The Chronicles of Amber

anything happens to you, he'll gladly skin me alive. After I skin your valet.”

Horace gulped audibly.

“Stop it,” I said. “You're scaring him.”

“I meant to.”

“He's just a boy.”

“Don't make excuses.” Aber hesitated, looking toward his own room. “Maybe I'd better sit up with you after all. If you think there's any danger—”

“No, no. Go to your own bed.” I made quick shooing motions with my hands. Those movements made the floor tilt alarmingly. “I can tell you're exhausted. More exhausted than me, even. It's been a long day for all of us. Go to bed, I'll do the same, and we'll have breakfast with Dad in the morning. We can all catch up then.”

Still he hesitated.

“I'll be fine,” I assured him. “I'm over the worst of it.”

He finally nodded, gave a last stern look at Horace, and trooped down the hall toward his door.

Turning, I wandered back into my bedroom trailed by Horace, who shut the door behind us. When I glanced over my shoulder, I found Port's face on the inside now, staring at me with a deliberately noncommittal expression. He cleared his throat, and I got the impression I'd forgotten something.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Do you wish to leave instructions for me, sir?”

“Wake me in the morning?”

“I am not a clock,” he said a bit archly. “I am a door. I do not tell time, whistle on the hour, or wake people up. What I meant was who should I let into your rooms?”

“Oh, I don't know.” I hesitated. “Aber, my father, Horace here, servants when they need to clean.” Then I chuckled, thinking of Rhalla and how she would look in my bed. “And, of course, any beautiful half-dressed women who happen along.”

Port smirked. “Except for Aber, whom Mattus did not trust, those were almost exactly the same instructions your brother left with me.”

I cocked my head thoughtfully. “Do you know why he didn't trust Aber?”

“Not exactly, Lord Oberon. I believe it involved a woman, however, though I am not aware of the exact details.”

“Did he leave you any other instructions?”

“Your sister Blaise was allowed in at any time, day or night.”

I found that odd. For some reason I had mentally lumped Mattus into Locke's camp, with the soldiers. My half-sister Blaise, obsessed with spying and wielding household power, struck me as someone who wouldn't have any ready followers in our family.

“Do you know why?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“What about Freda?” I asked. I liked my sister almost as much as I liked Aber, and I wondered where she stood with Mattus.

“I had no special instructions regarding Freda.”

“Could anyone else come in at will?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Was there anyone else deliberately excluded, the way Aber was?”

“No, sir.”

Well, it had been worth a try. Aber and Mattus not getting along… probably it had been nothing more than sibling rivalry. There had been a lot of that before, during, and after my arrival in Juniper. Having two powerful, conceited, and supremely arrogant brothers in love with the same woman would certainly lead to trouble.

Yawning, I unbuckled my swordbelt and set it on the desk. Horace had turned down the bed while I talked to Port. If the mattress and pillows had been ripped apart by the hell-creatures, seamstresses had mended both as good as new; they looked soft and comfortable. I plopped down, feeling soft feathers yield beneath my weight.

Horace hurried forward to help me with my boots.

“What do you think of this place?” I asked him as he pulled off my right boot.

He hesitated, and I could tell he did not want to speak his mind.

“Go on,” I said. “I want the truth.”

“Sir… I do not much like it.”

He bent to his task and got my second boot off as quickly as the first. He carried them to the door and set them outside to be cleaned.

“Why not?”

Hesitantly, he said, “Nothing is quite right.”

I nodded, knowing what he meant; I felt exactly the same way. A vague sense of wrongness permeated everything. Angles that didn't match my mental geometry, stones that oozed colors, lamps that dribbled their light to the ceiling… it was all very strange and quite unsettling.

The large lookingglass, turned slightly toward the bed, caught my eye when I began to unlace my shirt. Finally, when I saw my reflection, I understood everyone's concern. My features were gaunt and pale, my hands trembled, and dark circles lined my eyes. I looked like I'd just been through the worst campaign in the history of warfare. Even so, a few days' rest would fix me up. I always healed quickly.

With a sigh, I pulled off my pants and threw them to Horace—who hung them over the back of the desk chair, along with my shirt—and slid between clean, crisp sheets.

I snuggled in. This was the good life. Soft pillows, a comfortable bed, a roof to keep out the rain… yes, for a soldier like me, even this weird, mixed-up world offered luxuries. All I needed was a beautiful woman beside me— preferably a lusty widow—and my life would be complete.

Horace went into the next room and returned with a three-legged stool. He set it down at the end of the bed and perched on top. With his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands, he proceeded to stare at me. This would be a long night for him. I saw him give a little sigh.

“Take heart,” I said. “I don't think we'll be here very long.” When our father found out the house had been searched in his absence, I had a feeling he would be angry enough to abandon the Courts of Chaos.

“Yes, Oberon. What should I do if something happens?” he asked. “Should I call Lord Aber, as he said?”

“Nothing will happen.”

I saw him sigh.

“But if it does,” I went on, “try your best to wake me first. Only call Aber as a last resort. After all, I don't want him to skin you alive.”

“Me either!” He looked relieved.

I closed my eyes. It had been a long, difficult day. Between my sickness, the lateness of the hour, and all the alcohol I had drunk, exhaustion overwhelmed me.

I slept.

I dreamed…

… and felt the dream slide away toward madness.

Chapter 8

Movement all around me.

Not a boat this time: a curious sense of drifting in all directions at once, as if I soared, birdlike, high above my body. This sensation had come upon me a number of times before, some distant part of me recalled. It was neither sleep nor dreaming, but a sort of vision… or a visitation… by my spirit to another place. Whatever I saw next would be real, I knew, but happening far away. And I would be powerless to interfere.

With a growing sense of foreboding, I opened my dream-eyes and looked down. I soared high above a land