Roger Zelazny - The Black Throne

For Annie called, and it seemed she must be just a bend away. But I turned a corner, I climbed, I turned again, and the brightness flickered—almost pulsing—and she still seemed just as near, but no nearer.

Again, I climbed.

"Annie!" I called out, at length. "Where are you?"

"Where I always am," she answered, her voice suddenly higher-pitched. "On the beach."

"I can't find you. I seem to be lost," I shouted.

Abruptly, the flames parted. For an instant, I was taken back to a long gone day. Nor did it seem unnatural that Annie as a small girl stood beside a pile of brushwood, a gleaming seashell in her hand, a line of troubled ocean visible beyond her right shoulder.

"Annie! What's happened?" I cried.

"It's Eddie," she said, "Edgar Allan... ."

"Poe," I said.

She frowned, then nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "Poe, too. And he's denying us. He is drawing away, and it hurts."

"I don't understand. What can I do?" I asked.

"Talk to him. Tell him we love him. Tell him we're real. Tell him—"

The flames closed again, hiding her from my sight.

"Annie!"

"I can't stay!" I heard her call out, weakly.

"How can I help you?" I cried.

I became aware of a pulsing in my hands, and then the ground began to sway and my shoulders were suddenly straining and the flames were flapping audibly.

"Annie!"

What I took to be the beginning of a response proved only the cry of a bird. But it might well have been a thunderclap for the drastic change it seemed to signal. Immediately, the flames became the flapping canvas of a sail, the throbbing thing in my hands a line leading to the nearby mast. My feet rested upon another line, the rolling of the vessel transmitted to me through it. My height above the deck made me uneasy and I gripped my line more tightly. I have always been bothered somewhat by high places, and a windy—possibly pre-storm—morning at this altitude troubled me considerably.

A clucking sound caused me to look to my left. Emerson swung toward me, anchored himself to the mast, extended his hand and took hold of my arm. Slowly, feeling the beast's strength and coming to trust his intention, I relaxed my grip upon the line and permitted myself to be led toward the mast and down it, finally achieving the surer footing of a wooden crosspiece, where I stood hugging the mast till the worst of the vertigo departed. It had been infinitely more frightening to find myself suddenly in that position than had I made the effort to climb carefully to it. I grunted my thanks to Emerson, who must have realized that I felt safer now, for he released me and moved off. Then I climbed down slowly, troubled by the turns my childhood visions seamed to be taking.

"Mr. Perry," came a familiar voice. "I am impressed by your conscientiousness as head of this expedition. Had I known you wished to inspect the vessel I'd have been only too happy to provide you with a guide—or have conducted your tour myself. I'd no idea a landsman might possess such diligence in nautical matters."

I clasped my hands behind my back to conceal their shaking, and I nodded slowly.

"Why, thank you, Captain Guy," I replied "It was hardly a tour of inspection—more a matter of satisfying my curiosity as to how things were secured above."

He smiled.

"Most prudent. I trust you were satisfied by what you saw?"

"Indeed. I was impressed."

"I was about to send you an invitation, sir, to take your luncheon with me in my quarters at eight bells, so we can get to know each other a bit better and discuss this journey."

"Sounds like a good idea," I agreed. "Thank you. I'll see you then."

I returned to my own cabin for a little cowering and reflection. I sprawled on the big bunk, hands behind my head, gazing abstractedly at the containers of colored liquid on the lab table at the end of the room, musing upon the fact that Valdemar lay just beyond that wall. I thought over the events of the past several days, also, when the tempo of my life had commenced its acceleration. Questions I had been too sleepy, startled, distracted, or confused to articulate began tumbling through my mind. What was the power of the enemy, and where did it reside, for them to have been able to move Poe, Annie, and myself from world to world the way they had? What was Ligeia's strength? And of main importance, to me, why were my experiences with Poe and Annie—which had been casual things spread out over a lifetime—suddenly changing in character, frequency, and intensity? Never having understood their mechanism from the beginning, I was at a loss to understand these new developments. This most recent one, which had left me hanging in the rigging, puzzled me most of all. We had always been of an age in our encounters. Could Time itself be subject to arcane manipulation? And if so, why was it suddenly happening to us?

Somewhere before the point at which it all seemed clear to me I fell asleep. When I woke I could not remember the answers. But it was the ship's bell that roused me. In that I was not certain how many times it had rung, I left my quarters to find out.

I encountered Dirk Peters near the companionway, smoking a cigar. Every now and then Emerson, who lurked in a shadow, would reach out, borrow the cheroot, puff upon it, and return it.

"Indeed, Mister Eddie, 'twas eight bells you heard," he said, "and if you're lookin' for the captain's cabin, it's over that way." He gestured with the smoldering weed, which Emerson promptly borrowed.

"That first door?" I asked.

"The second," he responded. "I hear as you come out of the riggin' without getting' into it proper."

"I guess that's half the story," I said, refusing to ask him whether he could hold converse with Emerson.

At this, he chuckled.

"Must run," I said. "Thanks."

A hairy hand waved a cigar at me.

Captain Guy welcomed me, saluting my health with a minuscule glass of wine. The kitchen mate who served us departed as soon as everything had been laid out and dispensed before us.

"Mister Perry," he said, refilling the glasses, "I have decided to give you a tour of the vessel immediately following our meal."

"Why, thank you, sir. You don't have to—"

"My pleasure entirely, I assure you. Mr. Ellison tells me that you will have no problem providing us with travel information as we go along."

"Yes," I agreed, as he began eating. When he glanced up at me suddenly, I added, "Hopefully, there will be no complications on that front."

"And you have made the acquaintance of the mysterious Monsieur Valdemar?"

"I have."

"The man is some sort of master calculator, is he not?"

"I am not certain," I answered. "The matter did not come up during our conversation."

"Oh," the captain observed. "I simply assumed he worked with abstruse formulas to keep track of the other vessel's progress."

I shook my head.

"No," I said, beginning to eat.

"Mister Ellison conferred with him for some time before his departure," he observed. "He informed me afterwards that our destination lay in southern Europe. He said further that you would provide us with more detailed information as it was required."

"I shall," I replied.

"Is there anything Monsieur Valdemar requires of us?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"He has had no meals sent to his room."

"Special diet, I believe. Ligeia takes care of his needs."

"I see. Let me know if they want anything, will you?"

"Of course."

"A very interesting man. He must have a strange story to tell."

"I'm sure he does, though I'm yet to hear it."

We ate for a time in silence, then he asked, "Any idea at what point you might have further sailing instructions for me?"

"When will you need them?"

"Not for some time yet."

"Let me know when you do, and if I haven't already gotten them, I'll get them."