All of which indicated that Vialle should not have even a sketchy edition of my story. Any version at all would require an eventual accounting. However, if the Jewel were returned without an explanation of where it had been, then no one would know to come after me on the matter, and things would still be set right. How could I lie if I were not even asked questions?
I mulled that along a little further. What I would actually be doing would be to save a tired, troubled man the burden of additional problems. There was nothing he could or should do about most of my affairs. Whatever was going on between the Pattern and the Logrus seemed mainly important as a metaphysical affair. I couldn't see where much good or bad might come out of it on a practical level. And if I saw something coming, I could always tell Random then.
Okay. That's one nice thing about reasoning abilities. You can use them to make yourself feel virtuous rather than, say, guilty. I stretched and cracked my knuckles.
“Ghost?” I said softly.
No response.
I reached for my Trumps, but even as I touched them, a wheel of light flashed on across the room.
“You did hear me,” I said.
“I felt your need,” came the reply.
“Whatever,” I said, drawing the Jewel's chain up over my head and holding the stone out before me. “Do you think you could return this to its secret compartment beside the fireplace in the royal suite without anyone's being any wiser?” I asked.
“I'm leery about touching that thing,” Ghost responded. “I don't know what its structure might do to my structure.”
“Okay,” I said. “I guess I'll find a way to do it myself then. But the time has come to test a hypothesis. If the Pattern attacks me, try to whisk me to safety, please.”
“Very well.”
I set the Jewel on a nearby table.
After about a half minute I realized that I had braced myself against the Pattern's death stroke. I relaxed my shoulders. I drew a deep breath. I remained intact. Could be that Dworkin was right and the Partern would leave me alone. Also, I should be able to summon the Pattern in the Jewel now, he told me, as I do the Sign of the Logrus. There were Pattern-magics which could only be wrought via this route, though Dworkin hadn't taken the time to instruct me in their employment. He'd suggested that a sorcerer should be able to figure the system out. I decided that this could wait. I was in no mood just now for commerce of any sort with the Pattern in any of its incarnations.
“Hey, Pattern,” I said. “Want to call it even?”
There came no reply.
“I believe it is aware of you here and what you just did,” Ghost said. “I feel its presence. Could be you're off the hook.”
“Could be,” I responded, taking out my Trumps and sorting through them.
“Whom would you like to get in touch with?” Ghost asked.
“I'm curious about Luke,” I said. “I want to see whether he's okay. And I'm wondering about Mandor. I assume you sent him to a safe place.”
“Oh, nothing but the best,” Ghost replied. “Same for Queen Jasra. Did you want her, too?”
“Not really. In fact, I don't want any of them. I just wanted to see-”
Ghost winked out while I was still talking. I wasn't at all certain that his eagerness to please was an improvement over his earlier belligerence.
I withdrew Luke's card and went inside it.
I heard someone passing along the corridor. The footsteps went on by.
I felt Luke's awareness, though no vision of his circumstances reached me.
“Luke, you hear me?” I inquired.
“Yep,” he answered. “You okay, Merle?”
“I'm all right,” I said. “How about yourself? That was quite a fight you-”
“I'm fine.”
“I hear your voice, but I can't see a thing.”
“Got a blackout on the Trumps. You don't know how to do that?”
“Never looked into the matter. Have to get you to teach me sometime. Uh, why are they blacked out anyway?”
“Somebody might get in touch and figure what I'm up to.”
“If you're about to lead a commando raid on Amber; I'm going to be highly pissed.”
“Come on! You know I swore off? This is something entirely different.”
“Thought you were a prisoner of Dalt's.”
“My status is unchanged.”
“Well, he damn near killed you once and he just beat the shit out of you the other day.”
“The first time he'd stumbled into an old berserker spell Sharu'd left behind for a trap; the second time was business. I'll be okay. But right now everything I'm up to is hush-hush, and I've got to run. G'bye.”
Gone Luke, the presence.
The footsteps had halted, and I'd heard a knocking on a nearby door. After a time I heard a door being opened, then closed. I had not overheard any exchange of words. In that it had been nearby and that the two nearest apartments were Benedict's and my own, I began to wonder. I was fairly certain that Benedict was not in his, and I recalled not having locked my own door when I had stepped out. Therefore...
Picking up the Jewel of Judgment, I crossed the room and stepped out into the hall. I checked Benedict's door. Locked. I looked down the north-south hallway and walked back to the stairway and checked around in that area. There was no one in sight. I strode up to my own place then and stood listening for a time outside each of my doors. No sounds from within. The only alternatives I could think of were Gerard's rooms, back down the side corridor, and Brand's, which lay behind my own. I had thought of knocking out a wall-in keeping with the recent spirit of remodeling and redecorating Random had gotten into-adding Brand's rooms to my own, for a very good-size apartment. The rumor that his were haunted, though, and the wailings I sometimes heard through the walls late at night dissuaded me.
I took a quick walk then, knocking on and finally trying both Brand's and Gerard's doors. No response, and both were locked. Odder and odder.
Frakir had given a quick pulse when I'd touched Brand's door, and while I'd gone on alert for several moments, nothing untoward had approached. I was about to dismiss it as a disturbing reaction to the remnants of eldritch spells I had occasionally seen drifting about the vicinity when I noticed that the Jewel of Judgment was pulsing.
I raised the chain and stared into the gem. Yes, an image had taken form. I beheld the hallway around the corner, my two doors, and intervening artwork on the wall in plain view. The doorway to the left-the one that let upon my bedroom-seemed to be outlined in red and pulsing. Did that mean I was supposed to avoid it or rush in there? That's the trouble with mystical advice.
I walked back and turned the corner again. This time the gem-perhaps having felt my query and decided some editing was in order-showed me approaching and opening the door it was indicating. Of course, of the two, that door was locked...
I fumbled for my key, reflecting that I could not even rush in with a drawn blade, having just disposed of Grayswandir. I did have a couple of tricky spells hung, though. Maybe one of them would save me if the going got too rough. Maybe not, too.
I turned the key and flung the door open.
“Merle!” she shrieked, and I saw that it was Coral. She stood beside my bed, where her putative sister the ty'iga was reclined. She quickly moved one hand behind her back. “You, uh, surprised me.”
“Vice versa,” I replied, for which there is an equivalent in Thari. “What's up, lady?”
“I came back to tell you that I located my father and gave him a soothing story about that Corridor of Mirrors you told me about. Is there really such a place here?”
“Yes. You won't find it in any guides, though. It comes and goes. So, he's mollified?”