“Do the people of Kashfa have any-uh-unusual physical endowments?” I asked.
She smiled. “Well, Jasrick was one hell of a fellow. But I wouldn't use the word `unusual' to—”
“No, no,” I interrupted. “What I meant was some sort of anomaly of the mouth-retractable fangs or a sting or something of that sort.”
“Un-uh,” she said, and I could not tell whether her heightened coloring came from the heat of the stove. “Nothing like that. They're built along standard lines. Why do you ask?”
“When I told you my story back in Amber I omitted the part where Jasra bit me, and I was barely able to trump out because of some sort of poison she seemed to have injected. It left me numb, paralyzed and very weak for a long while.”
She shook her head.
“Kashfans can't do anything like that. But then, of course, Jasra is not a Kashfan.”
“Oh? Where's she from?”
“I don't know. But she's a foreigner. Some say a slaver brought her in from a distant land. Others say she just wandered in herself one day and caught Menillan's eye. It was rumored she was a sorceress. I don't know.”
“I do. That rumor is right.”
“Really? Perhaps that's how she got Jasrick.”
I shrugged. “How long ago was your-experience-with her?”
“Thirty or forty years, I'd guess.”
“And she is still queen in Kashfa?”
“I don't know. It's been a long time since I've been back that way.”
“Is Amber on bad terms with Kashfa?”
She shook her head. “No special terms at all, really. As I said, they're a bit out of the way. Not as accessible as a lot of other places, with nothing greatly desirable for trade.”
“No real reason then for her to hate us?”
“No more than for hating anyone else.”
Some delightful cooking odors began to fill the room. As I sat there sniffing them and thinking of the long, hot shower I would head for after lunch, Flora said what I had somehow known she would say.
“That man who dragged Jasra back... He looked familiar. Who was he?”
“He was the one I told you about back in Amber,” I replied. “Luke. I'm curious whether he reminds you of anyone.”
“He seems to,” she said, after a pause. “But I can't say just who.”
As her back was to me I said, “If you're holding anything that might break or spill if you drop it, please put it down.”
I heard something set to rest on the countertop. Then she turned, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Yes?”
“His real name is Rinaldo, and he's Brand's son,” I told her. “I was his prisoner for over a month in another shadow. I just now escaped.”
“Oh, my,” she whispered. Then, “What does he want?”
“Revenge,” I answered.
“Against anyone in particular?”
“No. All of us. But Caine, of course, was first.”
“I see.”
“Please don't burn anything,” I said. “I've been looking forward to a good meal for a long time.”
She nodded and turned away. After a while she said, “You knew him for a pretty long time. What's he like?”
“He always seemed to be a fairly nice guy. If he's crazy, like his dad, he hid it well.”
She uncorked a wine bottle, poured two glasses and brought them over. Then she began serving the meal.
After a few bites she paused with her fork half raised and stared at nothing in particular.
“Who'd have thought the son of a bitch would reproduce?” she remarked.
“Fiona, I think,” I told her. “The night before Caine's funeral she asked me whether I had a photo of Luke. When I showed her one I could tell that something was bothering her, but she wouldn't say what.”
“And the next day she and Bleys were gone,” Flora said. “Yes. Now I think of it, he does look somewhat the way Brand did when he was very young-so long ago. Luke seems bigger and heavier, but there is a resemblance.”
She resumed eating.
“By the way, this is very good,” I said.
“Oh, thanks.” She sighed then. “That means I have to wait till you're finished eating to hear the whole story.”
I nodded, because my mouth was full. Let the empire totter. I was starved.
2
Showered, trimmed, manicured and garbed in fresh-conjured finery, I got a number out of Information and placed a call to the only Devlin listed in Bill Roth's area. The voice of the woman who answered did not possess the proper timbre, though I still recognized it.
“Meg? Meg Devlin?” I said.
“Yes,” came the reply. “Who is this?”
“Merle Corey.”
“ Who?”
“Merle Corey. We spent an interesting night together some time back—”
“I'm sorry,” she said. “There must be some mistake.”
“If you can't talk freely now I can call whenever you say. Or you can call me.”
“I don't know you,” she said, and she hung up.
I stared at the receiver. If her husband were present I'd assumed she'd play it a bit cagey but would at least give some indication that she knew me and would talk another time. I had held off on getting in touch with Random because I'd a feeling he'd summon me back to Amber immediately, and I'd wanted to talk to Meg first. I certainly couldn't spare the time to go and visit her. I could not understand her response, but for now at least I was stuck with it. So I tried the only other thing that occurred to me. I got hold of Information again and obtained the number for Bill's next-door neighbors, the Hansens.
It was answered on the third ring-a woman's voice I recognized as Mrs. Hansen's. I had met her in the past, though I had not seen her on my most recent trip to the area.
“Mrs. Hansen,” I began. “It's Merle Corey.”
“Oh, Merle... You were just up here a while ago, weren't you?”
“Yes. Couldn't stay long, though. But I did finally get to meet George. Had several long talks with him. In fact, I'd like to speak with him right now if he's handy.”
The silence ran several beats too long before she responded.
“George... Well, George is over at the hospital just now, Merle. Is it something you could tell me?”
“Oh, it's not urgent,” I said. “What happened to George?”
“It-it's nothing real bad. He's just an outpatient now, and today's his day to get checked over and pick up some medication. He had a-sort of breakdown last month. Had a couple days' worth of amnesia, and they can't seem to figure what caused it.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Well, the X-rays didn't show any damage-like he'd hit his head or anything. And he seems okay now. They say he'll probably be fine. But they want to keep an eye on him a little longer. That's all.” Suddenly, as if struck by inspiration, she asked, “How'd he seem when you were talking with him, anyway?”
I'd seen it coming, so I didn't hesitate.
“He seemed fine when I talked with him,” I answered. “But of course I hadn't known him before, so I couldn't tell whether he was acting any different.”
“I see what you mean,” she said. “Do you want him to call you back when he gets in?”
“No. I'm going to be going out;” I said, “and I'm not sure when I'll be getting back. It was nothing really important. I'll get in touch again one of these days.”
“Okay, then. I'll tell him you called.”
“Thanks. G'bye.”
That one I'd almost expected. After Meg. George's behavior had been overtly weird, at the end there. What had bothered me was that he'd seemed to know who I really was and to know about Amber-. and he even wanted to follow me through a Trump. It was as if he and Meg had both been subjected to some strange manipulation.