"This way, mate!" came a raspy voice from the rear and my arm was seized in a powerful grip. "C'mon, Emerson! Move it!" he cried, and the ape turned toward us and followed.
I allowed myself to be led, through the brush to a cleared area which took us to the beach. We commenced running then. I'd no idea where we were headed but the short man at my side moved with a definite purpose. There were sounds of pursuit, but the fog muffled them more than a little and it was difficult to tell whether they were on the right track. My first glance at my rescuer had made me think him, for a moment, to be a child, as he was no more than four-and-a-half feet tall. But then I glimpsed his strange ruddy face beneath an unusually coarse shock of dark hairs, and I realized simultaneously the width and thickness of his shoulders and upper arms.
He ran, I jogged, the ape lurched and sprang along the shore. At length, we halted beside a pile of brush which the man immediately attacked. I gave him a hand as soon as I realized that a small skiff was concealed beneath it. Before we had done with it, however, one of our pursuing sailors stumbled toward us out of the fog. He held a cutlass in his right hand and he raised it high when he beheld us.
"Damn!" he cried, rushing forward.
The small man stood between us. His left arm went up as the blade was swung toward his head. He caught the wrist of the man's swordarm, halting its descent entirely. Then, without particular haste, he reached forward with his right hand, catching hold of the fellow's belt around its buckle. At that moment, I heard a crunching sound, as of grating bones, from the vicinity of the wrist he was still squeezing. The swordsman repeated his earlier observation, but he was already off his feet by then, raised into the air by the small man, who turned and cast him out over the waters. Immediately, the short man caught hold of the skiff, which he pushed, effortlessly, seaward, having paused only to give me a wink and an evil grin.
"All aboard, Mr. Perry! Emerson—you, too! Come on!" he said. Then, in afterthought as we boarded, "It is Perry, ain't it?" he asked.
"It is indeed," I said, taking up one of the oars. "I never saw any of those men before. I've no idea why they attacked me." As we commenced rowing I added, "I must thank you for your intervention. It was most timely."
He snorted something resembling a laugh.
"Aye. It were most necessary," he said. "And almost too late."
We drew heavily upon the oars, and after several minutes I could discern nothing but fog in every direction. The ape pushed its way between us, moved forward into the prow and crouched there. Every now and then it made a gesture which seemed to mean something to my rescuer, and he corrected our course slightly on these occasions.
"Peters," he said suddenly. "Dirk Peters, at your service. We can shake hands another time."
I grunted. Then, "You already know my name," I said.
"True," he acknowledged. I waited for several strokes, but he did not elaborate. The fog remained heavy.
The ape gestured again.
"Hard to port. A pair should do it. I'll ease up and you pull," Dirk said then.
I complied, and when course was corrected, we resumed our normal rowing, I asked, "Where are we headed?"
Following a two-stroke pause, he replied, "There's a gentleman aboard a certain ship as has expressed a devout wish to see you. The same gentleman as sent me and Emerson ashore to look after your interests."
"It seems an awful lot of people know who I am, knew where I was going to be and knew when I'd be there."
He nodded slowly.
"So it seems," he said.
A little later, the ape uttered a low sound and bounced several times in place.
"What's that, Emerson?" Dirk asked. Then, "Oh. Oh-oh," he uttered and suddenly we were backing water.
There followed some eerie echoes, and then a great dark shape loomed ahead and sliding to starboard. It was the ship from which my pursuers had come. Even as we turned we drew nearer, and I was able to make out her name. She was the Evening Star.
Nearer still. Then through a lighted port above the poop deck, I saw a dear, familiar form: Annie. She stood gazing out into the fog, not even turning her head in my direction. In fact, something about her demeanor and her mien gave me the impression that she was sleepwalking, entranced, drugged. A
slowness of movement, an air of detachment—
A hand fell upon her shoulder and she was jerked away from the glass. Immediately, a heavy drape was drawn and the light was gone. And Annie was gone.
I uttered some sound, released my oar, and began to rise.
"Don't even think of it!" Peters snarled. "Yer a dead man if you set foot on her! Emerson, hold 'im if he tries to go overboard!"
And the creature actually did take hold of my collar. It could have weighed no more than I did, but having seen what it could do to a man I knew I should have no chance of escaping.
In a moment I realized that Peters must be right. Dead, I would be of no use to Annie. I slumped. Then I took hold of my oar again.
We rowed on, for some considerable distance. The fog broke and re-knit itself several times, though there was nothing to see but water and a few stars on those occasions when it opened. For a time I wondered whether we might have become lost, rowing in a great circle, or out to sea, or about to run aground. Then the shape of another vessel came into view—as mysterious and formidable-appearing as the first.
"Ahoy!" Peters shouted.
"That you, Peters?" came the response.
"It is, and I've brought company."
"Come alongside," called the other.
We did, and shortly thereafter a rope ladder was cast down near us. Emerson snagged it immediately.
Before we climbed to its deck, I caught sight of the vessel's name: Eidolon.
The man looked frighteningly distinguished, with his dark hair light at the sides, gray mustache neatly trimmed, impressive brow, jawline rugged as he clenched a delicately carved pipe between perfect teeth.
His well-tailored uniform was impeccable. He was tall and slender within it and his smile inspired confidence.
"This is Captain Guy," Peters said.
The man removed his pipe and smiled.
"Edgar Perry ... ?" he said.
"Yes."
He extended his hand. I took it.
"Welcome aboard the Eidolon," he told me.
"Thank you. Glad to meet you," I said. "Everybody seems to know who I am."
He nodded.
"You have been the subject of some attention."
"Of what sort?" I asked.
The captain glanced at Peters, who looked away.
"Um, I'm not certain it is my place to say," he stated.
"Is there anyone around who might be able to say?"
"Of course," he said. "There is Mr. Ellison."
He looked to Peters once more, and Peters looked away again.
"Mr. Seabright Ellison," he said then, as if that explained something.
"Do you think I might be able to make the acquaintance of this gentleman?" I inquired.
Peters snorted and took hold of my wrist.
"Come along," he said. "We'll be about that business right now."
"Just what sort of vessel is this?" I asked then.
Captain Guy paused in the process of replacing his pipe and said, "Why, this is Mr. Ellison's yacht."
"Come along," Peters repeated, and we left the captain puffing in the fog.
He led me below, and had I not already been informed I should have guessed from the fine woods and the high level of craftsmanship employed in facings and moldings that the ship must be a pleasure craft devoted to private use rather than a commercial vessel. And as we made our way, I wondered that Dirk Peters rather than Captain Guy was conducting me to my visit with the owner. Might he be somewhat more than the common seaman I had taken him for?
He halted before a door carved with swimming dragons and rapped sharply upon it.