"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.
We approached the structure's front and Peters gave to the door such a kick that it flew inward and banged against the wall. I might have preferred stealth, but Peters—then, as always—seemed absolutely without fear. He appeared to possess an extreme confidence in his own physical ability to extract himself from any situation.
The laughter died immediately. Entering, we discovered the place to be an undertaker's establishment.
Some excellent-seeming caskets were on display—all ebony and silver—and I regretted Valdemar's not being along to see them. Casting about quickly, however, we saw no sign of life. Then Peters pointed to an open trap door in the floor, in a corner to our right. I loosened my saber in its scabbard and we approached.
We looked down into a long range of wine-cellars whence the sound of a bursting bottle occasionally emerged. At the room's center was a table which held an enormous tub. Various flasks, bottles, and jugs were scattered about it. A human skeleton depended from a rafter above it, affixed there to a rig-bolt by means of a stout cord tied about one leg. The other leg jutted grotesquely, and occasional drafts and reactions of the rope caused it to jounce and twirl. There were a number of individuals seated about the table on casket trestles, and some of them seemed to be drinking from very white bowls which were strongly reminiscent of portions of skulls.
I could see the individual at the head of the table—a gaunt, near-emaciated man possessed of an enormously elongated skull, his skin jaundiced to an extreme yellow hue. He was staring back at me.
Across from this man sat two women—one enormously obese, in perfect complement to his leanness; the other petite, delicate, well-formed, pale, save for flaming cheeks, with a drooping nose which depended beyond her lower lip. I judged the latter lady tuburcular, and she was seized by a coughing spell just as the thought passed through my mind. A dour-looking, puffy old man sat to the left of the large lady, arms folded, one bandaged leg up upon the table.
There were two more men present, and though the angle of my view did not let me see them well, I could tell that one had enormous ears and bandaged jaws, and the other appeared to be somewhat paralyzed—reclined at an unusual angle, almost deathly still. Most of them wore garments fashioned of shrouds.
I saluted the man who regarded me.
"Good evening," I said.
The man banged the white, scepter-like implement he held upon the tabletop, causing the bottles and skull-bowls to jiggle. The proximity of one turning above him caused me to realize it a thigh bone.
"My friends, we have guests," he announced.
All heads turned in our direction, save for that of the paralyzed man. He just turned his eyes.
"You're welcome to come below and join us, good sir," the host invited.
Out of his line of sight, I signaled to Peters to remain in reserve.
"All right," I said, and I lowered myself onto the steep stair and descended it.
"And who might we have the honor of entertaining?" he asked.
"My name is Edgar Allan Perry," I replied.
"And I am King, these my pestly court. You are welcome to join us in our drinking and making merry in the face of imminent dissolution. Would you care for a skull of grog?"
"Not just now, thanks," I replied. "I am looking for a tunnel, one which runs to the abbey."
Their laughter returned.
"Why would you want to go there? The company is far far better here."
"I do not doubt your conviviality, but I am looking for an ancient tunnel. It may be somewhere hereabout."
"Nay, you'd best dig your own," said the man with the wrapped leg. "Start here. We'll fill it in after you."
The ladies tittered. The paralyzed man rolled his eyes. My host banged his bone and swilled a few drops of wine.
"Silence!" he roared. Then, using the bone as a cane, he levered himself to his feet. He lurched toward me and raised the bone, pointing it. Disconcerted, I saw that he held it as an expert swordsman might his blade. "You will be so good as to drain an entire skull of grog," he announced, locating one with his left hand and dipping it into their vat, "upon which you will be welcomed into our company and allowed to tunnel where you will. Otherwise you will be baptized in it by total immersion, till the cock crows."
He extended the dripping skull toward me and I drew my saber.
"An unkindly act," he observed, and he gestured to his opposite number. The fat lady began to sing.
Peters must simply have jumped into the opening. His feet struck the stair about halfway down and he leaped, catching hold of the skeleton upon which he swung. The singing ceased and shrieks arose. King Pest's minions must have been taken aback by one whose appearance was every bit as outre as their own and far, far more sinister. Peters let go and landed upon the table.
"Up the ladder, laddie!" he called. "'Tis time to drown all sorrows."
King Pest backed quickly away from me and turned toward Peters, pointing the bone. Peters moved forward and caught hold of the big vat. It must have been ponderous in the extreme, filled with liquid as it was. But he raised it, threw me a wink, and began to tip it. I swarmed up the stair as the gurgling began, mixed with screams.
A moment later I heard the rattle of the skeleton, a thud on a tread, and a chuckle. Peters emerged from the opening and kicked the trapdoor shut. A moment later he was raising a heavy coffin which he deposited upon it.
Emerson suddenly came into the shop, the light of a new-risen moon at his back, and commenced gesturing to Peters.
"I think we'd better be gettin' back," Peters said then to me. "We've done all the good we can here."
We followed our shaggy companion into the night.
Mews by moonlight: Lovely lady seated on a coffin, a few of our belongings piled nearby, nightbird perched atop them.
"Ligeia," I said, "what's become of the coach?"
"I heard the driver unloading it," she replied, "and when I got out to see what he was about he leaped back to his seat, snatched up the reins and rode off. He feared the Red Death."