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 A

"A

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. A

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. A

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 A

"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?"

"A

"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 ca

"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 ca

"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 A

"A

"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 A

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.