«I think we've pushed the question-and-answer business about as far as you're willing to let it go.»
«There are some things -»
«I know.»
Awkward, this. Yes, she was desirable. And no, I didn't care to have anything to do with her that way. Partly because I felt she wanted something else as well - what, I wasn't sure - and partly because I was certain she possessed a peculiar power to which I did not wish to expose myself at intimate range. As my Uncle Suhuy used to say, speaking technically as a sorcerer, «If you don't understand it, don't screw around with it.» And I had a feeling that anything beyond a friendly acquaintanceship with Vinta could well turn into a duel of energies.
So I kissed her quickly to stay friendly and disengaged myself.
«Maybe I'll head back tomorrow,» I told her.
«Good. I was hoping you'd spend the night. Perhaps several. I will protect you.»
«Yes, I'm still very tired,» I said.
«We'll have to feed you a good meal and build up your strength.»
She brushed my cheek with her fingertips then, and I suddenly realized that I did know her from somewhere. Where? I couldn't say. And that, too, frightened me. More than a little. As we mounted and headed back toward Arbor House I began making my plans for getting out of there that night.
So, sitting in my room, sipping a glass of my absent host's wine (the red) and watching the candles flicker in the breeze from an opened window, I waited - first for the house to grow quiet (which it had), then for a goodly time to pass. My door was latched. I had mentioned how tired I felt several times during dinner, and then I had retired early. I am not so egotistically male that I feel myself constantly lusted after, but Vinta had given indication that she might stop by and I wanted the excuse of heavy sleeping. Least of all did I wish to offend her. I had problems enough without turning my strange ally against me.
I wished I still had a good book about, but I'd left my last one at Bill's place, and if I were to summon it now I did not know but that Vinta might sense the sending, just as Fiona had once known I was creating a Trump, and come pounding on the door to see what the hell was going on.
But no one came pounding, and I listened to the creakings of a quiet house and the night sounds without. The candles shortened themselves and the shadows on the wall behind the bed ebbed and Howed like a dark tide beyond their swaying light. I thought my thoughts and sipped my wine. Pretty soon…
An imagining? Or had I just heard my name whispered from some undetectable place?
«Merle…»
Again.
Real, but
My vision seemed to swim for a moment, and then I realized it for what it was: a very weak Trump contact.
«Yes,» I said, opening and extending. «Who is it?»
«Merle, baby… Give me a hand or I've had it…»
Luke!
«Right here,» I said, reaching, reaching, as the image grew clear, solidified.
He was leaning, his back against a wall, shoulders slumped, head hanging.
«If this is a trick, Luke, I'm ready for it,» I told him. I rose quickly and, crossing to the table where I had laid my blade, I drew it and held it ready.
«No trick. Hurry! Get me out of here!»
He raised his left hand. I extended my left hand and caught hold of it. Immediately he slumped against me, and I staggered. For an instant I thought it was an attack, but he was dead weight and I saw that there was blood all over him. He still clutched a bloody blade in his right hand. «Over here. Come on.»
I steered him and supported him for several paces, then deposited him on the bed. I pried the blade from his grip, then placed it along with mine on a nearby chair.
«What the hell happened to you?»
He coughed and shook his head weakly. He drew several deep breaths, then, «Did I see a glass of wine,» he asked, «as we passed a table?»
«Yeah. Hold on.»
I fetched it, brought it back, propped him and held it to his lips. It was still over half full. He sipped it slowly, pausing for deep breaths.
«Thanks,» he said when he'd finished, then his head turned to the side.
He was out. I took his pulse. It was fast but kind of weak.
«Damn you, Luke!» I said. «You've got the worst timing…»
But he didn't hear a word. He just lay there and bled all over the place.
Several curses later I had him undressed and was going over him with a wet towel to find out where, under all that blood, the injuries lay. There was a nasty chest wound on the right, which might have hit the lung. His breathing was very shallow, though, and I couldn't tell. If so, I was hoping he'd inherited the regenerative abilities of Amber in full measure. I put a compress on it and laid his arm on top to hold it in place while I checked elsewhere. I suspected he had a couple of fractured ribs, also. His left arm was broken above the elbow and I set it and splinted it, using loose slats from a chair I'd noticed in the back of the closet earlier, and I strapped it to him. There were over a dozen lacerations and incisions of various degrees of severity on his thighs, right hip, right arm and shoulder, his back. None of them, fortunately, involved arterial bleeding. I cleaned all of these and bound them, which left him looking like an illustration in a firstaid handbook. Then I checked his chest wound again and covered him up.
I wondered about some of the Logrus healing techniques I knew in theory but had never had a chance to practice. He was looking pretty pale, so I decided I had better try them. When I'd finished, some time later, it seemed as if his color had returned to his face. I added my cloak to the blanket which covered him. I took his pulse again and it felt stronger. I cursed again, just to stay in practice, removed our blades from the chair and sat down on it.
A little later my conversation with Ghostwheel returned to trouble me. Had Luke been trying to do a deal with my creation? He'd told me he wanted Ghost's power, to prosecute his designs against Amber. Then Ghost had asked me earlier today whether Luke was to be trusted, and my answer had been emphatically negative.
Had Ghost terminated negotiations with Luke in the fashion I saw before me?
I fetched forth my Trumps and shuffled out the bright circle of the Ghostwheel. I focused on it, setting my mind for contact, reaching out, calling, summoning.
Twice I felt near to something - agitated - during the several minutes I devoted to the effort. But it was as if we were separated by a sheet of glass. Was Ghost occupied? Or just not inclined to talk with me?
I put my cards away. But they had served to push my thoughts into another channel.
I gathered Luke's gory clothing and did a quick search. I turned up a set of Trumps in a side pocket, along with several blank cards and a pencil and yes, they seemed to be rendered in the same style as the ones I had come to call the Trumps of Doom. I added to the packet the one depicting myself, which Luke had been holding in his hand when he had trumped in.
His were a fascinating lot. There was one of Jasra, and one of Victor Melman. There was also one of Julia, and a partly completed one of Bleys. There was one for the crystal cave, another for Luke's old apartment. There were several duplicated from the Trumps of Doom themselves, one for a palace I did not recognize, one for one of my old pads, one for a rugged-looking blond guy in green and black, another of a slim, russethaired man in brown and black, and one of a woman who resembled this man so closely it would seem they must be related. These last two, strangely, were done in a different style; even by a different hand, I'd say. The only unknown one I felt relatively certain about was the blond fellow, who, from his colors, I would assume to be Luke's old friend Dalt, the mercenary. There were also three separate attempts at something resembling Ghostwheel - none of them, I would guess, completely successful.
I heard Luke growl something, and I saw that his eyes were open and darting.
«Take it easy,» I said. «You're safe.»
He nodded and closed his eyes. A few moments later, he opened them again.
«Hey! My cards,» he said weakly.
I smiled. «Nice work,» I remarked. «Who did them?»
