The Chronicles of Amber

Chapter 29

“You keep telling me you need my help,” I said, sitting up. “With what, exactly?”

“Oh, this and that,” he said. “And I want your company, my boy. We should spend more time together…”

I had a strange feeling he had no intention of telling me anything right now. The last time he had shown up like this and dragged me out of bed, it had been in Ilerium, and he had saved my life. Hell-creatures had hurled glowing green fire at my house, destroying it almost as I stepped through the door.

I began pulling on my pants.

“Is an attack coming?” I demanded. I pulled on my left boot, stamping my foot on the floor to force it comfortably into place. “If so, we have to get everyone out of the house.”

“No one knows I am here,” he said. “I do not think an attack will come. At least, not tonight.”

“Will I need a sword?”

“Hopefully not. Bring one anyway.”

Chuckling, I got my right boot on, then pulled on my shirt and laced up the front. I would have brought my sword whether he wanted me to or not; that he wanted me to bring it meant he expected fighting.

Finally, rising, I buckled on my swordbelt and loosened the blade in the scabbard.

“Ready,” I announced.

“That sword—I meant to ask you where you got it.”

“Aber borrowed it for me. I needed it for my engagement party. I'm supposed to marry my cousin Braxara next year.”

He stared at me, shaking his head. “Oberon… how do you get yourself into these things? I will talk to her parents. We cannot have such a match.”

“Not that they would let her marry the son of a traitor,” I said.

He looked at me oddly. “Not a traitor… the founder of a new dynasty!”

“I'd be happy to make it through this whole mess alive.”

He shook his head and pulled out a Trump I had never seen before. This one had been carefully finished, unlike the hastily sketched Trumps he had made in Juniper, and it looked old—a favorite place he had been many times before, I guessed.

It showed an ancient tavern with ivy-colored walls, small-paned glass windows glowing warmly from within, and a pair of huge brick chimneys from which smoke rose. The sign of a boar's head hung over the doorway.

“You're taking me drinking?” I asked, letting a hopeful note creep into my voice.

“I need help,” he said, “to correct a great mistake I made many years ago. And this is where we are going to start.”

“Aha,” I said. “The theft of the Jewel of Judgment, I assume.”

“What do you know about that?” he demanded, regarding me warily. Unconsciously, he touched his chest… just about the place a pendant would hang. Or the Jewel, if he had it on a chain around his neck. I studied him.

“It's all everyone is talking about in the Courts. People keep asking me if I know where you hid it.”

Shaking his head, he forced a laugh. “Next time they do, tell them I never had it.”

“All right,” I agreed. No sense in tipping my hand any more than I already had. “Now, about this tavern…”

He smiled happily. “A friend of mine runs it,” He said. “Come on. I do need a drink now!”

Taking my elbow, he raised the Trump and concentrated on the image. It seemed to come to life, rising and expanding before us, a low stone building with ivy running up the walls, plenty of open windows with curtains fluttering in the breeze. I heard voices raised in a cheerful drinking song, smelled baking bread and roasting meat on the faint wind that now touched my face.

He stepped forward, pulling me with him. My feet left the wooden floor, and I trod on hard-packed dirt.

It was early afternoon, and we stood in front of the tavern. A warm wind blew, heavy with the smells of trees and grass and summer. Birds sang and insects chirped.

Through the open doorway of the tavern came a minstrel's voice, accompanied by the strumming of a lute, and suddenly a dozen voices joined in on the chorus.

I smiled; this was the sort of place I liked. Leaving Chaos made it feel like a heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I would not go back easily to that nightmare place.

Dad started forward, and I fell in step behind him, one hand dropping to the hilt of my sword. For all I knew, this might be a carefully constructed trap. If our enemies knew Dworkin frequented this place, what better spot for an ambush?

Fortunately, we found no hell-creatures inside—just a dozen men, who seemed to be locals in for a quiet evening of cards and gossip, plus a couple of serving maids and a portly man behind the bar, whose eyes lit up with honest pleasure as he spotted my father.

“Dworkin, my old friend!” he cried, coming around to greet us. “It has been far too long!”

Laughing, the two clapped each other on the back like old drinking buddies.

“This is my son, Oberon,” Dworkin said with a nod to me. “Oberon, this is Ben Bayle. Not only is he a good friend, he is one of the best vintners I have ever found.”

“One of the best?” said Bayle.

“All right,” laughed Dworkin, “the best of them all!”

“That's more like it!”

“A tavern-keeper who makes his own wine?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“And who better?” said Bayle, but he grinned happily. “You must try last year's red,” he said to Dworkin. “It was a very dry year, and the wine has an extra piquancy. I think it's one of our best, on par with the red of '48.”

“That good!” said my father. “Set us up.” He glanced around the room; nobody paid us the slightest heed now, wrapped up in their own drinking and conversation and a couple of card games. “The corner table,” he said to me, indicating the one he wanted with a quick jerk of his head.

I headed over and sat with my back to one wall, my sword on the chair next to me. Dworkin sat with his back to the other wall. We could both see the door.

“You should like this place,” he said to me. “I spent a lot of time here when I was your age.”

“I didn't think the Shadows were that old. How old were you when you created them?”

“You are fishing for information,” he said.

“Better to get it from you,” I said. “Provided you tell me the truth.”

“There is truth in everything I say.”

“You didn't bring me here to drink, did you?” I said.

“You look like you need it.”

“It has been a difficult few days.”

“What has happened?”

I told him, leaving nothing out—not even Rhalla. He chuckled a bit when I got to the part about the stinger in her mouth and the welts on my chest.

“Lucky Aber found her out—you might well have ended up her slave, or worse,” he said with a chuckle. “They have powers over men. I hope she was worth it.”

“I heal fast,” I said. “And sometimes it's better not knowing everything about a woman.”

Then I told him how she had turned against Ulyanash and been murdered for her trouble. He sighed sympathetically.

“Lords of Chaos do not take betrayal lightly,” he said.

“I know. So why did you take the Jewel of Judgment, then? That seems like a pretty big betrayal.”

He looked like he was about to answer, but Ben Bayle arrived first with two cups and a dark green bottle, which he uncorked and then poured for us. Dad took the first sip and gave a happy exclamation.