All of which led me to wonder how time was behaving with me, at that moment. Better not to spend any more time here than I had to, I decided. I scanned the other Trumps I had removed from Dworkin’s desk. While they were all of them interesting, I was familiar with none of the scenes depicted. I slipped my own case then and riffled through to Random’s Trump. Perhaps he was the one who had tried to contact me earlier. I raised his card and regarded it.
Shortly, it swam before my eyes and I looked upon a blurred kaleidoscope of images, the impression of Random in their midst. Motion, and twisting perspectives…
“Random,” I said. “This is Corwin.”
I felt his mind, but there was no response from it. It struck me then that he was in the middle of a hellride, all his concentration bent on wrapping the stuff of Shadow about him. He could not respond without losing control. I blocked the Trump with my hand, breaking the contact.
I cut to Gerard’s card. Moments later, there was contact. I stood.
“Corwin, where are you?” he inquired.
“At the end of the world,” I said. “I want to come home.”
“Come ahead.”
He extended his hand. I reached out and clasped it, stepped forward.
We were on the ground floor of the palace in Amber, in the sitting room to which we had all adjourned on the night of Brand’s return. It seemed to be early morning. There was a fire going on the grate. No one else was present.
“I tried to reach you earlier,” he said. “I think Brand did, too. But I can’t be sure.”
“How long have I been away?”
“Eight days,” he said.
“Glad I hurried. What’s happening?”
“Nothing untoward,” he said. “I do not know what Brand wants. He kept asking for you, and I could not reach you. Finally, I gave him a deck and told him to see whether he could do any better. Apparently, he could not.”
“I was distracted,” I said, “and the time-flow differential was bad.”
He nodded.
“I have been avoiding him now that he is out of danger. He is in one of his black moods again, and he insists he can take care of himself. He is right, in that, and it is just as well.”
“Where is he now?”
“Back in his own quarters, and he was still there as of perhaps an hour ago — brooding.”
“Has he been out at all?”
“A few brief walks. But not for the past several days.”
“I guess I had best go see him then. Any word on Random?”
“Yes,” he said. “Benedict returned several days ago. He said they had found a number of leads concerning Random’s son. He helped him check on a couple of them. One led further, but Benedict felt he had best not be away from Amber for too long, things being as uncertain as they are. So he left Random to continue the search on his own. He gained something in the venture, though. He came back sporting an artificial arm — a beautiful piece of work. He can do anything with it that he could before.”
“Really?” I said. “It sounds strangely familiar.”
He smiled, nodded.
“He told me you had brought it back for him from Tir-na Nog’th. In fact, he wants to speak with you about it as soon as possible.”
“I’ll bet,” I said. “Where is he now?”
“At one of the outposts he has established along the black road. You would have to reach him by Trump.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Anything further on Julian or Fiona?”
He shook his head.
“All right,” I said, turning toward the door. “I guess I will go see Brand first.”
“I am curious to know what it is that he wants,” he said.
“I will remember that,” I told him. I left the room and headed for the stairs.
Chapter 7
I rapped on Brand’s door.
“Come in, Corwin,” he said.
I did, deciding as I crossed the threshold that I would not ask him how he had known who it was. His room was a gloomy place, candles burning despite the fact that it was daytime and he had four windows. The shutters were closed on three of them. The fourth was only part way open. Brand stood beside this one, staring out toward the sea. He was dressed all in black velvet with a silver chain about his neck. His belt was also of silver — a fine, linked affair. He played with a small dagger, and did not look at me as I entered. He was still pale, but his beard was neatly trimmed and he looked well scrubbed and a bit heavier than he had when last I had seen him.
“You are looking better,” I said. “How are you feeling?”
He turned and regarded me, expressionless, his eyes half-closed.
“Where the hell have you been?” he said.
“Hither and yon. What did you want to see me about?”
“I asked you where you’ve been.”
“And I heard you,” I said, reopening the door behind me. “Now I am going to go out and come back in. Supposing we start this conversation over again?”
He sighed.
“Wait a minute. I am sorry,” he said. “Why are we all so thin-skinned? I do not know… All right. It may be better if I do start over again.”
He sheathed his dagger and crossed to sit in a heavy chair of black wood and leather.
“I got to worrying about all the things we had discussed,” he said, “and some that we had not. I waited what seemed an appropriate time for you to have concluded your business in Tir-na Nog’th and returned. I then inquired after you and was told you had not yet come back. I waited longer. First I was impatient, and then I grew concerned that you might have been ambushed by our enemies. When I inquired again later, I learned that you had been back only long enough to speak with Random’s wife — it must have been a conversation of great moment — and then to take a nap. You then departed once more. I was irritated that you had not seen fit to keep me posted as to events, but I resolved to wait a bit longer. Finally, I asked Gerard to get hold of you with your Trump. When he failed, I was quite concerned. I tried it myself then, and while it seemed that I touched you on several occasions I could not get through. I feared for you, and now I see that I had nothing to fear all along. Hence, I was abrupt.”
“I see,” I said, taking a seat off to his right. “Actually, time was running faster for me than it was for you, so from where I am sitting I have hardly been away. You are probably further recuperated from your puncture than I am from mine.”
He smiled faintly and nodded.
“That is something, anyway,” he said, “for my pains.”
“I have had a few pains myself,” I said, “so don’t give me any more. You wanted me for something. Let’s have it.”
“Something is bothering you,” he said. “Perhaps we ought to discuss that first.”
“All right,” I said. “Let’s.”
I turned and looked at the painting on the wall beside the door. An oil, a rather somber rendering of the well at Mirata, two men standing beside their horses nearby, talking.
“You’ve a distinctive style,” I said.
“In all things,” he replied.
“You stole my next sentence,” I said, locating Martin’s Trump and passing it to him.
He remained expressionless as he examined it, gave me one brief, sidelong look and then nodded.
“I cannot deny my hand,” he said.
“It executed more than that card, your hand. Didn’t it?”
He traced his upper lip with the tip of his tongue.
“Where did you find it?” he asked.
“Right where you left it, at the heart of things — in the real Amber.”
“So…” he said, rising from the chair and returning to the window, holding up the card as if to study it in a better light. “So,” he repeated, “you are aware of more than I had guessed. How did you learn of the primal Pattern?”