"Then I do not understand," I said. "Now the experiences are unlike any others I have known. Something must have happened."
"Yes," he answered. "But the bond remains the same. It is the character of the experience that has changed."
"So, what's causing it?"
"Annie is trapped in a cage of narcotics and mesmerism. They warp her perceptions, distort her sendings."
"How can I help her?"
"Too many probabilities come together in her presence," he said, "for me to see a single course of action as best."
"In effect, she is calling for help and there is no way we can help her?"
"Not at this time."
I turned away, grinding my teeth together, biting off an oath.
"Then there is nothing I should do?" I snapped.
"I cannot make a moral judgment on your behalf."
"Damn it! I just want to know how to help her!"
"Then you must protect yourself. You must be alive and unmaimed when the opportunity occurs to effect her deliverance."
"The opportunity will occur?"
"It is possible."
"Where and when will it be most possible?"
"I cannot say."
"Damn," I said. "Damn! Can't you tell me anything that might be useful to me?"
"Yes," he said, at length. "When things grow truly horrifying, not everything may be real."
"You've lost me," I said. "I do not understand."
"Even now," he responded, "Templeton and Griswold are seeking the means for turning Annie into a weapon."
"Annie? A weapon?"
"Yes. If she can move people from one world to another—she may be able—to do other things—to them—as well."
"Such as?"
"I do not know—yet. But whatever—may come of it—remember that you can tolerate—more poison or animal magnetism—than anyone—on this—planet... . Please! let me go."
I made the gesture myself, returning him to his doom.
After this pessimistic revelation I grew concerned as to Valdemar's continuing value in this venture. If Annie's entranced condition canceled his second sight when it came to herself, what did I need him for?
She was the only reason I'd agreed to head this odd odyssey.
I spoke of the situation with Peters during a card game that evening. We'd gotten in the habit of passing a little time in this fashion each night, during which I had confided my story as well as what ailed poor Valdemar.
As we talked, Emerson moved around the cabin considerably. At times, he came to rest somewhere behind my right shoulder. Sometimes, on those occasions, I would catch sight of peculiar gestures on his part. Generally, Peters would win that particular hand. Apart from the fact that each had rescued me from a dangerous situation, I could hardly accuse them of cheating because it felt stupid even to suggest that the ape possessed that sort of intelligence let alone the will to use it in such a fashion. Still, I took to placing my cards face down on the table before me whenever Emerson passed to the rear, and of discoursing at some length on my history or whatever was troubling me most. Peters did not seem unaware of my ploy and its precipitating action, but appeared vastly amused by the state of affairs and the unspoken assumptions each obtained, as well as genuinely interested in my story and my present dilemma.
That night when Emerson did his little dance at my back I put my cards aside and told Peter what Valdemar had said about Annie having become unpredictable.
"Ha!" he said. "So you take Kain-tuck windage."
"Beg pardon?"
"If the wind's blowin' from yer left, you aim a little to the left and let her carry yer shot over where you want her to go."
"Meaning?"
"Yer askin' the dead fella the wrong questions," he told me. "Ask 'bout other things likely t'involve the lady. Let the wind carry yer questions where you really want 'em."
Emerson wandered off about then, and when we ended our game—was it at about six bells?—we were fairly even in our winnings. On the other hand, I felt ahead for his advice, as the next morning I'd some fresh questions for Valdemar.
The tapers flickered, the currents flowed... .
"I hate to keep bothering you," I said, when Valdemar had finished with his moaning, "but can you tell me where the inventor Von Kempelen is right now?"
"Paris," he replied.
"Could you be more specific?"
"No," he said. "This information is blocked from my regard."
"Why? How?" I asked.
"Griswold has anticipated your line of inquiry," he answered. "Templeton has directed Annie to block my sight in this area."
"Already?" I said. "The man plans well ahead. I wonder whether there might be some more physical means of obtaining this information?"
"Mr. Ellison maintains a number of agents in Paris ..."
"Yes, I've a list of them."
"They keep a watch over the Paris harbor and will recognize the Eidolon when it docks. The watcher will be in touch at that time."
"I am not sure we can make it past Le Havre," I said. "A ship this size may draw too much water to make it up the Seine as far as Paris. We may have to go by coach from Le—"
"It will make it," he said, "and when the agent gets in touch you must ask to be introduced to one particular agent—a Monsieur Dupin. This man will find Von Kempelen for you."
"And Griswold will come to Von Kempelen, and we can follow him back to Annie."
"Presumably. As I said, her presence clouds my view of outcomes."
"Close enough," I said, "for Kentucky windage. Thank you, sir," and I let him return to his rest.
Later, from within the hidden safe, I unearthed a list of Ellison's French agents. There was indeed a Dupin, a Cesar Auguste Dupin, entered there. His address was given as 33 Rue Dunot, Fauborg St.
Germain, and beneath it was entered, "Completely reliable; first-class mind; poet, though, and other eccentricities."
Later, I checked with Captain Guy and he assured me that the Eidolon had made it to Paris before and would again. As I cut and parried my way through a saber drill I thought about Von Kempelen and his secret. I had to assume that Annie would locate him and Griswold reach him before I did. When I finally stood face to face with the man what would I say? Emerson came up beside me, aping my movements for a time. Would Griswold attempt to purchase Von Kempelen's secret? Or would he attempt coercion?
Purchase, I guessed. Too much room for deception in detailing a complicated process—even if they made him perform it under scrutiny. No, I judged they would want the man's cooperation.
What do you offer a man who can make gold, anyway?
Tricky. The process might require expensive equipment, expensive ingredients for setup and operation.
And even if this were not the case, Griswold might be able to offer him something else he wanted. As I toweled myself down following my exertions, I wondered concerning the efficacy of an appeal to the alchemist based on preserving the stability of the world gold market. For an ethical concept it seemed pretty abstract. I felt I might be better off trying to demonstrate Griswold's baseness. But even that... . Supposing Von Kempelen were somewhat base himself and not at all impressed by this argument?
As I drew on my shirt, I tried to imagine Seabright Ellison standing before me, considering the question.
Without hesitation he smiled and reflected, "The secret dies with the man." I was not, however, about to kill anyone to preserve the price of gold. So what did that leave?
Back in my stateroom, I opened a hidden safe and considered the French letters of credit. It appeared I could put my hands on some very large sums of money should the need arise. While I did not like the possibility of Von Kempelen's turning the conflict between Griswold and my employer into a bidding situation, it might be simplest to try topping Griswold's offer. I resolved to try it, after doing my best to show the man up as a blackguard.