Sign of Chaos

Chapter 4

And so, in the midst of all manner of threats, intrigues, menaces, and mysteries, I decided to call a holiday and stroll about town with a pretty lady. Of all possible choices I might have made, it was certainly the most attractive. Whoever the enemy, whatever the power I faced, the ball was now in its court. I had no desire to hunt for Jurt, duel with Mask, or follow Luke about until he came down and told me whether or not he still wanted the family’s scalps. Dalt was not my problem, Vinta was me, Ghostwheel was silent, and the matter of my father’s Pattern could await my leisure. The sun was shining and the breeze was gentle, though these could change quickly at this season. It was a shame to waste what could well be the year’s last good day on anything less than enjoyment. I hummed as I repaired myself, and I headed downstairs early for our meeting.

Coral had moved more quickly than I’d guessed, however, and was waiting for me. I approved of her sensible dark green breeches, heavy coppery shirt, and warm brown cloak. Her boots looked fine for walking, and she had on a dark hat that covered most of her hair. There were gloves and a dagger at her belt.

“All ready,” she said when she saw me.

“Great,” I replied, smiling, and I led her out into the hallway.

She started to turn in the direction of the main doorway, but I led her off to the right, then later to the left.

“Less conspicuous to use one of the side doors,” I said.

“You people are certainly secretive,” she said.

“Habit,” I replied. “The less that outsiders know of your business the better.”

“What outsiders? What are you afraid of?”

“Just now? A great number of things. But I don’t really want to spend a nice day like this making lists.”

She shook her head in what I took to be a mixture of awe and disgust.

“It’s true what they say then?” she asked. “That your affairs are so complex you all carry scorecards?”

“Haven’t had time for any affairs recently,” I told her, “or even a simple score.” Then, “Sorry,” I added, when I saw her blush. “Life has been a bit complicated for me lately.”

“Oh,” she said, glancing at me, clearly asking for elaboration.

“Some other time,” I said, forcing a laugh, flipping my cloak, and greeting a guard.

She nodded and, diplomatically, changed the subject:

“I guess I came at the wrong time of year to see your famous gardens.”

“Yeah, they’ve pretty much had it for the season,” I said, “except for Benedict’s Japanese garden which kind of far out back. Perhaps we can go and have a cup of tea there one day, but I thought we’d go into town now.”

“Sounds fine,” she agreed.

I told the postern guard to tell Henden, Amber’s steward, that we were heading into town and weren’t sure when we’d be back. He said that he would as soon as he got off duty, which would be pretty soon. My experience at Bloody Bill’s had taught me the lesson of leaving such messages — not that I thought we were in any danger; or that Llewella’s knowing wouldn’t be sufficient.

Leaves crunched beneath our feet as we took one of the walks toward a side gate. With only a few strands of cirrus high overhead, the sun shone brightly. To the west, a flock of dark birds flapped its way toward the ocean, south.

“It’s already snowed back home,” she told me. “You’re lucky.”

“There’s a warm current that gives us a break,” I said, remembering something Gerard had once told me. “It moderates the climate considerably; compared to other places at equal latitude.”

“You travel a lot?” she asked me.

“I’ve been traveling more than I care to,” I said, “recently. I’d like to sit down and go to seed for about a year.”

“Business or pleasure?” she asked me, as a guard let us out the gate and I quickly surveyed the environs for lurkers.

“Not pleasure,” I answered as I took her elbow for a moment and steered her toward the way I had chosen. When we reached civilized precincts, we followed the Main Concourse for a time. I pointed out a few landmarks and notable residences, including the Begman Embassy. She showed no inclination to visit the latter, though, saying she’d have to see her countrymen officially before she left, anyway. She did stop in a shop we found later, however, to buy a couple of blouses, having the bill sent to the embassy and the garments to the palace.

“My father promised me some shopping,” she explained. “And I know he’ll forget. When he hears about this, he’ll know that I didn’t.”

We explored the streets of the various trades and stopped for a drink at a sidewalk cafe, watching pedestrians and horsemen pass. I had just turned toward her to relate an anecdote concerning one of the riders when I felt the beginning of a Trump contact. I waited for several seconds as the feeling grew stronger, but no identity took shape beyond the reaching. I felt Coral’s hand upon my arm.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

I reached out with my mind, attempting to assist in the contact, but the other seemed to retreat as I did so. It was not the same as that lurking scrutiny when Mask had regarded me at Flora’s place in San Francisco, though. Could it just be someone I knew trying to reach me and having trouble focusing? Injured, perhaps? Or —

“Luke?” I said. “Is that you?”

But there was no response and the feeling began to fade. Finally, it was gone.

“Are you all right?” Coral asked.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” I said. “I guess. Someone tried to reach me and then decided otherwise.”

“Reach? Oh, you mean those Trumps you use?”

“Yes.”

“But you said ‘Luke’…” she mused. “None of your family is named — ”

“You might know him as Rinaldo, Prince of Kashfa,” I said.

She chuckled.

“Rinny? Sure I know him. He didn’t like us to call him Rinny, though…”

“You really do know him? Personally, I mean?”

“Yes,” she replied, “though it’s been a long time. Kashfa’s pretty close to Begma. Sometimes we were on good terms, sometimes not so good. You know how it is. Politics. When I was little there were long spells when we were pretty friendly. There were lots of state visits, both ways. We kids would often get dumped together.”

“What was he like in those days?”

“Oh, a big, gawky, red-haired boy. Liked to show off a lot — how strong he was, how fast he was. I remember how mad he got at me once because I beat him in a footrace.”

“You beat Luke in a race?”

“Yes. I’m a very good runner.”

“You must be.”

“Anyway, he took Nayda and me sailing a few times, and on some long hikes. Where is he now, anyway?”

“Drinking with a Cheshire cat.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d like to hear it. I’ve been worried about him since the coup.”

Mm… I thought quickly about how to edit this so as not to tell the daughter of the Begman prime minister any state secrets, such as Luke’s relationship to the House of Amber… So, “I’ve known him for quite some time,” I began. “He recently incurred the wrath of a sorcerer who drugged him and saw him banished to this peculiar bar…”

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 beingpreparedness, 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 hand 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 starred 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 some 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.

So, “What is it that you want?” I asked.

“Just to see it. Honestly,” she answered.

“No, I mean that if you are what I think you really are, I’m asking the big question: Why?”

Frakir began to pulse upon my wrist.

Coral was silent for the space of an audible deep breath, then, “How could you tell?”

“You betrayed yourself in small ways discernible only to one who has recently become paranoid,” I responded.

“Magic,” she said. “Is that it?”

“It’s about to be,” I replied. “I could almost miss you, but I can’t trust you.”

I spoke the guide words to the spell, letting them draw my hands smoothly through the appropriate gestures. There followed two horrible shrieks, and then a third.

But they weren’t hers. They came from around the corner in the passageway we had recently quitted.

“What —?” she began.

“— the hell!” I finished; and I rushed past her and rounded the corner, drawing my blade as I went.

Backlighted by the distant cavemouth I beheld three figures on the floor of the cave. Two of them were sprawled and unmoving. The third was seated and bent forward, cursing. I advanced slowly, the point of my weapon directed toward the seated one. His shadowy head turned in my direction, and he climbed to his feet, still bent forward. He clutched his left hand with his right, and he backed away until he came into contact with the wall.

He halted there, muttering something I could not quite hear. I continued my cautious advance, all of my senses alert. I could hear Coral moving at my back, then I glimpsed her accompanying me on my left when the passage widened. She had drawn her dagger, and she held it low and near to her hip. No time now to speculate as to what my spell might have done to her.

I halted as I came to the first of the two fallen forms. I prodded it with the toe of my boot, ready to strike instantly should it spring into an attack. Nothing. It felt limp, lifeless. I used my foot to turn it over, and the head rolled back in the direction of the cavemouth. In the light that then fell upon it I beheld a half-decayed human face. My nose had already been informing me that this state was no mere illusion. I advanced upon the other one and turned him, also. He, too, bore the appearance of a decomposing corpse. While the first one clutched a dagger in his right hand, the second was weaponless. Then I noted another dagger — on the floor, near the live man’s feet. I raised my eyes to him. This made no sense whatsoever. I’d have judged the two figures upon the floor to have been dead for several days, at least, and I had no idea as to what the standing man had been up to.

“Uh… Mind telling me what’s going on?” I inquired.

“Damn you, Merlin!” he snarled, and I recognized the voice.

I moved in a slow arc, stepping over the fallen ones. Coral stayed near to my side, moving in a similar fashion. He turned his head to follow our progress, and when the light finally fell upon his face, I saw that Jurt was glaring at me out of his one good eye — a patch covered the other — and I saw, too, that about half of his hair was missing, the exposed scalp covered with welts or scars, his half-regrown ear-stub plainly visible. From this side I could also see that a bandana suitable for covering most of this damage had slipped down around his neck. Blood was dripping from his left hand, and I suddenly realized that his little finger was missing.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

“One of the zombies hit my hand with his dagger as he fell,” he said, “when you expelled the spirits that animated them.”

My spell — to evict a possessing spirit… They had been within range of it…

“Coral,” I asked, “are you all right?”

“Yes,” she replied. “But I don’t understand…”

“Later,” I told her.

I did not ask him about, his head, as I recalled my struggle with the one-eyed werewolf in the wood to the east of Amber — the beast whose head I had forced into the campfire. I had suspected for some time that it had been Jurt in a shape-shifted form, even before Mandor had offered sufficient information to confirm it.

“Jurt,” I began, “I have been the occasion of many of your ills, but you must realize that you brought them on yourself. If you would not attack me, I would have no need to defend myself — ”

There came a clicking, grinding sound. It took me several seconds to realize that it was a gnashing of teeth. “My adoption by your father meant nothing to me,” I said, “beyond the fact that he honored me by it. I was not even aware until recently that it had occurred.”

“You lie!” he hissed. “You tricked him some way, to get ahead of us in the succession.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said. “We’re all so far down on the list that it doesn’t matter.”

“Not for the Crown, you fool! For the House! Our father isn’t all that well!”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “But I’d never even thought of it that way. And Mandor’s ahead of all of us, anyhow.”

“And now you’re second.”

“Not by choice. Come on! I’ll never see the title. You know that!”

He drew himself upright, and when he moved I became aware of a faint prismatic nimbus that had been clinging to his outline.

“That isn’t the real reason,” I continued. “You’ve never liked me, but you’re not after me because of the succession. You’re hiding something now. It’s got to be something else, for all this activity on your pan. By the way, you did send the Fire Angel, didn’t you?”

“It found you that fast?” he said. “I wasn’t even sure I could count on that. I guess it was worth the price after all. But… What happened?”

“It’s dead.”

“You’re very lucky. Too lucky,” he replied.

“What is it that you want, Jurt? I’d like to settle this once and for all.”

“Me, too,” he answered. “You betrayed someone I love, and only your death will set things right.”

“Who are you talking about? I don’t understand.”

He grinned suddenly.

“You will,” he said. “In the last moments of your life I’ll let you know why.”

“I may have a long wait, then,” I answered. “You don’t seem to be very good at this sort of thing. Why not just tell me now and save us both a lot of trouble?”

He laughed, and the prism effect increased, and it occurred to me in that instant what it was.

“Sooner than you think,” he said, “for shortly I will be more powerful than anything you ever met.”

“But no less clumsy,” I suggested, both to him and to whomever held his Trump, watching me through it, ready to snatch him away in an instant…

“That is you, Mask, isn’t it?” I said. “Take him back. You don’t have to send him again either and watch him screw up. I’ll promote you on my list of priorities and come calling soon, if you’ll just give me an assurance that it’s really you.”

Jurt opened his mouth and said something, but I couldn’t hear it because he faded fast and his words went away with him. Something flew toward me as this occurred; there was no need to parry it, but I couldn’t stop the reflex.

Along with two moldering corpses and Jurt’s little finger, a dozen or so roses lay scattered on the floor at my feet, there at the rainbow’s end.