The Secret of Abdu El Yezdi (33 page)

Beware of John Judge. Satan took him on the island and he has preyed on us this voyage through. He walks by night and steals a man's soul from him and leaves the body dead but not dead. I saw Colin McPhiel rise and hunt for souls to replace what was took from him.

The
Royal Charter
is damned. Capt. Taylor is damned. I am damned. We are all damned. But I'll not go without a fight. I have me pistol loaded and as God is me witness I'll search this ship from bow to stern till I find Judge and send him back to hell with a bullet.

Lord have Mercy on my soul.

“As for a future life, every man must judge for himself between conflicting vague probabilities.”

—C
HARLES
D
ARWIN

“That's the end of it,” Swinburne said. “Phew! What terror! I shall have nightmares!”

Trounce exclaimed, “I'd lay good money on it being Joseph Rodgers who made it ashore and John Judge who followed and killed him.”

“
La Bête est venue
,” Eliphas Levi whispered.

“The Beast has come?” Swinburne repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

Burton, Trounce, and Levi glanced at each other.

The poet banged his fist on the arm of his chair. “Out with it!” he commanded. “Explain what this is all about! You—” he jabbed his finger at Burton, “—are the man with a scar on his face. Abdu El Yezdi said my travails would begin when you appeared.” Swinburne lifted the logbook and waved it over his head. “If this
Royal Charter
tragedy and your interest in the Arabian are connected, then I demand to know how!”

Burton was silent for a few seconds then nodded. “Very well, but I must ask something of you first.”

“What?”

“I believe the Arabian mesmerised you, and I want to do the same. Maybe I can unearth whatever he caused you to forget.”

“You mean he removed something from my memory?”

“More likely he inserted something but made it inaccessible to your recollection. I'd like to know what.”

“And if I allow this, you'll tell me the full story?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it. At once.”

Burton knew that under normal circumstances it would be impossible to put Swinburne into a trance. The poet had an excess of electric vitality. It caused him to be in constant twitchy motion and was at the root of his overexcitable personality. However, he was exhausted after his taxing swim and Burton had purposely asked him to read from the logbook to further tire him. Swinburne was drained—just as he must have been after ascending Culver Cliff—as was evinced by the relative idleness of his limbs.

Burton addressed Trounce and Levi. “Be absolutely still and quiet please, gentlemen.”

He drew his chair over so it faced the poet's and leaned forward. “Algy, keep your eyes on mine. Relax. Mimic my breathing. Imagine your first breath goes into your right lung. Inhale slowly. Exhale slowly. The next breath goes into your left lung. Slowly in. Slowly out. The next into the middle of your chest. In. Out. Repeat that sequence.”

As Swinburne's respiration adopted the Sufi rhythm, he became entirely motionless but for a slight rocking. Burton murmured further instructions, guiding the young man into a cycle of four breaths, each directed into a different part of the body.

The poet's mind was gradually subdued by the developing complexity of the exercise. His pupils grew wider and his face slack. Burton, satisfied that he'd gained dominance, said, “Go back to Culver Cliff, Algernon. You have just made your climb and are lying on the downs at the top. A man named Abdu El Yezdi has met you there.”

“Yes,” Swinburne whispered. “The fat, snaggle-toothed old Arabian.”

“He's spoken to you about courage and told you to look out for a man with a scar on his face.”

“Burton.”

“What did he do next?”

“He shifted closer to me and looked into my eyes. He was blind in one, but the other was like a deep well, and when he instructed me to breathe in a certain manner, I felt compelled to do so. I became very drowsy. He said, ‘Algy, I shall give you a verse. You will forget it until it is needed.'”

The poet raised his face toward the ceiling and recited:

Whene'er you doubt thy station in life
Thou shalt take to the tempestuous sea.
To all the four points it shall batter thee
Until you find thine own power, and me.

Swinburne looked at Burton and murmured, “What hideous doggerel.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Just, ‘Thank you,' then he told me to sleep. I don't remember anything more until I awoke and he was gone.”

Burton said, “I shall count backwards from five. When I'm done, you'll decide that explanations can wait until tomorrow. You'll go straight up to bed and will enjoy a deep and restful sleep. Do you understand?”

Swinburne nodded.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

“My hat!” Swinburne exclaimed. “Are we to sit here all night? I can barely keep my eyes open.”

“It's hardly surprising considering your earlier heroics,” Burton said. “You must be knocked out.”

“I am. I say—do you mind if I hit the sack?”

“Not at all. We'll talk in the morning.”

The poet pushed himself to his feet, mumbled, “Nighty night, all,” and stumbled from the room.

Burton turned to face his companions. As he did so, Trounce emitted a loud snore. The detective was sitting with his head against the back of his chair, his eyes closed, and his mouth wide open.

“I think he pay too much attention,” Eliphas Levi observed.

“We are all exhausted, monsieur,” Burton noted. “Let's get him to bed and each take to our own.”

“Oui, oui. But the verse, Sir Richard? Tell me,
quelle est sa signification
?”

“What does it mean? It appears to have caused Swinburne's propensity for perilous swims but, beyond that, I really couldn't say.”

Early the following morning, Bram Stoker set off in search of fellow Whisperers. Anglesey was a barren and sparsely populated island, but the lad assured “Macallister Fogg” that the web extended even to it, and if there was a working telegraph station in any of the towns, it would soon be located.

Meanwhile, the four men took a stroll along the edge of Dulas Bay. There was a stiff breeze blowing and clouds blanketed the sky, but the tempest was over. Villagers were clambering among the rocks below, calling to one another as they discovered yet more bodies.

“Ripples,” Burton murmured.

Trounce looked at the still-agitated sea and said, “Hardly.”

“No, old chap—I'm thinking about Time; wondering whether a disaster of this magnitude has touched other histories.”

Trounce, who hadn't yet learned of Countess Sabina's revelations, growled, “Whatever you just said, it's beyond me, and if I listen to much more gobbledegook, I'll have to dose myself with bitters and return to my bed. I think I'll confine myself to the practical business of the here and now.”

Burton patted the policeman's shoulder. “You're a fine fellow, Trounce.”

Trounce gave a modest, “Humph!” but his chest swelled a little and he reached up and smoothed his moustache.

The king's agent again surveyed the churning waters. “I was warned a storm was coming, but I considered the omen metaphorical. I never envisioned this.” He turned to Eliphas Levi. “Do you think there's been a
Royal Charter
disaster in the original history, monsieur, or is it exclusive to ours, thanks to the presence of Perdurabo?”

“My hat!” Swinburne interrupted. “I do wish you'd explain to me what the devil you're talking about!”

Burton said, “I shall do so now, Algy,” and indicated a large flat stone that overlooked the bay. The group settled on it, and the explorer went through the entire affair for the poet's—and Trounce's—benefit; he missed nothing out.

Swinburne accepted the wild story with complete equanimity.

“You understand what this means?” Burton asked. “That Time is not at all as we conceive it; that our history has been manipulated; that we appear to be caught between two warring factions—Abdu El Yezdi's and Perdurabo's?”

“As any poet of merit will tell you,” Swinburne replied, “at an individual level, reality is simply a function of the imagination; and at a collective, nothing but a suffocating mantle of compromise and acquiescence. That is why poets create unusual combinations of words and rhythms: to set all the possible truths free. What you have told me comes as no surprise.”

“You have
une vision unique
, Monsieur Swinburne,” Eliphas Levi observed. “It is one I think will prove most vital to Sir Richard.”

“How so?” Burton asked.

“Because, for Abdu El Yezdi and Perdurabo,
you
are history, monsieur—a figure from the past. Perdurabo,
en particulier
, he say he know you well. If he have study you, then he will be aware of what you will do, where you will be, how you will act.”

“Bismillah!” Burton cursed. “I hadn't considered that. He'll be ahead of me every step of the way.”

“
Non! Non!
” Levi protested. “
Pas nécessairement.
You forget—for Perdurabo, at least, this history is not
his
history. The Sir Richard Francis Burton he have knowledge of is not the same as you, for he is expose to different challenges and opportunities and maybe he make different decisions. Perhaps he never discover the source of the Nile. Perhaps he is not the agent of the king. But there may be many similarities, so you must be very careful.
Il ne faut rien laisser au hasard, eh?
It is clear that Perdurabo mean to harm you.”

Burton pulled a cheroot from his pocket. He looked down at it and saw that his hand was trembling. He suddenly sensed the Other Burton lurking. Had he now an explanation for it? Was he somehow able to discern—especially when in the grip of fever—his alternate selves?

“I understand the implication, Monsieur Levi,” he muttered. “You suggest that Algy's distinctive view of the world is such that he's perfectly placed to help me second-guess myself and do the opposite of whatever my instinct or intellect dictates, for perhaps only then will I take Perdurabo by surprise and gain the upper hand.”

“You speak as if going into battle,” Trounce observed.

“I feel I am. I wish I better understood what against.”

“You are correct,” Levi said. “And this one—” he tapped Swinburne's shoulder, “—is like…how do you say it? Ah!
Oui!
The card up your sleeve,
non
?”

Burton regarded the little poet—who grinned happily back at him—and said, “Yes, I think you are right. And you've given me an idea.”

“
Oui?
”

Burton held out his arms.

Levi looked at them.

“
La signification?
”

“I have two sleeves. And, also, I have a brother.”