The Chronicles of Amber

door.”

I chuckled. “Stubborn, I bet, even in the face of reason and axes?”

“That about sums it up.”

“It's a rule,” Port said. “I must obey my master and protect his interests at all times.”

“All right,” I said. “I'll make sure I remember.”

I took a deep breath, and the walls began to wobble. Mattus's suite—my suite now—lay at hand. What would I find? A collection of fine weapons? A store of powerful magical items? Gold, silver, gems—an emperor's treasure trove?

I felt my pulse quicken with excitement. I knew next to nothing about my half-brother Mattus, except we had about the same height and build, and his taste in clothes mostly matched my own. What would his rooms say about him?

Reaching out, I gave the door a push. It swung open easily, revealing a good-sized chamber. The high- canopied bed looked invitingly soft. Two lamps, one by the door and one by the bed, bubbled their golden light toward the ceiling. A small, tidy desk had been pushed up against the wall to the right. To the left sat an intricately carved washstand with basin and pitcher, a full-height looking glass in a white-painted oval frame, and a large wardrobe made of red and black woods decorated in intricate geometric pyramid patterns. Two plain, non-magical doors, one large and one small, both closed, led to other rooms.

A twinge of disappointment went through me. Clean and neat, Mattus's bedroom struck me as singularly uninteresting. Nothing about the place spoke to my brother's likes and dislikes, nor to his own powers or personality. Anyone could have lived here, man or woman, child or doddering elder.

“Were these rooms searched by the hell-creatures… by the lai she'on?” I asked Port. If all of Mattus's furniture had been destroyed, this mismatched assortment could have been thrown together quickly as replacements.

“Yes, Lord Oberon,” Port said. “After their departure, I took the liberty of permitting the household staff to repair the damage. I did not think Mattus would object.”

“Was there much damage?”

“They cut open the bed and tore out both the mattress and pillow stuffing. That was all.”

I nodded; so much for my furniture theory. “The lai she'on were looking for something. Did they find it here?”

“I do not believe so, Lord Oberon. At least, they did not take anything from this room with them. I would not have permitted it.”

“Good for you. Stick up for your beliefs.”

“It is a rule.”

Feeling the floor glide underfoot, I wandered into the room. Everything looked tidy, from the carefully brushed carpets to the well scrubbed floorboards. Yet the furniture had that hand-me-down look of cast-off pieces hastily thrown together. Considering how Aber could pull pretty much anything he wanted from thin air using the Logrus, I was amazed. Mattus should have lived like a prince; apparently, he hadn't cared to do so.

I looked more closely at the desk. The inkwell, made of a clear cut glass, showed no signs of ever having held ink. The spotless blotter and stack of crisp new writing paper both looked as though they had never been touched. I held one sheet of paper up to the bubbling light and noticed an intricate watermark, a rampant lion.

Of course, I reasoned, hell-creatures could have destroyed the inkwell and ruined the paper; these could all be replacements brought in by servants when they cleaned and straightened. And yet I didn't think so. These items felt right, as though they belonged here.

To Port, I said, “Mattus did not spend much time in here, did he?”

“Alas, but no, Lord Oberon. Not since childhood. He spent most of his time off on adventures.”

I nodded, knowing he had gone off exploring the Shadow worlds. That's what I would have done in his place. This room was a place to sleep when he visited family and friends, nothing more. Home, for him, must have been some distant kingdom… just as Juniper had been our father's home and Ilerium had been mine.

“Yes, it's all yours, and congratulations,” Aber said from the doorway, sounding bored. He stifled a yawn. “You seem better. Over whatever caused your attack, or unconsciousness, or whatever it was.”

I agreed. “I'm sure I'll be all right now.”

“Go to sleep. I'd sure Dad would let you now. We're going to have a busy day tomorrow, I think.”

“Soon,” I said.

“Then I'll take my leave, if you don't mind. My suite is across the hall and down a bit. Ask any door for directions, if you need me. They know every room in the house.”

“Not so, Lord Aber!” objected Port. “I only know this floor…”

I chuckled. “I imagine they see a lot.”

“Sir!” said Port sternly. “You are talking about me in the third person again!”

“Sorry.” I sighed; I couldn't believe a door would reprimand me. “No offense meant, Port. I'm used to doors being inanimate objects.”

“Entirely understandable, and thank you, sir.”

“Don't spoil the woodwork,” Aber said. “Next he'll be asking you to wax and polish him.”

“Lord Aber!” Port sounded aghast. “I would never do such a thing!”

I chuckled. “I think Port and I will get along.” I glanced at my door. “You must have quite a few stories to tell, Port!”

“Doors do not gossip, Lord Oberon!” Port protested. “We value our owners' privacy too much.”

“Another rule?”

“Just so.”

“We'll see. Get a few goblets of brandy in you, and I'll bet—”

“Sir! Doors do not drink!”

I gave him a knowing wink. “I won't tell anyone!”

Port continued his protests, to no avail. Aber had to laugh.

I opened a door into a sitting room—containing several sofas, a pair of comfortable looking chairs, and not much else—and a smaller door into what appeared to be a servant's bedchamber. Then, finishing my circuit of the bedroom I joined my brother in the doorway. This suite would do nicely, and I found Port both useful and amusing. All told, quite acceptable.

“Thanks for everything,” I told my brother.

He slapped my shoulder. “Sleep lightly, Oberon.”

“Is there any other way?”

“Not here. And don't forget my warning—”

“Trust no one?”

He grinned. “Right!”

“Present company excepted, of course.”

“Of course.” Suddenly he turned and called out, “Boy!”

My valet from Juniper Castle, Horace—a young man of thirteen or so with close-cropped black hair and a shy demeanor—came bounding over to join us. He must have followed us up the stairs and been watching quietly from the side. I'd been too drunk to notice him before.

“Here, Lord Aber, Lord Oberon!” Horace said in a high squeak of a voice.

Aber said, “Oberon is feeling better, but he needs to be watched closely. Stay up with him tonight. Call me if anything happens. Do you understand?”

“Anything?”

“Anything unusual or dangerous… anything that threatens his life.”

Horace gulped. “Yes, sir.”

“If you fail in your duty,” he went on in a severe voice, “you will be held responsible for anything that happens to your master. By me and by our father.”

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Nothing will happen,” I told Aber firmly. If not for the wine, I thought I could have walked unaided and mostly kept my balance. “At this rate, I'll be back to my old self in a day or two.”

“I hope so, but I'm not taking any chances,” Aber said firmly. “Dad doesn't like me the way he does you. If