I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to be far away. The Pattern’s warning, via Luke, was well taken. Corwin had given me too much to think about, and I hadn’t had time to sort it through properly. I did not want to be involved in whatever was going on here in the Courts. I did not like all of the implications involving my mother. I did not feel like attending a funeral. I felt somehow, also, uninformed. You’d think that if somebody wanted something from me-something very important-they’d at least take the time to explain the situation and ask for my cooperation. If it were a relative, there was a strong possibility I’d go along with it. Getting my cooperation would seem a lot less dicey than any trickery intended to control my actions. I wanted to be away from those who would control me, as well as the games they were playing.
I could turn and head back into Shadow, probably lose myself there. I could head back to Amber, tell Random everything I knew, everything I suspected, and he would protect me against the Courts. I could go back to the Shadow Earth, come up with a new identity, get back into computer design…
Then, of course, I would never know what was going on and what had gone before. As for my father’s real whereabouts-I’d been able to reach him from the Courts, never from anywhere else. In this sense, he was nearby. And there was no one else around here likely to help him.
I walked ahead and turned right. I made my way toward a purpling sky. I would be on time.
And so I came, again, into the Ways of Sawall. I had emerged from the red and yellow starburst design painted high upon the gateside wall of the front courtyard, descended the Invisible Stair, and peered for long moments down into the great central pit, with its view of black turbulence beyond the Rim. A falling star burned its way down the purple sky as I turned away, headed for the copper-chased door and the low Maze of Art beyond it.
Within, I recalled the many times I had been lost in that maze as a child. The House of Sawall had been a serious collector of art for ages, and the collection was so vast that there were several ways into which one was cast within the maze itself, leading one through tunnels, a huge spiral, and what seemed an old train station before being shunted back to miss the next turn. I had been lost in it for days on one occasion, and was finally found crying before an assemblage of blue shoes nailed to a board. I walked it now, slowly, looking at old monstrosities, and some newer ones. There were also strikingly lovely pieces mixed in, such as the huge vase that looked as if it had been carved from a single fire opal, and a set of odd enameled tablets from a distant shadow whose meaning and function no one in the family could be found to recall. I had to stop and see both again, rather than shortcutting the gallery, the tablets being a particular favorite of mine.
I was humming an old tune Gryll had taught me as I came up to the fiery vase and regarded it. I seemed to hear a small chafing noise, but glances up and down the corridor revealed no one else in the vicinity. The almost sensual curves of the vase begged to be touched. I could remember all of the times I had been forbidden to do so as a child. I put my left hand forward slowly, rested it upon it. It was warmer than I’d thought it might be. I slid my hand along its side. It was like a frozen flame.
“Hello,” I muttered, remembering an adventure we’d shared. “It’s been a long time…”
“Merlin?” came a small voice.
I withdrew my hand immediately. It was as if the vase had spoken.
“Yes,” I said then. “Yes.”
Again, the chafing sound, and a bit of shadow stirred within the creamy opening, above the fire.
“Ss,” said the shadow, rising. “Glait?” I asked.