Zelazny, Roger - Jack of Shadows.pdf - Roger Zelazny - chomikbob7

Jack of Shadows

Cover

Jack of Shadows

Roger Zelazny

Jack of Shadows

Some there be that shadows kiss, Such have but a shadow's bliss.

THE MERCHANT OF VENICE

This text was scanned and put in order by Kathy Free, 2:5020/517.1

Converted to .lit by EvilRich

Foreword

PEOPLE SOMETIMES ASK me whether the title Jack of Shadows was intended to sound

like a description of a playing card used in some arcane game, as well as representing my

protagonist's name and a matter of geography. Answer: Yes. I've long been fascinated by odd

decks of cards, and I had an extensive collection of them at one time.

"Ha!" they usually respond on hearing this admission. "Then this business about the cards

and the reference to shadows ties this story in at some subterranean psychological level with

your Amber books, right?"

Well, no. The last time I was down in the catacombs I couldn't locate any connection. I

was simply attracted by the imagery. On the other hand, nobody ever asked me, "Why Jack?"

I could have answered that one: Jack Vance.

In this, my tenth book, I'd decided to try for something on the order of those rare and exot-

ic settings I admired so much in so many of Jack Vance's stories. It seemed only fair then,

once I'd worked things out, to find a title with "Jack" in it as a private bit of homage publicly

displayed. Now you all know.

I suppose the inferences concerning a relationship to Amber could have been

strengthened, though, by the fact that this book came out between the publication of Nine

Princes in Amber and The Guns of Avalon, the first two books in that series—proximity breed-

ing speculation and like that.

But while the setting may owe something to Jack Vance, the character doesn't. I took my

opening quotation from The Merchant of Venice only because it seemed so apt once I'd pried

it free of its context. The Shakespearean work to which I actually do owe a debt here came

along about eight years after Merchant. I refer to Macbeth. True, Birnam Wood does not

come against Jack, and the play contains no quote I wanted to uproot and employ here. But

Jack's character undergoes an interesting progression, which owes something to

Shakespeare's portrait of the bloody Scot. I don't care to say anything more about it, though,

because I feel that introductory pieces should not spoil story lines. Someone named J. 1. M.

Stewart almost ruined Vanity Fair for me that way years ago.

This was not one of my experimental books, such as Creatures of Light and Darkness,

Doorways in the Sand, Bridge of Ashes, Roadmarks or Eye of Cat. Those are the five wherein

I worked out lots of techniques I used in many of the others. This was a more workmanlike job

in that I knew exactly what I wanted to do and how to do it, with the protagonist—as usu-

al—indicating the direction. Of the five, only Creatures of Light and Darkness preceded Jack

of Shadows. Looking back upon jack in this light, I do feel that I might have gained a certain

facility there for the brief, impressionistic description of the exotic which could have carried

over into both Nine Princes and Jack. And maybe not. But if it owes it anything, that's it.

It is interesting to me, too, in looking at a story across the years this way, to see it in terms

of what came after as well as what preceded it. I do feel that the shadow of Jack fell upon the

protagonist of Today We Choose Faces. Also, there is something of Jack's sardonic attitude

as well as his caution in the later tales of Dilvish the Damned—another wrongfully punished

man whose character was twisted by the act.

I have also been asked several times whether the name that Jack assumes Day-

side—Jonathan Shade—owes anything to the character of that name in Nabokov's Pale Fire.

Sorry. While I do enjoy playing an occasional literary puzzle game, I wrote Jack of Shadows

before I came to PALE FIRE.

And yes, I did once do a short graphic prequel to this book ("Shadowjack") in collaboration

with artist Gray Morrow, in The Illustrated Roger Zelazny. And no, nothing in that story is es-

sential to the understanding or enjoyment of this one. It is a minor piece, and totally independ-

ent. So this is the story that Jack built—with a little help from me on the paperwork. Picture

him if you will as a Figure on a playing card. Make it a Tarot. Maybe the Broken Tower. . .

Chapter 1

IT HAPPENED WHEN Jack whose name is spoken in shadow went to Igles, in the Twilight

Lands, to visit the Hellgames. It was there that he was observed while considering the situ-

ation of the Hellflame.

The Hellflame was a slim urn of silvery fires, gracefully wrought and containing a fist-sized

ruby at the uppermost tips of its blazing fingers. These held it in an unbreakable grip, and the

gemstone glimmered coolly despite them.

Now, the Hellflame was on display for all to regard, but the fact that Jack was seen looking

at it was cause for much consternation. Newly arrived in Igles, he was first noticed while

passing amid lanterns, in line with the other on-lookers, who were moving through the open-

sided display pavilion. He was recognized by Smage and Quazer, who had left their places of

power to come to compete for the trophy. They immediately moved to report him to the

Games Master.

Smage shifted his weight from foot to foot and tugged at his mustache until the tears rose

in his squarish eyes and he began to blink. He stared up at his giant companion

Quazer—hair, eyes, flesh all of a uniform gray—rather than regard the colorful bulk of Benoni,

the Games Master, whose will was law in this place.

"What do you two want?" he inquired.

Smage continued to stare and blink until Quazer finally spoke in his flute-like fashion.

"We have information for you," he said.

"I hear you. Tell it," replied Benoni.

"We have recognized one whose presence here should be cause for some concern."

"Who?"

"We must move near to a light before I may tell you."

The Games Master twisted his head on his bulging neck, and his amber eyes flashed as

he glared first at the one, then at the other.

"If this is some sort of prank—" he began.

"It is not," said Quazer unflinchingly.

"Very well, then. Follow me." He sighed; and with a swirl of his orange and green cloak, he

turned and headed toward a brightly illuminated tent.

Inside, he faced them once again. "Is this bright enough for you?"

Quazer looked about. "Yes," he said. "He will not overhear us."

"Who are you talking about?" asked the Games Master.

"Do you know of one called Jack, who always hears his name if it is spoken in shadows?"

"Jack of Shadows? The thief?—Yes, I've heard stories."

"That is why we wished to speak with you in a brightly lit place. He is here. Smage and I

saw him only a few minutes ago. He was studying the Hellflame."

"Oh my!" The Games Master's eyes were wide and his mouth remained open after the ex-

clamation. "He'll steal it!" he said.

Smage stopped touching his mustache long enough to nod several times. ". . . And we're

here to try to win it," he blurted. "We can't if it is stolen."

"He must be stopped," said the Games Master. "What do you think I should do?"

"Your will is the law here," said Quazer.

"True. . . Perhaps I should confine him to some lock-up for the duration of the Games."

"In that case," said Quazer, "make certain that there are no shadows in the place where

he is captured or in the place where he is to be confined. He is said to be exceedingly difficult

to contain—especially in the presence of shadows."

"But there are shadows all over the place!'

"Yes. That is the main difficulty in keeping him prisoner."

"Then either brilliant lights or total darkness would seem to be the answer."

"But unless all the lights are set at perfect angles," said Quazer, "and inaccessible, he will

be able to create shadows with which to work. And in darkness, if he can strike but just the

smallest light, there will be shadows."

"What strength does he derive from shadows?"

"I know of no one who knows for certain."

"He is a darksider, then? Not human?"

"Some say twilight, but close to the dark— where there are always shadows."

"In that case, a trip to the Dung Pits of Glyve might be in order."

"Cruel," said Smage, and he chuckled.

"Come point him out to me," said the Games Master.

They departed from the tent. The sky was gray overhead, changing to silver in the east

and black in the west. Stars dotted the darkness above a row of stalagmitical mountains.

There were no clouds.

They moved along the torchlit way that crossed the compound, heading toward the pavil-

ion of the Hellflame. There was a flicker of lightning in the west, near, it seemed, to that place

on the boundary where the shrines of the helpless gods stood.

As they neared the open side of the pavilion, Quazer touched Benoni's arm and nodded.

The Games Master followed the direction of his gesture with his eyes to where a tall, thin man

stood leaning against a tent pole. His hair was black, his complexion swarthy, his features

somewhat aquiline. He wore gray garments, and a black cloak was draped over his right

shoulder. He smoked some darkside weed rolled into a tube, and its smoke was blue in the

torchlight.

For a moment Benoni studied him, sensing that feeling men know when confronting a

creature born, not of woman but of an unknown darkstroke, in that place men shunned.

He swallowed once, then said, "All right. You may go now."

"We would like to help—" Quazer began.

"You may go now!"

He watched them depart and then muttered, "Trust one of them to betray another."

He went to collect his guard force and several dozen bright lanterns.

Jack accompanied the arresting party without offering resistance or argument. Surrounded

by a party of armed men and caught at the center of a circle of light, he nodded slowly and

followed their instructions, not saying a word al] the while.

They conducted him to the Games Master's brightly lighted tent. He was pushed before

the table at which Benoni sat. The guards moved to surround him once more with their lan-

terns and shadow-destroying mirrors.

"Your name is Jack," said the Games Master.

"I don't deny it."

Benoni stared into the man's dark eyes. They did not waver. The man did not blink them at

all.

". . . And you are sometimes called Jack of Shadows." There was silence. "Well?"

"A man may be called many things," Jack replied.

Benoni looked away. "Bring them in," he said to one of the guards.

The guard departed, and moments later he returned with Smage and Quazer. Jack flicked

a glance in their direction but remained expressionless.

"Do you know this man?" Benoni inquired.

"Yes," they said in unison.

"But you are wrong in calling him a man," Quazer continued, "for he is a darksider."

"Name him."

He is called Jack of Shadows."

The Games Master smiled.

"It is true that a man may be called many things," he said, "but in your case there seems

to be considerable agreement. —I am Benoni, Master of the Hellgames, and you are Jack of

Shadows, the thief. I'd wager you are here to steal the Hellflame." There was silence again. ".

. . You need not deny it or affirm it," he continued. "Your presence is ample indication of your

intentions."

"I might have come to compete in the games," Jack ventured.

Zelazny, Roger - Jack of Shadows.pdf

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