by Alan K Baker
Sophia drew in her breath and tightened her grip on the razor as the bathroom door began to swing open.
And then, without warning, there was a great whirring and flapping, and something began to bang loudly and repeatedly against one of the tall sash windows in the suite’s sitting room. Sophia heard it clearly and nearly dropped the razor in her surprise.
‘What the devil’s that?’ cried one of the intruders.
Sophia could hear the window rattling in its frame under the onslaught. So loud was the banging that she thought it must surely shatter.
‘What is that?’ the man repeated.
‘I don’t know, and I don’t want to know,’ his accomplice replied. ‘Hang this. Come on, let’s get out of here!’
‘But…’
‘Come on!’
As the great flapping and whirring continued, the intruders fled the suite, slamming the door behind them. As soon as they had done so, the mysterious cacophony ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
Sophia could feel her heart thumping in her chest in counterpoint to her laboured panting. Even in her terror and confusion, however, she realised that the noise must have been noticed, that at this very moment people were almost certainly rushing to investigate.
She dropped the razor in the sink, threw open the bathroom door and rushed into the sitting room. Sparing only the briefest glance at the windows, which were now still and silent, she moved swiftly to the suite’s outer door, opened it a crack, and peered into the corridor outside.
It was empty, but she could hear voices approaching, and so she slipped out and headed quickly for the nearest stairwell. As she walked, she thrust a hand in her pocket, to make certain that the ampoule containing the Taduki drug was still there…
Blackwood regarded Simon Castaigne, taking in his drawn features, his wild eyes and furrowed brow, and tried to decide whether the man was raving mad. He was reluctant to consider him so, for he had seen the effects produced on weak minds which had delved too deeply into the mysteries of the occult, and he had little doubt that Castaigne’s mental faculties were both powerful and entirely intact.
Castaigne took another sip of water, his hand trembling very slightly, and continued, ‘Who or what is the King in Yellow? Let me be completely honest with you, my friends: he is the very embodiment of evil, its distillation and personification. Where his origin lies, I cannot say; perhaps it lies in the ultimate, uncharted gulfs of the Æther, or perhaps it lies beyond the bounds of our universe, in a dimension whose very existence is unknown and unsuspected by Earthly science. What I do know, from my many visits to Carcosa, is that he came to that unhappy world in the distant past, a blight from the nethermost reaches of space and time, a living nightmare from the ultimate Æther which infected the world with its hideous alienness.
‘For centuries, the King in Yellow has ruled over Carcosa, feeding on his living subjects in atrocious and unfathomable ways, his form undiscernable save for the seething mass of tattered yellow in which he clothes himself, his true face forever hidden behind the terrible mask he wears.
‘And throughout those long centuries, Carcosa has writhed beneath the Yellow Sign; the stars have turned black in the sky, and its moons have gone insane; its parent suns have withered, while the Hyades sing mournfully in the infinite night.
‘Thus in ages long past did Queen Cassilda compose her singular lines:
Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
In Carcosa.
Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead;
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
Lost Carcosa.
‘Strange lines indeed, and I believe that a similarly strange and terrible fate awaits the Earth, once the King in Yellow has emerged from his castle at the bottom of the Lake of Hali. If that is allowed to happen, then he will travel to the Earth, and our world and Carcosa will become twins in despair and doom!’
A loud murmur of shock and consternation spread through the audience. Cuthbert Fforbes-Maclellan rose to his feet and said, ‘But how do you know this, Dr Castaigne? And why does the King in Yellow have our own world in his sights?’
Castaigne’s gaze fell upon the Worshipful Master as he replied, ‘I know because I have watched the cloud waves roil upon the waters of Hali, indicating a great disturbance in the depths of the lake. And I have heard the people of Carcosa affrightedly whispering that the King in Yellow is about to emerge, releasing himself from his vast and horrible castle on the lakebed.’
‘And what about the Earth?’ said Fforbes-Maclellan. ‘What interest could such a creature have in our world?’
‘For a detailed answer to that question, Worshipful Master,’ replied Castaigne, ‘you would have to ask Mr Charles Exeter.’
Another murmur spread through the audience, but this one was louder, more confused and, Blackwood noted, more indignant.
‘Charles Exeter?’ repeated Fforbes-Maclellan. ‘The railway magnate?’
‘The same,’ Castaigne nodded. ‘I have been paying close attention to Mr Exeter’s activities for some time now… ever since I was alerted to his existence by an acquaintance of mine, who is a collector and dealer in antiquarian books. My acquaintance told me that Mr Exeter had purchased from him a fantastically rare book written in the sixteenth century by the great mathematician and occultist Dr John Dee. The book’s full title is A True and Faithful Relation of What Passed for Some Considerable Time Between Dr John Dee and the Planetary Angels of the Distant World of Carcosa; however, it is more commonly known as the Carcosa Fragments.’
In spite of his own surprise, Blackwood couldn’t help but smile at the uproar this latest revelation caused amongst Castaigne’s audience. The man certainly knew how to work a crowd, and if he were telling the truth, then his theatricality was more than justified. He was undoubtedly correct when he described the Carcosa Fragments as ‘fantastically rare’: it was a record of the astral visions described by Dee’s assistant, the scryer Edward Kelley, who claimed to have visited the distant world in non-corporeal form and conversed with Carcosa’s Planetary Angels, beings which were comparable to the faeries of Earth.
According to occult rumour and legend, Dee was so terrified by what he had written that he burned the manuscript; Kelley, however, had already made a copy, which he secretly kept. Through the centuries, several other copies had been made – one of which Exeter had apparently purchased from Castaigne’s acquaintance. Those individuals who had been lucky – or unlucky – enough to read the Carcosa Fragments had refused to divulge what they contained, so horrifying were the contents, and Blackwood assumed that Exeter must have offered an irresistible price to secure his copy.
‘I hardly need remind you,’ Castaigne continued, ‘of this book’s fearsome reputation. After all, it is still listed in the Vatican’s Index Librorum Prohibitorum, and all Catholics risk excommunication if they should be discovered to have read it. Of its contents much is whispered, the most persistent rumour being that Carcosa is home to a horrific entity, a being whose very existence is a blasphemy, an affront to the natural order of the universe. This being, known as the King in Yellow by the people of Carcosa, lives in the remains of the Castle of Demhe, which was once home to the royal family of Carcosa, and which sank into the Lake of Hali shortly after his arrival. There he broods and bubbles, slowly absorbing the life of Carcosa and its people and warping the very laws of physics with his loathsome presence.
‘This, my friends, is the being which Charles Exeter wishes to contact. This is the reason I have come before you ton
ight, for he must be stopped, before he brings down a terrible blight upon the Earth.’
Stunned, Fforbes-Maclellan sat down, shaking his head in disbelief and throwing a haunted glance at Blackwood. With a grim expression, the Special Investigator stood up and said, ‘Dr Castaigne, how do you know all this? Where is your proof that Exeter is mad enough to try to contact this being? And how do you know what will happen if he succeeds?’
Castaigne looked at Blackwood and heaved a great sigh. ‘I know, sir, because I am one of the unlucky few who have read the Carcosa Fragments… and as a result, I know exactly how and why Exeter is going to try to summon the King in Yellow to Earth!’
Sophia’s carriage stopped outside her Kensington apartments, and she lost no time in bidding her driver goodnight and hurrying indoors. She gave her housekeeper the rest of the evening off and sent her away, before shrugging off her coat and retrieving the little glass ampoule from her purse.
As she held it up to the gaslight and peered at the ash-like powder it contained, Sophia felt both her breath and her heartbeat quicken. She could hardly believe what she was about to do: how reckless it was! How dangerous! I should give this to Thomas, she thought. I should surrender it for chemical analysis and wait to see what he decides should be done. She frowned. But then again, why should I? I may well be holding in my hand the means to solve this mystery. I could have been killed tonight… how stupid it would be for my courage to fail me now!
As she thought of how narrow her escape had been, she wondered again what had caused that loud whirring, flapping sound at the window…
‘It was me,’ said a voice behind her.
Sophia whirled around to see a tall, graceful, fabulously beautiful young woman standing in the doorway leading to the sitting room. She was dressed in a long tunic of bright emerald green which shimmered in the gaslight, as if it really were made of jewels. From behind her shoulders, four delicate dragonfly wings extended, their glittering surfaces like glass stained with mother-of-pearl. She smiled at Sophia and arched one perfect eyebrow beneath her long mane of shining, chestnut-coloured hair, and Sophia felt her pulse quicken yet further.
She recognised her instantly.
It was Titania, Queen of Faerie.
CHAPTER SIX:
Sophia’s Journey
‘You?’ said Sophia when she had caught her breath and composed herself. ‘You made the sound which forced those ruffians to flee?’
‘Yes,’ replied Titania, her voice at once as soft as a breeze and as powerful as a thunderclap. ‘I must admit that I had expected more time to pass before our next meeting.’
Sophia resisted the urge to bow before the Faerie Queen, for she knew that Titania and her husband King Oberon did not care for such theatrical demonstrations of respect.
‘It has been but a handful of days since you and Mr Blackwood were our guests in the Fortress of Apples. I congratulate you, by the way, on the manner in which you resolved the affair of the Martian Ambassador.’
‘Thank you,’ Sophia whispered.
‘We have been watching you with great interest,’ Titania continued. ‘That is how I became aware of the danger in which you placed yourself this evening, and that is why I was able to come to your aid.’
‘Thank you again, Your Highness,’ said Sophia.
Titania laughed, and Sophia found herself simultaneously delighted and terrified by the sound. ‘Your human salutations are most amusing, Sophia,’ she said. ‘And I acknowledge your gratitude… yet I fear that you are still in danger, and still in need of my help.’
‘I… I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.’
Titania glanced down at Sophia’s fist, which was curled around the ampoule. ‘I think you know exactly what I mean.’
She turned and walked into the sitting room, and Sophia hurried after her. ‘Would… would you care for some refreshment? A cup of tea, perhaps?’ she asked.
Titania laughed again by way of reply, and Sophia felt her face burn with embarrassment as the silliness of the question. It had jumped to her lips automatically, although she excused it as merely the instinct of a young lady to be hospitable towards a guest – however unexpected or singular that guest might be.
The Faerie Queen sat down on the burgundy chaise-longue which dominated one wall of the little sitting room and watched in silence as Sophia tentatively lowered herself into an armchair across from her.
‘I take it you know what that is,’ Titania said, indicating Sophia’s hand.
Sophia uncurled her fingers and looked down at the ampoule. ‘It is a drug known as Taduki.’
‘And you know the effect it has upon the human mind.’
‘Yes… I know.’
‘And still you intend to imbibe it.’
Sophia looked up and met Titania’s gaze. ‘I must.’
‘Why?’
‘To prove my worth.’
‘To Mr Blackwood?’
Sophia didn’t answer, and Titania smiled broadly, revealing small teeth, perfect as alabaster. ‘He understands your worth, Sophia…’
‘No… he does not, despite his protestations to the contrary.’ She sighed and held the ampoule up to the light. ‘But with this, I can make a real contribution to this investigation; with this, I might gain knowledge enough to allow us to solve the mystery of the Underground quickly, and without causing further suffering to the people who must work there.’
Titania regarded her in silence for a few moments. ‘Is that the only reason?’ she asked presently.
‘Of course it is.’
‘There is no other? Not the insatiable desire you have to plumb the deepest mysteries of the universe? To give some meaning, perhaps, to your father’s death?’
Sophia jumped to her feet and glared down at Titania. ‘This has nothing to do with my father!’ she cried.
The Faerie Queen’s eyes grew wide, and the smile which curved upon her perfect lips was no longer exquisite to behold, but dark and frightening and filled with incomprehensible power. ‘Sit down, Sophia,’ she said, and in her voice was a tone of command which Sophia could not refuse. Her knees buckled, and she sank quickly into the chair. ‘Do you think I offer insult to your father’s memory by describing the true nature of your motivations?’
Sophia sighed again. ‘No.’
‘And well you should not. We of the Otherworld have always taken an interest in those humans who take an interest in us, whatever their reasons. You strive to understand the supernatural, because the supernatural entered your life when you were little more than a child, and it took away your parent. You transformed your loss, your terrible despair, into a quest for knowledge, and that is what saved you. But the quest for knowledge can be dangerous: it can lead the seeker into places where one does not belong, places where nothing may be found but madness and death.’ Titania indicated the ampoule. ‘That is what you risk if you take the Taduki drug.’
‘Have you come here merely to dissuade me from doing so, or to physically prevent me?’ asked Sophia.
Titania held Sophia’s gaze, unblinking. ‘It is true that I could stop you… but I will not.’
‘Why not?’
‘For the reason Oberon explained to you when you were our guests in the Fortress of Apples. We cannot intervene directly in human affairs – at least, not those of greatest import. In fact, I have come close to breaking the Covenant by visiting you this evening, and yet I decided to do so, because I care for you, Sophia, and I would not see you destroy yourself.’
‘I have the impression, Your Highness, that you know much more than you are letting on,’ said Sophia. ‘Do you know what will happen to me if I take the Taduki?’
‘I… have an inkling.’
‘Tell me.’
Titania shook her head. ‘I cannot.’
‘In that case, I don’t understand why you came here at all. You can stop me, but you choose not to, and yet you are trying to dissuade me. If you are prevented from interfering in human affairs by th
e Faerie Covenant with the universe, then what’s the difference?’
‘The difference is that the choice must be yours. I can advise you, but no more. And, gentle Sophia, I advise you not to take the Taduki drug.’
Sophia looked again at the little ampoule nestling inoffensively in the palm of her hand. ‘I must,’ she whispered.
When she looked up again, she saw that she was alone in the room: the chaise-longue was empty. ‘Queen Titania?’ she said.
A voice sounded softly close to her ear. ‘I have done what I can, Sophia,’ it said.
As she sat alone in her sitting room, Sophia felt a great, seething wave of loss sweeping through her, freezing her heart and making her gasp. She dropped the ampoule to the carpet, buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly, her entire body shaking with each sob.
Eventually, the pain subsided, the tears stopped flowing, and Sophia took a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse and wiped her eyes. For what seemed like a long time, she stared at the ampoule lying on the carpet at her feet, then she reached down and picked it up and took it into the kitchen.
She ran herself a glass of water and snapped the top off the ampoule. She stopped, frowning, realising that she had no idea how the drug should be taken. She had intended to pour it into the water… was that the way to do it? Well, she thought, I can’t think of any other way…
