Dworkin felt that I had been protected from the Pattern during our confrontation, when I had gone back to check on the figure I had seen, because I was wearing the Jewel. I could not keep wearing it for too long, though, because this also had a tendency to prove fatal. He decided that I must become attuned to the Jewel—as were my father and Random—before I let it out of my possession. I would thereafter bear the higher-order image within me, which should function as well as the Jewel in defending me against the Pattern. I could hardly argue with the man who had supposedly created the Pattern, using the Jewel. So I agreed with him. Only I was too tired to do what he suggested. That was why I had had Ghost return me to my crystal cave, my sanctuary, to rest first.
Now, now . . . I flowed. I spun. Occasionally I stalled. The Jewel’s equivalents of the Veils were no less formidable because I had left my body behind. Each such passage left me as wrung out as running a mile in Olympic time. Though I knew at one level that I stood holding the Jewel through which I took my initiatory way, at another I could feel my heart pounding, and at another I recalled parts of a guest lecture by Joan Halifax for an anthropology course I was taking, years before. The medium swirled like Geyser Peak Merlot 1985 in a goblet—and whom was I looking across the table at that night? No matter. Onward, down and around. The blood-brightened tide was loosed. A message was being inscribed upon my spirit. In the beginning was a word I cannot spell. . . . Brighter, brighter. Faster, faster. Collision with a ruby wall, I a smear upon it. Come now, Schopenhauer, to the final game of will. An age or two came and went; then, suddenly, the way was opened. I was spilled forth into the light of an exploding star. Red, red, red, shifting me onward, away, like my little boat Starburst, driven, expanding, coming home . . .
I collapsed. Though I did not lose consciousness, my state of mind was not normal either. There was a hypnagogia I could have passed through at any time I chose, in either direction. But why? I am seldom the recipient of such a delivery of euphoria. I felt I’d earned it, so I drifted, right there, for a long, long time.
When it finally subsided below the level that made indulgence worthwhile, I climbed to my feet, swayed, leaned against the wall, made my way to the storeroom for another drink of water. I was also ravenous, but none of the tinned or freeze-dried foods appealed to me that greatly. Especially when fresher things were not that hard to come by.
I walked back through those familiar chambers. So I had followed Dworkin’s advice. It was a pity I’d turned my back before I recalled a long list of questions I wished to ask him. When I turned back again, he was gone.
I climbed. Coming up out of my cave, I stood atop the blue prominence which held the only entranceway I knew of. It was a breezy, balmy, spring-like morning with only a few small puffs of cloud to the east. I drew a deep breath for pleasure and expelled it. Then I stooped and moved the blue boulder to block the opening. I’d hate to be surprised by a predator should I come this way again in need of sanctuary.
I took off the Jewel of Judgment and hung it on a spur of the boulder. Then I moved off about ten paces.
“Hi, Dad.”
The Ghostwheel was a golden Frisbee, come sailing out of the west.
“Good morning, Ghost.”
“Why are you abandoning that device? It’s one of the most powerful tools I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m not abandoning it, but I’m about to summon the Sign of the Logrus, and I don’t think they’d get on too well. I’m even a little leery over how the Logrus will take to me with this higher-order Pattern attunement I’m wearing.”
“Perhaps I’d better move along and check back with you later.”
“Stick around,” I said. “Maybe you can bail me out if this turns into a problem.”
I summoned the Sign of the Logrus then, and it came and hovered before me, and nothing happened. I shifted a part of my awareness into the jewel, there on the side of the boulder, and through it I was able to perceive the Logrus from another perspective. Eerie. Also painless.
I centered myself within my own skull once again, extended my arms into the Logrus limbs, reached. . . . In less than a minute I had a plate of buttermilk pancakes, a side order of sausages, a cup of coffee, and a glass of orange juice.
“I could have gotten them for you faster than that,” Ghost remarked.
“I’m sure you could have,” I said. “I was just testing systems.”
As I ate, I tried to sort my priorities. When I finished, I sent the dishes back where they had come from, retrieved the Jewel, hung it about my neck, and stood.
“Okay, Ghost. Time to head back to Amber,” I said.
He expanded and opened and sank, so that I stood before a golden arch. I stepped forward—
—and back into my apartment.
“Thanks,” I said.
“De nada, Dad. Listen, I’ve a question: When you summoned breakfast, did you notice anything at all unusual in the way the Logrus Sign behaved?”
“How do you mean that?” I asked as I moved to wash my hands.
“Let’s start with physical sensations. Did it seem . . . sticky?”
“That’s an odd way to put it,” I said. “But as a matter of fact, it did seem to take slightly longer than usual to disengage. Why do you ask?”
“A peculiar notion has just occurred to me. Can you do Pattern magic?”
“Yeah, but I’m better at the Logrus variety.”
“You might want to try them both and compare them if you get a chance.”
“Why?”
“I’m actually starting to get hunches. I’ll tell you as soon as I’ve checked this one out.”
Ghostwheel was gone.
“Shit,” I said, and I washed my face.
I looked out the window, and a handful of snowflakes blew by. I fetched a key from my desk drawer. There were a couple of things I wanted to get out of the way immediately.
I stepped into the corridor. I had not gone more than a few paces before I heard the sound. I halted and listened. Then I continued, past the stairway, the sound growing steadily in volume as I advanced. By the time I reached the long corridor which ran past the library I knew that Random was back because I didn’t know of anyone else around here who could drum like that—or would dare to use the King’s drums if he could.
I continued on past the half opened door to the corner, where I turned right. My first impulse had been to enter, give him back the Jewel of Judgment, and try to explain what had happened. Then I recalled Flora’s advice that anything honest, straightforward, and above-board would always get you in trouble here. While I hated to give her credit for having enunciated a general rule, I could see that in this particular instance it would certainly tie me up with a lot of explaining when then were other things I wanted to be about—and, for that matter, it might also get me ordered not to do some of them.
I continued to the far entrance to the dining room, where I checked quickly and determined the place to be deserted. Good. Inside and to the right, as I recalled, there was a sliding panel which would get me into a hollow section of wall beside the library, furnished with pegs or a ladder that would take me up to a hidden entrance to the library’s balcony. It could also take me down through the spiral stair’s shaft and into the caverns below, if memory served. I hoped I never had reason to check that part out, but I was sufficiently into family tradition these days that I wanted to do a little spying, as several muttered exchanges as I’d passed the opened door led me to believe that Random was not alone in there. If knowledge really is power, then I needed all I could get my hands on, as I’d felt especially vulnerable for some time now.
Yes, the panel slid, and I was through it in a trice, sending my spirit-light on ahead. I hand-over-handed my way quickly to the top and opened the panel there slowly and quietly, feeling grateful to whoever had thought to conceal its space with a wide chair. I was able to see around the chair’s right arm with comparative safety from detection—a good view of the room’s north end.
And there was Random, drumming, and Martin, all chains and leather, was seated before him, listening. Random was doing something I’d never seen done before. He was playing with five sticks. He had one in each hand, one under each arm, and he held one in his teeth. And he was revolving them as he played, moving the one in his mouth to replace the one under his right arm, which replaced the one in his right hand, which he had switched over to his left hand, the left-hand one going up beneath his left arm, the left arm one going to his teeth, all without missing a beat. It was hypnotic. I stared until he wound out the number. His old set of traps was hardly the fusion drummer’s dreamworld of translucent plastic with tipped cymbals the size of battle shields set around the snares, a mess of tomtoms, and a couple of basses, all lit up like Coral’s circle of fire. Random’s set went back to a time before snares grew thin and nervous, basses shrank, and cymbals caught acromegaly and began to hum.
“Never saw that done before,” I heard Martin say. Random shrugged.
“Bit of horsing around,” he said. “Learned it from Freddie Moore, in the thirties, either at the Victoria or the Village Vanguard, when he was with Art Hodes and Max Kaminsky. I forget which place. It goes back to vaudeville, when they didn’t have any mikes and the lighting was bad. Had to do show-off things like that, or dress funny, he told me, to keep the audience paying attention.”
“Shame they had to cater to the crowd that way.”
“Yeah, none of you guys would dream of dressing funny or throwing your instruments around.”
There followed a silence, and there was no way I could see the expression on Martin’s face. Then, “I meant it different from that,” Martin said.
“Yeah, me, too,” Random replied. Then he tossed three of the sticks down and began to play again.
I leaned back and listened. A moment later I was startled to hear an alto sax come in. When I looked again, Martin was standing, his back still to me, and playing the thing. It must have been on the floor on the other side of his chair. There was a Richie Cole flavor to it that I rather liked, and it kind of surprised me. As much as I enjoyed it, I felt that I did not belong in this room right now, and I edged back, opened the panel, passed through, and closed it. After I’d climbed down and let myself out, I decided to cut through the dining room rather than pass the library entrance again. The music carried for some distance thereafter, and I wished I’d learned a spell of Mandor’s for capturing sounds in precious stones, though I’m not sure how the Jewel of Judgment would have taken to containing “Wild Man Blues.”
I was planning on walking up the east corridor to the point where it intersected with the north one in the vicinity of my apartment, turning left there, and taking the stairs up to the royal suite, knocking on the door, and returning the Jewel to Vialle, whom I hoped I could get to take a rain check on explanations. And if not, I’d rather explain to her than to Random anyway. I could leave out a lot that she wouldn’t know to ask me. Of course, Random would catch up with me with questions eventually. But the later, the better.
But then I was going right past my father’s rooms. I’d brought along the key so that I could stop in later, for what I considered obvious reasons. Still, since I was already on the spot, it would be more time-effective. I unlocked the door, opened it, and stepped inside.
The silver rose was gone from the bud vase on the dresser. Odd. I took a step toward it. There came a sound of voices from the other room, too soft for me to distinguish words. I froze. He might well be in there. But you don’t just go bursting into someone’s bedroom, especially when it’s likely there’s company present—particularly when it’s your father’s room and you had to unlock an outer door to get where you were. Suddenly I was extremely self-conscious. I wanted to get out of there, fast. I unbuckled my sword belt, from which Grayswandir depended in its not-quite-perfect fit of a sheath. I did not dare bear it any farther but hung it from one of the garment pegs on the wall near the door next to a short trench coat I hadn’t noticed before. I slipped out then and locked the door as quietly as I could.
Awkward. Was he really coming and going with some regularity, somehow managing to avoid notice? Or was some sort of phenomenon of an entirely different order in progress within his quarters? I’d heard an occasional rumor that some of the older chambers had sub specie spatium doorways, if one could but figure how to activate them, providing considerable extra closet space as well as private means of entry and egress. Something else I should have asked Dworkin about. Maybe I’ve got a pocket universe under my bed. I’d never looked.
I turned and walked quickly away. As I neared the corner, I slowed. Dworkin had felt that the presence of the Jewel of Judgment on my person was the thing that had protected me from the Pattern, had it really attempted to harm me earlier. On the other hand, the Jewel, worn too long, could itself do damage to the wearer. Therefore, he had counseled me to get some rest and then pass my mind through the stone’s matrix; in effect creating a recording of a higher power of the Pattern within me along with some measure of immunity to assaults by the Pattern itself. Interesting conjecture. And that’s all it was, of course: conjecture.
When I reached the cross corridor where a left would take me to the stairway or a right back to my rooms, I hesitated. There was a sitting room diagonally across the way, to the left, across from Benedict’s seldom used rooms. I headed for it, entered, sank into a heavy chair in the corner. All I wanted to do was deal with my enemies, help my friends, get my name off any shit lists it currently occupied, locate my father, and come to some sort of terms with the sleeping ty’iga. Then I could see about the continuance of my interrupted Wanderjahr. All of which, I realized, required that I now re-ask myself the now near-rhetorical question, How much of my business did I want Random to know?
I thought of him in the library, playing a duet with his near-estranged son. I understood that he had once been pretty wild and footloose and nasty, that he hadn’t really wanted the job of ruling this archetypal world. But parenthood, marriage, and the Unicorn’s choice seemed to have laid a lot on him—deepening his character, I suppose, at the price of a lot of the fun things in his life. Right now he seemed to have a lot of problems with this Kashfa-Begma business, possibly having just resorted to an assassination and agreed to a less than favorable treaty to maintain the complex political forces of the Golden Circle at an even level. And who knew what might be going on elsewhere to add to his troubles? Did I really want to draw this man into something I might well be able to handle myself with his never being any the wiser, or ever even bothered, concerning it? Conversely, if I did draw him into my affairs, it seemed likely that he might well lay restrictions on me which could hamper my ability to respond to what seemed the daily exigencies of my life. It could also raise another matter which had been shunted aside years ago.
I had never sworn allegiance to Amber. Nobody had ever asked me to. After all, I was Corwin’s son, and I had come to Amber willingly and made my home here for some time before going off to the shadow Earth, where so many of the Amberites had gone to school. I returned often, and I seemed to be on good terms with everyone. I didn’t really see why the concept of dual citizenship shouldn’t apply.
I’d rather the matter did not come up at all, though. I did not like the thought of being forced to choose between Amber and the Courts. I wouldn’t do it for the Unicorn and the Serpent, the Pattern and the Logrus, and I didn’t care to do it for the royalty of either court.
All of which indicated that Vialle should not have even a sketchy edition of my story. Any version at all would require an eventual accounting. However, if the Jewel were returned without an explanation of where it had been, then no one would know to come after me on the matter, and things would still be set right. How could I lie if I were not even asked questions?
I mulled that along a little further. What I would actually be doing would be to save a tired, troubled man the burden of additional problems. There was nothing he could or should do about most of my
affairs. Whatever was going on between the Pattern and the Logrus seemed mainly important as a metaphysical affair. I couldn’t see where much good or bad might come out of it on a practical level. And if I saw something coming, I could always tell Random then.
Okay. That’s one nice thing about reasoning abilities. You can use them to make yourself feel virtuous rather than, say, guilty. I stretched and cracked my knuckles.
“Ghost?” I said softly.
No response.
I reached for my Trumps, but even as I touched them, a wheel of light flashed on across the room.
“You did hear me,” I said.
“I felt your need,” came the reply.
“Whatever,” I said, drawing the Jewel’s chain up over my head and holding the stone out before me. “Do you think you could return this to its secret compartment beside the fireplace in the royal suite without anyone’s being any wiser?” I asked.
“I’m leery about touching that thing,” Ghost responded. “I don’t know what its structure might do to my structure.”
“Okay,” I said. “I guess I’ll find a way to do it myself then. But the time has come to test a hypothesis. If the Pattern attacks me, try to whisk me to safety, please.”
“Very well.”
I set the Jewel on a nearby table.
After about a half minute I realized that I had braced myself against the Pattern’s death stroke. I relaxed my shoulders. I drew a deep breath. I remained intact. Could be that Dworkin was right and the Pattern would leave me alone. Also, I should be able to summon the Pattern in the Jewel now, he told me, as I do the Sign of the Logrus. There were Pattern-magics which could only be wrought via this route, though Dworkin hadn’t taken the time to instruct me in their employment. He’d suggested that a sorcerer should be able to figure the system out. I decided that this could wait. I was in no mood just now for commerce of any sort with the Pattern in any of its incarnations.
The Chronicles of Amber Page 162
