"Too elaborate a structure of guesses," I said.
"The enemy seems to know a lot about you."
"True, but they had a couple traitors to give them lessons."
"Could they have given them everything you say Dara knew?"
"That is a good point," I said, "but it is hard to say."
Except for the business about the Tecys, which occurred to me immediately. I decided to keep that to myself for the moment though, to find out what he was leading up to, rather than going off on a tangent. So, "Martin was hardly in a position to tell them much about Amber," I said.
Ganelon was silent for a moment. Then, "Have you had a chance to check on the business I asked you about that night at your tomb?" he said.
"What business?"
"Whether the Trumps could be bugged," he said. "Now that we know Martin had a deck..."
It was my turn to be silent while a small family of moments crossed my path, single file, from the left, sticking their tongues out at me.
"No," I said then. "I haven't had a chance."
We proceeded on for quite a distance before he said, "Corwin, the night you brought Brand back...."
"Yes?"
"You say you accounted for everyone later, in trying to figure out who it was that stabbed you, and that any of them would have been hard put to pull the stunt in the time involved."
"Oh," I said, "and oh."
He nodded.
"Now you have another relative to think about. He may lack the family finesse only because he is young and unpracticed."
Sitting there in my mind, I gestured back at the silent parade of moments that crossed between Amber and then.
Chapter 4
She asked who it was when I knocked and I told her.
"Just a moment"
I heard her footsteps and then the door swung in. Vialle is only a little over five feet tall and quite slim. Brunette, fine-featured, very soft-spoken. She was wearing red. Her sightless eyes looked through me, reminding me of darkness past, of pain.
"Random," I said, "asked me to tell you that he would be delayed a little longer, but that there was nothing to worry about."
"Please come in," she said, stepping aside and drawing the door the rest of the way open.
I did. I did not want to, but I did. I had not intended to take Random's request literally-that I tell her what had happened and where he had gone. I had meant simply to tell her what I had already said, nothing more. It was not until we had ridden our separate ways that I realized exactly what Random's request had amounted to: He had just asked me to go tell his wife, to whom I had never spoken more than half a dozen words, that he had taken off to go looking for his illegitimate son-the lad whose mother, Morganthe, had committed suicide, a thing for which Random had been punished by being forced to marry Vialle. The fact that the marriage had somehow worked beautifully was something which still amazed me. I had no desire to dispense a load of awkward tidings, and as I moved into the room I sought alternatives.
I passed a bust of Random set on a high shelf on the wall to my left. I had actually gone by before it registered that my brother was indeed the subject. Across the room, I saw her workbench. Turning back, I studied the bust.
"I did not realize that you sculpted," I said.
"Yes."
Casting my gaze about the apartment, I quickly located other examples of her work. "Quite good," I said.
"Thank you. Won't you sit down?"
I lowered myself into a large, high-armed chair, which proved more comfortable than it had looked. She seated herself on a low divan to my right, curling her legs beneath her.
"May I get you something to eat, or to drink?"
"No thanks. I can only stay a short while. What it is, is that Random, Ganelon, and I had gotten a bit sidetracked on the way home, and after that delay we met with Benedict for a time. The upshot of it was that Random and Benedict had to make another small journey."
"How long will he be away?"
"Probably overnight. Maybe a bit longer. If it is going to be much longer he will probably call back on someone's Trump, and we'll let you know."
My side began to throb and I rested my hand upon it, massaging it gently.
"Random has told me many things about you," she said.
I chuckled.
"Are you certain you would not care for something to eat? It would be no trouble."
"Did he tell you that I am always hungry?"
She laughed.
"No. But if you have been as active as you say, I would guess that you did not take time for lunch."
"In that you would be only half-correct. All right. If you've a spare piece of bread lying about it might do me some good to gnaw on it."
"Fine. Just a moment."
She rose and departed into the next room. I took the opportunity to scratch heartily all about my wound where it was suddenly itching fit to kill. I had accepted her hospitality partly for this reason and partly because of the realization that I actually was hungry. Only a little later it struck me that she could not have seen me attacking my side as I was. Her sure movements, her confident manner, had relaxed my awareness of her blindness. Good. It pleased me that she was able to carry it so well.
I heard her humming a tune: "The Ballad of the Water Crossers," the song of Amber's great merchant navy. Amber is not noted for manufacture, and agriculture has never been our forte. But our ships sail the shadows, plying between anywhere and anywhere, dealing in anything. Just about every male Amberite, noble or otherwise, spends some time in the fleet. Those of the blood laid down the trade routes long ago that other vessels might follow, the seas of a double dozen worlds in every captain's head. I had assisted in this in times gone by, and though my involvement had never been so deep as Gerard's or Caine's, I had been mightily moved by the forces of the deep and the spirit of the men who crossed it.
After a while, Vialle came in bearing a tray heavy with bread, meat, cheese, fruit, and a flask of wine. She set it upon a table near at hand.
"You mean to feed a regiment?" I asked.
"Best to be safe."
"Thanks. Won't you join me?"
"A piece of fruit, perhaps," she said.
Her fingers sought for a second, located an apple. She returned to the divan.
"Random tells me you wrote that song," she said.
"That was a very long time ago, Vialle."
"Have you composed any recently?"
I began to shake my head, caught myself, said, "No. That part of me is... . resting."
"Pity. It is lovely."
"Random is the real musician in the family."
"Yes, he is very good. But performance and composition are two different things."
"True. One day when things have eased up... Tell me, are you happy here in Amber? Is everything to your liking? Is there anything that you need?"
She smiled.
"All that I need is Random. He is a good man."
I was strangely moved to hear her speak of him in this fashion.
"Then I am happy for you," I said. And, "Younger, smaller... he might have had it a bit rougher than the rest of us," I went on. "Nothing quite as useless as another prince when there is already a crowd of them about. I was as guilty as the rest. Bleys and I once stranded him for two days on an islet to the south of here..."
"... And Gerard went and got him when he learned of it," she said. "Yes, he told me. It must bother you if you remember it after all this time."
"It must have made an impression on him, too."
"No, he forgave you long ago. He told it as a joke. Also, he drove a spike through the heel of your boot-pierced your foot when you put it on."
"Then it was Random! I'll be damned! I had always blamed Julian for that one."
"That one bothers Random."
"How long ago all of this was..." I said.
I shook my head and continued eating. Hunger seized me and she gave me several minutes of silence in which to get the upper hand on it. When I had, I felt compelled to say something.