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and we discovered that upon passing the blade of a knife downward through them the water closed over
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it immediately, and on withdrawing it all trace of the knife's passage was instantly obliterated. If, however,
the blade was passed between two veins a perfect separation occurred and did not immediately repair
itself.
Peters laughed, cupped a handful and swallowed it, while we were discussing its visual characteristics.
He announced it to be a "good, cold swig." In that nothing untoward occurred with him several others of
us tasted it and were so gratified. Peters then explained that it had "smelled" all right, water-sniffing being
a thing he'd learned in childhood, on the Plains.
Meanwhile, the current bearing us along grew stronger and stronger, until we were completely helpless in
its grip.
Two days later we awoke to what I first took to be a snowfall, but a visit topside showed it to be a fall
of volcanic ash that was graying our deck. We had come into the vicinity of the legendary Mt. Yaanek,
bursting with gray cabbage-leaf clouds, lightnings tunneling among them, an occasional show of a bright
heart beating at its center. Its distant grumbles came like thunder. The skies were ashen and sober as we
went by.
I had avoided visiting Valdemar for some time, perhaps he somehow served to remind me of the night of
the Red Death at Prospero's abbey. However, it appeared obvious to me that we must rapidly be
nearing the Symmes' Hole, and since I did not know what to do next it seemed that a little unearthly
advice might be in order. The temperature had grown milder, the ocean almost hot, and all traces of ice
and snow had vanished. All these things considered, I'd a feeling it was probably time to act.
Ligeia seemed still to be asleep, but since I possessed a duplicate key to Valdemar's cabin I simply let
myself in, bringing a lighted oil lamp.
I made the necessary passes, and again the noisy disturbances began, his casket itself being levitated
briefly. At this, Valdemar sat up and reached forward, opening the lower half of his crate as well. Not
stopping at that, he swung his legs up and out, rising, and then lowering himself, so that he sat perched at
the edge like some cadaverous scarecrow.
"Oh, Eddie!" he said. "Again? You bathe me in even more life than last time, child of the Earth!"
"Sorry," I said. "It's something of an emergency, though. I believe we're nearing the South Polar
Symmes' Hole."
"Nor are you incorrect!" he agreed. "What a glorious way to go! I misjudged you. Thank you for
bringing me around to witness our final passing. It is about the only thing I might regard with something
resembling pleasure."
"Uh Sorry to disappoint you," I said, "but I'm looking for a way to escape it."
"No!" He rose and tottered. "I refuse to help you elude such a fine and honorable death!"
"I hate to pull rank," I said, "but I've the power to compel you in this."
I began the preliminaries to the administration of even more mesmeric energy.
"Stop! You could not be so heartless!"
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He tottered toward me, arms extended before him.
"You will tell me what you know in this," I said, "or I will animate you even further."
"Ask me anything else," he replied. "The secrets of the ages are open books to me. What would you
care to have? Sophocles' missing dramas? The proof for Fermat's Last Theorem? The precise
archaeological location of Troy? The "
"You're stalling," I said. "Why I see. We're that close, are we?"
His arms fell.
"Yes, we are," he said.
"But we've still a chance to make it, haven't we? It's going to be close so close that minutes could
actually make a difference, one way or another."
"You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Perry."
"I don't want your flattery, just some facts. The balloon must be the only way out. How long does it take
to inflate?
"Approximately two hours," he answered.
"How long till we plunge into the Hole?"
"Perhaps three hours."
"How many people can it carry?"
"Four."
"That will never do. There are twelve of us."
"It will do," he replied, showing all of his teeth.
"I do not understand."
"Shall I explain?"
"I'm sure you'd like to. I'm also sure there isn't time. Good-bye."
I turned and rushed for the door.
"Eddie! Wait!"
I halted at the strange note of urgency I had never heard in his speech before.
"What?" I asked.
"Go armed."
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"Why?"
"I've nothing against you personally. Just get your saber and wear it."
"All right," I said. "Thanks."
And I was out the door and running.
* * *
I came out of my quarters buckling the thing into place when I heard the cries from above, and a clash of
metal on metal. Rather than heading for the cargo area where the balloon was stowed I climbed the
companionway, to see what was doing.
As my head and shoulders came out of the companionway, a crewman who had apparently been
guarding it thrust a staff at me. I fell back, drew my blade and cut at it, knocking it aside. He raised it
again and I executed a simple chest cut, feeling it shear through ribs. He screamed. I surveyed the
situation clearly then.
Captain Guy, Peters, and Hans Pfall were all aft, trapped upon the poop deck by the crewmen, who'd
apparently decided the time was right for their mutiny. I noticed a stack of supplies beside one of the
boats, a splash of red on the deck nearby. Captain Guy had blood on his shirtfront, also, and he leaned
against the railing as if partly stunned. I suspected he had caught the crew in the act of abandoning ship,
and the mutiny had commenced at that point.
Peters held a belaying pin in either hand. Pfall held a saber similar to my own. The five remaining
crewmen looked back at the one I had just cut down. My presence at their rear seemed to influence their
decision to attack forward. Uttering a cry, they rushed the three men.
Peters threw one of his clubs at the foremost, who had attacked the captain, knife in hand. It struck the
man on the head, and he fell. Another was rushing toward Peters himself, saber upraised. In the
meantime, Pfall had raised his blade into a guard position and was staring wide-eyed at his attacker, a
burly fellow with a stiletto in one hand and a club in the other.
I shouted a hopefully distracting cry as I mounted the final stairs and headed in their direction,
brandishing my blade. For the first time, as I did this, I became aware of a low, thundering sound, like a
buried storm, coming from somewhere far forward of our vessel. It was more than a persistent note, for it
also constituted a physically felt vibration which one detected down to the roots of one's teeth. To my
horror, I understood its nature. I shouted again, and the rearmost man turned to face me. He was a tall,
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