Again, I tried counting the steps. As usual, I lost count somewhere along the way. Next time. . . .
My thoughts went back to that distant day when I had come this route believing I was headed for death. The fact that I hadn’t died was small comfort now. It had still been an ordeal. And it was still possible that I could screw up on it this time and get fried or go up in a puff of smoke.
Around, around. Down, down. Night thoughts in the middle of the afternoon. . . .
On the other hand, I’d heard Flora say that it was easier the second time around. She’d been talking about the Pattern moments before, and I hoped that’s what she was referring to.
The Grand Pattern of Amber, Emblem of Order. Matching in power the Great Logrus of the Courts, Sign of Chaos. The tensions between the two seem to generate everything that matters. Get involved with either, lose control-and you’re done for. Just my luck to be involved with both. I’ve no one with whom to compare notes as to whether this makes things rougher, though it massages my ego to think that the mark of the one makes the other more difficult . . . and they do mark you, both of them. At some level you are torn apart and reassembled along the lines of vast cosmic principles when you undergo such an experience-which sounds noble, important, metaphysical, spiritual and lovely, but is mainly a pain in the ass. It is the price we pay for certain pawers, but there is no cosmic principle requiring me to say I enjoy it.
Both the Pattern and the Logrus give to their initiates the ability to traverse Shadow unassisted-Shadow being the generic term for the possibly infinite collection of reality variations we play about in. And they also give us other abilities. . . .
Around and down. I slowed. I was feeling slightly dizzy, just like before. At least I wasn’t planning on coming back this way. . . .
When the bottom finally came into sight I speeded up again. There was a bench, a table, a few racks and cases, a light to show them all. Normally, there was a guard on duty there, but I didn’t see one. Could be off making rounds, though. There were cells somewhere to the left in which particularly unfortunate political prisoners might sometimes be found scrabbling about and going slowly out of their minds. I didn’t know whether there were any such individuals doing time at the moment. I kind of hoped not. My father had once been one, and from his description of the experience it did not sound like easy time to do.
I halted when I reached the floor and called out a couple of times. I got back a suitably eerie echo, but no answer.
I moved to the rack and took up a filled lantern with my other hand. An extra one might come in handy. It was possible I would lose my way. I headed to the right then. The tunnel I wanted lay in that direction. After a long while, I stopped and raised a light, as it almost seemed I had come too far. There was still no tunnel mouth in sight. I looked back. The guard post was still in sight. I continued on, searching my memories of that last time.
Finally, there was a shifting of sounds-abrupt echoes of my footfalls.
It would seem I was nearing a wall, an obstacle. I raised a lantern again.
Yes. Pure darkness ahead. Gray stone about it. I went that way.
Dark. Far. There was a continuous shadow-show as my light slid over rocky irregularities, as its beams glanced off specks of brightness in the stone walls. Then there was a side passage to my left. I passed it and kept going. It seemed there should be another fairly soon. Yes. Two. . . .
The third was farther along. Then there was a fourth. I wondered idly where they all led. No one had ever said anything about them to me. Maybe they didn’t know either. Bizarre grottoes of indescribable beauty? Other worlds? Dead ends? Storerooms? One day, perhaps, when time and inclination came together. . . .