“Perhaps I should have called you.”
“If you encounter her again, do it, and I’ll deal with her.”
I stared. He seemed to mean it.
“You know what she is?”
“I’ll unriddle her,” he said, swirling the bright orange beverage in his glass. “But I’ve a proposal for you, elegant in its simplicity. I’ve a new country place, quite’ secluded, with all the amenities. Why not return to the Courts with me rather than bouncing around from hazard to hazard? Lie low for a couple of years, enjoy the good life, catch up on your reading. I’ll see that you’re well protected. Let everything blow over, then go about your business in a more peaceful climate.”
I took a small sip of the fiery drink.
“No,” I said. “What happened to those things you indicated earlier that you knew and I didn’t?”
“Hardly important, if you accept my offer.”
“Even if I were to accept, I’d want to know.”
“Bag of worms,” he said.
“You listened to my story. I’ll listen to yours.”
He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, looked up at stars.
“Swayvill is dying,” he said.
“He’s been doing that for years.”
“True, but he’s gotten much worse. Some think it has, to do with the death curse of Eric of Amber. Whatever, I really believe he hasn’t much longer.”
“I begin to see…”
“Yes, the struggle for the succession has become more intense. People have been falling over left and right — poison, duels, assassinations, peculiar accidents, dubious suicides. A great number have also departed for points unknown. Or so it would seem.”
“I understand, but I don’t see where it concerns me.”
“One time it would not have.”
“But?”
“You are not aware that Sawall adopted you, formally, after your departure?”
“What?”
“Yes. I was never certain as to his exact motives. But you are a legitimate heir. You follow me but take precedente over Jurt and Despil.”
“That would still leave me way in hell down on the list.”
“True,” he said slowly. “Most of the interest lies at the top…”
“You say ‘most.’”
“There are always exceptions,” he answered. “You must realize that a time such as this is also a fine occasion for the paying off of old debts. One death more or less hardly rouses an eyebrow the way it would have in more placid times. Even in relatively high places.”
I shook my head as I met his eyes.
“It really doesn’t make sense in my case,” I said. He continued to stare until I felt uncomfortable. “Does it?” I finally asked.
“Well…” he said. “Give it some thought.”
I did. And just as the notion came to me, Mandor nodded as if he viewed the contents of my mind. “Jurt,” he said, “met the changing times with a mixture of delight and fear. He was constantly talking of the latest deaths and of the elegance and apparent ease with which some of them were accomplished. Hushed tones interspersed with a few giggles. His fear and his desire to increase his own capacity for mischief finally reached a point where they became greater than his other fear — ”
“The Logrus…”
“Yes. He finally tried the Logrus, and he made it through.”
“He should be feeling very good about that. Proud. It was something he’d wanted for years.”
“Oh, yes,” Mandor answered. “And I’m sure he felt a great number of other things as well.”
“Freedom,” I suggested. “Power,” and as I studied his half amused expression, I was forced to add, “and the ability to play the game himself.”
“There may be hope for you,” he said. “Now, would you care to carry that through to its logical conclusion?”
“Okay,” I responded, thinking of Jurt’s left ear as I floated away following my cut, a swarm of blood-bead: spreading about it. “You think Jurt sent the Fire Angel.
“Most likely,” he replied. “But would you care to pursue that a little further?”
I thought of the broken branch piercing Jurt’s eyeball as we wrestled in the glade…
“All right,” I said. “He’s after me. It could be a part of the succession game, because I’m slightly ahead of him; on that front, or just plain dislike and revenge — or both.”
“It doesn’t really matter which,” Mandor said, “in terms of results. But I was thinking of that crop-eared wolf that attacked you. Only had one eye, too, it seemed…”
“Yes,” I said. “What does Jurt look like these days?”
“Oh, he’s grown about half the ear back. It’s pretty ragged and ugly-looking. Generally, his hair covers it. The eyeball is regenerated, but he can’t see out of it yet. He usually wears a patch.”
“That might explain recent developments,” I said. “Hell of a time for it, though, with everything else that’s been going on. Muddies the waters considerably.”
“It’s one of the reasons I suggest you simply drop out; and let everything cool down. Too busy. With as many arrows as there seem to be in the air, one may well find your heart.”
“I can take care of myself, Mandor.”
“You could have fooled me.”
I shrugged, got up, walked over to the rail, and looked down at the stars.
After a long while he called out to me, “Have you got any better ideas?” but I didn’t answer him because I was thinking about that very matter. I was considering what Mandor had said about my tunnel’ vision and lack of preparedness and had just about concluded that he was right, that in nearly everything that had happened to me: up to this point — with the exception of my going after Jasra — I had mainly been responding to circumstance. I had been far more acted upon than acting. Admittedly, it had all happened very quickly. But still, I had not formed any real plans for covering myself, learning about my enemies or striking back. It seemed that there were some things I might be doing…
“If there is that much to worry about,” he said, “you are probably better off playing it safe.”
He was probably right, from the standpoints of reason, safety, caution. But he was strictly of the Courts, while I possessed an additional set of loyalties in which he did not participate. It was possible — if only through my connection with Luke — that I might be able to come up with some personal course of action that would further the security of Amber. So long as such a chance existed, I felt obliged to pursue matters. And beyond this, from a purely personal standpoint, my curiosity was too strong to permit me to walk away from the unanswered questions which abounded when I could be actively seeking some answers.
As I was considering how I might best phrase these matters in my reply to Mandor, I was again acted upon. I became aware of a faint feeling of inquiry, as of a cat scratching at the doors of my mind. It grew in force, thrusting aside other considerations, until I knew it as a Trump sending from some very distant place. I guessed that it might be from Random, anxious to discover what had transpired since my absence from Amber. So I made myself receptive, inviting the contact.
“Merlin, what’s the matter?” Mandor asked, and I raised my hand to indicate I was occupied. At that, I saw him place his napkin upon the tabletop and rise to his feet.
My vision cleared slowly and I beheld Fiona, looking stern, rocks at her back, a pale green sky above her.
“Merlin,” she said. “Where are you?”
“Far away,” I answered. “It’s’ a long story. What’s going on? Where are you?”
She smiled bleakly.
“Far away,” she replied.
“We seem to have chosen very scenic spots,” I observed. “Did you pick the sky to complement your hair?”
“Enough!” she said. “I did not call you to compare travel notes.”
At that moment Mandor came up aside me and placed his hand upon my shoulder, which was hardly in keeping with his character; as it is considered a gauche thing to do when a Trump communication is obviously in progress — on the order of intentionally picking up an extension phone and breaking in on someone’s call. Nevertheless…