As I left the building and headed down the walk a black sedan pulled up in front of me and I heard the hum of a power window and saw a flash of red.
'Get in, Merlin,' came a familiar voice.
'Fiona!'
I opened the door and slid inside. We began moving immediately, 'Well, was she?' she asked me.
'Was she what?' I said.
'The one you went to the club to meet.'
I hadn't thought of it that way until she said it.
'You know,' I said a little later. 'I think maybe she was.'
She turned onto the road and drove back in the direction from which we had come earlier.
'What kind of game was she playing?' Fiona asked.
'I'd give a lot to know,' I answered.
'Tell me about it,' she said, 'and feel free to edit certain portions.'
'Well, all right,' I said, and I let her have it.
We were back in the country club parking lot before I was finished.
'Why are we here again?' I asked:
'This is where I got the car. It might belong to a friend of Bill's. I thought I'd be nice and bring it back.'
'You used the Trump I'd made to go through to the bar in there?' I asked, gesturing.
'Yes, right after you went in to dance. I watched you for about an hour, mostly from the terrace. And I'd told you to be wary.'
'Sorry, I was smitten.'
'I'd forgotten they don't serve absinthe here. I had to make do with a frozen marguerite.'
'Sorry about that, too. Then you hot-wired a car and followed us when we left?'
'Yes. I waited in her parking lot and maintained the most peripheral of touches with you via your Trump. If I'd felt danger I would have come in after you.'
'Thanks . How peripheral?'
'I am not a voyeur, if that's what you mean. Very well, we're up to date.'
'There's a lot more to the story than this fast part.'
'Keep it,' she said, 'for now. There is only one thing I am curious about at the moment. Would you happen to have a picture of this Luke Raynard?'
'I might,' I told her, reaching for my wallet. 'Yes; I think I do.'
I withdrew my shorts from my hip pocket and explored further.
'At least you don't wear jockeys,' she remarked:
I withdrew my wallet and turned on the overhead light. As I flipped the wallet open she leaned toward me, resting her hand on my arm. Finally, I found a clear colored photo of Luke and me at the beach, with Julia and a girl named Gail whom Luke used to date.
I felt her grip tighten as she drew in a short, sharp breath.
'What is it?' I asked. 'You know him?'
She shook her head too quickly.
'No. No,' she said. 'Never saw him before in my life.'
'You're a lousy liar, Auntie. Who is it?'
'I don't know,' she said.
'Come on! You nearly broke my arm when you saw him.'
'Don't push me;' she said.
'It involves my life.'
'It involves more than your life, I think.'
'So?'
'Let it be, for now.'
'I'm afraid I can't do that. I must insist.'
She turned more fully and both of her hands came up between us. Smoke began to rise from her well- manicured fingertips. Frakir throbbed upon my wrist, which meant she was sufficiently pissed off to lean on me if it came to that.
I made a warding gesture and decided to back off.
'Okay, let's call it a day and head home.'
She flexed her fingers and the smoke fled. Frakir became still. She withdrew a packet of Trumps from her purse and shuffled out the one for Amber.
'But sooner or later I'm going to have to know,' I added.
'Later,' she said, as the vision of Amber grew before us.
One thing I always liked about Fiona: she didn't believe in hiding her feelings.
I reached up and switched off the dome light as Amber came on all around us.
CHAPTER 8
I guess that my thoughts at funerals are typical. Like Bloom in Ulysses, I think the most mundane things about the deceased and the current goings-on. The rest of the time my mind wanders.
On the wide strand of shoreline at the southern foot of Kolvir there is a small chapel dedicated to the Unicorn, one of several such throughout the realm at places where she had been sighted. This one seemed most appropriate for Caine's service in that-like Gerard-he had once expressed a desire to be laid to rest in one of the sea caves at the mountain's foot, facing the waters he had sailed so long, so often. One such had been prepared for him, and there would be a procession after the service to inter him there. It was a windy, misty, sea-cool morning with only a few sails in sight, moving to or- from the port over half a league westward of us.
Technically, I suppose Random should have officiated, since his kingship automatically made him high priest, but aside from reading an opening and closing passage on the Passing of Princes from the Book of the Unicorn, he turned the service over to Gerard to perform in his stead, as Caine had gotten along with Gerard better than with anyone else in the family. So Gerard's booming voice filled the small stone building, reading long sections involving the sea and mutability. It was said that Dworkin himself had penned the Book in his saner days, and that long passages had come direct from the Unicorn. I don't know. I wasn't there. It is also said that we are descended of Dworkin and the Unicorn, which gives rise to some unusual mental images. Origins of anything tend to fade off into myth, though. Who knows? I wasn't around then.
'. . . And all things return to the sea,' Gerard was saying. I looked about me. Besides the family, there were perhaps forty or fifty people present, mostly nobility from the town, a few merchants with whom Caine had been friendly, representatives of realms in several adjacent shadows where Caine had spent time on both official and personal business, and of course Vinta Bayle. Bill had expressed a desire to be present, and he stood to my left. Martin was at my right. Neither Fiona nor Bleys was present. Bleys had pleaded his injury and excused himself from the service. Fiona had simply vanished. Random had been unable to locate her this morning. Julian departed partway through the service, to check on the guard he had posted along the strand, someone having pointed out that a would-be assassin could rack up a high score with that many of us together in one small space. Consequently, Julian's foresters, with short sword, dagger, and longbow or lance, were spotted strategically all over the place-and every now and then we'd hear the baying of one of his hellhounds, to be answered almost immediately by several others, a mournful, unnerving thing, counter-pointing waves, wind, and reflections upon mortality. Where had she gotten off to? I wondered. Fiona? Fear of a trap? Or something to do with last night? And Benedict . . . he had sent regrets and regards, mentioning sudden business that precluded his making it back in time. Llewella simply hadn't shown, and could not be reached by Trump. Flora stood ahead and to the left of me, knowing she looked lovely in dark colors, too. Perhaps I do her an injustice. I don't know. But she seemed
