I chuckled.
“You think the wound was self-inflicted?”
“No, of course not. There wasn't even a weapon in sight. I followed the bloodstains back to the bedroom, to your bed. I had only my flashlight to see by, of course, but what I saw gave me an eerie feeling. It seemed as if you had just suddenly appeared there on the bed, bleeding, and then gotten up and made your way out.”
“Impossible, of course.”
“I wonder about the lack of tracks, though.”
“The wind must have blown snow over them.”
“And not the others?” He shook his head. “No, I don't think so. I just want to go on the record as interested in the answer to that one too, if you ever do want to tell me about things.”
“I will remember,” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “But I wonder... I've a peculiar feeling that I may never see you again. It is as if I were one of those minor characters in a melodrama who gets shuffled offstage without ever learning how things turn out.”
“I can appreciate the feeling,” I said. “My own role sometimes makes me want to strangle the author. But look at it this way: inside stories seldom live up to one's expectations. Usually they are grubby little things, reducing down to the basest of motives when all is known. Conjectures and illusions are often the better possessions.”
He smiled.
“You talk the same as always,” he said, “yet I have known occasions when you have been tempted to virtue. Several of them...”
“How did we get from the footprints to me?” I said. “I was about to tell you that I suddenly recalled having approached the house by exactly the same route as I left it. My departure obviously obliterated the signs of my arrival.”
“Not bad,” he said. “And your attacker followed the same route?”
“Must have.”
“Pretty good,” he acknowledged. “You know how to raise a reasonable doubt. But I still feel that the preponderance of evidence indicates the weird.”
“Weird? No. Peculiar, perhaps. A matter of interpretation.”
“Or semantics. Have you read the police report on your accident?”
“No. Have you?”
“Uh-huh. What if it was more than peculiar? Then will you grant me my word, as I used it: 'weird'?”
“Very well.”
“...And answer one question?”
“I don't know...”
“A simple yes-or-no question. That's all.”
“Okay, it's a deal. What did it say?”
“It said that they received report of the accident and a patrol car proceeded to the scene. There they encountered a strangely garbed man in the process of giving you first aid. He stated that he had pulled you from the wrecked car in the lake. This seemed believable in that he was also soaking wet. Average height, light build, red hair. He had on a green outfit that one of the officers said looked like something out of a Robin Hood movie. He refused to identify himself, to accompany them or to give a statement of any sort. When they insisted that he do so, he whistled and a white horse came trotting up. He leaped onto its back and rode off. He was not seen again.”
I laughed. It hurt, but I couldn't help it.
“I'll be damned!” I said. “Things are starting to make sense.”
Bill just stared at me for a moment. Then, “Really?” he said.
“Yes, I think so. It may well have been worth getting stabbed and coming back for what I learned today.”
“You put the two in peculiar order,” he said, massaging his chin.
“Yes, I do. But I am beginning to see some order where I had seen nothing before. This one may have been worth the price of admission, all unintended.”
“All because of a guy on a white horse?”
“Partly, partly... Bill, I am going to be leaving here soon.”
“You are not going anywhere for a while.”
“Just the same-those papers you mentioned... I think I had better get them signed today.”
“All right. I'll get them over this afternoon. But I don't want you doing anything foolish.”
“I grow more cautious by the moment,” I said, “believe me.”
“I hope so,” he said, snapping his briefcase shut and rising. “Well, get your rest. I'll clear things up with the doctor and have those papers sent over today.”
“Thanks again.” I shook his hand.
“By the way,” he said, “you did agree to answer a question.”
“I did, didn't I? What is it?”
“Are you human?” he asked, still gripping my hand, no special expression on his face.
I started in on a grin, then threw it away.
“I don't know. I—I like to think so. But I don't really—Of course I am! That's a silly... Oh hell! You really mean it, don't you? And I said I'd be honest...”
I chewed my lip and thought for a moment. Then, “I don't think so,” I said.
“Neither do I,” he said, and he smiled. “It doesn't make any real difference to me, but I thought it might to you—to know that someone knows you are different and doesn't care.”
“I'll remember that, too,” I said.
“Well... see you around.”
“Right.”
CHAPTER 9
It was just after the state patrolman left... Late afternoon. I was lying there feeling better, and feeling better that I felt better. Lying there, reflecting on the hazards involved in living in Amber. Brand and I were both laid up by means of the family's favorite weapon. I wondered who had gotten it worse. Probably he had. It might have reached his kidney, and he was in poor condition to begin with.
I had stumbled across the room and back again twice before Bill's clerk came over with the papers for me to sign. It was necessary that I know my limits. It always is. Since I tended to heal several times faster than those about me in that shadow, I felt that I ought to be able to stand and walk some, to perform in the same fashion as one of these after, say, a day and a half, maybe two. I established that I could. It did hurt, and I was dizzy the first time, less dizzy the second. That was something, anyway. So I lay there feeling better.
I had fanned the Trumps dozens of times, dealt private solitaires, read ambiguous fortunes among familiar faces. And each time I had restrained myself, suppressing my desire to contact Random, to tell him what had happened, to inquire after new developments. Later, I kept telling myself. Each additional hour they sleep is two and a half for you, here. Each two and a half for you, here, is the equivalent of seven or eight for some lesser mortal, here. Abide. Think. Regenerate.
And so it came to pass that a little after dinnertime, just as the sky was darkening again, I was beaten to the punch. I had already told a well-starched young member of the State Patrol evelything that I was going to tell him. I have no idea whether he believed me, but he was polite and he did not stay long. In fact, it was only moments after he left that things began to happen.
Lying there, feeling better, I was waiting for Dr. Bailey to stop by and check whether I was still oriented. Lying there, assessing all of the things Bill had told me, trying to fit them together with other things that I knew or had guessed at...
Contact! I had been anticipated. Someone in Amber was an early riser. “Corwin!” It was Random, agitated.
“Corwin! Get up! Open the door! Brand's come around, and he's asking for you.”
“Have you been pounding on that door, trying to get me up?”
“That's right.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I am not inside. You have reached me in Shadow.”
“I do not understand.”
“Neither do I. I am hurt, but I will live. I will give you the story later. Tell me about Brand.”
“He woke up just a little while ago. Told Gerard he had to talk to you right away. Gerard rang up a servant, sent him to your room. When he couldn't rouse you, he came to me. I just sent him back to tell Gerard I'd be bringing you along shortly.”