“I know,” he said. “Martin confirmed all our suspicions on the stabbing-and it was Brand. But what is this about the Jewel?”
“He beat me to the place where I had left it on the shadow Earth. He has to walk the Pattern with it and project himself through it, though, to attune it to his use. I just stopped him from doing that on the primal Pattern in the real Amber. He escaped, however. I was just over the hill with Gerard, sending a squad of guards through to Fiona in that place, to prevent his returning and trying again. Our own Pattern and that in Rebma are also under guard because of him.”
“Why does he want so badly to attune it? So he can raise a few storms? Hell, he could take a walk in Shadow and make all the weather he wants.”
“A person attuned to the Jewel could use it to erase the Pattern.”
“Oh? What happens then?”
“The world as we know it comes to an end.”
“Oh,” Random said again. Then, “How the hell do you know?”
“It is a long story and I haven’t the time, but I had it from Dworkin and I believe that much of what he said.”
“He’s still around?”
“Later,” I said.
“Okay. But Brand would have to be mad to do something like that.”
I nodded.
“I believe he thinks he could then cast a new Pattern, redesign the universe with himself as chief executive.”
“Could this be done?”
“Theoretically, perhaps. But even Dworkin has certain doubts that the feat could be repeated effectively now. The combination of factors was unique. . . . Yes, I believe Brand is somewhat mad. Looking back over the years, recalling his personality changes, his cycles of moods, it seems there was something of a schizoid pattern there. I do not know whether the deal he made with the enemy pushed him over the edge or not. It does not really matter. I wish he were back in his tower. I wish Gerard were a worse physician.”
“Do you know who stabbed him?”
“Fiona. You can get the story from her, though.”
He leaned against my epitaph and shook his head.
“Brand,” he said. “Damn him. Any one of us might have killed him on a number of occasions-in the old days. Just when he would get you mad enough, though, he would change. After a while, you would get to thinking he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Too bad he didn’t push one of us just a little harder at the wrong time . . .”
“Then I take it he is now fair game?” said Martin.
I looked at him. The muscles in his jaws had tightened and his eyes narrowed. For a moment, all of our faces fled across his, like a riffling of the family cards. All of our egoism, hatred, envy, pride, and abuse seemed to flow by in that instant-and he had not even set foot in Amber yet. Something snapped inside me and I reached out and seized him by the shoulders.
“You have good reason to hate him,” I said, “and the answer to your question is ‘yes.’ The hunting season is open. I see no way to deal with him other than to destroy him. I hated him myself for so long as he remained an abstraction. But-now-it is different. Yes, he must be killed. But do not let that hatred be your baptism into our company. There has been too much of it among us. I look at your face-I don’t know. . . . I am sorry, Martin. Too much is going on right now. You are young. I have seen more things. Some of them bother me-differently. That’s all.”
I released my grip and stepped back.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said.
“I was afraid of Amber for a long while,” he began, “and I guess that I still am. Ever since he attacked me, I have been wondering whether Brand might catch up with me again. I have been looking over my shoulder for years. I have been afraid of all of you, I suppose. I knew most of you as pictures on cards-with bad reputations attached. I told Random-Dad-that I did not want to meet you all at once, and he suggested that I see you first. Neither of us realized at the time that you would be particularly interested in certain things that I know. After I mentioned them though. Dad said I had to see you as soon as possible. He has been telling me all about what has been going on and-you see, I know something about it.”