Roger Zelazny - The Black Throne

Then I noted the glow upon the wall, near the apparatus table. Rising, I approached, halting when I realized it to be only the small, metal-framed mirror which hung there. The angle must be such that it was catching that intense moonlight.

Only, it retained a uniform luminosity as I crossed the room to inspect the armoire. Satisfying myself that no menaces lurked among the garments, I approached the mirror for a closer look.

It was not the moonlight, however, but an effect produced by its reflecting a foggy daytime beach, against which my own reflection was but a pale ghost. A young Annie, as first I had known her, stood before one of our sand castles. What I had heard now seemed to have been a call from her, for the ghostly echo of a plaintive "Edgar!" hung suddenly in memory's dim vault.

"Annie!" I said. "I'm here!"

But she paid me no heed. I continued to peer, but I could think of no way to make her aware of my presence. Then, through the fog which lay heavy upon the beach to her right, I saw a figure approaching, the form of a man moving slowly, unsteadily, toward her.

As I watched, she turned in that direction. Even before be came into view, I knew that it would be Poe.

But I had not anticipated his appearance. He had on a thin, ill-fitting shirt and outsize trousers. He staggered and swayed, leaning heavily upon a Malacca cane. His face looked far older than my own now, muscles slack, eyes unfocussed, so that at first I thought him intoxicated. Closer scrutiny, however, changed my opinion. The man was obviously ill, his mien one of fever and delirium rather than inebriation. Annie rushed to meet him, but he moved as if unaware of her presence. When she caught hold of his hand he collapsed suddenly to his left knee, a wild sweep of his cane toppling several towers and piercing a wall of the castle. For an instant, he regarded their fall. Then his eyes met Annie's. She rushed to embrace him, but a moment later he was struggling to rise. Footing regained, he continued on his way, heading, it seemed, directly toward me. Annie followed, and though her mouth opened and closed several times, I could hear nothing that she uttered. He drew nearer, nearer. He seemed to be staring into my eyes. I felt his gaze... .

A moment later his body emerged from the wall, his face from the mirror, and he continued his advance without any sign of distraction from the transition. His gaze moved beyond me.

"Edgar!" I called. "Poe! Old friend! Hold up! Stop and rest. We want to help you."

He halted, he turned, he stared.

"Demon!" he said. "Doppelganger! Why have you haunted me down all these years?"

"I'm not a demon," I said. "I'm your friend—Perry. Annie and I want to help—"

He moaned, turned away and began walking again. I took a step toward him, just as he reached the patch of moonlight. It passed through him as if he were made of tinted glass. He raised his hand, staring at it, staring through it.

"Dead—and gone ghostly," he said. "I am already spirit."

"No," I responded. "I don't think so. I've an idea. Let me fetch Ligeia and—"

"Dead," he repeated, ignoring me. "But how can a spirit feel as I do? I am ill."

I took another step toward him.

"Let me try—" I began.

But he let his hand fall and went out like a snuffed candle.

"Poe!" I cried.

Nothing. I turned back to the mirror and it was dark now.

"Poe... ."

In the morning I wondered how much of the night's drama had been dream. Then I noticed my right hand still held the saber. I went and looked in the mirror and all I saw was my own curious expression. I wondered whether this was the mirror Ellison had used in some of his alchemical experiments; and, if so, whether such usage made it more readily available to whatever forces had been at play.

Later, during the day's regular session with Valdemar, I asked him how the bond 'twixt Annie, Poe, and I now stood.

"The same, the same as ever," he replied.

"Then I do not understand," I said. "Now the experiences are unlike any others I have known. Something must have happened."

"Yes," he answered. "But the bond remains the same. It is the character of the experience that has changed."

"So, what's causing it?"

"Annie is trapped in a cage of narcotics and mesmerism. They warp her perceptions, distort her sendings."

"How can I help her?"

"Too many probabilities come together in her presence," he said, "for me to see a single course of action as best."

"In effect, she is calling for help and there is no way we can help her?"

"Not at this time."

I turned away, grinding my teeth together, biting off an oath.

"Then there is nothing I should do?" I snapped.

"I cannot make a moral judgment on your behalf."

"Damn it! I just want to know how to help her!"

"Then you must protect yourself. You must be alive and unmaimed when the opportunity occurs to effect her deliverance."

"The opportunity will occur?"

"It is possible."

"Where and when will it be most possible?"

"I cannot say."

"Damn," I said. "Damn! Can't you tell me anything that might be useful to me?"

"Yes," he said, at length. "When things grow truly horrifying, not everything may be real."

"You've lost me," I said. "I do not understand."

"Even now," he responded, "Templeton and Griswold are seeking the means for turning Annie into a weapon."

"Annie? A weapon?"

"Yes. If she can move people from one world to another—she may be able—to do other things—to them—as well."

"Such as?"

"I do not know—yet. But whatever—may come of it—remember that you can tolerate—more poison or animal magnetism—than anyone—on this—planet... . Please! let me go."

I made the gesture myself, returning him to his doom.

After this pessimistic revelation I grew concerned as to Valdemar's continuing value in this venture. If Annie's entranced condition canceled his second sight when it came to herself, what did I need him for?

She was the only reason I'd agreed to head this odd odyssey.

I spoke of the situation with Peters during a card game that evening. We'd gotten in the habit of passing a little time in this fashion each night, during which I had confided my story as well as what ailed poor Valdemar.

As we talked, Emerson moved around the cabin considerably. At times, he came to rest somewhere behind my right shoulder. Sometimes, on those occasions, I would catch sight of peculiar gestures on his part. Generally, Peters would win that particular hand. Apart from the fact that each had rescued me from a dangerous situation, I could hardly accuse them of cheating because it felt stupid even to suggest that the ape possessed that sort of intelligence let alone the will to use it in such a fashion. Still, I took to placing my cards face down on the table before me whenever Emerson passed to the rear, and of discoursing at some length on my history or whatever was troubling me most. Peters did not seem unaware of my ploy and its precipitating action, but appeared vastly amused by the state of affairs and the unspoken assumptions each obtained, as well as genuinely interested in my story and my present dilemma.

That night when Emerson did his little dance at my back I put my cards aside and told Peter what Valdemar had said about Annie having become unpredictable.

"Ha!" he said. "So you take Kain-tuck windage."

"Beg pardon?"

"If the wind's blowin' from yer left, you aim a little to the left and let her carry yer shot over where you want her to go."

"Meaning?"

"Yer askin' the dead fella the wrong questions," he told me. "Ask 'bout other things likely t'involve the lady. Let the wind carry yer questions where you really want 'em."

Emerson wandered off about then, and when we ended our game—was it at about six bells?—we were fairly even in our winnings. On the other hand, I felt ahead for his advice, as the next morning I'd some fresh questions for Valdemar.