The Salesman's Tale Read online

  She drew a sudden breath.

  "Their number?" she said.

  "Eleven," Memory replied.

  She grew pale at that, but I held my silence as she had instructed.

  "Those responsible for this stirring of ashes," she said then, "what do they wish?"

  "A return to the glory of days gone by," Desire stated.

  "Could this end be realized?"

  "Yes," Foresight replied.

  "Could it be averted?"

  "Yes," said Foresight.

  "At peril," Caution added.

  "How might one begin?"

  "Query the guardians," Head stated.

  "How bad is the situation?"

  "It has already begun," Head answered.

  "And the danger is already present," said Risk.

  "So is opportunity," said Chance.

  "Of what sort?" Vialle inquired.

  There came a sound from across the room as my scabbard and blade slid to the floor from where I had leaned them against the wall. Vialle stared.

  "My weapon," I said, "just slipped."

  "Name it."

  "It was my father's sword, called Werewindle."

  "I know of it." Then, "This man, Luke," she said, "there is something about his blade and its sister weapon that figures in all of this. I do not know their stories, though."

  "Yes, they are connected," said Memory.

  "How?"

  "They were created in a similar fashion at near to the same time, and they partake of the powers of which we have spoken," Memory replied.

  "Will there be a conflict?"

  "Yes," said Foresight.

  "On what scale?"

  Foresight was silent. Chance laughed.

  "I do not understand."

  "The laughter of Chance is uncertainty," Head responded.

  "Will Luke figure in the conflict?"

  "Yes," Foresight answered.

  "Should he seek the guardians?"

  "He must try," said Heart.

  "And if he fails?"

  "A Prince approaches even now who knows more of these matters," said Head.

  "Who is that?"

  "A prisoner freed," Head replied.

  "Who?"

  "He wears a silver rose," said Head. "He bears the other blade."

  Vialle raised her head.

  "Have you any questions?" she asked me.

  "Yes. But I doubt I'd get an answer if I asked whether we'll win."

  Chance laughed as Vialle rose.

  She let me help move the statues back into place. Then, seated once more, I said to her, "'Seek the guardians?'"

  "There is a custodian--possibly two," she replied. "A self-exiled Prince of Amber and his sister have guarded a portion of this power for a long while. It would seem in order to see that they still live, still discharge the duty."

  "Self-exiled? Why?"

  "Personal reasons, involving the late King."

  "Where are they?"

  "I do not know."

  "Then how could we find them?"

  "There is a Trump."

  She rose and moved to a small chest of drawers. Opening one, she withdrew a boxed set of cards.

  Slowly, she counted dawn from the top of the deck and removed one.

  When she returned she presented me with the card, portrait of a slim man with hair the color of rust.

  "His name is Delwin," she said.

  "You think I should just call him and ask whether he still has whatever he had?"

  "State quickly that you are not of Amber," she told me, "but give your lineage. Ask whether his stewardship of the spikards remains intact. Try to find out where he is, or to go through and discuss it face to face if you can."

  "Right," I said, not wanting to tell her that I had spoken--very briefly--with him before in seeking allies in my war against Amber. He'd dismissed me out of hand, but I didn't want to stir Vialle's memories of those days. So I simply said, "Okay. I'll give it a try."

  I decided to fast-talk him at first, to give him time to think, to realize that I was not alone, and not to let slip anything of our earlier exchange. My altered appearance should help in this, too.

  I reached for contact.

  First, the coldness, then a feeling of personality suddenly alert.

  "Who is it?" I felt the question even before the likeness took on depth and life.

  "Luke Reynard, otherwise known as Rinaldo," I answered, as the card was suddenly animated and I felt his scrutiny, "King of Kashfa and B.S. in Business Management, University of California at Berkeley." Our gazes locked. He seemed neither belligerent nor friendly. "I wanted to know whether your stewardship of the spikards remains intact."

  "Luke-Rinaldo," he said, "just what is your concern in this, and how did you come to learn of the matter?"

  "While I am not of Amber," I replied, "my father was. I know it is soon to become a matter of concern in that place because of Merlin--son of Corwin--apparently being in direct line for the succession to the throne in the Courts of Chaos."

  "I know who Merlin is," Delwin sated. "Who is your father?"

  "Prince Brand."

  "And your mother?"

  "The Lady Jasra, formerly Queen of Kashfa. Now, might we talk about this matter a little?"

  "No," Delwin said. "We may not."

  He moved his hand as if to break the contact.

  "Wait!" I said. "Do you have a microwave oven?"

  He hesitated.

  "A what?"

  "It's a box-like device that can warm a meal in a matter of minutes. I've worked out a general spell to allow one to operate in most of Shadow. Wake up in the middle of the night with a taste for a steaming hot tuna casserole? Take one out of the freezer, unwrap it, and pop it in. What's a freezer? Glad you asked. It's another box, with eternal winter inside. Store meals in there, take one out and zap it in the mike whenever the fancy hits. And yes, I can supply the freezer, too. You don't want to talk spikards, let's talk business. I can give you a deal on these devices, in quantity, that will meet or beat the price of anyone else capable of supplying them--and I don't think it would be an easy thing to find another supplier. But that's not all I can do for you--"

  "I'm sorry," said Delwin. "No solicitors either." His hand moved again.

  "Wait!" I cried. "I'll make you an offer you can't refuse!"

  He broke the connection.

  "Come back," I willed after his image, but it went 2-dimensional and warmed to room temperature again.

  "Sorry," I said to Vialle. "I gave it my best shot, but he wasn't buying any."

  "To tell the truth, I didn't think you'd hold him even that long. But I could tell he was interested in you until you mentioned your mother. Then something changed."

  "Wouldn't be the first time," I said. "I've a mind to try him again later."

  "In that case, keep the Trump."

  "I don't need it, Vialle. I'll make my own when the time comes."

  "You are an artist and a Trump master?"

  "Well, I do paint. Fairly seriously sometimes."

  "Then you must see all of my works while you wait. I'd value your opinion."

  "My pleasure," I said. 'You mean while I wait--"

  "--for Corwin."

  "Ah, just so. Thank you."

  "You can be the first to use one of the new rooms. We've been doing a lot of reconstruction and remodeling since the Logrus and the Pattern had their confrontation."

  "I heard about it," I said. "Very well. I wonder when he'll arrive?"

  "Soon, I feel," she said. "I'll summon a servant to get you settled now. Another will bring you to dine with me later, and we can discuss art."

  "That will be fine."

  I wondered where all of this was going to lead. It seemed that the big picture was about to change drastically again.

  Glad Delwin wasn't interested in the microwave oven, though. The spell would have been a bitch to work out.

  lazny, The Salesman's Tale