Trumps of Doom (22 page)

“At least you don’t wear jockeys,” she remarked:

I withdrew my wallet and turned on the overhead light.
 
As I flipped the wallet open she leaned toward me, resting her hand on my arm.
 
Finally, I found a clear colored photo of Luke and me at the beach, with Julia and a girl named Gail whom Luke used to date.

I felt her grip tighten as she drew in a short, sharp breath.

“What is it?” I asked.
 
“You know him?”

She shook her head too quickly.

“No.
 
No,” she said.
 
“Never saw him before in my life.”

“You’re a lousy liar, Auntie.
 
Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“Come on! You nearly broke my arm when you saw him.”

“Don’t push me;” she said.

“It involves my life.”

“It involves more than your life, I think.”

“So?”

“Let it be, for now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.
 
I must insist.”

She turned more fully and both of her hands came up between us.
 
Smoke began to rise from her well-manicured fingertips.
 
Frakir throbbed upon my wrist, which meant she was sufficiently pissed off to lean on me if it came to that.

I made a warding gesture and decided to back off.

“Okay, let’s call it a day and head home.”

She flexed her fingers and the smoke fled.
 
Frakir became still.
 
She withdrew a packet of Trumps from her purse and shuffled out the one for Amber.

“But sooner or later I’m going to have to know,” I added.

“Later,” she said, as the vision of Amber grew before us.

One thing I always liked about Fiona: she didn’t believe in hiding her feelings.

I reached up and switched off the dome light as Amber came on all around us.

I guess that my thoughts at funerals are typical.
 
Like Bloom in Ulysses, I think the most mundane things about the deceased and the current goings-on.
 
The rest of the time my mind wanders.

On the wide strand of shoreline at the southern foot of Kolvir there is a small chapel dedicated to the Unicorn, one of several such throughout the realm at places where she had been sighted.
 
This one seemed most appropriate for Caine’s service in that-like Gerard-he had once expressed a desire to be laid to rest in one of the sea caves at the mountain’s foot, facing the waters he had sailed so long, so often.
 
One such had been prepared for him, and there would be a procession after the service to inter him there.
 
It was a windy, misty, sea-cool morning with only a few sails in sight, moving to or- from the port over half a league westward of us.

Technically, I suppose Random should have officiated, since his kingship automatically made him high priest, but aside from reading an opening and closing passage on the Passing of Princes from the Book of the Unicorn, he turned the service over to Gerard to perform in his stead, as Caine had gotten along with Gerard better than with anyone else in the family.
 
So Gerard’s booming voice filled the small stone building, reading long sections involving the sea and mutability.
 
It was said that Dworkin himself had penned the Book in his saner days, and that long passages had come direct from the Unicorn.
 
I don’t know.
 
I wasn’t there.
 
It is also said that we are descended of Dworkin and the Unicorn, which gives rise to some unusual mental images.
 
Origins of anything tend to fade off into myth, though.
 
Who knows? I wasn’t around then.

“.
 
.
 
.
 
And all things return to the sea,” Gerard was saying.
 
I looked about me.
 
Besides the family, there were perhaps forty or fifty people present, mostly nobility from the town, a few merchants with whom Caine had been friendly, representatives of realms in several adjacent shadows where Caine had spent time on both official and personal business, and of course Vinta Bayle.
 
Bill had expressed a desire to be present, and he stood to my left.
 
Martin was at my right.
 
Neither Fiona nor Bleys was present.
 
Bleys had pleaded his injury and excused himself from the service.
 
Fiona had simply vanished.
 
Random had been unable to locate her this morning.
 
Julian departed partway through the service, to check on the guard he had posted along the strand, someone having pointed out that a would-be assassin could rack up a high score with that many of us together in one small space.
 
Consequently, Julian’s foresters, with short sword, dagger, and longbow or lance, were spotted strategically all over the place-and every now and then we’d hear the baying of one of his hellhounds, to be answered almost immediately by several others, a mournful, unnerving thing, counter-pointing waves, wind, and reflections upon mortality.
 
Where had she gotten off to? I wondered.
 
Fiona? Fear of a trap? Or something to do with last night? And Benedict .
 
.
 
.
 
he had sent regrets and regards, mentioning sudden business that precluded his making it back in time.
 
Llewella simply hadn’t shown, and could not be reached by Trump.
 
Flora stood ahead and to the left of me, knowing she looked lovely in dark colors, too.
 
Perhaps I do her an injustice.
 
I don’t know.
 
But she seemed more fidgety than contemplative.

At the conclusion of the service we filed out, four seamen bearing Caine’s casket, and we formed up into a procession that would lead to the cave and his sarcophagus.
 
A number of Julian’s troops came up to pace us as an armed escort.

As we walked along, Bill nudged me and gestured upward with his head, toward Kolvir.
 
I looked in that direction and beheld a black-cloaked and cowled figure standing upon a ledge in the shadow of a rocky projection.
 
Bill leaned close so that I could hear him above the sound of the pipes and strings that were now playing.

“Is that one some part of the ceremony?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” I answered.

I broke out of line and moved forward.
 
In another minute or so we would pass directly beneath the figure.

I caught up with Random and put my hand on his shoulder.
 
When he looked back I pointed upward.
 
He halted and stared, squinting.

His right hand rose to his breast, where he wore the Jewel of Judgment, as on most state occasions.
 
Instantly, the winds rose.

“Halt!” Random called out.
 
“Stop the procession! Everyone stay where you are!”

The figure moved then, slightly, head turning as if to stare at Random.
 
In the sky, as if by trick photography, a cloud blew itself together, growing, above Kolvir.
 
A red, pulsing glow emerged from beneath Random’s hand.

Suddenly, the figure looked upward and a hand flashed beneath the cloak, emerging moments later to perform a quick casting movement.
 
A tiny black object hung in the air, then began its descent.

“Everybody down!” Gerard called out.

Random did not move as the others of us dropped.
 
He remained standing, watching, as lightning emerged from the cloud and played across the face of the cliff.

The thunder that followed coincided almost exactly with the explosion that occurred high overhead.
 
The distance had been too great.
 
The bomb had gone off before it reached us-though it would probably have scored had we continued as we were, to pass beneath the ledge and have it dropped directly upon us.
 
When the spots stopped dancing before my eyes, I regarded the cliff again.
 
The dark figure was gone.

“Did you get him?” I asked Random.

He shrugged as he lowered his hand.
 
The Jewel had ceased its pulsing.

“Everybody on your feet!” he called out.
 
“Let’s get on with this funeral!”

And we did.
 
There were no more incidents, and the business was concluded as planned.

My thoughts, and probably everyone else’s, were already playing family games as the box was being fitted into the vault.
 
Might the attacker have been one of our absent kin? And if so, which one? What.
 
motives might each of them possess for the act? Where were they now? And what were their alibis? Could there have been a coalition involved? Or cold it have been an outsider? If so, how was access obtained to the local supply of explosives? Or was this imported stuff ? Or had someone local come up with the proper formula? If it were an outsider, what was the motive and where was the person from? Had one of us imported an assassin? Why?

As we filed past the vault I did think fleetingly of Caine, but more as part of the puzzle picture than as an individual.
 
I had not known him all that well.
 
But then, several of the others had told me early on that he was not the easiest person to get to know.
 
He was tough and cynical and had a streak of cruelty in his nature.
 
He had made quite a few enemies over the years and seemed even to be proud of this fact.
 
He had always been decent enough with me, but then we’d never been at cross-purposes over anything.
 
So my feelings did not run as deep for him as they did for most of the others.
 
Julian was another of this cut, but more polished on the surface.
 
And no one could be certain what lay beneath that surface an any given day.
 
Caine .
 
.
 
.
 
I wish I’d gotten to know you better.
 
I am certain that I am diminished by your passing in ways that I do not even understand.

Departing, afterward, heading back to the palace for food and drink, I wondered, not for the first time, how my problems and everyone else’s were connected.
 
For I felt they were.
 
I don’t mind small coincidences, but I don’t trust big ones.

And Meg Devlin? Did she know something of this business, too? It seemed possible that she might.
 
Husband or no husband, I decided, we had a date.
 
Soon.

Later, in the big dining hall, amid the buzz of conversation and the rattle of cutlery and crockery, one vague possibility occurred to me and I resolved to pursue it immediately.
 
Excusing myself from the cold but attractive company of Vinta Bayle, third daughter of some minor nobility and apparently Caine’s last mistress, I made my way to the far end of the hall and the small knot of people surrounding Random.
 
I was standing there for several minutes, wondering how to break in, when he spotted me.
 
He excused himself from the others immediately,: advanced upon me, and caught hold of my sleeve.

“Merlin,” he said, “I don’t have time now, but I just wanted to let you know that I don’t consider our conversation concluded.
 
I want to get together with you again later this afternoon or this evening-as soon as I’m free.
 
So don’t go running off anywhere till we’ve talked, okay?”

I nodded.

“One quick question,” I said, as he began turning back toward the others.

“Shoot,” he said.

“Are there any Amberites currently in residence on the shadow Earth I just departed-agents of any sort?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t have any, and I don’t believe any of the others do just now.
 
I have a number of contacts there in different places, but they’re all natives-like Bill.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Something new come up?” he asked then.

I nodded again.

“Serious?”

“Possibly.”

“I wish I had the time to hear it, but it’ll just have to keep till we talk later.”

“I understand.”

“I’Il send for you,” he said, and he returned to his companions.

That shot down the only explanation I could think of for Meg Devlin.
 
It also foreclosed the possibility of my taking off to see her as soon as I could leave the gathering.

I consoled myself with another plate of food.
 
After a time, Flora entered the hall, studied all the knots of humanity, then made her way among them to settle beside me on the window seat.

“No way of talking to Random right now without an audience,” she said.

“You’re right,” I replied.
 
“May I get you something to eat or drink?”