Authors: Roger Zelazny
“You’ve lost me.
What information?”
“My Ghostwheel.
He wanted to know what it was.”
“And he was disapointed to learn that it was just an exercise in exotic design, for other reasons than building a company?”
Bill caught my smile as I nodded.
“There’s more?” he said.
Then: “Wait.
Don’t tell me.
You were lying, too.
It’s something real.”
“Yes.”
“I probably shouldn’t even ask - unless you think it’s material and want to tell me.
If it’s something big and very important it could be gotten out of me, you know.
I have a low tolerance for pain.
Think about it.”
I did.
I sat there for some time, musing.
“I suppose it could be,” I said finally, “in a sort of peripheral way I’m sure you’re not referring to.
But I don’t see how it could be-as you say-material.
Not to Luke or to anyone else-because nobody even knows what it is but me.
No.
I can’t see how it enters the equation beyond Luke’s curiosity about it.
So i think I’ll follow your suggestion and just keep it off the record.”
“Fine with me,” he said.
“Then there is the matter of Luke’s disappearance-“
Within the house, a telephone rang.
“Excuse me,” Bill said.
He rose and went into the kitchen.
After a few moments, I heard him call, “Merle, it’s for you!”
I got up and went inside.
I gave him a questioning look as soon as I entered and he shrugged and shook his head.
I thought fast and recalled the location of two other phones in the house.
I pointed at him, pointed in the direction of his study and pantomimed the motion of picking up a receiver and holding it to one’s ear.
He smiled slightly and nodded.
I took the receiver and waited a while, till I heard the click, only beginning to speak then, hoping the caller would think I’ d picked up an extension to answer.
“Hello,” I said.
“Merle Corey?”
“That’s me.”
“I need some information I think you might have.”
It was a masculine voice, sort of familiar but not quite.
“Who am I talking to?” I asked.
“I’m sorry.
I can’t tell you that.”
“Then that will probably be my answer to your question, too.”
“Will you at least let me ask?”
“Go ahead,” I said.
“Okay.
You and Luke Raynard are friends.” He paused.
“You could say that,” I said, to fill the space.
“You have heard him speak of places called Amber and the Courts of Chaos.”
Again, a statement rather than a question.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Do you know anything of these places yourself?”
Finally, a question.
“Maybe,” I said again.
“Please.
This is serious.
I need something more than a ‘maybe.”’
“Sorry.
‘Maybe’ is all you’re going to get, unless you tell me who you are and why you want to know.”
“I can be of great service to you if you will be honest with me.”
I bit back a reply just in time and felt my pulse begin to race.
That last statement had been spoken in Thari.
I maintained my silence.
Then: “Well, that didn’t work, and I still don’t really know.”
“What? What don’t you know?” I said.
“Whether he’s from one of those places or whether you.”
“To be as blunt as possible, what’s it to you?” I asked him.
“Because one of you may be in great danger.”
“The one who is from such a place or the one who is not?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that.
I can’t afford another mistake.”
“What do you mean? What was your last one about?”
“You won’t tell me-either for purposes of self preservation, or to help a friend?”
“I might,” I said, “if I knew that that were really the case.
But for all I know, it might be you that’s the danger.”
“I assure you I am only trying to help the right person.”
“Words, words, words,” I said.
“Supposing we were both from such places?”
“Oh, my!” he said.
“No.
That couldn’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Never mind.
What do I have to do to persuade you?”
“Mm.
Wait a minute.
Let me think,” I answered.
“All right.
How about this? I’ll meet you someplace.
You name the place.
I get a good look at you and we trade information, one piece at a time, till all the cards are on the table.”
There was a pause.
Then: “That’s the only way you’ll do it?”
“Yes.”
“Let me think about it.
I’ll be back in touch soon.”
“One thing-“
“What?”
“If it is me, am I in danger right now?”
“I think so.
Yes, you probably are.
Good-bye.” He hung up.
I managed to sigh and swear at the same time as I recradled the phone.
People who knew about us seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.
Bill came into the kitchen, a very puzzled expression on his face.
“How’d whoever-the-hell-he-is even know you’re here?” were his first words.
“That was my question,” I said.
“Think up another.”
“I will.
If he wants to set something up, are you really going?”
“You bet.
I suggested it because I want to meet this guy.”
“As you pointed out, he may be the danger.”
“That’s okay by me.
He’s going to be in a lot of danger, too.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I’m not so happy with it myself.
But it’s the best offer I’ve had so far.”
“Well, it’s your decision.
It’s too bad there isn’t some way of locating him beforehand.”
“That passed through my mind, too.”
“Listen, why not push him a little?”
“How?”
“He sounded a little nervous, and I don’t think he liked your suggestion any more than I do.
Let’s not be here when he calls back.
Don’t let him think you’re just sitting around waiting for the phone to ring.
Make him wait a little.
Go conjure up some fresh clothes and we’ll drive over to the country club for a couple of hours.
It’ll beat raiding the icebox.”
“Good idea,” I said.
“This was supposed to be a vacation, one time.
That’s probably the closest I’ll get.
Sounds fine.” I renewed my wardrobe out of Shadow, trimmed my beard, showered, and dressed.
We drove to the club then and had a leisurely meal on the terrace.
It was a good evening for it, balmy and star-filled, running with moonlight like milk.
By mutual consent we refrained from discussing my problems any further.
Bill seemed to know almost everyone there, so it seemed a friendly place to me.
It was the most.
relaxed evening I’d spent in a long while.
Afterward we stopped for drinks in the club bar, which I gathered had been one of my dad’s favorite watering spots, strains of dance music drifting through from the room next door.
“Yeah, it was a good idea,” I said.
“Thanks.”
“De nada, “ he said.
“I had a lot of good times here with your old man.
You haven’t, by any chance-?”
“No, no news of him.”
“Sorry.”
“I’ll let you know when he turns up.”
“Sure.
Sorry.”
The drive back was uneventful, and no one followed us.
We got in a little after midnight, said good night, and I went straight to my room.
I shrugged out of my new jacket and hung it in the closet, kicked off my new shoes and left them there, too.
As I walked back into the room, I noticed the white rectangle on the pillow of my bed.
I crossed to it in two big steps and snatched it up.
SORRY YOU WERE NOT IN WHEN I CALLED BACK, It said, in block capitals.
BUT I SAW YOU AT THE CLUB AND CAN CERTAINLY UNDERSTAND YOUR WANTING A NIGHT OUT.
IT GAVE ME AN IDEA.
LET’S MEET IN THE BAR THERE, TOMORROW NIGHT, AT TEN.
I’D FEEL BETTER WTTH LOTS OF PEOPLE AROUND BUT NONE OF THEM LISTENING.
Damn.
My first impulse was to go and tell Bill.
My first thought following the impulse, though, was that there was nothing he could do except lose some sleep over it, a thing he probably needed a lot more than I did.
So I folded the note and stuck it in my shirt pocket, then hung up the shirt.
Not even a nightmare to liven my slumber.
I slept deeply and well, knowing Frakir would rouse me in the event of danger.
In fact, I overslept, and it felt good.
The morning was sunny and birds were singing.
I made my way downstairs to the kitchen after splashing and combing myself into shape and raiding Shadow for fresh slacks and a shirt.
There was a note on the kitchen table.
I was tired of fording notes, but this one was from Bill, saying he’d had to run into town to his office for a while and I should go ahead and help myself to anything that looked good for breakfast.
He’d be back a little later.
I checked out the refrigerator and came up with some English muffins, a piece of cantaloupe and a glass of orange juice.
Some coffee I’d started first thing was ready shortly after I finished, and I took a cup with me out onto the porch.
As I sat there; I began to think that maybe I ought to leave a note of my own and move on.
My mysterious correspondent-conceivably S-had phoned here once and broken in once.
How S had known I was here was immaterial.
It was a friend’s house, and though I did not mind sharing some of my problems with friends, I did not like the idea of exposing them to danger.
But then, it was daylight now and the meeting was set for this evening.
Not that much longer till some sort of resolution was achieved.
Almost silly to depart at this point.
In fact, it was probably better that I hang around till then.
I could keep an eye on things, protect Bill if anything came up today
Suddenly, I had a vision of someone forcing Bill to write that note at gunpoint, then whisking him away as a hostage to pressure me into answering questions.
I hurried back to the kitchen and phoned his office.
Horace Crayper, his secretary, answered on the second ring.
“Hi, this is Merle Corey,” I said.
“Is Mr.
Roth in?”
“Yes,” he replied, “but he’s with a client right now.
Could I have him call you back?”
“No, it’s not that important,” I said, “and I’ll be seeing him later.
Don’t bother him.
Thanks.” I poured myself another cup of coffee and returned to the porch.
This sort of thing was bad for the nerves.
I decided that if everything wasn’t squared away this evening I would leave.
A figure rounded the corner of the house.
“Hi, MerIe.”
It was George Hansen.
Frakir gave me the tiniest of pulses, as if beginning a warning and then reconsidering it.
Ambiguous.
Unusual.
“Hi, George.
How’s it going?”
“Pretty well.
Is Mr.
Roth in?”
“Afraid not.
He had to go into town for a while.
I imagine he’ll be back around lunchtime or a little after.”
“Oh.
A few days ago he’d asked me to stop by when I was free, about some work he wanted done.”
He came nearer, put his foot on the step.
I shook my head.