“She laughed, too,” he said ruefully. “She helped me up then and was not unkind, and of course I apologized-That brother of yours must be quite a man. I never met a girl that strong. The things she could do to a man. . . .” There was awe in his voice. He shook his head slowly and tossed back the rest of his drink. “It was frightening-not to mention embarrassing,” he concluded.
“She accepted your apology?”
“Oh, yes. She was quite gracious about the whole thing. She told me to forget all about it, and said that she would, too.”
“Then why are you not in bed sleeping it off?”
“I was waiting up, in case you came in at an odd hour. I wanted to catch you right away.”
“Well, you have.”
He rose slowly and picked up his glass.
“Let’s go outside,” he said.
“Good idea.”
He picked up the brandy decanter on the way out, which I also thought was a good idea, and we followed a path through the garden behind the house. Finally, he heaved himself onto an old stone bench at the foot of a large oak tree, where he refilled both our glasses and took a drink from his own.
“Ah! He has good taste in liquor, too, your brother,” be said.
I seated myself beside him and filled my pipe.
“After I told her I was sorry and introduced myself, we got to talking for a time,” he said. “As soon as she learned I was with you, she wanted to know all sorts of things about Amber and shadows and you and the rest of your family.”
“Did you tell her anything?” I said, striking a light.
“Couldn’t have if I wanted to,” he said. “I had none of the answers.”
“Good.”
“It got me to thinking, though. I do not believe Benedict tells her too much, and I can see why. I would be careful what I say around her, Corwin. She seems over-curious.”
I nodded, puffing.
“There is a reason for it,” I said. “A very good reason. I am glad to know, though, that you keep your wits about you even when you have been drinking. Thanks for telling me.”
He shrugged and took a drink.
“A good bashing is a sobering thing. Also, your welfare is my welfare.”
“True. Does this version of Avalon meet with your approval?”
“Version? It is my Avalon,” he said. “A new generation of people is in the land, but it is the same place. I visited the Field of Thorns today, where I put down Jack Hailey’s bunch in your service. It was the same place.”
“The Field of Thorns . . .” I said, remembering.
“Yes, this is my Avalon,” he continued, “and I’ll be coming back here for my old age, if we live trough Amber.”
“You still want to come along?”
“All my life I’ve wanted to see Amber-well, since I first heard of it. That was from you, in happier times.”
“I do not really remember what I said. It must have been a good telling.”
“We were both wonderfully drunk that night, and it seemed but a brief while that you talked-weeping some of the time-telling me of the mighty mountain Kolvir and the green and golden spires of the city, of the promenades, the decks, the terraces, the flowers, the fountains. . . . It seemed but a brief while, but it was most of the night-for before we staggered off to bed, the morning had begun. God! I could almost draw you a map of the place! I must see it before I die.”
“I do not remember that night,” I said slowly. “I must have been very, very drunk.”
He chuckled.
“We had some good times here in the old days,” he said. “And they do remember us here. But as people who lived very long ago-and they have many of the stories wrong. But hell! How many people get their stories right from day to day?”
I said nothing, smoking, thinking back.
“. . . All of which leads me to a question or two,” he said.
“Shoot.”
“Will your attack on Amber put you at great odds with your brother Benedict?”