“Quite well, thank you,” he replied. “Come, let me feed you.”

He took my arm and steered me toward the wall of fire. It fell away as we drew near and our footsteps sounded in a place of momentary darkness, succeeded almost immediately by a small lane, sunlight filtered through arching branches overhead, violets blooming at either hand. The lane took us to a flagged patio, a green and white gazebo at its farther end. We mounted a few stairs to a well-set table within, frosted pitchers of juice and baskets of warm rolls near at hand. He gestured and I seated myself. At his gesture a carafe of coffee appeared beside my setting.

“I see you recall my morning predeliction,” I said, “from the Shadow Earth. Thank you.”

He smiled faintly as he nodded, seating himself across from me. Birdsongs I could not identify sounded from the trees. A gentle breeze caused leaves to rustle.

“What are you up to these days?” I asked him as I poured a cup of coffee and broke a roll.

“Observing the scene, mainly,” he replied.

“Political scene?”

“As always. Though my recent experience in Amber has led me to regard it as part of an even larger picture.”

I nodded.

“And your investigations with Fiona?”

“Those, too,” he answered. “These are shaping up into very unusual times.”

“I've noticed.”

“It seems almost as if the Pattern-Logrus conflict were making itself manifest in mundane affairs, as well as on the cosmic scale.”

“I feel that way, too. But then I'm prejudiced. I got caught up in the cosmic part early, and without a scorecard. I've been run all over the place and manipulated every which way recently-to the point where all of my affairs seemed part of their bigger picture. I don't like it a bit, and if I had some way to make them back off I'd use it.”

“Hm,” he said. “And what if your whole life were a study in manipulation?”

“I wouldn't feel good about it,” I said. “I guess I'd feel just the way I do now, only perhaps more intensely.”

He gestured and an amazing omelet appeared before me, followed, moments later, by a side dish of fried potatoes, mixed with what appeared to be green chilies and onions.

“All of this is hypothetical,” I said as I began eating, “isn't it?”

There followed a long pause as he took his first mouthful, then, “I think not,” he said.

“I think the Powers have been moving madly for a long while now,” he went on, “and we're finally nearing endgame.”

“What makes you privy to these matters?”

“It began with a careful consideration of events,” he said. “Then followed the formulation and testing of hypotheses.”

“Spare me a lecture on the use of the scientific method in theology and human politics,” I said.

“You asked.”

“True. Go ahead.”

“Do you not feel it somewhat odd that Swayvill expired just when he did, when so many things are coming to fruition simultaneously, after having hung on for so long?”

“He had to go sometime,” I said, “and all the recent stresses probably proved too much.”

“Timing,” Mandor said. “Strategic placement. Timing.”

“For what?”

“To place you on the throne of Chaos, of course,” he replied.

IV

Sometimes you hear an unlikely thing and that's all it is. Other times, you hear something improbable and it strikes an echo. There is an immediate feeling of having known it, or known something very like it, all along, and just not having bothered to pick it up and examine it. By rights, I should have choked at Mandor's pronouncement, then snorted something such as “Preposterous!” Yet, I'd a peculiar feeling about this businesswhether his conclusion was right or wrong-as if there were something more than ionjecture involved, as if there just might be some overall plan moving me toward the circle of power in the Courts.

I took a long, slow drink of coffee. Then, “Really?” I said.

I felt myself smiling as he sought my eyes, studied my face.

“Are you consciously party to the effort?”

I raised my coffee cup again. I had been about to say,

“No, of course not. This is the first I've heard of the notion.” Then I recalled my father's telling me how he had duped Aunt Flora into giving him vital information his amnesia had washed away. It was not the cleverness with which he had done it that had impressed me so much as the fact that his mistrust of relatives transcended consciousness, existed as a pure existential reflex. Not having been through all the family rivalries Corwin had, I lacked responses of such intensity. And Mandor and I had always gotten along particularly well, even though he was a few centuries older and had very different tastes in some areas. But, suddenly, discussing such a high-stakes matter as we were, that small voice Corwin referred to as his worse-if-wiser self suggested, “Why not? You could use the practice, kid,” and as I lowered the cup again I decided to try it out, just to see how it felt, for a few minutes.

“I don't know whether we both have the same thing in mind,” I said. “Why don't you tell me about the middle game-or perhaps even the opening-for what you see rushing to conclusion now.”

“Both the Pattern and the Logrus are sentient,” he said. “We've both seen evidence of that. Whether they are manifestations of the Unicorn and the Serpent or the other way around makes no real difference. Either way, we are talking about a pair of greater-than-human intelligences with vast powers at their disposal. Whichever came first is also one of those useless theological points. We need only concern ourselves with the present situation, as it affects us.”

I nodded.

“A fair assessment,” I agreed.

“The forces they represent have been opposed but fairly evenly matched for ages,” he went on, “and thus a kind of balance has been maintained. They have constantly sought small victories over each other, each attempting to add to its own domain at the expense of the other. It appears to be a zero-sum game. Both Oberon and Swayvill were their agents for a long while, with Dworkin and Suhuy as their intermediaries with the powers themselves.”

“So?” I said as he took a sip of juice.

“I believe that Dworkin had touched the Pattern too closely,” he continued, “and so became subject to ma-, nipulation. He was sufficiently sophisticated, however, that he realized this and resisted. This resulted in his madness, with a reciprocal damaging effect on the Pattem itself because of their close connection. This, in turn, caused the Pattern to leave him alone, rather than risk further trauma. The damage was done, though, and the Logrus gained a small edge. This allowed it to act in the realm of order when Prince Brand began his experiments to increase his personal abilities. I believe he laid himself open to control and became an unwitting agent of the Logrus.”

“That's a lot of supposition,” I said.

“Consider,” he responded, “that his aims seemingly became those of a madman. They make much more sense when seen as the goal of something wanting to destroy all order, to restore the universe to chaos.”

“Continue,” I said.

“At some point, the Pattern discovered-or perhaps possessed all along-the ability to create `ghosts,' shortlived simulacra of those who had negotiated it. · Fascinating concept, that. I was very interested to learn of it. It provided a major mechanism, supporting my thesis of the Pattern's and possibly the Logrus's, direct action in the promotion of physical events. Might they have figuted in the setting up of your father as the Pattern's champion against Brand? I wonder.”

“I don't follow,” I said. “Setting him up, you say?”

“I've a feeling he was really the Pattern's choice as the next King of Amber, easy to promote, too, as it seemed to coincide with his own wishes. I've wondered about his sudden recovery in that Shadow Earth clinic, and particularly about the circumstances surrounding the accident that put him there, when even with differing time streams it seemed possible that Brand might have had to be in two places at the same time-imprisoned and looking down the sights of a rifle. Of course, Brand is no longer available to clarify the matter.”