The Black Throne

He chuckled.

"It has its advantages," he observed. He rose then and bowed, a silver-haired and goateed individual, bright blue eyes enlarged through heavy spectacles. "Dr. Augustus Bedloe, at your service."

"Ah, you are a member of the staff."

"No. As a matter of fact, I am a patient here."

"I'm sorry... ."

"No need. I am not demented, if that is what you fear."

"I—do not understand."

"Might I inquire as to your professions?"

"I am Edgar Perry, U. S. Army, retired," I stated, extending my hand. "My friend is Dirk Peters, First Mate of the Eidolon."

He clasped our hands and shook them.

"Merely attempting to ascertain whether you were in any fashion associated with the courts or law enforcement establishments. I am pleased that you are not."

"Always glad to please." I glanced at Peters, who shrugged.

"I am actually one of the only two sane persons in this institution," Dr. Bedloe a

"Of course," I agreed.

"I am serious, sir, and I speak only for your own benefit—to warn you."

"How did this state of affairs come about?"

"The inmates took over three days ago," he explained, "confining Tarr and Fether to a padded room. Mr.

Maillard, a dangerous maniac, was their leader."

I studied his face. He sounded so convincing.

"And why should you believe me?" he said. "Well, consider: Why should the gate be unlocked and the inmates wandering the grounds?"

"That did sort of bother me, Eddie," Peters said uneasily. "Tell me, Dr. Bedloe, whatcha doin' here if yer sane?"

"The alternative was to be hanged for murder a few years ago," he answered. "It was preferable to fake lunacy and live. That was why I inquired concerning any affiliations on your part with the legal business."

"Oh," Peters said, and I agreed.

"I am harmless," the man assured us. "But a patient suffered a fatal heart attack on coming out of a trance I had put him into, and his ignorant relatives held me culpable."

"Trance? You are a mesmerist?" I inquired.

"Indeed, sir, and once accounted a fairly good one."

"I find myself at odds," I said, "with a man using that art in a far more nefarious fashion than yourself."

"May I inquire as to his identity?"

"A certain Dr. Templeton," I replied.

"I am not unacquainted with the man," he told me, "and I do not doubt what you say in the least."

"You actually knew him?"

"Yes, and I know, too, that he has not changed his ways. Even now, he and his cohorts—a certain Goodfellow and Griswold, I believe—are up in New York at the Domain of Arnheim, cooperating with the millionaire Seabright Ellison in the manufacture of alchemical gold, to the formula of some German inventor they've hired."

"What?" I was on my feet, moving toward him, reaching to clasp his lapels. "How could you possibly know such things?" I cried. "You said yourself that you've been here for years."

"Please, sir! I'm an old man. I only wish you well, which is why I've warned you about this place. Do as you choose with what I've told you, but do not harm me."

"Just tell me how you came to know their current doings?"

"It is the affair of the other sane patient I spoke of," he told me. "Mr. Ellison had hired him as a personal secretary and he had been employed at Arnheim for some months. Actually, he was a journalist who wished to write a piece exposing Ellison's illegal affairs, which cover several continents."

"If the man was discovered, why wasn't he killed?"

"He was too well-co

"They simply took Templeton's word for it?"

"No. The man, Sanford Martin, was entirely insane at the time of his commitment. It is not that difficult for one skilled in our art to induce this state temporarily. Later, since the condition would pass, they had him transferred to this institution and registered under a different name. He told me of the goings-on at Arnheim."

I clutched at his sleeve.

"Sir, did he at any time mention the presence of a lady called A

"He did," Dr. Bedloe replied, "as a lady possessed of very unusual ability, who is working as Von Kempelen's assistant."

I turned away. I sank into a chair and buried my face in my hands.

"To have come so far," I said at last. "To be so late... ."

I felt Peters' arm about my shoulder.

"Now, Eddie, yer du

"I could arrange for you to speak with Sanford Martin, if you wish to verify what I've told you," Dr.

Bedloe said.

"That won't be necessary, sir," I told him. "You couldn't very well have made up something like that, something that fits so closely with the facts as I know them."

"Eddie, yer won't make good time travelin' with Valdemar," Peters told me, "and Ligeia won't leave him."

"I know."

There came a babble of voices from the rear of the building, seeming headed in our direction.

"I repeat my suggestion that you depart quickly," Dr. Bedloe said, "and seek your cart somewhere else."

"Do you want to come with us?"

He shook his head.

"Can't," he replied. "And in here I do some good. I've cured a number, to date."

We got to our feet. We shook his hand again.

"Good luck, boys," he told us.

"We'd better run, Eddie," Peters said, as the sounds of angry cries drew nigh.

We ran.

Once we were off the grounds and into the woods I opened my money belt, extracted gold coins and shared them with Peters, enabling him to obtain transportation for himself and the others. And a new casket for Valdemar. I had suggested that he remain in their company, as protector, while they were on the road north. This was not complete altruism on my part, as I still wondered at the strength of whatever loyalty he might have had for Seabright Ellison. I had never learned its nature or how it had come about.

I had the feeling, however, that he, too, was happy about remaining down here while I headed up there, to settle matters.

I embraced the sinister dwarf, with an affection I have felt for few. Under a Hunter's Moon, we parted.

How shall the burial rite be read?

The solemn song be sung?

From A Paean, Edgar Allan Poe

XIV

"You have conquered, and I yield. Yet henceforward art thou also dead—dead to the World, to Heaven, and to Hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself."

From William Wilson, Edgar Allan Poe

It was night in the lonesome October when I went over the high wall of fieldstone, avoided an armed patrol and began to make my way through the miles of landscape garden toward the main house at the Domain of Arnheim. I could not be certain of the exact location of that edifice, but a recent visitation with Ligeia—who now seemed to have access to the kingdom by the sea—had left me with marching orders for the ascent of the Wissahiccon River. I broke into Landor's cottage that night and slept there, Ligeia having mentioned that A

The magnificence of the landscape gardening would, at any other time, have proved distracting. But I was blind to beauty now. Every night—and sometimes days, as well—came a fresh dream or waking vision, of A