Roger Zelazny - The Black Throne

"What can you tell me about Valdemar?" I asked him.

He reached up as if to scratch his head, passing his fingers beneath his fantastical crop of black shag, raising it in the process and revealing it to be a peculiar wig. Observing my fascinated gaze he grinned a genuine grin and said, "Cut it from the skin of a bear who'd meant me ill." Then, "Valdemar," he observed. "Never laid eyes on 'im. He keeps in his stateroom, next to yours."

While there was something of the sailor in Peters' speech and manner, there seemed even more of the frontier. So, "You from the West?" I asked him.

He nodded.

"My pappy was a voyageur, a fur trader," he said, "and my mammy was an Upsaroka Injun out of the Black Hills. I've tracked and hunted all over the West. I've walked through Colter's Hell and been down in a canyon so big you could drop Charleston in and lose it." He spat over the railing, striking a luckless gull with terrible accuracy. "I've been down in Mexico and up where the northern lights hang like curtains at the end of the day." He scratched under his wig again. "All b'fore I was twelve," he added.

While I was not unfamiliar with tellers of tall tales, the man's ruggedly bizarre appearance and casual manner of speaking had me believing him entirely. A liar cares whether people believe what he said, for he wishes to impress them. I did not believe Peters gave a damn what anybody thought.

"About Valdemar ..." I suggested.

"Yes?"

"How long has he been aboard?"

"Don't rightly know, sir," he replied. "Longer than me. The men were told he's an invalid and likes to travel. But I kinda wonder how much enjoyment there can be, stayin' in one room like that."

"You think there's something involved we don't know about?" I asked.

He shrugged.

".Quien sabe?" Then, "The lady Ligeia, I s'pose," he finished.

"What do you mean?" I inquired.

"Somethin' strange about that lady, his nurse. 'Minds me of a Crow medicine chief I once met. Johnny- Walks-With-Two-Spirits. Spookiest fella I ever knew in his comins and goins. When he talked to you you could almost see the ghostlands at his back, an' hear funny sounds in the winds. She's like that, too.

Dunno any other way to put it."

I shook my head.

"I was kind of sleepy when I met her," I said. "Didn't really talk at any length. Has a kind of striking appearance, as I recall."

He grunted.

"She pretty much keeps to herself, too," he said. "I suggest stayin' on her good side. Got a feelin' she could be a tough enemy."

"I'm all for harmony," I said. "In fact, I should be paying Valdemar my respects soon."

"I imagine the captain will be wanting to talk soon, too."

I studied him as I nodded agreement. He did not seem aware that Valdemar was Ellison's resident expert on the trail we were to follow, rather than a simple tourist. So it seemed prudent to depart the subject, though sooner or later I would have to discover exactly what he did and did not know. I mused aloud,

"Wonder which I should do first?"

"Hell, you can see the cap'n anytime," he said.

"You've a point there," I agreed. "Who knows how long it might take to meet our mysterious traveler if things aren't well with him? Wonder when I should drop by?"

"You been hearin' the bells?" he asked.

"Yes. Don't know how they work, though."

"They mark the watch," he explained. "They ring 'em every half-hour, from one bell to eight. Then they start again. Eight-thirty was one bell, nine o'clock was two. Next'll be three bells, nine-thirty. Might want to go by at three or four bells. Give him a chance to wake up and freshen."

"Thanks," I said, extending my hand. He did not take it, but Emerson reached forward, seized it, squeezed it, and pumped it. Had he wished, I could tell, the beast could have crushed it like a handful of dry sticks.

Peters grinned a totally evil grin and nodded.

"Anything I can help you on, Eddie, just give me a holler."

Then he threw me another mock-salute, turned, and passed below. Emerson sprang upward, to vanish behind a sail.

Three or four bells. Okay. I went below, myself, to fetch another cup of coffee while I waited. By three bells I'd had enough. I returned to my stateroom, where I sought through my wardrobe once more. A

white shirt and cravat might well be in order, I decided. By four bells I'd also turned up a suitable vest and jacket as well as a tin of bootblack, and I'd allowed my Army habits to take over.

I walked past the intervening stateroom and knocked upon Ligeia's door. It opened immediately, and she met me with the faintest of smiles.

"I was expecting you," she said.

"I expect you were," I replied, finding a faint smile myself.

She had on a nondescript gray smock-like garment, and her fingers and wrists no longer wore the jewelry I half-remembered from the previous evening. Again, there was a peculiar feeling in her presence—as if lightning had just struck or was about to.

She neither invited me in nor joined me in the corridor. She simply studied me for several moments.

Finally, "You are even more unusual than I first thought," she observed.

"Really?" I said. "In what respects?"

"Geography," she replied.

"I don't understand."

"You don't fit anyplace I know of," she said, "and I thought I knew everyplace. So you must be from someplace else."

"It would seem to follow," I replied, deciding not to pursue matters further as I could see a strange exercise in tautology upon the horizon. "And I will be happy to leave things there," I added, "if you will, too."

She furrowed her brows, narrowed her eyes.

"Where?" she inquired.

"Someplace else," I said.

Then her face relaxed and she smiled fully.

"You Americans are always joking," she said then. "You are joking with me, yes?"

"Yes," I said.

She leaned against the door jamb. Was there a slight sway to her hips as she did so?

"Is it that you wish to see Monsieur Valdemar now ... ?" she asked, as if inviting me to complete the sentence on a different note.

"I would," I replied.

"Very well," she said, gesturing toward the door to my left, which came between hers and my own.

"Wait by that door."

With that, she withdrew into her stateroom and closed its door. I heard a bolt or bar fall or slide into place.

So I did as she'd ordered, walking to the next door and waiting there. Several minutes passed, and then abruptly, the door was opened for me. It stood perhaps a foot ajar, and I could detect nothing but blackness within.

"Come in," I heard her say.

"Uh— I can't see a thing," I said.

"That's all right," she replied. "Just do as I say."

Reflecting that Ellison had enjoined me to trust her, I took two steps on the oblique, sufficient to carry me past the door's edge into the dark interior. The door closed immediately, I heard the snick of a bolt, and I stood stock-still.

"Mightn't we have a little light?" I asked. "I don't know which way to move."

Immediately, I felt my hand taken.

"I will lead you," she said softly. "Monsieur Valdemar's condition is such that the light bothers him considerably."

"Even a small candle?" I asked.

"Even a small candle."

She led me back and to my right. After several paces, she squeezed my hand and placed her other hand upon my chest. "Halt," she said; then, when I did, "That's just fine. Stay there."

She released me, moved a few paces away. Shortly, I heard a creaking sound as of a door being opened, from somewhere before me. There followed a total silence, and after several minutes of it I cleared my throat. She ignored this, so I finally asked, "Is everything all right?"

"Of course," she said. "Be patient. It takes a little time to establish rapport."

I could not tell what she was doing, though I detected the rustling of movement. Then I felt the peculiar tingling sensation which I immediately recalled from the previous evening. And I became aware of a faint line of light to my right. Of course, the connecting door between her suite and this one—it was not entirely closed. Then came the murmurs. She was speaking very softly.