In the Court of the Yellow King (20 page)

“‘Tell me about Carcosa.’

“He turned his head, ever so slowly, and that dead-eyed stare fixed on me. The temperature dropped alarmingly, and it seemed to my eyes that the darkness gathered, swaddling the man in shadows every bit as constricting as the stitched jacket. He recited again, a singsong whisper that had more than a touch of the rhythm and cadence of a chant.

“‘
Songs tha
t the Hyades shall s
ing
,’

“‘
Where flap the t
atters of the King,
’

“‘
Must die unheard in
dim Carcosa.
’

“At the mention of flapping tatters, I heard it for myself—a sound like cloth being taken and slapped by a wind. It lasted mere seconds before Jephson went back to staring at the corner. The shadows stilled in their dance, and the actor returned to muttering.

“A warmer breeze hit my face, reminding me of the season.

“And that was that, for a while at least. I could get nothing out of him. He was lost, in a far-off place—his Carcosa at a guess. Wherever it was, it was out of my reach at that moment.

“I knocked loudly on the door and, after a wait that almost had me wondering whether I was to join Jephson in his seclusion, the worried nurse finally let me out. I took the chair down the corridor a way, sat down, lit a smoke and waited to see what nightfall might bring.”

“I sat there for several hours. The nurse brought me tea and biscuits around six that did much to improve my mood, and several smokes calmed my nerves, frayed as they had been by the encounter in the room.

“I was still no nearer to discovering the nature of the thing I had come to investigate, but I got a clearer idea of what I was up against just after the sun went down. Darker shadows crept in the long corridors of Bethlem Asylum, only to be dispelled by gas lamps lit by an elderly janitor who scurried away as soon as the job was done.

“Several seconds later Jessup started whispering again. As before, the strangeness started with his reciting—I was coming to believe it must be passages from
The Kin
g in Yellow
.

“‘
Strange
is the night where b
lack stars rise,’

“‘
And
strange moons circl
e through the skies
.’

“I instinctively looked up through the skylight. There were no black stars, no strange moons, although if there had been I might have taken a blue funk and fled there and then.

“The corridor dimmed and darkened despite the gas lamps. It got colder fast, a layer of fine frost running along the hardwood flooring and up the walls. I happened to be looking along the length of the corridor, so spotted what occurred almost immediately.

“Something flowed out through the door of Jephson’s room—I know that is hardly much of a description, but I have no other words for it. It was at eye level and looked at first little more than thin smoke, but it quickly coalesced, going from gray to yellow, and solidifying into an object that spun in a slow circle, hanging in mid air. As I said, it was a deep yellow, almost golden, and was a solid representation of a pictograph or hieroglyph—three curved and distorted arms reaching out from a globular central hub. The symbol was neither Babylonian nor Egyptian—indeed it did not resemble anything I had ever come across in all my reading in the field.

“The yellow sigil spun in time with Jephson’s recital.

“‘
Along the shore the c
loud waves break,
’

“‘
Th
e twin suns sink beh
ind the lake,
’

“‘
The sh
adows lengthen in Ca
rcosa.
’

“The spinning sign made its way along the corridor, heading straight for me. As it passed by them, yells, groans and screams came from the previously quiet cells, tortured souls pleaded for mercy, others shouted their joy, and some laughed, too loud, as if they would never stop.

“I heard the noise I had heard before, the sound of cloth being taken and slapped by a wind.

“‘
Where flap th
e tatters of the Kin
g.
’

“The yellow sign spun faster. The corridor behind it seemed to melt and fade, like wet paint in heavy rain, washing away until I could see through, see beyond.

“And suddenly I was not looking at corridor walls and hardwood floors. I looked out from a high vantage to a moonlit scene—three pale yellow moons floating amid black stars, and a stunted forest along the banks of a black lake that drew the eyes to a castle, huge and decayed, perilously perched on an outcrop of crystal. And although it was far off, a figure clearly stood there on the highest battlement, long black robes flapping in the breeze. It turned towards me, a wrinkled yellow mask with no features.

“The King in Yellow fixed his gaze on me.

“I fled, screaming.”

Carnacki paused at this point, which we all knew was a sign to refill our glasses and get fresh smokes lit. No one spoke. Arkwright, as usual, seemed almost bursting to ask a question, but Carnacki looked sterner than his normal ebullient self, and gave Arkwright a stare that would brook no discussion.

“Before I go on I want to say something about what I have just related. You chaps have heard me expound many times on the Outer Darkness and the entities that dwell there. What I believe I saw was a direct vision of those realms, a place where dream, myth and reality are not separated by rationality as they are here in the inner microcosm. Somehow Jephson’s madness was inextricably linked to that place, and the connection enabled it to draw close, so close that the veil was parted. I could see through—and be seen. I have no doubt that
The King in Yello
w
exists, over there in his high castle—for if we have royalty here on this plane, why not there?”

Once again Arkwright looked ready to ask a question, but Carnacki waved him away and headed for his chair. It was a matter of seconds before we were all settled again, and Carnacki took up the tale immediately where he had let off.

“I came to my senses sitting on a chair in a room on the ground floor with two nurses fussing over me, and feeling like a damned fool, although my nerves were not sufficiently strong to allow me to go back up to that corridor right away.

“You chaps know I am not prone to taking a funk without rather extreme provocation, but I am not afraid to tell you that I was rather severely spooked, and in need of a stiffener. I found Donaldson’s brandy in the desk in his office—the man himself had long since gone home for the evening—and helped myself to a double. After that, and a smoke of my pipe outside in the hospital grounds, I began to feel more like my old self, but even then I knew I would not be able to make myself go back to the top floor—not without the proper defenses.

“I had one of the nurses call for a carriage, and made my way back here, where I picked up my box of tricks and returned in the same carriage, arriving back at the Asylum just before midnight. I paused long enough for another leisurely smoke then carried the box up to the top of the stairs.

“It was time to pit my wits against whatever walked those corridors.”

“The top floor was once again quiet and still. Thin moonlight came in from high above but the flickering gas lamps kept any shadows at a safe distance. I stood there for several minutes in the silence, ready to flee again should an attack come before I was prepared, but it seems I had arrived at a lull in proceedings. I set about readying myself. I drew my circles in chalk on the hardwood floors, knowing that should nothing come of them, I was earning myself a telling off from the same nurses who had tended to me earlier.

“I need not describe the nature of my defenses—you all know of the ritual circles and the electric pentacle—although Arkwright will be most interested in my newest battery, for it has a greatly increased life, and provides a much steadier power output than any I have tried previously. It was about to be put to its greatest test yet.

“I switched on the pentacle and stepped into the circle. The valves washed the corridor in an aura of rainbow colors, and the faint hum of the battery was the only thing breaking the silence.

“I stood in the center, lit up a smoke, and began my night watch.”

“I did not have long to wait. I got my first intimation that something was happening when the blue valve brightened considerably. At almost the same moment Jephson started in on his recital again, his whispering voice clearly audible even above the hum of the battery.

“‘
Along the shore
the cloud waves bre
ak,
’

“‘
The twin suns si
nk behind the lake,
’

“‘
The shadows lengthen in
Carcosa.
’

“Thin yellow smoke came through the door of the man’s room and began to thicken and solidify in the corridor. The temperature dropped markedly and once again frost ran along the floor and walls, although this time I remained warm, almost hot, inside my protective circle.

“The blue valve began to pulse in time with Jephson’s voice, flaring ever brighter as the yellow sign drifted closer.

“‘
Strange is
the night where blac
k stars rise,
‘

“‘
And
strange moons circle
through the skies,
‘

“‘
But stranger still
is lost Carcosa.
‘

“The occupants of the other cells woke, and once again there was a chorus of screams, laughter and howls of pain and anguish to accompany Jephson’s voice. The blue valve pulsed in sympathy.

“The yellow sign floated ever closer, coming to a halt in the air not three feet away from the edge of my defenses.

“And now I did indeed feel cold—a biting chill that seized at my calves and began to work its way upward. Jephson’s voice grew in strength and volume, echoing along the length of the corridor. The yellow sign flared brighter and spun in time, its glow threatening to overwhelm and consume the glow from the pentacle.