To Rule in Amber (11 page)

He glanced at me. "No more games, my boy. We don't have time for nonsense. We have to find Thellops before…" He frowned. "It may be too late now. We will see, we will see…"

I glanced over my shoulder. I couldn't see the stairs, but now I heard a man's heavy footsteps coming slowly up them.

"The Pattern!" he said suddenly. His eyes suddenly widened. "You tried to kill me ,"

"No, Dad." Quickly, I told him what had happened. I wasn't sure how much of it he understood, but he listened, shaking his head now and then. I glossed over our fight - no need to rub his nose in it.

"Sorry, my boy," he said. "I… was confused."

"You're better now," I said reassuringly.

"Yes."

Just then a short, white-haired man dressed all in black, from a round flat hat to his narrow pointy-toed shoes, came clumping into the room. He carried a small black bag in one hand and a cane in the other.

"Someone sent for me?" He smiled in a kindly way and nodded to each of us.

"Yes. You must be Doc Hand," I said.

"Ayeh. Are you the patient?" he asked. His watery blue eyes peered up into my face.

"No, our father," I said, turning to indicate Dad. "Lord Dworkin."

"Lord?" Doc Hand raised bushy eyebrows. "It's not often the noble-born call on me."

"Get out," Dad said brusquely, motioning toward the door. "I need you like I need a hole in the head. Less, in fact."

Doc Hand chuckled and set his bag on the bed. "Now, now, your Lordship, let me be the judge of that. Seizures, is it?"

"Oberon -" Dad began in a warning tone.

"He seems to be doing a lot better," I said almost apologetically to the doctor.

"I
am
fine," Dad growled.

"Nonsense." Doc Hand leaned forward and peered at Dad's eyes. "You are certainly
not
fine," he said. "You have a concussion, sir. I see it clearly in your eyes. You were beaten severely… twice, I would say, from the looks of that bruising. Once yesterday, once this morning. You got the concussion yesterday. Now, are you going to let me treat you, or do I get these strapping lads to sit on your arms while I do my work?"

Dad glared at all of us. I tried to look firm but menacing. A concussion explained a lot.

"Oh, very well," Dad finally snapped. He perched on the edge of the bed. "Get on with it!"

I looked at the doctor with new admiration. This was the first time I had ever seen anyone intimidate Dad. Aber seemed equally impressed.

"Hmm," said the doctor. He skinned back each of Dad's eyelids in turn, peering deep inside.

Then he felt Dad's skull for bumps. Finally he stepped back.

"Seizures?" said the doctor. "I see no sign of them. You are quite the brawler, though. I see scars from dozens of swordfights over the years. But who gave you that concussion, eh? There was no fight.

Something hit you from behind… a sap, maybe?"

"I… do not remember," Dad said.

"I'm not surprised." Doc Hand looked at Aber and me. "Lads? Any idea?"

"We weren't there," I said.

Before I could stop him, he reached out, grabbed my right hand, and turned it over. I still had two fresh
sword-cuts
from my fight with Dad, one on the back of my hand, one on my forearm.

The doctor tsk-tsked. "You've been fighting, laddie. Beating up your Da, or defending him -

that's the question, ayeh?"

"You have a good eye," I said, pulling my hand back. I didn't enjoy being under the old man's exacting gaze. "But my father is the one who needs you, not me."

"Oh, I treat all who need healing." He chuckled. "You're next, laddie."

I sighed. What did I expect, when I had deliberately sought a Shadow with a doctor capable of treating Dad?

"Ayeh," said Doc Hand, grinning. He rummaged around in his black bag, pulling out needle and thread. "You need a few stitches, laddie. Your Da needs a week of bed rest. And maybe a good hot meal and a stiff drink. Not much more I can do today."

"I told you so," Dad grumbled.

Doc Hand carefully threaded his needle, then looked at me expectantly. Gritting my teeth, I stuck out my arm and let him stitch my cuts back together.

Once the doctor left, Aber laughed and couldn't seem to stop. I glared. Finally he managed to regain control of himself.

"You should have seen your face," he told me.

"It's not funny," I said. "I hate catgut stitches. The damn things always pull at me."

"Sorry," he said. "But… I've never seen you look so annoyed! You got it worse than Dad!"

"Feh," I said.

"Don't pick on poor Oberon," said Blaise. I hadn't noticed her arrival. She leaned against the doorway, looking radiant. A few drinks had done wonders to restore her self-confidence. "He meant well."

"Enough," said our father, climbing out of bed and looking around. "Where is my sword?"

"You heard Doc Hand," I said. "You're due for a week of bed rest.

"I cannot rest," he said, "until we have Freda back. I remember now. Thellops has her - and you and I are going to get her back!"

"Your sword is downstairs," I said. I didn't know much about Thellops, but already I hated him.

What could he be doing with my sister?

I turned to my brother. "Aber? Would you mind getting his sword?" Considering how fast time ran in the Courts of Chaos, we needed to move quickly. Hours here might mean days or weeks of torture for Freda. "I had Jamas put it behind the bar for safekeeping."

He rolled his eyes, but dutifully trotted out of the room and down the stairs. Much as he liked to complain, I knew I could count on him, especially when Freda's safety was at stake.

Turning back to Dad, I said, "Do you have a plan?"

"Yes. Go in fast. Take Freda. Run away before anyone can stop us."

I snorted. Well… it had a certain elegance to its simplicity. Unfortunately, I didn't think we would be able to simply walk in.

I said as much.

"Nonsense, my boy," he said, grinning. "You are a fair swordsman. Together, Thellops cannot stop us."

"He stopped you already," I pointed out.

He shrugged. "He caught me by surprise. I made the mistake of trying to talk to him as a friend and an equal. We are neither."

"Don't forget it."

He grinned suddenly. "I still have one trick left, too. Something he has long forgotten…"

"Got it!" Aber cried, dashing in with Dad's sword. He passed it over, and Dad swiftly buckled the belt around his waist, loosening the sword in the scabbard and adjusting it to a comfortable position.

"Do you want to come?" I asked Aber. He might want to help rescue Freda.

"No!" Dad said firmly.

Aber swallowed. "Uh… not this time. I'm no fighter; I'd only be in the way. Besides, if I stay here, I can be your escape route. Call me when you need to leave and I'll bring you all back."

"Good." I knew I could count on him. "Then you'll definitely be staying here until you hear from us?"

He pulled a sour face. "If I have to. Any other Shadow
would
be a improvement over this dump, though. It doesn't even have a decent bath…"

I chuckled. "I don't care if you stay or not. Just make sure we can reach you at a moment's notice wherever you are, okay?"

He brightened. "Sure!"

Blaise appeared in the doorway. She had taken the time to wash her face, fix her hair, and change clothes. Now she wore a wine-colored blouse, leather britches, and riding boots - and she carried a bare blade: a nasty-looking shortsword with a serrated blade and a wickedly barbed point.

I raised my eyebrows. "Why the sword?" It definitely wasn't the weapon you expected to find in the hands of a beautiful woman.

"Someone has to watch your back," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "If you and Dad are going after Freda, you'll need help. There don't seem to be any other
men
around" - she shot Aber a pointed look - "so I have to pitch in."

Aber said, "I'll leave the manliness up to you. You have a bigger pricker than I do, anyway." He seemed to find that amusing and snickered a bit.

"Do you know how to use that thing?" I asked Blaise.

"Try me and see."

I chuckled. "Aber's right, you know."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"You aren't our sister. The real Blaise belongs in the afraid-of-breaking-fingernails camp."

"There's no reason a woman can't look good
and
defend herself."

I just shook my head. We definitely had interesting characters in our family. Every time I thought I had my siblings figured out, new twists in their personalities appeared. Blaise as protective warrior-beauty queen… definitely not the image I'd had of her.

Completely businesslike now, she joined our father at the bed. He had been studiously ignoring us. Dad had pulled a small pouch from some inner pocket and had emptied its contents onto the quilt -

rings, bits of colored glass and stone, a few fingerbones, a large agate marble. He picked through everything and selected what looked like a small piece of charcoal.

"Do-it-yourself Trumps?" I guessed. That seemed the likeliest way into Thellops's lair.

Without a word, Dad hurried to the wall beside the door. Smooth and freshly whitewashed, it offered a clean surface ideal for drawing.

He sketched a rectangle the size of a door. Then, with a few simple lines, he added a rough representation of a workroom: a long wooden table cluttered with bottles, jars, and tubes filled with bubbling liquids; tall bookcases; and a jumble of books and papers. More than anything, it reminded me of Dad's workroom in Juniper. It just needed a few mummified cats and a selection of bizarre and complex machines to be complete.

Aber cocked his head and studied the wall critically. "That one can't possibly work," he said.

"There's no representation of the Logrus underlying it."

"An ignorant comment based on foolish assumptions," Dad muttered impatiently. He added a horned skull atop one bookcase and a glowing ball of light in one corner, then smiled half to himself.

"What do you mean?" Aber demanded.

"You are an idiot, my boy. The Logrus is immaterial."

"So you're using the Pattern?"

"Of course. Not that it matters. Neither one needs to be incorporated into the drawing."

"But it's the same idea. You need a magic underpinning to the image -" he began.

"Try telling the Logrus that. Or the Pattern. Both exist with no underpinnings whatsoever. They merely
are
."

Dad returned to the bed and began gathering up his rocks, bones, and bits of glass, all of which he put back into his pouch. He dropped the charcoal in on top.

"That's crazy." Aber shook his head.

Dad looked at Blaise and me. "Prepare yourselves."

I drew my sword and went to stand beside him. As we all faced the picture on the wall, I half wondered if Aber might be right. Dad's drawing ranked among the worst Trumps imaginable. Sketchy black lines, faintly drawn from memory… how could it possible work?

But then, as I studied the image, I sensed an almost tangible
power
radiating from it. As Dad stepped forward and concentrated, the picture suddenly colored with browns and grays and ruddy oranges, coming to life. Instead of a black-and-white line drawing, we suddenly gazed through a shimmering doorway into Thellops's workshop.

Without hesitation, Dad stepped through into that room. He looked around quickly.

"Empty," he announced. His voice sounded distant.

"Impossible!" Aber muttered, staring.

"Not at all." I glanced at my brother. "You need to pay attention to what Dad's doing." Some time ago, our father had mentioned offhandedly that Aber had no idea how Trumps really worked. I hadn't repeated that comment, since I'd known it would hurt Aber. But clearly my brother needed to adjust his methods of Trump-making if he intended to keep up.

"But -" Aber began, looking with bewilderment from the drawing to me and back again. "How -"

"I'll explain later. Right now, I want you to find some white-wash and cover up the Trump on the wall. Summon it using the Logrus if you have to. I don't care - just get it. I don't want anyone following us through the picture on the wall."

"Come quickly!" Dad called, voice flat and far away. He held out his right hand to Blaise. She took it and he helped her step through.

"What if you need rescuing?" Aber asked. "I can't help if I can't get there."

I said, "We won't. If we fail, we'll be dead."

He sighed. "Okay. I'll do it as soon as you're gone. Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything."

Dad called, "Hurry up, my boy!" The doorway to the workshop suddenly rippled like a lake touched by morning breezes.

I hefted
my
sword. Hopefully Dad's plan would work.

In fast. Rescue Freda. Run away.

Simple, at least in theory.

Lowering my head, I walked through the drawing on the wall. Aber vanished behind me.
Down
and
up
flip-flopped several times. Strange colors and smells hit my
senses
in pulsating waves - reds that smelled of cheese, yellows that stank of wet skunk, browns and grays like rotting horseflesh. Gagging, I tried not to retch.

Voices reached me, but oddly garbled. Suddenly Dad's face pressed close to mine. I looked up into his brown eyes and gasped. His pupils flickered with reds and yellows, as though fires burned behind his face. His skin might have been the paper of some paper lantern.

He said something, but I couldn't quite make out the words. He might just as well have been speaking some barbarian tongue. Since he seemed to expect an answer, I gave a curt nod and forced myself upright. I couldn't hold up Freda's rescue.

That seemed to satisfy him. Turning, he headed for the door.

Taking a shuddering breath, I glanced around the room. Light came from a dim ball hovering in

the corner, just below the ceiling. Much like Dad's workshop in Juniper, this appeared to be a private retreat for study and magical research. If we'd had more time, I would have liked to go through it carefully. There was no telling what useful notes or devices we might find in here.