I had a choice of cutting off into Shadow or seeking an even faster path of retreat. If a sorcerer were to tag me as I started shadow-slipping I could be followed. So I dug out my Trumps and shuffled forth Random's. I rounded the next fuming of the way then, and I would have had to halt there anyway, I saw, because it narrowed to a width impossible for me to pass. I raised the card and reached with my mind.

There followed contact, almost immediately. But even as the images solidified I felt a probe. I was certain that it was my blue-masked nemesis seeking me once more.

But Random came clear, seated before a drum set, sticks in hand. He set aside the drumsticks and rose.

“It's about time,” he said, and he extended his hand.

Even as I reached I felt something rushing toward me. As our fingers touched and I stepped forward, they burst about me like a giant wave.

I passed through into the music room in Amber. Random had opened his mouth to speak again when the cascade of flowers fell upon us.

Brushing violets from his shirtfront, he regarded me.

“I'd rather you said it with words,” he remarked.

4

Portrait of the artists, purposes crossed, temperature falling,..

Sunny afternoon, and walking through small park following light lunch, us, prolonged silences and monosyllabic responses to conversational sallies indicating all's not well at other end of communication's taut line. Upon bench, seated then, facing flower beds, souls catch up with bodies, words with thoughts...

“Okay, Merle. What's the score?” she asks.

“I don't know what game you're talking about, Julia.”

“Don't get cute. All I want's a straight answer.”

“What's the question?”

“That place you took me, from the beach, that night... Where was it?”

“It was-sort of a dream.”

“Bullshit!” She turns sideways to face me fully, and I must meet those flashing eyes without my face giving anything away. “I've been back there, several times, looking for the way we took, There is no cave. There's nothing! What happened to it? What's going on?”

“Maybe the tide came in and—”

“Merle! What kind of an idiot do you take me for? That walk we took isn't on the maps. Nobody around here's ever heard of anything like those places. It was geographically impossible. The times of day and the seasons kept shifting. The only explanation is supernatural or paranormal-whatever you want to call it, What happened? You owe me an answer and you know it. What happened? Where were you?”

I look away, past my feet, past the flowers. “I-can't say.”

“Why not?”

“I—” What could I say? It was not only that telling her of Shadow would disturb, perhaps destroy, her view of reality. At the heart of my problem lay the realization that it would also require telling her how I knew this, which would mean telling her who I am, where I am from, what I am-and I was afraid to give her this knowledge. I told myself that it would end our relationship as surely as telling her nothing would; and if it must end either way, I would rather we parted without her possessing this knowledge. Later, much later, I was to see this for the rationalization it was; my real reason for denying her the answers she desired was that I was not ready to trust her, or anyone, so close to me as I really am. Had I known her longer, better – another year, say – I might have answered her. I don't know. We never used the word “love,” though it must have run through her mind on occasion, as it did through mine. It was, I suppose, that I didn't love her enough to trust her, and then it was too late. So, “I can't tell you;” were my words.

“You have some power that you will not share.”

“Call it that, then.”

“I would do whatever you say, promise whatever you want promised.”

“There is a reason, Julia.”

She is on her feet, arms akimbo. “And you won't even share that.”

I shake my head.

“It must be a lonely world you inhabit, magician, if even those who love you are barred from it.”

At that moment it seems she is simply trying her last trick for getting an answer from me. I screw my resolve yet tighter. “I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to. It is your silence that tells me, If you know the road to Hell too, why not head that way? Good-bye!”

“Julia. Don't...”

She chooses not to hear me. Still life with flowers...

Awakening, Night. Autumn wind beyond my window. Dreams. Blood of life without the body..., swirling..., I swung my feet out of bed and sat rubbing my eyes, my temples. It had been sunny and afternoon when I'd finished telling Random my story, and he'd sent me to get some shuteye afterward. I was suffering from shadow lag and felt completely turned around at the moment, though I was not certain exactly what the hour might be.

I stretched, got up, repaired myself and donned fresh clothing. I knew that I would not be able to get back to sleep; also, I was feeling hungry. I took a warm cloak with me as I departed my quarters. I felt like going out rather than raiding the larder. I was in the mood for some walking, and I hadn' been outside the palace and into town in years, I guessed. I made my way downstairs, then cut through a few chambers and a big hall, connecting up at the rear with a corridor I could have followed all the way from the stair if I'd cared to, but then I'd have missed a couple of tapestries I'd wanted to say hello to: an idyllic sylvan scene, with a couple making out following a picnic lunch; and a hunting scene of dogs and men pursuing a magnificent stag, which looks as if it might yet have a chance of getting away, if it will dare a stupendous leap that lies ahead...

I passed through and made my way up the corridor to a postern, where a bored-looking guard named Jordy suddenly strove to seem attentive when he heard me coming. I stopped to pass the time with him and learned that he didn't get off duty till midnight, which was almost two hours away.

“I'm heading down into town,” I said. “Where's a good place to eat this time of night?”

“What've you got a taste for?”

“Seafood,” I decided.

“Well, Fiddler's Green – about two thirds of the way down the Main Concourse – is very good for seafood. It's a fancy place...”

I shook my head. “I don't want a fancy place,” I said.

“The Net's still supposed to be good-down near the comer of the Smiths and Ironmongers Street. It's not real fancy.”

“But you wouldn't go there yourself?”

“Used to,” he replied. “But a number of the nobles and big merchants discovered it recently. I'd feel kind of uncomfortable there these days. It's gotten sort of clubby.”

“Hell! I don't want conversation or atmosphere. I just want some nice fresh fish. Where would you go for the best?”

“Well, it's a long walk. But if you go all the way down to the docks, at the back of the cove, it's a little to the west... But maybe you shouldn't. It's kind of late, and that isn't the best neighborhood after dark.”

“Is that by any chance Death Alley?”

“They do sometimes call it that, sir, as bodies are occasionally found there of a morning. Maybe you'd better go to the Net, seeing as you're alone.”

“Gerard took me through that area once, during the day. I think I could find my way around it, all right. What's the name of the place?”

“Uh, Bloody Bill's.”

“Thanks. I'll say hi to Bill for you.”

He shook his head. “Can't. It was renamed after the manner of his demise. His cousin Andy runs it now.”

“Oh. What was it called before?”

“Bloody Sam's,” he said.

Well, what the hell. I bade him a good night and set out walking. I took the path to the short stairway down the slope, which led to the walkway through a garden and over to a side gate, where another guard let me out. It was a cool night with the breezed smells of autumn burning down the world about me. I drew it into my lungs and sighed it out again as I headed for the Main Concourse, the distant, almost-forgotten, slow clopping sounds of hoofs on cobbles coming to me like something out of dream or memory. The night was moonless but filled with stars, and the concourse below Banked by globes of phosphorescent liquid set atop high poles, long-tailed mountain moths darting about them.