Страница 415 из 422
Luke smiled.
“I know a good sales pitch when I hear it,” he said. “Narrow it down to a simple choice. Make them think it's their own.”
Coral squeezed my shoulder. “We're going,” I said.
“Very well,” said the Sign. “Tell me where you want to go, and I'll send you all there.”
“Not all,” Luke said suddenly. “Just them.”
“I do not understand. What about you?”
He drew a dagger and slashed his palm. He advanced and stood beside me, extending his hand out over the Pattern, also.
“If we go, only three of us may arrive,” he said, “if that. I'll stay here and keep you company while you deliver my friends.”
“How will you know I've done it in a satisfactory fashion?”
“Good question,” he said. “Merle, you got a set of Trumps on you?”
“Yes.”
I removed them and showed them to him.
“Still got one of me in there?”
“Last time I looked I did.”
“Then get it out and have it ready. Figure your next move before you take off. Stay in touch with me till you make it.”
“What about yourself, Luke? You can't sit there forever as a bloody threat to Order. It's only a temporary stalemate. You have to surrender your position sooner or later, and when you do—”
“Do you still have some odd cards in that deck?”
“What do you mean?”
“The ones you once referred to as the Trumps of Doom.”
I riffled through. They were mostly near the bottom. “Yes,” I said. “Beautifully executed. I wouldn't have tossed them.”
“You really think so?”
“Yeah. Get together a bunch of stuff this good, and I'll get you an exhibit back in Amber.”
“You serious? You're not just saying that because—”
The Sign of the Pattern emitted a growling sound.
“Everybody's a critic,” Luke observed. “Okay. Pull all the Trumps of Doom.”
I did this.
“Mix 'em up a little. Keep 'em face down, please.”
“All right.”
“Fan 'em.”
He leaned forward, took a card.
“Okay,” he said. “I'm in business. Whenever you're ready, tell it where to take you. Stay in touch. Hey, Pattern, I want an iced tea of my own.”
A frosty glass appeared near his right foot. He stooped and took it up, sipped from it.
“'Thanks.”
“Luke,” Nayda said, “I don't understand what's going on. What will happen to you?”
“Nothing much,” he replied. “Don't cry for me, demon lady. I'll see you later.”
He looked at me and quirked an eyebrow.
“Send us to Jidrash,” I said, “in Kashfa-to the open area between the palace and the church.”
I held Luke's Trump in my moist left hand, near to a humming spikard. I felt the card grow cold just as Luke said, “You heard him.”
And the world swirled and unswirled, and it was a brisk, windy morning in Jidrash. I regarded Luke through his Trump. I opened cha
“Dalt, I might as well leave you here,” I said. “You, too, Nayda.”
“No,” the big man said, just as Nayda said, “Hold on a minute.”
“You're both out of the picture now,” I explained. “Neither side wants you for anything. But I've got to get Coral someplace safe. Me, too.”
“You're a focus of the action,” Nayda said, “and I can help Luke by helping you. Take me along.”
“I feel the same way about it,” Dalt said. “I still owe Luke a big one.”
“Okay,” I said. “Hey, Luke! You hear all that?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Better be about your business then. Shit! I spilled it—”
His Trump went black.
I didn't wait for avenging angels, tongues of fire, lightning bolts, or an opening of the earth. I got us out of jurisdiction real quick.
I sprawled on the green grass beneath the big tree. Wisps of fog drifted by. Dad's Pattern sparkled below me. Jurt was seated cross-legged on the hood of the car, blade across his knees. He hit the ground when we made our appearance. Corwin was nowhere in sight.
“What's going on?” Jurt asked me.
“I am beat, bushed, and whacked-out. I am going to lie here and stare at the fog till my mind goes away,” I said. “Meet Coral, Nayda, and Dalt. Hear their story and tell them yours, Jurt. Don't wake me for the end of the world unless it has very good special effects.”
I proceeded to do as I had promised, to the tune of a fading guitar and the distant voice of Sara K. The grass was wondrous soft. The fog swirled through my brain. Fade to black.
And then, and then... And then, sir...
Walking. I was walking, almost drifting, through a California shopping mall I used to frequent. Knots of kids, couples with infants, women with parcels, passed, words smothered by sounds from a music store speaker. Potted oases sheltered, deli smells drifted, sale signs promised.
Walking. Past the drugstore. Past the shoe store. Past the candy store...
Narrow corridor to the left. I'd never noticed it. Must turn...
Odd there should be a carpet-and candles in high holders, and sconces, and candelabra atop narrow chests. The walls glittered with their re
I turned back.
There was no back. The mall was gone. The corridor ended in that direction at a wall. A small tapestry hung upon it, depicting nine figures who looked back at me. I shrugged and turned again.
“Still something left to your spell, Uncle,” I remarked. “Let's be about it then.”
Walking. In silence now. Ahead. To the place where the mirrors glittered. I had seen this place long ago, I recalled, though its disposition-I suddenly realizedwas not peculiar to Amber Castle. It was right there, on the tip of memory-my younger self passing this way, not unaccompanied-but the price of that recollection would be loss of control here, I knew. Reluctantly, I released the image and turned my attention to the small oval mirror to my left.
I smiled. So did my image. I stuck out my tongue and was so saluted in return.
I moved on. Only after several paces did I realize that the image had been my demonformed self, while my person had not.
A soft throat-clearing sound occurred to my right. Turning in that direction, I beheld my brother Mandor within a black-framed lozenge.
“Dear boy,” he stated, “the king is dead. Long live your august personage as soon as you have assumed the throne. You had best make haste to return for a crowning at the End of the World, with or without the bride of the Jewel.”
“We ran into a few small problems,” I said.
“Nothing worth resolving just now. Your presence in the Courts is far more important.”
“No, my friends are,” I said.
A momentary smile touched his lips.
“You will be in an ideal position to protect your friends,” he said, “and to do as you would with your enemies.”
“I will be back,” I said, “soon. But not to be crowned.”
“As you would, Merlin. It is your presence that is desired.”
“I promise nothing,” I said.
He chuckled, and the mirror was emptied.
I turned away. I walked on.
More laughter. From the left. My mother's.
From within a red frame of carved flowers, she stared at me, a look of vast amusement upon her features. “Seek him in the Pit!” she said. “Seek him in the Pit! “
I passed, and her laughter continued at my back for a time.
“Hsst!” To my right, a long, narrow mirror bordered in green. “Masster Merlin,” she said. “I have ssought, but the
ghosst-light bass not passsed my way.” “Thanks, Glait. Keep looking, please.”
“Yess. We musst ssit together in a warm place by night once again and drink milk and talk of the old dayss.”
“That would be nice. Yes, we must. If we are not eaten by something bigger.”
“S-s-s-s-s!”
Could that be laughter?
“Good hunting, Glait.”
“Yess. S-s-s!”
... And on. Walking.
“Son of Amber. Wearer of the spikard"-this from within a shadowy niche to my left.