Roger Zelazny - The Salesman's Tale

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Roger Zelazny. Salesman Tale

Amberzine #6 february, 1994

Glad I'd planned on leaving Merlin in the Crystal Cave

for a long while. Glad he didn't stay the entire time.

As I interrupted our trumped conversation by kicking

over my glass of iced tea and shouting "Shit! I

spilled it-" I turned over the Trump of Doom in my

good hand.

Junkyard Forest. Nice sketch, that. Though it didn't

matter what it depicted, which is why I'd had Merlin

fan the cards face down and had drawn one at random.

That was for show, to confuse the Pattern. All of them

led to places within spitting distance of the Crystal

Cave- which had been the real reason for their

existence in the first place. Their only purpose had

been to draw Merlin into the Cave's orbit, at which

point a blue crystal warning system was to have

alerted me. The plan was for me to get there in a

hurry and find a way to make him a prisoner.

Unfortunately, I hadn't gotten the message when he'd

drawn the Sphinx to escape from mom. Her neurotoxins

had canceled a necessary trigger signal from his

nervous system--just one of the many ways she's messed

up my plans without half-trying. Didn't matter,

though, in the long run. I got Merlin there, anyway.

Only... everything changed after that.

"Luke! You fool!" The Pattern's message blasted

through me like the closing number at a rock concert.

But the Junkyard Forest had already come clear, and I

was trumping out, before the Pattern realized that tea

rather than my blood was flowing upon it.

I rose to my feet as the Pattern faded, and I moved

forward amid the rusty sawblade bushes, the twisted

girder trees, the gaily colored beds of broken

bottles. I began to run, blood spilling from the

slashed palm of my left hand. I didn't even take the

time to bind it. Once the Pattern recovered from its

shock and discovered itself undamaged, it was going to

begin scanning Shadow for me, for the others. They'd

be safe within the ambit of the other Pattern, and

that left me. The walls of the Crystal Cave had the

effect of blocking every paraphysical phenomenon I'd

been able to test them for, and I'd a hunch they'd

screen me from the Pattern's scrutiny as well. It was

just a matter of my getting there before it

shadow-shuffled this far.

I increased my pace. I'd stayed in shape. I could run.

Past rusting cars and swirls of bedsprings, broken

tiles, shattered crates... Down alleys of ashes, up

trails of bottlecaps and pulltabs... Alert. Waiting.

Waiting for the world to spin and waver, to hear the

voice of the Pattern announce, "Gotcha!"

I rounded a bend and caught a glimpse of blue in the

distance. The Junkyard Forest--result of an ancient

Shadow storm--ended abruptly as I entered upon a

downward slope, to be succeeded within paces by a wood

of the more normal variety.

Here, I heard a few birdcalls as I passed, and the

humming of insects, above the steady striking of my

feet upon the earth. The sky was overcast, and I could

tell nothing of temperature or wind because of my

activity. The shimmering mound of blue grew larger. I

maintained my pace. By now, the others should be safe,

if they'd made it at all. Hell! By now they should be

well out of harm's way. Just a little while in this

time-stream was a much longer time back on the main

drag. They could be sitting around eating and joking

by now. Even napping. I bit back a curse to save

breath. That also meant that the Pattern could have

been searching for even longer than it seemed...

Larger, even larger now, the blue ridge. I decided to

see how well my finishing spurt had held up, and I

went into high gear and held it there.

The earth and air were vibrated by what seemed a

rumble of thunder. It could be a reaction of the irate

design on having finally located me. I could also just

be a rumble of thunder.

I kept pumping, and moments later, it seemed, I was

braking so as not to smash up against that crystal

base. No lightning bolts yet, and I scrambled for hand

and toeholds--never having tried climbing this face of

it before--as my lungs worked like a bellows and a

light rain began to fall, mingling with a layer of my

perspiration. I left bloody smears on the stone, but

that should soon wash away.

Achieving the summit, I rushed to its opening on all

fours and entered feet first, hanging, then dropping

into the dark interior despite the presence of a

ladder. Haste was all. Not until I stood within that

shadowy blueness, still puffing, did I feel at all

safe. As soon as I caught my breath I allowed myself

to laugh. I had done it. I had escaped the Pattern.

I walked about the chamber beating upon my thighs and

slapping the walls. A victory such as this tasted

good, and I would not let it pass unmarked. I hustled

back to the larder, located a bottle of wine, opened

it, and took a drink. Then I repaired to a side cavern

which still contained a sleeping bag, seated myself

upon it, and continued to chuckle as I reenacted in my

mind our experience there at the primal Pattern. My

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Roger Zelazny - The Salesman's Tale

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