Knight of shadows. Chapter 11, 12
XI
No.
I hung from the beam, swung, and let go. I landed almost gracefully in the middle of the hallway in an area that would have been located approximately midway between my two doors, save that the first door was missing, also the section of wall through which it had provided entrance (or exit, depending on which side you happened to be), not to mention my favorite chair and a display case which had held seashells I’d picked up from beaches around the world. Pity.
I rubbed my eyes and turned away, for even the prospect of my ruined apartment took second place just now. Hell, I’d had apartments ruined in the past. Usually around April 30…
As in “Niagara Falls,” slowly I turned. . .
No.
Yes. Across the hall from my rooms, where I had previously faced a blank wall, there was now a hallway running to the north. I’d gotten a glimpse up its sparkling length as I’d dropped from my rafter. Amazing. The gods had just uptempoed my background music yet again. I’d been in that hallway before, in one of its commoner locations up on the fourth floor, running east-west between a couple of storerooms. One of Castle Amber’s intriguing anomalies, the Corridor of Mirrors, in addition to seeming longer in one direction than the other, contained countless mirrors. Literally countless. Try counting them, and you never come up with the same total twice. Tapers flicker in high, standing holders, casting infinities of shadows. There are big mirrors, little mirrors, narrow mirrors, squat mirrors, tinted mirrors, distorting mirrors, mirrors with elaborate frames-cast or carved-plain, simply framed mirrors, and mirrors with no frames at all; there are mirrors in multitudes of sharp-angled geometric shapes, amorphous shapes, curved mirrors.
I had walked the Corridor of Mirrors on several occasions, sniffing the perfumes of scented candles, sometimes feeling subliminal presences among the images, things which faded at an instant’s sharp regard. I had felt the mixed enchantments of the place but had somehow never roused its sleeping genii. Just as well perhaps. One never knew what to expect in that place; at least that’s what Bleys once told me. He was not certain whether the mirrors propelled one into obscure realms of Shadow, hypnotized one and induced bizarre dream states, cast one into purely symbolic realms decorated with the furniture of the psyche, played malicious or harmless head games with the viewer, none of the above, all of the above, or some of the above. Whatever, it was something less than harmless, though, as thieves, servants, and visitors had occasionally been found dead or stunned and mumbling along that sparkling route, ofttimes wearing highly unusual expressions. And generally around the solstices and equinoxes-though it could occur at any season-the corridor moved itself to a new location, sometimes simply departing altogether for a time. Usually it was treated with suspicion, shunned, though it could as often reward as injure one or offer a useful omen or insight as readily as an unnerving experience. It was the uncertainty of it that roused trepidations.
And sometimes, I was told, it was almost as if it came looking for a particular person, bearing its ambiguous gifts. On such occasions it was said to be more dangerous to turn it down than to accept its invitation.
“Aw, come on,” I said. “Now?”
The shadows danced along its length, and I caught a I whiff of those intoxicating tapers. I moved forward. I extended my left hand past its corner and patted the wall. Frakir didn’t stir.
“This is Merlin,” I said, “and I’m kind of busy just now. You sure you wouldn’t rather reflect someone else?”
The nearest flame seemed, for an instant, a fiery hand, beckoning.
“Shit,” I whispered, and I strode forward.
There was no sense of transition as I entered. A long red-patterned runner coveted the floor. Dust motes spun in the lights I passed. I was beside myself in many aspects, flickering flamelight harlequinading my garments, transforming my face within a dance of shadows.
Flicker.
For an instant it seemed that the stern visage of Oberon regarded me from a small high metal-framed oval-as easily a trick of the light as the shade of his late highness, of course.