All of which would be pretty much academic, save that Prospero was apparently one of the men Von Kempelen had approached on the matter so near to everyone's heart. And Von Kempelen had elected to enter the refuge with the prince.
Because of the involvement of Annie, Valdemar could not be certain, but he felt it likely that Templeton, Goodfellow, and Griswold had also taken sanctuary with Prospero.
"Find me the place," I insisted.
"It is outside Tarragona," Valdemar explained, gesturing now. "To the northwest. A little village called Santa Creus."
And so we headed east.
The following week our coach rattled into Santa Creus. It was an eerie feeling, for the town was mainly deserted. We rolled about its streets for a time that afternoon, viewing at last what had to be the abbey, in the distance—an enormous building with soldiers on the walls and at every point which might possess a gate. I told our driver to head for it.
When our approach was noted several shots were fired in our direction, and orders to halt were shouted in Spanish, French, and English. We complied.
I stepped down from the coach. I took one step in the direction of the abbey.
"Halt!" a guard repeated.
"Certainly. I'd appreciate speaking English."
"What do you want, English?" one called back.
"I'm looking for some people I believe may have gone inside a few days ago."
"If that is the case there is no way to reach them," he said.
"It's very important." I flipped a gold coin into the air and caught it.
"We're billeted just inside the wall," he said. "Even we can't go any farther. The inner doors are welded shut."
"What about messages then? Is there no way to get a message inside?"
"No," he answered. "No way."
"All right," I said. "I understand. In that case, I'd like some information."
"Don't have any," he said. "You'd better be moving along."
"Wait! I'll pay you for it," I offered.
He laughed.
"Wouldn't touch your gold," he said. "Might be tainted with the Death."
I assumed my best parade ground voice then, "Soldier, was there a German named Von Kempelen? And four Americans—three men and a woman?"
He straightened visibly, his shoulders moving back.
"Sir, I do not know," he replied. "There were so many."
"Thank you, soldier. I take it nobody's doing business in town?"
"No, sir. And if I were you I'd not stop there. I'd head for the border and beat the horses till they fell.
Then I'd start running."
"Thanks." I turned away. I entered the coach.
"What now?" Ligeia asked me.
"We ride away," I replied. "We stop as soon as we're out of sight of the place. Then we have a talk with Valdemar. Annie may or may not be inside, but it's not her I want to ask about."
We parked near a skeletal olive grove. The others helped get down the coffin, and then took a walk when I explained that Ligeia and I were about to open it—save for Grip, who stood upon my left shoulder and observed.
Valdemar's eyes came open immediately when I raised the lid, without any preliminary mesmerism. The daylight did not seem to be bothering him either. Ligeia gave me a strange look and passed her hands above him then. Even before she had finished, he spoke: "What place is this?" he asked. It was not at all like him to initiate conversation.
"This is Santa Creus, near Tarragona, in Aragon," she answered.
"What is there that is special about it?"
"The Red Death has apparently taken a massive toll here," she said.
"Ah!" he said. "Those lucky, lucky dead! How fine! How fortunate! Gladly would I trade caskets with any of them. To sleep! Perchance never to dream!"
I cleared my throat.
"I hate to keep bothering you with the mundane and earthly," I said, "but there's no one else I can ask."
"I understand your mortal predicament," he replied. "Ask."
"There is a huge abbey near here. We just visited the place," I explained. "There seems to be no way in.
It is guarded. The doors are even welded shut. But I believe that Von Kempelen is inside, and possibly Annie, Templeton, Goodfellow, and Griswold. It occurs to me that large ancient buildings often possessed secret entrances. Can you tell whether this is the case here? I want badly to get inside."
His eyes rolled back suddenly, showing only the whites once more. His hands fell into place across his breast. There was a long pause before he spoke, then, "There is a secret passage from the abbey to the city," came his sepulchral tones. "A tunnel. It has been out of use for so long that I cannot see where life may pass. It has been changed. Perhaps sealed. The town has changed above it."
Again, silence.
Finally, "Could you be more specific?" I inquired.
"No," he replied. "But Von Kempelen is within, and there is that ambiguous quality I have learned to associate with Annie. She may well be there, also."
"Could it also be as it was in Toledo? Confusion at the crossing of her path?"
"Yes."
"Still, I have no choice."
He said nothing.
"The tunnel is the only secret way in?" I asked.
"The only one that I see. Let me rest."
I executed the dismissing gesture myself, without thinking. His eyes closed and the lid slammed. At this, Grip did his champagne uncorking sound.
In a little while we were loaded again and on our way into town.
We parked in a mews near the plaza, and I hung my saber from my belt. The afternoon was running on toward evening. Peters and I thought to explore quickly, obtain a general notion of the place's layout and perhaps gain an impression of the likeliest area for the tunnel's terminus. Ligeia was to wait with the coachman during our excursion.
And so we hiked about, Emerson flitting from building to building and through an occasional treetop, pacing us. The town was very quiet. Storefronts were boarded over. We saw no one, heard no voices.
"Does it bother you that the plague has passed this way, and something of its essence may still linger?" I asked Peters.
His grin remained constant.
"When yer time's up, yer time's up," he said. "An' if it ain't, it ain't."
"I'm not quite that fatalistic about it," I said, "but I've a feeling I'd have learned from Valdemar if this were too risky a sojourn."
"More likely Ligeia'd've said something."
"What do you mean?"
"She's more'n a fancy hand-waver to put folks asleep," he said. "Told you that back aboard ship."
"You mean she's a witch? A sorceress?"
"I 'spect," he replied softly.
We passed through an area where there had been some burning, where blackened, half-fallen, windowless shells lay amid puddles and weeds. The odor of stagnant water came to my nostrils, along with assorted smells of decay. Emerson perforce descended to ground level here and shambled beside us for a time.
At length we passed out of this section of town and came into a rundown area crossed by rutted roadways. As we followed it Emerson vanished again. It became obvious to us that all of these buildings had been broken into. In consideration of the cost of moving things—as well as the time of additional exposure involved in transport—the merchants had counted on the simple security of boards and nails for protecting their goods. Some inhabitants of this place had not fled, it would seem, and had engaged in a bit of looting.
Walking a bit farther we had almost passed a great decaying hulk of a building when we heard a sound of laughter from within. It was not the cheerful laughter of good fellowship, but rather a barking, fiendish sound. Still... . I exchanged glances with Peters and he nodded.