The Road to Amber (27 page)

“What does that mean—in this place?” she asked.

“He’ll get the King and Queen to say that it’s okay to send me to the mines, that you must attend the rite of Yuleki, and that Beangern’s fief remains secure.”

“That makes him the real ruler here, doesn’t it?”

“I’d say so.”

“Does that mean that he was the one who’d summoned me and observed me years ago, looking for the bride he never married?”

“Yes. I was with him at the time. Hidden, he observed all your adventures.”

“Why, for heaven’s sake?”

“To see how you responded to such unusual stresses.”

“Why that?”

“Should you come to reign here, it would be useful to know how you dealt with the environment.”

“And I failed.”

“No. There was a war here as well as in your world. It caused such things to be bypassed until too late.”

“You’re saying I should have been queen.”

“Empress.”

“…To Beangern.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“In that case, I’m glad things fell out as they did.”

“And I, also. I don’t think you’d really have liked it.”

“What now?”

“There seems to be no choice. We go through with it. I’ve a feeling I’ll have a part in this one since it’s the ending of a celestial cycle and the beginning of a new one, and spirits may mount or descend.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Natural laws in this place. If we ever have an opportunity longer than this, I’ll try to explain.”

“Why not try it now?”

“Because that bulk up ahead is the castle, and we’ll be there before very long. Suffice it to say that Beangern is a stellar spirit who fell to earth at the last major cycle. He saw that this place was a looney bin, and he took it over and set it right.”

“Why, then, do you oppose him?”

“He went too far. Now it is a matter of his whim, rather than law or principle, that rules. Perhaps he has gone truly mad. He fears that the Feast of Yuleki, the Yark Angel, may be a time when he could be drawn back to his true realm, never to return.”

“You’d think that would make him happy.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t. He likes it here. He has near fought Yuleki himself over this point.”

“This is good?”

“For everyone here there was some good at first.”

“Except me,” she said.

“Don’t say that. You are necessary.”

“For what?”

“It must have seemed different to you when you were but a girl, but your adventures then can be viewed in two different ways.”

“Oh. I stumbled into a magical kingdom and had some strange experiences. That’s how I view it. You have an alternative?”

“Yes. How do you like this one? You were the magical being that entered here. You, as observer, precipitated all the strange experiences you had.”

“That is certainly a novel way of regarding it.”

“I think you had it, and that you still might.”

“What does it mean if I do?”

“You might be able to help to expel him, this time of all times. Everything else will be poised for such a thrust.”

“You sure such a thing will work?”

“No, but if we don’t try it now it may be eons before another chance occurs. Not all of the royalists will be left. Perhaps not any.”

“Let me think about it.”

“Better think fast.”

They continued their trek to the Castle of Hearts. Beangern told the first person he saw—a short, red-haired gardener—to announce his arrival. The man ran off screaming, “Beangern has come! Beangern has come!”

“I find their enthusiasm touching,” Beangern remarked. “Come, let us enter. We shall hunt down their majesties.”

Beangern drove the others ahead of him now, lest Lucer free himself and lead Alice astray. He left the Twittikins to guard the gate. He located the King and Queen dressed in rags and hiding beneath the bed in a fourth-floor bedroom.

“Why do we find them so?” Alice asked.

“Guards! Protect us! Off with his head! Beangern! Beangern! Dead! Dead! Dead!” cried the emaciated Queen of Hearts and her diminutive husband.

“They have conceived some ill fancy of me,” Beangern replied, his eyes flashing fire, “and compounded it with their tendency to shirk their duties. Come now! Both of you! Out of there! There’s a royal decree in need of issuing.”

“Why us? Why us?”

“Because you’re royal. The decretals need decreting, the world it needs its words, Lord Lucer to the mines again, Beangern to his fiefdom, Alice to her Judgment Chair. Write it down! Write it down! Sign it at the bottom! Circulate the ruddy ‘crete to everything alive! And save a ruddy copy for the bloody archive!”

“Scrivener! Scrivener!” cried the Queen,

“Why call only two?” asked the King. “Make it more plural.”

“‘S, ‘s,” added the Queen.

“Sounds like a tired serpent,” said the King.

“Retired servants claim pensions,” said the Queen. “What has this to do with them? And what has become of them? What? What?”

“The mines!” cried Lucer. “To save on pay. Release them, release them, release them, pray!”

“This cannot be,” said the Queen. “Who would order such?”

Lucer turned and stared at Beangern.

“You liked them overmuch,” said the man.

“Release them!”

“Not today.”

“Where are our robes royal?”

“In the laundry.”

“You sold them. You’re disloyal,” said the King.

“And the Jewels of the Crown?” asked the Queen.

“On exhibition in the town.”

“Lies! Lies! You’ve robbed us. Bring them back! Bring them back!”

“I hear the scriveners in the hall,” said Beangern. “Let us set them up, and tell them what I say.”

“I think we do not need your help. We’ll do it our own way.”

“In that case friends and favorites will be the ones to pay,” Beangern said, as he raised his whistle.

“Stop!” cried the King. “We’ll do as you say.”

“I thought you’d see the light. It must be done tonight. Now, as a matter of fact.”

He opened the door and let them in. There were four.

“You lack tact. But you hold the winning cards,” said the Queen.

“…Lucer Starborn is hereby reassigned to the mines. All other political imprisonments are reconfirmed. Axel J. Beangern is reconfirmed in the possession of his fief—” Beangern said.

“That,” Lucer said, “is contingent on your sitting through the Feast of Yuleki in the chapel on your property.”

“I know that!”

“Very well. Write it down.”

“…And Alice finally present on this night of all nights of the year.”

“I know no fear!” said Beangern.

“None spoke of fear but thee.”

“This is not part of the decree!” Beangern shouted. “Add the salutatories and affirmations to what has gone before, and be damned with them!”

“Such language!” said Alice.

“He’s not at all a gentleman,” said Lucer.

“Execute the order! Return him to the pits!” cried Beangern.

“I claim my right to be present at the service,” said Lucer.

“Bring him along, then. We’ll send him from there when it’s done.”

Lucer raised his hand and squeezed one of Alice’s. “I am to be myself this night,” he said, “and likely he will not.”

“This is good?” she asked.

“Rejoice and honest be,” Lucer replied, “and we shall make it so, come St. George and Low Heaven.”

“I fear that I do not understand.”

“You will when the time’s at hand.”

“But Beangern always seemed the gentleman, and you the criminal—though a very polite one.”

“He lies. You’ve seen how he deals. In fact, he also steals.”

“I believe. He does deceive.”

“Soon we will leave, for the service. Are you hungry? He would see that you are fed, if you are. Wants you strong.”

‘TIl come along without the bread. I don’t know that I care to brave a meal in this place now.”

“Why should that be bad?”

“Because everyone’s half-mad.”

“Yes, but they’re half-sane, too.”

“I’m on your side. Enough said. Callooh!”

“Callay!”

“Let’s be away!” cried Beangern.

They left the castle and the day. They traveled through the hilly lands, to the realm of Whileaway.

“Sing for me, Alice,” said Lucer, and she began “Auld Lang Syne.”

The Twittikins roared on ahead and behind, the moon dripped butter and venom, and everywhere she looked, it seemed the cat’s grin was upon her. A cool, near chill breeze swept them, and all the shadows became a blanket of black.

The moonlight sparkled on a massive block of ice to the right of the trail. They examined it as they passed, and Alice’s voice wavered as she beheld within it—frozen in mid-gesture—a March Hare, a Dormouse, and a demented-looking Hatter.

As they crossed the next hill she heard a great, crystal-like shattering, though no one else seemed to.

“Sing more loudly here,” Lucer said, and she did. A snuffiing, chuffiing, snorting followed, as of a laboring walrus climbing a slope. Again, nobody else seemed to notice.

“And at this glade you must sing with particular sweetness,” he said.

She did, and the chortling roar that near shook the darkness from the night seemed heard by everyone, from the automatic weapon fire that followed from the Twittikins. The rearmost vanished and their weapons grew still as a dark cloud swept across the road, passing over them.

“Lucer,” she whispered, seizing his biceps, “what is it you have me doing?”

“Sorry, naught but pure song, m’lady. Think, think back on all you remember from your earliest visits. If there was aught that you loved, sing to that. Remember, remember, Alice, this place as it was.”

And Alice’s old voice broke, many, many times, as she recalled and reworded old ballads and music hall songs.

“What is that caterwauling?” Beangern cried, his ears now long and silky, his mouth more full of teeth than before.

“Lady Alice would sing,” Lucer replied, “as is her right.”

Beangern growled and grew silent.

“He must allow it,” Lucer said. “You must unscathed be.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Your power is sacrosanct,” said he. “You are she who came long ago.”

“A lifetime wasn’t that far back,” she said.

“In this place time doth different flow.”

“I’ll never understand.”

“I say you will. Pray, sing on.”

And again she sang. This time, the night came alive with bird cries, cricket calls, and the rustling of leaves. Overhead, the stars shone more brightly than Alice had ever seen them glow, and the moon seemed to swell as it made its slow way zenithward.

“Confound!” Beangern cried, his trousers now split to free his jointed tail, eyes still flashing fire.

“Sing on,” said Lucer, and she did.

At last, they reached the top of a high hill, overlooking a vale splashed with moonlight like buttermilk. At their back, Alice heard noises. Beangern called a halt and regarded the prospect for a moment. He raised his right arm and extended a claw. “This is the place where music comes to die,” he said. “This is the fief of Beangern. My powers increase here.”

“…And your form seems to have shifted,” Alice said.

“Tonight ‘tis unavoidable,” he said, “when the Powers descend and rise to walk the world.”

“I thought that Beangern was a god or demigod. Your form seems more demonic.”

“These terms are meaningless in this twisted place,” said he, “and as for the rest, read your Nietzsche.”

“I understand,” said she.

“So I have won, you see. I made you wait till your powers waned and drained. A draft of damp air would blow you away.”

“You’ve watched me all these years?”

“Indeed, through laughter and tears.”

“Not too much laughter.”

“Nor many tears. Sorry ‘tis such a bland life you’ve led. But so it had to be.”

“All for this night?”

“All for this night.”

The crest on his backbone rose to a ridge on his head. His hoofs clattered against rocks as he shifted position.

He pointed again. “And there is the chapel, in yonder valley.”

They saw the diminutive building, all alight.

“Come,” he finally said. “Tonight is indeed the night.”

They followed him down the hillside and through the twisting ways of the valley—Beangern, Alice, Lucer, the King and Queen of Hearts, the Twittikin, unassorted courtiers and nobles. The Twittikins were again diminished, in a firefight with something that had howled from behind a boulder. When they searched the area afterwards, nothing could be found.

Great numbers of dark birds passed overhead as they advanced upon the chapel, and there were rustlings within the high grasses all about them. The earth seemed to tremble on several occasions, and deadwood snapped as heavier footfalls occurred.

Lucer had hold of her arm now and she had a stick in her other hand. She leaned on both.

“Not too much farther to the chapel,” Lucer remarked. “You’ll be able to rest once we’ve arrived.”

“I’ll make it,” she said. “I must see the story through.”

“I’m sure you will. Your presence is necessary, either way,” said he. “You are she who came.”

“Win or lose? Live or dead?”

“Exactly.”

An owl dipped above them. “Who?” it asked.

“Me,” she answered. Beangern growled, and birds fell dead from the sky. The earth shook and the wind grew stronger. At last they reached the chapel and Beangern let them in. The place was filled with candlelight, there was a low altar against the forward wall, and a circular skylight poured starshine and the glow of the rising moon down upon the pentagram drawn on the floor beneath. Against the chapel’s rear wall was a throne all of red stone, and to this Alice was led.

“Pray, rest yourself!” cried Beangern, and the ground shook as he increased in stature. He moved forward then, motioning the others to seat themselves in pews. Lucer and the King and Queen he allowed to remain near Alice. He moved then to the front ofthe chapel, and, looking upward, addressed some unseen presence beyond the skylight:

“You up there. This is Beangern,” he said. “I know you can hear me, tonight. All right. Tonight is the night, but I want you to know that I hold everything in the palm of my hand. You waste your time if you think that you can do much about it. I know you’ve been waiting to nail me, Yuleki, but it’s too damned late. I’ve been sucking power out of this land down the years. I’m too strong for you now. One touch more, and the world I have set up will endure forever.”