That was the day I had rescued her from Mask/Julia and taken her back to Amber to be a coatrack in our citadel for a while. The tunnel we entered was totally dark, but she conjured a darting dot, bright in its will-o’-the-wispiness, which preceded us through the gloom and the damp. The air was stale and the walls were cobwebby. The floor was of bare earth, save for an irregular patch of flagstones down its middle; there were occasional fetid puddles at either hand; and small dark creatures flashed past us — both on the ground and in the air — every now and then.

Actually, I did not need the light. Probably none of us did. I held to the Sign of the Logrus, which provided a magical way of seeing, granting a silvery, directionless illumination. I maintained it because it would also give me a warning against magical effects — which might include booby trap spells about the premises or, for that matter, a bit of treachery on Jasra’s part. One effect of this seeing was to note that the Sign also hovered before Mandor, who, to my knowledge, has never been much into trust either. Something cloudy and vaguely Pattern-like also occupied a similar position vis-a-vis Jasra, completing the circle of wariness. And the light danced on before us.

We emerged from behind a stack of barrels into what appeared to be a very well-stocked wine cellar. Mandor paused after six paces and carefully removed a dusty bottle from the rack to our left. He drew a corner of his cloak across its label.

“Oh, my!” he observed.

“What is it?” Jasra inquired.

“If this is still good, I can build an unforgettable meal around it.”

“Really? Better bring several to be sure then,” she said. “These go back before my time — perhaps before Sharu’s time even.”

“Merlin, you bring these two,” he said, passing me a pair. “Carefully, now.”

He studied the rest of the rack before selecting two more, which he carried himself.