Zelazny, Roger - Amber - 07 - Blood of Amber

by Blood of Amber [lit]

  "Name them."

  "Walking the Pattern of Amber or negotiating the Logrus of Chaos. They seem almost to break a person apart and do a reassemblement into a purer form. They have been known to purge many strange conditions. As I recall, it was the Pattern that restored your father's memory."

  "Yes-and I won't even ask you how you know about the Logrus you may well be right. As with so much else in life, it seems enough of a pain in the ass to be good for me. So, you think they could be zeroing in on me right now, with or without the stones?"

  "Yes."

  "How do you know all this?" I asked.

  "I can sense it - and that's an extra question. But I'll give you a free one in the interests of expedition."

  "Thanks. I guess it's your turn now."

  "Julia was seeing an occultist named Victor Melman before she died. Do you know why?"

  "She was studying with him, looking for some sort of development-at least, that's what I was told by a guy who knew her at the time. This was after we broke up."

  "That is not exactly what I meant," she said. "Do you know why she desired this development?"

  "Sounds like an extra question to me, but maybe I owe you one. The fellow I'd spoken with told me that I had scared her, that I'd given her to believe that I possessed unusual abilities, and that she was looking for some of her own in self-defense."

  "Finish it," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "That's not a complete answer. Did you actually give her cause to believe that and to be afraid of you?"

  "Well,I guess I did. Now my question: How could you possibly know anything about Julia in the first place?"

  "I was there," she answered. "I knew her."

  "Go ahead."

  "That's it. Now it's my turn."

  "That's hardly complete."

  "But it's all you're getting on that one. Take it or leave it."

  "According to our agreement I can call it quits over that."

  "True. Will you?"

  "What do you want to know next?"

  "Did Julia develop the abilities she sought?"

  "I told you that we'd stopped seeing each other before she got involved in that sort of thing. So I have no way of knowing."

  "You located the portal in her apartment from which the beast that slew her had presumably emerged. Two questions now-not for you to answer for me, just for you to think over: Why would anyone want her dead in the first place? And does it not seem a very peculiar way to have gone about it? I can think of a lot simpler ways of disposing of a person."

  "You're right," I agreed. "A weapon is a hell of a lot easier to manage than magic any day. As for why, I can only speculate. I had assumed it was a trap for me, and that she had been sacrificed as part of the package-my annual April thirtieth present. Do you know about them, too?"

  "Let's save that business for later. You are obviously aware that sorcerers have styles, the same as painters, writers, musicians. When you succeeded in locating that gateway in Julia's apartment, was there anything about it which we might refer to as the author's signature?"

  "Nothing special that I can recall. Of course, I was in a hung to force it. I wasn't there to admire the aesthetics of the thing. But no, I can't associate it with anyone with whose work I am familiar. What are you getting at?"

  "I just wondered whether it were possible that she might have developed some abilities of her own along these lines, and in the course of things opened that gateway herself and suffered those consequences."

  "Preposterous!"

  "All right. I am just trying to turn up some reasons. I take it then that you never saw any indication that she might possess latent abilities for sorcery?"

  "No, I can't recall any instances."

  I finished my coffee, poured a refill.

  "If you don't think Luke is after me now, why not?" I asked her then.

  "He set up some apparent accidents for you, years ago."

  "Yes. He admitted that recently. He also told me that he quit doing it after the first few times."

  "That is correct."

  "You know, it's maddening-not knowing what you know and what you do not."

  "That is why we're talking, isn't it? It was your idea to go about it this way."

  "It was not! You suggested this trade-off!"

  "This morning, yes. But the idea was originally yours, some time ago. I am thinking of a certain telephone conversation, at Mr. Roth's place-"

  "You? That disguised voice on the phone? How could that be?"

  "Would you rather hear about that or about Luke?"

  "That! No, Luke! Both, damn it!"

  "So it would seem there is a certain wisdom in keeping to the format we've agreed upon. There is much to be said for orderliness."

  "Okay, you've made another point. Go on about Luke."

  "It seemed to me, as an observer, that he quit that business as soon as he got to know you better."

  "You mean back about the time we became friendly-that wasn't just an act?"

  "I couldn't tell for sure then- and he certainly countenanced the years of attacks on you-but I believe that he actually sabotaged some of them."

  "Who was behind them after he quit?"

  "A red-haired lady with whom he seemed to be associated."

  "Jasra?"

  "Yes, that was her name-and I still don't know as much about her as I'd like to. Do you have anything there?"

  "I think I'll save that for a big one," I said.

  For the first time, she directed a narrow-eyed, teeth-clenched expression toward me.

  "Can't you see that I'm trying to help you, Merlin?"

  "Really, what I see is that you want information I have," I said, "and that's okay. I'm willing to deal because you seem to know things I want, too. But I've got to admit that your reasons are murky to me. How the hell did you get to Berkeley? What were you doing calling me at Bill's place? What is this power of yours you say isn't sorcery? How-"

  "That's three questions," she said, "and the beginning of a fourth.

  Would you prefer to write them all out, and have me do the same for you? Then we can both go off to our rooms and decide which ones we want to answer?"

  "No," I replied. "I'm willing to play the game. But you are aware of my reason for wanting to know these things. It's a matter of self-preservation to me. I thought at first that you wanted information that would help you to nail the man who killed Caine. But you said no, and you didn't give me anything to put in its place."

  "I did, too! I want to protect you!"

  "I appreciate the sentiment. But why? When it comes down to it, you hardly know me."

  "Nevertheless, that is my reason and I don't feel like going behind it. Take it or leave it."

  I got to my feet and began pacing the patio. I didn't like the thought of giving away information that could be vital to my security, and ultimately that of Amber-though I had to admit I was getting a pretty good return for what I'd given. Her stuff did sound right. For that matter, the Bayles had a long history of loyalty to the Crown, for whatever that was worth. The thing that bothered me the most, I decided, was her insistence that it was not actually revenge that she was after. Apart from this being a very un-Amberlike attitude, if she were any judge at all as to what would go over with me she need but have agreed that blood was what she wanted, in order to make her concern intelligible. I would have bought it without looking any further. And what did she offer in its place? Airy nothings and classified motives. . . .

  Which could well mean she was telling the truth. Disdaining the use of a workable lie and offering something more cumbersome in its place would seem the mark of genuine honesty. And she did, apparently, have more answers that I wanted

  I heard a small rattling sound from the table. I thought at first that she might be drumming on it with her fingertips as a sign of her irritation with me. But when I glanced back I saw that she was sitting perfectly still, not even looking at me.

  I drew n
earer, seeking the source. The ring, the pieces of blue stone and even the button were jiggling about on the tabletop, as of their own accord.

  "Something you're doing?" I asked

  "No," she replied.

  The stone in the ring cracked and fell out of its setting.

  "What, then?"

  "I broke a link," she said. "I believe something may be trying to reestablish it and failing."

  "Even so, if I'm still attuned they don't need them in order to locate me, do they?"

  "There may be more than one party involved," she observed. "I think I should have a servant ride back to town and throw the things into the ocean. If someone wishes to follow them there, fine."

  "The chips should just lead back to the cave, and the ring to the dead man," I said. "But I'm not ready to throw the button away."

  "Why not? It represents a big unknown."

  "Exactly. But these things would have to work both ways, wouldn't they? That would mean that I could learn to use the button to find my way to the flower thrower."

  "That could be dangerous."

  "And not doing it could prove more dangerous in the long run. No, you can throw the rest of them into the sea, but not the button."

  "All right. I'll keep it pent for you."

  "Thanks. Jasra is Luke's mother."

  "You're joking!"

  "Nope."

  "That explains why he didn't lean on her directly about the later April thirtieths. Fascinating! It opens up a whole new lane of speculation."

  "Care to share them?"

  "Later, later. In the meantime, I'll take care of these stones right now." She scooped them all out of the circle and they seemed, for a moment, to dance in her hand. She stood.

  "Uh-the button?" I said.

  "Yes."

  She put the button into her pocket and kept the others in her hand.

  "You're going to get attuned yourself if you keep the button that way, aren't you?"

  "No," she said, "I won't."

  "Why not?"

  "There's a reason. Excuse me while I find a container for the others, and someone to transport them."

  "Won't that person get attuned?"

  "It takes a while."

  "Oh."

  "Have some more coffee-or something."

  She turned and left. I ate a piece of cheese. I tried to figure out whether I'd gotten more answers or more new questions during the course of our conversation. I tried to ht some of the new pieces into the old puzzle.

  "Father?"

  I turned, to see who had spoken. There was no one in sight.

  "Down here."

  A coin-sized disk of light lay within a nearby flower bed, otherwise empty save for a few dry stalks and leaves. The light caught my attention when it moved slightly.

  "Ghost?" I asked.

  "Uh-huh," came the reply from among the leaves. "I was waiting to catch you when you were alone. I'm not sure I trust that woman."

  "Why not?"

  "She doesn't scan right, like other people. I don't know what it is. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

  "What, then?"

  "Uh-well, did you mean what you said about not really intending to turn me off?"

  "Jeez! After all the sacrifices I made for you! Your education and everything. . . . And lugging all your damn components out to a place like that where you'd be safe! How can you ask me that?"

  "Well,I heard Random tell you to do it "

  "You don't do everything you're told either, do you? Especially when it comes to assaulting me when I just wanted to check out a few programs? I deserve a little more respect than that!"

  "Uh-yeah. Look, I'm sorry."

  "You ought to be. I went through a lot of crap because of you."

  "I looked for you for several days, and I couldn't find you."

  "Crystal caves are no fun."

  "I don't have much time now. . . ." The light flickered, faded almost to the point of vanishing, returned to full brilliance. "Will you tell me something fast?"

  "Shoot."

  "That fellow who was with you when you came out this way-and when you left-the big red-haired man?"

  "Luke. Yes?"

  The light grew dimmer again.

  "Is it okay to trust him?" Ghost's voice came faintly, weakly.

  "No!" I shouted. "That would be damn stupid!"

  Ghost was gone, and I couldn't tell whether he'd heard my answer.

  "What's the matter?" Vinta's voice, from above me.

  "Argument with my imaginary playmate," I called out.

  Even from that distance I could see the expression of puzzlement on her face. She sought in all directions about the patio and then, apparently persuading herself that I was indeed alone, she nodded.

  "Oh," she said. Then, "I'll be along in a little while."

  "No hurry," I answered.

  Where shall wisdom be found, and where is the place of understanding? If I knew, I'd walk over and stand there. As it was, I felt as if I stood in the midst of a large map, surrounded by vague areas wherein were penned the visages of particularly nasty-looking random variables. A perfect place for a soliloquy, if one had anything to say.

  I went back inside to use the john. All that coffee.

  6

  Well, maybe.

  With Julia, I mean.

  I sat alone in my room, thinking by candlelight.

  Vinta had stirred a few sunkcn memories to the surface.

  It was later on, when we weren't seeing much of each other. . . .

  I'd met Julia first in a Computer Science course I was taking. We'd started seeing each other occasionally, just coffee after class and like that, at first. Then more and more frequently, and pretty soon it was serious.

  Now it was ending as it had started, a little more each time. . . .

  I felt her hand on my shoulder as I was leaving the supermarket with a bag of groceries. I knew it was her and I turned and there was no one there. Seconds later, she hailed me from across the parking lot. I went over and said hello, asked her if she were still working at the software place where she'd been. She said that she wasn't. I recalled that she was wearing a small silver pentagram on a chain about her neck. It could easily-,and more likely should-have been hanging down inside her blouse. But of course I wouldn't have seen it then, and her body language indicated that she wanted me to see it. So I ignored it while we exchanged a few generalities, and she turned me down on dinner and a movie, though I asked after several nights.

  "What are you doing now?" I inquired.

  "I'm studying a lot."

  "What?"

  "Oh, just-different things. I'll surprise you one of these days."

  Again, I didn't bite, though an over-friendly Irish setter approached us about then. She placed her hand on its head and said, "Sit!" and it did. It became still as a statue at her side, and remained when we left later. For all I know, there's a dog skeleton still crouched there, near the cart return area, like a piece of modern sculpture.

  It didn't really seem that important at the time. But in retrospect, I wondered. . . .

  We had ridden that day, Vinta and I. Seeing my growing exasperation of the morning, she must have felt a break was in order. She was right. Following a light lunch, when she made the suggestion that we take a ride about the estate, I agreed readily. I had wanted a little more time in which to think before continuing our cross-examination and discourse game. And the weather was good, the countryside attractive.

  We made our way along a curling hail through arbors, which led at length into the northern hills from where we were afforded long views across the rugged and cross-hatched land down to the sun-filled sea. The sky was full of winds and wisps of cloud, passing birds. . . . Vinta seemed to have no special destination in mind, which was all right with me. As we rode, I recalled a visit to a Napa Valley winery, and the next time we drew rein to rest the horses I asked her, "Do you bottle the wine here at the estate? Or is that done in town? Or in A
mber?"

  "I don't know," she said.

  "I thought you grew up here."

  "I never paid attention."

  I bit back a remark about patrician attitudes. Unless she were joking, I couldn't see how she'd fail to know something like that.

  She caught my expression, though, and added immediately, "We've done it various ways at various times. I've been living in town for several years now. I'm not sure where the principal bottling has been done recently."

  Nice save, because I couldn't fault it. I hadn't intended my question as any sort of trap, but I felt as if I had just touched on something. Possibly from the fact that she didn't let it go at that. She went on to say that they shipped large casks all over the place and often sold them in that fashion. On the other hand, there were smaller customers who wanted the product bottled. . . . I stopped listening after a time. On the one hand, I could see it, coming horn a vintner's daughter. On the other, it was all stuff I could have made up myself on the spot. There was no way for me to check on any of it. I got the feeling that she was trying to snow me, to cover something. But I couldn't figure what.

  "Thanks," I said when she paused for breath, and she gave me a strange look but took the hint and did not continue.

  "You have to speak English," I said in that language, "if the things you told me earlier are true."

  "Everything I told you is true," she replied, in unaccented English. "Where'd you learn it?"

  "On the shadow Earth where you went to school."

  "Would you care to tell me what you were doing there?"

  "I was on a special mission."

  "For your father? For the Crown?"

  "I'd rather not answer you at all than lie to you."

  "I appreciate that. Of course, I must speculate."

  She shrugged.

  "You said you were in Berkeley?" I asked.

  A hesitation, then, "Yes."

  "I don't remember ever seeing you around."

  Another shrug. I wanted to grab her and shake her. Instead, I said, "You knew about Meg Devlin. You said you were in New York-"

  "I believe you're getting ahead of me on questions."

  "I didn't know we were playing the game again. I thought we were just talking."

  "All right, then: Yes."