The Chronicles of Amber

be another answer. And we will find it.”

“Besides,” Aber said to me, “where would a ghost get a set of Trumps? I have Locke's here. It's complete… I checked after I took them back from his room. Freda's Trump and Fenn's Trump are both there.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Remember, hell-creatures searched our rooms. Have you checked his Trumps since then? Maybe they borrowed a few. Or maybe Locke, or whoever is impersonating him, used that Logrus trick of yours—the one where you pull items from distant Shadows—and has them now.”

He gasped. “I hadn't thought of that! Let me check.” Turning, he ran out into the entry hall.

“It was not a ghost,” Freda repeated. “It was a man. I know the difference. And it was Locke. He always was an arrogant bastard. Who else would have dared order me about like a common servant, even through a Trump?”

“What did he ask you to do?”

“He told me to come here. Our father needs me, he said. Forget about hiding in Shadow, he said, and be a dutiful daughter. Come and help.”

“So you came.”

“Yes. How could I not?”

“It sounds like he tricked you into joining us here,” I said.

“What about me?” Fenn asked. “Why would he contact me and tell me to come here? Freda is the powerful one, next to Dad.”

“Get us into one place and it will be easier to kill us all.”

“Let us assume it was neither Locke nor a ghost,” Freda said. “What other possibilities remain?”

“Here's one,” I said. I willed my features to change, and in a second I looked exactly like Locke, from arrogant sneer to haughty tilt of the head. I faced my sister.

“Get thee to the Courts of Chaos,” I said in a fair imitation of Locke's voice. With a little practice, I think I could have matched it perfectly. “I command you!”

“You are not funny,” she said flatly.

“I wasn't trying to be.” I let my face fall back to its normal appearance. “Our enemies include shape- shifters. Remember the barber who tried to cut my throat?”

“Ivinius? Yes, I remember that unfortunate incident. But you are clearly not Locke, even when you take his form. I know my brother well enough to tell the difference. I was not taken in by a demon.”

I sighed. She could be as inflexible as our father sometimes. And yet… she had a point.

“At least concede the possibility,” I said. “The Courts of Chaos are full of shape-shifters, Aber tells me.”

“True,” Freda said, “but it is considered bad manners to impersonate people. Also, the one who spoke with me not only looked like Locke, he acted and sounded like Locke, and he had Locke's memories. He knew things…”

“What sort of things?”

She blushed and looked away. That was a first; he had known something personal, something embarrassing.

“It was… something that happened when we were children. No one else knows, or will ever know. He offered it as proof.”

“Maybe it was him,” Aber said from the doorway. I hadn't heard him return. “His Trumps are gone.”

“Maybe the man who died in Juniper wasn't Locke after all!” Fenn suggested, sounding excited.

“What!” The possibility shocked me. “You mean… Locke might have been replaced by a demon?”

“Yes!”

It seemed impossible. And yet, our enemies had gone to fantastic effort and expense to destroy us. Would it be so hard for them to replace Locke with a shape-shifter? One who would lead our troops to defeat in Juniper?

“No,” I said firmly, remembering Rhalla and how she had looked when we found her body outside. “A shape-shifter would have reverted to its true form after its death.”

“Yes.” Freda nodded. “We all saw Locke's body. It was not a demon.”

“There are other possibilities,” Fenn said.

I looked at him. “Such as…?”

“Perhaps Locke found a double of himself in one of the Shadows,” Fenn said, “and left him in charge while he slipped off to safety.”

“That doesn't sound like Locke,” I said. He was nothing if not duty-bound, valiantly defending Juniper and our family even in the face of impossible odds.

“No, it doesn't,” said Freda. “And yet… if our father had ordered him to do this thing… if he had a greater mission, which might save us all… yes, I believe he would have left a double in charge of the army. At least for a short time.”

“And he might have taken Davin with him!” Aber said excitedly. “You said he disappeared—”

“No,” I said. “I said we never found his body. He and his men lost that battle. We assumed he went down fighting.”

“But if he didn't“

“If he is with Locke—” Freda added.

“We cannot assume it's Locke,” I said.

“Nor can we assume it isn't him,” Fenn said.

I looked at Freda, who leaned over to study her circle of cards, with Locke in the center. What did she see?

“Locke is pivotal to coming events,” she said softly. “I have never seen a reading like this for a dead man.”

We all grew silent, pondering the possibilities. If Locke and Davin lived, it changed everything. We had friends… fighters… men of strength to help us. And if they had a secret mission that could help—the possibilities sent my imagination soaring.

And yet, despite Freda's insistence, a nagging doubt remained. Locke and I had made peace between us in those last days before he fell. No double would have done that. No, the answer was obvious. Somehow, though this double had managed to fool Freda, it couldn't possibly be Locke.

“Who else do you suppose Locke contacted?” Aber asked me.

“My guess would be everyone,” I said. I shook my head. “I still can't accept it, though. Our enemies want nothing more than to get us all in one place. Locke seems to be doing that for them. We must remain on guard. I don't think we can trust this person claiming to be Locke—or anyone else—until we find out the truth.”

A grim silence followed. I looked around at my siblings' faces. Expressions of worry and unease were plain to see.

“I just hope the rest of our family has the sense to stay where they are,” I grumbled half to myself.

Chapter 23

“Lord Oberon,” Port said. “You have a visitor.”

An hour had passed since Fenn's return. I had retreated to my room, a powerful headache throbbing at my temples, to try to think things through. I glanced at the carved wooden face in the door. “Who is it?” I asked.

“A household servant; I do not know his name. Apparently a message has arrived for you. Shall I have him slip it under the door? You look tired.”

“That's not the half of it.” I sighed. “Let him in.”

“Very good, sir.”

Port unlocked himself and swung the door open. A man I vaguely recognized as one of the household