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!"
"A little rain never hurt anybody," Legeia observed. "Have you narrowed the range of Von Kempelen's flight yet?"
"France or Spain. I can say no more at this time. I turn, I freeze, torn 'twixt the bournes of spirit and matter!"
"What became of the Kingdom of the Netherlands? You'd mentioned it the last time I asked."
"That probability has diminished. I say to you that I am dead!"
"I'm not feeling too well myself this morning. Are Griswold, Templeton, and Goodfellow aware that we pursue them?"
"Indeed they are. Oh! Oh! Oh!"
"Have they formed any plans yet which might bring us to distress?"
"I deem it likely, though I cannot tell you their thinking. They have taken no action yet which might cause you harm."
His lower jaw fell, revealing his long yellow teeth and his swollen and blackened tongue.
"Quick! Quick! Put me to sleep or waken me! Quick, I say! I say to you that I am dead!"
"Sleep well then," Ligeia said, passing her hands above him and closing the lid.
Other times, we discussed different matters:
"Good morning, Monsieur Valdemar," she said. "And how are you today?"
"Oh! The agony ... !"
"I was wondering about this business of alternative worlds," I said. "I get the impression there are many, many such, each slightly—or, perhaps, greatly—different from the others."
"Nor are you incorrect. Spare me, I beg! Let me live! Or die! But no more of this twilight horror!"
"I was wondering, too, how the transportation of an individual from one such world to another might be effected."
"First, it requires locating extremely similar individuals on disparate worlds who possess a—kind of resonance—with each other—"
"How could one possibly locate such people?"
"One would employ a special detector. Please ..."
"Describe this detector."
"A person who is neither living nor dead—but partakes of both—may be directed to extend his awareness—in this fashion—"
"That sounds suspiciously like a description of yourself."
"It is."
"Are you trying to say that you were party to our world-switching?"
"No. I served only to locate the requisite individuals."
"You found Poe, Annie, and myself for Griswold and company?"
"I did."
"How?"
"It may not be described. Only experienced. Please ..."
"Put him back to sleep, lady."
And then, again, on a gray, blustery day when the sea wore whitecaps and the decks did surprising things beneath our feet: