Roger Zelazny - The Black Throne

"Can she?" I asked.

"I believe so," he replied. "By all reports she is a formidable lady."

"Whose reports?"

"Yours, and that of a thing which came into a mirror at my command, to advise me. And there is yet another—"

I felt momentarily dizzy, and I knew it wasn't the wine because the total of all those little glasses hadn't even equaled one good goblet of the sort to which I was accustomed.

"I'm trying," I said, "to understand. I repeat, who are these people who have Annie and wish to use her to steal Von Kempelen's secret?"

"Goodfellow, Templeton, and Griswold," he replied. "Dr. Templeton—a somewhat elderly and mysterious individual—is their mesmerist. I believe they are employing his powers to control Annie in the tracking of their prey. Then there is old Charley Goodfellow—a hearty, good-looking honest seeming fellow as ever slid a knife between a man's ribs. And, finally, Griswold. He is their leader and is considered rather a ruthless gentleman."

"And these men are aboard the Evening Star?" I inquired.

"So I believe," he answered.

" ... Where this Dr. Templeton is attempting to place Annie in a trance, so that she can divine Von Kempelen's whereabouts for them?"

"So I fear."

"If she is as strong as you think he may not succeed."

"Most likely they would drug her first. I know that I would."

I studied him, his back against the laboratory table, and he gave me more than casual scrutiny in return.

"So," I said after a time, "I thank you again for the timely rescue, and for the information on Annie... ."

He smiled. "And you're asking me 'Why?' " he said then.

"It's not that I disbelieve in altruism," I told him, "but you have gone to a lot of trouble on behalf of strangers."

"I'm prepared to go to a lot more," he said, "to thwart these men. And you are correct. There is a measure of self-interest involved, as in most human affairs."

I shrugged. "Results leave more of an impression than motives," I said. "I'm grateful, whatever your reasons."

"I'm a rather wealthy man," he said then.

"I'd guessed as much," I replied, sweeping my gaze significantly over the handsomely carved furniture, across the oriental rug and over a number of tasteful paintings. "So if it's not love or money it must be revenge, right?" I asked. "I'd guess one or all of these fellows did you a very bad turn at some point—"

He shook his head.

"A good guess, but wrong," he said. "It is money. I know sufficient of the area to believe the story of Von Kempelen's success, and I know sufficient of Annie's strength to believe that she will succeed in discovering his secrets. And I am sufficiently wealthy to have my own affairs disposed in such a fashion that any serious disturbance in the price of gold could be disastrous to me. I am uniquely positioned both for being harmed by them, and for anticipating them and thwarting them. So your reason is love, mine is money, and we can leave revenge out of this. We are therefore, as I see it, natural allies."

"It does look that way," I said. "And I'm certainly willing to go with you against them."

He pushed himself away from the workbench, smiling.

"Good, that's settled," he remarked.

He crossed the room to a small writing table, seated himself, took out stationery, ink, a pen, and began writing even as he continued speaking: "Shortly, I must introduce you to my own chief mesmeric consultant, Monsieur Ernest Valdemar."

"I should be happy to meet him," I stated.

"To be sure, to be sure," he replied. "You are to take command here, to pursue these men, to thwart them, to recover your lady."

"Me? Take command?" I inquired.

"Yes. Good that you're a military man, isn't it?"

"I don't understand. What of you?"

"Long sea voyages upset me in the extreme these days," he replied, "and I believe that Griswold and company will be heading for Europe shortly, since that is where Von Kempelen's fled."

"Where in Europe?"

"You'll have to apply to Monsieur Valdemar for that information."

"When might I get to meet him?"

"His nurse, Miss Ligeia, will introduce you at some point."

"The man is an invalid?"

"Oh, he has his problems. But his virtues more than compensate."

He completed a page, began another.

"Yes," he went on, "this ship will be at your disposal, captain and crew. And that includes Peters and his

'orang-outang,' Emerson, as he calls the beast. I will provide you with letters of introduction and credit for people and banks in any of a variety of places in which you might find yourself, before I leave."

"And where might one get in touch with you?" I asked.

"I suppose it is possible that you have never heard of the Domain of Arnheim?" he said.

I shook my head.

"It lies in New York state. I will include directions," he stated. "Hopefully, you will be by to report the complete success of the enterprise. And a trio of obituaries would make me a very grateful man."

"A moment, sir," I stated. "My intent is to rescue Annie. I'm not enlisting to kill anyone."

"Of course not," he replied. "What I said was merely that their obituaries would please me, for these are ruthless men and I see the possibility of a confrontation in which you—a professional soldier—might be forced to employ violence in self-defense. In such an instance I would be very grateful.

"Trebly so, in the best of all possible worlds," he added, smiling.

I nodded.

"Lives are but dice in the hands of the Almighty," I observed, which seemed sufficiently ambiguous to keep him happy without committing myself to anything. At least his smile broadened and he returned my nod as if we had an understanding.

I rose, turned away, did some pacing of my own, trying to order my thoughts. Ellison went on writing.

"You would give me command of this vessel?" I inquired, after a time.

"Captain Guy will continue in command," he replied without looking up. "He is the sort of man who would not dream of overruling the ship's owner. He will obey your orders."

"Good," I replied. "I know nothing of the actual management of a ship's affairs."

"All that would really be necessary would be for you to tell him where you want to go, and when."

"And this I am to discover from Valdemar?"

"By way of Ligeia, yes." He stopped writing for a moment and looked at me. "If you have any problems," he said then, "I recommend you talk to Dirk Peters. While it is true that his manner is rude, his formal education nonexistent, and his appearance uncouth, he is totally trustworthy and very shrewd.

No one aboard this ship would dare to cross him."

"I can well believe it," I said.

I returned to the decanter, bore it across the room to the workbench, where I appropriated a decent-sized glass. I filled it and took a drink. I saw then that Ellison had paused in his writing and was watching me.

He shook his head and looked away.

"Amazing," he said. I took another swallow. Then he asked, "Is there some problem?"

"Yes," I replied. "This means I'll be taking off without leave from Fort Moultrie."

"So it does," he said. "Do you really think they would grant you leave for an enterprise of this nature? Or that you'd even have time to request it?"

"No," I answered. "I understand the situation. But I've enjoyed my service, in the main, and I don't want to end it looking like a deserter. I want to write a letter to my Commanding Officer, requesting leave and explaining how I've serious personal matters to attend to."

He appeared to ponder it for a moment, then smiled again.

"Very well," he said. "Compose your letter and I will take it with me when I go ashore and see that it is delivered. Of course you must sign it 'Edgar Allan Poe.' "

"I didn't think of that—" I began.