A clucking sound caused me to look to my left. Emerson swung toward me, anchored himself to the mast, extended his hand and took hold of my arm. Slowly, feeling the beast's strength and coming to trust his intention, I relaxed my grip upon the line and permitted myself to be led toward the mast and down it, finally achieving the surer footing of a wooden crosspiece, where I stood hugging the mast till the worst of the vertigo departed. It had been infinitely more frightening to find myself suddenly in that position than had I made the effort to climb carefully to it. I grunted my thanks to Emerson, who must have realized that I felt safer now, for he released me and moved off. Then I climbed down slowly, troubled by the turns my childhood visions seamed to be taking.
"Mr. Perry," came a familiar voice. "I am impressed by your conscientiousness as head of this expedition. Had I known you wished to inspect the vessel I'd have been only too happy to provide you with a guide—or have conducted your tour myself. I'd no idea a landsman might possess such diligence in nautical matters."
I clasped my hands behind my back to conceal their shaking, and I nodded slowly.
"Why, thank you, Captain Guy," I replied "It was hardly a tour of inspection—more a matter of satisfying my curiosity as to how things were secured above."
He smiled.
"Most prudent. I trust you were satisfied by what you saw?"
"Indeed. I was impressed."
"I was about to send you an invitation, sir, to take your luncheon with me in my quarters at eight bells, so we can get to know each other a bit better and discuss this journey."
"Sounds like a good idea," I agreed. "Thank you. I'll see you then."
I returned to my own cabin for a little cowering and reflection. I sprawled on the big bunk, hands behind my head, gazing abstractedly at the containers of colored liquid on the lab table at the end of the room, musing upon the fact that Valdemar lay just beyond that wall. I thought over the events of the past several days, also, when the tempo of my life had commenced its acceleration. Questions I had been too sleepy, startled, distracted, or confused to articulate began tumbling through my mind. What was the power of the enemy, and where did it reside, for them to have been able to move Poe, Annie, and myself from world to world the way they had? What was Ligeia's strength? And of main importance, to me, why were my experiences with Poe and Annie—which had been casual things spread out over a lifetime—suddenly changing in character, frequency, and intensity? Never having understood their mechanism from the beginning, I was at a loss to understand these new developments. This most recent one, which had left me hanging in the rigging, puzzled me most of all. We had always been of an age in our encounters. Could Time itself be subject to arcane manipulation? And if so, why was it suddenly happening to us?
Somewhere before the point at which it all seemed clear to me I fell asleep. When I woke I could not remember the answers. But it was the ship's bell that roused me. In that I was not certain how many times it had rung, I left my quarters to find out.
I encountered Dirk Peters near the companionway, smoking a cigar. Every now and then Emerson, who lurked in a shadow, would reach out, borrow the cheroot, puff upon it, and return it.
"Indeed, Mister Eddie, 'twas eight bells you heard," he said, "and if you're lookin' for the captain's cabin, it's over that way." He gestured with the smoldering weed, which Emerson promptly borrowed.
"That first door?" I asked.
"The second," he responded. "I hear as you come out of the riggin' without getting' into it proper."
"I guess that's half the story," I said, refusing to ask him whether he could hold converse with Emerson.
At this, he chuckled.
"Must run," I said. "Thanks."
A hairy hand waved a cigar at me.
Captain Guy welcomed me, saluting my health with a minuscule glass of wine. The kitchen mate who served us departed as soon as everything had been laid out and dispensed before us.
"Mister Perry," he said, refilling the glasses, "I have decided to give you a tour of the vessel immediately following our meal."
"Why, thank you, sir. You don't have to—"
"My pleasure entirely, I assure you. Mr. Ellison tells me that you will have no problem providing us with travel information as we go along."
"Yes," I agreed, as he began eating. When he glanced up at me suddenly, I added, "Hopefully, there will be no complications on that front."
"And you have made the acquaintance of the mysterious Monsieur Valdemar?"
"I have."
"The man is some sort of master calculator, is he not?"
"I am not certain," I answered. "The matter did not come up during our conversation."
"Oh," the captain observed. "I simply assumed he worked with abstruse formulas to keep track of the other vessel's progress."
I shook my head.
"No," I said, beginning to eat.
"Mister Ellison conferred with him for some time before his departure," he observed. "He informed me afterwards that our destination lay in southern Europe. He said further that you would provide us with more detailed information as it was required."
"I shall," I replied.
"Is there anything Monsieur Valdemar requires of us?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"He has had no meals sent to his room."
"Special diet, I believe. Ligeia takes care of his needs."
"I see. Let me know if they want anything, will you?"
"Of course."
"A very interesting man. He must have a strange story to tell."
"I'm sure he does, though I'm yet to hear it."
We ate for a time in silence, then he asked, "Any idea at what point you might have further sailing instructions for me?"
"When will you need them?"
"Not for some time yet."
"Let me know when you do, and if I haven't already gotten them, I'll get them."
He smiled faintly then and turned the conversation to matters nautical and meteorological. Afterwards, he kept his word and I got the tour.
That night I watched a storm for a long while. It rumbled and spit fires on its way up from the south. I stood under a God's plenty of stars in a clear sky, there on the main deck. The storm came striding across the water like some bright giant insect. A cool breeze preceded it, and shortly the waves grew higher, their splashings against the hull more forceful. A little later and the ship was rocking, the breeze punctuated by gusts, the banging of the thunder much nearer at hand. The stars were drowned in a pool of spilled ink and the face of the deep was illuminated by countless flashes. I wondered whether it was storming on that other world, where poor Poe wrote or edited, his depressed alcohol metabolism in this place serving him ill in that. There came a blinding flash from directly overhead, followed immediately by a clap of thunder. Then a hard rain pelted the deck, and I scurried for the stair, half drenched before I reached it.
In the days that followed I maintained my resolve, visiting with Valdemar in the morning. Ligeia would open his wine-crate casket, and, secrecy no longer necessary in my case, a few tapers or an oil lamp would illuminate the scene, casting flickering shadows across the man's waxen features. The lady would exercise her art, performing mesmeric passes above him until he moaned, sighed, wailed, or barked, signaling the fact that we had his attention once again. Usually, on these occasions, I would feel the energies, also, as if water were somehow flowing through my body. Then we would exchange greetings:
"For the love of God, let me go! I am dead, do you hear? Have you no compassion? Release me!"
"What will the weather be like today?" I asked.
"Sunny. Winds out of the southwest. Thirty knots. Light midafternoon showers. Oh, oh, the agony!"