The Black Throne

That night when Emerson did his little dance at my back I put my cards aside and told Peter what Valdemar had said about A

"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 wi

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 A

"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 A

"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 A

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 di

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 go

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

"No, he's go

"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.