The Black Throne

V

There came a night when my sleep was troubled. I tossed fitfully, drowsing and rousing, and seem to recall at one point hearing the sounds of a November storm. My dreams were a rag-bag of ill-matched people and places, going nowhere. At some unmarked hour the storm faded. I found oblivion for a time and its taste was sweet... .

I found myself sitting up, listening, searching the shadows, waiting for awareness to catch up with my senses, uncertain as to what it was that had called me awake. It felt as if there were someone present, but moonlight streamed through a porthole and my eyes were entirely dark-adjusted. I saw no one.

"Who's there?" I asked, and I swung my feet over the side of the bunk, dropped to one knee and fetched out the saber from where I had stowed it beneath. No one responded.

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.

The tapers flickered, the currents flowed... .

"I hate to keep bothering you," I said, when Valdemar had finished with his moaning, "but can you tell me where the inventor Von Kempelen is right now?"

"Paris," he replied.

"Could you be more specific?"

"No," he said. "This information is blocked from my regard."

"Why? How?" I asked.

"Griswold has anticipated your line of inquiry," he answered. "Templeton has directed Annie to block my sight in this area."

"Already?" I said. "The man plans well ahead. I wonder whether there might be some more physical means of obtaining this information?"

"Mr. Ellison maintains a number of agents in Paris ..."

"Yes, I've a list of them."

"They keep a watch over the Paris harbor and will recognize the Eidolon when it docks. The watcher will be in touch at that time."

"I am not sure we can make it past Le Havre," I said. "A ship this size may draw too much water to make it up the Seine as far as Paris. We may have to go by coach from Le—"

"It will make it," he said, "and when the agent gets in touch you must ask to be introduced to one particular agent—a Monsieur Dupin. This man will find Von Kempelen for you."

"And Griswold will come to Von Kempelen, and we can follow him back to Annie."

"Presumably. As I said, her presence clouds my view of outcomes."

"Close enough," I said, "for Kentucky windage. Thank you, sir," and I let him return to his rest.

Later, from within the hidden safe, I unearthed a list of Ellison's French agents. There was indeed a Dupin, a Cesar Auguste Dupin, entered there. His address was given as 33 Rue Dunot, Fauborg St.

Germain, and beneath it was entered, "Completely reliable; first-class mind; poet, though, and other eccentricities."

Later, I checked with Captain Guy and he assured me that the Eidolon had made it to Paris before and would again. As I cut and parried my way through a saber drill I thought about Von Kempelen and his secret. I had to assume that Annie would locate him and Griswold reach him before I did. When I finally stood face to face with the man what would I say? Emerson came up beside me, aping my movements for a time. Would Griswold attempt to purchase Von Kempelen's secret? Or would he attempt coercion?

Purchase, I guessed. Too much room for deception in detailing a complicated process—even if they made him perform it under scrutiny. No, I judged they would want the man's cooperation.

What do you offer a man who can make gold, anyway?

Tricky. The process might require expensive equipment, expensive ingredients for setup and operation.

And even if this were not the case, Griswold might be able to offer him something else he wanted. As I toweled myself down following my exertions, I wondered concerning the efficacy of an appeal to the alchemist based on preserving the stability of the world gold market. For an ethical concept it seemed pretty abstract. I felt I might be better off trying to demonstrate Griswold's baseness. But even that... . Supposing Von Kempelen were somewhat base himself and not at all impressed by this argument?

As I drew on my shirt, I tried to imagine Seabright Ellison standing before me, considering the question.

Without hesitation he smiled and reflected, "The secret dies with the man." I was not, however, about to kill anyone to preserve the price of gold. So what did that leave?

Back in my stateroom, I opened a hidden safe and considered the French letters of credit. It appeared I could put my hands on some very large sums of money should the need arise. While I did not like the possibility of Von Kempelen's turning the conflict between Griswold and my employer into a bidding situation, it might be simplest to try topping Griswold's offer. I resolved to try it, after doing my best to show the man up as a blackguard.

I strolled the deck feeling somewhat lighter of heart than earlier. At last I'd some information and something of a plan. The day was clear, brisk, bright, and dinner only a bell away.

Fair stood the wind for France... .

The Seine flowed slowly, meandering in a generally southeast direction. And we ascended slowly, amid a great deal of other shipping. A small steam tug took us the last part of the way, under leaden November skies. The trees stood bare upon the banks. The water was gray. It was difficult to tell when the day began. I had stood upon the deck in darkness, watching the passing shadows, and the world brightened gradually about me but there was no real sunrise. There were bridges, windmills, passing carts. More and more buildings came into view—larger, closer together... .

"A few more hours, Master Eddie, and you can try out yer parlay voos," said Peters. I had not heard him come up beside me. I glanced about after his shadow but the simian was not in sight.

I shook my head.

"I'm afraid I lack the equipment in that area. You ever been here before?"

"A few times," he replied, "on errands for Mr. Ellison."

"You know the lingo?"

"Well, yes and no," he answered.

"What do you mean?"

"My pappy, like I said, was a voyageur. I picked up some when he was about—but the rest is argot, gutter French, from the folks I'd sometimes deal with. I can understand a bit, but I open my mouth around anyone respectable and he's gonna know there's somethin' untrustworthy about me."

"You mean he's going to think there's something untrustworthy."

"No, he's gonna know it."

"Oh."

He laughed then. So did I. But I wondered.

Later that morning, getting on toward noon, we reached the quay. The smells were a combination of spice and rot, and we heard the noise and witnessed the movements of the port before we had docked. I told Captain Guy that I would be taking Peters with me and heading into town as soon as we might disembark. He allowed that the formalities would not be overlong, suggesting, however, that we had time for a meal. So Peters and I headed for the saloon, taking a leisurely luncheon while the ship was herded to its anchorage and the port authorities dealt with.

Sometime after the gangways had fallen into place and the shouts of crewmen subsided, Captain Guy came to us.

"Edgar," he said. "Would you come with me, please? And bring Peters."

I was about to ask him what for when he caught my eye and brushed his lips with a fingertip. I nodded, got to my feet and followed him. Peters came along, and Emerson emerged from beneath a companionway and joined us.

Captain Guy conducted us to his cabin, where a small, slim lady of the dark-haired variety waited. She was attractive and tastefully, though not conspicuously, garbed. She rose from the captain's leather chair, smiling faintly, to acknowledge introductions.

"This is Miss Marie Roget," Captain Guy began, "one of Mr. Ellison's French agents. She was waiting for us upon our arrival."

I immediately wondered how Seabright could have gotten a message to her in advance of our arrival.

But she explained, even before I asked, that an agent at Le Havre automatically passed word to Paris when one of Seabright's vessels was headed this way. Seeing that this was his personal yacht it was decided that someone had better be on hand to help deal with any problems.

Emerson seemed to have taken a fancy to her and she patted him several times as she spoke, as if he were a large dog. This seemed to please him in the extreme, and he cavorted about the cabin till Peters growled something at him which resulted in his immediate retirement beneath the table.

" ... So, if there is anything I can help you with," she said, "just ask."

"All right," I said. "I will. We are following the inventor Von Kempelen. Or rather, we are following someone who is following Von Kempelen. I suppose it comes to the same thing—"

"The man has been seen in Paris," she interrupted. "He enjoys the reputation of being worth watching, here on the Continent. So we should be able to give you some assistance. Pray, continue."

I told her of Annie and of the Unholy Trinity and of the possibility of alchemical gold. I did not tell her anything of my own origin or of anything—such as Valdemar—not material to the problems at hand.

"And so," I concluded, "we were about to go in search of Monsieur Dupin when you arrived."

She nodded.

"A good choice," she said. "I have worked with the man and can vouch for his brilliance and his integrity. And while I have not yet spoken with him on the matter, he may well know more about the Von Kempelen affair than I do. Shall I take you to him?"

"He is still at 33, Rue Dunot? I inquired.

"Indeed," she replied.

"How soon might we see him?"

"It is likely he would be there now. The seriousness of the situation suggests we dispense with formalities."

"Then let us visit him immediately," I said.

"Very well," she answered. "If he does not have the information we seek he will obtain it quickly. The man's reasoning abilities are legendary."

We started for the door and Captain Guy pointed out that Emerson was immediately behind us, having removed himself from beneath the table and approached in total silence. It was decided that he might make a rather conspicuous companion, and so Peters ordered him to remain a guest of the captain's.

Then with a shrug of his wig and a hitch of his trousers, he was out the door and we were on our way.

Down the gangway and onto the pier we proceeded, past dock laborers and crates of goods, making our way up to an avenue which led us past taverns, shops of cheap goods, and an occasional streetwalker.

"Finding a carriage hereabout is an uncertain matter," Marie announced. "We must go a bit farther. Then it will become easy."

I nodded, fascinated by the gracefulness of Peters' movements, though they were still governed by the rolling gait the sea had taught him. "I hope that I can persuade you," I told her, "to act as our interpreter full-time. Whatever extra cost this might involve, you're certainly welcome to it."

"I see no problem, Monsieur Perry," she replied.

"Make it 'Edgar,' " I said.

" 'Edgar,' " she repeated, accenting the second syllable. "Very well. Turn here—Edgar."

We turned onto a side-street, down which a carriage was slowly jouncing. A ragman, soiled bag over his shoulder, was picking through some trash in a doorway. From far ahead, I heard voices raised in a tuneless work song, heavy on the beat. There were deep puddles in the street and the usual random heaps of horse manure, as pungent here as back home.

At the corner we turned left upon a broader thoroughfare. Here, considerable carriage and cart traffic hurried past, as well as horseback riders and pedestrians.

"Along this way we should find transportation," Marie remarked.

Five minutes later we were passing a flower seller's stall, a number of people gossiping or staring before the racks of dried arrangements. Just as we went by an elderly man stepped toward us from beyond the next stall—where cheap scarves were being sold—and the moment his eyes fixed upon mine, a bright glint of lunacy within them, I knew that all was not quite well. He was poorly dressed, save for an expensive ring on his left hand, and in that instant I realized it was not the hand of an old man. A quick step and he was at my side, right hand emerging from behind his hip, a flash of steel within it.

I moved forward as he struck, blocking the thrust with my forearm. I punched toward his midsection, and though he blocked it his breath was expelled and he jerked as if my blow had landed. It was several moments before I realized that Peters had delivered a kidney punch at that instant. By then the man had lurched past me and commenced running, his blade fallen at my feet. I turned as if to give pursuit but Marie's hand fell upon my arm.

"'E is but a common thug," she said. "I have seen him about. There is no need to pursue. We will know his employer by this evening."

The man had already disappeared into a space between two buildings. I shrugged and kicked the knife. It slid about eight feet. Grinning, Peters gave it another kick and it bounced along, coming to rest six or so feet ahead of him. When next we came to it I kicked it, and so on until we found a carriage.

As we rode along she gave me a quick lesson on the town's disposition and taught me my first words of French. We rattled on for some time through the Fauborg St. Germain. The skies spat a few drops of rain upon and about us for perhaps two minutes then desisted. Occasional wraiths of fog hovered at the feet of hills and among trees.

At length we found ourselves traversing the Rue Dunot. The carriage slowed as we neared a grotesque and time-eaten mansion. Its crumbling eminence caused me to construct visions of the impoverished nobility when I saw its number to be the one we sought.

"C'est le maison de Monsieur Dupin?" I said proudly.

"La maison," she said.

"But that's the place all right?"

"Indeed."

She paid the driver and we descended. As the carriage rattled away we approached the doorstep, where Marie drew upon the bell-pull. Shortly thereafter the door was opened by an elegant young man—both in appearance and dress—who was obviously not a servant. He and Marie exchanged rapid-fire French for several minutes before he shifted his attention to Peters and myself.

"I am sorry," he said in an unusually rich tenor, "but the information could not wait. You are looking for Von Kempelen." It was a statement, not a question. "Please come in."

He stepped aside and held the door for us. We entered, and he closed it behind us. "Come this way."

The place was musty and filled with shadows. The floor creaked beneath our feet. He led us down a corridor past dim rooms filled with ancient furniture. At length, we came to a study, somewhat better illuminated but as venerably furnished as the chambers we had passed. Within, a goblinesque voice shouted an amazing litany of obscenities as we entered.

"The same to you, mate!" Peters retorted, turning quickly to seek the source of the challenge.

"Grip, be still!" Dupin ordered. "Attend now! Repeat! The flames in Spain burn heretics amain!"

"Rawk!" said what I then saw to be a raven perched on a shelf above the door. It followed this with the sounds of champagne bottles being uncorked.

"Nevermore, Grip. Nevermore," Dupin persisted.

"Rawk," repeated the bird, followed by obscenities I had heard but seldom for all my years in the Army, save from the lips of an Arkansas mule driver who had complained earlier that day on the recurrence of a vicious rectal itch.

"Nevermore," said Dupin.

"Je m'en fiche," said the raven.

Our host swept past us, saw us seated in attractive and uncomfortable chairs of a gold and rose floral pattern, then offered us sherry.

"I write a bit of poetry," he confessed, "and it amuses me, teaching a few aphorisms to the bird.

However, his previous owners were less than careful when it came to influences."

I refrained from inquiring concerning Grip's former residence.

"But he was an experienced speaker and a bargain, to boot," he finished. "Now, concerning Von Kempelen, his whereabouts are known to me. I make it a point to keep posted on the location of eminent visitors. Your problem as I understand it, however, entails more than simply finding the man."

"True," I replied. "The man is reputed to have developed a process whereby he can transmute baser metals to gold."

Dupin smiled.

"So I understand," he observed. "Many have made such claims, down the centuries."

"As I understand it, Von Kempelen is rather reticent concerning the process. Be that as it may, he is being followed by three men who wish to obtain the secret from him."

"By fair means or foul?"

"Fair, I'd judge. A process so complicated is not easily taken against a person's will. I believe they'd be willing to strike a genuine deal with him."

"What is the problem you seek to solve?" he asked.

I took a sip of the sherry.

"My problem is not the same as my employer's," I told him. "Seabright Ellison wishes to prevent such a deal because the appearance of large quantities of alchemical gold on the world market could damage his own position in that area, where he is strongly represented."

"Indeed," Dupin observed, "more than our employer might be injured by the injudicious release of great masses of precious metal. Look what the gold of Mexico and Peru did to Spain. Her present troubles—from the Inquisition through this hit or miss war—may all owe something to the effects of its superabundance on the economy of an earlier day. How far is Mr. Ellison prepared to go in foiling this transaction?"

"Pretty far," I said, recalling his hint that Griswold, Templeton, and Goodfellow's relocation underground would earn me a bonus.

"Might he be willing to outbid the others for the secret?"

Thinking of the massive sums commanded by my letters of credit, I nodded.

"I have been given considerable discretion in this area," I said, "and the funds with which I might attempt such a thing. What do you think?"

"I do know that Von Kempelen has met on several occasions now with a trio of foreigners—most likely American. So I would guess that they are talking business. On the other hand, I daresay he is suspicious of them—as he must be of anyone, under the circumstances."

"I suppose so."

"There may be a way to capitalize on this ..." he mused. "But tell me, what did you mean when you said that your problem is not the same as your employer's?"

"He wants to stop the deal because he's interested in protecting his financial interests. My interest is in the lady Griswold has kidnapped and still holds prisoner. She possesses psychic abilities and he used her to track Von Kempelen here. He has other, darker plans for her."

"Ah! There is a woman involved!" He leaned forward and squeezed my forearm. "I understand."

"Partly, I'd imagine," I replied. "But I would be very surprised if even a Frenchman could unravel this particular relationship too readily."

"You have roused my curiosity to the utmost," he said. "Pray, tell me of it."

So I did. Forgetting myself, I drank four of the tiny glasses of sherry as I spoke. In that I did not stagger off with delirium tremens, the performance may have helped to convince him I was telling the truth.

"Yes," he said, nodding, "it seems a relatively simple matter to one who is familiar with the German philosophers, particularly Leibnitz. The notion of a multiplicity of existences—"

"Dreck! Dreck!" cried Grip, flying down from his shelf and lighting upon Dupin's left shoulder. "Guvna!

Scheiss! Mierda!"

"Hush, Grip!" Dupin ordered. "Alternate levels of reality do, as I was saying, become comprehensible when one considers the projective geometries of Desargues in light of Gauss's unfinished work on a calculus of probabilities—"

Marie Roget cleared her throat and rose to her feet.

"Excuse me," she said, "but I thought you had further instructions for me. If not, I must look into the matter of the assassination attempt on Mr. Perry."

"Yes, I was about to suggest some lines of inquiry."

She said something in French and Dupin rose to his feet. He glanced at Peters and myself, said, "Excuse me, gentlemen. I must see the lady to the door," and departed with her, speaking in French as they went.

"You understand what he was sayin', boss?" Peters asked. "'Bout them German philosophers and all?"

I shrugged.

"It seemed he was headed in a highly theoretical direction."

"Let's try changin' the subject on him when he comes back. That bird's got the right idea."

When Dupin returned several minutes later, Grip having transferred himself to his right shoulder, he cast his gaze from me to Peters and back again, then asked, "Where was I?"

"Concerning the matter of Von Kempelen ..." I suggested.

"Oh yes," he said, "the creator of the so-called chess-playing automaton. A fraud, of course, as no machine can be made to play chess, it being a creative rather than a mechanical process."

"I suppose," I said.

"Furthermore, if one could build such a device," he went on, "it must inevitably win every game. The principle being discovered by which a machine can be made to play a game of chess, an extension of the same principle would enable it to win a game. A further extension would enable it to win all games—"

"Uh," I interjected, "it was his alchemical discoveries with which we were mainly concerned."

"Of course. Forgive me," he agreed. "A fascinating subject, alchemy. I—"

"How do you think we might get into his good graces to the point where he'd even be willing to acknowledge the existence of the process?"

"Hm. Several possibilities occur," he observed. "Generally, the simplest deception is the easiest to achieve and maintain. A moment... . I have it. You are two visiting Americans who happened to recognize him on the street. You present yourselves as such at his apartment, expressing a desire to meet the inventor of the chess-playing automaton. To gain access, you might even offer to bet him a large sum of money that one of you can beat the automaton. No need to worry on this account, for even if the game is begun it will never be completed."

"Why not?" I asked.

"You arrive at his apartment at eight o'clock this evening. Before then I will have spoken with Henry- Joseph Gisquet, our Prefect of Police, who owes me several favors. He will see that the neighborhood is unpoliced at that hour and he will provide me with several footpads who owe him favors. I will cause these men to break in at nine o'clock, as if intent on theft and violence. You and your companion will grapple with them and they will flee. This should serve to ingratiate you with Von Kempelen to the extent where he would welcome your company for purposes of protection. Continue your supposed fascination with his work and become friendly with him. After a day or so, introduce the subject.

Impugn Griswold and Company if necessary, and offer to outbid them."

I glanced at Peters, who was nodding.

"Not bad," he said, "on short notice—and I've a feelin' we should be movin' fast."

"In the meantime," Dupin continued, "there is a Minister Dupin—odd coincidence, eh?—though the resemblance stops with the name; the man is a dreadful poseur—who may know whether Von Kempelen has actually made overtures to bail our government out of its latest crisis with buckets of gold. I may be able to learn what, if anything, the minister knows of the matter—which could cast illumination on your own prospects."

"We'd be very grateful for the effort."

He waved a hand, causing Grip to raise his wings and hiss.

"Save the gratitude for favors," he said. "I will have to prepare a bill for extraordinary services on this one.

"By the way, is there any possibility I might draw some of it on account today?" he added.

"Surely," I said. "I was planning to stop by one of the banking houses this afternoon, as I might be needing some extra cash myself. If you'll provide me with Von Kempelen's address—perhaps sketch me a map—and let me know how much you'll need, I'll be on my way."

He repaired to a small writing table where he scribbled and drew these items.

"If you're planning on returning to the Eidolon when you've finished in town," he said, "I'll be in touch with you there, to let you know that things are ready for this evening—and to pick up my advance."

"Excellent," I said, as he saw us to the door. "We'll be back aboard ship in a few hours. Thank you again."

"No problem," he replied. "By the way, might I have the loan of twenty francs till then?"

"Of course," I said, removing a note from one of the rolls of bills I had found in Ellison's safe and passing it to him.

"Pay you later," he said.

"Nevermore," said the raven, as the door closed behind us.

That evening, dressed warmly against a chilly wind, Peters and I set out to find Von Kempelen's place.

In that Peters was unwilling to do without Emerson's skills in the event of an emergency, the ape followed us along the way. The people of the city were generally unaware of his passage over their rooftops in the darkness. The dogs of Paris did, however, take notice. Their barks and howls followed us from street to street.

Peters whistled as we walked along, at one point laughing maniacally when the dogs broke into a particularly wild cacophony, causing a woman who passed us just then to cross herself and hurry away.

At length, we found ourselves in the proper neighborhood, and there was indeed a light burning behind the top floor window which seemed to belong to the apartment we sought, a building bearing the legend Porte D'Eau.

"You think he'd do himself better'n a bloody garret," Peters muttered, "bein' worth a fortune an' all."

"He's trying to be inconspicuous," I said.

"He could do it at ground level," he growled.

Firing a quick phrase of his gutter French at the concierge who answered his pounding, Peters had us admitted by a frightened-looking man who stared out to where a ring of dogs had formed at our back in the street.

"Porquoi les chiens aboient-ils?" he asked.

"Je suis loup-garou," Peters replied. "Je veux Von Kempelen."

The man stared, then Peters laughed his crazy laugh again. Smiling weakly, the concierge got out of our way.

"Trois?" Peters asked.

"Oui."

"Merci," I said, not to be outdone, and we mounted the stair.

All the way up to the top we went, then knocked upon his door. There was no answer. We waited a few moments then tried again.

The third time I called out as I knocked, "Von Kempelen! It's important, and I think you'd be interested.

It would certainly be worth your while."

The door opened a crack and a large blue eye regarded us.

"Ja?" asked its owner.

"We're Americans," I said, "and I believe you are the creator of the famous chess-playing automaton."

"And so?" he said. "If I am, what then?"

I produced a wad of Yankee dollars—again, courtesy of Ellison's safe—and waved them at him.

"I'm a representative of the Baltimore Chess Club," I said. "I'd like to bet you a thousand dollars I can beat that machine of yours."

The door opened further, so that we beheld a short, stout man with sandy hair and whiskers, wide mouth, Roman nose, and large, protuberant eyes, of a sort I had once been told were associated with a peculiar glandular condition. Half of his face was lathered, and I saw that he held a straight razor in his hand.

"Gentlemen, I am sorry," he said, "but the machine is not properly set up at this time."

"Dear me," I responded. "It meant so much to the entire club that one of us get to try it. How long would it take to set it up? Do you think if I were to come up with more money—"

Suddenly, he opened the door wide, apparently having made some decision concerning us.

"Come in, come in," he said, and we did. He gestured toward a battered pair of chairs across the room.

"Sit down. I am making some tea. You may join me, if you wish."

"Thanks," I said, moving that way as he lay the razor beside a basin on his dresser, picked up a towel and wiped the soap from his face, watching us the while in a cracked mirror as we passed behind him to the chairs. A pot of water was coming to a boil upon a small spirit-heater on a crate to our left. There were numerous crates stacked about the room, some of them opened and exhibiting odd pieces of chemical or alchemical equipment. Some of it had been unpacked and was set up upon a bench which ran the length of the far wall. Some pieces were installed beneath the bench.

Outside, the dogs continued their chorus.

Von Kempelen located three mismatched cups within one of the crates, wiped them out with the towel he had used upon his face and proceeded to prepare tea.

"It would take several days' preparation," he said, "to assemble the automaton and get it ready for a game—if I had nothing better to do. But I am expecting a request to engage in some delicate work soon, of a fairly complicated nature. I fear that I simply will not have the time to give you your match, as much as I would enjoy taking your money. Do you take sugar? Or perhaps a little cream?"

"Sugar," I said.

"Neat," said Peters.

He brought us two steaming cups, seated himself across from us with a third.

"I'm afraid I can't do any better than that," he finished.

"I understand," I said. "My fellow clubmen will be disappointed, also. But your business certainly takes precedence over hobbies." I glanced at the equipment on the bench. "You're basically a chemist, aren't you?"

Those impressive eyes studied my face carefully.

"I do many things," he said, "chemistry among them. Right now I am waiting to hear on a possible contract which will occupy me for some time, should it be approved. I may not discuss it, however."

"Didn't mean to pry," I said, tasting the tea. "Perhaps I'll get to try the chess player another day."

"Perhaps so," he agreed. "When did you arrive in town?"

"Just this morning," I said.

"Surely you didn't cross the ocean just to seek me out and engage in an unusual game?"

I laughed.

"No, I came into some money recently," I said, "and I'd always wanted to tour the Continent. When I learned earlier that you were in town I decided to look you up and add pleasure to pleasure, so to speak."

"How interesting," he said. "So few people are aware of my presence here."

Griswold or some French bureaucrat? I wondered. Where should I claim having heard he was in town?

Blame the French government, I decided. There's ample precedent for that in all areas. But the decision was taken from me as the rear window was shattered.

A burly form finished kicking in the frame then stepped into the room from the pitched edge of the adjacent building. Damn! The timing was way off. I'd wanted at least to broach the subject before the attack occurred.

Another figure, leaner but appropriately villainous in appearance entered behind the burly man. I could see that there was yet another behind him. I was pleased that they seemed perfectly suited to their roles.

Von Kempelen dropped his cup and retreated across the room to stand before his workbench, arms raised in defense of his equipment. Peters and I rose to our feet, and the burly man gave us a puzzled look.

I growled as I moved forward, but I couldn't even mutter the appropriate reprimands, as I doubted any of them spoke English. I feinted with my left toward the big man's face. He blocked it with his right and drove his left into my midsection. It was at that moment that the thought occurred to me that these might not be the men I had contracted for come early, but rather the real thing keeping their own schedule.

I turned and twisted, hoping to avoid the rabbit punch I felt sure would come next. It didn't, however, for Peters reached out and caught the man's fist as it descended. I heard the big fellow laugh and saw him try to pull back the arm. His expression became one of surprise as it failed to move. Then Peters jerked the arm downward and the man bent forward. Moving forward, he caught hold of the man's left ear with his teeth and twisted his head to the side, tearing half of the appendage away. The man screamed as his cheek and neck were incarnadined. Then Peters caught hold of the arm with his other hand as well and broke it across his thigh. While he was doing this, one of the others struck at his head with a club. I was unable to move to his assistance or even to shout a warning.

The blow landed and Peters reeled but did not go down. He turned toward the man with the club and the second man leaped upon his back. In the meantime, the man with the broken arm and half an ear drew a knife from a belt sheath with his right hand and lurched toward the grapplers.

Unable to raise myself erect I bent forward, clasped my knees and rolled against the man's legs. He uttered a French oath I added to my collection as he fell upon me. Dazed, I expected to be punctured at any moment, but the thrust did not arrive. I sucked several deep breaths and tried to rise, just as the screaming began.

When I straightened and turned I saw Emerson stuffing the body of one of the men up the chimney.

Peters was twisting the other man's arms into a pretzel-like shape and the man I had knocked over was rising to his feet, knife in his hand, half of his face wet and red, his other arm hanging useless. I heard heavy footsteps on the stair and a cry of "Gendarmerie!" just as bones began snapping in the man Peters was twisting and the other lunged at me. Even as I blocked his thrust and struck him on the point of the chin a heavy blow fell upon the door. Something was obviously wrong in our supposed deal with the police. As another blow fell upon the door Emerson left off stuffing his man up the chimney, bounded across the room, seized the straight razor Von Kempelen had left atop his dresser, departed by way of the window, and vanished across the rooftops.

"Not a bad idea, that," Peters observed, casting his man aside. To Von Kempelen: "Thanks for the tea."

Then he passed through the window and scrabbled away himself.

I cast a glance back at the inventor, who still guarded his work. Another blow fell upon the door.

"Uh, good night," I said "Good luck."

He narrowed those amazing eyes uncertainly, then, just as I departed, "Be careful," he called.

I heard his door burst open before he got to it. The tiles were damp and slippery, and I kept my gaze on the shadowy figures ahead. After a time, the roof grew flat. There were shouts far to the rear. I hurried.

Below us the dogs still complained.

For how long we fled, I am uncertain. At length, I followed Peters through a window into a deserted topfloor apartment. Whether he or Emerson had located it—and whether by chance or some arcane instinct—I never inquired, though it seems we misplaced Emerson at about that time. We lay doggo for several minutes then, listening after sounds of pursuit. None followed, so we let ourselves out, took the stairs to the ground without incident, and entered upon the street.

We wandered for a time then, but the night remained still. Even the dogs had grown silent. Shortly, Peters found us a cafe where we rested over a glass of wine, assessing our injuries—which seemed minor—and repairing our appearance. Miraculously it seemed, he had retained his bear-hide wig withal.

It seemed futile to speculate as to why the Prefect of Police had not done as he was supposed to—or hadn't done as he wasn't, as the case might be. We decided to wait a good while and then drift back to the neighborhood we had vacated so abruptly, to see whether we might be able to learn anything there.

In the meantime, Peters bit off a great chaw of tobacco from a plug he had with him, amazing me with his ability to spit out of the door—a good distance from where we sat—whenever it opened—without touching the person entering or departing. I, in my turn, drank four local tipplers under the table, it taking slightly less than two normal glasses of wine for me to do it. Our performances caused considerable merriment among the other patrons during the couple of hours we spent in the establishment.

A clock somewhere chimed the hour for the third time since our arrival, and so we settled our bill and departed. The night had grown considerably more chill during our interlude indoors, and we turned up our collars and jammed our hands into our pockets before heading back to the scene of our earlier confrontation.

The building was entirely dark. We passed it several times and no one seemed to be about in the vicinity.

Finally, I went up and tried the door. The lock had been broken. It opened easily. I motioned to Peters and we entered.

Moving slowly, treading carefully, we mounted the stair. When we came to the landing outside Von Kempelen's door we halted and listened for a long while. A total silence prevailed. After a time, I reached forward through the darkness and investigated manually. This lock, too, was broken and the door frame splintered.

I pushed the door open and waited. There was no reaction.

I entered. There was moonlight through the broken window to the rear. By this illumination we could see that the place was entirely empty. Not a stick of furniture, not a test tube, spoon, or teacup remained.

Even the bench itself had been removed.

Peters whistled softly. "Most pecooliar," he said. "What do you make of it?"

"Nothing," I said. "It could mean too many things. We must see Dupin first thing in the morning. He may have some answers."

Peters spit out the window.

"May not, too," he said.

We hiked back to the ship where a hairy form greeted us from the rigging.

"Bonjour, damn it!" said the raven, who had perched himself upon the arm of my chair and was studying me as I drank a cup of tea.

"Bonjour yourself, bird or devil," I said.

"He seems to like you," Dupin observed. "You actually got him to say 'nevermore' the other day."

"Rawk! Nevertheless!" Grip cried, spreading his wings and cocking his head.

"Concerning the matter of the letter," I prompted.

"Yes," he replied, smiling. "By means of a ruse involving a gold snuff box I was able to gain access to the minister's letter rack. It contained a number of delightfully incriminating items. But to the case in point, Von Kempelen had proposed selling his secret to the government, and there was indication in the form of a note in the minister's own hand, following the text, that the price was too high but that a robbery might be staged to obtain the man's notes. It was also suggested they act quickly, since others were interested and might come up with the price. This note was initialed by another minister and yesterday's date, the thirty-first, was written beside it."

"The government would do a thing like that?" I exclaimed.

He cocked an eyebrow at me and took a drink of tea.

"And the timely arrival of the police?" I said. "That was just a part of it? Your government now has Von Kempelen and his secret?"

"Not at all," he replied. "I was able to get word of this affair to Monsieur Gisquet, our Police Prefect, who has long been on less than cordial terms with my namesake minister. Barely in time, as it turned out—and there was no time at all to get a message to you, though I understand you acquitted yourselves admirably. The body up the chimney remains a bizarre puzzle, however." Here, he raised his hand as I attempted to speak "No, I don't want to hear about it."

"Actually, I wasn't about to tell you," I said. "I was merely going to ask who, then, has Von Kempelen?"

"Actually nobody has him," he replied. "He and all his equipment are, at this moment, headed for the border. Gisquet's men packed his equipment and his personal belongings while an agent of the man explained the situation to Von Kempelen."

"All of this to spite a government official," I said. "Were you the agent?"

He smiled again. "I wouldn't tell you if I were."

"I know. I did not ask for informational purposes."

"We understand each other," he said.

He refilled our cups. I took a satisfying sip of the scalding brew.

"Which border?" I asked then.

"He is headed for Spain—Toledo," he said. "Though whether this is his actual destination or possibly a clever ruse to confuse pursuit, I could not say. Again, it was one of those matters I did not really wish to know. But as to the literal meaning of your question, I do not know whether he will be crossing the border at the independent Duchy of Aragon or that of Navarre on his way south."

"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... .