Sign of the Unicorn

Chapter 7

Many are the times I have awakened, sometimes shaking, always afraid, from the dream that I occupied my old cell, blind once more, in the dungeons beneath Amber. It is not as if I were unfamiliar with the condition of imprisonment. I have been locked away on a number of occasions, for various periods of time. But solitary, plus blindness with small hope of recovery, made for a big charge at the sensory-deprivation counter in the department store of the mind. That, with the sense of finality to it all, had left its marks. I generally keep these memories safely tucked away during waking hours, but at night, sometimes, they come loose, dance down the aisles and frolic round the notions counter, one, two, three. Seeing Brand there in his cell had brought them out again, along with an unseasonal chill; and that final thrust served to establish a more or less permanent residence for them. Now, among my kin in the shield-hung sitting room, I could not avoid the thought that one or more of them had done unto Brand as Eric had done unto me. While this capacity was in itself hardly a surprising discovery, the matter of occupying the same room with the culprit and having no idea as to his identity was more than a little disturbing. My only consolation was that each of the others, according to his means, must be disturbed also. Including the guilty, now that the existence theorem had shown a positive. I knew then that I had been hoping all along that outsiders were entirely to blame. Now, though… On the one hand I felt even more restricted than usual in what I could say. On the other, it seemed a good time to press for information, with everyone in an abnormal state of mind. The desire to cooperate for purposes of dealing with the threat could prove helpful. And even the guilty party would want to behave the same as everyone else. Who knew but that he might slip up while making the effort?

“Well, have you any other interesting little experiments you would care to conduct?” Julian asked me, clasping his hands behind his head and leaning back in my favorite chair.

“Not at the moment,” I said.

“Pity,” he replied. “I was hoping you would suggest we go looking for Dad now in the same fashion. Then, if we are lucky, we find him and someone puts him out of the way with more certainty. After that, we could all play Russian roulette with those fine new weapons you’ve furnished — winner take all.”

“Your words are ill-considered,” I said.

“Not so. I considered every one of them,” he answered. “We spend so much time lying to one another that I decided it might be amusing to say what I really felt. Just to see whether anyone noticed.”

“Now you see that we have. We also notice that the real you is no improvement over the old one.”

“Whichever you prefer, both of us have been wondering whether you have any idea what you are going to do next.”

“I do,” I said. “I now intend to obtain answers to a number of questions dealing with everything that is plaguing us. We might as well start with Brand and his troubles.”

Turning toward Benedict, who was sitting gazing into the fire, I said, “Back in Avalon, Benedict, you told me that Brand was one of the ones who searched for me after my disappearance.”

“That is correct,” Benedict answered.

“All of us went looking,” Julian said.

“Not at first,” I replied. “Initially, it was Brand, Gerard, and yourself, Benedict. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Yes,” he said. “The others did have a go at it later, though. I told you that, too.”

I nodded.

“Did Brand report anything unusual at that time?” I asked.

“Unusual? In what way?” said Benedict.

“I don’t know. I am looking for some connection between what happened to him and what happened to me.”

“Then you are looking in the wrong place,” Benedict said. “He returned and reported no success. And he was around for ages after that, unmolested.”

“I gathered that much,” I said. “I understand from what Random has told me, though, that his final disappearance occurred approximately a month before my own recovery and return. That almost strikes me as peculiar. If he did not report anything special after his return from the search, did he do so prior to his disappearance? Or in the interim? Anyone? Anything? Say it if you’ve got it!”

There followed some mutual glancing about. The looks seemed more curious than suspicious or nervous, though.

Finally, then, “Well,” Llewella said, “I do not know. Do not know whether it is significant, I mean.”

All eyes came to rest upon her. She began to knot and unknot the ends of her belt cord, slowly, as she spoke.

“It was in the interim, and it may have no bearing,” she went on. “It is just something that struck me as peculiar. Brand came to Rebma long ago —”

“How long ago?” I asked.

She furrowed her brow.

“Fifty, sixty, seventy years… I am not certain.”

I tried to summon up the rough conversion factor I had worked out during my long incarceration. A day in Amber, it seemed, constituted a bit over two and a half days on the shadow Earth where I had spent my exile. I wanted to relate events in Amber to my own time-scale whenever possible, just in case any peculiar correspondences turned up. So Brand had gone to Rebma sometime in what was, to me, the nineteenth century.

“Whatever the date,” she said, “he came and visited me. Stayed for several weeks.” She glanced at Random then. “He was asking about Martin.”

Random narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “Did he say why?” he asked her.

“Not exactly,” she said. “He implied that he had met Martin somewhere in his travels, and he gave the impression that he would like to get in touch with him again. I did not realize until some time after his departure that finding out everything he could concerning Martin was probably the entire reason for his visit. You know how subtle Brand can be, finding out things without seeming to be after them. It was only after I had spoken with a number of others whom he had visited that I began to see what had occurred. I never did find out why, though.”

“That is — most peculiar,” Random observed. “For it brings to mind something to which I had never attached any significance. He once questioned me at great length concerning my son — and it may well have been at about the same time. He never indicated that he had met him, however — or that he had any desire to do so. It started out as a bit of banter on the subject of bastards. When I took offense he apologized and asked a number of more proper questions about the boy, which I assumed he then put for the sake of politeness — to leave me with a softer remembrance. As you say, though, he had a way of drawing admissions from people. Why is it you never told me of this before?”

She smiled prettily.

“Why should I have?” she said.

Random nodded slowly, his face expressionless.

“Well, what did you tell him?” he said. “What did he learn? What do you know about Martin that I don’t?”

She shook her head, her smile fading.

“Nothing — actually,” she said. “To my knowledge, no one in Rebma ever heard from Martin after he took the Pattern and vanished. I do not believe that Brand departed knowing any more than he did when he arrived.”

“Strange…” I said. “Did he approach anyone else on the subject?”

“I don’t remember,” Julian said.

“Nor I,” said Benedict.

The others shook their heads.

“Then let us note it and leave it for now,” I said. “There are other things I also need to know. Julian, I understand that you and Gerard attempted to follow the black road a while back, and that Gerard was injured along the way. I believe you both stayed with Benedict for a time after that, while Gerard recuperated. I would like to know about that expedition.”

“It seems as if you already do,” Julian replied. “You have just stated everything that occurred.”

“Where did you learn of this, Corwin,” Benedict inquired.

“Back in Avalon,” I said.

“From whom?”

“Dara,” I said.

He rose to his feet, came over, stood before me, glared down.

“You still persist in that absurd story about the girl!”

I sighed.

“We have been round and round on this too many times,” I said. “By now I have told you everything that I know on the subject. Either you accept it or you do not. She is the one who told me, though.”

“Apparently, then, there were some things you did not tell me. You never mentioned that part before.”

“Is it true or isn’t it? About Julian and Gerard.”

“It is true,” he said.

“Then forget the source for now and let us get on with what happened.”

“Agreed,” Benedict said. “I may speak candidly, now that the reason for secrecy is no longer with us. Eric, of course. He was unaware of my whereabouts, as were most of the others. Gerard was my main source of news in Amber. Eric grew more and more apprehensive concerning the black road and finally decided to send scouts to trace it through Shadow to its source. Julian and Gerard were selected. They were attacked by a very strong party of its creatures at a point near Avalon. Gerard called to me, via my Trump, for assistance and I went to their aid. The enemy was dispatched. As Gerard had sustained a broken leg in the fighting and Julian was a bit battered himself, I took them both home with me. I broke my silence with Eric at that time, to tell him where they were and what had become of them. He ordered them not to continue their journey, but to return to Amber after they had recovered. They remained with me until they did. Then they went back.”

“That is all?”

“That is all.”

But it wasn’t. Dara had also told me something else. She had mentioned another visitor. I remembered it quite distinctly. That day, beside the stream, a tiny rainbow in the mist above the waterfall, the mill wheel turning round and round, delivering dreams and grinding them, that day we had fenced and talked and walked in Shadow, had passed through a primordial wood, coming to a spot beside a mighty torrent where turned a wheel fit for the granary of the gods, that day we had picnicked, flirted, gossiped, she had told me many things, some of them doubtless false. But she had not lied concerning the journey of Julian and Gerard, and I believed it possible that she had also spoken truly when she said that Brand had visited Benedict in Avalon. “Frequently” was the word she had used.

Now, Benedict made no secret of the fact that he distrusted me. I could see this alone as sufficient reason for his withholding information on anything he judged too sensitive to become my business. Hell, buying his story, I would not have trusted me either if our situations were reversed. Only a fool would have called him on it at that moment, though. Because of the other possibilities.

It could be that he planned to tell me later, in private, of the circumstances surrounding Brand’s visits. They could well have involved something he did not wish to discuss before the group, and especially before Brand’s would-be killer.

Or — There was, of course, the possibility that Benedict himself was behind it all. I did not even like to think about the consequences. Having served under Napoleon, Lee, and MacArthur, I appreciated the tactician as well as the strategist. Benedict was both, and he was the best I had ever known. The recent loss of his right arm had in no way diminished him in this, or for that matter impaired his personal fighting skills. Had I not been very lucky recently he could easily have turned me into a pile of scallops over our misunderstanding. No, I did not want it to be Benedict, and I was not about to grope after whatever he had at that moment seen fit to conceal. I only hoped that he was just saving it for later.

So I settled for his, “That is all,” and decided to move on to other matters.

“Flora,” I said, “back when I first visited you, after my accident, you said something which I still do not quite understand. In that I had ample time relatively soon thereafter in which to review many things, I came across it in my memories and occasionally puzzled over it. I still do not understand it. So would you please tell me what you meant when you said that the shadows contained more horrors than any had thought?”

“Why, I do not properly recall saying it,” Flora said. “But I suppose that I must have, if it made such an impression. You know the effect that I was referring to: that Amber seems to act as something of a magnet on adjacent shadows, drawing things across from them; the nearer you get to Amber the easier the road becomes, even for shadow-things. While there always seems to be some exchange of materials among adjacent shadows themselves, the effect is more forceful and also more of a one-way process when it comes to Amber. We have always been alert for peculiar things slipping through. Well, for several years prior to your recovery, more such things than usual seemed to be showing up in the vicinity of Amber. Dangerous things, almost invariably. Many were recognizable creatures from nearby realms. After a time, though, things kept coming in from farther and farther afield. Eventually, some which were totally unknown made it through. No reason could be found for this sudden transportation of menaces, although we sought fairly far for disturbances which might be driving them this way. In other words, highly improbable penetrations of Shadow were occurring.”

“This actually began while Dad was still around?”

“Oh yes. It started several years before your recovery — as I said.”

“I see. Did anyone consider the possibility of there being a connection between this state of affairs and Dad’s departure?”

“Certainly,” Benedict replied. “I still feel that that was the reason for it. He went off to investigate, or to seek a remedy.”

“But that is purely conjecture,” Julian said. “You know how he was. He gave no reasons.”

Benedict shrugged.

“It is a reasonable inference, though,” he said. “I understand that he had spoken of his concern over the — monster migrations, if you like — on numerous occasions.”

I withdrew my cards from their case, having recently gotten into the habit of carrying a set of Trumps with me at all times. I raised Gerard’s Trump and regarded it. The others were silent, watching me as I did this. Moments later, there was contact.

Gerard was still seated in his chair, his blade across his knees. He was still eating. He swallowed when he felt my presence and said, “Yes, Corwin? What do you want?”

“How is Brand?”

“Sleeping,” he said. “His pulse is a little stronger. His breathing is the same — regular. It’s still too early —”

“I know,” I said. “I mainly wanted to check your recollection of something: near the end there, did you get the impression from anything he might have said or done that Dad’s going away might have been connected with the increased number of Shadow beings that were slipping through into Amber?”

“That,” said Julian, “is what is known as a leading question.”

Gerard wiped his mouth.

“There could have been a connection, yes,” he said. “He seemed disturbed, preoccupied with something. And he did talk about the creatures. But he never really said that that was his main concern — or whether it was something entirely different.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head.

“Anything. I — yes… yes, there is something you probably ought to know, for whatever it is worth. Some time after his disappearance, I did make an effort to find out one thing. That was, whether I was indeed the last person to see him before his departure. I am fairly certain that I was. I had been here in the palace all evening, and I was preparing to return to the flagship. Dad had retired about an hour earlier, but I had stayed on in the guard room, playing draughts with Captain Thoben. As we were sailing the following morning, I decided to take a book with me. So I came up here to the library. Dad was seated at the desk.” He gestured with his head. “He was going through some old books, and he had not yet changed his garments. He nodded to me when I entered, and I told him I had just come up for a book. He said, ‘You’ve come to the right place,’ and he kept on reading. While I was looking over the shelves, he said something to the effect that he could not sleep. I found a book, told him good night, he said, ‘Good sailing,’ and I left.”

He lowered his eyes again. “Now I am positive he was wearing the Jewel of Judgment that night, that I saw it on him then as plainly as I see it on you now. I am equally certain that he had not had it on earlier that evening. For a long while after, I thought that he had taken it along with him, wherever he went. There was no indication in his chambers that he had later changed his clothing. I never saw the stone again until you and Bleys were defeated in your assault on Amber. Then, Eric was wearing it. When I questioned him he claimed that he had found it in Dad’s chambers. Lacking evidence to the contrary, I had to accept his story. But I was never happy with it. Your question — and seeing you wearing it — has brought it all back. So I thought you had better know about it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and another question occurred to me but I decided against asking it at that moment. For the benefit of the others, I closed off by saying, “So do you think he needs any more blankets? Or anything else?”

Gerard raised his glass to me, then took a drink.

“Very good. Keep up the good work,” I said, and I passed my hand over his card.

“Brother Brand seems to be doing all right,” I said, “and Gerard does not recollect Dad’s saying anything that would directly connect Shadow slippage and his departure. I wonder how Brand will recall things, when he comes around?”

“If he comes around,” Julian said.

“I think that he will,” I said. “We have all taken some pretty bad beatings. Our vitality is one of the few things we have come to trust. My guess is that he will be talking by morning.”

“What do you propose doing with the guilty party,” he asked, “if Brand names him?”

“Question him,” I said.

“Then I would like to do the questioning. I am beginning to feel that you may be right this time, Corwin, and that the person who stabbed him may also be responsible for our intermittent state of siege, for Dad’s disappearance, and for Caine’s killing. So I would enjoy questioning him before we cut his throat, and I would like to volunteer for that last part also.”

“We will keep it in mind,” I said.

“You are not excluded from the reckoning, Corwin.”

“I was aware of that.”

“I have something to say,” said Benedict, smothering a rejoinder from Julian. “I find myself troubled both by the strength and the apparent objective of the opposition. I have encountered them now on several occasions, and they are out for blood. Accepting for the moment your story of the girl Dara, Corwin, her final words do seem to sum up their attitude: ‘Amber will be destroyed.’ Not conquered, subjugated, or taught a lesson. Destroyed. Julian, you wouldn’t mind ruling here, would you?” Julian smiled.

“Perhaps next year this time,” he said. “Not today, thank you.”

“What I am getting at is that I could see you — or any of us — employing mercenaries or obtaining allies to effect a takeover. I cannot see you employing a force so powerful that it would represent a grave problem itself afterward. Not a force that seems bent on destruction rather than conquest. I cannot see you, me, Corwin, the others as actually trying to destroy Amber, or willing to gamble with forces that would. That is the part I do not like about Corwin’s notion that one of us is behind this.”

I had to nod. I was not unaware of the weakness of that link in my chain of speculations. Still, there were so many unknowns… I could offer alternatives, such as Random then did, but guesses prove nothing.

“It may be,” Random said, “that one of us made the deal but underestimated his allies. The guilty party may now be sweating this thing as much as the rest of us. He may not be in a position to turn things off now, even if he wants to.”

“We could offer him the opportunity,” Fiona said, “to betray his allies to us now. If Julian could be persuaded to leave his throat uncut and the rest of us were willing to do the same, he might come around — if Random’s guess is correct. He would not claim the throne, but he was obviously not about to have it before. He would have his life and he could save Amber quite a bit of trouble. Is anyone willing to commit himself to a position on this?”

“I am,” I said. “I will give him life if he will come across, with the understanding that it will be spent in exile.”

“I will go along with that,” Benedict said.

“So will I,” said Random.

“On one condition,” Julian said. “If he was not personally responsible for Caine’s death, I will go along with it. Otherwise, no. And there would have to be evidence.”

“Life, in exile,” Deirdre said. “All right. I agree.”

“So do I,” said Flora.

“And I,” Llewella followed.

“Gerard will probably agree too,” I said. “But I really wonder whether Brand will feel the same as the rest of us. I’ve a feeling he may not.”

“Let us check with Gerard,” Benedict said. “If Brand makes it and proves the only holdout, the guilty party will know he has only one enemy to avoid — and they can always work out their own terms on that count.”

“All right,” I said, smothering a few misgivings, and I recontacted Gerard, who agreed also.

So we rose to our feet and swore that much by the Unicorn of Amber — Julian’s oath having an extra clause to it — and swore to enforce exile on any of our own number who violated the oath. Frankly, I did not think it would net us anything, but it is always nice to see families doing things together.

After that, everyone made a point of mentioning that he would be remaining in the palace overnight, presumably to indicate that no one feared anything Brand might have to say in the morning — and especially to indicate that no one had a desire to get out of town, a thing that would not be forgotten, even if Brand gave up the ghost during the night. In that I had no further questions to put to the group and no one had sprung forward to own up to the misdeeds covered by the oath, I leaned back and listened for a time after that. Things came apart, falling into a series of conversations and exchanges, one of the main topics being an attempted reconstruction of the library tableau, each of us in his own place and, invariably, why each of us was in a position to have done it, except for the speaker. I smoked; I said nothing on the subject. Deirdre did spot an interesting possibility, however. Namely, that Gerard could have done the stabbing himself while we were all crowded around, and that his heroic efforts were not prompted by any desire to save Brand’s neck, but rather to achieve a position where he could stop his tongue — in which case Brand would never make it through the night. Ingenious, but I just couldn’t believe it. No one else bought it either. At least, no one volunteered to go upstairs and throw Gerard out. After a time Fiona drifted over and sat beside me.

“Well, I’ve tried the only thing I could think of,” she said. “I hope some good comes of it.”

“It may,” I said.

“I see that you have added a peculiar piece of ornamentation to your wardrobe,” she said, raising the Jewel of Judgment between her thumb and forefinger and studying it.

Then she raised her eyes.

“Can you make it do tricks for you?” she asked.

“Some,” I said.

“Then you knew how to attune it. It involves the Pattern, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. Eric told me how to go about it, right before he died.”

“I see.”

She released it, settled back into her seat, regarded the flames.

“Did he give you any cautions to go along with it?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“I wonder whether that was a matter of design or circumstance?”

“Well, he was pretty busy dying at the time. That limited our conversation considerably.”

“I know. I was wondering whether his hatred for you outweighed his hopes for the realm, or whether he was simply ignorant of some of the principles involved.”

“What do you know about it?”

“Think again of Eric’s death, Corwin. I was not there when it occurred, but I came in early for the funeral. I was present when his body was bathed, shaved, dressed — and I examined his wounds. I do not believe that any of them were fatal, in themselves. There were three chest wounds, but only one looked as if it might have run into the mediastinal area —”

“One’s enough, if —”

“Wait,” she said. “It was difficult, but I tried judging the angle of the puncture with a thin glass rod. I wanted to make an incision, but Caine would not permit it. Still, I do not believe that his heart or arteries were damaged. It is still not too late to order an autopsy, if you would like me to check further on this. I am certain that his injuries and the general stress contributed to his death, but I believe it was the jewel that made the difference.”

“Why do you think this?”

“Because of some things that Dworkin said when I studied with him — and things that I noticed afterward, because of this. He indicated that while it conferred unusual abilities, it also represented a drain on the vitality of its master. The longer you wear it, the more it somehow takes out of you. I paid attention after that, and I noticed that Dad wore it only seldom and never kept it on for long periods of time.”

My thoughts returned to Eric, the day he lay dying on the slopes of Kolvir, the battle raging about him. I remembered my first look at him, his face pale, his breath labored, blood on his chest… And the Jewel of Judgment, there on its chain, was pulsing, heartlike, among the moist folds of his garments. I had never seen it do that before, or since. I recalled that the effect had grown fainter, weaker. And when he died and I folded his hands atop it, the phenomenon had ceased.

“What do you know of its function?” I asked her.

She shook her head.

“Dworkin considered that a state secret. I know the obvious — weather control — and I inferred from some of Dad’s remarks that it has something to do with a heightened perception, or a higher perception. Dworkin had mentioned it primarily as an example of the pervasiveness of the Pattern in everything that gives us power — even the Trumps contain the Pattern, if you look closely, look long enough — and he cited it as an instance of a conservation principle: all of our special powers have their price. The greater the power, the larger the investment. The Trumps are a small matter, but there is still an element of fatigue involved in their employment. Walking through Shadow, which is an exercise of the image of the Pattern which exists within us, is an even greater expenditure. To essay the Pattern itself, physically, is a massive drain on one’s energies. But the jewel, he said, represents an even higher octave of the same thing, and its cost to its employer is exponentially greater.”

Thus, if correct, another ambiguous insight into the character of my late and least favored brother. If he were aware of this phenomenon and had donned the jewel and worn it overlong anyhow, in the defense of Amber, it made him something of a hero. But then, seen in this light, his passing it along to me, without warnings, became a deathbed effort at a final piece of vengeance. But he had exempted me from his curse, he’d said, so as to spend it properly on our enemies in the field. This, of course, only meant that he hated them a little more than he hated me and was deploying his final energies as strategically as possible, for Amber. I thought then of the partial character of Dworkin’s notes, as I had recovered them from the hiding place Eric had indicated. Could it be that Eric had acquired them intact and had purposely destroyed that portion containing the cautions so as to damn his successor? That notion did not strike me as quite adequate, for he had had no way of knowing that I would return when I did, as I did, that the course of battle would run as it had, and that I would indeed be his successor. It could just as easily have been one of his favorites that followed him to power, in which case he would certainly not have wanted him to inherit any booby traps. No. As I saw it, either Eric was not really aware of this property of the stone, having acquired only partial instructions for its use, or someone had gotten to those papers before I had and removed sufficient material to leave me with a mortal liability. It may well have been the hand of the real enemy, once again.

“Do you know the safety factor?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “I can give you only two pointers, for whatever they may be worth. The first is that I do not recall Dad’s ever wearing it for long periods of time. The second, I pieced together from a number of things that he said, beginning with a comment to the effect that ‘when people turn into statues you are either in the wrong place or in trouble.’ I pressed him quite a bit on that, over a long period of time, and I eventually got the impression that the first sign of having worn it too long is some sort of distortion of your time sense. Apparently it begins speeding up the metabolism — everything — with a net effect that the world seems to be slowing down around you. This must take quite a toll on a person. That is everything that I know about it, and I admit that a large part of the last is guesswork. How long have you been wearing it?”

“A while now,” I said, taking my mental pulse and glancing about to see whether things seemed to be slowing down any.

I could not really tell, though of course I did not feel in the best of shape. I had assumed it was totally Gerard’s doing, though. I was not about to yank it off, however, just because another family member had suggested it, even if it was clever Fiona in one of her friendlier moods. Perversity, cussedness… No, independence. That was it. That and purely formal distrust. I had only put it on for the evening a few hours before, anyway. I’d wait.

“Well, you have made your point in wearing it,” she was saying. “I simply wanted to advise you against prolonged exposure until you know more about it.

“Thanks, Fi. I’ll have it off soon, and I appreciate your telling me. By the way, whatever became of Dworkin?”

She tapped her temple.

“His mind finally went, poor man. I like to think that Dad had him put away in some restful retreat in Shadow.”

“I see what you mean,” I said. “Yes, let us think that. Poor fellow.”

Julian rose to his feet, concluding a conversation with Llewella. He stretched, nodded to her, and strolled over.

“Corwin, have you thought of any more questions for us?” he said.

“None that I’d care to ask just now.”

He smiled.

“Anything more that you want to tell us?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Any more experiments, demonstrations, charades?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“Night.”

He bowed to Fiona, waved to Benedict and Random, nodded to Flora and Deirdre as he passed them on the way to the door. He paused on the threshold, turned back and said, “Now you can all talk about me,” and went on out.

“All right,” Fiona said. “Let’s. I think he’s the one.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I’ll go down the list, subjective, intuitive, and biased as it is. Benedict, in my opinion, is above suspicion. If he wanted the throne, he’d have it by now, by direct, military methods. With all the time he has had, he could have managed an attack that would have succeeded, even against Dad. He is that good, and we all know it. You, on the other hand, have made a number of blunders which you would not have made had you been in full possession of your faculties. That is why I believe your story, amnesia and all. No one gets himself blinded as a piece of strategy. Gerard is well on the way to establishing his own innocence. I almost think he is up there with Brand now more for that reason than from any desire to protect Brand. At any rate, we will know for sure before long — or else have some new suspicions. Random has simply been watched too closely these past years to have had the opportunity to engineer everything that has been happening. So he is out. Of us more delicate sorts. Flora hasn’t the brains, Deirdre lacks the guts, Llewella hasn’t the motivations, as she is happy elsewhere but never here, and I, of course, am innocent of all but malice. That leaves Julian. Is he capable? Yes. Does he want the throne? Of course. Has he had time and opportunity? Again, yes. He is your man.”

“Would he have killed Caine?” I asked. “They were buddies.”

She curled her lip.

“Julian has no friends,” she said. “That icy personality of his is thawed only by thoughts of himself. Oh, in recent years he seemed closer to Caine than to anyone else. But even that… even that could have been a part of it. Shamming a friendship long enough to make it seem believable, so that he would not be suspect at this time. I can believe Julian capable of that because I cannot believe him capable of strong emotional attachments.”

I shook my head.

“I don’t know,” I said. “His friendship with Caine is something that occurred during my absence, so everything I know concerning it is secondhand. Still, if Julian were looking for friendship in the form of another personality close to his own, I can see it. They were a lot alike. I tend to think it was real, because I don’t think anybody is capable of deceiving someone about his friendship for years. Unless the other party is awfully stupid, which is something Caine was not. And — well, you say your reasoning was subjective, intuitive, and biased. So is mine, on something like this. I just don’t like to think anybody is such a miserable wretch that he would use his only friend that way. That’s why I think there is something wrong with your list.”

She sighed.

“For someone who has been around for as long as you have, Corwin, you say some silly things. Were you changed by your long stay in that funny little place? Years ago you would have seen the obvious, as I do.”

“Perhaps I have changed, for such things no longer seem obvious. Or could it be that you have changed, Fiona? A trifle more cynical than the little girl I once knew. It might not have been all that obvious to you, years ago.”

She smiled softly.

“Never tell a woman she has changed, Corwin. Except for the better. You used to know that, too. Could it be that you are really only one of Corwin’s shadows, sent back to suffer and intimidate here on his behalf? Is the real Corwin somewhere else, laughing at us all?”

“I am here, and I am not laughing,” I said. She laughed.

“Yes, that is it!” she said. “I have just decided that you are not yourself! Announcement, everybody!” she cried, springing to her feet. “I have just noticed that this is not really Corwin! It has to be one of his shadows! It has just announced a belief in friendship, dignity, nobility of spirit, and those other things which figure prominently in popular romances! I am obviously onto something!”

The others stared at her. She laughed again, then sat down abruptly.

I heard Flora mutter “drunk” and return to her conversation with Deirdre.

Random said, “Let’s hear it for shadows,” and turned back to a discussion with Benedict and Llewella.

“See?” she said.

“What?”

“You’re insubstantial,” she said, patting my knee. “And so am I, now that I think about it. It has been a bad day, Corwin.”

“I know. I feel like hell, too. I thought I had such a fine idea for getting Brand back. Not only that, it worked. A lot of good it did him.”

“Don’t overlook those bits of virtue you’ve acquired,” she said. “You’re not to blame for the way it turned out.”

“Thanks.”

“I believe that Julian might have had the right idea,” she said. “I don’t feel like staying awake any longer.”

I rose with her, walked her to the door.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Really.”

“Sure?”

She nodded sharply.

“See you in the morning then.”

“I hope so,” she said. “Now you can talk about me.”

She winked and went out.

I turned back, saw that Benedict and Llewella were approaching.

“Turning in?” I asked.

Benedict nodded.

“Might as well,” Llewella said, and she kissed me on the cheek.

“What was that for?”

“A number of things,” she said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Random was crouched on the hearth, poking at the fire. Deirdre turned to him and said, “Don’t throw on more wood just for us. Flora and I are going too.”

“Okay.” He set the poker aside and rose. “Sleep well,” he called after them.

Deirdre gave me a sleepy smile and Flora a nervous one. I added my good nights and watched them leave.

“Learn anything new and useful?” Random asked.

I shrugged.

“Did you?”

“Opinions, conjectures. No new facts,” he said. “We were trying to decide who might be next on the list.”

“And…?”

“Benedict thinks it’s a toss-up. You or him. Providing you are not behind it all, of course. He also thinks your buddy Ganelon ought to watch his step.”

“Ganelon… Yes, that’s a thought — and it should have been mine. I think he is right about the toss-up, too. It may even be slightly weighted against him, since they know I’m alert because of the attempted frameup.”

“I would say that all of us are now aware that Benedict is alert himself. He managed to mention his opinion to everyone. I believe that he would welcome an attempt.”

I chuckled.

“That balances the coin again. I guess it is a toss-up.”

“He said that, too. Naturally, he knew I would tell you.”

“Naturally, I wish he would start talking to me again. Well… not much I can do about it now,” I said. “The hell with everything. I’m going to bed.”

He nodded.

“Look under it first.”

We left the room, headed up the hall.

“Corwin, I wish you’d had the foresight to bring some coffee back with you, along with the guns,” he said. “I could use a cup.”

“Doesn’t it keep you awake?”

“No. I like a couple of cups in the evening.”

“I miss it mornings. We’ll have to import some when this mess is all settled.”

“Small comfort, but a good idea. What got into Fi, anyhow?”

“She thinks Julian is our man.”

“She may be right.”

“What about Caine?”

“Supposing it was not a single individual,” he said as we mounted the stair. “Say it was two, like Julian and Caine. They finally had a falling out, Caine lost, Julian disposed of him and used the death, to weaken your position as well. Former friends make the worst enemies.”

“It’s no use,” I said. “I get dizzy when I start sorting the possibilities. We are either going to have to wait for something more to happen, or make something happen. Probably the latter. But not tonight —”

“Hey! Wait up!”

“Sorry.” I paused at the landing. “Don’t know what got into me. Finishing spurt, I guess.”

“Nervous energy,” he said, coming abreast of me once more. We continued on up, and I made an effort to match his pace, fighting down a desire to hurry.

“Well, sleep well,” he said finally.

“Good night. Random.”

He continued on up the stair and I headed off along the corridor toward my quarters. I was feeling jittery by then, which must be why I dropped my key.

I reached and plucked it out of the air before it had fallen very far. Simultaneously, I was struck by the impression that its motion was somewhat slower than it should have been. I inserted it in the lock and turned it.

The room was dark, but I decided against lighting a candle or an oil lamp. I had gotten used to the dark a long time ago. I locked and bolted the door. My eyes were already half adjusted to the gloom, from the dim hallway. I turned. There was some starlight leaking in about the drapes, too. I crossed the room, unfastening my collar.

He was waiting in my bed chamber, to the left of the entrance. He was perfectly positioned and he did nothing to give himself away. I walked right into it. He had the ideal station, he held the dagger ready, he had the element of total surprise going for him. By rights I should have died — not in my bed, but just there at its foot.

I caught a glimpse of the movement, realized the presence and its significance as I stepped over the threshold.

I knew that it was too late to avoid the thrust even as I raised my arm to try to block it. But one peculiarity struck me before the blade itself did: my assailant seemed to be moving too slowly. Quick, with all the tension of his wait behind it, that is how it should have been. I should never have known it was occurring until after the act, if then. I should not have had time to turn partway and swing my arm as far as I did. A ruddy haze filled my vision and I felt my forearm strike the side of the outflung arm at about the same moment as the steel touched my belly and bit. Within the redness there seemed a faint tracing of that cosmic version of the Pattern I had followed earlier in the day. As I doubled and fell, unable to think but still for a moment conscious, it came clearer, came nearer, the design. I wanted to flee, but horse my body stumbled. I was thrown.