Introduction:
I was born in 1960 in Memorial Hospital on the southern edge of Cook County. My parents named me Victor. When I was nine, I watched my country put a man on the moon. I thought this was the greatest, most profound thing ever. Naturally, I wanted to be an astronaught. A couple of wrong turns later and I ended up as the next best thing, a policeman. In that capacity, I met a unique man. He had no memory so I named him Carlyle Meadows and he became my best friend. Because of him and the adventures that followed, I learned that Niel Armstrong's walk was like fetching milk from the corner shop when stacked next to all the things in heaven and earth.
Chapter 1, My Summer Vacation
The Joan of Arc look-alike knocked Carlyle out with a vicious right cross. "Welcome to the family", she had said. Guards took myself and Anaxamander through this castle to a room with food. Eating suddenly struck me as a practical course of action, since it had been awhile. Back at Carlyle's place, I'd had a beer on an empty stomach, but I didn't feel it yet. That had been only minutes ago. I ate, then slept in a rather comfortable chair while Anax played every role in a live performance of Wild Kingdom, eating everything he got his hands, claws or flippers on.
The guard who woke me carried a note from Carlyle. It instructed me to follow the guard back to Ander's apartment. I took in a little of the place as I was led through it, but frankly, it was somewhat bewildering. I went into Carlyle's room and looked around. The place was a complete disaster. Books were stacked irregularly on the floor, on furniture ... even the books on a row of bookcases managed to look disorganized. A quarter inch of dust had settled on most of it, but I could still make a few things out. There was a piano near a window. An unfinished wooden model of a sailing ship stood out. An umbrella holder bulged with different swords. There were persian-looking rugs strewn about, some rolled up, some just rumpled around. Carlyle's disheveiled tuxedo was wadded up and thrown on a covered couch. The place didn't smell as bad as it looked, but it was obvious it hadn't been lived in for a hundred years. And there there was Carlyle... Karl... Ander... whatever.
"Victor", he greeted me with a smile and open arms.
He had changed. He looked more confident. Not just confident in his physical ability, like before a game when he'd come up into the stands, but confident overall. He wore a solid black silk shirt with a slightly higher collar than fashion of Earth considered normal. An unbuttoned vest with red and yellow patterns made from small cords hung over his shoulders. It actually looked a bit small on him. He noticed me eyeing his outfit.
"I know, I know Katherine wouldn't let me out the door with this on...", he trailed off looking down. "You were right. She's ... bad. I don't understand what she wants, but- Thank you", he looked at me squarely in the eye. "I owe you a debt of gratitude for coming to save me, thank you" "Debt of gratitude?", I repeated, "Carlyle, where did you learn words like gratitude?"
He laughed, "Ok, I owe you big time. How's that?" He turned and walked toward a cupboard. "This used to be my place before I went to shadow earth, I suppose it seems kooky to you" He withdrew a crystal bottle of some Amber colored liquid and two snifters.
"Oh, no Carlyle, this isn't kooky. You've got a real charming pad here", I said motioning to the mess.
He returned carrying two drinks. "This ought to be really, really good by now." He handed one to me.
"Victor, you saved my ass back there. You showed me friendship, you gave me some of the greatest years of my life. This toast is for you buddy. My best friend."
He clinked my glass and drank. For that matter, I drank too and I think I will never again know such sweet nectar. It was potent, to be sure, but my tastebuds had no adverse reaction at all to the drink. All at once I tasted honey, cinnamon and oak, then it gave way to more of a flinty dark grape which lingered longer. The aftertaste was that of good blend whiskey, just the bite, not the pain. I just stood there and enjoyed the taste for what had to have been half a minute. Carlyle was still in front of me.
He pursed his lips forward and bobbed his head from side to side, "Not bad, eh?"
He put me up in his adjoining bedroom, while he straightened up his main parlour. I sat on his musty bed and considered the hangover the liquor was sure to give me. I also considered my wife and kids. They seemed so far away right now. It was true that this place seemed different; I couldn't quite put my finger on it though. I wasn't going to sleep with that drink rolling around in my head. I stood and looked out the window for a minute and changed my mind about sleeping. On the way back to the bed, I noticed something under the bed. A large thick book that resembled a scrapbook lay there. The page I turned to looked a bit like a story, but it was done up fancier with illustrations... 'illumination' I think it is called. I read it all the way through and laughed aloud.
The jist of it was that for the first time ever in Amber's history, the sailboat representing Amber's court didn't win the Narwhale Cup. Apparently, Ander begged and pleaded with someone of import named Caine to be placed in charge of designing the vessel about a year before the regatta. Caine reluctantly agreed and Ander began to draw and plan the boat's construction. Ander went into Shadow (I'm guessing that means leaving this place) only to return with a special timber for construction. During the shakedown cruises, which were conducted at sea, 'Gavia Arctica' performed spectacularly, exceeding the expectations of all. Caine himself pronounced the vessel 'yare' and another victory seemed emminent. The sailboats from a hundred other shadows came to Amber and the race began. Gavia Arctica out paced the other vessels handlily along the difficult coastal route and leapt out to an insurmountable lead only to have disaster strike. Not a hundred boatlengths after she came in contact with the fresh water from the Munoz River, she began to leak.
By the time the rest of the pack caught up, Gavia Arctica had sunk. Her captain, Caine, swam to the riverbank and stormed back to the castle, looking for Ander. The problem was traced to the timber that was selected. Long fibrous lengths within the wood got their shape from a high ion density. The wood because porous and even bent in an odd angle when the salt in the wood's cells were leached out by the fresh water. The entire disaster was placed on Ander's shoulders and there were even whisperings that his choice of timber was deliberate.
I chuckled again and lay down on the comfortable feather bed. I listened to the noises of rearrangement next door, then finally slept for long time.