“I don’t believe it.”
“I just wanted you to be aware that it’s being kicked around.”
“Nobody’d better kick it in my direction.”
He sigh. “Don’t you start. Please. They’re upset. Don’t look for trouble.”
I took a drink of wine. “Yes, you’re right,” I said.
“Now I have to listen to your story. Go ahead, complicate my life some more.”
“Okay. At least I’m fresh on it,” I told him.
So I ran through it again. It took a long while, and it was getting dark by the time I finished. He had interrupted me only for occasional clarifications and had not indulged in the exploration of contingencies the way Bill had when he’d heard it.
When I had finished, he rose and lit a few oil lamps. I could almost hear him thinking.
Finally he said, “No, you’ve got me on Luke. He doesn’t ring any bells at all. The lady with the sting bothers me a bit, though. It seems I might have heard something about people like that, but I can’t recall the circumstances. It’ll come to me. I want to know more about this Ghostwheel project of yours, though. Something about it troubles me.”
“Sure,” I said. “But there is something else I am reminded to tell you first.”
“What’s that?”
“I covered everything for you pretty much the way I did when I was talking to Bill. In fact, my just having been through it recently made me almost use it like a rehearsal. But there was something I didn’t mention to Bill because it didn’t seem important at the time. I might even have forgotten it entirely in the light of everything else, till this business about the sniper came up-and then you reminded me that Corwin once developed a substitute for gunpowder that will work here.”
“Everybody remembered it, believe me.”
“I forgot about two rounds of ammunition I have in my pocket that came from the ruins of that warehouse where Melman had his studio.”
“So-“
“They don’t contain gunpowder. There’s some kind of pink stuff in them instead-and it won’t even burn. At least back on that shadow Earth . . .”
I dug one out.
“Looks like a 30-30,” he said.
“I guess so.”
Random rose and drew upon a braided cord that hung beside one of the bookshelves.
By the time he’d returned to his seat there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” he called.
A liveried servant entered, a young blond fellow.
“That was quick,” Random said.
The man looked puzzled.
“Your Majesty, I do not understand . . .”
“What’s to understand? I rang. You came.”
“Sire, I was not on duty in the quarters. I was sent to tell you that dinner is ready to be served, awaiting your pleasure.”
“Oh. Tell them I’ll be along shortly. As soon as I’ve spoken with the person I’ve called.”
“Very good, Sire.”
The man departed backward with a quick bow.
“I thought that was too good to be true;” Random muttered.
A little later another guy appeared, older and less elegantly garbed.
“Rolf, would you run down to the armory and talk to whoever’s on duty?” Random said. “Ask him to go through that collection of rifles we have from the time Corwin came to Kolvir with them, the day Eric died. See if he can dig up a 30-30 for me, in good shape. Have him clean it and send it up. We’re going down to dinner now. You can just leave the weapon in the corner over there.”
“30-30, Sire?”
“Right.”
Rolf departed, Random rose and stretched. He pocketed the round I’d given him and gestured toward the door. “Let’s go eat.”
“Good idea.”
There were eight of us at dinner: Random, Gerard, Flora, Bill; Martin-who had been called back a little earlier in the day, Julian-who had just arrived from Arden, Fionawho had also just come in, from some distant locale, and myself. Benedict was due in the morning, and Llewella later this evening.
I sat to Random’s left, Martin to his right. I hadn’t seen Martin in a long while and was curious what he’d been about. But tie atmosphere was not conducive to conversation. As soon as anyone spoke everyone else evinced unusually acute attention-far beyond the dictates of simple politeness. I found it rather unnerving, and I guess Random did, too, because he sent for Droppa MaPantz, the court jester, to fill the heavy silences.