“Okay. How do you read the reactions to this?”

“You're screwed, Corwin. Everyone is going to think you did it, no matter what you say.”

I nodded at the corpse. Random shook his head.

“That could easily be some poor clod you dug up out of Shadow to take the blame.”

“I know,” I said. “Funny, coming back to Amber as I did, I arrived at an ideal time for positioning myself advantageously.”

“A perfect time,” Random agreed. “You didn't even have to kill Eric to get what you wanted. That was a stroke of luck.”

“Yes. Still, it is no secret that that is what I came to do, and it is only a matter of time before my troops-foreign, specially armed, and quartered here-are going to start provoking some very bad feelings. Only the presence of an external threat has saved me from that so far. And then there are the things I am suspected of having done before my return-like murdering Benedict's retainers. Now this...”

“Yes,” Random said, “I saw it coming as soon as you told me. When you and Bleys attacked years ago, Gerard deployed part of the fleet so that it was out of your way. Caine, on the other hand, engaged you with his vessels and scuttled you. Now that he is gone, I imagine you will put Gerard in command of the entire fleet.”

“Who else? He is the only man for the job.”

“Nevertheless...”

“Nevertheless. Admitted. If I were going to kill anyone person to strengthen my position, Caine would be the logical choice. That's the real, damning truth.”

“How do you propose handling this?”

“Tell everyone what happened and try to discover who was behind it. Have you any better suggestions?”

“I've been trying to think how I could alibi you. But it does not look promising.”

I shook my head.

“You are too close to me. No matter how good we made it sound, it would probably have the opposite effect.”

“Have you considered admitting to it?”

“Yes. But self-defense is out. With a cut throat, it had to be a matter of surprise. And I have no stomach for starting off with the alternative: hoke up some evidence that he was up to something rotten and say I did it for the good of Amber. I flatly refuse to take on fake guilt under those terms. I'd wind up with a bad odor that way, too.”

“But with a real tough reputation.”

“It's the wrong kind of tough for the sort of show I want to run. No, that's out.”

“That covers everything, then-just about.”

“What do you mean 'just about'?”

He studied his left thumbnail through slitted eyes.

“Well, it occurs to me that if there is anyone else you are anxious to get out of the picture, now is the time to consider that a frame can often be shifted.”

I thought about it and finished my cigarette.

“Not bad,” I said, “but I can't spare any more brothers at the moment. Not even Julian. Anyhow, he's the least frameable.”

“It need not be family,” he said. “Plenty of noble Amberites around with possible motives. Take Sir Reginald—”

“Forget it. Random The reframing is out, too.”

“Okay. I've exhausted my little gray cells, then.”

“Not the ones in charge of memory, I hope.”

“All right.”

He sighed. He stretched. He got to his feet, stepped over the room's other occupant, and made his way to the window. Drawing back the drapes, he stared out for a time.

“All right,” he repeated. “There's a lot to tell...”

Then he remembered out loud.

While sex heads a great number of lists, we all have other things we like to do in between. With me, Corwin, it's drumming, being up in the air, and gambling-in no special order. Well, maybe soaring has a little edge-in gliders, balloons, and certain variations-but mood has a lot to do with that too, you know. I mean, ask me another time and I might say one of the others. Depends on what you want most at the moment.

Anyway, I was here in Amber some years ago. Not doing much of anything. Just visiting and being a nuisance. Dad was still around, and when I noticed that he was getting into one of his grumpy moods, I decided it was time to take a walk. A long one. I had often noticed that his fondness for me tended to increase as an inverse function of my proximity. He gave me a fancy riding crop for a going-away present-to hasten the process of affection, I suppose. Still, it was a very nice crop-silver-chased, beautifully tooled-and I made good use of it. I had decided to go looking for an assemblage of all my simple pleasures in one small nook of Shadow.

It was a long ride-I will not bore you with the details-and it was pretty far from Amber, as such things go. This time, I was not looking for a place where I would be especially important. That can get either boring or difficult fairly quickly, depending on how responsible you want to be. I wanted to be an irresponsible nonentity and just enjoy myself.

Texorami was a wide open port city, with sultry days and long nights, lots of good music, gambling around the clock, duels every morning and in-between mayhem for those who couldn't wait. And the air currents were fabulous. I had a little red sail plane I used to go sky surfing in, every couple of days. It was the good life. I played drums till all hours in a basement spot up the river where the walls sweated almost as much as the customers and the smoke used to wash around the lights like streams of milk. When I was done playing I'd go find some action, women, or cards, usually. And that was it for the rest of the night. Damn Eric, anywayl That reminds me again... He once accused me of cheating at cards, did you know that? And that's about the only thing I wouldn't cheat at. I take my card playing seriously. I'm good and I'm also lucky. Eric was neither. The trouble with him was that he was good at so many things he wouldn't admit even to himself that there were some things other people could do better. If you kept beating him at anything you had to be cheating. He started a nasty argument over it one night-could have gotten serious-but Gerard and Caine broke it up. Give Caine that. He took my part that time. Poor guy... Hell of a way to go, you know? His throat... Well, anyhow, there I was in Texorami, making music and women, winning at cards and jockeying around the sky. Palm trees and night-blooming wallflowers. Lots of good port smells-spices, coffee, tar, salt-you know. Gentlefolk, merchants, and peons-the same straights as in most other places. Sailors and assorted travelers passing in and out. Guys like me living around the edges of things. I spent a little over two years in Texorami, happy. Really. Not much contact with the others. Sort of postcard like hellos via the Trumps every now and then, and that was about it. Amber was pretty much off my mind. All this changed one night when I was sitting there with a full house and the guy across from me was trying to make up his mind whether or not I was bluffing.

The Jack of Diamonds began talking to me.

Yes, that is how it started. I was in a weird frame of mind anyway. I had just finished a couple very hot sets and was still kind of high. Also, I was physically strung out from a long day's gliding and not much sleep the night before. I decided later that it must be our mental quirk associated with the Trumps that made me see it that way when someone was trying to reach me and I had cards in my hand-any cards. Ordinarily, of course, we get the message empty-handed, unless we are doing the calling. It could have been that my subconscious-which was kind of footloose at the time-just seized on the available props out of habit Later, though, I had cause to wonder. Really, I just don't know.

The Jack said, “Random.” Then its face blurred and it said, “Help me.” I began getting a feel of the personality by then, but it was weak. The whole thing was very weak. Then the face rearranged itself and I saw that I was right. It was Brand. He looked like hell, and he seemed to be chained or tied to something. “Help me,” he said again. “I'm here,” I said. “What's the matter?” “...prisoner,” he said, and something else that I couldn't make out. “Where?” I asked.