The Black Throne

"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."

He smiled faintly then and turned the conversation to matters nautical and meteorological. Afterwards, he kept his word and I got the tour.

That night I watched a storm for a long while. It rumbled and spit fires on its way up from the south. I stood under a God's plenty of stars in a clear sky, there on the main deck. The storm came striding across the water like some bright giant insect. A cool breeze preceded it, and shortly the waves grew higher, their splashings against the hull more forceful. A little later and the ship was rocking, the breeze punctuated by gusts, the banging of the thunder much nearer at hand. The stars were drowned in a pool of spilled ink and the face of the deep was illuminated by countless flashes. I wondered whether it was storming on that other world, where poor Poe wrote or edited, his depressed alcohol metabolism in this place serving him ill in that. There came a blinding flash from directly overhead, followed immediately by a clap of thunder. Then a hard rain pelted the deck, and I scurried for the stair, half drenched before I reached it.

In the days that followed I maintained my resolve, visiting with Valdemar in the morning. Ligeia would open his wine-crate casket, and, secrecy no longer necessary in my case, a few tapers or an oil lamp would illuminate the scene, casting flickering shadows across the man's waxen features. The lady would exercise her art, performing mesmeric passes above him until he moaned, sighed, wailed, or barked, signaling the fact that we had his attention once again. Usually, on these occasions, I would feel the energies, also, as if water were somehow flowing through my body. Then we would exchange greetings:

"For the love of God, let me go! I am dead, do you hear? Have you no compassion? Release me!"

"What will the weather be like today?" I asked.

"Su

"A little rain never hurt anybody," Legeia observed. "Have you narrowed the range of Von Kempelen's flight yet?"

"France or Spain. I can say no more at this time. I turn, I freeze, torn 'twixt the bournes of spirit and matter!"

"What became of the Kingdom of the Netherlands? You'd mentioned it the last time I asked."

"That probability has diminished. I say to you that I am dead!"

"I'm not feeling too well myself this morning. Are Griswold, Templeton, and Goodfellow aware that we pursue them?"

"Indeed they are. Oh! Oh! Oh!"

"Have they formed any plans yet which might bring us to distress?"

"I deem it likely, though I ca

His lower jaw fell, revealing his long yellow teeth and his swollen and blackened tongue.

"Quick! Quick! Put me to sleep or waken me! Quick, I say! I say to you that I am dead!"

"Sleep well then," Ligeia said, passing her hands above him and closing the lid.

Other times, we discussed different matters:

"Good morning, Monsieur Valdemar," she said. "And how are you today?"

"Oh! The agony ... !"

"I was wondering about this business of alternative worlds," I said. "I get the impression there are many, many such, each slightly—or, perhaps, greatly—different from the others."

"Nor are you incorrect. Spare me, I beg! Let me live! Or die! But no more of this twilight horror!"

"I was wondering, too, how the transportation of an individual from one such world to another might be effected."

"First, it requires locating extremely similar individuals on disparate worlds who possess a—kind of resonance—with each other—"

"How could one possibly locate such people?"

"One would employ a special detector. Please ..."

"Describe this detector."

"A person who is neither living nor dead—but partakes of both—may be directed to extend his awareness—in this fashion—"

"That sounds suspiciously like a description of yourself."

"It is."

"Are you trying to say that you were party to our world-switching?"

"No. I served only to locate the requisite individuals."

"You found Poe, A

"I did."

"How?"

"It may not be described. Only experienced. Please ..."

"Put him back to sleep, lady."

And then, again, on a gray, blustery day when the sea wore whitecaps and the decks did surprising things beneath our feet:

"Good morning, Monsieur Valdemar. How goes the world with you?"

"Pray unbind my spirit, lady, and consign these mortal remains to the deep."

"Mr. Perry has something he wants to ask you."

"I'll only be a minute, Valdemar, but something you said the other day has had me thinking. If the Griswold crew used you to locate us, what did they use to cause our transfer—physically—from one world to the other?"

"A person of considerable power was needed—one who could be used to create a kind of meta-place—a common ground—where the three of you might meet... ."

"A

"Just so. If you would, dear sir—"

"I have no further questions at this time."

Ligeia waved her hands.

"Have a good day, Monsieur."

The ship pitched as she shut his lid, and it fell to with a crash.

"Would you care for some tea, or an herbal drink?" she inquired.

"I believe I would."

And the following day:

"A good morning to you, Monsieur Valdemar."

"If pity be not foreign to thy soul—"

"Good to hear you speaking so clearly. Edgar has something else he wants to ask you."

"Yes," I said. "I do not understand how A

"She was caused to do so by Dr. Templeton—a skilled mesmerist."

"I still do not understand. If her own ability in this area is so great, how could a lesser practitioner control her? And if he were actually stronger, what did they need her for?"

"His abilities are as a candle to the celestial orb when compared with hers. Yet he could influence her by reaching her at a vulnerable time—her childhood."

"How—could he do that?"

"Once she had been located the detector could be employed to transmit Dr. Templeton's mesmeric energies to the desired point on her lifeline."

"You were used to focus his energies on her?"

"That is correct."

"Time itself is no barrier to your sentience?"

"Time is space—or spaces—among the worlds. And pasts are easier than futures."

I felt myself swaying, and this time it was not the vessel. I put out my hand to lean upon the bier, slipped, and struck his shoulder. It was as rigid as wood.

"There is nothing to be gained by striking a dead man," he observed.

"It was an accident," I said. "Sorry."

My mind was filled with images of happy children at play; and even as I framed the complicated question I could foresee his one-word reply:

"Are you telling me that Dr. Templeton, working through you, caused A

"Yes."

"Three lives have been manipulated because of the greed of these men."

There was no reply, but I realized I had not actually asked a question.

"All to bring A

"For now," he replied, "she is such a tool."

"What do you mean 'for now'?"

"They need a lot of money soon. So A

"What uses?"

"Her power is to be stripped—from her personality—to serve as an ingredient—in a Great Work."