The Black Throne

"You, Eddie, shall be coachman," she said.

"I don't even know the way to Barcelona."

She pointed.

"That way," she said. "I'll give you more directions, as you need them."

I opened the door for her and handed her up inside. As I mounted to the driver's board Peters came climbing and settled himself beside me.

"If it's all the same, I'll ride up here with you," he said.

"Good. You can give me a hand with the driving."

I released the brake, shook the reins lightly and the horse began to move. We were going at a smart pace when we left the courtyard. When we struck the road it increased. Shortly, we were moving at an amazing pace. Yet the horse barely seemed to be exerting itself. It was one of the strangest things I'd ever seen. We kept going faster and faster. Soon we were racing along at the fastest pace I'd ever traveled. The countryside was becoming a blur about us.

I drove for several hours, then switched with Peters. The beast which drew us showed no signs of tiring; it still barely seemed even to be ru

As I dozed, it seemed that it was Poe rather than Peters who sat beside me. But no matter how I addressed him, he refused to answer. Finally, he leapt down onto the horse's back, cut him free of the traces and left me there atop a stranded coach. But that couldn't be right... . I could still feel our movement.

And then it was A

"Perry," she said. "Eddie."

"A

"I know. He moves farther and farther off. I ca

"What of yourself, dear lady? I saw you at the party which turned into a dance of death. But you, Von Kempelen, and Griswold's cronies vanished at some point."

"I could feel the nearness of the doom. The others trust my warnings by now. We fled."

"I wish you had come to me."

"I know. So do I. But we've been through this before. I must not let them seal his exile."

"What of yourself otherwise? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine physically. No plague, no injuries."

"Where are you now?"

"Aboard a boat, heading downstream to the sea. Looking at a flame in a lamp, seeing you. A ship awaits us at the mouth of the stream. It has lain at anchor there for some time, against this emergency."

"What's her name?"

"The Grampus. We shall have boarded her, weighed anchor, and raised sail before you reach your own vessel at Barcelona."

"Where are you headed? I must follow, you know."

"London, to pick up some equipment."

"What sort of equipment?"

"Something Von Kempelen wants."

"For the experiment?"

"Yes."

"And after you've got it?"

"Back to America."

"Where?"

"I'm not certain yet. Somewhere up north, I believe."

"Where in London are you headed?"

"I haven't an address. But... ."

"What?"

"I've a feeling we shall not meet there. Something else looms before you. I see its cloud. That's all."

"A man can only try."

"You've striven harder than most."

"I love you, A

"My brushwood boy..." she said, and I felt her hand touch my hair. "I could not have found you had the need and the capacity not been in you, also."

We sat in silence for a time, and then I felt her presence weaken.

"I'm getting tired, Eddie."

"I know. I wish the Red Death had been a little more enterprising when it came to your companions."

"Templeton protected them," she said, "as you and your companion were protected by the remarkable lady who released the force which drives your coach."

I wanted her to stay with me forever, but I bade her good night. Then the real dreams came on—burning bodies hanging from a chandelier, people screaming, a bleeding ape, a walking corpse... .

"Damn it Eddie damn it Eddie damn it Eddie."

I opened my eyes. Grip was perched on my shoulder, calling my attention to a luscious show of pinks and oranges which had begun in the east.

"I'll take over now, Peters," I said. "You rest."

He passed me the reins and nodded. Grip moved over to his shoulder.

"Damn it Peters damn it Peters damn it Peters... ."

We passed many neglected farms, their fields blooming with a spring growth of weeds. We paused at one point and gathered food from the cellar and store house of a farm whose owners had either died of the plague or fled the country. Our nameless steed seemed barely winded, and when I placed my hand upon him he did not feel heated. The only change I noted in him from his first appearance back at Montresor's home was a certain odd, rumpled quality to his hair and mane, as of a garment losing its hem, in the first stages of unravelment.

We rode on, Ligeia directing us to a road that followed a river downstream. It took us through a region of dark tarns and bleak woodlands. Once more—possibly twice—during this phase of our journey I thought that I felt Poe's presence. But it was gone quickly, without communication.

That afternoon we came to a hill—overlooking Barcelona, so Ligeia informed me. I had come to enjoy our u

Grip came flying back from what appeared to be a harbor area.

"Damn it Guy damn it Guy damn it Guy," he a

I heaved a heavy sigh.

"I think he's spotted the Eidolon," I said loudly.

"Follow him," Ligeia directed, and I did.

We made our way down into the town. The streets were largely deserted, though I could hear sounds of activity at either hand, and I could see people through the windows of shops and residences. There were a few on the streets, also, hurrying, and they tended to converse over a distance. I'd a feeling the worst of it could have passed here, leaving no one in a hurry to resume face-to-face sociability.

We turned a corner and much of our horse's tail was whipped away by a sudden gust of wind. Only a single strand remained where it had depended. When we were nearly to the bottom of the long slope we had been descending, one of his ears vanished, along with much of his mane. Turning upon a welltended road which followed the waterfront, I was amazed to see that the animal's hindquarters appeared to be narrowing visibly with every few steps that he took. Looking downward, I was puzzled to see that he was treading upon what appeared to be a long strand of his own hair, a thing which seemed to emerge continuously from his own person. Looking back, I saw that it extended behind us back to the most recent corner we had turned.

I was about to petition Ligeia for advice, when a barrel came rolling down a hilly sidestreet, escaped from a pair of men who were loading a cart up that way.

For the first time, our steed was distracted. As if aware of his diminished condition, he turned his frayed head in the direction of the oncoming barrel. For the first (and last) time, also, he uttered a strange sound—a half-neighed bellow, which sounded as if it rolled and echoed its way to us from a great distance, off peaks and down mountain passes. Suddenly then, he was galloping. Whatever force it was that had moved him at supernatural velocities earlier, it came over him once again. Ships, piers, waterfront buildings became a blur. And the horse before me began to dissolve. Soon he was the size of a Shetland pony, though much more irregular in outline. Yet his strength held, despite the diminishment in stature; and we rushed through the harbor at a terrible pace. Soon it was as if a large dog drew our coach, a small one, an unwinding shadow. Then, realizing its plight, the shrunken creature reared, emitting a small, trumpet-like note. The coach passed over it. I looked back and all that I saw was a piece of string lying in the street. I drew hard upon the brake, but it did not slow us. Peters reached over then and pushed my hand away. He drew back upon the lever meant to restrain a wheel. Feet braced against the board, he pulled. His shirtsleeve was torn by his expanding biceps and a smell of smoke rose from below. But we began to slow.