I was about to petition Ligeia for advice, when a barrel came rolling down a hilly sidestreet, escaped from a pair of men who were loading a cart up that way.
For the first time, our steed was distracted. As if aware of his diminished condition, he turned his frayed head in the direction of the oncoming barrel. For the first (and last) time, also, he uttered a strange sound—a half-neighed bellow, which sounded as if it rolled and echoed its way to us from a great distance, off peaks and down mountain passes. Suddenly then, he was galloping. Whatever force it was that had moved him at supernatural velocities earlier, it came over him once again. Ships, piers, waterfront buildings became a blur. And the horse before me began to dissolve. Soon he was the size of a Shetland pony, though much more irregular in outline. Yet his strength held, despite the diminishment in stature; and we rushed through the harbor at a terrible pace. Soon it was as if a large dog drew our coach, a small one, an unwinding shadow. Then, realizing its plight, the shrunken creature reared, emitting a small, trumpet-like note. The coach passed over it. I looked back and all that I saw was a piece of string lying in the street. I drew hard upon the brake, but it did not slow us. Peters reached over then and pushed my hand away. He drew back upon the lever meant to restrain a wheel. Feet braced against the board, he pulled. His shirtsleeve was torn by his expanding biceps and a smell of smoke rose from below. But we began to slow.
It was fortunate that traffic was very light. We halted near to a stack of crates, piers to our left, gray gulls swooping and calling. Peters released his grip by degrees, raised his arm slowly then and pointed.
"There be the Eidolon, Eddie. The beasty did a good job o' gettin' us where we was goin'."
As we were climbing to the ground, I overheard Ligeia mutter, "Pax vobiscum, Metzengerstein."
Later, as Peters and I were unloading Valdemar and a few other items, and crewmen were coming in our direction from the ship to assist in their transport, I happened to glance skyward. My gaze was taken by a cloud formed in the distinct colossal figure of a horse, of an unnatural color.
I told Captain Guy to set sail immediately for England, and that I would brief him as soon as we were underway as to the exact state of our affairs. The three of us ate a quick light meal while we were casting off, and I quaffed a brandy afterwards which caused everyone who passed to stare as if waiting for me to fall over. Then I headed back to my cabin where I washed the dust of the road from me. Afterward, I made the mistake of stretching out on the bed for a moment.
I was awakened by a terrible pitching and rolling of the vessel. I finally stirred myself, drew on my garments and went topside briefly. I watched the storm and the flow of shipped waves but a few moments. Then I returned below and managed to locate Peters. I had slept for over twelve hours, he told me, though the storm had begun but recently.
Bad weather dogged us out of the Mediterranean, and when we attempted a northward course to England a fresh storm descended upon us, of greater ferocity than anything encountered earlier. Since no headway could be made we simply prepared to ride it out. We were blown far out to sea, however, and it was three days before the storm let up. When it did, considerable pumping and repair was in order.
Whatever evil genius might rule this section of the sea, it seemed to have taken a particular dislike to ourselves. For no sooner had the Eidolon been restored to full serviceability than another storm broke upon us, driving us farther south. And this was the worst, by far, of them all, to that point. It bore us without letup into the Tropic of Cancer, equator-wards.
"This storm ..." Ligeia said to me on the morning of the seventh day.
"Yes?" I said.
"It seems to be ending now."
I reached out to knock on a wooden railing. "Thank God!" I added. "Sailors really do have it worse than soldiers. I'm ready to believe it now."
"Don't. Not yet," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure this storm was natural."
"Oh?"
"Just at the end here, just for a moment, I thought I felt her fatigue, allowing a slight slippage of control where personality might show through."
"Go slow," I said. "I'm not at my best."
"I believe they have Annie drugged again," she stated, "and that she was the motive force behind this storm. But a week—even with drugs and mesmerism—was about as much as she could manage. After all, they don't want to hurt her permanently. She has greater uses than simply brushing us out of the way."
"Are you sure of this?" I asked.
"No, I'm not," she replied. "Even under the influence her mind is a subtle thing."
There was a lull with a clearing that afternoon. The crew actually cheered on seeing a blue sky for the first time in what seemed ages. More pumping and patching were undertaken. Fortunately, the masts had remained intact.
In a way, I guess, it was good that a lot of work was going on, as the sails had not been run up again when the next storm broke, when they simply would have had to come down again.
And so we rode for a day, and Ligeia assured me that it was a natural storm and not one of Annie's doings. It delivered us to another and yet another took over after that. We were below the equator now, somewhere in the Tropic of Capricorn and still being driven south. Ligeia still felt this was simply a piece of seasonal bad fortune.
Finally, it broke, and the skies stayed clear that day, that night, and on into the next day. All refurbishings were effected, a propitious breeze came upon us. We ran up sail and turned our nose north.
The crew cheered again. The demons had departed. The hour was ours and it was golden. People sang and whistled at their tasks. Hernandez was instructed to produce an extra-fine dinner, which he did.
The good wind held, and the sky was clear as the sun went down. What more could we ask that night when we crawled into bed, more content perhaps than in an age of days?
The next tempest struck like an angel with a fiery sword, and this by far was the worst of them all. I was up, dressed and out on the deck in a trice, for it might well be that every hand were needed, to struggle yet another time against the weather's perversity. This time, several crew members were lost overboard, as well as sail and rigging. Even one mast splintered and went by the board, leaving the Eidolon halfcrippled, though still in no immediate danger of sinking or capsizing. It was fortunate we had been able to complete our latest round of repairs before this one broke.
For many days it persisted. We could no more guess at our position on the sea. But this time there was a different feeling to it. On several occasions I experienced the same sense of communication and division as I had back on the coach during our flight: It was as if Poe were somehow near again—somehow.
And then Ligeia told me, "She walks the night like some dark goddess of old. This is Annie's storm.
Directed at us."
"Not of her own volition surely!"
"She is not their creature out of choice," she replied. "They have succeeded in gaining control of her again."
"Is there nothing you can do? Or Valdemar?"
"Valdemar still suffers his psychic blindness wherever Annie is concerned. As for myself, I have been holding her back as best I could for some time now. I think we should be on the bottom by now, except for the few small victories I have achieved. She has grown incredibly strong."
"Is there nothing that can be done?"
She shook her head.