He considered me for several seconds and then he shook his head and sighed.
"Hope?" he repeated. "That word, too, has been withdrawn from the atmosphere, the ether, the land.
Things fall apart, dear Perry. For all that, you are looking remarkably fit."
"Allan ..." I began.
"Let it be 'Poe,' " he said, "between us."
"Damn it then, Poe!" I cried. "Just what is it you are talking about? I truly do not understand you!"
"The beloved spirit is departed," he answered. "In this absence the shell of our world crumbles. She is gone, my other self. Alas! most evil of all evil days! That which pervaded this place pervades no longer—and you know the name as well as I.
"Annie ..." he sighed, and he raised his arm in trembling gesture. I turned my head in the direction he indicated, seaward, and the fog parted to where I beheld upon the sea-chewed strand the form of a gray mausoleum, so slickly drenched by the assaulting waves as to appear masked in glass. "Her tomb," he said then.
"I don't believe you!" I cried, and I drew away from him. Turning, I rushed back toward the cliff.
"Perry!" he called after me. "Come back! It's no use! I do not know what will happen to me if something ill befalls you!"
"She's not there!" I shouted back. "She can't be!"
I was descending, scraping my arms, tearing my garments.
"Perry! Perry!" he wailed.
I saved my breath, half-sliding, half-falling the rest of the way to the sand. Immediately, I was on my feet, fighting heavy winds and knee-high waves as I crossed to the shining monument. I could still hear Poe before the burning tree on high. I could distinguish no words, but only a baying sound now.
I caught hold of the black iron gate, lifted its latch, flung it open, and entered. I crossed its murky length, black water swirling about my ankles. A stone sarcophagus lay upon a ledge before me.
It was empty. I wanted to laugh and cry simultaneously. Instead I lurched to the entrance, where I cried,
"Poe! Poe! You're wrong! She's not here! Poe! Poe!"
A great dark wave came rushing toward me and it smote me back into the tomb.
I awoke upon the stateroom floor, though I recalled having cast myself the previous evening across the big bunk which had been Seabright Ellison's. I did not recall having fallen from it, nor any means by which my garments could have become soaked and torn. There was sand in my shoes and a series of tracks led back from where I lay to a location near the center of the room, where they seemed to begin. I rotated a knuckle in my right eye then sat up. On removing the ruined russet shirt I discovered a number of abrasions on my forearms. Then I recalled the storm, the mausoleum, the wailing form of Poe beneath the burning tree.
I hunted up fresh garments in the sea chest, changing into them as I reflected upon the experience. I hoped that Poe was all right. I had been unsettled as much by the seeming strain of madness which had taken hold of him as by the bizarre course of events itself. I had somehow, long ago, realized our strange encounters to constitute both a reality and something partaking simultaneously of the realm of symbol, sign, or portent. I could, in this fashion, understand the matter of the empty tomb if Annie lay entranced in mesmeric slumber. But there was more to it than that. There had to be. I had learned more about the phenomenon last night than I had known, from Ellison's remarks upon it. But even the doughty alchemist did not know all that much. There was no one I could really ask concerning the matter, unless—
I wondered. Prior to his departure, Ellison had introduced me to the large-eyed, raven-haired lady, Ligeia, a woman of such fascinating beauty as slowed the cadence of my thinking to at least half its normal pace. Yet, it was not entirely her appearance which, I realized after a minute or so, was doing this to me. It was some other element about her person which was producing an actual physical effect.
Immediately I realized this, I stepped back a pace and took a deep breath. The sensation vanished. The lady smiled.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance," she'd stated as Ellison named me, her voice low, hypnotic, accented in the manner of a Russian immigrant I had once known, eyes staring into my own with an unusual intensity.
"This is the man of whom I was speaking earlier—"
"I know," she stated.
"—and he has agreed to manage the business to which I referred."
"I know," she repeated.
"So I would appreciate your placing our special resources at his service."
She nodded.
"Of course."
"However, he has had an extremely filled day," he went on, "and I feel that any farther excitement would not be in his best interest. So I suggest we postpone his introduction to your charge until tomorrow. He is already aware that Monsieur Valdemar is able to obtain us information from places beyond this version of reality."
"I understand," she said.
"I don't," I said, "but I'll take your word for it."
"I will obtain sailing information and relay it to Captain Guy before my departure," he said.
"Very good," I replied. "In which case—"
"—you may retire," he finished for me, "and I'll bid you farewell and good luck as well as good night."
He clasped my hand with a firm grip.
"All right," I said. "Good-bye and good night."
I nodded to Ligeia. "I'll see you tomorrow," I told her.
"I know," she said.
I headed back to the stateroom, where I cast myself face downwards across the big bed. I was asleep almost immediately, later going away to our kingdom by the sea. And now... .
Sufficient light streamed from the ports for me to shave by, drawing fresh water from a large tank at the alchemical end of my quarters, emptying my basin out the nearest port when I had done with it. When I had finished grooming myself I went in search of breakfast. In the mess I was told that I might be served in my stateroom and instructed in the system of signaling for service. Since I was already in the saloon, however, I elected to remain, while eggs and onions, toast and halibut were prepared for my refreshment. The night's shadowy farrago of dreams and bewilderments, puzzles and fears, was washed from my spirit by several cups of excellent coffee, the final of which I took with me on deck, to sip as I beheld the icy, sun-spotted waves, a few benign-looking clouds drifting like white islands in the placid blue overhead. The sun was still low in its corner of the heavens, and taking my bearings therefrom I sought in what I thought must be a shoreward direction for signs of the coast we had departed, but my gaze met land neither in that direction nor any other. A trail of gulls rode the winds behind us, dipping into and rising out of our wake. When the cook—a one-eyed Spaniard named Domingo—called something loudly (whether curses or snatches of song, I am uncertain) and dumped the morning's slops, they answered him and fell quickly to feasting in the churning waters. I moved forward then, seeking for some time in that direction after any sign of the great dark vessel Evening Star. But, it too, lay beyond the blue edges of my world.
I shivered and gulped more of the steaming coffee. I resolved to wear something warmer the next time I was above deck this early in the day. Turning to head below and return my cup to the galley on the way to Ligeia's cabin, I encountered a grinning Dirk Peters, who touched the bill of his cap in mock salute and growled, "'Marnin', Master Eddie."
I gave him a smile and a nod and returned, "Good morning, Mister Peters."
" 'Dirk' will do," he responded. "Lovely day now, ain't it?"
"Indeed," I agreed.
"And how does it feel, bein' in charge?" he continued.
"Hard to say," I replied. "I haven't given any orders yet."