“True,” I replied, massaging a certain stiffness out of my left shoulder and groping in my hip pocket after a comb.

“And he had been ailing for so long that I had grown used to it,” I said. “It was almost as if he'd come to terms with the weakness.”

Suhuy nodded. Then, “Are you going to transform?” he asked.

“It's been a rough day,” I told him. “I'd as soon save my energy, unless there's some demand of protocol.”

“None at all, just now,” he replied. “Have you eaten?”

“Not recently.”

“Come then,” he said. “Let's find you some nourishment.”

He turned and walked toward the far wall. I followed him. There were no doors in the room, and he had to know all the local Shadow stress points, the Courts being opposite to Amber in this regard. While it's awfully hard to pass through Shadow in Amber, the shadows are like frayed curtains in the Courts-often, you can look right through into another reality without even trying. And, sometimes, something in the other reality may be looking at you. Care must be taken, too, not to step through into a place where you will find yourself in the middle of the air, underwater, or in the path of a raging torrent. The Courts were never big on tourism.

Fortunately, the stuff of Shadow is so docile at this end of reality that it can be easily manipulated by a shadowmaster-who can stitch together their fabrics to create a way. Shadowmasters are technicians of locally potent skill, whose ability derives from the Logrus, though they need not be initiates. Very few are, although all initiates are automatically members of the Shadowmaster Guild. They're like plumbers or electricians about the Courts, and their skills vary as much as their counterparts on the Shadow Earth-a combination of aptitude and experience. While I'm a guild member I'd much rather follow someone who knows the ways than feel them out for myself. I suppose I should say more about this matter. Maybe I will sometime.

When we reached the wall, of course, it wasn't there. It just sort of grew misty and faded away; and we passed through the space where it had been-or, rather, a dif ferent analogous space-and we were passing down a green stairway. Well, it wasn't exactly a stairway. It was a series of unconnected green discs, descending in spiral fashion, proper riser and tread distance apart, sort of floating there in the night air. They passed about the exterior of the castle, finally stopping before a blank wall. Before we reached that wall we passed through several moments of bright daylight, a brief flurry of blue snow, and the apse of something like a cathedral without an altar, skeletons occupying pews at either hand. When we finally came to the wall we passed through it, emerging in a large kitchen. Suhuy led me to the larder and indicated I should help myself. I found some cold meat and bread and made myself a sandwich, washing it down with tepid beer. He nibbled at a piece of bread himself and sipped at a flagon of the same brew. A bird appeared overhead in full flight, cawing raucously, vanishing again before it had passed the entire length of the room.

“When are the services?” I asked.

“Redsky next, almost a whole turning off,” he replied. “So you've a chance to sleep and collect yourself before then-perhaps.”

“What do you mean, `perhaps'?”

“As one of the three, you're under black watch. That's why I summoned you here, to one of my places of solitude.” He turned and walked through the wall. I followed him, still bearing my flagon, and we seated ourselves beside a still, green pool beneath a rocky overhang, umber sky above. His castle contained places from all over Chaos and Shadow, stitched together into a crazy-quilt pattern of ways within ways. “And since you wear the spikard you've added resources for safety,” he observed.

He reached out and touched the many-spoked wheel of my ring. A faint tingling followed in my finger, hand, and arm.

“Uncle, you were often given to cryptic utterances when you were my teacher,” I said. “But I've graduated now, and I guess that gives me the right to say I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”

He chuckled and sipped his beer.

“On reflection, it always became clear,” he said.

“Reflection...” I said, and I looked into the pool. Images swam amid the black ribbons beneath its surface-Swayvill lying in state, yellow and black robes muffling his shrunken form, my mother, my father, demonic forms, all passing and fading, Jurt, myself, Jasra and Julia, Random and Fiona, Mandor and Dworkin, Bill Roth and many faces I did not know...

I shook my head.

“Reflection does riot clarify,” I said.

“It is not the function of an instant,” he replied.

So I returned my attention to the chaos of faces and forms. Jurt returned and remained for a long time. He was dressing himself, in very good taste, and he appeared to be relatively intact. When he finally faded there returned one of the half familiar faces I had seen earlier. I knew he was a noble of the Courts, and I searched my memory. Of course. It had been a long while, but now I recognized him. It was Tmer, of the House of Jesby, eldest son of the late Prince Rolovians, and now lord himself of the Ways of Jesby-spade beard, heavy brow, sturdily built, not unhandsome, in a rugged sort of way; by all report a brave and possibly even sensitive fellow.

Then there was Prince TubbIe of the Ways of Chanicut, phasing back and forth between human and swirling demonic forms. Placid, heavy, subtle; centuries old and very shrewd; he wore a fringed beard, had wide, innocent, pale eyes, was master of many games.

I waited, and Tmer followed Jurt followed Tubble into vanishment amid the coiling ribbons. I waited longer, and nothing new occurred.

“End of reflection,” I announced at last. “But I still don't know what it means.”

“What did you see?”

“My brother Jurt,” I replied, “and Prince Tmer of Jesby. And Tubble of Chanicut, among other attractions.”

“Most appropriate,” he responded. “Entirely appropriate.”

“And so?”

“Like you, Tmer and Tubble are both under black watch. I understand Tmer is at Jesby, though I believe Jurt has gone to earth somewhere other than Dalgarry.”

“Jurt's come back?”

He nodded.

“He could be at my mother's Fortress Gantu,” I mused. “Or, Sawall did have a second stead-the Ways of Anch, at the very Rim.”

Suhuy shrugged.

“I do not know,” he said.

“But why the black watch-for any of us?”

“You went off into Shadow to a fine university,” he said, “and you have dwelled in the Court of Amber, which I would deem highly educational. Therefore, I bid you take thought. Surely, a mind so well honed—”

“I realize the black watch means we face some sort of danger... “

“Of course.”

“...But its nature eludes me. Unless... “

“Yes.”

“It has to do with Swayvill's death. So it must involve some sort of political settlement. But I've been away. I don't know what matters are hot just now.”

He showed me row upon row of worn but still nasty fangs.

“Try the matter of the succession,” he said.

“Okay. Say the Ways of Sawall are supporting one possible successor, Jesby the other, Chanicut the other. Say we're at each other's throats over the matter. Say I've come back into the middle of a vendetta. So whoever's giving the orders right now has declared us under watch as a matter of keeping things from getting messy. I appreciate it.”

“Close,” he said, “but it's already gone further than that.”

I shook my head.

“I give up,” I said.

From somewhere there came up a wailing sound. “Think about it,” he replied, “while I welcome a guest.”

He rose and stepped into the pool, vanishing immediately.

I finished my beer.