I seem to hear a phthisic cough By life's eternal streams.
Death lurks and laughs his ass off.
At least that's how it seems.
Untitled verse, Edgar Allan Perry
X
Edgar Allan Poe is dead. He died in Baltimore the day before yesterday. This announcement will startle many, but few will be grieved by it. The poet was well known personally or by reputation, in all this country; he had readers in England, and in several of the states of Continental Europe; but he had few or no friends; and the regrets for his death will be suggested principally by the consideration that in him literary art lost one of its most brilliant, but erratic, stars.
New York Daily Tribune
"Ludwig" (Rufus Griswold)
The passage we followed contained a stair which led down to another passageway, running beneath the courtyard. As we rushed through it, Peters moved in a daze of grief and exhaustion. I said nothing at first, simply moving and keeping him in motion till we emerged in the tunnel behind the storeroom where we had originally entered, its way almost totally blocked by a partial collapse of one wall. We finally sidled through via a narrow and very dusty adit.
I was able, at that point, to persuade Peters to discard his jester's costume. After that, we picked up the tools we had left behind on our entering, earlier in the year.
At the town end of the tunnel we discovered that Montresor had walled us in, which of course meant that he had also done it to Fortunato—a deed as grisly as any described in the tales of that master of the macabre, E. T. A. Hoffman, whose stories had filled many a slow hour for me at isolated army posts.
Had we dropped our tools down a well as Montresor had suggested we would have been trapped.
Peters swung his hammer with terrific force. Rather than helping him, I simply stayed out of his way. In a matter of minutes he had knocked a hole through the wall large enough for us to pass through.
Mounting quickly from the cellar we sought about the house. While there was no sign of Montresor, Ligeia responded to my hailing, emerging from an upstairs room, Grip perched upon her shoulder.
"Perry, damn it! Damn it, Perry!" the bird greeted me.
"Are you all right, Ligeia?" I asked.
"I am."
"Valdemar?"
"As always."
"Where's Montresor?"
"Gone away," she answered.
"I've a feeling we should do the same."
"Yes, I've packed a few things."
"I'll fetch your bag."
"It's already downstairs."
"You knew we were coming?"
"I sent Fortunato for you."
"Why?"
"The time was right."
"How will we travel?"
"There is a coach," she said, "beside the stables, out back."
"Then I think we should hitch up a team and head for the border," I said.
"No," she replied, "for Barcelona, and the sea. The Eidolon should be waiting."
"How did that come about?"
"Annie put it into Captain Guy's mind to sail there, quite some time ago."
"How do you know that?"
"I was about to do it myself one day when I realized it had already been done."
"Really," I said. "Is she your—"
"There are no horses left alive in the stables," she continued. "Help me fetch that tapestry down from the wall."
I looked in the direction of her gesture. The tapestry in question involved a man stabbing another man, somewhat to the rear, while an enormous and unusually colored horse stood statue-like in the foreground. I moved a small table near to the wall, mounted it and succeeded in removing the tapestry.
As I was rolling it, I inquired, "Any special reason we need this thing?"
"Yes," she replied.
Peters and I wrestled Valdemar's crate out to the yard, transporting the tapestry along with it. While we were loading Valdemar, I heard the neighing of a horse.
Coming around the side of the coach then was Ligeia, leading a colossal charger. She gave the beast a series of mesmeric passes as they approached.
"Help me hitch him up, Eddie," she said.
My old cavalry instincts surfaced, and I gentled the animal a bit, working him by degrees into a place between the traces. I felt sorry for the brute no matter how strong he might be, taking the place of four regular horses. Of course, we'd be riding without Emerson or our old coachman, and most of our baggage was gone.
Walking about the coach I beheld the tapestry spread upon the cobbles of the courtyard. While the one man was still engaged in stabbing the other, the great horse was missing from the foreground. I didn't even want to think about the meaning of this. I heard a laugh, however, and when I turned I saw Ligeia, hair blowing in the wind, white teeth bared; and for a moment only it seemed that a strange pale light hovered about her, but it retreated into her eyes.
"You, Eddie, shall be coachman," she said.
"I don't even know the way to Barcelona."
She pointed.
"That way," she said. "I'll give you more directions, as you need them."
I opened the door for her and handed her up inside. As I mounted to the driver's board Peters came climbing and settled himself beside me.
"If it's all the same, I'll ride up here with you," he said.
"Good. You can give me a hand with the driving."
I released the brake, shook the reins lightly and the horse began to move. We were going at a smart pace when we left the courtyard. When we struck the road it increased. Shortly, we were moving at an amazing pace. Yet the horse barely seemed to be exerting itself. It was one of the strangest things I'd ever seen. We kept going faster and faster. Soon we were racing along at the fastest pace I'd ever traveled. The countryside was becoming a blur about us.
I drove for several hours, then switched with Peters. The beast which drew us showed no signs of tiring; it still barely seemed even to be running. I drew my cloak tightly about myself and leaned back. The night-smells of spring were all about us. Only the stars stood still. Ligeia shouted another direction, and Peters took us leftward on a fork.
As I dozed, it seemed that it was Poe rather than Peters who sat beside me. But no matter how I addressed him, he refused to answer. Finally, he leapt down onto the horse's back, cut him free of the traces and left me there atop a stranded coach. But that couldn't be right... . I could still feel our movement.
And then it was Annie who sat beside me. I felt her hand upon my arm.
"Perry," she said. "Eddie."
"Annie... . It seemed as if Poe were seated there—just a little while ago. But he ignored me. Then he went away."
"I know. He moves farther and farther off. I cannot hold him to us."
"What of yourself, dear lady? I saw you at the party which turned into a dance of death. But you, Von Kempelen, and Griswold's cronies vanished at some point."
"I could feel the nearness of the doom. The others trust my warnings by now. We fled."
"I wish you had come to me."
"I know. So do I. But we've been through this before. I must not let them seal his exile."
"What of yourself otherwise? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine physically. No plague, no injuries."
"Where are you now?"
"Aboard a boat, heading downstream to the sea. Looking at a flame in a lamp, seeing you. A ship awaits us at the mouth of the stream. It has lain at anchor there for some time, against this emergency."
"What's her name?"
"The Grampus. We shall have boarded her, weighed anchor, and raised sail before you reach your own vessel at Barcelona."
"Where are you headed? I must follow, you know."
"London, to pick up some equipment."
"What sort of equipment?"