Roger Zelazny. The Great Book of Amber. The First Amber Pentology – Corwin’s Story: Book 1. Chapter 3, 4

There were no more, though. All the rest were minor cards. And I knew, somehow, that somehow, again—ah, somehow!—that several were missing.

For the life of me, however, I did not know what the missing Trumps represented.

I was strangely saddened by this, and I picked up my cigarette and mused.

Why did all these things rush back so easily when I viewed the cards—rush back without dragging their contexts along with them? I knew more now than I’d known before, in the way of names and faces. But that was about all.

I couldn’t figure the significance of the fact that we were all done up in cards this way. I had a terribly strong desire to own a pack of them, however. If I picked up Flora’s. though, I knew she’d spot in a hurry that they were missing, and I’d be in trouble. Therefore, I put them back in the little drawer behind the big drawer and locked them in again. Then, God, how I racked my brains! But too little avail.

Until I recalled a magical word.

Amber.

I had been greatly upset by the word on the previous evening. I had been sufficiently upset so that I had avoided thinking of it since then. But now I courted it. Now I rolled it around my mind and examined all the associations that sprang up when it struck.

The word was charged with a mighty longing and a massive nostalgia. It had, wrapped up inside it, a sense of forsaken beauty, grand achievement. and a feeling of power that was terrible and almost ultimate. Somehow, the word belonged in my vocabulary. Somehow, I was part of it and it was a part of me. It was a place name, I knew then. It was the name of a place I once had known. There came no pictures, though, only emotions.

How long I sat so, I do not know. Time had somehow divorced itself from my reveries.

I realized then, from the center of my thoughts, that there had come a gentle rapping upon the door. Then the handle slowly turned and the maid, whose name was Carmella, entered and asked me if I was interested in lunch.

It seemed like a good idea, so I followed her back to the kitchen and ate half a chicken and drank a quart of milk.

I took a pot of coffee back to the library with me, avoiding the dogs as I went. I was into the second cup when the telephone rang.

I longed to pick it up, but I figured there must be extensions all over the house and Carmella would probably get it from somewhere.

I was wrong. It kept ringing.

Finally, I couldn’t resist it any longer.

“Hello,” I said, “this is the Flaumel residence.”

“May I speak with Mrs. Flaumel please?”

It was a man’s voice, rapid and slightly nervous. He sounded out of breath and his words were masked and surrounded by the faint ringing and the ghost voices that indicate long distance.

“I’m sorry.” I told him. “She’s not here right now. May I take a message or have her call you back?”

“Who am I talking to?” he demanded.

I hesitated, then, “Corwin’s the name,” I told him.

“My God!” he said, and a long silence followed.

I was beginning to think he’d hung up. I said, “Hello?” again, just as he started talking.

“Is she still alive?” he asked.

“Of course she’s still alive. Who the hell am I talking to?”

“Don’t you recognize the voice, Corwin? This is Random. Listen. I’m in California and I’m in trouble. I was calling to ask Flora for sanctuary. Are you with her?”

“Temporarily,” I said.

“I see. Will you give me your protection, Corwin?” Pause, then, “Please?”

“As much as I can,” I said, “but I can’t commit Flora to anything without consulting her.”

“Will you protect me against her?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re good enough for me, man. I’m going to try to make it to New York now. I’ll be coming by a rather circuitous route, so I don’t know how long it will take me. If I can avoid the wrong shadows, I’ll he seeing you whenever. Wish me luck.”

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