The Black Throne

by Roger Zelazny

  "I do many things," he said, "chemistry among them. Right now I am waiting to hear on a possible contract which will occupy me for some time, should it be approved. I may not discuss it, however."

  "Didn't mean to pry," I said, tasting the tea. "Perhaps I'll get to try the chess player another day."

  "Perhaps so," he agreed. "When did you arrive in town?"

  "Just this morning," I said.

  "Surely you didn't cross the ocean just to seek me out and engage in an unusual game?"

  I laughed.

  "No, I came into some money recently," I said, "and I'd always wanted to tour the Continent. When I learned earlier that you were in town I decided to look you up and add pleasure to pleasure, so to speak."

  "How interesting," he said. "So few people are aware of my presence here."

  Griswold or some French bureaucrat? I wondered. Where should I claim having heard he was in town?

  Blame the French government, I decided. There's ample precedent for that in all areas. But the decision was taken from me as the rear window was shattered.

  A burly form finished kicking in the frame then stepped into the room from the pitched edge of the adjacent building. Damn! The timing was way off. I'd wanted at least to broach the subject before the attack occurred.

  Another figure, leaner but appropriately villainous in appearance entered behind the burly man. I could see that there was yet another behind him. I was pleased that they seemed perfectly suited to their roles.

  Von Kempelen dropped his cup and retreated across the room to stand before his workbench, arms raised in defense of his equipment. Peters and I rose to our feet, and the burly man gave us a puzzled look.

  I growled as I moved forward, but I couldn't even mutter the appropriate reprimands, as I doubted any of them spoke English. I feinted with my left toward the big man's face. He blocked it with his right and drove his left into my midsection. It was at that moment that the thought occurred to me that these might not be the men I had contracted for come early, but rather the real thing keeping their own schedule.

  I turned and twisted, hoping to avoid the rabbit punch I felt sure would come next. It didn't, however, for Peters reached out and caught the man's fist as it descended. I heard the big fellow laugh and saw him try to pull back the arm. His expression became one of surprise as it failed to move. Then Peters jerked the arm downward and the man bent forward. Moving forward, he caught hold of the man's left ear with his teeth and twisted his head to the side, tearing half of the appendage away. The man screamed as his cheek and neck were incarnadined. Then Peters caught hold of the arm with his other hand as well and broke it across his thigh. While he was doing this, one of the others struck at his head with a club. I was unable to move to his assistance or even to shout a warning.

  The blow landed and Peters reeled but did not go down. He turned toward the man with the club and the second man leaped upon his back. In the meantime, the man with the broken arm and half an ear drew a knife from a belt sheath with his right hand and lurched toward the grapplers.

  Unable to raise myself erect I bent forward, clasped my knees and rolled against the man's legs. He uttered a French oath I added to my collection as he fell upon me. Dazed, I expected to be punctured at any moment, but the thrust did not arrive. I sucked several deep breaths and tried to rise, just as the screaming began.

  When I straightened and turned I saw Emerson stuffing the body of one of the men up the chimney.

  Peters was twisting the other man's arms into a pretzel-like shape and the man I had knocked over was rising to his feet, knife in his hand, half of his face wet and red, his other arm hanging useless. I heard heavy footsteps on the stair and a cry of "Gendarmerie!" just as bones began snapping in the man Peters was twisting and the other lunged at me. Even as I blocked his thrust and struck him on the point of the chin a heavy blow fell upon the door. Something was obviously wrong in our supposed deal with the police. As another blow fell upon the door Emerson left off stuffing his man up the chimney, bounded across the room, seized the straight razor Von Kempelen had left atop his dresser, departed by way of the window, and vanished across the rooftops.

  "Not a bad idea, that," Peters observed, casting his man aside. To Von Kempelen: "Thanks for the tea."

  Then he passed through the window and scrabbled away himself.

  I cast a glance back at the inventor, who still guarded his work. Another blow fell upon the door.

  "Uh, good night," I said "Good luck."

  He narrowed those amazing eyes uncertainly, then, just as I departed, "Be careful," he called.

  I heard his door burst open before he got to it. The tiles were damp and slippery, and I kept my gaze on the shadowy figures ahead. After a time, the roof grew flat. There were shouts far to the rear. I hurried.

  Below us the dogs still complained.

  * * *

  For how long we fled, I am uncertain. At length, I followed Peters through a window into a deserted topfloor apartment. Whether he or Emerson had located it—and whether by chance or some arcane instinct—I never inquired, though it seems we misplaced Emerson at about that time. We lay doggo for several minutes then, listening after sounds of pursuit. None followed, so we let ourselves out, took the stairs to the ground without incident, and entered upon the street.

  We wandered for a time then, but the night remained still. Even the dogs had grown silent. Shortly, Peters found us a cafe where we rested over a glass of wine, assessing our injuries—which seemed minor—and repairing our appearance. Miraculously it seemed, he had retained his bear-hide wig withal.

  It seemed futile to speculate as to why the Prefect of Police had not done as he was supposed to—or hadn't done as he wasn't, as the case might be. We decided to wait a good while and then drift back to the neighborhood we had vacated so abruptly, to see whether we might be able to learn anything there.

  In the meantime, Peters bit off a great chaw of tobacco from a plug he had with him, amazing me with his ability to spit out of the door—a good distance from where we sat—whenever it opened—without touching the person entering or departing. I, in my turn, drank four local tipplers under the table, it taking slightly less than two normal glasses of wine for me to do it. Our performances caused considerable merriment among the other patrons during the couple of hours we spent in the establishment.

  A clock somewhere chimed the hour for the third time since our arrival, and so we settled our bill and departed. The night had grown considerably more chill during our interlude indoors, and we turned up our collars and jammed our hands into our pockets before heading back to the scene of our earlier confrontation.

  The building was entirely dark. We passed it several times and no one seemed to be about in the vicinity.

  Finally, I went up and tried the door. The lock had been broken. It opened easily. I motioned to Peters and we entered.

  Moving slowly, treading carefully, we mounted the stair. When we came to the landing outside Von Kempelen's door we halted and listened for a long while. A total silence prevailed. After a time, I reached forward through the darkness and investigated manually. This lock, too, was broken and the door frame splintered.

  I pushed the door open and waited. There was no reaction.

  I entered. There was moonlight through the broken window to the rear. By this illumination we could see that the place was entirely empty. Not a stick of furniture, not a test tube, spoon, or teacup remained.

  Even the bench itself had been removed.

  Peters whistled softly. "Most pecooliar," he said. "What do you make of it?"

  "Nothing," I said. "It could mean too many things. We must see Dupin first thing in the morning. He may have some answers."

  Peters spit out the window.

  "May not, too," he said.

  We hiked back to the ship where a hairy form greeted us from the rigging.

  * * *

  "Bonjour, damn it!" said the raven, who had perched himself upon the ar
m of my chair and was studying me as I drank a cup of tea.

  "Bonjour yourself, bird or devil," I said.

  "He seems to like you," Dupin observed. "You actually got him to say 'nevermore' the other day."

  "Rawk! Nevertheless!" Grip cried, spreading his wings and cocking his head.

  "Concerning the matter of the letter," I prompted.

  "Yes," he replied, smiling. "By means of a ruse involving a gold snuff box I was able to gain access to the minister's letter rack. It contained a number of delightfully incriminating items. But to the case in point, Von Kempelen had proposed selling his secret to the government, and there was indication in the form of a note in the minister's own hand, following the text, that the price was too high but that a robbery might be staged to obtain the man's notes. It was also suggested they act quickly, since others were interested and might come up with the price. This note was initialed by another minister and yesterday's date, the thirty-first, was written beside it."

  "The government would do a thing like that?" I exclaimed.

  He cocked an eyebrow at me and took a drink of tea.

  "And the timely arrival of the police?" I said. "That was just a part of it? Your government now has Von Kempelen and his secret?"

  "Not at all," he replied. "I was able to get word of this affair to Monsieur Gisquet, our Police Prefect, who has long been on less than cordial terms with my namesake minister. Barely in time, as it turned out—and there was no time at all to get a message to you, though I understand you acquitted yourselves admirably. The body up the chimney remains a bizarre puzzle, however." Here, he raised his hand as I attempted to speak "No, I don't want to hear about it."

  "Actually, I wasn't about to tell you," I said. "I was merely going to ask who, then, has Von Kempelen?"

  "Actually nobody has him," he replied. "He and all his equipment are, at this moment, headed for the border. Gisquet's men packed his equipment and his personal belongings while an agent of the man explained the situation to Von Kempelen."

  "All of this to spite a government official," I said. "Were you the agent?"

  He smiled again. "I wouldn't tell you if I were."

  "I know. I did not ask for informational purposes."

  "We understand each other," he said.

  He refilled our cups. I took a satisfying sip of the scalding brew.

  "Which border?" I asked then.

  "He is headed for Spain—Toledo," he said. "Though whether this is his actual destination or possibly a clever ruse to confuse pursuit, I could not say. Again, it was one of those matters I did not really wish to know. But as to the literal meaning of your question, I do not know whether he will be crossing the border at the independent Duchy of Aragon or that of Navarre on his way south."

  "I understand," I said. "Thank you."

  He cleared his throat.

  "The reason I referred to it as 'possibly a clever ruse' is because the man is playing a somewhat dangerous game. I should not spend too much sympathy on him should he meet with misfortune at some point along the way."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I said that that letter rack contained other incriminating items... ."

  "Yes?"

  "One of them even pertained to this affair. It was a summary of intelligence reports from agents in various capitals, indicating that Von Kempelen has made the same offer to a great number of people in different places—such as Italy, England, Spain, Navarre, Aragon, the Netherlands, even the Vatican."

  "Goodness! All of them to the government, or rulers?"

  "All of those I mentioned, yes. Among private individuals, a Rufus Griswold is on the list—as is Seabright Ellison."

  "Really? This was not mentioned to me."

  He shrugged.

  "You may have passed the offer in transit. Whatever, it seems obvious from this that Von Kempelen is either incredibly naive or near-diabolical in his cleverness. To attempt to create a bidding situation among individuals and states such as these is to court abduction and torture or blackmail. Some of the individuals involved are totally ruthless and willfully treacherous. These are not the sort of men one seeks to play off against one another."

  "And one such resides in Toledo?"

  He nodded.

  "Archbishop Fernandez. He'll wind up a Cardinal or an excommunicant—or a pile of ashes—one of these days."

  "I keep forgetting the Inquisition is more than a page in history down that way."

  "Is the Archbishop for it or agin it?" Peters asked.

  Dupin chuckled.

  "He blows hot and cold on it," he explained. "Whichever'll help him to a red hat, I'd say. As the power shifts, so does he."

  "You're sure Von Kempelen isn't really headed for Navarre or Aragon?" I asked. "You said they were involved."

  Dupin shrugged and turned his hands palm up.

  "I know only what he said—plus the fact that he sent a letter ahead to Toledo. Make of it what you would."

  I sighed.

  "Then it looks as if we're finished here," I said.

  "In that case—" He withdrew an envelope from beneath his serviette. "—I would like to present my bill for extraordinary services at this time, since you are authorized to execute bank drafts and I may not see you again."

  I accepted the envelope, opened it.

  "There are two bills here," I observed.

  "So there are," he responded.

  I was just beginning to get a feeling for the monetary system, and I was taken totally aback by the extremely large amount of the second bill, for "unspecified services."

  "This one," I said, shaking it, "to Madame Roget—I do not understand its significance."

  "It is in the way of compensation to the lady," he said, "for the loss of her daughter. Marie Roget's body was found in the river, just a few hours ago."

  "Oh," I said, and I asked for the use of his pen.

  * * *

  Returning to the Eidolon, I decided it was time to consult Monsieur Valdemar. Ligeia, however, had gone ashore to make a few purchases. So I obtained from Captain Guy a duplicate key to Valdemar's suite, deciding to employ my own cumbersome mesmeric abilities rather than wait. I invited Peters to join me, but he begged off, pleading primitive superstition. Actually, the reason I'd invited him was because my own feelings on the matter were still not that far removed from the same state and I'd wanted company. Helas! as they say in Paris.

  I lit a few extra candles and raised the upper portion of the lid to the wine crate-cum-casket. Focussing my attention on the center of my body, I raised the energy and let it flow to my hands. The candles flickered. The armoire in the corner creaked. I made the first pass and a series of rapping sounds occurred within the wall to my left. I felt the energy extend, pass into Valdemar. The chair in the corner of the room lurched forward. There came the obligatory moan, and seconds later his eyes opened.

  Things did not stop there, however. Next, he sat up.

  "Easy. Take it easy, Valdemar," I said.

  "What have you done to me?" he asked.

  "Just the usual," I replied, "to bring you within reach of a few questions."

  "Where is Ligeia?"

  "I'm not certain, and I was in something of a hurry. So I decided to go ahead on my own."

  "Oh my! Oh my!" he announced. "I see now—what has occurred."

  "Tell me. Please."

  "Her presence served to dampen somewhat—that otherworldly energy of yours. Without her—it went wild. I am animate once more—but still not living!"

  He raised his hand slowly. One eye (the right) descended to regard it. The other remained blank.

  "This is terrible," he observed, fixing me then with a baleful glare.

  "I'll reverse the process in just a minute—as Ligeia taught me—if you'll answer a couple of questions. I haven't interfered with that ability, have I?"

  "I still see as I saw," he said, bringing his hands slowly together.

  "I think I should be heading for Toledo. Do you s
ee anything in this regard?"

  "I see us heading for Toledo, yes."

  "That's all you see?"

  "There is an intersection there with Annie. I can tell you nothing else."

  "I'm inclined to take that as a good sign," I said.

  He began rubbing his hands slowly. Then he raised them and felt his face.

  "What can you tell me of Poe?" I asked.

  "I do not understand the question. It is very general."

  "Sorry. What is he doing right now?"

  " 'Now' is a meaningless term. Your worlds move on different time tracks."

  "Projecting forward along his," I said, "from the time of our exchange, for the same period of time that I have spent here, what can you tell me concerning his situation in life and his state of mind?"

  "I understand," he said, crossing his arms and feeling his shoulders. "He still does not realize what has occurred. He gives signs of doubting his own sanity. He would like to start a magazine of his own, but can find no one interested in funding it. He seems to be depressed."

  "I would like to talk to Poe. Could you bring him here if I provided more mesmeric energy?"

  "No. That is beyond me."

  "Could you send me there?"

  "No."

  "What about Annie's kingdom by the sea? Could you arrange for us to meet there?"

  "I don't think so, but let me— No."

  "Could you just send him a message? I want to assure him that I am real, that Annie is real, that he is not mad."

  "I might be able to, but I do not know what form it will take."

  "Try."

  He slumped suddenly and fell back, hands coming to rest upon his breast.

  "It is done," he announced slowly.

  "Was it successful?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you tell now what form it took?"

  "No. Let me rest... ."

  I reversed the pattern of my passes, withdrawing the energy I had extended. The rapping came again, in all of the walls as well as the ceiling. The chair slid toward me, then toppled to its side. Valdemar let out a particularly piteous moan, then his eyes closed and the casket slammed itself shut.

  I extinguished the candles and went to make travel arrangements.