The Black Throne

Onward.

The visions of the local scene had all pointed in one direction: Ellison and his rivals had concluded that it would be better for them to join forces than to fight each other. My supposed benefactor was now in league with the men he had sent me to chase more than halfway around the world. Von Kempelen, here at Arnheim with them, would transmute a large amount of lead into gold. This hoard of precious metal would then be turned over to Ellison, as payment for vast properties—including Arnheim itself—considerable jewelry, and some other items of great worth. Immediately thereafter, all parties to the agreement would witness the destruction of the gold-making apparatus. No further production would occur to cheapen the price of gold and devalue the new hoard.

Onward.

The colors of autumn were all about me, as I moved my gaze from the sky-blue lake where the most recent vision had occurred. It involved killing Von Kempelen afterwards, so that the process would not soon be repeated.

Onward.

And so at last I reached the center of the Domain, the Paradise of Arnheim, and there I was overwhelmed by a gush of melody, an oppressive sense of strange sweet odor, and a dream-like intermingling of tall eastern trees, bosky shrubberies, flocks of golden and crimson birds, fountains, lakes, flowers, meadows, silver streamlets. For longer than I should have, I stood overpowered by the sensory assault, and then I entered there.

I took my way cautiously, but I encountered no patrols. Before me, upsprung from the midst of botanical grandeur was a great mass of semi-Gothic, semi-Saracenic architecture, glittering in the red sunlight with a hundred oriels, minarets, and pi

As I drew nearer, I realized that the place was moated. I circled it, several times, keeping well-concealed by the profuse shrubbery. Seeing no other means of entry I selected a likely causeway and dashed across it.

Save for a barely perceptible crack down the front of the place, the masonry looked in excellent order.

I passed through a Gothic archway and approached a heavy wooden door. I tried it and found it unlocked. I entered.

There was much old woodwork, somber tapestries on the walls, and an ebon blackness to the floor. I crossed the room quickly and carefully, without making a sound, blade loose in its scabbard, pistol loaded, other surprises hidden about my person.

I stepped into a hallway and passed along it, inspecting each room that I passed. Seabright Ellison was in the third one to the left.

Seeing no need for a dramatic entrance, I merely walked in. It was a library, and Ellison in a maroon dressing gown of silk was seated on a dark, bulging lounge reading and smoking a cigar, a glass of what was probably sherry on a side table to his right.

He looked up and smiled as my shadow fell upon him.

"Perry," he remarked, "and right on time."

I was not about to play it his way and ask what he meant by that. I simply responded with my most important question:

"Where is she?"

"Here, and quite comfortable," he replied. "No one here would harm her, believe me."

"She is being held here and forced to do something against her will."

"I assure you she will be well-paid for her efforts," he said. "For that matter, you are owed considerable recompense yourself for your activities on my behalf."

"I believe I recall your offering a bonus If I killed Griswold, Templeton, and Goodfellow for you. I'm willing to do it now. Is the offer still good?"

He paled slightly, then gri

"I'm afraid it expired several months ago when I came to an agreement with these men."

"You're partners now?" I asked.

"More or less, yes."

"And Von Kempelen's here?"

"So he is. You have been doing your homework. Would you care for a glass of sherry?"

"So long as you'll keep talking."

"Of course. What can I tell you?"

He found me a small brandy snifter, from which a few drops were ordinarily inhaled. He filled it halfway.

"You say you'll pay A

"For her own good, as I can demonstrate."

I took a sip.

"Demonstrate it, then."

"I spoke of her share in a great fortune, so great that—"

"I see. And Edgar Poe?"

He rose. He jabbed the air with his cigar and paced through the smoke.

"What of Edgar Poe?" he asked. "If he has become a friend of yours—and A

But the unique relationship among the three of you could not go on forever."

"Oh, could it not?"

"It could not." Ellison nodded, as if I had simply been agreeing with him from the begi

"The separation is your choice, though."

"Not a bit of it, my boy. No, not a bit. Dreams and the world of practical affairs can never mingle long."

I took a final sip of the sherry and put the glass aside.

"I want to see her."

"Of course," he said.

He walked across the room and made a small gesture. I followed him.

He opened a door and we passed into another larger room, also filled with books and pictures. He continued through it, but I paused before a painting in a niche to the left. It was a portrait of a woman with curling hair and large dark gray eyes. She wore an old-fashioned bo

"Come on," Ellison called, halting on the threshold.

"Seabright Ellison sounds almost like a stage name," I said. "You ever do any acting?"

His eyes narrowed.

"Perhaps. Why do you ask, lad?"

I studied him in turn. The painting was a larger version of one which I possessed in miniature—my only picture of my mother, Elizabeth. I doubted he could know I owned it.

"The lady looks somehow familiar," I said.

He shrugged.

"It came to me as part of an estate I bought. Just fit that piece of wall."

My head spun. Nothing I had encountered since meeting the man had shocked me as much as this.

"Oh," I said, and turned away.

He passed through the door and into another high-ceilinged room of books, armor, and art. I took a quick step back and ran my thumb over the painting's dusty brass nameplate.

Elizabeth Arnold, I read there, and I hurried after.

It was my mother's name, though I'd hardly needed that confirmation of the actress' identity. If he were really the man who'd abandoned her... .

But this was this world, not my original one. Ceteris paribus, he was Poe's deserting father, not mine.

But all things were not equal between this Earth and my Earth, which meant I could never know for certain whether he were truly, intentionally sacrificing his own son in this enterprise. Or if my own father had been a person similar to him, back home.

"Lovely place," I said, catching up with him. The doors had ceased after those first two rooms and now we passed through Gothic archways hung with red or blue cloth. I began realizing that this gallery passed along the entire side of the building.

"You don't remember your folks, do you?" he said, after a time.

"I don't think so. I was pretty young."

We came to the end of the gallery and turned right. A short length of hallway took us past an entranceway to a courtyard about which numerous armed men lounged, eyeing each other from opposite ends of the place.

"Athletic teams?" I suggested.

He chuckled.

"Yes. Mine and theirs. We brought them along to keep each other honest."

"So you had to go in together to meet Von Kempelen's price?"