The Black Throne Read online

  "All aboard, Mr. Perry! Emerson—you, too! Come on!" he said. Then, in afterthought as we boarded, "It is Perry, ain't it?" he asked.

  "It is indeed," I said, taking up one of the oars. "I never saw any of those men before. I've no idea why they attacked me." As we commenced rowing I added, "I must thank you for your intervention. It was most timely."

  He snorted something resembling a laugh.

  "Aye. It were most necessary," he said. "And almost too late."

  We drew heavily upon the oars, and after several minutes I could discern nothing but fog in every direction. The ape pushed its way between us, moved forward into the prow and crouched there. Every now and then it made a gesture which seemed to mean something to my rescuer, and he corrected our course slightly on these occasions.

  "Peters," he said suddenly. "Dirk Peters, at your service. We can shake hands another time."

  I grunted. Then, "You already know my name," I said.

  "True," he acknowledged. I waited for several strokes, but he did not elaborate. The fog remained heavy. The ape gestured again.

  "Hard to port. A pair should do it. I'll ease up and you pull," Dirk said then.

  I complied, and when course was corrected, we resumed our normal rowing, I asked, "Where are we headed?"

  Following a two-stroke pause, he replied, "There's a gentleman aboard a certain ship as has expressed a devout wish to see you. The same gentleman as sent me and Emerson ashore to look after your interests."

  "It seems an awful lot of people know who I am, knew where I was going to be and knew when I'd be there."

  He nodded slowly.

  "So it seems," he said.

  A little later, the ape uttered a low sound and bounced several times in place.

  "What's that, Emerson?" Dirk asked. Then, "Oh. Oh-oh," he uttered and suddenly we were backing water.

  There followed some eerie echoes, and then a great dark shape loomed ahead and sliding to starboard. It was the ship from which my pursuers had come. Even as we turned we drew nearer, and I was able to make out her name. She was the Evening Star.

  Nearer still. Then through a lighted port above the poop deck, I saw a dear, familiar form: Annie. She stood gazing out into the fog, not even turning her head in my direction. In fact, something about her demeanor and her mien gave me the impression that she was sleepwalking, entranced, drugged. A slowness of movement, an air of detachment—

  A hand fell upon her shoulder and she was jerked away from the glass. Immediately, a heavy drape was drawn and the light was gone. And Annie was gone.

  I uttered some sound, released my oar, and began to rise.

  "Don't even think of it!" Peters snarled. "Yer a dead man if you set foot on her! Emerson, hold 'im if he tries to go overboard!"

  And the creature actually did take hold of my collar. It could have weighed no more than I did, but having seen what it could do to a man I knew I should have no chance of escaping.

  In a moment I realized that Peters must be right. Dead, I would be of no use to Annie. I slumped. Then I took hold of my oar again.

  We rowed on, for some considerable distance. The fog broke and re-knit itself several times, though there was nothing to see but water and a few stars on those occasions when it opened. For a time I wondered whether we might have become lost, rowing in a great circle, or out to sea, or about to run aground. Then the shape of another vessel came into view—as mysterious and formidable-appearing as the first.

  "Ahoy!" Peters shouted.

  "That you, Peters?" came the response.

  "It is, and I've brought company."

  "Come alongside," called the other.

  We did, and shortly thereafter a rope ladder was cast down near us. Emerson snagged it immediately. Before we climbed to its deck, I caught sight of the vessel's name: Eidolon.

  The man looked frighteningly distinguished, with his dark hair light at the sides, gray mustache neatly trimmed, impressive brow, jawline rugged as he clenched a delicately carved pipe between perfect teeth. His well-tailored uniform was impeccable. He was tall and slender within it and his smile inspired confidence.

  "This is Captain Guy," Peters said.

  The man removed his pipe and smiled.

  "Edgar Perry . . . ?" he said.

  "Yes."

  He extended his hand. I took it.

  "Welcome aboard the Eidolon," he told me.

  "Thank you. Glad to meet you," I said. "Everybody seems to know who I am."

  He nodded.

  "You have been the subject of some attention."

  "Of what sort?" I asked.

  The captain glanced at Peters, who looked away.

  "Um, I'm not certain it is my place to say," he stated.

  "Is there anyone around who might be able to say?"

  "Of course," he said. "There is Mr. Ellison."

  He looked to Peters once more, and Peters looked away again.

  "Mr. Seabright Ellison," he said then, as if that explained something.

  "Do you think I might be able to make the acquaintance of this gentleman?" I inquired.

  Peters snorted and took hold of my wrist.

  "Come along," he said. "We'll be about that business right now."

  "Just what sort of vessel is this?" I asked then.

  Captain Guy paused in the process of replacing his pipe and said, "Why, this is Mr. Ellison's yacht."

  "Come along," Peters repeated, and we left the captain puffing in the fog.

  He led me below, and had I not already been informed I should have guessed from the fine woods and the high level of craftsmanship employed in facings and moldings that the ship must be a pleasure craft devoted to private use rather than a commercial vessel. And as we made our way, I wondered that Dirk Peters rather than Captain Guy was conducting me to my visit with the owner. Might he be somewhat more than the common seaman I had taken him for?

  He halted before a door carved with swimming dragons and rapped sharply upon it.

  "Who is it?" someone called from the other side.

  "Peters," he replied. "An' Perry's with me."

  "A moment."

  Shortly, I heard a chain fall and the door was opened. I beheld a large man—over six feet in height and of great girth. He had on a dark green and black dressing gown over an unfastened white shirt and trousers. A white fringe was all that remained of his hair, and his eyes were bright blue.

  "Mr. Perry!" he greeted. "I cannot say how delighted I am to see you in good health!"

  "It appears that I have you to thank for it, sir," I told him.

  "And you are most heartily welcome. Come in, come in!"

  I did that. Peters—at my side—gave a small salute, which Ellison returned, and departed.

  "Pray be seated," the big man said. "Are you hungry?"

  I thought back over the supper of marsh-hens which Legrand's slave Jupiter had fed me only a few hours ago.

  "Thanks, but I've eaten," I told him.

  "Something to drink, then?"

  "Can't say as I'd have any objection to that," I answered.

  He went off to a cabinet from which he returned with a squat decanter of ruby fluid and a pair of shot glasses. He filled the tiny things, raised one and said, "Your health." I nodded and watched as he took a small sip. I sniffed it. It smelled like wine. I took a sip. It seemed a Burgundy. I took the rest in a single swallow, wondering at the eccentricity which prompted the man to drink in this fashion. His eyes widened slightly, but he refilled my glass immediately.

  "Good man, that Peters," I said. "He timed his intervention perfectly, moved strongly, efficiently. Got me away against strong opposition. I confess I still haven't the least idea why those men attacked me, though. Or why—"

  "Yes?"

  "There is someone aboard their ship—the Evening Star—someone with whom I have an intimate connection. I'd be grateful if you could tell me anything of their purposes. Or simply who they are." I drank my other tiny portion of wine in a quick swallow,
and went on, "How did you know I was going to be where I was? And that I'd need rescuing?"

  He sighed and took another sip of his own drink, then refilled my own again.

  "Before going into that, Mr. Perry," he said, "there are a few details about your background concerning which I'd like to be certain. I must be sure—absolutely sure—that you are the gentleman I think you are. Have you any objection to answering a few questions?"

  I chuckled.

  "You saved my life and you're buying the drinks. Ask away."

  "All right. Is it or is it not a fact that your mother was an actress," he began, "and that she died in poverty."

  "Damn it, sir!" I responded, then got hold of myself. "Those are the facts," I said more softly, "as I understand them. I was not quite three years old when her death occurred."

  His expression did not change, and his gaze fell upon my wineglass for the barest instant. Almost as a cue, I felt obliged to raise it and drain it. I did so, and he refilled it immediately, following this with but the smallest sip from his own.

  "She died of consumption?" he went on. "In the city of Richmond?"

  "That is correct."

  "Satisfactory," he replied. "And what of your father?"

  " 'Satisfactory,' sir?" I inquired.

  "Come, come, young man," he said, touching my arm. "Sensitivity must wait. Matters of great moment hang in the balance here. I meant only that it was the answer I hoped to hear from you. Now, your father?"

  I nodded.

  "He was an actor, also, by all reports. He vanished from my mother's life and from mine, a year or two before she died."

  "Indeed," he muttered, as if that, too, were satisfactory. "And you had the good fortune, upon your mother's death, to be adopted by a prosperous Richmond merchant," he continued, "John Allan, and his wife?"

  "I would say rather that Mrs. Allan took pity on an orphan, and took me in. I was never formally adopted."

  Seabright Ellison shrugged.

  "Still, as a member of the Allan household, you enjoyed advantages denied to many," he observed. "For example, your four years in a private school in England—Manor House School, in the north of London, was it not?"

  "It was," I admitted. "Your knowledge of my life astonishes me."

  "And I suppose," he said, "it might have been at about that time when, in some—shall we say dream, or vision—you first encountered Annie?"

  I stared at him. No one in waking life could know of her. I had never spoken of her.

  "What do you know about Annie?" I whispered hoarsely. "What could you know about her?"

  "Not a great deal, I assure you," he answered. "Certainly not all that I should like to know. Still— more than you do, I dare say."

  "I have seen her," I said. "Two days ago, in Charleston—and again, within the hour. At this moment she is aboard—"

  He raised his hand.

  "I know where she is," he told me. "And while there is some danger involved, nothing threatens her at the moment. I can quite probably help you to reach her—eventually. But things will really proceed more swiftly if you will permit me to take things in my own order, at my own pace."

  I nodded.

  "Very well," I said, and I drained my minuscule wineglass once again. He refilled it, shook his head and muttered something that sounded like "Amazing."

  Then, "Are you familiar, Mr. Perry, with the name of 'Poe'?" he asked.

  "There is an Italian river, I believe," I stated.

  "Really!" he hissed. "P-O-E. A man's name. Edgar Poe. Edgar Allan Poe."

  "Sorry . . ." I said, then, "Ah. A confusion of identity. Is that it? Those men on the beach— They really wanted to kill this Edgar Poe."

  "No." Ellison raised his hand. "I beg of you, be of no illusions on that score. I've no doubt those men knew exactly whom they were to kill. It was you, Sergeant Edgar A. Perry. I will not say that Edgar Poe is in no danger. Far from it. But his fate will be more subtle, I suppose . . . and it need not directly concern us."

  He sighed, regarded his drink, then raised it, and finished it.

  "There is," he began slowly, "a confusion of identity, certainly. Yes, you are confused with Edgar Poe, in such a way as two human beings have rarely been confused in all the history of the word. But—I repeat—there is no confusion in the minds of those from whom I saved you tonight, and who will certainly seek your death again. No. It is certainly Edgar Perry they want dead."

  "Why?" I asked. "I don't even know them."

  He drew a deep breath, sighed again, refilled his own tiny glass.

  "Do you know, sir, where you are?" he asked, after a time. "The question is not rhetorical—and I do not mean it in the sense that you are in my cabin or aboard my ship. Pray, think in larger terms than that."

  I stared, studying him, I suppose, trying to decide what he was getting at. But I felt too buffeted by events to be particularly creative. So, "Charleston Harbor?" I suggested, to keep up my end of the conversation.

  "True. Quite true," he replied. "But is this, indeed, the Charleston harbor with which you are familiar? Have you seen nothing, during the past few hours, to suggest that this is a Charleston harbor which you have never seen before?"

  I saw again those wooded bluffs at sunset, and I recalled that strange golden beetle, hopefully still in my pocket. I reached inside and felt around. Yes. The leaf was still there. I withdrew it.

  "I've something here," I began, as I unwrapped it.

  The golden beetle was still present. It moved slowly upon the leaf which I placed atop an adjacent table. Ellison donned a pair of spectacles and studied it for several moments. Then, "A beautiful specimen of scarabeus capus hominus," he remarked, "but not, I think, that unusual. You find it truly remarkable, however?"

  "I have a friend on Sullivan's Island who collects insects, extensively," I explained. "His collection contains nothing remotely like this. Nor have I seen anything like it anywhere else."

  "But in this world, Mr. Perry, it is most common."

  "This world. Meaning—?"

  "Meaning the world where Charleston Harbor has bluffs and ravines just inland," he stated. "Where this beetle is common. Where a certain sergeant serving at Fort Moultrie ought to be named Edgar Allan Poe—but now is not."

  I raised my wineglass and stared at it. I drained it. He chuckled.

  ". . . Where wine is commonly served in glasses no larger than the ones we have before us," he went on. "Yes, pour yourself another, please." He took a sip from his own as I did so, and I extended the decanter in his direction. "No, no more for me, thank you. My tolerance for alcohol is not remotely the equal of yours, I am sure."

  "I still do not understand," I said, "about Poe, and why he's not at the fort, where you say he should be. Where is he? What has become different?"

  "He has gone to the world you came from," he said. "He has taken your place in your world, as you have taken his in this." He paused, studied my face. Then, "I see that you do not find the idea completely unbelievable."

  "No," I told him, "I do not. I have—known Edgar Allan for most of my life, through a series of strange encounters—as I have known Annie." I could feel my palms growing moist as I spoke. "You seem to have some idea what's going to happen to her aboard that ship. What do they want with her? What are they going to do to her?"

  He shook his head slowly.

  "She is not in danger of immediate bodily harm," he said. "In fact, her health is probably a matter of considerable concern to her captors. It is her mental and spiritual powers they wish to exploit."

  "I must get to her, find a way to help her," I said.

  "Of course," he agreed. "And I intend to show you how. You and Annie and the man you knew as Edgar Allan have met many times over the years, you say, under unusual circumstances . . . ?"

  "Yes—sort of dream-like encounters. Real enough, but with a special feeling to them."

  "Beyond the experiences themselves," he said, "have you any understanding as to what they re
present?"

  I shrugged.

  "Impossible to say, sir. We've discussed it occasionally but never found any satisfactory answers."

  "You and Poe inhabit separate worlds, similar yet different," he said. "As for Annie, though, I am not certain which might be her true home—possibly yet a third alternate Earth. I see you nod, sir—as if the notion of other versions of your world were not unfamiliar."

  "The possibility was discussed—once, briefly," I said.

  "Oh? Poe's idea?"

  I nodded.

  "Interesting mind there," he remarked.

  I shrugged.

  "I suppose so," I admitted. "A trifle melodramatic, and inclined to take off after chimera, though."

  "He was right."

  "Really, sir."

  "Really. I am telling you the truth, as I understand it."

  "I can follow you," I said. "I can even believe you, I guess. But I suppose it bothers me a bit to see the man right again—and in such a bizarre matter."

  "He was often right in odd matters?"

  "Yes. As you say, interesting mind, interesting ways of thinking."

  "Imaginative," Ellison supplied.

  I finished my drink.

  "All right," I said then. "Premise accepted. What follows?"

  "You, Edgar Poe, and Annie constitute a sort of psychic unit transcending the several worlds," he began. "It is Annie's exceptional abilities along these lines which provide the motive force of your connection. A number of people who see a way to profit by her mesmeric talents have kidnapped her and confined her in this world. It could only be done by switching around everyone in your triad. Hence, it was necessary that you and Poe also be exchanged—"

  I snorted.

  "Mesmerism, sir! Really!" I said. "This sounds to me like the makings of a hoax."

  His eyes widened and he smiled. He shook his head.

  "You have no trouble with alternate realities, yet you balk at the notion of subtle influences? Between people, between people and nature? Indeed, you are an amazing man."

  "I have seen something of alternate realities," I explained, "yet I have never seen this so-called animal magnetism in operation."