Roger Zelazny - The Black Throne

"I understand," I said. "Thank you."

He cleared his throat.

"The reason I referred to it as 'possibly a clever ruse' is because the man is playing a somewhat dangerous game. I should not spend too much sympathy on him should he meet with misfortune at some point along the way."

"What do you mean?"

"I said that that letter rack contained other incriminating items... ."

"Yes?"

"One of them even pertained to this affair. It was a summary of intelligence reports from agents in various capitals, indicating that Von Kempelen has made the same offer to a great number of people in different places—such as Italy, England, Spain, Navarre, Aragon, the Netherlands, even the Vatican."

"Goodness! All of them to the government, or rulers?"

"All of those I mentioned, yes. Among private individuals, a Rufus Griswold is on the list—as is Seabright Ellison."

"Really? This was not mentioned to me."

He shrugged.

"You may have passed the offer in transit. Whatever, it seems obvious from this that Von Kempelen is either incredibly naive or near-diabolical in his cleverness. To attempt to create a bidding situation among individuals and states such as these is to court abduction and torture or blackmail. Some of the individuals involved are totally ruthless and willfully treacherous. These are not the sort of men one seeks to play off against one another."

"And one such resides in Toledo?"

He nodded.

"Archbishop Fernandez. He'll wind up a Cardinal or an excommunicant—or a pile of ashes—one of these days."

"I keep forgetting the Inquisition is more than a page in history down that way."

"Is the Archbishop for it or agin it?" Peters asked.

Dupin chuckled.

"He blows hot and cold on it," he explained. "Whichever'll help him to a red hat, I'd say. As the power shifts, so does he."

"You're sure Von Kempelen isn't really headed for Navarre or Aragon?" I asked. "You said they were involved."

Dupin shrugged and turned his hands palm up.

"I know only what he said—plus the fact that he sent a letter ahead to Toledo. Make of it what you would."

I sighed.

"Then it looks as if we're finished here," I said.

"In that case—" He withdrew an envelope from beneath his serviette. "—I would like to present my bill for extraordinary services at this time, since you are authorized to execute bank drafts and I may not see you again."

I accepted the envelope, opened it.

"There are two bills here," I observed.

"So there are," he responded.

I was just beginning to get a feeling for the monetary system, and I was taken totally aback by the extremely large amount of the second bill, for "unspecified services."

"This one," I said, shaking it, "to Madame Roget—I do not understand its significance."

"It is in the way of compensation to the lady," he said, "for the loss of her daughter. Marie Roget's body was found in the river, just a few hours ago."

"Oh," I said, and I asked for the use of his pen.

Returning to the Eidolon, I decided it was time to consult Monsieur Valdemar. Ligeia, however, had gone ashore to make a few purchases. So I obtained from Captain Guy a duplicate key to Valdemar's suite, deciding to employ my own cumbersome mesmeric abilities rather than wait. I invited Peters to join me, but he begged off, pleading primitive superstition. Actually, the reason I'd invited him was because my own feelings on the matter were still not that far removed from the same state and I'd wanted company. Helas! as they say in Paris.

I lit a few extra candles and raised the upper portion of the lid to the wine crate-cum-casket. Focussing my attention on the center of my body, I raised the energy and let it flow to my hands. The candles flickered. The armoire in the corner creaked. I made the first pass and a series of rapping sounds occurred within the wall to my left. I felt the energy extend, pass into Valdemar. The chair in the corner of the room lurched forward. There came the obligatory moan, and seconds later his eyes opened.

Things did not stop there, however. Next, he sat up.

"Easy. Take it easy, Valdemar," I said.

"What have you done to me?" he asked.

"Just the usual," I replied, "to bring you within reach of a few questions."

"Where is Ligeia?"

"I'm not certain, and I was in something of a hurry. So I decided to go ahead on my own."

"Oh my! Oh my!" he announced. "I see now—what has occurred."

"Tell me. Please."

"Her presence served to dampen somewhat—that otherworldly energy of yours. Without her—it went wild. I am animate once more—but still not living!"

He raised his hand slowly. One eye (the right) descended to regard it. The other remained blank.

"This is terrible," he observed, fixing me then with a baleful glare.

"I'll reverse the process in just a minute—as Ligeia taught me—if you'll answer a couple of questions. I haven't interfered with that ability, have I?"

"I still see as I saw," he said, bringing his hands slowly together.

"I think I should be heading for Toledo. Do you see anything in this regard?"

"I see us heading for Toledo, yes."

"That's all you see?"

"There is an intersection there with Annie. I can tell you nothing else."

"I'm inclined to take that as a good sign," I said.

He began rubbing his hands slowly. Then he raised them and felt his face.

"What can you tell me of Poe?" I asked.

"I do not understand the question. It is very general."

"Sorry. What is he doing right now?"

" 'Now' is a meaningless term. Your worlds move on different time tracks."

"Projecting forward along his," I said, "from the time of our exchange, for the same period of time that I have spent here, what can you tell me concerning his situation in life and his state of mind?"

"I understand," he said, crossing his arms and feeling his shoulders. "He still does not realize what has occurred. He gives signs of doubting his own sanity. He would like to start a magazine of his own, but can find no one interested in funding it. He seems to be depressed."

"I would like to talk to Poe. Could you bring him here if I provided more mesmeric energy?"

"No. That is beyond me."

"Could you send me there?"

"No."

"What about Annie's kingdom by the sea? Could you arrange for us to meet there?"

"I don't think so, but let me— No."

"Could you just send him a message? I want to assure him that I am real, that Annie is real, that he is not mad."

"I might be able to, but I do not know what form it will take."

"Try."

He slumped suddenly and fell back, hands coming to rest upon his breast.

"It is done," he announced slowly.

"Was it successful?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell now what form it took?"

"No. Let me rest... ."

I reversed the pattern of my passes, withdrawing the energy I had extended. The rapping came again, in all of the walls as well as the ceiling. The chair slid toward me, then toppled to its side. Valdemar let out a particularly piteous moan, then his eyes closed and the casket slammed itself shut.

I extinguished the candles and went to make travel arrangements.

Edgar Allan Poe's sleep was troubled. He woke early and tried unsuccessfully to recollect what he had dreamt. Finally, he rose and dressed himself. The sky was just growing pale to the east, and he opened the front door and stepped outside to consider the dawning.

He beheld a miniature castle sparkling in the front yard. He moved toward it and it dissolved. There was only a heap of sand when he reached the spot it had occupied.

Some trick of the light perhaps... .

She walked barefoot on the beach. It was a still, starless night. The sea itself glowed faintly, however, sufficient to provide what small illumination she required.