you’ll do this for me.”

  She traced my jawline with her index finger.

  “All right,” she said then. “We have a deal. Don’t go away.”

  She rose, crossed the room, and passed out into the hall, leaving the door a few inches ajar. Why hadn’t I had a nice normal affair since Julia? The last woman I’d made love to had actually been under the control of that strange body-shifting entity. Now . . . Now there was the faintest of shadows across the couch, as I realized that I’d rather be holding Coral than her sister. That was ridiculous. I’d only known her for half a day. . . .

  There had simply been too much activity since my return. I was getting punchy. That had to be it.

  When she returned she seated herself on the couch again, but this time with a couple of feet separating us. She seemed cheerful enough, though she made no move to resume our earlier occupation.

  “It’s taken care of,” she said. “He will be misled, if he asks.”

  “Thanks,” I told her.

  “Now it’s your turn,” she stated. “Tell me things.”

  “All right,” I began, and I launched into the story of Coral and the Pattern.

  “No,” she interrupted. “Start at the beginning, would you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Give me your whole day, from the time you left the palace together until you parted.”

  “That’s silly,” I protested.

  “Humor me,” she said. “You owe me one, remember?”

  “Very well,” I agreed, and I started again. I was able to skip over the bit about blasting the table in the cafe, but when I glossed over the business in the sea caves by saying that we’d looked around in them and found them pretty, she interrupted me.

  “Stop,” she said. “You’re leaving something out. What occurred in the caves?”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked.

  “That is a secret I do not care to share just now.” she explained. “Suffice it to say I have a means of spot-checking your veracity.”

  “It’s not relevant,” I said. “It will just confuse the issue. That’s why I omitted it.”

  “You said you’d give me the whole afternoon.”

  “All right, lady,” I agreed, and I did.

  She bit her lip while I told her about Jurt and the zombies, and she licked idly at the beads of blood that appeared thereafter.

  “What are you going to do about him?” she asked suddenly.

  “That’s my problem,” I said then. “I promised you the afternoon, not my memoirs and survival plans.”

  “It’s just that. . . . Remember, I offered to try to help you?”

  “What do you mean? Do you think you can nail Jurt for me? I’ve got news for you: He’s practically a candidate for godhood at the moment.”

  “What do you mean by ‘godhood’?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “It would take most of the night to tell you this story properly, and we don’t have the time, not if I’m going to start looking for Coral soon. Just let me finish with the business about the Pattern, will you?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I did, and she showed no surprise whatsoever at the matter of her sister’s paternity. I was going to question her as to her lack of reaction. Then I said, the hell with it. She’s done what I wanted, and I did what I promised. She hasn’t had a heart attack. And now it’s time to go.

  “That’s it,” I said, and I added, “Thanks.”

  I began to rise, and she moved quickly and was hugging me again.

  I returned her embrace for a moment, then said, “I’d really better be going. Coral could be in danger.”

  “The hell with her,” she said. “Stay with me. We have more important things to talk about.”

  I was surprised by her callousness, but I tried not to show it.

  “I’ve a duty to her,” I said, “and I’ve got to see to it now.”

  “All right,” she said, sighing. “I’d better come along and give you a hand.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “You’d be surprised,” she told me, and she was on her feet and smiling a twisted smile.

  I nodded, feeling that she was probably right.

  Chapter 10

  We hiked back along the hallway to my apartment. When I opened the door and summoned the lights, Nayda did a fast survey of the first room. She froze when she saw my coat-rack.

  “Queen Jasra!” she said.

  “Yep. She had a disagreement with a sorcerer named Mask,” I explained. “Guess who won?”

  Nayda raised her left hand and moved it in a slow pattern—behind Jasra’s neck and down her back, across her chest, then downward again. I did not recognize any of the movements she was performing.

&nb
sp; “Don’t tell me that you’re a sorceress, too,” I said. “It seems that everyone I run into these days has had some training in the Art.”

  “I am not a sorceress,” she answered, “and I’ve had no such training. I have only one trick and it is not sorcery, but I use it for everything.”

  “And what is that trick?” I asked.

  She ignored the question, then said, “My, she’s certainly tightly bound. The key lies somewhere in the region of her solar plexus. Did you know that?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “I understand the spell fully.”

  “Why is she here?”

  “Partly because I promised her son Rinaldo I’d rescue her from Mask, and partly as an assurance against his good behavior.”

  I pushed the door shut and secured it. When I turned back, she was facing me.

  “Have you seen him recently?” she said in a conversational tone.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Oh, no special reason.”

  “I thought we were trying to help each other,” I said.

  “I thought we were looking for my sister.”

  “It can wait another minute if you know something special about Rinaldo.”

  “I was just curious where he might be right now.”

  I turned away and moved to the chest where I keep art supplies. I removed the necessary items and took them to my drawing board. While I was about it, I said, “I don’t know where he is.”

  I set up the piece of pasteboard, seated myself and closed my eyes, summoning a mental image of Coral, preliminary to beginning her sketch. Again, I half wondered whether the picture in my mind, along with the appropriate magical endorsement, would be sufficient for contact. But now was not the time to mess around being experimental. I opened my eyes and began to draw. I used the techniques I’d learned in the Courts, which are different yet similar to those employed in Amber. I was qualified to execute them in either fashion, but I’m faster with the style I learned first.

  Nayda came over and stood near, watching, not asking whether I minded. As it was, I did not.

  “When did you see him last?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “Luke.”

  “This evening,” I answered.

  “Where?”

  “He was here earlier.”

  “Is he here now?”

  “No.”

  “Where did you last see him?”

  “In the forest of Arden. Why?”

  “It seems a strange place to part.”

  I was working on Coral’s eyebrows.

  “We parted under strange circumstances,” I said.

  A little more work about the eyes, a bit on the her. . . .

  “Strange? In what way?” she asked.

  More color to the cheeks. . . .

  “Never mind,” I told her.

  “All right,” she said. “It’s probably not that important.”

  I decided against rising to that bait, because I was suddenly getting something. As had occasionally happened in the past, my concentration on the Trump as I put the final touches to it was sufficiently intense to reach through and. . . .

  “Coral!” I said, as the features moved, perspectives shifted.

  “Merlin . . . ?” she answered. “I . . . I’m in trouble.”

  Oddly, there was no background whatever. Just blackness. I felt Nayda’s hand upon my shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Yes. . . . It’s dark here,” she said. “Very dark.”

  Of course. One cannot manipulate Shadow in the absence of light. Or even see to use a Trump.

  “That’s where the Pattern sent you?” I asked.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Take my hand,” I said. “You can tell me about it afterward.”

  I extended my hand and she reached toward it.

  “They—” she began.

  And with a stinging flash the contact was broken. I felt Nayda stiffen beside me.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. We were suddenly blocked. I can’t tell what forces were involved.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Try again in a little bit,” I said. “If it were a reaction thing, resistance will probably be high just now, and it may ease up later. At least she says she’s all right.”

  I withdrew the packet of Trumps I normally carry, shuffled out Luke’s. Now seemed as good a time as any to see how he was faring. Nayda glanced at the card and smiled.

  “I thought you just saw him a little while ago,” she said.

  “A lot can happen in a little while.”

  “I’m certain a lot has happened.”

  “You think you know something about what’s going on with him?” I asked.

  “Yes. I do.”

  I raised the Trump. “What?” I said.

  “I’d be willing to wager you won’t get through to him.”

  “We’ll see.”

  I concentrated and I reached. I reached again. A minute or so later I wiped my brow.

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  “Luke’s blocking you. I would, too . . . under the circumstances.”

  “What circumstances?”

  She gave me a quirked smile, crossed to a chair, and sat down.

  “Now I have something to trade with you again,” she said.

  “Again?”

  I studied her. Something jiggled and fell into place. “You’ve been calling him ‘Luke’ rather than ‘Rinaldo’,” I said.

  “So I have.”

  “I’d been wondering when you’d show up again.”

  She continued to smile.

  “I went and shot my eviction-notice spell,” I observed. “Can’t complain, though. It probably saved my life. Do I owe you that one, in some roundabout fashion?”

  “I’m not proud. I’ll take it.”

  “I’m going to ask you again what you want, and if you say it’s to help me or to protect me, I’m going to turn you into a coat-rack.”

  She laughed.

  “I’d have guessed you’d take whatever help you could get right now,” she said.

  “A lot depends on what you mean by ‘help’.”

  “If you’ll tell me what you have in mind, I’ll tell you whether I can be of any assistance.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’m going to change clothes while I talk, though. I don’t feel like storming a citadel dressed like this. May I lend you something tougher than a sweat suit?”

  “I’m fine. Start at Arbor House, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said, and I proceeded to fill her in while I garbed myself in tougher fare. She was no longer a pretty lady to me, but rather a nebulous entity in human form. She seated herself while I was talking and stared at the wall, or through it, over steepled fingers. When I was finished, she kept staring, and I went over to my drawing board, took up Coral’s Trump, tried again, but couldn’t get through. I tried Luke’s card, also, with the same results.

  As I was about to replace Luke’s Trump, square the deck, and case it, I glimpsed the next lower card and a lightning chain of recollections and speculations flashed through my mind. I removed the card and focused on it. I reached. . . .

  “Yes, Merlin?” he said moments later, seated at a small table on a terrace—evening skyline of a city behind him—lowering what appeared to be a cup of espresso to a tiny white saucer.

  “Right now. Hurry,” I said. “Come to me.”

  Nayda had begun to make a low growling sound just as the contact occurred, and she was on her feet and moving toward me, her eyes fixed upon the Trump, just as Mandor took my hand and stepped through. She halted when the tall, black-garbed figure appeared before her. They regarded each other without expression for a moment, and then she took a long sliding step toward him, her hands beginning to rise. Immediately, from the depth of some inner cloak pocket where his right hand was thrust, there came a single, sharp, metallic click.

 
; Nayda froze.

  “Interesting,” Mandor said, raising his left hand and passing it in front of her face. Her eyes did not follow it. “This is the one you told me about earlier—Vinta, I believe you called her?”

  “Yes, only now she’s Nayda.”

  He produced a small, dark metal ball from somewhere and held it upon the palm of his left hand, which he extended before her. Slowly, the ball began to move, describing a counterclockwise circle. Nayda emitted a single sound, something halfway between a cry and a gasp, and she dropped forward to her hands and knees, head lowered. From where I stood I could see saliva dripping from her mouth.

  He said something very fast, in an archaic form of Thari which I could not follow. She responded in the affirmative.

  “I believe I’ve solved your mystery,” he said then. “Do you recall your lessons on Respondances and High Compellings?”

  “Sort of,” I said. “Academically. I was never exactly swept away by the subject.”

  “Unfortunate,” he stated. “You should report back to Suhuy for a postgraduate course sometime.”

  “Are you trying to tell me . . . ?”

  “The creature you see before you, inhabiting a not unattractive human form, is a ty’iga,” he explained.

  I stared. The ty’iga were a normally bodiless race of demons that dwelled in the blackness beyond the Rim. I recalled being told that they were very powerful and very difficult to control.

  “Uh . . . can you make this one stop slobbering on my carpet?” I said.

  “Of course,” he replied, and he released the sphere, which fell to the floor before her. It did not bounce, but began immediately to roll, describing a rapid circuit about her.

  “Stand up,” he said, “and stop releasing bodily fluids upon the floor.”

  She did as he ordered, climbing to her feet, her expression vacant.

  “Seat yourself in that chair,” he directed, indicating the one she had occupied but minutes earlier.

  She complied, and the rolling ball adjusted itself to her progress and continued its circle, about the chair now.

  “It cannot vacate that body,” he said then, “unless I release it. And I can cause it any amount of torment within my sphere of power. I can get you your answers now. Tell me what the questions are.”

  “Can she hear us right now?”

  “Yes, but it cannot speak unless I permit it.”